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lapetitechatonne · 1 year

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Day Two: Mistaken Identity

day two of dp/dc week 2022!!! this one gets a bit dark too, if panic attacks trigger you i’d suggest skipping. as always, the ao3 tags are there for a reason! anyways, i cried while writing this one so. good luck.

ao3 link!

Kate’s Masterlist here!

in the dark all shadows look the same - 2.5k words

It was actually a nice night, Danny thought as he looked out over the Gotham City skyline. You still couldn’t see the stars, but the breeze was warm and the fog had lifted for the night. The full moon lit up the sky over the inky water of the bay as it crashed against the rocky shore.

In a different time and place, he could see himself staying in a place like this. Full of life—full of ectoplasm—and with someone else to watch over its people. Somewhere his obsession would quiet to a dull thud in the back of his head because there was someone else taking care of the criminals and terrorists. Maybe he would help the odd old lady cross the street or give a homeless kid a hot meal, but he wouldn't have to protect.

He tightened the wrap around his thigh, just trying to get the bleeding to stop knowing that in this life, he’d probably never know anything close to peace.

Rude.

“Danny,” a quiet whisper barely carried over the noisy streets.

He turned to Danielle who was sitting up against the brick wall behind her. She was doubled over in pain holding her abdomen, her blue eyes glassy and distant.

He tied off the wrap and slid back next to her, pulling her into him. He hissed as the tender bruises on his back came in contact with the jagged brick, but luckily Danielle didn’t notice. Hopefully, he could convince her into sleeping at least for a few hours before they had to move on.

They were sitting ducks up here, he knew that the church under them would confuse anything Vlad was using to follow them, but it wouldn’t last for long—he would've gone of a hospital or graveyard but it'd be too obvious.

At least they grabbed enough supplies that they didn’t have to worry about stealing from a hospital. Danny hated hospitals—the worst kind of liminal spaces in his opinion—but that didn’t mean he wanted to rob one. He knew how precious life was.

Danielle whimpered, leaning her weight onto Danny’s shoulder. She was warm, warmer than even a human should be, which wasn’t a good sign.

Danny felt the dull, ever-present panic in his ribs grow. His chest tightened and he fought back the tears trying to build up, he couldn’t do this right now. He couldn’t.

He tried to count his breaths like Jazz taught him to.

In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three four. Out, two, three, four.

His lungs hurt. So did his ribs and his legs and his back—and everything.

In, two, three, four.

He squeezed his eyes shut trying to block out the light.

Hold, two, three, four.

He just wanted to go home.

Out, two, three, four.

He just wanted to be safe.

He lost focus on his breathing as he choked over a shallow sod. His head started to spin like he was freefalling through air without anything there to catch him. His limbs tingled and suddenly he was very aware of how weak he was.

He was too weak. Too weak to tell his parents the truth, too weak to protect Danielle, too weak to fight Vlad—

Too weak too weak too weak too weak too weak—

He gasped as he felt Danielle tighten her hold on him. Her tiny hands held him with an iron clad grip.

He pulled her closer, winding his arms around her until he was clutching her like a child with a teddy bear. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against him. Could feel her body heat against his cold. Could hear the rhythmic beating of her heart.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He breathed in time with her heartbeat. She was here. She was alive. He would keep her safe.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The breeze chilled the tear tracks running down his cheeks. He was alive. He would be okay.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

They both would. He didn’t know how, but he had to believe that. He had to.

“I love you,” Danny felt more than heard Danielle as she muttered into his chest.

A new wave of tears pushed against his sinuses, pressure building behind his eyes.

“I love you too.” His words were garbled and broken, but Danielle seemed to understand because she just held him tighter.

He felt bad that she was comforting him—after all, how many nightmares and knee scrapes did Jazz get him through, he should be able to handle this just like she did—but she was a grounding presence in a turning world. He wasn’t sure he knew up from down right now, all he knew was he wasn’t enough.

He wasn’t strong enough. Quick enough. Brave enough,

He wasn’t. He wasn’t, he wasn’t he wasn’t hewasn’thewasn’thewasn’t—

His heart stuttered as he felt himself spiraling like an invisible hand reached deep into his chest and twisted his heart until it was upside down. His stomach pulled taught until his insides threatened to tear, bile biting at his throat.

He didn’t know how much longer he could do this.

“Danny!” He felt more than heard her panic, her hands digging into his tender skin.

Focus. He had to focus.

He fought through his cloudy vision, looking down at Danielle. Her eyes were wide with fear, focused on a singular point over his shoulder. Danny twisted around to follow her gaze, it wasn’t like her to get—

Oh no. No, no, no, nonononononono—

The moonlight lit up a dark silhouette, with two distinct points at the top.

Vlad found them. He found them.

He couldn’t breathe. Every hair on his body stood up and he scrambled to push Danielle behind him. The ectoplasm in his chest jumped to life, mixing with the sudden rush of adrenaline.

But he was still too weak from their last fight to properly fight. Danielle was barely keeping her body together—the best he could hope for was letting her get away, get help.

Get someone who could be enough.

“Danny,” she gripped his arm and back, voice cracking over desperate sobs, “what do we do?”

Danny let the green fill his eyes, he couldn’t transform but he could try and look as menacing as possible.

The figure moved closer and Danny scrambled back. As much as he wanted to fight, every inch of his body was begging him to flee, to run away and never look back. But he couldn’t leave Danielle. And he was too weak to hide the both of them.

Never enough, always too weak. Can’t do anything right, can’t protect anyone. What a waste of an afterlife.

His vision blurred at the edges, green light reflecting in the tears running down his face. He would protect her. He had to protect her. Even if it killed him.

“When I tell you to,” he whispered, his voice catching on almost every syllable, “run. Just run.”

She sobbed, holding his hoodie tighter, “No, I won’t leave you. I won’t—you can’t ask me to—”

“Promise me, Danielle,” he continued to inch backward as the shadow moved slowly stalking them, “Please. Just—please.” He needed her to be safe. Then he could die here in peace, knowing that the last few moments of his life were spent doing something good.

That he wasn’t a complete waste of life.

“I won’t leave you,” she said because a the end of the day she was too much like him, “not now, not ever. Please don’t ask me to.”

Danny felt his heart drop. So that was that. They would both die here.

That didn’t mean Danny was going to make it easy for the bastard. He would go down bleeding and biting because he wouldn’t die quietly.

He would die like a Fenton. Yelling and cursing and punching until he faded from existence. He hoped his parents would be proud. Jazz would be proud.

The shadow disappeared, leaping into the air and landing in a big black mass before them, still obscured by the darkness. His heart pounded in his chest as he dig his feet into the concrete beneath him. He pushed down the bile and the tears and the worries.

He raised his fist staring defiantly into the black void.

“You can’t have her. You can’t have either of us,” his voice was shaky but his conviction never wavered.

He let his fists glow green, pulling on the ectoplasm deep inside of him. This fight would take every ounce of power he had—and then more.

So he pushed every bit of his being into his glowing hands and shot at the figure. It was weak—just like him—but he couldn’t focus on that. Not now. Not when everything hinged on him pressing on.

He fired again. And again. And again.

Each bolt was weaker than the last, and the figure moved so quickly that Danny couldn’t even be sure he was hitting it. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t waiver.

His head was spinning, high-pitched ringing echoing in his ears, but he fired anyways. He tried to focus his vision but it kept going in and out like a bad radio frequency. The shadows morphed together and he couldn’t tell if it was because they were moving or because his vision was going black.

He took a deep breath but it wasn’t enough. It was like someone sucked all the oxygen out of his body, leaving him heavy and tingly all over.

Another bolt and his knees gave out underneath him. He crumbled to the ground, trying to hold himself up on all fours but his arms were too tired. They buckled, leaving him panting on the cold concrete, just trying to salvage enough energy to stay awake.

“Danny!" Danielle shouted, but it was echoey. Distant. Like she was a million miles away.

He twisted on the ground, trying to push himself up only to fall over again. In his shaky vision, he could see Danielle standing in front of him, her arms out. Protecting him.

Like he was supposed to be protecting her.

No, no no no no nonono.

She should be running away. She should leave him there, save herself—but he knew she never would.

They were too much alike. Now he would get the both of them killed.

He reached out to her, too weak to form words. But she stood in front of him, as stubborn as only a Fenton could be.

He didn’t want it to end like this. Not when there was so much for her to live for—for him to live for.

He’d never graduate. Never move in with Sam and Tucker like they promised, never see Jazz graduate Harvard, never take a road trip with Danielle. There was so much he’d never do. He’d never see.

His heart ached as he realized how much he wanted to live. How much he wanted both of them to live.

His eyes fluttered shut, unable to keep them open as he prayed to anyone—anything—that would listen.

He just wanted to live.

That was his last thought as the world around him was consumed by darkness.

Danielle had lived long enough to see the true evils of the world. Her father trying to kill her, the homelessness, the poverty, the hurt that thrived in every place that she visited.

But she’d also seen hope. She watched broken people heal, watched the poor lift each other up, seen the kindness that lived in the hearts of people. She’d seen enough to know she wanted to see more. To be someone’s light when they needed it most.

She stood in front of Danny, protecting him with her body, and even though she knew he’d never forgive himself she had to do this. The world needed him. It needed a hero like him.

Not some abomination like her.

“Leave him alone!” she yelled into the shadows. She didn’t have any real power, but maybe Vlad would accept her in his place. Maybe she could convince him that Danny was too valuable to die, that he should just kill her instead.

It was what he wanted after all. Without Danny in the way maybe—just maybe—he would be safe.

“Just—just take me,” she stumbled over sobs, trying to seem as courageous as she could—but she wasn't very good at that— “I’m the one you want. Kill me. Just me.” She whispered the last part, but she knew he would hear.

The large mass moved towards them, and she knew this was it.

She sobbed openly—because she wasn’t as fearless as Danny, she couldn’t face down death like he could. She closed her eyes, arms still out wide waiting for the inevitable. She just prayed he’d only take her. That his obsession with Maddie and Danny was enough to spare him.

The figure blocked out the little bit of light Danielle could see through her closed eyes. He was right in front of her.

She whimpered and all she wanted was to pull into herself. But she stood strong. Like Danny would. Like he had done for her. She hated that it was such a waste of effort, all those times he saved her from the brink. Maybe it would have been easier for all of them if he just let her die the first time.

But that wasn’t who Danny was. And she loved him for that. She loved him so much.

She hoped he knew that. Because she’d never get to tell him again.

But she could do this for him.

She flinched as a hand touched her shoulder. She expected it to grasp her tightly and pull her away from Danny. Maybe it would be filled with unbearable electricity or scalding flames.

But it didn’t do any of that. It just sat gently on her shoulder, like it was trying to reassure her. Trying to calm her.

But that didn’t make sense. Vlad’s touches, even his kind ones, were never gentle.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the voice was unnaturally deep, but there was a softness around the edges.

It could be a trick. A sick and twisted way to make her feel safe before ripping out her heart.

She took a deep breath, still trembling, and dared to open her eyes.

Through the darkness and the tears, it was hard to see, but the figure in front of her wasn’t ghostly at all. There was no glow, no piercing red eyes, only white slits where the eyes should be.

It was a mask. A cape. A costume.

It was Batman.

She actually laughed, watery and broken, seeing his face. Or mask. Or whatever.

It wasn’t Vlad. It wasn’t Vlad. They were okay. They were safe.

At least for the moment.

“I thought. We thought—” she wasn’t sure what to say as she lowered her arms and whipped the tears off her cheeks.

“You thought I was someone else?”

Danielle just nodded, feeling the blood rush to her head. She was so tired and dizzy and she hurt all over.

“Why don’t we get you somewhere safe, and then you can tell me about it?” he asked, and Danielle felt her lip tremble.

Not for a moment did she think he would want to help them, would care. But here he was, crouching in front of her offering them safety.

Danielle nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

There really was kindness in the world. Even in the most unlikely places.

#angst #tw for panic attacks #danny's having a rough time #based on the idea that vlad and batman's shadows look the same #i cried while writing this #the ending line gets me every time #dp/dc week 2022 #mistaken identity #dpxdc #danny phantom #dani phantom #batman

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starryeyedadmirer · 1 year

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Noah Centineo: SuperBody

-Noah x Reader-

!!CW: This one gets kinda dirty!! — Belly Worship (Playing, Rubbing, Kissing, Licking), Navel Worship (Fingering, Kissing, Kissing, etc.), Smells/Odors, Weight Gain, Masturbation, C*m

Synopsis: Noah’s recently returned home from shooting a movie, on location — and, now that he’s back in your sights again, his body looks… well… bigger than it did before he went away. With such a crippling weakness to the craft services table, it’s no surprise that he’s put on a few pounds… and — with his stomach so close to your face — you love the way he wears the new weight. As you admire his rounder belly, he gets an urgent message, informing him that he’s being considered for a part in a superhero film… and, as excited to hear the news as you are, you’re not ready to kiss his softer figure goodbye, just yet. Rather than using shallow words to express your joy, you’d rather show him how happy you are for him… and use your mouth to give him, and his squishy tummy, something that they can really feel.

Words: 2,728

Wattpad Link — “Celebrity Worship Fics” Series

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Noah's body is more fascinating to you than it's ever been before — your own personal heaven as you closely admire it for the first time in months. You never knew how much you'd miss it — it's smell, it's shape, it's warmth — but now that you've got it back in your sight, his godlike physique is everything you want and more. His broad shoulders, his thick arms, his full chest — each a vivid picture in your mind. You know his form like the back of your hand — down to each and every freckle — but after lifting his shirt up over his head, you immediately find that it's been through it's fair share of change.

His abs look softer — plumped over and far less defined than they were before... but that's completely understandable — he usually returns with a few extra pounds on him when he comes home from set anyway. Craft services are his weakness when he's away — he'd preach about it on the highest mountain if he could — and you have to admit, you prefer the look of his fuller figure over his usual toned physique. You're in a state of pure awe, closely examining the new state of his body. The developed curvature of his V-line, now beautifully defined with a thick layer of extra weight, tantalizes you. His belly button, the hole that was once nothing more than an insignificant dip in his abdomen, has now widened — become so open and prominent that it's nearly impossible to ignore. It looks deeper, darker — somewhat hypnotic — a new orifice for you to explore.

"Woah," Noah blurts out, his phone held up to his face as you drop his jeans down to his ankles, "Management is blowing up my phone right now! Listen to this. That audition I had a little while back — the one I told you about a few months ago — apparently they really liked me. Guess they've been trying to get a hold of me for a while, 'cuz... wow. Anyway, if everything works out, I could possibly — and this is a huge maybe — be in a DC movie!"

You're happy to hear the news — you're always thrilled whenever he's up for a big role — but now's no time for congratulations... not in the verbal sense anyway. The two of you haven't been physical in what feels like forever, and now that he's finally with you again — with more body to love — you won't waste any time getting to what you want. You'll have to spare him the words, show him just how elated you are to hear the news instead... and how badly you've missed him.

"Mmm... that's great, Noah." You breathe your sentiments into his tender skin — your face and hands pressed against his warm figure — and lay a wet kiss just above his hip. "I guess it's only right that we celebrate, hmm? Let's do something nice... just you and me." Your lips drag lower and lower with every word, until they're planted on the waistline of his shorts.

He gives his body over to your mouth almost instantaneously, relaxing his already softened midsection, and puts his phone down beside you on the bed. "I guess we should," he smirks, his broadened hips twisting between your hands, "W-what kind'a nice thing do you got in mind?"

"Oh, I think you know, Big Guy..."

Slowly, you push Noah's yellow basketball shorts down below his waist, teasing his hips with the tips of your fingers as they fall. They're the only thing keeping you from what you want, the single part of him you've been missing the most. "Oh, do I," he questions you, wriggling himself free, "well... if you mean what I think you mean... I guess I wouldn't mind some of that."

He takes your hands down from his sides and rests them on the lower-side of his abdomen — just below the slight curvature of his new belly, and right above his semi-hard dick. He's freshly shaven, as close to the skin as a set of clippers can get, and all set for you to have your way with him. "Mmm... neither would I," you reply, "You've been gone too long! I was starting to think I'd never see this beautiful body of yours again... and by the looks of it, you've cleaned up for me."

"Mmm... Maybe I did. I was getting a little impatient too — of course, not as impatient as you. I figured it'd make things easier if I did a little spring cleaning."

"Well, you figured right..."

You give his head a soft, passionate kiss, and feel it perk up against your lips. It smells strongly of sweat and piney body-wash, a woodsy, manly odor — like he's been cutting down trees in the forest... naked. There's already a clear, sweet-tasting liquid leaking out from it, it's glossed all over your bottom lip. He's halfway to his climax, from a single kiss alone. The look of him, his strong scent, his sweet taste — it's everything you've been missing and more. You want to take him into your mouth completely, suck him up and pleasure him until he explodes, but his belly button — the deep, mesmerizing hole — is staring you right in the face, calling out for your immediate attention.

"Hey, Noah," you ask, under his navel's strange spell, "Weird question, but, um... does your belly button seem a little... different?"

"Yeah... maybe." His teeth shimmer in the lamplight as he smiles down at you. "I know I probably put on a few pounds while I was gone, so, uh... it may have gotten deeper. See for yourself." He takes hold of your finger and places it inside the hole — a move you weren't expecting him to make so boldly.

"Oh... okay."

It's far deeper than it used to be — having widened so much that your finger fits easily inside, up to the first knuckle. Despite it's obvious growth, it's rim has still got a tight hold on you, wrapping around your knuckle like a fitted glove.

"Haha... Woah," he laughs, "that feels weird. I can feel that in the tip of my dick… this—this weird tingling. What's up with that?"

His grip tightens around the base of your finger — a subtle signal for you to pull out — but you ignore it, continuing to feel around. "Don't know," you reply, "Maybe your belly button is another one of your special places. Who knows... if I finger it long enough, you might cum all over me and spoil the fun."

"Mmm... you think? Well, your finger's cold. Don't think I can cum if you've got cold fingers, Frosty. Now take it out... I got some other special places I want you to touch."

Admittedly, your hands are a bit frigid. The air conditioning in your room has been on full blast all day, combatting the sweltering summer heat outside, and you've gotten pretty acclimated to the cold.

"Frosty? Like the snowman? Oh, how clever..." You push farther into the hole, watching his shaft twitch as the tingling feeling runs through it again. "It's just a bit drafty in here, Noah. I had to turn on the AC in the house, 'cuz it was getting muggy. Luckily — for me at least — I don't feel too chilly. The inside of your belly button is hot, it's like a sauna in there or something."

He rolls his eyes and tightens up on your finger a second time — this time near its tip — making big circles with it. It's coated in the viscous fluid, only collecting more as it trails around the walls — a motion that turns the both of you on.

"Oh yeah? Well, I... Augh... woah..."

The rim stretches around your knuckle, squeezing it tightly and releasing every few seconds — it's like a thick, wet rubber ring, giving and straining against your skin while you make your rounds. His gut moves too — jiggling like a big bowl of jelly with the cyclical motion of your hand.

"Nice comeback, Mush-Mouth. Sounds like you're starting to like this." You twist your finger out from his loosening grip and slip it back into his navel, moving it slowly around like you'd done before. "God, it's good to hear that moan again. Guess you like the feeling of my finger in your belly button, hmm? It really is a special place, huh, Big Guy?"

Unable to form a clear sentence, he simply nods, letting out a long, labored breath — trying to make words.

"I... Uuhhh... Yeah."

He looks like he's about to finish already — his eyes tightly closed, and his mouth held open in a gaping, O-shape — it won't be long before he shoots his first load. You look down at him, anticipating his eruption, but only a slow drip of precum leaks from his head. You've never seen him so aroused from such simple foreplay before — nothing has ever gotten him off like this, so close to release so soon. He's standing over you, belly-out, fully submitted to your finger's will — all yours.

"Mmm... Yeah?" You take your finger out from his navel and wipe it dry on the bedsheets beneath you. "Okay then, Big Boy, let's have some fun."

He takes a deep breath, expanding his relaxed midsection even more. It looks like he's come down from the high of his near-climax — his eyes opening up, and his lips muttering something under his breath. "Big Boy," he repeats, mumbling it to himself again and again, "Big Boy? I like that. I'm your big boy, huh?"

"Mhm. My big, sexy boy, with his big sexy body, and his big sexy belly button." You run your open hands along his abdomen, feeling just how fatty it's come to be. His stomach is surprisingly round, bigger than you've ever seen it before — looking almost as if he's a few months pregnant. It's firm, feeling as though he's just had a meal — nice and taut under the surface of his supple skin — and it moves like one solid ball, jiggling and trembling in your hands. "Just look at you, Noah. You're so big... and sexy."

"Really? Well, I have put on a few pounds these past few months. Was gonna hit the gym tomorrow and start working this sucker off, but hey... if you like it so much, I'll be your Big Boy for as long as you want."

"Good. I like you this way."

He's hard as a rock — standing at his full potential — a stiff 8.5". His head is still dripping wet, leaking a white-ish, translucent fluid everywhere, and leaving little droplets all over the bedsheets beneath you. Watching drop after drop fall from his tip, you rest your lips against his belly, pressing small kisses into the skin around his navel.

"Oh... yeah," he moans, taking hold of either side of your head, "That's... Uahh... that's good. Yeah, kiss on my stomach." His eyes roll to the back of his head, and his mouth drops open — reforming his beautiful orgasm-face.

"Like this, Big Boy?" You wrap your arms around his waist, gripping at his lower-back, and pull him in closer to your mouth — planting a big wet smooch over the rim of his belly button, and suckling on the ring of flesh. He holds your head in place, keeping your lips pressed over his navel, and pulls you in closer. You're pinned, unable to pull free from his tight clutch as he forces himself even harder against your face — smushing you into his hot figure. You can feel his labored breath through his stomach — how it rises and falls sporadically with every gasp of air, trembling out of control. His body is waiting impatiently for you to make your next move, begging for more of your love.

"Yeah," he exhales, puffing out his stomach a bit more, "Mmm... just like that. Get inside my belly button." A small dribble of drool escapes your mouth as it's smushed against his body once again, filling up his navel with hot, sticky saliva, and smearing all over the space around it. The squelching, juicy sound is like music to your ears... encouraging you to get dirty. "Ahh... yeah, kiss it, baby. MMHMM... is that your spit? Fuck! Get that wet tongue of yours in there."

Again, he pulls your face into his body — this time with even more force than he'd used before — smothering you with his hot flesh. A potent, sour odor fills your nostrils as you try your best to breathe — like a festering, sweaty dumpster... or a big hunk of old, rotted cheese — an aroma that you can't quite name... a fragrance that takes you aback. It's unlike anything you've ever smelled on him before... not even the worst of his stenches — nothing like how he smelled before he left you... but then again, you never paid his belly hole any attention before it changed. Maybe this is how it's always been — it's natural, nasty musk — either way, you quickly come to love it... it is his odor, after all. With his navel sat wide open on his stomach, you'll get to know this smell just as well as you've come to know his others — and add it to your long list of Noah's foul odors... odors of which you've learned to enjoy.

"Fuck, Noah... it stinks in there," you moan, taking in as deep of a breath as you can, "Mmm... you're so dirty, aren't you? I bet you never clean this thing." Recoiling your head back from his stomach, you eagerly delve your tongue into the smelly hole — getting a taste of the gritty, bitter flesh that hides deep within the crater. His stomach muscles immediately tense up — flexing hard, as though he's still got his old, chiseled abs — and strain themselves against your tastebuds, forcing his belly inward.

"What?" He exhales. "What's it smell like?" With his heavy gaze fixed onto your mouth, Noah swipes a single finger along the edge of the hole — pushing your tongue aside so that he can collect a good amount of residue in his fingertip — and gives it a good sniff. "Woah," he laughs, wiping the stench from his nostrils, "that's awful! Guess I gotta start cleaning my belly button. Who would've guessed? Ya know, I still feel a little under-appreciated, you haven't shown me how proud you are. Why don't you give me a nice cleaning? I think that'll do." His hand slowly wanders down to his dick, gently tugging on it as he releases the tension in his abs, and relaxes his gut against your face. His mischievous grin is hypnotic... charming you like a snake.

"You really want that tongue bath, huh, Big Guy?," you reply, "Fine them... I'll give you a good clean—..." Before you can finish speaking, Noah smothers you with his stomach once more — causing your tongue to slip right back into it's burrow.

Now, the scale of his pleasure is audible. The clicky sound of his head lubricating itself underneath your jaw, the dry scuffle of his shaft as he strokes it, the incredible volume of his moans — it's music to your ears. "Mmm," he moans, jerking off as you tickle the rim of his navel over and over again, "I think I'm almost there! Fuck... that feels so good, Baby. Go deeper!"

Your saliva quickly pools inside of his belly button — and just as it begins to drip down from the hole, and onto your chin, a warm fluid splashes across your neck... and you know it's not your spit.

"Holy shit! Fuck! I'm cumming!"

Noah's stomach rolls and convulses as he reaches the peak of his climax — continuing to erupt his steamy, white load all over your chest. His breath sounds like that of a sleeping bear, low and labored as he expels his last few drops.

Wow," he sighs, out of breath as he drops onto the mattress, "That was fucking amazing! W—We should do that more often." He looks so sexy, laid across the sheets beside you — his rounded stomach seemingly defying gravity as he catches his wind — absolutely perfect. He may not have the body of a comic book hero, but you'd choose that gorgeous gut of his over Superman's abs any day... and hopefully DC Studios will do the same.

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Thanks for reading ❤️❤️❤️!!!

#starry eyes #noah centineo #noah centineo belly/tummy #noah centineo navel #smut fic #noah centineo smut

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madamefluffnstuff · 1 month

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Uneasy Revelations

Fandom: Elder Scrolls Online

Pairing: Darien Gautier x Fem!Werewolf!Vestige

Rating: T

Warning(s): Werewolves, Supernatural Transformation, Mentions of a -medium- Panic Attack, etc.

Words: 983

AN: I'm sloooowly working through my list of WIP's. In no particular order but still.

A convo about werewolves and angst with @lithiumrev lead to a deliciously angst-y mini fic with unexpected confessions and forgiveness. Which I very lovingly snuck off with, cleaned up a bit to fit the DC storyline, and ran with. ;D

Dairen and the Vestige are kinda sorta in a relationship? Not "official" official but definitely in the heavy flirting stage. There's some feelings.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Darien took a shaky step back as the adrenaline cleared and he returned to his surroundings. His heart suddenly plummeted to his stomach- he couldn't believe what he was seeing with his own two eyes;

The Vestige, standing right where the werewolf had just been. With a sword in her gut. The very sword he just used to fend off the lycanthrope.

“Oh by the Eight, what have I done?!” he screamed. Seeing her as a werewolf brought back so many bad memories from Camlorn, it was only natural he reacted the way he did. He collapsed to one knee and started to assess the situation. By that time the Vestige started to come to and glance up at him, Gabrielle had caught up to them. “Darien! What—" she tried to ask but was caught off guard by an uncharacteristic sob.

“I didn't mean to!” he choked, “It was a werewolf, but then it was Her!”

“Go get my healing staff!” Gabrielle hollered, “Now!” Darien ran to go get it, as the mage checked the Vestige's pulse. “Still strong. That's good," she muttered to herself.

“Here.” Darien gasped, handing her the staff. "I-I didn't realize-" before he could finish his sentence, Gabrielle grabbed his arm.

"Listen to me. Hey- Listen," she grabbed his hand and placed it on the Vestige's chest. “Do you feel that?”

“… Yes.”

“That's her heartbeat. The fact she still has one is a good sign. Now I need you to keep your hand there and tell me if it weakens or stops. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah, I can.”

The mage worked in a tense silence, glowing hands hovering above the Vestige's chest, making their way down to the gut wound. “I know why you did it, and I know we should have told you," she began. “But after the liberation of Camlorn she... She was terrified that you would leave.” Darien had the Vestige's head in his lap and was monitoring her pulse as best he could while his thoughts were racing. “Daire? Did you hear me?”

“Y-Yes.” he answered shakily, taking in her features. Her paling face and shallow breathing were all he could focus on.

Just as Gabrielle was finishing with the bandages, the Vestige's eyes flew open and she gasped, hard. The looks on her comrades faces told her everything- she knew what had transpired without either of them saying a word.

"Darien?! Oh gods, I'm so sorry! I'm so so sorry-!" Darien stopped her mid-sentence with a bone-crunching hug.

"Oh thank the Eight- thank the Eight you're okay-" he choked again. "I'm so glad you're alive-"

Gabrielle let out a small chuckle. “I’ll give you two some space. Come get me if something happens, okay?”

As their panic subsided and the renewed adrenaline tapered off, Darien scooped the Vestige up and carried her to one of the nearby infirmary tents. Luck was once again on their side, as the tent was empty. As he kneeled and gingerly laid her down on one of the cots, he caught a glimpse of the bandages on her belly. He felt a little sick seeing them, knowing he was the reason she needed them.

“I don't know what to say…” he said quietly.

“Just... sit with me, please,” she answered. “Talk to me about how this makes you feel.”

“To be honest, I don't know if I can.”

“Well, just talk, then. About anything. I know this hurts you too.”

"You have no idea, Vestige."

Darien proceeded to ramble about everything that popped into his mind- The panic when he saw the werewolf, how he felt when he first realized it was her, how scared he was when he realized what he did-

How sorry he was. How so incredibly sorry he was, the guilt was eating him up. It was a split-second panic decision, he had no idea it was her.

She listened quietly, taking in his words and hearing him out. Her eyes closed after a minute, and she laid her head on his chest plate as his arm wrapped comfortingly around her shoulders.

"I know I should have told you," she murmured as his hand rubbed up and down. "I'm sorry about that. It's just... I know how badly what happened in Camlorn affected you. I didn't want you to leave..."

Darien inhaled through his nose as he processed what she just said. Him? Leave her? Unthinkable. And he told her as much. "I wouldn't ever dream of it, my dear."

A small chuckle escaped her tired lips. "I know this probably makes you uncomfortable, but- That transformation was rather sudden for me as well. I didn't intend for you to find out like-"

He interrupted her with a tender kiss on her temple. "It surprised me at first, I'll admit. I was wondering why there was one rogue werewolf attacking the others. Should have known it was you when I couldn't find you on the battlefield.

"But you helped so much when you transformed. I can forgive you for that."

The Vestige looked up at him and blinked. "Just like that? You're okay with it? After what happened in Camlorn?"

He nodded. "Of course. You had nothing to do with that. At least I hope you didn't."

"I assure you I did not."

"Good. Then all is forgiven. We can figure this out. Just- don't, uh, "wolf out" when I'm around, alright? Don't think I could take that sight."

She chuckled. "I will do my best not to."

~*~

Gabrielle leaned against the support post outside the tent, just out of sight from the entrance. She had brought some extra healing supplies in case the Vestige needed it, but after her (mostly) unintentional eavesdropping, she knew her friend would be fine. Besides, Darien could keep an eye on her.

If he could remain focused on the task at hand, that is.

#I assure you all my next werewolf piece will not be angst #need some fluffy werewolf content now #elder scrolls online #eso #eso vestige #werewolf #werewolf vestige #darien gautier #eso darien gautier #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #writing #my writing #eso fic #fanfic

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12pt-times-new-roman · 2 years

Text

c3e38

The connection between Delilah and Laudna is diminished, not gone.

"She means a lot to you, right?" "...she means everything."

In theory, the final roll for this resurrection ritual should be 1d20 + 5, since Pike has to make the final check and her wisdom is +5. If Laudna's DC is 11, and if all the contributions are successful, that puts the DC at 2.

......oh. Matt is implying that this resurrection ritual will succeed no matter what, but if the check fails, Delilah will come back, not Laudna.

Pike is casting this ritual with dispel evil built into the resurrection! That's what the powdered silver is for :)

Orym's contribution: "Laudna. I know I don't know you any better than the rest of us, but I know your history. You deserve to be more than a footnote in Delilah's story. There are people here who need you. They need your life and your heart. I don't know what Bells Hells will be without your darkness, Laudna. Or your light. Please, we don't want to leave anyone behind. Least of all you. We gotta get that blood flowing through your veins again. Please, come back." Red poppies bloom through Laudna's black hair. Nature check: 11, against a DC of 10.

FCG's contribution: "Laudna, you might not have been perfect, but you loved and you loved, Escargot and Sashimi, and you loved Imogen, and I've always been told that a soul that loves at least touches perfection. You once said to me that the worst thing that ever happened to you has already happened, and now I can say that the worst thing that ever has happened to us has already happened. With you not here, it's really scary, and not the fun kind. Pike said that you might not want to come back, so I'm afraid we can't let you do that." They cast compulsion on her to compel Laudna to come back. Intimidation check: natural 1.

Imogen's contribution: "You know you saved my life, right? If you hadn't come to town when you did, I don't know how long I would've lasted. These last few years have been everything. Through it all, through all the laughter and all the hardships, she was with you. She was choking you. If you come back, I don't know how you're gonna feel, I don't know if you'll feel free or if you'll feel empty. But I want you to know, whatever hole she's leaving, I'll be there to help fill it, alright? I'll be there for you. I'm not gonna tel you to come back, I'm not gonna try to compel you to come back, because that choice, Laudna, is yours now. No one gets to control you anymore, alright? Just know that I love you. And I'm here." She puts Pate on Laudna's chest. Persuasion check: 7.

Pike makes the final caster check.

"A moment passes. In that stillness, you hear Pike exhale. 'Come on, come on.' Vex leans forward. 'Pike, did it—' 'I don't—' She leans forward and places her hand over Laudna's mouth, nose. 'Is she a real shallow breather?' She slaps the side of Laudna's face, and Laudna jolts awake."

Laudna's DC started at 12, went to 9, then went up to 11. Pike rolled a 16.

she's sitting next to Imogen!!!

"I remember hearing you, I remember seeing you— all of you. I remember all of it."

There's no apparent visual/physical change. From a passing detect thoughts, FCG gets "a flip book of all the memories she was reliving and going through. Confusion. Terror. Frustration. Regression. A little lost."

Percy had five dozen riflemen and fifty pale guard surrounding the house, plus himself up on a platform with some "perfected" version of Bad News.

Pike used raise dead, so Laudna has -4 to every ability check, attack roll, and saving throw. The penalty reduces by 1 after each long rest.

Hollow Ones count as undead for the purposes of hunter's bane.

"It feels like a dream, this one's just not a nightmare... are you sure this isn't one of her tricks?" "I promise."

oh the sweet, sweet parallels between Laudna and Percy.... Laudna knowing that these children will never know anything different than a Whitestone that is beautiful, alive, colorful, and Percy fighting tooth and nail to ensure it.

Laudna's form of dread no longer has a mourning veil; it cracks and crumbles away, it falls like the leaves fall from the Sun Tree. Branches start sprouting from her shoulders as she leans against the tree-- almost an entire lifecycle, years' worth of seasons as the branches bloom, wither, then fall.

did Laudna just take the Sun Tree as her patron?? form of dread is a warlock ability so???

"Have you felt it? The tree? It's warm... Lady Vex'halia, Imogen, you should feel it too."

"Miss Trickfoot, may I give you a hug?" FEARNE

Well, she tried. but Pike's passive wisdom is 21 — meaning both passive perception and insight.

Laudna took pact of the chain!

it gives her the ability to cast find familiar, and lets her familiar take additional forms. because he can fly and speak Common, he's using the stat block of either an imp or a sprite, but I'm guessing he's an imp.

FCG and Zerxus have equal and opposite brands of hubris based in the "I can fix him" mentality

Fearne got a gun for Mister. from the man who invented firearms. that's more or less a tiny potato cannon.

Whitestone has been aware of missing residuum shipments for some time, but the care that was taken to keep them enshrouded was extensive. Threads led them eastward, and they believed the involvement came from Wildemount. Percy thinks the Assembly are a "messy" organization to confront, and had hoped that they weren't involved.

As for the solstice— the Apogee Solstice is a once in a (human) lifetime thing that tends to draw out "the best and the worst of Exandrian society." Anyone with an interest in cheating their way into a better position through magic will be trying their damndest to achieve things normally unheard of or impossible.

and on Ruidus— Percy sketches the pattern of the Divine Gate, which has a design to it, "something that looks like a kaleidoscope, a fractal pattern within the lattice that spirals around." It looks very similar to the lattice around Ruidus. "The Divine Gate is one continuous entity, a barrier. It's hard to describe; it's a boundary that exists between these dimensions, but it's not a thin sheet, it's a bit more esoteric. It only exists in the spaces between dimensions, and only exists around Exandria."

They have contacts in Vasselheim who can look into this and try to connect the dots, but again, a lot of things are happening in a lot of places very quickly.

that's a lot. so is Ruidus the "gate" part of the Divine Gate, the lock that's holding the door closed? if it's appearing in the Feywild, does it still have this lattice while it's there? and if it doesn't, then was Imogen seeing the lattice just a result of looking through the lattice around Exandria, not actually a lattice around Ruidus?

Vex gives Laudna a ring of protection!

aw Marisha moved back

MOON DREAM MOON DREAM

and FCG has share dream up

FCG's spells come from the arcane weave?

Imogen finds herself "standing in the same grass field, the same childhood open field that the dreams continue to start in, but there isn't green, there isn't your horse. The red storm is already around you... you can see the faint outline of FCG joining you in this dream... you see, ahead of you, a shadowed shape that just moves away and vanishes into the dust, away from you. You step closer and closer, and you can see, it's a broader shape. Not the thin, familiar feminine warrior body that you faced off with in Bassuras. This is more of a masculine warrior's outline. It's hard to make out the specifics, but you see the walking figure stop and glance over its shoulder for just a moment, and then it's gone. (It had similarities to when Bertrand and the twins walked away.) You keep walking forward, and the wind gets stronger and stronger, the grasses of the field giving way to dirt and broken rock... You've acknowledged in this space that spellcraft has no effect, but the will of your mind influences the journey you take. The storm continues to grow colder and darker, until eventually the vibrant red becomes a deep, dark maroon. As the wind begins to die, the space above you begins to thin. Where the dust dies down, instead, you see a dark voided scape filled with thousands and thousands of stars. You glance up, and the stars begin to blink out, until within a few moments inky blackness sits above you both. The storm subsides and you put your consciousness back down to where you're standing, but there's nothing there. Lightless space beneath you, around you, until you can't even see each other. In that moment, all you have is the physical sense of your hands holding together, you feel yourself being pulled away until your grip finally gives, and you both come to consciousness in the morning."

Fearne talks to the Sun Tree! [Can you open a door?]

"Eyyy Fearne. I mean. People make doors outta trees, we don't do it ourselves. But you figure it out, you know where I am... [How long have you been here?] Oh, a looong time. [Did you ever notice when they put up a new moon?] No, s'long as I've been here, there's always been two. [Are you excited for the solstice?] I guess a little. It's interesting, and makes me feel all tingly."

Sending to Eshteross: "Are you alive still? I had a dream." No response.

Chetney's gift to Imogen is a big movable wind-up horse! it's very pretty.

"Gilmore's Glorious Goods: Whitestone Expansion"!!

The guy working the shop at the moment (Gilmore is in Emon) is apparently very skilled at carving wood. He enchanted a little wooden gryphon to fly. And I mention this because Chetney looks very suspicious of him.

FCG has run off to the temple of the Changebringer. "I'm drawn to [this coin]... it's little and it's metal, but it has a purpose... I'm thinking more about what my purpose is, and I'm wondering if you have any insight, or if she might... I guess I'm just wondering how to talk to her."

FCG speaks toward the Changebringer. "I don't know if you can hear me, and I don't know if you can speak, but I'll be listening, and I'll be waiting, and I guess I'll be hoping for you to... just let me know that you're there. I guess that's the first step. I don't need anything more than that just to know that someone out there knows who I am and that I exist."

We're back in Jrusar!

Another sending to Eshteross: "Eshteross? Tell me you were just sleeping earlier. Are you there? Wake up!" Nothing.

Eshteross' estate is covered in blood and sprung traps.

At the base of the bed, there is a "humanoid body, face down, reaching underneath. A familiar maroon-patterned robe." Chetney goes in and smells "blood, but it feels a little off." Getting close, the body is riddled with wounds — gash marks, fine slashes, the robe is barely held together.

"The smell of blood is strong, but it... it smells off. It's hard to describe. You're very familiar with the blood of humanoid creatures, and there's something off about it. The other thing you smell is the smell of blood you've tasted before. There's the faintest smell, a sage or an oil, that is distinctly Otohan that just barely lingers — barely."

Beneath the bed, where Eshteross was reaching, is an iron lockbox. Chet fails to pick the lock on it.

Yeah. No pulse. This is one of those situations like the Nicodranas vs. Felderwin thing in C2, where if the M9 went to Felderwin instead of Nicodranas they would've been there when the town was attacked, right? They went to Whitestone instead of staying in Bassuras, and Eshteross is dead because of it.

In Eshteross' pocket, Chet finds a bunch of different keys on a ring, presumably for different things in the house.

Inside the box is a cluster of envelopes. Sealed letters, all with names. Evelyn Ress. Lex Emnar. Chief Wilder Neimenoros. Ajit Dyal. Orlana Shishadri. Menaia Trei. Bells Hells.

The letter to Bells Hells—

Travis is reading this way too fast for me to transcribe ;-;

There's something in there about fate and people who bend history to their wills?

In essence, it's a final will and testament. Eshteross knows he was living on borrowed time, and thanked the Hells for their time. He gave them his cookie recipe, the blade in his cane (named Turmoil), and the ownership of the Silver Sun, along with a year's worth its crew's time.

They finally have a sky ship!!!

From the blood on the cane, Orym identifies that odd smell as the same type of poison that affected Will and Derrig, that "locks away" any chance of resurrection.

Hold up. If Eshteross is dead and Imogen saw him walking into the storm the night that he died, the same way she saw Bertrand...... what does that say about the Lumas twins? She saw them weeks after they (supposedly?) died.

#critical role #note watches c3 #critical role spoilers #critical role campaign 3 #critical role c3 #critical role liveblog

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madaboutmunson · 2 years

Text

The Reflex - High Voltage (Ending 2) Part 8/8)

Characters: OC, Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson

Warnings: Fluff, angst, kisses, more AC/DC

Thora lay back in the inflatable doughnut, looking up at the sky, her bottle in hand dangling aimlessly in the water, and she gently bobbed around the centre of the pool.

When any confusing racing thoughts entered her head, she focused back into the sky or the AC/DC album playing loudly at the poolside, trying to bury it way down.

She wasn't sure what she was trying to unpack in her mind. She wished Thorin was still around to talk to. Even though his advice usually ended up with "Fuck 'em all, Ra! Just be yourself and let the world come to you."

How could she even be herself if she didn't know who that was? Thora takes another swig from the bottle and lazily lies back, hoping the answers will magically come to her.

She knew the repercussions were imminent. She'd just left them there. They'd probably be worried, angry even, and although that wasn't her intention, it felt like a suitable price to pay for the hour of brain peace she had floating around into the never.

There are many things Thora wished she could turn back time to change, but this was in the top 3. The reaction she had, was not the one she'd planned. She thought she'd feel overjoyed, but something churned in her stomach. Something she wasn't understanding.

Thora doesn't hear it, but a cab pulls up outside the house. Eddie and Robin step out of it.

"What does she even think she was doing? That was so stupid?!" Robin rages at Eddie

"Buckley, You've asked me a hundred different versions of the same fucking question all the way here, and honestly, the answer is still the same. You'll have to ask her yourself," Eddie says through gritted teeth pinching his fingers together.

"I don't even know if I want to speak to her right now. So what, it's fine for her to paw all over you, but I can't kiss someone? Does she need all attention on her all the time or something? Urgh," Robin grunts, clenching her fists at her sides.

Eddie stops Robin from storming into the house by grabbing her by the shoulder to look at him, "Now listen, and listen real closely, Buckley. She wasn't pawing over me. She was just doing what she thought she should be doing. She only went to find you because she was worried you were upset. I tried to tell her not to, but she wouldn't listen. This was not sabotage, I'm sure of it."

"Really? What did she think was gonna happen when we figured out she was missing? What, we'd just carry on with our evenings? Also, why aren't you more enraged about this? She left you, just straight up left you after everything you did today." Robin seethes.

Eddie smiles and shakes his head at Robin, "I was heavily inspired by someone not too far away from me to do all of those things. But, you know, I've had worse days." He puts his hands in his pockets and sighs, "I think I'm just gonna go to bed."

Robin's eyes go wide, "Are you kidding me right now? So you aren't gonna say *anything* to her about the way she acted?" She gestures wildly at the quickly approaching front door.

Eddie looks in the eyes, "I think you have all the reprimand she needs covered, and I get the feeling I'd be more scenery than anything useful. You know?" he squints at Robin to see if she grasps his meaning.

She narrows her eyes, frowns back at him, and unlocks the front door.

Eddie goes to walk up the staircase and turns back quickly, "In the unlikely event she does ask about me, can you tell her" he looks to the side and then back at Robin, "Tell her she owes me, but I understand, they are one of my favourite bands too" He smiles broadly and runs up the stairs.

"That boy is so fuckin weird," she says to herself, and she steps into the back garden.

"Thora!" She yells, marching towards the pool. Undressing as she goes, neatly arranging Thora's mom's clothes on a lounger, before continuing her march, stomping into the shallow end of the pool, until she waist deep, "Thora fucking Harriton!"

Thora snaps her head around and falls out of the inflatable, with just enough sense to keep her drink above the water, as she moves towards Robin.

"Rob, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" Thora pleads.

"You are a colossal dickhead Thora, co-lossal!! Have you any idea how stupid that was? You could be diced up into little pieces by now. Some weirdo's new skin suit. Slashed to ribbons. Friends don't do that, Thora! We were so worried!"

The we makes Thora swallow hard. Eddie, a new wave of guilt washes over her. "Is Eddie inside too?" She asks meekly.

"Yeah, lucky for you, he's being weirdly, very understanding about the whole thing. Apparently, I'm enough force to be reckoned with," Robin snaps back at her.

"He is?" Thora asks quietly, putting her drink on the poolside, occasionally looking up at the bedroom windows from the pool.

"Yes, he is. He said you owe him. He understands and that he likes the band too or something." Robin tries to recall.

Thora snaps her head back up to the windows when a glint of something catches her eye.

Eddie is standing in the window, smiling broadly but at the same time giving Thora the middle finger salute on both hands, mouthing idiot.

Robin follows Thora's eye line, and Eddie runs away from the window at top speed.

"You could at least do me the decency of looking at me whilst I'm yelling at you, Thora, instead of looking up there for your loverboy", Robin snarls.

"I'm sorry, Rob. I thought I saw something, but it doesn't matter, ok? You have my full attention. All of it. I am so sorry if I ruined your evening. I just had to get out of there. That was all. I didn't really think it through." Thora pleads with Robin for understanding.

"Do you have any idea how that makes me feel, Thora? You had to leave? What after you'd found me? What you saw was so repulsive, you had to leave, was it?"

"No," Thora says calmly. Stupidly thinking if she has a calm tone, Robin might calm down too.

"Is it so messed up that I met someone tonight that would want me like, you wanted Eddie? Is that so bizarre?" Robin is livid, clenching her fists, eyes narrowed, and words sharp like knives.

"No, Rob, please..." Thora tries to explain.

"Was it all an act? Your acceptance of me? But deep down, it turned your stomach didn't it" Robin's eyes pool with tears as she pokes Thora's shoulder, 'Didn't it?! In practice, it hit different, didn't it?" A tear escapes Robin's eye.

Thora shuts her eyes. She can't stand to see Robin cry. She was furious with herself for being the cause of Robin's upset, "Ok!" She yells, "You're right, ok?! In practice, it wasn't how I thought I'd feel, and I'm sorry for that."

"Oh hoh-hoh, there it is. You're a fucking piece of work, Thora Harriton. Well, you know what. Fuck you. Fuck this place. I'm out." The tears roll down Robin's face as she mocks Thora and yells into the night.

Thora watches Robin get to the steps of the pool, unable to speak. Finally, Robin turns her back on Thora.

"I wished it was me!" Thora yells after her.

Robin stands still.

"I wished I was that girl, Rob. I wished it was me" Robin turns her head to the side but doesn't move.

Thora chokes on her own tears, "I...I just didn't know. I've never wanted to be someone else more in my entire life," Thora begs, moving through the water after her, "Please, Robin, I'm so sorry. It was selfish of me. It's selfish of me to tell you the truth, but I wasn't disgusted, alright? It wasn't what you thought, that's all. I just wanted you to know that."

The truth being released pulls at the loose thread of Thora's resolve, and she sobs into her own hands, repeatedly apologising, "I'm so fucking sorry."

"But you like Eddie," Robin says carefully.

Hearing a reply makes Thora's heart leap, "Yes, ok. I like Eddie, but I...it's not the..." Thora takes a deep breath and looks directly at Robin, "but I don't...I don't...love Eddie, Rob."

"All of today, though..." Robin finally turns around to face Thora.

Thora moves forward a few steps, "I got swept up in it, Robin. I'm sorry. The scrunchie, the record shop, the pool."

Thora shakes her head, and something clicks, "Wait...that was you...all of that was you...wasn't it?" Thora points at Robin, her face awash with realisation.

Thora moves up the steps towards Robin, "You told him to be there, to do those things, everything except the nightclub? Then, outside the shop, getting to the door before me, you coached him."

Robin blinks tears from her eyes and just stares at Thora.

"You said earlier about moving the pieces. You played Barbies with us, Robin. Your favourite tropes, right?" Thora looks up at Robin, eyes wide.

"I needed someone to play the part I couldn't," Robin says deliberately.

Thora goes to move forward again but stops, looking a little confused. "Wait, for Eddie or for me?".

Robin laughs, and it's music to Thora's ears, "You...you moron", Robin adds, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand, sitting down on the steps, "is it all that hair that makes you both act this dumb sometimes?" Robin teases.

Thora tried to resist a smile, she wanted to reach out and grab Robin, but she was still unsure.

She sits next to Robin on the steps, reaches over, and scoops her hands in her own, "Is this ok?" Thora asks gently.

Robin nods, "It's more than, ok. It's... nice" Thora hangs her head and sighs with relief, laughing a little along with Robin. Their eyes meet, and Thora feels like it's the first time she has ever really looked into Robin's eyes. Like a bolt of lightning struck her straight in the heart, setting her very soul aflame.

Something jolts Thora back into reality. "Oh shit, I'm sorry. The girl at the club, right." She lets go of Robin's hands, "I'm sorry...again... that was selfish of me...again. My god, why are you my friend again?" Thora laughs.

Robin taps nervously on her knees and looks out over the pool before turning back to look at Thora, "You know, I'm not exactly sure why I'm your friend, you know. Maybe we should try a different dynamic."

Robin is met with a look on Thora's face which is half a smile and half confused worry.

Robin rolls her eyes and grins, "It is all that hair isn't it?"

"Huh?" Thora manages before Robin grabs at her face with both hands and kisses her, the force of which pushes Thora backwards off the steps, and she flails under the water.

Thora stands up out of the water, coughing and spluttering in front of a giggling Robin.

"Oh, it's funny, is it?" Thora says, grabbing Robin and wrestling her into the water. Robin's screams and laughter pierce the night.

High voltage,

Thora hears Bon Scott sing out, and she doesn't hesitate.

She spins Robin around and picks her up onto her hips.

High voltage

Thora cups the side of Robin's face with one hand and leans in to kiss her softly.

When their lips meet, electricity floods Thora's nervous system, crashing into her brain and making her dizzy. It was just like...

High voltage rock 'n' roll

#Spotify #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiemunson #eddie stranger things #eddie the freak munson #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #romance #robin buckley x oc #robin x oc #robinbuckley #robin buckley #robin stranger things

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generallybrontidefeelings · 3 years

Text

Stressed

Rating: NC-17

A/N: Brought to you by this post. I'm tired and sleepy and don't want to make any decisions. The degree is an actual MS you can get from American University in DC. U of Tennessee’s anthropology dept. hosts what’s called a body farm. It's a lab for forensic pathology students. Do NOT I repeat DO NOT look up pictures.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader, Marcus Pike x you

Summary: Marcus Pike is an associate faculty member at your forensics college. You ask him to be your second reader for your thesis, even though you have a huge crush on him. Nothing is better than something, right? By the time you pass your exam, you're so pent up you could scream.

Warnings: cadaver talk, pining, age difference, some power dynamics?, annoying college talk, sex, dirty talk, a God awful metaphor curtesy of Blanche Devereaux, 39

“Take a deep breath.”

You huff in a small shallow breath. Then let it out, and take in a longer, fuller one.

“Now let it out.” You let your cheeks puff up as cool air streams past your lips. “You’ve made huge improvements, and you’ve studied hard. The paper exam will be easy, and the oral will be a cinch.”

You gulp. “I know. It’s just...pre-show jitters, you know?”

He gives you a full smile, and flips the document shut. You hand him the binder clip, accidentally brushing his fingers when you do.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

You swallow, fiddling with your paper edge. God you feel like a twelve year old. You're fucking twenty-seven and about to apply for the FBI, why are you such a sap? He’s not available. Not even remotely. He will be gone in a year, back to the Bureau. There is no reason to nurse a crush. And you curse yourself for asking a man you’re attracted to - you, idiot, idiot! - to spend more time with you. Even if it is reading your dull chapter.

"No, I have everything I need, thanks."

"Then scoot. I have to read like...thirty pages of Tanner's chapter before he gets here."

You pull your bag to your shoulder. "you're not going to get that far," you scoff. The tensing in your shoulders relaxes a little when you stand to leave.

"We'll see," he says. He opens the door of his office for you. You glance back once more, and he's still in the doorway watching you go. "See you tomorrow."

"See you." Your mind swirls back and forth between thoughts of Mr. Pike, your thesis, Pike, your oral defence, your paper exam in two days, Marcus crossing his ankles in his reading chair. And you walk. Straight ahead, not looking back. But when you get to the door handle you turn around. And he's still there. Watching.

You've never been so stressed in your life.

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

You met Marcus Pike on a muggy afternoon in August deep in the heart of Tennessee. The air warped off the pavement as you drove together to the School of Anthropology to visit your cadaver lying relaxed and prostrate in the middle of a fenced field. The air is already warm, then lightning flashes in the clouds to your right, and plopping rain drops scatter across the lawn, and dampens A-0017’s second hand suit. His raisinette hands lie against the grass almost like he’s communing with the earth. You watched the water hit his face, and permanently closed eyelids, and shaved head.

You had no business being so fidgety while kneeling next to a cadaver. Agent Marcus Pike and the facility director chat a couple feet away, leaving you to your business with A-0017. Pike had never been to the school’s mysterious forensics lab, even though he had plenty of time to when he was earning his own masters. That’s what he said in his email to you three weeks earlier. He’d heard a first-year student was running a fibrous material experiment and asked to tag along. And you said yes. Why not? He was faculty. It wasn’t unheard of. His email was so polite too, letting you know if you weren’t comfortable he understood. Pike. The name rattled a memory somewhere. So you emailed him back, and the next morning he sent you his itinerary: he would meet you in Tennessee. He’d even pay for the rental car.

You sent your advisor a quick text to ask if he was ‘crazy.’ She’d sent back the laughing emoji. No, she said, Marcus Pike isn’t a crazy. You’ll like him.

You did like him. He was waiting for you at the Hertz desk, and heat licked up your skin when you realized - he was striking. He was the type of man you’d make eyes at in a bar without any hope of even getting a number. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, and he had a softness brought on by a light scruff that didn’t hide his dimples. You barely registered that he was apologizing for not getting to introduce himself before flying out, but promised he was who he said he was. Even pulled out his credentials.

“Bureau?” you said to his badge. “I thought you were an associate professor?” You want to smack yourself.

Oh, “I am,” he replied. He dug in his wallet and pulled out a campus ID that matched yours. “I’m taking an interim year. I thought teaching would be a nice way to ease into DC life.”

Now he was here, sweating under the storm clouds while watching you unbutton A-0017’s shirt, and half listening to the director tell him all about how they kept the lawn looking green despite, ahem, fluids. You sternly told A-0017 to be on their best behavior while you pulled their shirt back to examine some fiber swatches stapled to his rubbery chest.

On the flight back Pike asked you all about your thesis plans. You stuttered as you began. He waited, patient. You were writing on how the FBI could contribute to cultural repatriation efforts internationally by returning art pieces. Do you know what it could do to boost scholarly opportunities? The doors it could open! Why put it in cold storage when it could revitalize movements? Art breathes, after all. You were exhausted by the time the plane landed. Both from answering questions, and from keeping a steadily building tension under wraps. You hoped he didn’t notice how you crossed your legs.

“I’d love to read it.” He handed your backpack down from the overhead bin.

“Maybe you should be my second reader.” You got serious when his face perked up. “I still need one.”

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

That was nine months ago.

Your exams are in a week, and instead of thinking about preparing, all you can think of is that once everything is turned in, you probably won’t see Marcus again. He’s been your anchor these last months, and you’ve gotten used to his solid presence and encouraging platitudes. You cup your hot cheeks because it’s a dirty thought.

He lets you work in his office for a couple hours a week every week. The crammed little space is tight quarters, but he makes room for your laptop anyway. Sometimes you worked together heads bent for full time. Sometimes he read pages from your thesis, and you help him grade some papers from his first-year art history course. And sometimes you drink three pm coffee together and don’t work at all. It’s your favorite time of the week. The glow his praise gives you is embarrassing. And he’s an easy companion - nope, colleague. Your heart beats and your mouth waters every time you’re fifteen feet from his office door. The cold door knob jolts you took. You harbor a secret. Keep it warm in your belly. It swirls hungrily deep in you.

But now it’s a problem. You’re so distracted. Every time you leave his office, you’re tense from want. Your body is already over-caffeinated and achy from sitting in hard library chairs so long. But you keep going. Every time an anxious heat lights up the alarms in your head your instinct is to ask him what to do. You have to rest your hands in your head and remind yourself: he isn’t your babysitter, he’s a grown man who doesn’t have boundless time to tell you what to do. You have to figure it out yourself. Even if you really just want him to tell you what this or that section needs, is the title here misleading, is it lunch time, do you think the tone here is condescending?

What do you think? What do you want it to look like?

You think you want to grab his dumb button down collars and bite his lip. You want it to look flushed and tousled and desperate. You want to ride him in his reading chair with the door locked. It just isn’t fair.

The night before your first exam you take z-quil, drink lavender tea, and read a chapter of your favorite book to relax. Your phone buzzes at nine. It’s Marcus: good luck! You’re going to do great! Well. Better take some more Z-quill now that your heart is palpitating.

You pass both tests in excellent standing - MS in International Relations: complete. Pike attends the oral exam. Your skin goes hot when he smiles at you when the committee declares you exceed expectations. He invites you for a celebratory drink in the next couple days, which means you have two days to sternly wrangle your crush back into the dirty corner she came from.

You fail miserably.

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

“Look,” he says, setting his beer down on the glass bar counter. “I know it’s not my business, but you still look stressed out. Are your grades bothering you?”

The rim of your gin and tonic is wet with condensation from where your finger circles it. “No, they’re great.”

He bumps your shoulder with his. “Then what’s the damage? You’re jumpier than a…” he trails off thinking a good metaphor. He squints at you a little.

“A virgin at a prison rodeo?” you supply. He inhales sharply, eyes wide. “You can laugh.”

“I didn’t know you watched ‘The Golden Girls,” he says. His tone is admiring. “I was going to say jumpier than a graduate student giving their defense.” You purse your lips when he raises his eyebrows at you. “Can I help at all?”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he takes another sip of his beer. The soft orange lights in the bar spill around his jaw and throat, they flicker in his irises. His face in three quarter profile is august. You’re utterly exhausted from the polite ‘student mentor’ dance you’ve had to do for months while keeping your desire at bay. And more than that, you didn’t want to answer. You wanted to show him and let him decide. The sultry washboard and piano music give you that last boost.

You make sure he’s watching you, then you slowly reach out and wrap your fingers around his wrist.

Then you wait.

Marcus pauses from lifting his beer bottle, eyes glued to your hand on his wrist. It’s petite against him. He stares at your baby blue fingernails pairing beautifully with his Stirling watch - and he feels himself harden.

All the skin on your body stands at attention when he meets your eyes. Everything in them tells you he wants you just as bad. There’s a hesitant curve above his eyebrow though. You get it. You were his student - he’s such a sweet man he wouldn’t even dream of using a power dynamic like that to get laid. Your breath comes in short heaves.

“The semester ended thirty-six minutes ago,” you say over the music. He takes a deep breath. You aren’t his student anymore. Not according to the school, anyway.

You want him to decide. If he doesn’t, you’ll go home and fall apart under your fingertips thinking about how hot it would have been to lift your dress and sit on his cock while wearing your thigh highs.

“Do you want to leave?” You nod, resisting the urge to bite your lip.

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

Marcus’s apartment is homey. Streetlights flood the floor of the living room through the street facing windows. You turn this way and that to inspect the dark areas that look like bookshelves while he hangs up your coat. You squeeze your hands at your sides, because this is happening. You’re in his house. The hardwood floor is cold under your stocking feet.

You jump when he puts his hands on your shoulders from behind you, holding you a mere inch from his body. You bite your lip when his nose bumps into the back of your head.

“Are you sure about this?”

“You already asked me that,” you reply, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. You want so badly to tell him to tell you what to do. That you don’t want to make any decisions. Brain is worn out. That you want to please him, and not think. Oh, to be a freshmen simply sponging up information.

“I know,” he slides his hands to your biceps and turns you around. “I can check in again, can’t I? He cups your face when you nod. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please,” you have to stop yourself from saying something incriminating, like mister Pike, or sir, or professor.

You clutch the front of his button down to anchor yourself when his lips brush yours. His mouth is soft. It coaxes you to open so he can dive into you, his tongue swipes your bottom lip, and you respond by pressing into him. You stay pliant under him, letting him lead. Your legs feel on the verge of collapse when you break away. You can’t stand it anymore.

“I want to suck your cock.”

Both of you freeze. For a second you wonder if you’ve given him a heart attack. But you watched his thighs on the car ride back and couldn’t stop thinking about kneeling between them. Your mouth waters. Marcus can’t breathe. He’s straining against his zipper. After your declaration he wants it too.

“Okay, honey,” he breathes. He brushes your ear with his thumb. “If that’s what you want, we’ll do that.”

He tries to draw you backward toward his room where he can turn on a lamp and properly pay tribute to your body, but you pull him back. You tug him to his mid-century armchair - he has the twin to it in his office. His mouth goes dry. You have to know. He looks into your face, and from the way you’ve averted your eyes, you know.

“Please?” you say. It sounds like a sob.

From this close you can smell the vanilla and bergamot of his soap. He sits, waiting for you. When you don’t move he holds his hand out for you to take.

“Come here, honey,” he draws you close. The top of your dress swings a little and he groans when he sees the break of your dress to what he thought were tights. Marcus studies your face in the second hand street light - your mouth parted, your eyes blown wide. Your hand in his is hot. “Hey, if this is overwhelming, or not what you want-”

“It is,” you correct him.

“Tell me what’s wrong then,” he requests. You feel pained. If you don’t say it now you never will.

“Tell me what to do.” Your head aches from the stress of carrying it for so long. “I’ve had to make my own decisions for months, and I don’t want to anymore. Just - for five minutes-” you bring your hands to your cheeks and press them against your hot skin. You watch as he realizes what you want. He nods in slow motion.

“Okay,” he says. “Kneel for me.” He gets even harder when you sink to your knees. Your hands rest in your lap. Waiting. He can’t believe this is happening. Thank goodness he’s going back to the Bureau in three months. He couldn’t face the other faculty - fuck, your advisor - after this. Leaning forward he cups your chin and kisses you. You squeeze your thighs together. He kisses your ear and says lowly, “take my cock out, honey. I want you to suck me off.”

When you take him in your mouth as far as you can, you look into his face. His mouth has fallen open. His ears have turned red from flushing. It’s indescribable. It makes your mouth water further around his hard length. It’s heavy on your tongue. You move up and down his shaft leisurely, trying to savor it. Letting saliva run down onto his skin as your tongue works the spongy head. You reach up to work the base with your hand when he tells you ‘no’.

“Just your mouth.” Fuck. You moan around him as a ripple pulls from deep in your core. The vibrations of you moaning make him jolt and heave. For a few moments he apologies while you breathe deeply, then resume. You take a mouthful of him. It’s feasting. It’s mindless.

His fingers brush the side of your face, and tenderly cups the back of your head. You want to make him understand this is what you want. So you slide down as far as you can comfortably, and wait. Swallowing thickly around his length

“Fuck, honey,” he groans. He gets it, taking both hands and moving your head the pace he wants. You can tell he hasn’t been asked for this often. Maybe ever. You close your eyes and just feel. His cock filling your mouth. Aches forming around your jaw. Tears leaking out of your eyes from your concentration. Your pussy wetting through your underwear. Marcus pulling your hair. You swallow hard, then he stops. And pushes you off.

You whine in protest.

“I hear you, honey,” he says softly. His voice is hoarse. “Another time. I want you to unwind right now.” Your pussy clenches.

He takes you back to his bedroom and helps you undress. He lifts your dress over your head, and kneels to help you out of your thigh highs. One day, if you’ll let him, he’ll fuck you with them on, but he likes to see all of a woman the first time he does anything to her. He kisses the bit of skin above the waistband of your panties before standing to kiss your lips. Your help him push them down your hips until they fall to your ankles. The soft gasp he lets out at the sight of your underwear and bare body is nothing short of gluttonous.

“Lay down.”

He strips while you watch. He does it without taking his eyes off of you. There’s hunger in them. This man has an appetite, you know it. The fabric rustles pleasantly between the sound of both of you breathing. Far away, ambulance sirens blare in another neighborhood, but here in his apartment the wet sound of cars passing in the rainy street are the closest accompaniment.

“I want to touch you here,” he tells you, palming your sex and making you squeak. It’s so forward.

“Do it,” you breathe, and part your legs further for him. He leans in and kisses your temple, murmuring ‘good girl’ and you swear you could black out.

You’re already so wet when his fingers part your folds to greet the new territory. “Did sucking my cock get you wet?” He sounds amazed. He tastes one fingertip before putting it back to tease your folds. “I wonder how wet you would be just holding it in your mouth while you read.”

“Oh-” a ripple works down your spine. He smirks. The tip of his finger brushes just inside your lips to tease your entrance.

“I’m going to put my fingers in you. You,” he pauses to kiss your cheek, “relax. You earned it.” He rubs his nose up and down yours, and you nudge him back just as he slips one long finger into you. You’re glad he’s being sweet like this. It’s the perfect blend of firmness and care. You want him to dominate you one someday, maybe, but right here and now, the combination of his low voice and steady fingers is ideal. Marcus kisses your cheek and mouth as he works his finger in and out of you. It’s thick and reaches further than you ever could. You spread your legs even further to tell him, more.

Without removing his hand he moves down your body to lick your clit. He sucks and flicks it as he coaxes more wetness out of your leaking cunt. Carefully he pulls the finger out and presses his wet hand to the inside of your thigh to keep you open. He laps into you, covering the muscles with lubricant because you’re going to need it. You see his face just as he decides you’re ready; it’s contemplative, like he’s concentrating. Then he slides two fingers deep into you.

“Oh, fuck, that’s so fucking good,” your voice crescendos. You reach for his shoulder as he comes up to lie beside you. His skin is warm under your palm. You buck your hips looking for something else, seeking, wanting-

“Stay still.” You still immediately. “Just feel it, baby. I want you to be ready for me.” You know what he means. His cock is thick and smearing against your hip. He was big in your mouth, he’s going to be big while pushing into you. His fingers keep moving while he kisses the tips of your nipples. When he takes one between his teeth and tugs you break. Your mouth opens, and your legs clamp reflexively around his wrist. Your pussy gushes around his fingers - you can feel it. You can feel how his movements change from a drag as a slide. He keeps pumping. He doesn’t give up until he’s sure you’ve felt every aftershock. He’d love to take his time and work a third in one day - if he can - but tonight, he wants to move on. After you swallowed his cock in his sitting room chair he’s been thinking of rewarding you.

You feel him slip his fingers out, and roll away to the nightstand. He looks back at you, and his eyes soften a little before he asks, “do you want me to use a condom?”

“No,” you say and reach for his bicep to pull him back toward you. He comes willingly. “I have an IUD. And I’m clean.” He smiles, flinging the packet over his shoulder. It makes you giggle, but it sounds hysterical to your ears. You watch him reach down and pump his cock with the hand that was just inside you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Look at me,” he orders. Your eyes snap open. Marcus crashes his lips on yours. The hand not dripping from your cunt cups the back of your head. “I want to see your eyes while I fuck you.”

His blunt head breaks into you, you lose all thought. He sinks further in, until you’re squirming on his length because he’s stretching you. You suck air in and will your body will stay still like he suggested for his fingers. You look into Marcus’s eyes the whole time, trying to tell him how good he feels. You can’t make the words leave your throat. He pulls your head to him, kisses your mouth until you compose yourself and lie still. Then he gets to work. The breadth of him stills you anew. For the first time in months you fully relax, hardly making a sound as he thrusts steadily. You stare into Marcus’s eyes while your mouth falls open as he slides into you, and listen to the wet sounds of your pussy and the bed frame creaking.

Then he starts talking.

“Do you know how good you look in those blue trousers? I want to grab your ass every time you wear them,” he rumbles. His pace picks up a hair, and he feels harder in you somehow. He drops to his forearm. “I love watching it when you walk out of my office.” You knew it. “And that damn cardigan you never wear a shirt under? Those buttons slip right open, don’t they?” He punctuates it with a deep thrust that makes you squeak. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Wear it over for dinner. I’ll bite your tits through it.”

He fucks into you harder, sending shivers up your spine with every thrust. It moves you up the bed until you have to reach a hand up and press back against the headboard. You clutch him with the other, looping around his shoulder to feel the muscles in his arms pull and tug as he moves in you, working you up to another release Soon enough, the coil in your belly tightens and he reaches to worry your clit with deft fingers. His eyes never leave you. You think this man could make the hardest fuck feel like making love.

“I need more,” you tell him. You’re too embarrassed to ask for what you want. A tear leaks out of your eye because his thickness is so good, but you want something else too. You always underestimate him. He grins because he knows - he’s a detective. He figured it out. He leans down to rest his forehead on your temple.

“You’re doing so well,” he says. You arch up into him, your breasts brush his chest. “Your wet pussy is so sweet. It’s taking me so well. Are you gonna be respectful? Gonna listen?” You have to hold your breath as your hips tense. “Be good and come on my cock.” Oh fuck. “Say it.”

Your voice is wet with joy. “Yes, sir.”

“Such a good girl.”

Sparks lick up your back and through your cunt, forcing Marcus deeper into when you lift your lips. He slows to let you enjoy all your release. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips. Then when he hears your content sigh, he buries his face in your neck and chases his own release. He comes with an accompanying rumble from deep in his chest. You moan in return and lift your lips to catch him as he slumps, barely holding his weight off of you.

Water runs in the washroom as you tug the sheets back. The light clicks off, and Marcus appears with a washcloth. His dimple appears when you lean back and let him clean your tender flesh. He sits on the edge of the bed next to your hips, running his knuckles on the soft side of your breast.

“Stay the night,” says. “I’ll cook you breakfast.”

“Hm,” you say, mock contemplative. You run your fingers down his chest. He preens under the affection. “I will. I feel really good.” Your cheeks tingle at the admission. He smiles wide and bright.

He comes back from putting the cloth in the hamper. You roll so he can run his hands the length of your side

“Thank you,” you murmur. He lifts his face from where he’s been peppering your waist with kisses. His brow is furrowed in amused confusion. “For being good to me. For caring about what happened to me.” You’ll tell him the horror stories your friends have from their college another time.

He sighs and cups your cheek. “I like doing it. You’re bright. Supporting you is a privilege. Especially when I know that brain is going to put us all to shame one day.” You could cry.

“I’ve liked you since the body farm,” you admit. He wrinkles his nose. “I know. Not very romantic.”

“I liked you since you thought my campus ID was more official than my FBI badge.”

“I didn’t think that!”

“Get some sleep,” he says. A wicked glint comes to his eye. “I am going to wear you out before lunch.” You wiggle to get comfortable in the sheets and he curls over your back to hold you to his chest.

Orange light peeks through the gap in his blackout drapes. You eye him over your shoulder then settle into the pillow. All the tension in your shoulders is gone.

part 2

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #reader insert #fanfiction #writing #the mentalist fanfiction #I took some liberties with UT's school of anthros forensics lab #it does exist #DO NOT LOOK UP PICTURES #IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH #DON'T DO IT #I AM NOT SQUEAMISH AND DO RESEARCH WITH CADAVERS #BUT IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH #DONT #DO #IT

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silhouetteofacedar · 3 years

Text

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 10: One With Everything

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Thursday, April 30.

Mulder and Scully don’t often get to spend a day in court; it almost feels like a treat. An exhausting, headache-inducing, occasionally disheartening treat.

The only real upside is that they usually drive together.

They’re in Baltimore, and even though the drive back to the office is less than an hour, Mulder can feel his energy flagging.

“You hungry?” Mulder asks, sliding into the driver’s seat. “We can grab dinner before we head back.”

“Mulder, I’m wiped out,” Scully sighs.

“Alright,” he replies, subdued. He puts the keys in the ignition and starts the car.

They’ve gone two blocks when Scully speaks again. “I could go for pizza,” she says softly.

Mulder takes a steadying breath. This is progress.

It’s only been a week since the Great Mark Implosion, and things between Mulder and Scully have been thawing slowly. There’s residual awkwardness around them, like the last compacted piles of old snow in the shady places on the sides of the road. Slow to melt, but not a real impediment.

They find a little brick hole-in-the-wall pizza shop not far from the district courthouse. Scully took an appraising sniff when they walked in, declared the scent inside “pizza enough”, and they proceeded to make their order.

“So, how’ve you been?” Mulder asks. It’s a stupid question, but he’s hungry and tired and a little nervous, picking the mushrooms off of his slice of pizza before taking a bite. Scully always insists on ordering one with everything. Thank god she hates anchovies.

“You tell me,” she replies. “You’ve seen me practically every day for the past week.” She takes a first bite of pizza and moans softly. Mulder’s cheeks warm at the sound.

“I mean… in regards to what happened last Wednesday,” he clarifies. Broaching this subject feels suddenly dangerous, and he wants to take his words back.

“You can say break-up, Mulder,” she says gently. “It’s not a secret. And I’m fine,” she says, chewing, then raises a finger. “I know historically I say that when I’m not fine, but I mean it this time,” she explains. “I’m not hurt, just… disappointed. Tired. A little annoyed.”

“With him, or me, or both?” Mulder asks.

She shrugs. “Both,” she says candidly. “But you provided me with sustenance, so my annoyance with you is diminishing.” She takes a sip of diet Coke before she continues. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve determined that the part of this that bothers me the most is the fact that Mark, or anyone, would base their summation of my character off my sexual history. I’m thirty-four years old, a fully-matured and capable human being, and yet I felt like I was stuck in a web of high school gossip. It’s insulting, being subjected to outdated moral codes by men who have no business passing judgement.”

“I have an impertinent question,” Mulder says. “You don’t have to answer.”

“I’m bracing myself,” she replies, taking another bite of pizza.

“From an outsider’s perspective, these outdated moral codes and judgment seem like a fundamental part of Catholicism. So I guess I’m wondering… why are you still Catholic?”

Her answering sigh is deep and slow. “That’s a big question, Mulder; one I ask myself all the time. I think it boils down to faith. I believe in God; everything else is just window dressing. My relationship with my faith, with religion, is complicated. But ultimately, that’s between me and God. Everyone else, namely Mark, can fuck off.”

He loves her so much in this moment, this tiny self-possessed scientist voraciously eating pizza. “Fair enough,” he says, removing another mushroom from his slice of pizza and putting on the edge of her plate. “So faith in God is intact; faith in men, however…”

Scully chuckles. “It’s at a low plateau,” she jokes, “and yet this may actually be the best break-up I’ve ever had.”

“Ouch,” Mulder says with a wince. “I’d hate to imagine the worst.”

“I egged a guy’s car once,” she says around a bite of pizza.

“No, really?” Mulder asks in surprise. “What’d he do?”

She swallows, wipes her fingers on a crumpled napkin. “Let me be clear, this was when I was in high school,” she says, “So all the emotions were heightened. My boyfriend cheated on me,” she explains. “I was seventeen and wanted to wait to have sex, and he didn’t. It was pretty traumatic for teenage Dana, so I reacted with criminal mischief.”

“Did you get caught?”

Scully shakes her head, picking up one of the stray mushrooms on her plate and popping it in her mouth. “No. I was stealthy,” she says. “And a good church girl. I think most people assumed it was a dumb teenage prank by some local boys.” She pauses. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this,” she says in realization.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Mulder vows, passing her another mushroom.

“So what about you?” she asks, serving herself another slice of pizza. “What sort of romantic entanglements did you get into in high school? Any horror stories?”

“Not much,” Mulder says with a shrug. “Though I was pretty in love with a girl when I was sixteen or so. Her name was Laura and she was the older sister of one of my friends; I think she was probably 18? I was at their house all the time but I hardly ever talked to her.”

“Why not?”

“I was, uh, actually pretty shy back then,” he admits. “Especially with girls. She was really pretty and kind, but every time I opened my mouth to speak I’d get nervous and end up just saying nothing. Once I almost threw up.”

“That’s actually very sweet,” Scully assures him. “Trust me, she probably thought you were adorable.” She chews thoughtfully. “Did you ever tell her how you felt?”

Mulder shakes his head. “Not really. I wrote her a letter confessing my feelings and was halfway to their house to leave it in the mailbox when I chickened out. I took it home and burned it in the kitchen sink. Then she left for college.”

Scully hums in understanding. “A tale as old as time.”

“I looked her up once, after I finished at Oxford. She was married with a baby,” Mulder says, chewing a piece of crust. “Nothing would have happened if she weren’t, but part of me kind of wondered.”

Scully is silent, and when he looks up at her she’s got her cheek cradled in her hand, a soft smile on her lips, watching him.

“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious.

Her eyes are gleaming. “I don’t know why it never occurred to me before, but… you’re a romantic, Mulder.”

He swallows. “Is that... is that a bad thing?”

She drops her hand, shakes her head. “No, it’s not a bad thing at all,” she says softly.

Scully’s face is awash with blue and red from the neon sign in the window, and her eyes are deep and glimmering. He has to look away to steady himself before he says something he’s not ready for her to hear.

“I think I assumed you dislike romance,” he says, dipping a toe into shallower, yet unexplored waters. “It seems to me that science is somewhat at odds with the concept, when you can explain away all these feelings as chemical reactions with evolutionary precedent.”

“These feelings?” she asks, and he freezes.

“Romantic feelings in general,” he clarifies, recovering quickly. “The heart palpitations, fluttering stomach, desire for physical contact, all those things we felt as teenagers.” All those things I’m feeling right now.

“Some things aren’t meant to be examined through a purely scientific lens,” she counters. “I also firmly believe in instinct and trusting your gut in certain cases. Hell, that’s why I broke things off with Mark. No matter what he said, I knew things didn’t feel right.”

Mulder’s puzzled. “What he said?” he asks.

Scully licks her lip. “When I called him after work,” she explains. “I told him what you told me, and he claimed you twisted his words. A misunderstanding, coupled with manipulation born of jealousy,” Scully sighs.

Mulder’s heart stutters. “And you didn’t believe him?”

“No, I didn’t. It was his word against yours,” she says, voice gentle and firm. “There was no question.”

Mulder feels the weight of her words drape over his shoulders like a warm blanket. She trusts him, believes in him, chooses him.

He’s floored.

“Scully, that offer to elope still stands,” he says with a grin, and she smiles back.

Scully predictably falls asleep on the drive back to DC. Mulder glances over at her periodically, drinking in the sight of his partner curled up in the passenger seat. Her head is resting against the window, rosy cheek pillowed on a small hand.

Scully trusts him, rests in his presence, weighs his words. He doesn’t deserve what she gives him, but he realizes then what he needs to do anyway; fear and uncertainty be damned.

She deserves the truth; she is the truth.

#my fic #xfiles #txf fic #msr #fox mulder closet romantic #fmcr #PIZZA IS LOVE #slow burn is slooooowwww

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lokis-army-77 · 3 years

Text

If You Please

Chapter Thirteen

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 6300

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: canon typical violence

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Masterlist

My morning started off, as usual, I woke up, got dressed, and had a cup of tea before I left for work. The same monotonous motions I had gone through every day since I came to DC close to a year ago. The only thing that had changed was I was no longer sleeping under my bed and I saw Steve on a regular basis, as long as he wasn’t off on a SHIELD mission.

My commute to work was the same as normal also, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen, something big. So I went about my day as normally as possible. Until that night.

Coming home from visiting with Peggy I noticed that the whole building was eerily quiet. Hastily making my way to my apartment door I took out my cell phone and dialed Steve’s number. It rang a few times before he answered.

“Hey kid what’s going on?” He said cheerily.

“Steve, where are you?” I asked as I looked around the hallway, nothing was out of the ordinary but it still felt off somehow.

“I’m walking into the front door of the building, why? You sound worried.”

“I don’t know, just be careful when you get to your apartment. I have a feeling something is about to happen, I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“Alright, I’ll let you know if something is wrong when I get up there. I’ll call you back in a minute.” he hung up just as I unlocked my door. The apartment was quiet and dark, I flipped the switch and the kitchen lit up. Nothing seemed out of place so I cautiously went around to each room checking for anything that could be wrong.

After finding nothing I made my way back into the living room. Out of nowhere loud gunshots rang out. I ducked in front of the couch but the bullets never came. My eyes widened, they must have been meant for Steve. Slowly I crawled my way to the windows and peeked out into the dark night. There was someone standing on the roof of the building across the road. From what I could tell, he was watching Steve's apartment intensely, that was until Steve shot out of the window and through the window of the same building. The man turned to run and I lost sight of him. I hurriedly shot up and rummaged around my bookcase for one of the pistols I had hidden there. After finding it, I rushed downstairs and to Steve's apartment. The door was wide open and stood in the hallway was Kate, Steve’s next-door neighbor. Lying on the ground next to her was Director Fury in a puddle of blood. I looked at her confused, what was she doing here and with a gun no less. I brought my gun up just in case she was part of the problem.

“Miss. Rogers put the gun down.” She ordered cautiously while pointing hers at me.

“Why should I? It’s pretty suspicious of you to be in my brother's apartment with a gun, standing over the director of SHIELD, who just so happens to be bleeding out.” She sighted and ungripped the gun before slowly lowering it to the ground.

“I know this scene looks incriminating but I am Agent 13, I work for SHIELD and Director Fury assigned me to be Captain Rogers’ protection.” Her explanation came out slow and steady. I gave her a skeptical look before lowering my gun and walking closer to her. I turned my gaze to Fury who was unconscious on the floor. I bent down and looked over at him for the wound that was bleeding. When I found it I put as much pressure on it as I could without damaging it further.

“Call an ambulance, he won’t be with us much longer if we don’t get him to a hospital right now.” I heard her walk away and come back soon after talking on the phone. I kept most of my attention on Fury's shallow breathing and weak pulse.

The ambulance arrived almost twenty minutes later, I rode with them along with Steve, who had come back a few minutes prior. The hospital was bustling as they took Fury to one of the operation rooms for emergency surgery. Steve had called Natasha Romanoff while we were on our way, she met us at the hospital and stayed close to Fury at all times. Steve took her into the viewing room to monitor what was happening in the surgery. I stayed behind in the hallway to give them space to talk, but also because I didn’t think a complete stranger should be watching the surgery of someone they had only met a handful of times.

As I sat there in one of the chairs I thought back to what Steve had told me about the man from the roof. He said the man was fast and strong, I was thinking of some sort of super-soldier like us. He would have been since he was able to catch Steve’s shield, even if it was with some type of metal arm. No normal person would be able to walk away from being hit with a vibranium shield full force. Suddenly Steve came through the door. I stood and gave him a questioning look and he just shook his head. My shoulders hunched a bit at the confirmation. Fury had passed. I walked over to him and placed my hand in his and squeezed.

“I think you should go. I’ll be fine, I have to deal with some stuff here.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he talked.

“Okay, I’ll see you at home, you can stay at mine while your apartment is being searched for evidence.” I gave his hand another squeeze before turning to leave but he pulled me back.

“No. You can’t stay at the apartment, it isn’t safe right now. You need to pack a bag and stay somewhere else for a few days. Somewhere that can’t be associated with me, just in case.”

“I have somewhere I might be able to go but what about you?”

“I’ll stay at the SHIELD headquarters, there’s no need to worry about me. Now go, quickly.” I gave a firm nod and briskly walked down the hall to the elevator.

The FBI was everywhere around the apartment building. There were so many that it took me forever to reach my apartment without getting stopped and asked what I was doing there. Finally reaching my door I went inside and quickly started packing my largest suitcase with more clothes than needed. I also went and grabbed the second gun hidden in the bookcase along with the double-thigh holster. If there was going to be some sort of assassin, I was going to be prepared. There was just one last thing I needed before I left. Heading straight for my bedroom closet I tore the door open and got down on my knees. Feeling around I popped one of the floorboards loose and reached into the hole. I grasped the two metal cylinders, lifting them out into the light. I kept the bo staff hidden at all times, after waking up from the ice I had no use for it anymore until now. I reached my hand back into the hole and my hand hit a small velvet-covered box. I gently took it out and held it to my chest, then helped it out from my body a little way before opening it. There, gleaming in the dim closet light was Bucky’s mother’s engagement ring. I had kept it safe and hidden since nineteen forty-three. It was one of my prized positions and I knew the war front was not a place for it, I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I were to lose it. I took the ring out and slid it onto my ring finger, it was weird but something was telling me I needed to wear it. I snapped the lid closed and hoisted myself up off the floor and shoved the disassembled staff into the suitcase and quickly zipped it up, sat it on the floor, and rolled it behind me as I headed for the door.

I got out of the building easier than trying to get in. Making my way to the curb I unlocked the car I had just recently bought myself so I didn’t have to walk to work every morning. I shoved the suitcase into the back seat and then made my way around the vehicle to jump into the driver's seat. The only place I knew I could possibly go was Sam’s, so that's where I went. It was almost three fifteen by the time I pulled into the guest parking lot in front of Sam’s apartment. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be mad at me for waking him up at such an inconvenient hour.

Grabbing the suitcase, I quietly walked up to his front door and knocked. I waited for a minute or two before knocking a second time, a bit louder. This time I faintly heard something behind the door just before it was harshly thrust open.

“What,” Sam spat out, eyes half-closed.

“Wow, is that any way to greet a friend in need?” I shot back. He opened his eyes a little more to see who was actually at his door.

“Oh, it’s you, sorry about that. I'm not really a fan of being woken up in the middle of the night. Why are you here, what’s the matter?”

“Well, in short, I think some type of assassin is after either high ranking SHIELD agents or my brother, and the Director was just shot in Steve's apartment. Steve didn’t think it was safe for me to stay in the building, given that I live above him. So I’m here to ask if it would be okay if I stayed here for a couple of days while everything gets figured out.” He stood there for a second, then rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“I’m going to pretend like I comprehend what you just told me, but sure, come on in. You can tell me again in the morning when I’m not half-unconscious.” He opened the door wider and I made my way into his home. He led me up the stairs and into the spare bedroom. “Make yourself at home, I’ll see you in the morning.

“Thank you, Sam. Good night.” I called out as he slowly shut the door.

The next morning I woke up around eight and decided to call into work saying that I couldn’t come in on the account of my apartment being broken into. A little white lie wouldn't hurt. Sam wasn’t home, he was probably on his morning run, so I decided to surprise him with breakfast when he came back, as a thank you for letting me stay for a few days.

Rummaging around in the pantry and fridge, I was able to find ingredients to make pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs. I was halfway through the second batch of pancakes when Sam strolled in through the back door.

“Hey, what smells so good?”

“It’s breakfast. It’s the least I can do to thank you for letting me stay for a while.” I scooped up two pancakes, eggs, and a strip of bacon onto a plate and handed it to him. “I hope you like the pancakes, they're my special recipe from the forties.”

“You didn’t have to do this. I’m always glad to help, no thanks needed.” He grabbed his fork and started to dig in. Nodding his head as he chewed, I looked at him expectantly. “Wow, these are really good.”

“Thank you, I know.” I grinned. He shoveled a few more bites into his mouth before he turned his attention back to me.

“Okay, so what’s this about an assassin and why do you have to stay here?”

“Well, when I got home from seeing Peggy last night something felt off in the apartment building. I looked all around my apartment to see if anything was wrong, but everything looked fine. That was until some guy standing on the roof of the adjacent building shot into Steve's living room. Steve ran off after the man and I went downstairs to check things out, that’s when I found our neighbor, who apparently was a SHIELD agent this whole time, was standing over the director of SHIELD. We called an ambulance and took him to the hospital where he passed away. And since we have no clue who the assassin is after Steve wanted me to go somewhere I would be safe. That’s about it, I have a theory that the guy has had some kind of super-soldier serum like me and Steve because when Steve was telling me about what happened when he chased after him, the guy caught his shield with one hand and just stayed firmly planted on the ground.”

He looks up, fork halfway to his mouth, and says, “Dang, that's crazy,” then proceeds to eat as if nothing happened.

“Oh, is that all you have to say?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to say?”

I sat there for a second before nodding. “Okay, fair enough.”

We spent the rest of the morning lounging around until Sam went to work, I later met up with him at the VFW for the weekly group meetings. After that, we went back to his apartment and just talked and played board games to pass time until we were eventually tired enough to go to bed.

The next morning came quickly, I woke up significantly earlier than the day before, early enough to tag along with Sam on his morning run, which he wasn’t too happy about since I managed to lap him even though I was just jogging.

“Come on Sam, don’t be mad at me,” I said as we made our way in through the back door of the apartment. “I can’t help it that I run jog faster than normal people.”

“Yeah yeah, shut up. Here.” he tossed me a bottle of water before he grabbed the jug of orange juice from the fridge. I hadn't even taken a swig before there was a knock on the door we just came through. I looked to the door and then at Sam with my eyebrow raised in a questioning look. “Stay there,” he said as he sat the juice down on the counter and went to see who it was.

I watched from the far side of the room as he lifted the blinds covering the glass of the door, and there on the other side, as filthy as could be, was Steve and Natasha. Sam opened the door and let them in after Steve said something.

“Steve? What in the world are you doing here?” I asked as I walked closer to where they stood.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Sam is my best friend. That doesn’t explain why you are here.”

“We met a few days ago, he seemed like someone I could trust. Especially now that we have everyone trying to kill us. I’ll tell you more but can we get cleaned up first?” Sam nodded and showed them to the guest bathroom.

They both came downstairs about thirty minutes later after Sam went up to tell them that we had made breakfast. I sat down at the table in front of Steve and waited for him to fill Sam and me in on what had happened the day before.

“Well, for starters, SHIELD has been infiltrated by HYDRA, there’s no telling how many of the agents are compromised. They have been working on what Zola called HYDRA’s new world order.” Steve stopped to take a bite of food.

“Zola, as in Arnim Zola? I thought he would be dead by now.” I spit out in surprise.

“He is now, we think. He had his consciousness transferred to some sort of computer data bank. He’s the one who wrote the code on this,” he pointed to Nat who held up a small flash drive. “We would have found out what it was for but SHIELD launched a missile at us, destroying Zola and everything else around us.”

“Which,” Nat butted in, “leased us to the next question, who at SHIELD can authorize a domestic missile strike.”

“It would have to be Pierce,” Steve stated.

“Who is sitting in the most secure building in the world?” came Nat again.

“Well, he can't be working alone, there has to be someone else.” I put in.

“You’re right, but who? Zola’s algorithm was on the Lumarian Star.” Nat looked at Steve in realization as he said that.

“So was Jasper Sitwell.” She revealed.

“Okay, then how do the two most wanted people in the world kidnap a SHIELD officer in the middle of the day?” He looked at her with eyebrows raised.

“You don’t,” Sam walked over and tossed a file onto the table before continuing. “Consider this a resume.”

Nat flipped through the pages, “Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil Mission, that was you? Steve, you didn’t say he was pararescue.”

Steve just looked at the picture that was attached to the file, “This is Riley isn't it?” Sam just nodded, he had told me about his partner a few times before, but never really in much detail.

“I heard that they couldn't bring in the choppers because the RPGs were so bad, did you use stealth chutes?” Nat continued.

“No, we used these.” Sam handed Steve a closed file. I stood up and walked around the table to look at the contents.

“I thought you were a pilot,” Steve said.

“I never said that.”

“Well, I'll be the first to say that that wingsuit looks cool as hell.” I looked up and smiled at Sam, who gave a laugh.

“Sam, I can’t ask you to do this. You got out for a good reason.” Steve reasoned.

“Dude, Captain America needs my help. There is no better reason to get back in.”

“Great, I’m helping too. I know I said I wasn’t doing the whole fighting thing anymore, but you three can't take down HYDRA by yourselves.” I affirmed.

“Okay then,” Steve breathed out, “Sam where do we find one of these?”

“The last one I know of is at Fort Meade, behind several bars and some concrete.” He had a tone in his voice like it was doubtful we would be able to get to it.

“That shouldn't be a problem,” Steve and I said in unison.

We made our plan on how we were going to abduct the man named Jasper Sitwell. We knew he had a meeting today at The Occidental restaurant, that’s where we would make our move. Sam would be our man in plain sight, I would trail behind Sitwell to make sure he went to the right car and didn’t try to run, and Nat and Steve would be on the roof of a nearby building with a sniper pointed at Sitwell for extra precaution.

Before we left I made sure I had my bo staff with me and my guns in their holsters. Nat somehow did something to a burner phone she had that would make it appear to Sitwell that Alexander Pierce was calling him, that's how we were going to get into contact with him, without making a scene. And just like that, we were off to Fort Meade to get Sam’s wingsuit.

A few hours later, a little after twelve, we all took our places and waited for Sitwell to exit the restaurant, and when he did, I was ready. I was standing at the corner of the building on the right, closest to the car. His interaction with Sam over the phone was short before he started walking in my direction. He rounded the corner and was directly in front of me when I pushed myself off the wall in order to follow him to the car. I watched as he found the right vehicle, opened the back seat, and climbed in, shutting the door behind him. We had put the child safety locks on beforehand just so he wouldn't be able to get out and run. I made my way to the driver's side and plopped myself into the seat. Soon after, Sam slid into the passenger seat.

When we arrived at the building Seve and Nat were hiding in, I shut the car off and forcefully dragged Sitwell out of the back, while Sam ran off to start on his next part of the plan. Sitwell gave a few complaints before I silenced him with a look of indifference. Steve and Nat were waiting for us at the bottom of the stairwell, Steve took him from me and I followed them in ascending the stairs. Coming to the stop floor of the building, Steve pushed Sitwell into the door to the roof, the door swung wide and Nat and I followed through after them.

“Tell us about Zola’s algorithm,” Steve demanded and Sitwell quickly scrambled to his feet.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Why were you onboard the Lemurian Star?” He interrogated further.

“I was throwing up, I tend to get seasick.” Sitwell backed up to the edge of the building almost typing over the edge. Steve Grabbed hold of his suit lapels, holding him still. When he realized he wasn't going to fall his face changed demeanor and he had a small smirk. “Come one Rogers, is this all to insulate that you’ll throw me off the roof? This isn't really your style is it?”

“No, but it is hers.” Steve stepped away from Sitwell and Nat kicked him over the small wall. I let out a short laugh as I watched him plummet to the ground. I backed up from the edge as Sam flew up and dropped Sitwell back onto firm ground. All four of us surrounded the man hyperventilating on the ground. He put his hands up in surrender before finally telling us what we wanted to hear.

“Zola’s algorithm is a program for choosing targets.” he stammered out.

“Targets like who?” I questioned.

“Like you, or Captain Rogers, Bruce Banner, some teacher in a rural town. It doesn't matter, it targets anyone who is a threat to HYDRA. It doesn't matter. It knows now and in the future.”

“What do you mean by the future, it can’t possibly know who will be a future threat?” He finally picked himself up off the ground and looked at me.

“How can it not? This is the twenty-first century, everything is online, from any type of official record to the smallest social media post, even phone calls. It knows everything. Zola’s algorithm studied people's past and present to predict their futures.”

Steve stepped up, “What then?”

“Then the Project Insight helicarriers scratch them off the list, millions at a time.”

“Steve, we need to go now. We have time to try and stop them.” I said. He looked at me and gave a quick nod.

He grabbed hold of Sitwell's arm and tugged. “Let’s go.”

We all rushed down to the car and piled in, it was a little cramped in the back with Nat to my right and Sitwell to my left. We were on our way to SHIELD headquarters. Sitwell was doing to me our ticket and hopefully our way to stop this strike from happening.

The whole drive Nat kept looking at the time flashing on the radio. I gave her leg a poke, then asked, “What's the matter?”

“The strike is set to happen in sixteen hours, we're cutting it a bit close.”

“I know,” Steve spoke up. “We’re going to use him to bypass all of the DNA scanners and access the helicarriers directly.”

“No way,” interjected Sitwell, “That is a terrible idea, are you crazy-” He was cut off by a thud on the top of the car hood. We all looked up.

“What the hell was that?” I blurted. Then, suddenly a hand went through the left window and grabbed hold of Sitwell, ripping him from his seat and throwing him into oncoming traffic. I let out a loud yelp of surprise. There was more movement on the hood before bullets came through the metal directly in between Nat and me. She surged forward and into Steve's lap while I pushed myself over into the seat Sitwell previously occupied. There was a slight sting in my upper right thigh where one of the bullets barely grazed me. I barely had time to brace myself when Steve pulled the gear shift into park and the car came skidding to a stop. I was flung into the back of Sam’s seat but I was way better off than whoever had been on top of the car.

We all looked out the front windshield as the man tumbled down the highway and caught himself. He stood up and stared us down, he looked terrifying in his all-black, metal arm shining in the sun and face covered up with a fast. I kept my eyes trained on him until we were hit from behind by another vehicle.

The force from the other vehicle pushed us into the ban on the highway and he jumped up into the air and landed back on the roof of our car. I grabbed one of the guns from my holsters and started to shoot blindly upwards, hoping I hit something. Then the same metal arm as earlier came crashing through the front windshield and tore the steering wheel from the car.

“Oh shit,” yelled Sam as the car started to uncontrollably twist and turn.

“Press on the brake, press on the brake” I yelled.

“I am,” he yelled back.

I looked out the back window and saw the man now squatting on the hood of the vehicle behind us. They kept getting closer until they rammed into us again, causing the car to swerve hard to the right. We ended up hitting the median wall and as we started to flip I heard Steve yell, “Hang on,” before he grabbed hold of Nat and Sam and they flew from the car. I on the other hand tried to keep myself from being tossed every-which-way as the car tumbled down the road.

Once the car had stopped moving I kicked the door off and crawled out onto the glass-covered asphalt. Standing up I stretched my arms up high to try and free my tensed-up mussels. “That freaking hurt” I muttered to myself. I got back down on my hands and knees to rummage through the upturned car for my gun and bo staff, which had been resting on my lap before all of this started. I found them quickly and made my way down to where the others were.

The mysterious man had hopped off the hood of the vehicle and was walking forward with a large gun in his hands. He lifted it up and aimed for Steve. He pulled the trigger and a grenade launched straight for Steve, who blocked it with his shield. He was safe from the blast but the force of it knocked him straight off the bridge we were on. I had no time to run to see if he was okay before a group of men clambered out of the vehicle and started shooting at us. The three of us left on the bridge scattered to hide from the fire. I clicked open the magazine of my gun to check the amount of ammo I had left. I had already fired off nine shots, so I had eight more shots plus the seventeen rounds still in my second pistol. I snapped the magazine back into place and took a deep breath.

I picked myself up off the ground and looked over the hood of the truck I was behind. There were seven of them about fifty feet away. I took another deep breath and fired, hitting one of them in the chest. I wasn’t quick enough in ducking back down, the metal-armed man saw me and shot another round in my direction. I flew backward off the bridge and into a parked car. I slid down from the side and onto the ground, catching myself on unsteady feet. It took me a second to get my bearings back but when I did I looked in the direction I flew from. The group of men were standing right at the edge of the bridge. I looked down to see what they were searching for, Nat was running under the bridge and stopped right before they could see her. She turned around and brought her arms up into the air and started firing at the men, who ducked for cover. As they did so, she ran for cover behind a bucket truck, I also ran to catch up to her. They came back up from hiding and started to shoot in our direction.

“Nat, we have to go now, there isn’t any cover here.” I grabbed hold of her alright arm and tugged. “Run, I’m right behind you.” She nodded and started running. I started after her but turned around halfway to shoot rounds off at the men until I was empty.

“Over here,” I heard a shout and followed it. Nat was crouched behind one of the many abandoned cars. I came and crouched down beside her. We waited silently until she gestured her hand behind us. I barely lifted my head up to see through the windows of the car, there he was, right in front of us. I felt her hand grab my wrist and pull me back down, right before an explosion went off. It had caught me off guard, but it hadn't affected her, she was ready for it because not a moment later she vaulted herself off the trunk of the car and onto the metal-armed man. They wrestled around as she wrapped herself around his neck, he almost threw her off, but he managed to stay on, shifting her hold with her legs so she could get a garotte around his neck. The man stumbled backward and into the car I was behind before managing to toss Nat fifteen feet in the other direction.

He started after her again but she threw something at his metal arm that sent visible shocks through it. The delay gave her enough time to run away, but this was my chance to have a go. I quickly but quietly made my way around the car and behind the man. I reached my right up around his neck fast and grabbed hold of my wrist with my left hand and put all my weight onto my left leg. This brought him down and I used the force of the downward motion to shove him headfirst into the car behind us.

He lifted himself up off the ground and aggressively turned toward me. I reached behind me where I had put my disassembled bo stuff in its holsters. I brought the separate pieces in front of me and conceited them together, ready to fight. I quickly lunged forward and struck my staff at his head but his metal arm came up and grabbed the staff mid-air and jerked it from my grip. He looked at it for a fraction of a second then back at me before flinging it away. Well, this isn't good, I thought to myself as he came barreling at me full force. I managed to jump out of his way, but he caught my right wrist with the metal hand and yanked me back. I stumbled but caught my footing enough to turn myself away from him and have my arm break free from his hold. Continuing with the movement I spun around behind him and kicked his left leg out from under him. He fell to the ground but caught himself with his hand and used that to spin himself around and kick both my legs out from under me.

My head hit the ground hard enough to make everything fuzzy. I laid there waiting for the man to come and finish the fight but he never came. In my disoriented state, I picked my upper body up and looked around but he was gone. After a few moments, my vision started to return to normal and I could see the man and Steve fighting at the other end of the street. I slowly got to my feet and looked for where my staff had landed before heading in their direction. They were fighting pretty hard, neither of them had a weapon, it was just a blur of fists. That was until the guy threw Steve into the side of a van and pulled a knife. He moved fast, aiming his strike at Steve's head, But he caught the man’s hands. The knife ended up plunging into the van as the two of them slid down the length of it. Steve managed to maneuver behind the man and grab him around the torso to flip him backward. This gave him enough time to grab his shield, which was embedded in the back door of the van.

They poised for a second before resuming their furious pace. Steve blocked the man's every attempt to hit him with the knife. I watched as he ducked another punch and came up, shoving his shield into the grooves of the metal arm. Steve reached his arm behind him, capturing the other man’s head, and flung him over his shoulder. He rolled a few feet away and the mask he was wearing fell to the ground. He stood up slowly and turned in our direction, his hair fell from his face and I felt the world stop.

No, that couldn’t be him. Steve said he watched him fall from the train. No normal person could have survived a fall from that height, but yet there he was, standing just ten feet in front of me. I took a few steps towards him and his eyes darted from Steve to me and I stopped for a moment. His brow was furrowed in a kind of feral way but softened a fraction when I called out his name.

“Bucky?” the sound came out in an almost sob.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” He countered, raising the gun he had in his hand. He never got the chance to fire it because Sam flew in behind him and kicked him hard in the back. Bucky went tumbling and I started to run for him. He stood back up and the look he had on his face was one of confusion before he went to shoot again, this time he was stopped by a grenade that was launched from somewhere behind me. When the smoke cleared he had vanished.

I just stood there in complete shock as we were surrounded by SHIELD Special Forces. They took my weapons away and roughly locked my forearms in thick metal cuffs and led me to an armored truck. I was the last one in and took a seat next to Steve. I could feel his eyes on me so I turned my head to him.

“Are you okay?” He asked. I just shook my head and didn’t say a word.

“What’s going on? Who was that?” Sam spoke up.

“That was Bucky, I watched him fall almost a hundred feet from a moving train in 1945. He was my best friend and her fiance,” he pointed at me when he said the last bit. “He looked right at me like he didn’t even know who I was.”

“That can’t be possible, that was almost seventy years ago,” Sam said in disbelief.

“It was Zola. Whatever he did to Bucky when his unit was captured is what helped him survive.” I thought aloud.

“They must have found him-” Steve started but was interrupted by Nat.

“What happened isn’t either of your faults.”

“Even when we had nothing, we always had Bucky.”

The somber moment was interrupted when Sam noticed Nat’s shoulder oozing blood. He turned to one of the two armed guards sitting in the back with us and said, “We need to get her a doctor, if we don't get pressure on that wound she’ll bleed out.”

The guard shot out their hand which was holding an electrified baton, but instead of hitting Sam they turned it around and struck the guard beside them. The other guard jerked before the first one slid and kicked them in the head, knocking them out. We all sat there confused as the first guard took their helmet off.

“Oh my god, that thing felt like it was squeezing my brains out,” she let out. We all continued to stare at her.

“Maria, what are you doing here,” Nat asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? I came to get you guys, we have important business to take care of.” She bent down on the floor and searched the knocked-out guard's body for the keys to our cuffs. “Now listen closely, when the truck stops I’ll use this Mousehole,” she held up a cylindrical silver tube, “to create a hole in the truck and road so we can escape. It will happen fast so be ready.” After she explained what was going to happen she went around and uncuffed us. I rubbed my arms a little, just to get the blood circulating again.

Then all of a sudden the truck jerked to a stop.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila @andy-is-gay

#james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x rogers!reader #winter solider x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction

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sexbirthdeaths · 3 years

Text

her hollows, her unholy son

summary: because this - this isn’t hotch's job. his job is to make sure they don’t get killed out on the field, to make sure they do their job and that they finish all their paperwork, not give his agents haircuts in his office,

warnings: emetophobia (vomiting), panic attacks, implications of depression and anxiety, mentions of spencer’s dad

words: 2500

The walls feel like they’re collapsing in on him as he stumbles numbly to sit down, lean against the cool tile and just desperately attempt to breathe. He can feel his heartbeat thrumming through him, head to toe, down his fingers like an invisible thread strung along them. Leaning his head down onto his knees, he feels himself curl in on his body, wraps his arms around himself.

Scrunching his eyes tight at the thought, he pulls his legs in a bit closer. You're an idiot, he thinks, can't do shit without freaking out.

He wishes he didn't live alone.

Everything is spiralling around him, water whirlpooling down a drain and he’s trapped right in its eye. All he can do is wait it out, he figures, try to force himself to breathe steadily. But god, it’s so hard, like there’s a boot on his chest pressing down further and further, crushing him under cruel rubber.

There’s this sickening sensation in his stomach, like a rock at the bottom that’s pulling him down further and further, churning as it sends waves of nausea through him. Forcing himself up, he fumbles for the toilet and collapses in front of it, emptying the contents of his stomach. So much for dinner, he thinks bitterly, dizzy and vision blurred.

Scrunching his eyes tightly closed, Spencer moves to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, not even caring anymore. The taste of bile and now-regurgiated takeout sits sour on his tongue, but he can’t will himself to stand and wash it from his mouth. Too much energy, energy he doesn’t have right now.

This is a panic attack - he’s never had one before, he's read enough about them to know what triggers them, to know how to help himself. Five things you can see, he recalls as the first step, but he can’t will himself to open his eyes. Four things you can hear is the next step -

One. The sound of his panicked breath as it racks through his body in quick, shallow waves.

Two. The humming of the light above him, too loud.

Three. The air con that's sending a cool breeze around him, chills him to the bone.

Four. Fuck- fuck- what’s four? The sound of blood in his ears, heart thudding in his chest.

That’s four, that’s four, why doesn’t he feel any better?

Another wave of nausea overcomes Spencer, forcing him over the toilet bowl again. His hair falls past his ears, over his face as he retches, tears streaming down his face at the sensation in his throat and stomach. It’s more bile than food this time, he supposes he really hadn’t eaten that much. It’s hard to have an appetite these days

His hair is bile-soaked now. His stupid goddamn hair, he’s wanted to cut it off for years but he can't find the energy to get up, go to a barber's. Just the thought sends a rush of panic through him.

Though his chest still heaves, Spencer's breathing has fallen back into a steadier rhythm, he feels less like he’s suffocating. With weak knees, he pushes himself up from the toilet, wipes his mouth again. And he faces himself in the mirror.

Pale and clammy, his skin has taken on a ghostly sheen that’d only worsened by the unflattering warmth of the bathroom lights. The contours of his face are more prominent under the harsh glare, the hollows of his cheeks and deep violet valleys beneath his eyes. His dark hair is a mess, clumped together with vomit at the front. You’re supposed to be better than this, he thinks bitterly, you’re an FBI agent, not some weak child who can’t handle being alone.

The person in the mirror isn’t him. It looks like him, sure, it walks and talks like him but it- it isn’t him. He wants to just throw a sheet over it, cover it, out of sight out of mind, and it takes everything in him not to shatter the glass then and there. He feels sick, he feels sick, sick in a way that’s bone-deep, something needs to change and it needs to change now. He feels like he might die if it doesn’t.

So Spencer rummages through the medicine drawer, finds a pair of craft scissors they only keep in there for opening stubborn packaging, brandishes them with certainty. He’s been dreaming of this moment for months now. Of chopping off chunks of hair, pulling it by the fistful, dowsing his scalp in gasoline to watch it all burn, anything if it means it’s gone.

When he was a kid, his dad had used the word 'defiant' a lot. Defiant, as in going against orders, as in questioning his judgement, defiant as in refusing to go down easy. Where has this new you come from? he would keep asking, expecting some sort of concrete answer - what has changed? What part of you have I failed to control, allowed to become so overgrown that it the ivy has swallowed up everything good?

But pruning is a means of growth, he thinks, and he lifts the scissors to his head.

There’s a chunk of hair in his hand. A few inches, maybe, what’s left on his head just curling past his ears. He drops it, watches it fall into the sink, bright and dry and gone. The scissors are shitty, and they don’t cut through hair evenly or easily, but they’re better than nothing.

He’s crying again before he even knows it, and he isn’t quite sure why, but the tears are rolling down his cheeks as he keeps cutting, throwing fistfuls of hair down into the sink, the stench of vomit still in his nose and the taste of spite on his tongue. He’s crying, but maybe they’re happy tears. It’s oddly cathartic, all of this.

It takes a long while to cut it all, get it even semi-even, but he manages. The street lamps outside his apartment have turned on by the time he creeps out of the bathroom, hair shaggy and shorter, and it gives him this rush. Taking control, finally reclaiming this part of himself. It tastes of rebirth, revival, a life that arises from rain-soaked earth, of becoming new again.

He goes to sleep with a smile on his face. It's the first time in years.

When he gets up for work in the morning, the house is empty. It's never not empty, he thinks as he eats breakfast alone, he doesn't know why he hasn't gotten used to the quiet after all these years. He wears a hat on the subway, knowing the haircut isn’t the cleanest, but atleast he doesn’t get those looks anymore. Having no eyes on you makes you feel so… light, he realises.

Stepping into the elevator, there’s a peaceful quiet to the building this early in the mornings, only a few people in sight. There's a peaceful quiet, one more comforting than the silence that suffocates his apartment. He likes to get to work earlier than the others, so it's no surprise he's the only one there - besides Hotch, of course.

Stepping into the communal area, Spencer is met with the sight of Hotch and Rossi, talking quietly by the coffee machine. From their stiff body language, it’s probably just business - some business higher up, likely Strauss. Hotch's eyes meet his from across the floor but quickly drifts to his hair instead.

“Excuse me, Rossi,” he says to the older agent, who takes his queue to leave. He gives Spencer a knowing look as he departs, stalking off to his own office to spend the rest of the morning until the day officially begins.

Hotch hums, peers down at him with a steely glance.

“You cut your hair.”

“Yes, sir,” Spencer nods, unable to hide his smile. He combs his fingers through it. Hotch chuckles shortly, raises an eyebrow.

“You didn’t do that bad, honestly. But I can fix it for you - come on,”

So he guides Spencer away from the coffee machine, down the halls and into Hotch's office, somewhere a little more private. The shutters are drawn, door locked, and Spencer looks guiltily at the floor - what if someone needs Hotch? And he's busy, here, giving his subordinate a haircut?

Hotch pulls up a chair and sits Spencer down on it, facing the window where he can see the streets of DC, the thick morning fog of early spring.

“It won’t be long,” the agent promises as he drapes an old dress shirt over Spencer's shoulders, “I’m no barber, but I can atleast even it out.”

There’s a strange feeling in Spencer's chest, but it isn’t the same as last night. It doesn’t feel crushed tight, like his lungs are bound to collapse in any moment - if anything, he just feels light. He feels appreciated, he thinks, hearing Hotch's search for a pair of scissors in the drawers. When was the last time someone had done something like this for him? Something beyond obligation, because they just wanted to help?

“You didn’t have to do this,” he murmurs as he feels Hotch get closer behind him, run a hand through his hair, “It isn’t your job to take care of me like this.”

Hotch starts cutting, the sound of the metal scissors slicing through his hair ringing in his ears. The only other sound is the clock ticking in the background, steady and echoing in the loud, silent room.

“No,” the man agrees, “It isn’t. But I’m curious as to why you did it.”

“I needed a change.” It’s the rain that washes the slate clean - gives him a chance to start over, beginning the path of reclaiming himself bit-by-bit. He's felt so helpless all of his life, taking the backseat and watching it all unfold. And one day - likely, soon, given the dangers of this job - he'll die and he’ll die young, with no agency over his life, too scared to try and take it. He’s done being scared.

The clock ticks, filling the silence as Hotch seems to contemplate. He’s moved from the right side of Spencer's head to the left, and the boy can feel chunks of hair fall onto the shirt on his shoulders.

"Do you think the others will like it?"

"I hope," Spencer admits, "I hope."

Hotch tilts his head down, touch unusually gentle for the typically stoic, blunt man. He can see strands of dark hair on his clothes, a tangible recognition of the new control he has over his life. It’s the best high he could ever experience, one he’ll be riding for months.

“I always thought you liked having long hair, I kind of figured if you didn’t you’d cut it,”

“My mom likes my long hair. She always wanted a girl,” Spencer mumbles absentmindedly. "I've just never had the energy to change it." Hotch hums in thought.

“You know,” he starts, “You’re stretching so far you’ve lost sight of where you started.”

He tilts Spencer's head again, leans to cut the hair short by his ear - it’s difficult to get it close to the skin without clippers, but he can make do. He bites his tongue between his teeth as he tries to avoid clipping Spencer's ear.

“Maybe you don’t hate your hair, or yourself for that matter - you hate what it proves.”

“It doesn’t prove anything.” Spencer huffs indignantly, brushes hair from his lap absentmindedly.

“It proves that you don't have control. Something's holding your life over your head. This is your act of reclamation, Reid, and I have to commend you for it.”

There’s a long silence as Spencer mulls his words over. He can hear more and more of his colleagues arriving in the bullpen, laughing as they talk. He can hear JJ, who’d been the first to notice how long his hair was getting. And yeah - he’ll admit, having long hair was fun at times, but not when it was unkempt and dirty because he couldn't muster up the energy to wash it.

Hotch brushes the rest of his hair off of the towel and onto the floor, runs a hand through Spencer's trimmed hair.

“I’m done, Reid, you can stand up."

He doesn’t know how to say thank you in a way that sounds genuine. Because this - this isn’t Hotch's job. His job is to make sure they don’t get killed out on the field, to make sure they do their job and that they finish all their paperwork, not give his agents haircuts in his office, not treat them with the same love and attention as a son.

He wants to cry.

But instead, Spencer swallows down the lump in his throat, fights the tears, and just smiles.

“Thank you,” he says, and prays that Hotch understands what he isn’t able to say.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #NOT hotchreid #sorry besties #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #derek morgan #david rossi

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not-so-mundane-after-all · 3 years

Text

Touching | 8. shielding the other one with their body, Dick & Rachel - for @wonderbatwayne

Fandom: DC Titans

Title: Safe Haven

Series: Physical Affection - Tumblr Prompts

Pairings/Relationships: Dick Grayson & Rachel Roth

Summary: "The answer is simple, Grayson. Five years ago in this very place you took what's mine away from me. Now I'm taking what's yours."

2x07 AU

Check out the prompt list | REQUESTS OPEN

____________________________________________

Safe Haven

You really wanna be back here?

Dick tried to ignore his father's voice as he marched between the rows of wooden benches.

"Where is he?"

Deathstoke led him to this church - to the place where everything went down five years ago. But now it was empty.

Bruce showed up in front of him, blocking his way.

He's feeding on your guilt. Like a spider. He's lured you away from where you need to be… who you need to protect.

"He killed my friend," Dick argued. "Nearly killed Jason. He has to be stopped."

Very heroic of you. Except… you don't give a shit.

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You don't know."

But I do, Bruce said as he walked up to him. I know everything. That's why you brought me. Just like I know why you keep sneaking off on these solo runs, just like you did five years ago. You have blood on your hands.

"Not just me."

But you have more, son. Blood only you and Slade know about. You're afraid of the dark. Always have been. Even as a little boy. The great chasm of silence. The coldness of isolation. You're afraid if the others know your secret they'll leave you and you'll be alone, again. And they may.

His heart sped up in his chest, his mind forgot how to breathe for a monent.

"They don't need to know," he said finally. "What difference does it make? It's done, it's in the past. It's behind me."

But it's not. It's got to come out.

"God damn it!" he shouted, feeling his nerves snapping. He was really getting tired of all this bullshit. "Can you leave me alone?"

You know how to get rid of me. You've known the whole time.

Tears started burning behind his eyes.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Of course you do, son. You always have. You just have to tell the truth.

But he couldn't. It was too much. It would destroy him, destroy everything he had with his team.

"It's too hard." he whispered, dropping his head in shame. It was getting harder to keep tears at bay.

His father reached out and gently brushed his fingers down Dick's cheek. Even if he was only a prodcut of Dick's own fucked up mind the touch felt very real and it brought some sort of comfort to him.

His gaze then fell on the altar and he froze, noticing something he hadn't before. Bruce stepped out of his way when he moved and walked up the stairs to a heavy wooden table. Upon one look at the display it showed his blood ran cold.

At least a dozen pictures were scattered among lit candles and each one of them showed Rachel. Sitting on a couch with Gar, both laughing. Talking with Kory. Eating breakfast in the kitchen with Hank, Dawn and Donna around. He saw himself in those photos too - training with her in one, walking with her on the street in the other, with coffee cups in their hands and his arm wrapped around her shoulders. But in most of these pictures she was alone, usually somewhere around the Tower, in her bedroom or the kitchen and it was clear all the shots were taken without her or any of them knowing.

At the very centre of the table was a small black box.

With a shaking hand and a heart hammering in his chest Dick reached for it and slowly lifted the lid. On a white satin pillow meant to hold some kind of jewelry lay a lock of dark blue hair, coated in crimson blood.

Dick's knees almost gave out under him, sending him on the floor.

"No."

He left those for you, Bruce said behind him. He turned to his father for a moment, his face twisting in shock and confusion, but quickly came back to the display, hoping it disappeared when he wasn't looking. Because it couldn't be real, just like this Bruce wasn't real. It couldn't be happening. But the pictures were still there, as well as the box and the candle flames were still burning.

Go home, Dick, his father's voice rang in his ears. It seems like one way or another, the monster's been in the Tower all along.

He couldn't take it anymore. The mix of fear, fury, worry, confusion and dozens of other conflicted emotions he couldn't name was about to explode, ripping him apart from within. He smashed his hand on the table sending all the pictures and candles flying, tossed it all on the floor in blinding rage and whipped around, ready to run out of the church. He needed to get back to the Tower, to find Rachel. Maybe this was all some kind of a sick joke, maybe Slade is bluffing, playing mind games on him to keep him on edge. Maybe it's all one big-

"Well, look who finally made it."

Dick stopped to a halt, his breath hitching in his throat. The front door to the church was open, revealing no other than Deathstroke standing in the door frame with his blade pressed to Rachel's neck. She was almost limp in his hold, barely awake but conscious enough to be standing on her feet. Her head was swaying dangerously like she's in a haze, the side of her face covered in blood oozing from a split on her temple.

"Dick…" she muttered, her voice weak and faint as a whisper in the wind carried out in the acoustics of the place and his heart jumped to his throat. He instinctively moved, wanting to rush to her but Slade stopped him, tightening his grip on her and pressing the blade harder to her skin. A drop of blood trickled down the shiny steel and Rachel instantly stilled.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." the masked man said slowly, a clear warning in his deep voice.

Dick sucked in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. "What did you do to her?"

"Not much. Yet." he slowly tilted his head to the side. "I just gave her something to neutralize her powers. A small gift from this little group that eloquently calls themselves… The Organization?"

Dick felt his fists clenching so tight his knuckles must have turned white. He was trembling but unable to move. His eyes were locked on Rachel's pale face as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Questions were piling up under his skull, starting with how did this happen but there was no time for getting answers, first and foremost he needed to protect Rachel.

"I hope you enjoyed our little game." Slade continued, pushing Rachel onward so he could walk deeper into the church. She staggered on wobbly feet but he didn't let her fall. He wasn't gentle in holding her up either and hearing her grunt made Dick grit his teeth. "You must have had a nice ride around the city, following false leads and fake clues. Gave me enough time to get to this one while the others were busy jumping to each other's throats."

He risked one step forward, glaring at the face hidden behind the mask.

"What do you want from her?" he asked instead of giving Slade satisfaction by reacting to his words. "It's me you're after and I'm here. So let her go and let's get this over with. Rachel has nothing to do with this."

Slade let out a gurgling laugh and shook his head which only infuriated Dick more. His blade twitched in his hand and Rachel flinched, her face twisted in pain.

"Oh don't you see? She has everything to do with this." His masked face got uncomfortably close to Rachel's face and she turned her head away, cringing in fear and whimpering. Dick barely could hold himself back from lunging at Slade. "Poor kid. Snatched from the street, taken under the caring but broken wings of The Fallen Grayson just to be let down and end up dead. Funny how history loves to repeat itself but twists the ending at the last moment."

His arm gripped her tighter and Rachel's body tensed like a string that's about to snap. Her breath quickened and pupils widened up in terror. Their eyes met for the first time and Dick's heart broke seeing how scared she was, how she was silently begging him to save her.

"Rachel!"

"The answer is simple, Grayson." Slade hissed, fixing his grip on his sword and shifting the blade so the cold steel was now touching Rachel's cheek. "Five years ago in this very place you took what's mine away from me." He moved the blade slowly, making a shallow cut on her face and Rachel whimpered in pain. "Now I'm taking what's yours."

And he pulled the sword down.

"DON'T!"

Slade stopped with the sword pressed to her carotid artery and looked at Dick who was aiming at him with the gun he was holding in his hand this whole time. His finger stilled on the trigger, grip so tight his knuckles bleached but his arm - no, his entire body - was shaking. His breath became shallow and rapid, heart trying desperately to break out of its cage.

"DON'T HURT HER!" he shouted and risked taking a few steps closer. He must have looked like a madman and he wouldn't be one bit surprised because that's exactly what he felt right now - madness. "Don't you fucking touch her or I SWEAR TO GOD-"

Deathstroke scoffed.

"We both know you're not gonna shoot." he said in a tone so light like they were discussing weather or something equally trivial.

Dick brought his other hand up to steady his grip on the weapon but in his current state it did him no good.

"Watch me."

"Are you willing to risk your precious little girl's life, like you did with Jericho? Or have you learned from your mistakes by now?"

"Don't listen to him, Dick!" Rachel suddenly spoke. Her voice was strong and she was staring at him with terrified but focused eyes. Dick let himself quietly sigh in relief. Whatever drug Slade had given her must be wearing off.

"Shut up." the assassin growled in her face, threatening her with his weapon again. She eyed the sword and gulped down hard but remained silent.

Dick took another step closer.

"Rach, look at me." he asked gently, for a moment not caring about how Slade might react. Risky move but he needed to talk to her. She did as he told her and their eyes met. "Listen, you're gonna be okay. I promise."

"Oh, isn't it adorable." Slade scoffed again, shaking his head. Dick was almost sure the man was rolling his eyes under that hideous mask. "I see you've learned nothing. Even after all this time you lie in their faces that they're gonna be safe with you. It's pathetic."

Neither of them were listening to his little tirade. While Slade was talking they were having their own silent conversation. Rachel held Dick's gaze to make sure she had his attention, then pointed her eyes at the elbow of the arm Slade was holding her with. Then her eyes went back to Dick and she mouthed one short word.

Shoot.

He shook his head, feeling a bile of fear forming in his throat. It was a huge risk. An inch to his right and the bullet could pierce Rachel's chest. All it takes is for Slade to move or Dick's arm to tremble. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if the bullet went the wrong way.

But her eyes were full of faith and confidence when she was looking at him. A small smile appeared on her lips. She knew he was hesitating because of her and tried to encourage him as well as she could without Slade noticing. He could read what she was trying to tell him in her face.

I know you won't hurt me.

He would never. He'd rather die the most painful death than be the reason a single hair falls off her head.

He pulled the trigger.

Deathstroke's armor clinked when the bullet made contact with his elbow. It didn't do any damage, but that wasn't the point. Slade cried out, more surprised than hurt because he didn't think Dick would actually fire that gun, but the impact made him release Rachel from his hold. She was still swaying on unsteady feet but she instantly lunged herself to the side, hiding between the rows of benches and getting out of the way.

Good girl.

In the meantime a fight broke out between two men. Dick charged at Slade, fueled by hot rage burning inside of him. He didn't have his Robin suit anymore or any of his gadgets but his body was a weapon in itself due to years of training and experience. He was throwing kicks and punches, dodging and turning and moving. Slade threw away his sword and sent him falling on his back with one strong kick to his chest, but despite the hit pushing all air out his lungs Dick managed to quickly jump back to his feet. They danced around each other like it's a choreography learned a long time ago and the moves are now coming back to them with clarity after years of not using them. Every move of the assassin was full of precision and technicality, cold, strong and perfectly aimed while Dick filled his every action with images of those he was fighting for. He thought of Garth falling to the ground with bullet in his chest while connecting his foot with Slade's jaw, sending his head to the side. He thought of Jason hanging on one hand from one of the tallest buildings in the city with terror in his wide eyes as he punched Slade in the diaphragm so hard the skin on his knuckles split and started bleeding. He thought of Jericho bleeding out on the floor of this church when he jumped on the benches and swiftly moved to find himself behind Slade's back. And he thought of Rachel, pale as ghost and terrified, with blood trickling down her face when he round kicked Slade in the back, sending him to his knees.

"So emotional." the man grunted and straightened up. He reached for his baton and with one push of a button turned it into a spear. "So… attached."

Dick roared like an angry lion and attacked again.

This time Deathstroke got the upper hand, pushing Dick back towards the altar. Blocking the spear wasn't easy without any weapon in his hand and soon he was covered with smaller and bigger cuts. He fell on his back at the stairs, hitting the back of his head so hard his sight became foggy but he still managed to use his legs to cut Slade from his feet. However, the man didn't lose his balance, only jumped out of the way and pushed his heavy boot to Dick's chest, then pressed the blunt end of the spear to his Adam's apple.

"You were right," Deathstroke breathed out, turning the spear around. Dick heard his voice as if coming from underwater. His mask was a blur of color. "Let's get this over with." Then he raised his arm and stabbed.

But the blade never made it to Dick's chest.

First he saw a shadow looming over him and when his sight cleared he recognized the head of blue curly hair. He lifted himself on his elbows watching in horror while his heart screamed in agony.

No. Not again.

Please, not again.

Rachel pushed herself between him and Slade and shielded him with her own body, just like Jericho did five years ago.

She slowly looked down at the blade sticking out from her chest before Deathstroke harshly pulled it out. Her hands covered the wound, her fingers instantly turning red and then she swayed, about to fall down.

"Rachel, no!" Dick cried out and caught her, laying her down on his chest. A sob wrecked his body when he saw the waterfall of blood coating the front of her black sweater, making the warm wool stick to her body. He pressed his hand to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding while she looked up at him with those big blue eyes and he felt tears falling down his cheeks. "Oh God, Rachel. What did you do?"

"I had to- s-save you-" she choked out, a drop of blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth. She covered his hand with her own and squeezed it tight. "I cou-couldn't let you- d-die."

In the meantime Slade stepped back and hid his weapon. He was watching the scene in front of him unfold, still as a statue.

"Now you know how it feels," he said, aiming his words at Dick, who lifted his tear-stained face to glare at the man, "to have your own child bleeding out in your arms. Death would've been a mercy for you, Grayson. This… this is a lesson you will never forget."

"I will fucking kill you." Dick snarled at him, gritting his teeth. "I'm gonna hunt you down, you hear me?!"

Deathstoke chuckled and turned his back to him.

"Good luck with that." he threw over his shoulder then headed out of the church, leaving the other two alone.

Dick made some sort of a sound. A noise that he himself couldn't even describe. It sounded as if something had brutally ripped his chest open and tore out of it. He roared like an animal, venting his despair and anger.

"Dick..." a soft whisper pierced through to his consciousness, drawing his attention. "It's okay."

Another sob shook his body.

"Rachel… Rachel, my Rachel." he whispered, hugging her and frantically brushing the hair wet with blood and sweat away from her pale face.

So much blood. He was completely covered in it now, it soaked through his clothes and bit into his skin.

"It's not okay." he shook his head. "I'm supposed to be protecting you, not the other way around."

She managed to smile at him.

"We're supposed to… save each other… remember?"

"Not like this." he said, his voice breaking. "Never like this."

She squeezed his hand again. Their fingers, slick from her blood, entwined together tightly.

"You were my… save haven."

He froze, his heart hammering in his chest. Then the meaning behind her words hit him like a speeding train and he held her tighter.

"No. Don't say that." he ordered desperately. "This is not a goodbye, you hear me? You're not going anywhere."

"Dick-"

"No! Help me." he croaked, pressing their clasped hands against her bleeding heart. "Use your powers. Take my energy, absorb it."

She coughed, spitting blood. They were running out of time.

"I can't- h-heal myself."

"Yes, you can. You have to."

But she didn't seem to hear him. Her eyelids closed slowly and her head fell on his arm.

"Rachel?" Dick's voice grew louder, breaking and rising like waves away at sea. "Rachel, my baby, please, honey, open your eyes, it's me, Dick, I'm here with you, I'll always be here, please, please…"

He leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, letting out a painful cry. He howled like a wolf, his shoulders trembling, heavy tears splashing on her round cheeks. It was his fault. All of it was his fault. A part if him knew it would end like this the monent he met her. But his love was too strong and he ignored the warning. Now she was paying the price.

"Don't go, Rach." he begged, his voice shattered. "Don't leave me alone in a world without you in it."

He closed his eyes and squeezed her hand with such force that he felt her knuckles grinding in his grip.

Rachel, please come back. We can do this. You saved my life in more ways than you can imagine. Nothing is impossible for us. I love you, okay? I love you and please come back to me.

He reached deep into his memories. Rachel at the police station in Detroit looks up and stares at him as if she saw a ghost; Rachel, curled up in the bathtub of that crappy motel, surrounded by scraps of paper with crosses drawn on it, throws herself into his arms crying; Rachel leans over him in the asylum and reminds him of his promise to never to leave her; Rachel comes out of the fog with her head held high proudly after defeating Trigon; her smile and eyes wide open when she saw the inside of the Tower for the first time. And many, many other memories he will cherish for the rest of his life.

Heal, he begged because there was nothing else left to do. Take my life, take it all. Heal.

Something changed. Rachel's hand in his hold started getting warmer. He lifted his head slightly, blinking away tears and gasped at the sight of a bright purple glow seeping through his fingers. He watched in complete awe as the wound on her chest slowly started closing until there was nothing left beside a thin pink line that was already fading as well. The color came back to her face and she took a gulp of air, almost choking on it. Then she sat up, her eyes opened wide and she pressed her hands to her chest but to no use because there was nothing there, only drying blood on her clothes. She looked down at herself then back at him.

"How?"

He smiled at her and scooted closer.

"I told you you can heal yourself."

Her brows furrowed in confusion but then understanding flooded her face and she smiled back.

"It wasn't just me… it was you, Dick. You willed me back to life and… and my powers listened." she grabbed his hands in hers. "I didn't heal myself, you healed me."

Still holding her other hand he reached out to cup her face. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes.

"All I knew was that I couldn't lose my safe haven." he whispered softly and that's all it took for her to fall into his arms.

She clung to his shirt, buried her face in the curve of his neck and started sobbing. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her on his lap and started rocking her gently. He loved how warm and familiar she felt in his hold, how solid and safe she was. He pressed a loving, desperate kiss on the crown of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair.

"I love you so much." he mumbled into her skin. Rachel shivered and hugged him tighter.

"I love you, too."

Dick leaned away and took her face in his hands, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Let's get outta here, huh? We need to get you cleaned up."

She glanced at the blood on her clothes, then moved her gaze to his own bloody shirt and jacket.

"You don't look exactly better, you know?"

He chuckled and kissed her forehead, thanking God she was still here.

"Yeah, it was my favorite jacket. Now I have to burn it." they both laughed, happy to relax and lighten up, but looking at her face made him worried again. "You sure you're okay?"

Instead of answering Rachel stood up on her own and reached a hand out to him.

"Definitely."

He took it gratefully and got up to his feet, then immediately pulled her closer, crushing her to him.

"I am never letting you go again." he said, his voice hoarse and heavy from emotion.

Rachel melted into him and took a deep breath.

"Please, don't."

Over her head he noticed Bruce standing by the church's door. His father smiled proudly at him and nodded, then slowly turned around and walked out, disappearing in the light of day.

#dc titans #titans #titans season 1 #titans season 2 #titans season 3 #dcu titans #dick grayson #rachel roth #slade wilson #deathstroke

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927roses-and-stuff · 3 years

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Miracles in Gotham: Chapter 7: A Brewing Storm

A/N: So, with Season 4 of Miraculous Ladybug officially starting, this is a reminder that this fanfic is non-compliant with any events after Season 3, even with the added lore in canon. I know this is also a crossover so that’s to be expected, but because this fic is also dealing with Miraculous lore, I feel the need to put this up. Please don’t comment about canon disproving any of the material here, because I am already fully aware of the fact. I don’t really care for the show anymore, and the only thing keeping me in the fandom are the fanworks. Like many in the Maribat fandom, I discovered the more vast lore of DC through this, so there is a mix-up of canon from different worlds/universes (e.g. Young Justice, New 52, and Prime Earth), I just don’t care enough to discern which wiki I’m getting my info from.

That said, thank you to everyone who is taking the time to read this fic, and I hope that you like it. An extra thank you to everyone who has given this a kudos, bookmarked, and/or commented. I appreciate you all so much.

Also, shout out to jackmand1, Sp8cefluff and BenRG who commented on ways to open the box (getting Bunnyx to get the tablet before Hawkmoth, and asking the box to open), which is all mentioned in Marinette’s diary entry.

If you want to see more, follow: #miraclesingotham or ask to be added to the tag list.

Tag list: : @northernbluetongue @zerotosiki @spicybelladonna @my-name-is-michell @legendaryneckjudgestudent @lokiifriggasonn @iloontjeboontje

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Dear Diary,

There’s still no luck with the Miracle Box. After we tried Chat’s idea of dropping it from the Louvre using the chew toy as a pressure point, we tried hitting it with our weapons (didn’t even make a dent!), Chat asked the box to “please open don’t close up on us like my dad did” (we had a talk about that but he didn’t want to delve too much into it, and it didn’t work), the kwami tried phasing through it (thank god kwami don’t get concussions), and we even tried contacting Bunnyx, but goodness knows where she is and after Chat Blanc, I didn’t really want to see her anyway. We gave up sometime in the early morning, and now it’s shoved in one of my luggage carts, ready to bring to Gotham tomorrow. I hope it doesn’t trigger any of the airport security.

In better news, it’s been a few days since Chat and I officially introduced our new Ladybug and Bee to the scene. For the most part, I think they’re doing well- better than I did when I first started, anyway. It took a bit of time for Luka and Kagami to get used to the new set up, but Chat and I were there to help them, so it wasn’t too bad. Luka, or Bleu Acier, took a while to get used to the yoyo (who knew Luka had a fear of heights?), but he’s gotten used to it...after we had to convince him he wasn’t going to splat into the pavement or anything like that. Kagami, who decided on the name Shūyō, had to adjust to short-range fighting and not using Venom too soon, but she managed to navigate the top and cause a lot of damage to the akumas that we dealt with in the last few days. I think Hawkmoth has some idea that Bustier’s class is on the move because we’ve had an akuma attack every day so far. I’m hoping it’s just Hawkmoth becoming more desperate, although hopefully Bleu Acier and Shūyō threw him off a little bit. As of right now, I’m using the Snake Miraculous as Couleuvre, so it’ll be easier to-

One moment, Marinette had been settled comfortably in her chaise, and the next, a large crash through her bedroom walls threw her across the room, her back hitting the wall hard enough that she felt pain upon impact. When the world around her gained focus, she spotted a large woman-like figure in front of the hole in her wall cackling. The woman’s glassy skin that was translucent, yet she could also see a muddled reflection of her own face. Upon her head she wore a heavy silver crown adorned with gems that was reminiscent of her skin and a white, flowy dress that trailed behind her from the waist. In her hand was an open contact mirror that contained no reflection except for her own blue-bell eyes.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng! I am Mistress Mirage! Soon, I will show you the darkest parts of yourself, the secrets you hide behind your so-called truths!” she bellowed, her voice echoing in Marinette’s ears. In the background, she could barely hear her parents’ muffled screams and bangs against her bedroom door.

“Who-” she hissed, trying to balance herself and stand up. “What did I do to you?”

As far as she knew, she hadn’t angered anyone in the last hour she had been home for lunch.

Mistress Mirage zoomed towards her, her face shoved near into hers, her burning cold fingers choked her. Marinette backed into the wall, grabbing onto Mirage’s marble wrists, a pain shooting up her spine. Marinette could only struggle in place, her legs kicking listlessly, as the glassy, bright green emeralds Mistress Mirage had for eyes stared into her very being. The longer she stared into the empty gems, trying .

“Your weaknesses, your darkest secrets will be mine, Dupain-Cheng.”

Her voice, tinkled within Marinette’s mind, and she watched as the woman’s glassy skin shifted and soon she was faced with a kaleidoscope version of herself, blue sapphires glinting harshly, her breaths now ragged and shallow.

“Wha-” Marinette tried taking a deep breath, but Mirage’s fingers tightened their hold. “Why?” she managed to weakly choke out.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Mirage’s voice, no longer bellowing nor echoing, but now a whisper right in her ears, sounding eerily like her own. “That you aren’t enough? That you will never be enough?”

Marinette shook her head, trying to ignore the voice as it taunted her endlessly.

“What are you hiding, Marinette?”

“Why do you hide from the world?”

“How pathetic. You claim to hate liars,” Marinette felt Mirage’s fingers tighten around her. “But aren’t you a liar too?”

Tears stung the corner of her eyes. She didn’t know what was going on- Mistress Mirage wasn’t saying anything incriminating. If it were any other situation, she could brush off these accusations, but as Mirage continued to taunt her in her voice, doubts and fears, both new and old, she usually ignored were brought to the forefront of her mind.

‘I’ll fail as a Guardian- I’m not enough.

I’m abandoning my city to find a man who might not even be alive.

Chat Noir will never trust me again.

My parents want to send me away.

Why doesn’t Alya believe me?

Alya would’ve made a better Ladybug.

If Tikki could see me now she’d be disappointed.

What a failure I turned out to be.

“What a failure you turned out to be.”

Mistress Mirage’s emerald eyes glinted gleefully, a wide smile cracking into the glassy expanse of her skin. Her voice echoed Marinette’s thoughts and Marinette repeated her words as much as she could, her breathing becoming more shallow. Mistress Mirage couldn’t actually read any of Marinette’s secrets, however, she could read her psyche, a doubtful, anxious little thing, and she only said out loud what Marinette had already been telling herself to make her putty into Mirage’s hands. A neon violet butterfly appeared over her face, reminding her of her duty to get the Miraculous.

But for now, she had Marinette in her grasp. Once Marinette was in her trance, shaking slightly and mumbling nonsense as tears streaked down her cheeks, Mirage grabbed her and headed to the Trocadero, when three figures- black, steel blue and honey yellow- surrounded her in the middle of the street. The two new heroes stiffened at the sight of the girl in her arms. Chat snarled at Mistress Mirage.

“Marinette!” Chat yelled, rushing forward with his baton at Mistress Mirage. “What are you doing with her?!”

Mistress Mirage smirked. “If you want her, you’ll have to give me your Miraculous.”

She leapt out of the way only to stumble beside Shūyō who held her yellow top- flatter than Queen Bee’s with a long, black handle- the tip poised to the side of Mirage’s ribcage.

Before Shūyō could enact Venom however, Mirage turned and kicked the bee heroine away from her, holding out her compact mirror, creating a wall of mirrors that trapped Shūyō on the other side. She rearranged Marinette in her arms, ignoring the silent struggles of the bee thumping against the mirrored walls and swearing at her.

Chat Noir extended his baton towards Mistress Mirage. However, she jumped and landed on top of the baton, sending Chat sprawling through the air. Bleu Acier attacked at the same time. Mirage was quick and held out her compact to the two heroes, entrapping them in their own mirror dimension. The butterfly outline appeared again, and Mirage set off. She had special plans for Marinette.

Within the mirror dimension, Bleu and Chat were trying to navigate their way around crystallized walls which reflected everything around them. They had tried to find Shūyō, only to realize she was a reflection, then had almost been driven over by a car that had then disappeared.

“What is all this?” Chat muttered, nudging his surroundings. “It’s like, some of it are just reflections, but some of it is real.”

Bleu Acier nodded. “The reflections have to come from somewhere, so the real objects and people are in here somewhere.” He looked up and pointed a little ways forward. “Look, you can see our reflections.”

“Hope they’re getting my good side,” Chat quipped. “We have to get Shūyō and Marinette soon.”

Bleu Acier blinked, as he caught his yoyo when it hadn’t rebounded against a wall. “Do you know her personally?” He asked. He hadn’t been aware of Marinette’s close relationship with the Parisian heroes.

Chat gave a stiff nod. “She’s worked with Ladybug and I a few times. I met her when we fought Evillustrator.”

“So, do you and Ladybug often have civilians fight for you?” Bleu frowned. He scanned the area, and turned left.

“Only when we really need to,” Chat scoffed. “It’s not ideal, but it’s just me and m’Lady and sometimes we need help.”

Bleu could sense a resonating low, flat tone emanating from Chat. “That’s horrible. You guys look like you’re still kids.” Chat shrugged in response. As they walked onwards, investigating every inch of the way, Bleu noticed a figure dressed in a black and yellow-patterned fencing uniform, wearing a striped domino mask, thumping against a transparent wall. “Chat, look.”

Cat’s eyes widened at the sight. “Shūyō!” he yelled and rushed forward, only to be trapped in a corner with several reflections of the bug-themed heroine. Chat’s breath quickened. “Shūyō! Can you hear us?!”

Shūyō’ perked up and looked around. “I can! But where are you?” She shouted, her voice vibrating through the air.

“Shit.” Chat stared at his hand, before clenching it and turning towards Bleu. “I think we might need that Lucky Charm now.”

He nodded. “Lucky Charm!”

A bright red object with black spots dropped from the sky followed a series of chimes. Bleu Acier’s eyes widened as he held up the wind chime, eight hollow tubes ringing against the slapper in between, the clear, steady ringing piercing all around them. The wind chime was half the size of his torso, so fortunately, it was lighter than it looked.

It was a curious thing Ladybug had noted, that most of Bleu Acier’s Lucky Charms were sound or music-related.

“Well, this blows. You going to chime a pretty tune there, Bleu?”

He held back a chuckle. In the week he and Shūyō had been working with Chat and Ladybug, he had grown to appreciate Chat’s humour and the jaunty tune he associated with them.

“Maybe,” he said. Raising his voice, he addressed Shūyō. “Can you hear this?!” He asked, shaking the wind chime from its hanger.

They could see Shūyō’s reflection moving around, her eyes closed in concentration. “Sort of!” she answered, echoing slightly. “Are we able to use Chat Noir’s Cataclysm?!”

Bleu stared at Chat who was staring at his hand in deep thought. “Probably! We just need to make sure I’m not using Cataclysm on something real!”

“Maybe it is not my place to say as your junior, but this is not the time for hesitation!” Shūyō yelled back.

A beep echoed in Bleu’s ears. “We should hurry. I only have four minutes.”

Chat nodded. “Alright!” He looked around, scanning nearby walls until he found a reflection of himself- a sure way to make sure he hit the mirror. “Cataclysm!”

The walls around them crumbled in seconds, revealing the world around them. Chat smirked, and they scouted for Shūyō who met them in the middle.

“Why did you not use Cataclysm in the first place?” Shūyō asked, when they reconvened.

“I didn’t want to accidentally use it on the wrong thing,” he said, flexing his fingers. “Come on, we have less than five minutes. Don’t use Venom until you receive my signal.”

Shūyō nodded.

Chat turned to Bleu Acier and pointed to the wind chime. “Keep that on you and look out for opportunities.” He turned around and headed off. “Let’s go!”

In the end, Mistress Mirage was defeated quickly. In their absence, she had grown arrogant, and the three heroes found several clones of Mistress Mirage atop the Palais de Chaillot, a crowd having gathered at the bottom. Each clone had a Marinette bound in front of them, at the edge of the roof, standing listlessly. Despite this, Mistress Mirage was not prepared for the ambush of the three heroes. Bleu’s wind chimes were used as a distraction for the real Mistress Mirage while Chat and Shūyō attacked from behind.

“Shūyō! Use it now!” Chat yelled, as he grabbed Marinette and set her down on the ground below, and allowed the paramedics to deal with her.

“Venom,” Shūyō muttered. She dropped beneath Mirage and her top, stabbing her opponent beneath her ribcage. “Gotcha.”

Mistress Mirage froze mid-air, one leg in the air and both hands outstretched. Chat’s eyes widened when he didn’t see her holding the akumatized object. Chat pounced back onto the roof, ignoring the second beep from his ring. He noticed the satin sash that was wrapped around her waist.

“Shūyō, the akumatized object is the mirror she carries around. It should be in her sash,” he said, his cheeks tinged pink. “Can you- uh-?”

Shūyō nodded. “I do not understand your need for modesty at such a time, but it is commended.”

Chat’s cheeks reddened further. “It’s just polite! I don’t want to be touching anyone without their consent!”

Shūyō took out the compact mirror that had been tucked into the sash just above her left hip. She tossed it to Bleu Acier who quickly broke it and captured the akuma.

“It’s just the principle of it!” Chat squawked as the trail of tiny red ladybugs flowed throughout Parisian skies.

She snorted. “I understand. I was just teasing.” She turned to nod at Bleu then at Chat. “You two are close to de-transforming. I will bring both victims home.” Shūyō then grabbed Lila, who had been the akuma and was now disoriented, and jumped down to retrieve Marinette.

When Marinette had woken up from the akuma attack, she had been escorted home by Shūyō, who had fussed over any injuries she may have gotten before eventually leaving with a pack of honey macarons. Marinette smiled. Chat had made a good choice with Kagami. After, she had endured cuddles and hugs from her parents who were now even more determined to get her out of Paris.

Later that evening, after reassuring her parents and making sure the kwami were okay. She headed off to patrol where she had to answer for her absence, and where Chat had regaled how they did. Marinette smiled, knowing she made the right choice. After the patrol, which had been less of a patrol and more of a small goodbye ceremony, she returned home and recorded the events in her diary, slowly anticipating the trip.

The next day, she had just made it to the airport an hour before boarding. Everyone had gone through the usual airport processes and she was the last to arrive with her passport and airplane tickets in her carry-on shoulder bag. When she arrived to the waiting area where her friends were (with Adrien’s bodyguard nearby playing on his phone), she was met with a lot of mixed reactions.

Alya had rushed over and hugged her, frantically asking if she was okay. Several classmates had joined her, like Rose, Juleka and Mylene. She hugged them back and reassured them that she was alright, and wasn’t going to jump off roofs anytime soon (though she didn’t remember that from yesterday anyway). They then moved on and Alya asked her a question that stopped her in her tracks.

“Why were you arguing with Lila yesterday, anyway?” Alya asked, leading the two of them to sit down.

Marinetter furrowed her eyebrows and frowned. “What are you on about? I’m not talking to Lila at all.”

Alya frowned. “She told us that’s why she was akumatized yesterday. Apparently you called the mirror she got from Bruce Wayne as a birthday gift, fake.”

Marinette forced herself to not roll her eyes. “What? Why would I care about anything like that? She’s lying!”

Alya frowned even more. “Lila said you’d probably say that. Why can’t you two just get along?”

“Alya, you’re the one that believes Lila has a lying illness. Why don’t you believe me when I say she’s lying and that I didn’t even see her at all yesterday outside of class?” Marinette tensed. How petty did Lila think she was? How petty was Lila?

“She did get akumatized yesterday. Her story matches the events,” Alya said. “Marinette, you’re my best friend. That’s why I want to know why you did what you did.”

Marinette snorted. “And I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything. Is this what the whole class believes? That I’m so shallow that I would akumatize Lila over something as trivial as a mirror?”

Alya blanched. “No, of course not. We’re just saying you two had an argument and Lila got upset enough to turn into an akuma. We’re not saying it was intentional on your part or anything.”

She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Look, my version of events is that I went home for lunch, was in my bedroom, got attacked by the akuma, and was out for it until that Bee hero Shūyō brought me home. Believe what you want, but don’t expect me to apologize to Lila for something I didn’t do.”

Marinette stood up and was about to go before she was stopped by Alya grabbing her wrist. She looked back and watched as Alya looked down at her clenched fist, biting her lip.

“I,” Alya sighed. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I’m not saying I don’t believe Lila either. Either way, both of you were the victims yesterday. I’m sorry I was asking you stuff like that.”

Marinette frowned and sat back down. She wasn’t sure what was happening between her and Alya. Alya had been spending more time with Lila, even ending up as her seatmate on the plane and her roommate for the hotel. It made Marinette uncomfortable that they were becoming so close, considering who Lila was. But, Alya was a good person- she just wanted her friends to get along, and it’s not like she could force Alya to cut off her other friendships, even if it was to manipulative lying rats like Lila. That had to be on Alya’s terms. All Marinette could do was be there for her and hope she’d return the sentiment.

She forced a smile. “You’re forgiven.” Alya looked up and smiled, reaching out to hug her. “Now, let’s hang out for a bit before we’re stuck in a plane for twelve hours.”

Alya smiled back. “Yeah! By the way, did you hear that Jagged Stone knows Bruce Wayne?”

And just like that, they had spent the rest of the hour waiting to board the place. The plane that would take them to whatever was awaiting them in Gotham City.

A/N: So that's the end to the first arc I guess, if I intentionally have arcs lol. The rest of this fanfic will be in Gotham. Thank you again for joining me this far and I hope you continue to read it!

Other notes: Bleu Acier is based on the Steelblue Ladybird, with Bleu Acier meaning Steel Blue. Shūyō has three meanings in Japanese, but here, it’s used to mean self-discipline (because that’s something I associate with bees and hard workers). Couleuvre is just another way to say snake in French because Marinette sucks at names.

P.S. I don't hate Alya. In fact, I think we often brush over the fact that Alya is fiercely loyal and in the show, doesn't have all the facts so she's not too suspicious of Lila.

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mxndoscyarika · 3 years

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Honeydew (Marcus Pike/Moreno x OC) | Deleted Scene: Sweet

Honeydew Summary: Erin He moves to DC after working for the FBI in Texas and runs into a hero in disguise; Marcus Moreno. Something about him is familiar, too familiar, yet different in a way that she can’t quite place. Although confused, she can’t deny her feelings for him; perhaps, after years of regret, she finally found the one.

Scene Summary: Erin and Marcus have a little fun. (Deleted from Chapter 5)

Warnings: feelings, smut (literally 90% of this is smut I’m sorry 😂)

Ao3

Honeydew masterlist

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Author’s Note: Special thanks go to @bitchin-beskar for being my thot twin and always supporting the story!!! This scene (and Honeydew as a whole) was borne out of our late night conversations 🥺 She even has her own Marcus Moreno story, called “Honey and Clementines”, which is sooooo cute and precious! You can read her first chapter here. And if you haven’t yet, please go read chapter 5, since this is a continuation of it! Enjoy!

“We’re together, now.”

“Yes,” he murmured, kissing her deeply. A shiver ran down his spine as she whimpered into his mouth. “We are.”

They broke apart for air, their foreheads touching. Erin wove her fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp gently. It took everything in him to not melt into a puddle, savoring her touch.

Unable to help herself, she tightened her legs around his waist and pulled him close until her skirt bunched up at the top of her thighs. Her hands trailed down his chest as she kissed him softly. “Do you want to stay?”

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me, sweetie,” he murmured, keeping her still by gripping her hips. “But I don’t think I can give you what you want, baby. Not tonight.”

She looked up at him with sparkling brown eyes, brows furrowed just slightly. The confident air around her seemed to fade a little, much to his dismay. He knew she wouldn’t force him, that she would understand. He just didn’t want her to think he didn’t want her.

With a small smile, he explained, “If you want me to go, I’ll go. But I want you to know that I do want you, honey. More than you might think.” His pants were tight as he pressed closer to her, his bulge nestled perfectly between her legs. Part of him begged for relief, for the tight heat of her pussy. The other part, however, wanted to make it special for her; not just a quick post-date event. He cupped her cheek gently. “But tonight? I just want to hold you, get to know you more. We have all the time in the world.”

“Okay,” she responded, biting her lip to hide her smile. “I guess that will just make it even more special, then.”

Grinning, he kissed her forehead. “Yes, yes it will. Until then…?” Letting out a soft laugh, Erin asked, “You want to watch a movie?”

“Will I get to hold you?”

She hummed in affirmation. “Of course, babe. Let me just change into some other clothes.”

Marcus had made himself comfortable on her couch by the time she returned in some sweatpants and an old t-shirt, glasses perched on her nose in lieu of her contacts. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in obsidian waves, catching the faint light coming from the kitchen area. “Hey,” she said softly.

He looked up at her, smiling as he took in her cozy attire. “Hi, honey.”

They both let out a content sigh as she settled into his arms, her back pressed against his chest. His arm came around her waist, his hand resting on her belly. She had to suppress a moan as his thumb stroked her slowly, his other hand occupied with flipping through the movies on Netflix.

The thin fabric of her t-shirt didn’t provide much warmth, and the more she thought about his touch, the more her nipples poked against the shirt. They hadn’t even made it ten minutes into the movie yet, and her body was begging for more.

She smiled as his other arm slid under her so that he could hug her to his chest. When his thumb brushed the underside of her breast, she drew a sharp intake of breath and squeezed her legs together tightly.

As she was changing, she’d caught sight of herself in her full-length mirror, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. It was then that reality set in–Marcus did want her, and he was right outside, waiting for her. For a moment, she’d considered slipping into some of her lacy sets, but stopped herself. No, she wouldn’t put that pressure on him.

No, instead she’d find a way to satisfy herself.

Her folds were slick with arousal as she selected a toy from her drawer. It had been a long time since she’d wanted a man so badly, and each clench of her cunt only made her realize how utterly empty she felt.

A light whimper escaped her lips as she stood in front of the mirror and slid off her soaked panties, trails of arousal dripping down her legs. Moonlight streamed in through the window behind her, lining her reflection in a pale blue light. Her tits shimmered just slightly, round and tight.

Her knees buckled when she slid the cock into her wet pussy, eyes rolling back. It filled her so well, and she couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like if it was Marcus. For the time being, her toy would have to do.

Unable to resist, she pumped it into herself a couple times, biting her lip to hold in her cries of pleasure. The shaft shined with her juices even from just a couple thrusts, and there were droplets on her fingers.

Admiring her juices in the mirror, she brought her finger up to her mouth and sucked them clean. The taste of her pussy made her clench around the toy again, making her moan.

The thick dildo sat snug and deep inside her, nudging at her g-spot with each clench of her walls. And despite its girth, it’d slid into her easily, as if her pussy were starved.

Walking from her room to the sofa was a challenge in and of itself, each step reminding her of how filled she was. If the walk were any longer, she would have come.

And now, she was being tortured. Just the short brush of his hand through the fabric was enough to make her clench around the cock, biting back a whimper.

Marcus must’ve noticed her tremble, because he tightened his hold and asked softly, “Are you okay, my love?”

She hummed softly and nodded. The press of him against her backside gave her a surge of confidence. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who was in a mood. Wiggling her ass, she asked, “Are you okay, baby?”

A low chuckle left his lips, his voice vibrating deep in her chest. “Behave, honey,” he cooed. His hand slid just a little lower on her belly, pressing gently. “Watch the movie.”

So she did. But then, the protagonists confessed their love for each other and, in a passionate haze, stripped each other of their clothes.

Erin couldn’t help but imagine herself and Marcus in place of the characters, his hips thrusting hard and deep into her. The cock seated inside her pussy was nice, but she wanted the real thing. She wanted to feel him throbbing inside her, wanted to feel the veins of his cock rub against her most sensitive spots. She wanted to feel him paint her walls, filling her to the rim with his cum. She wanted to feel him.

Her breathing grew shallow as she watched the scene play out, her legs squeezing together subconsciously in time with the thrusts.

She must’ve made a sound because Marcus cooed, “Is my little honeydew alright? What do you need?” His hands started wandering from their places, the palm of his hand grazing over the peak of a hardened nipple.

“Please,” she gasped, arching into his touch. Fire burned in her lower belly as his other hand traced the waistband of her sweatpants, his fingertips just barely dipping underneath.

“Please what?” he asked, placing kisses along her neck. “Use your words, honey.”

The sparks of pleasure as he brushed over her nipples nearly took her breath away. “Please touch me, Marcus.”

He chuckled softly, slipping his hand under her shirt. A shiver ran down her spine as his large hand settled on her right breast, his thick fingers squeezing just slightly. “Like this, honey? You’re so needy….”

“Just for you,” she whimpered, sighing as he traced circles around her nipple. Reaching down to guide his free hand, she begged, “Please, I need more.” Grinding her ass against his bulge, she continued, “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, hm?” he mused, letting her guide his hand down her panties. A low groan left his lips as the pads of his fingers met her slick folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet, and I’m not even going to fuck you tonight, baby.” Nuzzling her neck, he proposed, “I’ll touch you on one condition, honey: you don’t get to cum until I get to fuck you. I want your first orgasm to be when I can have you fully, when I have enough time to make you come over and over and over.”

Erin simply whined and rolled her hips in an effort to feel his fingers again.

“Do we have a deal, honey?”

“Yes,” she said immediately, cheeks flushed with need, “Yes, please.”

“Perfect,” he said. Flexing his fingers, he began rubbing her swollen clit. The wet sounds of her wet pussy filled the air, along with her breathy moans. “That’s it, honey. Take it.”

She gasped when he switched to her other breast, his hand squeezing just a little tighter on the plush flesh. It filled his hand perfectly, warm and soft and succulent. He wished he had more time so that he could worship them, suck on her nipples until her pussy was dripping. Maybe he could make her come with just that. He wished he could taste her juicy cunt, slip her hard clit into his mouth and suck until she filled his mouth with cum. She’d taste so sweet, like a summer peach.

“Marcus,” she whimpered, trembling. “Marcus, please.”

“Please,” she whined, juices flooding out of her.

Marcus smirked. She was close.

“More, please.”

Then, he woke up, panting. As his eyes focused on the ceiling of his bedroom, he realized he was not, in fact, at Erin’s apartment. She wasn’t in his arms, and his hands weren’t shoved underneath her clothes to bring her pleasure.

No, he’d gone home. There was a phone call, and the movie, her tits… It was all a dream.

He didn’t need to look down at himself to know the blanket was tented. The thick length of his cock throbbed as the images of her body and her sweet voice came back to him.

It was a dream, but it would be reality, someday. Maybe someday.

With a sigh, he slipped his hand under his boxers and got to work.

---

Erin woke with a start, chest heaving as she regained her bearings. She was laying on her back, legs spread just slightly. Even though it was all a dream, her pussy clenched around nothing, oozing slick into her sleep shorts.

It’s felt so real, from the cock in her pussy to his warm hands.

She shuddered as she cupped a breast with one hand and slipped the other under her shorts. A soft cry left her lips as she circled her clit, though she wished it were Marcus’s touch making her come undone.

The dream had felt so real, so….sensual. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought it did happen, rather than the abrupt ending to their night.

As the fire in her belly grew, she remembered his words: “you don’t get to cum until I get to fuck you.” Just the thought of him was enough to make herself all the more sensitive, fingers slipping easily through her folds. If only he were there to clean her up.

Gasps filled the air as she approached her orgasm, hips grinding up to meet her fingers. Her pussy fluttered as it gushed more juices, soaking through her shorts.

“Marcus,” she moaned, pinching her nipples. It was too much; she needed to stop before she broke their agreement. “Oh, Marcus.”

A needy cry left her lips as she forced herself to pull away from her pussy. The building ecstasy faded into a dull throbbing need, her pussy clenching repeatedly.

Maybe someday, she thought.

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thegirlwholied · 3 years

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I can’t believe I’m saying this, but my biggest disappointment in Wonder Woman 1984 was... Steve.

Yes he’s the perfect Wonder Woman boyfriend; yes I love how he backs her up in the fight scenes; yes I love Chris Pine; yes they have great chemistry and are adorable...

and yes the scene in the movie that most hit for me was their goodbye.

But uh. I get that maybe the creative team wanted to avoid the complicated stuff and just have fun? But Wonder Woman (2017) showed you can have both fun & address the complicated stuff.

And Steve Trevor, in that movie, bearing the weight of war, was part of the complicated stuff:

You don't think I get it, after what I've seen out there? You don't think I wish I could tell you that it was one bad guy to blame? It's not! We're all to blame! (I’m not). But maybe I am.

My father told me once, he said, "If you see something wrong happening in the world, you can either do nothing, or you can do something". And I already tried nothing.

1984!Steve is not complicated. He’s delicious. He eats Pop-Tarts. He is a Pop-Tart.

There’s a reason, when plots with time travel involve World War I, there’s usually That Moment. You know, the what do you mean, World War I. It’s probably a trope by now. But tropes exist for a reason and that one exists because it is one HELL of an emotional beat. You sent this man to the National Air & Space Museum, founded after World War II with an initial collection of mostly post WWI & WWII aircraft, and had him in DC within walking distance of war memorials, and had him in Diana’s apartment where she had a concentration camp photo... and you’re not even going to spend a beat on that?

The guy who we were introduced to, who drew Diana away from her island, talking about the ‘war to end all wars’, and we don’t get a beat? Who was worried about ‘weapons far deadlier than you can imagine’ and how ‘every kind’ of weapon now kills innocents, and the plot is set amid the specter of Cold War nuclear annihilation...and not a beat?

I’m not saying it’s a plot-hole; you can handwave it with off-screen conversations or the lack of PTSD as ‘well, he did just come from heaven’. I’m not saying everything needs to be on-screen: we don’t need to know the details of Steve ‘trying nothing’, for example.

But the movie is lesser for ignoring it, and Steve’s character is shallower. Hello, Pop-Tart. A perfect boyfriend, but one who, when he’s insisting any other guy could do for her (not exactly sounding like the guy who pointed out he was ‘above average’, and I’d buy he feels he’s not worthy but I’m not sure I buy his faith in other men being automatically more worthy?)... is not exactly demonstrating a lot of depth beyond, well, being charming Chris Pine, making crumbs in bed look appealing. He’s a dream!

...honestly he almost felt to me like not-real Steve, versus the Steve who argued with Diana, who, yes, things were good with but also difficult with, but since the movie neither explored a) the question of ‘is dreamstone!Steve real’, pretty much just running with ‘yes’ rather than making us wonder if he was more conjured from Diana’s wish/memory versus his true self, but that is a whole different plot or b) how it’s a lot easier to love the memory of someone than the more-complicated real deal, but real is also better... that’s all moot.

Yes, there should have been joy at more time with Diana and modern marvels (...though, uh, I question the choices of subway and escalator; they were in 1918 London, which would already have had escalators in its Underground). But in the first movie, for all Diana’s delight at babies & ice cream & snow, it’s balanced with recognition of the horrors of the world, which when seen through fresh eyes are so much worse than those taking them for granted, just as the joys are made new again. And so the echo aimed for, of Steve taking in 1984 with fresh eyes, was muddled for me, by its lack of depth. The movie reaches at commenting on ’80s greed & materialism & Cold War threats, but it almost doesn’t matter we’re in 1984, because it doesn’t use that right-there tool - the perspective from the past, with values pulled straight out of a more-despairing time - to add any color. It’s all pop, no tart.

When I find myself dwelling on media it’s always because a) it was just that good, b) it was just that terrible, or, most often, c) it just missed being better, being great, and sometimes I’m not sure how they missed it - Wonder Woman 1984 just missed, for me, and this is the central reason why. Did I enjoy watching it? Do I love an Indiana Jones callback, and the Diana/Steve chemistry, and Kristin Wiig and Pedro Pascal? You bet. I enjoy eating a Pop-Tart, too.

But it leaves me still wanting something with more substance.

#wonder woman #wonder woman 1984 #ww1984 #steve trevor #diana x steve #wonder woman 1984 spoilers #ww1984 spoilers #wonder woman meta #...i can't believe i'm writing wonder woman meta but I hadn't seen any articulation on this and this is where i'm at #maybe somewhere on ao3 people are writing missing scenes that will satisfy me more but the movie left me wanting #so much cuteness! fun moments!#but goddammit #i have rewatched and many times again will rewatch wonder woman or scenes thereof #this I enjoyed while watching but it kind of left me with the 'eh once was enough' feeling #i just felt the script was kind of careless for as long as this seemed to be in development?#diana spent the first part of the movie missing first-movie steve #and as much as i enjoy seeing chris pine on screen - i kept missing first-movie steve #except for 'well shit diana' and the fight scenes where he felt on point #the goodbye hit for me mostly because of my emotions already being engaged from the first movie #not anything this movie itself did #i also don't love the other-guy's-body storyline which I assume is sort of a Heaven Can Wait callback #missed opportunity to have Steve show up in his WWI uniform against the DC backdrop and have Diana stare unsure if he's a mirage #and I don't mean the big furry coat look in the first movie #i mean the straight-out-of-the-picture-she-keeps WWI uniform we and she never actually saw him #because would that not just lead right into the is-he-real dilemma (which I would have preferred to instant acceptance)#as well as be cinematically A Moment #i'm sorry Hallmark Handsome Man your running up to Diana repeating Steve's last words did not impress me on a cinematic level #the happy few

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imaginesandinserts · 4 years

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Irreverent Pt. 31 - Sundress

Title: Irreverent Pt. 31 - Sundress Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: R Words: 2108

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You'd woken up extra early the next day, a bundle of nerves. Hotch had said he'd pick you up around eleven after dropping off Jack at Rossi's. The night before, as you tossed and turned in excitement, you had realized that this was your first date since Foyet happened. Between work, making sure Aaron and Jack were alright, and then all the family stuff you'd dealt with, dating had been on the back burner. Then again, you couldn't imagine having dated anyone but Aaron in the intermediate.

Since you'd been up extra early, you had time to prep for dinner later with Rossi and Jack. You'd managed to cut all of the vegetables and marinate the meat, along with actually get ready for the date itself. When the knock finally came at your door - right at eleven - you felt your heartrate increase.

You went to go open the door and there was Aaron Hotchner, holding a small bouquet of dahlias - who does that anymore? He was dressed in jeans and a dark polo and he smiled and he looked so good.

"Hi," you said, opening the door wider to let him.

"Hello," he responded, his voice low and happy, "you look beautiful."

"Thanks." You looked down at the sundress you'd chosen to wear since you rarely got a chance to wear dresses on the job. He handed you the flowers so you could put them in a vase with water.

Once you'd put the flowers in the center of the kitchen island, you turned back to him, catching him watching you. The two of you had really only kissed the one time in his office so far. But no time like the present.

"You ready to head out?" he asked, as you approached him.

"Mmhm, almost," you smiled as you got to him and went up on your toes to press a light kiss on his lips. You must've awakened something in him, as he responded immediately his hands finding your waist, and before you knew it he'd picked you up and placed you on the island, his lips still on yours, his tongue peaking out to tease your lower lip. You opened your mouth slightly and granted him access and he took full advantage, exploring your mouth and nipping just barely at your lips. You could feel the warmth pooling in your stomach and couldn't help your legs winding around his waist, your ankles crossed together, holding him to you as your hands found their way into his hair. His hands quickly moved to your thighs, holding them firmly around him as he continued to fervently kiss you. You had to finally break for air with a gasp and you looked at him, his eyes following yours, you felt yourself color at how absolutely beautifully wrecked he looked. Both of you were breathing hard. His hand came around to your face and pulled gently at a curl that had fallen out of place.

"We should probably get going," he said, his tone suggesting that if you two didn't leave right then, things were going to escalate quite a bit more. You nodded, unwinding yourself from around him and reached out to fix his hair, after which he helped you jump down from the counter. He did not, however, let go of your hand.

You allowed him to lead you out the door where he opened the door to his car for you and helped you inside. When he got into the driver's side and started the car, his hand found yours and then didn't let go again until he pulled into the parking lot of a national park.

Once you were both standing outside, he reached into the trunk and grabbed picnic basket and blanket and then reached for your hand again. You grabbed the blanket from him against his protests but fixed him with a look so he relented.

"So, where are we?" you asked as he led you down a small pathway, your hands intertwined together. You were glad you wore wedges instead of real heels but Aaron was still being careful to make sure you could walk easily.

"I used to come here a lot when Haley and I first moved to DC," he explained, as he walked slightly ahead of you, clearing a path. "Our old apartment isn't too far and I'd come here to run, but haven't been back in years since we moved. I thought you might like it." As he said that, the path opened up to a clearing and you had a view of a gorgeous lake with a grass covered lawn surrounding it. As your day off happened to be a weekday, there weren't too many people around, but your could imagine the place would be bustling with families on a weekend.

"Aaron, it's gorgeous," you gushed, squeezing his hand as he led you to a small path of grass under a tree where you'd have a full view of the lake.

He grabbed the blanket from you and the two of you set up underneath the large tree. He'd packed a full spread of food including sandwiches and a bottle of white wine. As the two of you settled in and ate, you couldn't help but feel a little relieved at how easy it felt. You were both trying and you were both a little shy but all in all it was the two of you and now when you wanted to just brush your fingers against his arm, you could.

The sun was warming you and a gentle breeze was picking as you finished eating and moved to lean against the tree, completely stuffed. Good thing I wore a dress.

"Thank you," you murmured to him as he scooched around to come sit perpendicular to you so you two could see each other closer. His lips are slightly upturned and you find yourself cupping his face and gently kissing him. When you move back, his eyes are still closed and he has the absolute longest lashes. You'd never been the person who ever initiated in the past but with him it was so easy and you really couldn't stop yourself if you tried.

He laid down with his head in your lap as the two of you enjoyed the nice weather. Your hand carded through his hair while he held your other in his. You asked him about his family that he never seemed to talk about. You knew he didn't care much for his father but he told you about Sean. About how Sean was the favorite but he still felt a responsibility to keep his baby brother out of trouble. How he hadn't shown up to Haley's funeral and that had really made Aaron take stock of their relationship. His voice hitched when he talked about Haley and you could tell he was feeling a little awkward talking about her with you. You reassured him that Haley would always be a part of his life and Jack's life and you wouldn't ever want to change that. He relaxed a little more at that. Having Aaron Hotchner so relaxed under your touch was something you'd definitely cherish.

The two of you bided the afternoon away at the park just sitting and talking and occasionally kissing. As it drew closer to evening you packed up and made your way back to your place to start preparing dinner. Rossi would be bringing Jack soon and Aaron wanted to be sure that dinner was ready by then. You'd briefly discussed what to tell Jack and had a rough idea but were going to wait until the next time he was over for a playdate to talk to him about it together.

When you got home, you cleaned up as Hotch started getting ready in the kitchen. You'd changed into something comfier for home and grabbed a bottle of water and hopped up on the counter as you watched him grab everything from the fridge. "You need any help?"

"No, I'm alright. You just sit there and look pretty," he joked, resulting in you sticking your tongue out at him. The last time you'd been here before this morning had been when your Mother had dropped by. He noticed your contemplative face as he asked what you were thinking.

"Just that the last time we were here, so was my Mother. Kind of crazy to think how much has changed."

"Mmhm," he agreed. "All changes for the better, though," he said, coming to stand in front of you and quickly kissing you. You smiled into the kiss.

"Actually," he said, pulling away, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, "speaking of your Mother," he spoke slowly and hesitantly, "I remember that day when she was talking to you about Matthew."

"Uh huh."

He was gauging you carefully as he continued. "She mentioned something about deficiencies and you flinched when she said that, as if she was attacking something directly." He noticed you wince. "If you don't want to talk about it -"

"No," you stopped him, but you weren't quite looking at him either. "No, um…I'm sorry." You took a quick shallow breath. "I - um - I was going to tell you, but I just wasn't sure what the right time was for something like that."

You looked up to see his concerned face as he ran his hands soothingly down side of your thighs.

You continued, "Back when I was in my last year of college - I was already engaged to Matthew."

Aaron was nodding attentively, and you could tell he was bracing himself but keeping the focus on making you comfortable.

"We were coming back from something - a party - and I should've driven, but I didn't, he did."

"He was drunk," he inferred. You saw his jaw tighten.

Your voice was shaking a bit as you spoke, but you really wanted to tell him. "Yeah, he was. We were in an accident and I got hurt pretty badly. They had to operate and well...there is a strong chance I can't have children. " You watched as he looked a bit surprised and he was about to say something, but you chose to continue and just get it out. "My Mother felt I should be grateful that he wanted to be with me still. She was wrong though - he never let me forget how lucky I was that he was still choosing to be with me." The last few words were very quiet and you'd never told anyone that before. How he'd constantly reminded you of your failure. How you should feel grateful that a man would still look at you. Your relationship had been over long before you found out about your father's true nature.

Hotch was very quiet as he continued to touch you soothingly. You felt compelled to fill the silence. "You don't have to say anything, I know it's a lot, and I'd understand if - "

He cut you off with a quick kiss, soft and full of meaning. When he pulled away he looked right at you as he held you in front of him. "I am so sorry, sweetheart."

He was trying very hard to hold it together, knowing that your mother had thrown this obviously very painful event in your face. Hotch was surprised but then he thought back to how easily you'd taken to Jack and how quickly the two of you had bonded. He realized this must be especially painful given how much you loved kids - you'd be an amazing mom. You already were around Jack. He'd never really considered more kids but knew it would be a possibility if he were ever with someone else.

You smiled a bit, letting him know it was okay, that he didn't need to say anything else, but he continued, his voice low and gravelly. "When we decide if we want more kids, we'll figure it out then, but I don't want you to worry about this, not with me, not with us." His face was earnest and kind and this must be what it feels like to have someone love you.

"I know," you whispered, your fingers bunching up in his shirt. "To be honest, I really wasn't worried, I just felt guilty I hadn't told you," you confided, your voice low as your forehead touched his.

"That's alright," he whispered softly. You could feel his warm breath on your face. "And hey, for now, we have Jack, and he keeps us plenty busy."

You laughed, pulling him in to you again.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch x you #hotchner imagine #hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotchner x you #hotch x y/n #irreverentseries

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sabraeal · 3 years

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Minimum Distance

If there’s one thing Obi’s sure of, it’s that this is Hisame’s fault.

Not the lockdown-- though honestly, he wouldn’t put it past the bastard if it meant having things go his way-- but everything else. This fucking party. That stupid fake dating plan. The kiss.

He scrapes a hand down his face. This whole ‘day trip’ is turning right into a disaster weekend and god, if he had the ability to fly right back to DC right now, he would. But instead he’s trapped here, in the middle of the New Mexican desert, in the Smart House of some elusive and shady billionaire. He must have kicked a puppy in the last life-- no, bags of puppies-- if the universe is exerting this level of karmic violence on him.

His back hits the door. He needs like, five minutes. Just until he learns how to breathe again.

Which he’s not going to do, if he keeps replaying that kiss in his head. You know, the only thing he’s been doing for the past twenty-four hours, including breakfast, where Rougis just stared at him with that grin on his face. Like he knew. Like he could somehow see every last mortifying second of his dreams last night, and thought it was funny.

Doc’s informed him this whole pandemic thing is serious, that there’s stuff with r’s and knots and things being close to two. He is tangentially aware aware of how a logarithmic scale works, and he’d never wish anyone actually sick, but-- if Hisame could just shuffle off this mortal coil in the next few hours, that would really pluck one of the bigger monkeys off his back.

He takes a deep breath-- more like a deep hiccup, honestly-- and lets the tension fall out of him. It’s fine. He doesn’t have time to stand here and freestyle mental scream. He has to work on getting them back home. Which means getting this Rugilia guy to sign off on funding.

And then he can hop on a plane, pandemic permitting, and get instantly fired for kissing his boss’s girlfriend. Bingo bango bongo. Job well done.

God, it would be just great if he could resist fucking up just one good thing in his life. At least Ryuu will still write.

Right, no time for catastrophizing. They’ve got a billionaire to woo. Or something.

He swings open his door-- no, it’s her door, but also his, because switching rooms seemed prudent when the guy holding all the keys spent a night trying to get Doc alone in a garden-- only to run into Doc. Literally. Right there. In her borrowed pajamas.

Whatever intel Rugilia had on her was clearly not as good as his, since Doc is really a matching pajama sets kind of girl, and not--

Well, after living with her for three years, Obi can firmly say he’s never seen a cotton teddy. At least, not on Doc herself.

He could get used to it, though.

“Oh, Obi!” She blinks, taking a step back. Adjusts her glasses, too. Tugs at a hem that is not going to get any lower, no matter how much she tries. “I was just coming to see you.”

“Ah.” He scrubs at the back of his head; it gives him as good an excuse as any for looking anywhere else. If he gives her more than a glance he’ll start counting freckles, and well-- they have separate rooms for a reason “Me, too. I was thinking--”

“The room thing isn’t going to work.”

He blinks. Blinks again.

“I mean...” Her cheeks bloom to a pale pink, the start of what’s sure to be a painful blush. “We should be sharing a room.”

He hopes there’s an actual, medical doctor in this group of useless socialites, because he’s about to have a cardiac event, and Doc’s doesn’t have the right alphabet soup to handle that kind of thing. “UH.”

“No, no!” She waves her hands, and god, they’re so close her fingertips practically brush his chest. Which wouldn’t be a problem if she didn’t follow up with, “I just mean, we should be sleeping together.”

Oh, it’s too late for medical intervention now; he’s already dead. “Ah, Doc--?”

“I just mean,” she yelps, fingers fluttering nervously between them, making it real hard to not look down and get some solid ideas about her cup size. “I know we switched rooms. For safety.”

“For safety,” he echoes dumbly, because that’s the level of thought he’s at right now. Or at least, the level he can safely be at without risking a real containment breach on all the things he’s not allowed to think when Doc’s around, wearing almost nothing, and telling him they need to put their bodies in close, horizontal proximity.

“But if we’re trying to be a couple, I don’t think...” Her tongue pokes out, pink and spongy, and draws his eyes right to the lips he definitely shouldn’t be staring at. “Well, I just don’t think that we-- that you-- that it looks--?”

“You mean,” he says, so slow, like she’s a rogue possum and he’s animal control, “I don’t look like the kind of guy who wouldn’t be taking advantage of a king bed and silk sheets?”

“Ah...” She’s the one that blinks now, eyelashes fluttering against red cheeks that are begging him to take their temperature. “Not-- not the way you were, um...”

She lets the implication hand in the air, and god, fuck Rougis for putting that fucking idea in his head, for even allowing the memory of her against him like that, sighing into his mouth--

“I thought we were supposed to be keeping it on the down low,” he says, leaning in with a grin. “Since you’re slumming it with the help.”

Her mouth goes from sexy to scowl. “I’m not slumming it with anyone.”

“Right, right, I know that,” he assure her, “but Rugilia--”

“No.” It’s loud enough that he flinches, because fuck, he can pretend to be normal all the live long day, but the second a voice raises-- “Oh, Obi, sorry, I didn’t--” her palm wraps warmly around his arm, thumb rubbing over the cotton of his sleeve-- “I just meant that I’m not-- it’s not-- being with you isn’t slumming.”

It’s all a little much having her so close, having so little of her be clothed, and smell so good as she does. She must have taken a shower or something before rushing out here to make herself his own personal problem. In any case, all he manages is a half-dubious, half-distracted hum.

“Besides,” she adds, one of her eyebrows rounding in a teasing arch, “as far as I was aware, doctors and lawyers were considered the same pay grade.”

Obi coughs on his own spit. “I’m not a lawyer.”

“And I’m not that kind of doctor.” Her arms fold neatly-- distractingly-- beneath her breasts, A cups giving off a distinctly B-cup vibe. “But Eisetsu doesn’t know that. I told him I was here about a vaccine, and you said you were here to keep me out of trouble.”

And with a man used to dealing with pharma rather than the academic side, the legal representation would be implied. Obi scrubs a hand through his hair, staring down at his silk pajama set, and tries to discern what about him says ‘went to a four-year college,’ let alone law school. “Me?”

“Well...” She really shouldn’t look at him like that, all coy from the corner of those big eyes, if he can’t give her a repeat performance of last night. “It only makes sense. I mean, who else does Zen hang out with.”

Now, that-- that gives him pause. Mitsuhide, lawyer. Kiki, lawyer. Doc, doctor, but Not That Kind. Him--

“Fuck me,” he breathes, “that actually makes sense.”

“It does,” she agrees primly. “I’d thought the keeping it quiet angle was more along the line of, uh, conflict of interest, rather than, um, other reasons.”

Other reasons, like that half of his other aliases were on No Fly lists. “Conflict of Interest?”

“Well, um...” Her flush is brighter this time, spilling over her cheeks and down her neck, flirting with the lace edging her neckline, and he certainly is feeling both conflicted and interested about how far it might go-- “There’s probably fraternization rules.”

He blinks. “Fraternization?”

“You know,” she says slowly, taking a step back, right into the doorway of her-- his room. “That employees can’t date or, um--” her skin’s barely a shade lighter than her hair-- “do other stuff. At least without clearing with HR first.”

It shouldn’t be so cute that a woman with a doctorate can’t say sex, but this is it, this is his type now.

“Other stuff, hm?” He steps close, their toes sharing the jamb. So close that when she sucks in a breath, shallow and quick, her chest brushes against his. “If we’re supposed to be fraternizing in this room tonight, a few things are going to have to change.”

She shuffles back, an arm’s length--one of hers, at least-- toes curling on the carpet. “O-oh?”

The thing is: Obi can’t resist a good joke. It’s why he works so good with the boss-man; no matter how transparent, how dumb it is, all his teasing crawls right under that lily-white thin skin of his and sends Wisteria climbing right up the wall. It’s satisfying.

So when he closes the gap between them with a single long stride, he expects Doc to just-- tell him to quit it. Yelp maybe. Slap his chest. Scold him, if he’s lucky.

But instead she just peers up at him, chest quivering, and doesn’t get the joke. By the way she’s looking at him, she--

Ah, well, it doesn’t look like she minds overly much either. Which is going to make this Not Funny real quick in a southerly direction.

Strange, he doesn’t feel much like laughing either.

“The bed.” His hips guide her back a step, then two. “For one.”

She really needs to stop him, to put her foot down, to really get it through to the parts of him below the belt that she’s not interested in bringing some realism to this little show they’re putting on.

Instead, she lets him herd her four more steps back, body following every slow, rolling suggestion of his. “Bed?”

“Yeah.” Her knees hit the edge of the mattress-- well, considering how tall these beds are, her waist. She wobbles, hands bracing on his chest. “We need to get this bed messy.”

Her breath sighs into the air between them, eyes so round, so dark, and--

She realizes what he’s about to do five seconds too late. “Obi, n--!”

Feathers fly everywhere. Damn, this Rugilia guy really did spare no expense.

There’s a long, quiet moment, Shirayuki staring up at him with confusion and betrayal warring in her eyes, and she-- she laughs. It’s all the warning he gets before he’s blind-sided, pillow knocking him to his knees, and god, she’s going to regret starting a fight with--

Tap tap. Tap tap.

They both freeze, staring at one another. That was on the door. Her door. No, his door.

“It’s Eisetsu,” comes the soft voice through it. “Can we talk?”

#obiyukichopped #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #modern au #quarantine au #ans #this is another one of those fics where I really just gotta...write out the whole thing #and i will!#hopefully in Feb/March you'll see the first chapter of this particular fic #i have got some IDEAS for how this is going to go down #and oh boy is it gonna be fun

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