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winter-soldier-vibes · 3 years

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Where’s my white flag? (Bucky x reader)

Bucky x reader

Word count 2620

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, depression, worthlessness

Summary: Reader is on the roof experiencing suicidal ideation and Bucky talks her down from it.

A/N: Please, PLEASE, if you think this will do more harm than good, skip this one. I don’t want to harm anyone in their journey, but writing comfort helps me feel as if I am getting it. I hope that you can feel some too, because people do care. If you feel similar ways to this fic, please reach out, you're not alone. As always, my messages are open too. <3

Taglist: @buckys2thicc @abitgryffindorky @thatfangirl42

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It was a gorgeous night, really. It was a warm summer night, a light breeze blowing your hair. The sky was clear, stars scattered across it. The moon was bright, and the streets weren’t too loud for New York. The buildings lit up the streets, and even in the busy city setting, it wasn’t as harsh as it could be sometimes. It really was beautiful.

Especially looking over it from the roof of Stark Tower.

You knew you weren’t doing yourself a favor, sitting with your legs over the edge gazing out at the streets below. You knew it wasn’t the best choice for your mentality. Not that you cared much anyway.

See, life had been less than kind to you recently. You loved your family, the Avengers, and being on the team. But one day, doubts and stress had crept in. you don’t know why or when exactly it happened but soon the bad days became bad weeks. It wasn’t long before a good day came as a surprise, and lately you had stopped hoping that they would come. You were used to this numb depression. That didn’t mean you enjoyed it.

But you never thought you’d ever be able to get out of it.

You knew the team loved you, you knew you were good at what you did. But even so, every night you somehow found yourself doubting your worth and questioning your abilities. You had been able to hide behind fake smiles for some time, but soon it became easier to hide in your room. No one to hide from, no reason to hide.

You felt like you were living on borrowed time. You didn’t know when living became a chore and not just...living. Most people will find work boring or basic chores undesirable. But for you the basics of living as a human had become too much for you. Exhausted from the slightest interactions or basic human needs.

Your emotions would slide from one extreme to the other or disappear entirely. Feeling too much or nothing at all. It’s one thing to be trapped in a place physically. It’s another when your body is the cage and somewhere you had lost the key.

Which is why you found yourself out here on the roof. Again. You’d been coming up here more and more recently, driven to desperation. You never knew if you would ever go through with it. If there would ever be a time you would actually jump, or if every time would be chalked up to getting fresh air. You put a lot of thought into it and this was the best way you could think of to end your pain. Yet even though you wanted to die, you never quite felt like you could ever do it.

Not necessarily that you wanted to die - more so you just didn’t want to live the life you had been given. It was too painful. And you were tired of fighting for something that had proved to you that it wasn’t going to work out.

You had people, a family. No matter how much you doubted your worth, you know it would have an impact on them. Tony would overwork himself in the lab. Natasha would shut down emotionally. Steve and Bucky would blame themselves even though it had nothing to do with them. They were the reason you had been able to stay for so long.

But they wouldn’t think that. They would only see that you were gone and blame themselves for not noticing. Even though they had been - checking in on you or having you sit out missions out of worry of the risks you took. They cared about you, and you didn’t want to hurt them.

But lately, the pain of everything building up had begun to outweigh the worry of the impact you would have on them.

It was better this way

They’d be better off

You wouldn’t be in pain anymore.

Just lean forward, close your eyes and -

“Y/n?” you heard a familiar voice behind you.

You let out a small breath before opening your eyes. You knew who it was. Without turning around you replied with a small “Hey Bucky.”

You looked up from the ground, still not looking at him. “Beautiful night isn’t it?”

Bucky started walking towards you nervously. He had noticed how withdrawn you had been but he never imagined….swallowing, he asked “What are you doing out here?”

You merely shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. You still weren’t sure how tonight would end. “Just clearing my head I guess.” you replied with. You spoke as if you were sitting on the kitchen counter with your legs dangling over. As if you weren’t over 1,000 feet above the city streets below.

Swallowing nervously again at seeing your feet dangling over the edge, he cleared his throat. “Can I sit with you?”

You nodded, still unable to look at him as he sat down next to you. You knew the emotion would be overwhelming if you did. He felt his heart rate pick up looking over the edge, knowing that a wrong move from either of you would certainly be lethal. “Do you want to go inside and talk?”

You were silent.

“Why don’t we move back a little bit, it’s pretty dangerous to be this close to the edge.”

“I know,” you said, finally meeting his eyes. “That’s kind of the point,” you said almost emotionlessly. Bucky looked back at you, eyebrows creased in concern. You held the edge of the roof in your hands tightly, knuckles turning white. You looked back down at the streets below. “You ever think about dying?” you asked suddenly, emotion starting to grow inside you as you felt tears prick your eyes from being so vulnerable. No going back now.

“Y/n, why don’t we go inside, we -”

“I know I wouldn’t want to drown” you looked at him and shook your head. “Slow and painful. Not for me. I’ve thought about pills but it isn’t always effective and I could just end up getting really sick, and depending on the medication it could be painful.” you laughed bitterly as tears filled your eyes, looking back out at the skyline. “Some people think you take meds and fall asleep but it’s not always like that. I know if I died I would want it to be quick. A gunshot, snapping my neck…” you paused for a moment, letting the tears spill over. “...Falling off a building.”.

Bucky could feel his heart pounding in his chest at your words, breaking at how casually you talked about this and how much thought you had given it. “Do you think about it a lot?” he asked, voice wavering from anxiety.

You swallowed dryly as you felt Bucky’s eyes on you. “A gunshot is the easiest. It’s messy, but it’s certain. But if I did that then one of you would be the first to find me, and no one would ever want to go in the training room again. It’s nearly impossible to snap your own neck. But if I jump…” you tilted your head back and forth a little. “The public finds me first. You wouldn’t be the first to see me.”

You took a deep breath and brought your eyes back to his. “I think about it every goddamn day.”

Bucky took a deep breath. You started to stand up and Bucky did too, nervous at what you were going to do. He reached out his hand to try to grab you but you swatted it away, walking away from the edge slightly and turning your back to him.

“Y/n, talk to me, let me try to help you.” he said. “Please,” he added, desperation threading his voice.

You turned around, arms crossed. “You can’t help me, no one can help me.” you shook your head. “Every day I wake up and it’s the same shit. It's the same tiring life and routine, over and over. It’s the same feeling 24/7. There’s no escape from it, there’s no break.” you started getting more passionate and put your arms out. “Even if I could get a break I’d come back to the same shit at some point. There’s no escaping my life and my feelings, I can’t turn off my mind.” your voice was rising through tears of frustration. “I don’t want this life anymore, okay? I want to die but I can’t do it. No matter how much I want to, I CAN’T! Where’s my fucking white flag?!” you shook your head again. “When do I get to tap out? I can’t do this anymore!” you shouted. “I’m tired of fighting for a life that I will NEVER have!”

Bucky looked at you sadly, knowing all too well the feeling of craving an escape. He walked closer to you, you trying to walk away. He grabbed your hand and you wrestled out of it. He came closer and grabbed you by your shoulders more firmly trying to bring you into a hug. “Get the fuck off.” you said, trying to get away, punching his chest. It didn’t affect him, and he just kept trying to hold you still despite your wrestling figure. Eventually your anger melted into agony, as you let out sobs against his chest, giving into the embrace.

“Please, just let me die…”

“It’s not your time yet,” he whispered.

You began crying harder and he held you protectively, whispering “I got you. It’s okay.”

He kept repeating that and hushing you, keeping his arms tightly around you, supporting you. “I don’t want to do this anymore…” you sobbed into his chest.

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking. He cradled your head against his chest. “I know.”

After standing there for a few more moments, he said “Let’s get you inside. It's going to be okay.”

And with that, he moved to pick you up, doing so with ease. You hid your face against his chest, trying to contain your cries. You were embarrassed to be so emotional. Luckily for you, your room was close to the elevator and seeing as it was early morning now, no one was roaming the halls.

He brought you into your room and sat down on the bed, still holding you in his lap. You were still crying, both from the situation and out of shame for being so vulnerable. He still held you tightly, whispering comforting words to you and breathing steadily. Eventually you were able to find your own rhythm, still crying softly. It wasn’t until now that you realized how badly you were shaking.

After a few minutes of silence, Bucky began to speak. “I just want you to listen, okay?” when you nodded he continued. “I know that you might not believe me but I felt the same way once. Remembering everything I did as the Winter Soldier and the nightmares, they just...wouldn’t stop. Remembering was the worst part. Knowing what I did, even if I didn’t have control, made day and night hell. I couldn’t make it stop.” Your eyes filled with tears, knowing how much he blamed himself.

“I couldn’t control the memories and the nightmares. I couldn’t avoid my metal arm. It was a constant reminder of everything they made me do. And I didn’t want to feel the guilt that I did. But death wasn’t the answer.” he guided your face to look at his. “Death is never the answer. The memories stay, but the guilt fades.”

“You are such a good person.” when you scoffed he added “I know these feelings and thoughts tell you you’re not but you are. I know it may seem like it will never end, but it can get easier. You don’t have to be okay, you don’t have to be strong for us. But taking away your chance at every future good experience by permanently preventing the bad ones isn’t worth it.”

Your eyes filled with fresh tears. “Sometimes it feels like it’s all about pros and cons. Like no good experience could outweigh the pain of all of this.” you let the tears fall and shook your head. “Life isn’t supposed to hurt.”

He hugged you tightly. “No one asks for pain, no one asks for this. It’s not your fault that you feel this way and it’s okay. But it can get better, I promise.”

You cried into his chest. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“There’s no right thing to do. You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here for you, and I know the whole team would be too if you needed them to be. You’re not weak, you’re not stupid. You’re going to get through this, because you are strong.”

“I just…” you started, shaking your head a little. “This was never supposed to happen. I don’t know why I can’t control it anymore. It’s been bad for a while but I was always able to function and push down this type of thing. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know where I went wrong.”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s not your fault. You can’t control it. These things happen, there doesn’t always have to be a reason. Emotions are what they are and our own minds can be our worst enemy. We know the best way to hurt ourselves, we know what our weaknesses are. Sometimes our minds take advantage of that.”

You moved to look at him. “How did you make it stop? You said it got easier, how did you do it? How do you turn it off?”

“It’s not quite that simple. I know deep down that I wasn’t in control. It was what HYDRA had created that killed those people, not the human I was before. And I tried to remind myself that I still had the person I was before HYDRA in me, somewhere. And slowly I tried to find who I used to be to help create who I could be. I don’t know if that makes sense -”

“It does,” you said as you leaned into his chest again. you squeezed your eyes shut. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. I’m always here to help you okay?” you nodded. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, and we can talk in the morning, okay?” you nodded again, and Bucky gave you another hug before standing up. You lied down, you being too tired to care about changing out of your day clothes. They were comfortable enough.

Bucky, not wanting to leave you alone, went to go sit in a chair. He didn’t want to cross any boundaries. Before he could sit down though, you sat up and turned to him.

“Can you lay with me please?” Bucky nodded. “Yeah, of course.” He took off his shoes and climbed into the other side of the bed, giving you some space. You moved to be flush against his chest, his heartbeat soothing to you. “Thank you,” you said softly

“No need to thank me.” He said softly, wrapping his arms around you, making you feel protected. “I should be thanking you.” He added

“For what?” You asked, confused.

“For not giving up.”

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bonny-kookoo · 4 years

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Good Girl [J.JK x Reader]🔞🌼

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, a lil angst

Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, dom!jungkook, sub!Reader, size kink, oral (f & m rec.), mild dd/lg themes, praise kink, cumplay, reader is a virgin, jungkook is lowkey a hoe, a lil heartbreak, Taehyung makes an appearance, long haired jungkook, mentions of harrassment, jungkook punches a guy, strength kink

Jeon Jungkook was known to have a specific type when it came to his partners; tall, gorgeous, dominant and older. It's not like he's a true blood baby boy; he's just too lazy to put any effort into his flings. When a new girl answers to his ad online searching for a roommate for his apartment to share rent and space however, he didn't quite expect such an innocent being to turn up at his doorstep with a box full of pastel colored belongings, ready to move in. And what he definitely didn't expect was his growing interest in her and the feeling of having her under him, all submissive and ready to be ruined.

Good Girl || Sweet Girl || Smart Girl || Brave Girl || Pretty Girl || Charming Girl || Enticing Girl || Bad Girl || ???

A wink was all he got from the woman who'd occupied his bed together with him last night as she walked out his bedroom door, seemingly knowing how to get out of his apartment. Jungkook ran his hand through his still sweaty hair, groaning after stretching his arms above his head, his mood seemingly sunkissed. He just finished an almost three hour sex-session after all; all without him providing any actual effort. His dick had seemed to be enough for her anyways, her face when she rode him happy, although he could really care less.

Reaching for his laptop near his bed, he didn't bother to put on any clothes for now, just wanting to check if he'd gotten any new E-Mails or messages, clicking through the casual nudes that constantly seemed to slip into his postbox. He cocked his head to the side however when he noticed that a website has notified him of an answer to his ad online; he'd put it up some time ago now after Taehyung, his former roommate, had to move out simply because Jungkook himself couldn't survive the older one's sleep shedule. Tae seemed to never sleep, waking the younger one up on a daily (and nightly) basis. He really tried to get along with him, both of them sharing a deep friendship, but god no, as a roommate he couldn't stand that guy. His rent however was something he struggled as well, so as much as he really wanted to live alone, he couldn't. He clicked the message on the website, his interest peaked.

"Hello. Is this AD still up to date? My name is Y/N, and I'm searching for a place because I'm starting to work close by soon, and its too expensive to take the bus for hours on end every day.. so uh, I don't know? I'm really good at cooking, and I promise I'll be so quiet and organized you won't even notice I'm there! I work at a restaurant nearby as a waitress- I mean, I'm going to, haha. Ugh, I hope you're okay sharing your apartment with a girl as well, I for my part don't have a problem with that! So, I guess, I'll wait for your reply?

Have a nice day!"

He scoffed a little, hovering over the delete button, but instead, he clicked her profile icon, opening the details. Her profile picture showed a white big dog, being hugged by what he assumed was her. He couldn't see her face however, half of her face above her nose cropped out to fit the entire dog instead. He could spot her clothes however; a top and skirt, flat shoes and sheer tights with white spots on them. His brows furrowed, how old was she? Her profile said she was about a year younger than him, every post she'd made up to this date about pet stuff, clothes who all seemed to follow a pastel-color scheme, and artwork you seemed to be selling. You were basically the definition of cute.

Fan-fucking-tastic. Hopefully you wouldn't be too upset when he denied your request, but somehow he thought it over. You said you could cook and you did seem like an organized person. Knowing what kind of effect he could have on people, he could probably scare the shit out of you and keep you around without really having to interact much; and rent was also due this month, so the sooner he found a roommate the better. "Fuck it." He said, and began to type his reply.

When his doorbell rang, he almost burned his hand with the hot water he currently used to make himself a cup of ramen, cursing loudly. Who the fuck wasn't home again so he had to take their package in? One day the old lady across the hall would find a dead rat or something in front of her door, he swore to himself. Ripping the door open with so much force he could feel a bit of wind gushing by, his eyes widened when he saw a similar face in front of him- well, a little below actually. He remembered your lips instantly for some awkward reason, having tried to maybe paint a picture of what you looked like entirely over the last few days. He would've never expected something like this however- you looked like a literal doll in his opinion, your eyes wide open and mouth a little parted, shiny lipgloss making him swallow. Wait, did he really forget that you said you wanted to move in today?!

"I uh.. I'm- I'm Y/N, we- I- the ad..?" You said, your voice sounding nothing like the woman he usually was around. He smirked a little, moving so you could step inside, food now definitely forgotten on the kitchen counter. He really should've at least cleaned up a little he thought. Whatever.

"Yeah, figured. There you go, thats your room. The keys and shit are on the matress, make sure you don't loose 'em." He simply said, before leaving you alone in your new home to settle down.

"What I'm trying to say is, Y/N, you and I, this could really be something!" Taehyung slurred into your ear, loud enough for Jungkook to hear. For some reason it pissed him off to no ends how close the older one seemed to be, constantly hitting on you like he was a starving man, even know half of town knew very well that he wasn't. He could see why; you were innocent, and Tae known to fool around a lot. You were a challenge, something new for him, and he would lie if he said that he wasn't interested as well. Oh he was; but he also had at least some manners left inside of him, contrary to popular belief not only thinking with his dick. Taehyung however was only out for fun, making Jungkook question if he should really let this continue.

He decided no.

"Alright you fucking whore, it's bedtime isn't it? I'll call you a cab." Taehyung groaned at the younger one's words, nodded his head however before looking at you with a smirk.

"Ah, what a shame. But if you wanna have some fun you know my number!" He said, as if he didn't just offer you sex. You blushed at this, not answering, making Jungkook watch you a bit. You really were something else. "Jungkookie, you're so nicee... If I was gay I would definitely suck your dick-" The younger in question made a disgusted yet amused face, putting a hand over the blue haired one's mouth.

"Yeah yeah, you pay me back though you fucker." He said, before going into the kitchen to make the call. Taehyung, being left alone with you again started with his questioning, as he had done the entire night.

"So, Y/N.." He said, dragging out the last syllable of your name playfully, making you shuffle around where you were sitting a bit. He certainly was a pretty attractive guy, but he also seemed to be very straightforward- something you always had struggled with, being more on the shy side. You looked at him, silently urging him to continue before taking a sip of your own beer- cherry flavored, simply because the regular was too bitter in your opinion. "What kind of toys do you use, heh?" He questioned, and you coughed suddenly. Taehyung laughed loudly at that, cooing when you calmed down slowly.

"Taehyung, stop harassing my roommate you fucking idiot. I need her to pay half of the rent-" He said, before sitting down next to you, raising one of his eyebrows at you. "And she also makes some killer lasagna. Kinda wanna keep that." He said, before laughing a bit. Even though Jungkook seemed to be pretty intimidating to you, he was actually a pretty good guy to have around. You both barely ever fought, and overall you could almost see yourself falling for him too- he had the looks after all. But his habit of bringing people over just to satisfy himself was something that made you keep some distance between you both. He wasn't someone to settle down- let alone with someone like you. You were pretty much the exact opposite of what he seemed to like.

Sending Tae home was easier than you both thought. Not being able to go to bed you both decided to watch some late night shows while casually talking- something that wasn't uncommon between you two. Just when you seemed to have gotten comfortable again, Jungkook couldn't help but tease you again.

"So, what Toys do you use, heh?" He said, laughing with his head thrown back afterwards at your red face. This would certainly never get old in his opinion. Just as he was about to apologize and tell you you didn't have to answer, your voice was heard, however.

"None." You said, and his eyes widened at that. "What? Do I look like I do these things to you?" You asked, and he cocked his head to the side a bit, scanning you obviously. He shrugged, and you began to pout, moving to wrap your pastel pink blanket around yourself. "I don't even know how to buy one. That stuff is just.. don't know. Gross." You said, and Jungkook turned on the couch, body facing you now, his interest sparked.

"Gross? So you never had sex before?" He said, and you went silent. Were you serious right now? You were an angel in his eyes, body proportions almost perfect, hell, even your slight imperfections were adorable in his eyes. Up until now he had been sure that you at least have had your fair share of experience, but a virgin? His world was suddenly turned upside down. "Well.. that's something I didn't expect." He said, making you raise your eyebrows at him. "You're hot. Thats why. Oh well." He said, missing the way your eyes widened at that. "I'm gonna go to bed now. Goodnight." He simply said, and you answered with a short 'goodnight' as well- still a bit surprised by his statement. Jungkook thought.. you were attractive?

He'd somehow gotten used to you, how you would leave your pastel pink but admittedly really soft blanket in a pile on one edge of the couch in the living room, how you sometimes left your toothbrush in the sink when you'd been in a hurry, or how you would hum to a song, not knowing he could hear you very clearly. Maybe he really did go soft after living with you for a while. He still didn't know himself why he got so upset with Taehyung the day prior; was he really being selfish? He was protecting you, nothing more. Taehyung was everything but a gentle lover, jungkook just knew he'd break you for sure, not to mention that you already stated how much you despised one night stands, which were practically Taehyungs speciality. He was just looking after you, nothing more.

The more he thought about it however, the more problematic the entire plan became.

But even now, while the young woman whose name he had already forgotten was giving it her all sucking his dick, all that seemed to swim around in his head were the events of the previous evening; how innocent and embarrassed you looked at him when you told him you'd never bought, let alone use a toy before. Surely you'd be someone to enjoy a good vibrator he thought, maybe as a gag he could buy you one? Oh how enchanting you'd look, spread out on his mattress while he would edge you over and over until you'd be crying, begging for his mercy. He would praise you for taking it so well, for being so good for him and only him, and he just knew you would blush. Instead of rushing to his own satisfaction, he would go slow, agonizingly slow, just to see how far he could push you. He would feast on you like a predator on his prey, pull you close so you had no chance of escaping him, he would trace every curve of your skin, gently, as if to make up for the bruises and Mark's he would surely leave all over you to feed his inner need to claim you, even though he would never let anyone see you like this while he was alive and breathing anyways. He just knew you would fit perfectly underneath him, his body covering you and shielding you away from the world around. Would you be able to take all of him? He probably would have to stretch you real good before even thinking about pushing his dick inside you, yet he just knows you would somehow make him proud and take it all, and he would continue his praises, telling you what a good girl you are.

He almost laughed at the situation, he really was in deep, wasn't he? Frustrated and confused he started to picture someone else entirely kneeled between his legs on the floor, how you'd bat your eyelashes at him like the fucking angel you were instead of the girl currently there, and that thought alone gave him the final push to shoot his load down the strangers throat, who moaned obscenely at the feeling. Usually he would be aroused, ready for more, but the sound of someone who wasn't his little roommate ripped him out of his daydream. This couldn't go on like that. Sending the lady out without many words, he decided that he just needed to fuck you, and all would be good again. He was just curious. Nothing else. He just needed to satiate his hunger and he could go back to normal.

How would he be able to do this without ending up hurting you? No matter how big his hunger for you was, he also considered you somewhat of a friend. He remembered when you came home crying one time after a bad day at work, and how he wanted to hold you, shielding you from any harm, making you feel safe. Because that's what he, and only he could do in his opinion. No matter what, he'd protect you, as weird as that sounded. Shit.

He really had a crush on you.

Unknowing to him you always held your hands over your ears whenever he brought home a different girl, not being able to listen to his moans mixed with someone else's. You were slowly beginning to regret moving in, already starting to think about maybe searching for a different apartment. But the rent was cheap, your room big, and his company relaxing when he wasn't busy being buried in someone he couldn't even remember after a day or two. Somehow tears were leaking out of your eyes, and you took your hands down from the sides of your head to wipe them away, careful to be as silent as possible as to not alert him that you were awake, well aware of the shower turning on. You did notice however how his sessions became shorter and shorter, always seeming to end sudden instead of usual. But the more you thought of it, the more angry at yourself for falling for this manwhore you became. You really should hate him- but you couldn't.

Tonight was definetely the prime example of why you didn't go into clubs. The sheer amount of people around you, the smell of sweat and cheap cologne and perfume all around made you feel like a headache was inevitable. Why were you here again? Oh yes. You followed Taehyungs advice and 'tried to make friends' instad of looming around your apartment all day. But right now you just really wished you stayed home instead of going here.

Sure, you liked your coworkers, and they seemed nice and everything, but if you were being honest, they're definition of fun was entirely not yours. You began to feel cramped up in the large club, making you desperately pull your phone out of your pocket, texting Jungkook in hopes he could save you from this god forsaken torment they called a club.

Minutes later, after Jungkook oh so gentlemanly told you to pick you up, you stood in front of that said location, waiting for his cheap but admittedly nice car to pull up. Sadly, someone else seemed to be way more intent on bringing you home- a young man your age, attractive, yes, but also heavily intoxicated. He had already eyed you up inside the building you noticed, yet hadn't made a move towards you. Now however, he seemed more determined than ever.

"Lets go home baby, I swear you won't regret-" He started, but you moved away from him, clenching onto your little handbag in order to at least keep your belongings safe if he tried anything else. Suddenly both your figures were drowned in the warm light of Jungkook's car lights- you immediately recognized them simply by the fact that one was brighter than the other, something you always told him, yet he always waved you off, telling you that both were doing just fine, even though his left light was clearly almost dead. Typical him, you thought. Yet right now, you couldn't be happier to see him.

He however, did not seem happy at all. His face was serious, his wavy hair hanging a little over his eyes, steps fast and strong enough that you could hear his black boots almost crush the slight gravel of the parking lot. "Fuck off sunnyboy and go back inside." He simply yelled out, having already seen how uncomfortable you were with the stranger so close to you. Jungkook wasn't someone to blindly punch someone, that said however, he couldn't contain himself once he saw the guy reaching out for your arm, your figure instinctively scrambling to get behind Jungkooks way larger body. He didn't even notice his fist connecting with the strangers face, simply leading you by the small of your back inside his car, driving home without any more words.

You were not to be touched by someone so dirty like this young man who didn't even knew his own limits it seemed.

Yet you were completely confused now. Maybe, if you were now the reason he got into physical fights, you should make a decision.

The next morning, sitting down at the kitchen table, you watched Jungkook filling your bowl with cereal as well- lucky charms for you, and chocolate chips for him. It became somewhat of a routine since you both woke up roughly around the same time, sharing breakfast was common. The best moment in your opinion to pop the bomb.

"I'm moving out." You said softly, fiddling with your fingers in your lap, leg nervously bouncing up and down. Why did this feel like you were breaking up with him? You both would've ended up going separate ways sooner or later anyways- so he would probably just nod, ask when, and that would be it. He was someone who didn't bother much. But the second you said it, he turned around completely shocked, suddenly very much awake.

"Why? Did I do something?" He asked, sounding genuinely offended for some reason you couldn't come up with. In his mind, scenario over scenario started to play, as if he wanted to search for something he may have said or done to make you so upset that you didn't want to live with him anymore. He knew he shouldn't be so upset over it, since you and him were merely roommates, friends who shared an apartment, nothing more, but he never really expected you to come up with it so sudden. Or maybe you had a boyfriend? What if it was Taehyung, and you just didn't tell him? He would rip that fucker's stupid blue hair out, he knew-

"No. I- not reall-" You sighed, setting your elbows on the kitchen table before letting your head fall into your hands. "Actually yes, you did." You started, looking at him, but unable to hold eye contact with the now completely confused curly haired boy in front of you. "You.. uh.. I cant sleep. Your, 'guests', the walls aren't really soundproof and like, I really- and just.. ugh this is so awkward, please don't make me say it-" You said, groaning the rest of your sentence before stubbornly shoving your back against the chair, throwing your legs back and forth viciously, reminding Jungkook of a kid who was close to throwing a tantrum. Even though this was definitely not the time to think about you laid out over his leg, his hand hitting your perfectly shaped butt until it was red just to punish you for being such a brat, exactly this picture began to form in the back of his head. He hated himself somehow, really. But somehow instead of accepting your decision, he moved to stand at the table, hands on top of it, eyes searching yours.

"Say it Y/N. You know I hate when I have to pull thing out your throat sweetheart." He didn't intend on using the nickname, but somehow he threw his hesitation out the window. If you really were fooling around with someone, someone who wasn't him he wanted to know- and even if you didn't share that information with him, you would move out anyways, so why hold back anymore? You shook your head at him, avoiding his gaze, and he clicked his tongue, patience slowly thinning out. "Spit it out." He said again, but he still got no reaction. His hand seemed to move without his consent when he suddenly found his fingers on your chin, moving your head to force your attention towards him. "Speak the fuck up, I swear to god." He said, voice dropping down lower, and somehow you seemed as if bewitched.

Maybe it was the way he stood there, how he still held your chin, or how intensely he looked at you, but words dropped out of your mouth as if you drank harry potters truth potion. "I cant stand that you let these girls touch you, that they can get you so easily and you just look past me a- and I really tried you know, because Taehyung said you liked mature girls more so I tried to do that, but he lied to me, you don't notice me at all, you're so mean you-" He shut your mouth with his mouth, trying to process the information he just received, yet it seemed like it was too much at once. You were.. jealous? And what kind of stupid advice was Taehyung giving away, that fucker? It was true that he liked his women to be confident and mature, but that was just so they knew what they were doing, and he didn't need to put so much effort into something he could get so easily.

"So you were jealous?" He said, a small smirk creeping up on him, cooing at you internally when you shook your head, face red. "If you wanted me to fuck you, you could've just asked. Geez." He said, but instead of being relieved, your shoulders sagged down. "What?" He asked, and you mumbled to him.

"Because I don't want just that one time stuff you do." Jungkook looked at you, eyes softening at your somehow-confession. He just put together the pieces in his head, and it did make sense. You were practically attached to him wherever he took you, always seemingly glowing whenever his attention was on you. He was as much as a dense head than you were, and he couldn't help but pull out a chair and sitting down, patting his legs as an invitation.

"Good, because I don't want that either. And I don't share either." He said, and looked at you gently, but with a deep darkness behind his eyes. "Trust me baby, you can sit down now and I promise you'll be the only one to have me- or you can move out and go on with your life." He almost laughed at the way it suddenly clicked in your head on what he was offering, suddenly jumping up and sitting on his thighs, legs on either side of his body. He looked down at you, a divine picture coming to life. His hands were placed on the exposed skin under your skirt, slowly sliding over the soft skin until his fingers felt the seam of your tights- those goddamn things he'd wanted to rip off of you so badly these past days. "You can touch me, you know?" He said lowly, and you noticed how awkward you must've looked for a second, seated on his lap with your hands in front of you, unsure where to put them. Just to ground yourself, your fingers began to play with his shirt, and he had to swallow the laugh that wanted to break free. "You don't have to do this, you know? I'm fine with waiting-" He began, but you immediately shook your head, however, at loss for words. He smiled again, dangerously so you noticed. His head dipped down, finally touching your skin on your neck with his lips, leaving open mouthed kisses under your earlobe down to the crook, hands moving over your clothes already mapping out your body in his mind, one hand pulling down one side of your soft fleece jacket you wore, pulling down your shirt as well, so he could softly nip at your shoulder, making you gasp oh so cutely at his actions. His hands didn't stop however, moving over your chest, kneading both of your breasts softly, as if he would hurt you if he used too much strength- which was probably the case. He already loved how bis his hands looked running over your body, how your hands held his shirt in fists, eyes closed, yet not because of fear; you looked serene to him, face showing him the soft pleasure you felt. He suddenly moved you a little, making you straddle one of his leg, core pushed against his thigh. "Let's start slow, yeah?" He asked, whispering words into your ear, lips never parting from you. He slowly began to move your hips, urging you to simply follow what you thought felt best to you. "Use me baby. Get off on my thigh." You whined at that, slowly starting to move more and more boldly, and he decided that he was officially a goner. Even if you didn't want him after whatever may be happening, he knew he could never go back. The way you squeezed your eyes shut every now and then, moving back and forth yet always a bit helpless, showing how inexperienced you were. He could feel the wet patch forming on his jeans, his hands moving you a bit faster, before you let your head fall onto his shoulder, making him chuckle. "What is it baby? Do you need help, hm?" He said, a bit mockingly even, and you nodded into his shoulder. "Tell me what you need then. What do you want, princess?" He said, running his hands over your back, feeling your bodyheat through your clothes.

"wanna get the same.. as the others.." You mumbled, unsure what you were even asking for. Jungkook however simply smiled, suddenly lifting you up, hands under your behind carrying you to his room, before finally letting you fall onto his mattress, laughing when your body jumped a little, making you squeak so cutely. He smiled, crawling over you, his fantasy finally coming to life- you looked so lost under him, so utterly defenseless he could swear he could feel something primal awake inside him- and that was not his dick, which already strained against his jeans, impatient.

"Ah but Baby.." He began, taking off your soft jacket before his hands traced your bare arms until he moved them under your shirt, feeling your skin underneath his fingers. "You're my special girl.." He began to lift your shirt up, helping you out of it before he got rid of your skirt as well, chuckling at your cute lacey underwear, which was so typically you. So innocent, yet so arousing, how you squirmed underneath him in nothing but those pastel colored undergarments. "And special girls get special treatments.." His words were low, soft spoken yet with a rough edge to his tone, a natural feature of his voice that you've come to love. You couldn't even begin to paint out a picture of what he was talking about- sure, you have seen your fair share of adult films, you weren't a kid after all- but up until this moment, up until you met Jungkook, you've never really thought about what you could like when it came to these things. Even in your thoughts you felt shy saying any profanities out loud, how could you expect to know about kinks? "But only if you can behave for me, but you can do that right?" He said, unhooking your bra behind your back with ease and interrupting your inner talk with yourself. "You'll be my good girl, yeah?" He said, and you just viciously nodded, already growing frustrated, and oh how he loved it. This was how he had pictured you. If he had known before that this was what it felt like to have control over someone, he would've never done anything else if he was honest; but then again, you really were a special girl to him. The way you suddenly mewled when his hand cupped your heat, giving you a little pressure just to tease you even further almost caught him off guard. God have mercy on his soul, you were so sensitive to him, and it dawned on him again that he was making you this way. He was the first to- and he would make sure he'd be the only one as well. All those noises tumbling out of between your lips were only his to hear. His breathing peaked up at the view he had, how you began to impatiently rut into his hand, needy for more than he was giving you. He leaned back, finally getting rid of his own clothes as well to your satisfaction, lazily throwing his opened flannel as well as his white shirt somewhere on the floor in his room, and you couldn't help but stare. Truth be told, you didn't really know what to expect of him if you were honest, his constant gym visits giving you the impression that he had to be extremely fit, yet his habit of consuming more than two cups of ramen easily spoke differently. He was, in your eyes, the perfect in-between- he definetely was fit, his abs visible to your eyes, yet he didn't look like those over-achievers you sometimes saw walking around the same gym whenever you met him there to go home together. The way his muscles flexed at every move when he loomed over you again made you want to touch him, yet your shy side forbade you. He chuckled again. "You can touch what's yours all you want, you know?" He said, before he began to place his hand back onto your chest, his breath hot on your collarbone where he placed his kisses again, already hooked on your taste. His other, tattooed hand found its way back to your core, feeling the dampness there with amusement. You were more than what he'd imagined. Slowly he got rid of that barrier however, leaving your tights on for his own pleasure and maybe also for the aesthetic of it, his digits circling around your sensitive bud, making you squeal again, putting your hands over your mouth to keep your voice down. He clicked his tongue at this, moving them to lay right under the small of your back. "Be good and keep them there, yeah?" He said, and you looked away.

"But its- thats emb-" You couldn't even finish the beginning of your rant before he went back to his task at hand, sitting back before moving your legs to spread obscenely over his thighs simply to catch a glimpse of your glistening center, before he placed his body over yours again, hand now roughly circling in delicious eights around your clit, making you gasp out.

"Nothing you do is embarrassing, you hear me. If anything its fucking hot how you can be so fucking adorable even with my hand between your legs, doll." He said, before dipping a finger into you, making you move a bit at the foreign feeling. "Gotta stretch you out babygirl.." He said lowly, careful not to get too fast. His second finger joined in, and he could feel how tight you were around them, already clenching a bit as well, making his mouth water, but also growing a bit of worry in the back of his mind. Usually he was quite cocky about his overly average qualities down in his pants, but now he was genuinely concerned to hurt you with it. This was definitely a first for him. "Baby you're so small.. I don't think you can take it.." He said, a bit of a teasing undertone to his words as well. "See? You're already squeezing my fingers so hard princess, how could my dick ever fit inside huh?" He said, contrary to his otherwise rough nature keeping his movements gentle and slow enough for you to adjust without causing much pain. He could see the slight discomfort in your eyes, yet you suddenly shook your head, voice whiny.

"Uh-uh.." You mumbled, and he laughed a bit at that. "can take it.." You said bratty as ever, feeding his ego to no ends. "Wanna have it- you.. you gon' give it right? 'm good.." You said, having troubles keeping your hands under your back just like he told you to, grabbing the sheets underneath you instead to have something to keep yourself grounded.

Jungkook couldn't stop smiling. You didn't even know what you were asking for, yet you seemed so drowned in trust with him, that you simply gave him the right to do anything he wanted with you. "You sure?" He said, and smiled at the way you nodded again with your eyes closed. He moved away after that, shedding his pants before he walked over to his bedside table, fishing out a condom, before moving back to you, your eyes now on him, or more than that, on his very apparent bulge his boxers failed to conceal. Maybe you really did ask for more than you could take. Quite literally. Sensing your growing uneasiness he simply discarded his underwear, cock finally springing free, slapping soundlessly against his abdomen before he sat between your legs again. You made grabby hands for the foil package in his hands, somehow wanting to slip it onto him, yet he shook his head amused. "Nuh-uh baby. I'm afraid if you touch me right now I'll just embarrass myself and come straight away." He said, and you giggled at that. The sound of it brought him back at ease, his little joke having helped to calm you down at least a little bit. He knew this was a big thing, especially for someone like you- and it made him feel even a bit pressured if he was honest. He was slow when he dipped his head inside, your body instinctively trying to move away a bit, but you forced yourself to stay still, eyes now pressed close. Moving around a bit he kept one hand around the base of himself, the other steadying himself next to your shoulder, kissing you on your lips for the first time since you both started, surprising you enough to not notice how he somehow began to glide into you with the help of your arousal and the lubricant of the condom around him. He groaned, the first actual noise he'd made you could tie to his pleasure, and your breathing picked up once you noticed how full you felt. Gasping several times he suddenly started to laugh, making you giggle as well, even though you didn't knew what was so funny in that situation. "God- ugh.. your- fuck you're tight.." He pressed out, fighting hard against his hips' own mind yelling at him to move, to wreck you, to utterly ruin you. But he couldn't allow himself to do that- reassuring himself that he would have time for that at a later date. He slowly started to move around after he calmed down enough, keeping his speed down to keep it gentle for you. "I- fuck.." He started, having to talk to stretch his patience out, and to also ease your mild pain a little bit. "Let's- ugh.. Let's go on a date tomorrow, yeah? I.. god-" He said, and you nodded, moaning in your delicate pitch he oh so loved. "Gonna be all romantic and shit- fuck- gonna treat you like- for Mcdonald's or some shit." He said, making you both laugh between gasps of pleasure, your hands suddenly frantically moving around the sheets, legs shaking as he began to speed up his pace. You didn't knew what an orgasm would feel like, or how you knew you would have one, but you gasped, chocking on unshed tears in frustration as you noticed that you couldn't tumble over that delicious edge, and Jungkook noticed, cooing at you. "Ah, my baby can't come without her little clit being touched?" He said, kissing the side of your neck, biting the skin teasingly before sucking a hickey on your collarbone, his hands now grabbing yours, fingers intertwining with his, before moving them around his neck, sensing how you wanted to be closer to him, even though that hardly seemed possible. "Come for me baby, you can do it." He said, kissing your shoulder as if to make up for his mark he'd left, his hand now reaching between your bodies, only needing to put a bit of pressure on your little nub to send you flying. You moaned out loud, uncaring on how you sounded, clinging onto him for dear life, his own release making him groan out as well.

He could feel your body trembling, your breathing still fast. He waited for a moment or two for himself to soften up so he could pull out gently- your still slightly clenching hole almost pushing his dick out of yourself. You whined at the empty feeling, and he hushed you gently, moving around so he was sitting up against his headboard, your body on his lap, head on his shoulder. His hand moved back and forth over your spine, the other keeping your body steadily against him. "You did so, so good baby." He gently whispered between your breaths still coming out a little faster than they should. "To be honest I actually was kind of worried you wouldn't be able to take it. I'm impressed princess." He said, making you giggle. You still weren't quite back yet, still bathing in your own afterglow, and he simply waited for you to calm down- slowly becoming aware of your surroundings again.

"Hey, Jungkookie.." You started with that nickname Taehyung always teased him with, yet you would get away with it anytime on his watch. He simply moved his head to look at you, even if you weren't at him. "Did you.. like, mean it? Are we.. a couple now, or?" You started a bit too softly, yet you didn't have to be scared of his answer to that.

He took a deep breath, before yawning a bit. "If you want us to be. I know I want to." He started, brushing some hair away from your eyes. You looked at him, big eyes so innocent like he didn't just fuck you into his mattress literally minutes ago.

"I want to!" You immediately said, making him chuckle and place a kiss on your nose, receiving a giggle at that, before you tensed up. He raised his eyebrows at that, before you looked at him surprised. "My legs are all- tingly.. Jungkook did you break me- HEY don't laugh!" You said, but he couldn't help himself.

He threw his head back, laughing his admittedly cute open laugh, before wrapping his arms around your body. "God I love you." He simply said, making you smile.

"Hey Jungkookie?" You said after a bit.

"Yeah Princess?" He answered.

"That McDonald's date still stands, right?" You said with a small voice, making him snort.

"Anything you want princess. Anything you want."

Taglist:

@mrcleanheichou @sugasbratz @sassysaxsolo @bananagukkie @wh3resangel @urmomgee

#jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook imagine #bts imagine #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #dom!Jungkook #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #reader insert

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 20 | S.R.)

Summary: Reader lies to Spencer.

A/N: Please read the content warnings for this one if you have basically any triggers, lol. This is a very heavy chapter - it is the penultimate climax of the story. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Angst (NSFW) Content Warning: 🚨 IMPORTANT – READ BEFORE READING🚨 This episode covers a number of very dark topics, and should be approached at a time when you have support systems available. Potential triggering topics include: sexual assault, violations of consent, suicide, self-harm, pregnancy/termination, infertility, domestic dispute, fighting, and underage drinking, sex w/ blanket consent Word Count: 11K

MASTERLIST

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Rossi’s house was every bit as extravagant as I had expected. I had come in honestly hoping to be slightly disappointed so I could mock him for it, but, as always, he had to force his appearance to be as unnecessarily elegant as possible.

That being said, I was a little surprised to find that most everyone gathered in one spot - the kitchen. It was only to be expected, considering it was usually the happiest room in the home. That certainly remained true for Rossi. But they were also all gathered there because that was where the wine was – wine that I was not allowed to drink.

Rossi didn’t have a problem with it… Spencer did. Because of course he did. And while I politely declined when Rossi offered me some, anyway, I found another offer a little more tempting. Which explains why I found myself clutching Derek’s flask and draining half the contents quickly enough to remind him that I was, in fact, in college.

And if anyone were to ask, I would simply tell them that we were hanging out in the hall outside the bathroom to have a very deep and secret heart-to-heart about our shared love for a certain mop headed genius. It would have been the perfect cover to use on pretty much everyone except…

“Ahem.”

The sound of Spencer’s throat clearing behind me was enough to cause me to choke, and I quickly tossed the closed flask back to an already giggling Derek as I shouted, “Fuck!” I didn’t even turn around when his hand snaked around my hip. Instead, I just groaned.

“The narc’s here,” I whispered to Derek, but he knew better than to answer.

“The narc?” Spencer balked, much to his friend’s delight.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Derek offered in consolation, taking a swig out of the flask and earning a very defensive glare from my boyfriend. In fact, Spencer seemed downright pissed, which wasn’t what I had been expecting when I agreed.

Oops. What’s the male equivalent of a cat fight?

“Morgan, didn’t you lecture me about her drinking underage a few months ago?” he snapped, grabbing the flask from a more than willing Derek. Spencer sniffed the contents and immediately recoiled, tossing it back again.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he mumbled, shooting a glance down to see me sort of just making heart eyes at the sight of my boyfriend being a stupid level of jealous that I'd been caught in the hallway with another boy.

“How does that make it better? That makes it patently worse,” he argued. Derek might have responded to it, too, if I hadn’t latched myself onto Spencer’s side.

“You’re so cute when you get all stupid and possessive,” I drawled, burying my face in his shoulder in what I think was supposed to be a playful kiss, but actually just ended up being a muffled laugh.

“That,” Derek chuckled, pointing to me teetering back and forth on my heels at Spencer’s side, “That is my cue to leave.” With one final wink, he whispered, “Don’t be too hard on him, Princess.”

Spencer’s angry sigh and entirely stiff posture should have served as my warning, but it was just funny to me at the time.

“They all think I’m the boss of us,” I giggled. “Me! The boss!”

“You’re drunk.” His tone dropped the second Derek was out of earshot, and on intimidation alone, he managed to back me against the wall.

“So is everyone but you. They won’t even notice,” I mumbled, although the more the hallway started to spin, the less I believed that. I'd never been very good at math or shots, and this was a pretty horrible miscalculation of just how much of my tolerance I’d lost.

“You really couldn’t wait a few more months? Or at least until we got home?”

He was chastising me, and I just wasn’t there to hear it. I probably could have figured it out if I’d tried, but it all sounded like sexy nonsense at the time. Walking my fingers down his chest, I paused at his belly before hooking them in his pants and pulling his hips against mine.

“I’m allowed to drink if my daddy says so,” I purred.

Spencer didn’t find my taunt as charming as I’d hoped, and before I knew it his hand was roughly pressed over my jaw. He tilted my head back to look him in the eyes, and I wondered if he could smell the whiskey on my breath.

“Well, I didn’t,” he growled.

I never said I was a perfect person, or even a smart one. And when I was drinking and Spencer whipped out his Daddy voice, I don’t know what he really expected me to do. But apparently, trying to grab his dick through his pants was the wrong move. He snatched my hand away quickly, slamming it against the wall before he continued his little impromptu lecture.

“I’m not rewarding you for this. We’re going home.”

“That’s not a very scary threat,” I deadpanned, throwing my body weight back against the wall.

That lasted about four seconds before he pulled me back to my feet and leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “Just wait, little girl. Just you wait until I get my fucking hands on you.”

I was going to make a snarky joke, to remind him that his hands were surely and firmly already on me, but I never got the chance. We were both too distracted by the very loud and very high pitched squeal of Penelope as she rounded the corner.

“Ah! I saw nothing!” she shouted, covering her face with her hands and refusing to remove them.

“Yeah, because we aren’t doing anything,” I laughed. But then, being the slightly cruel brat that I was, I stuck my tongue out at Spencer before tacking on a completely unnecessary, “anymore.”

“We weren’t doing anything before either!” he squeaked back. He wasn’t using his Daddy voice anymore. So swiftly, so easily, he’d been knocked from his higher footing.

Penelope took the words to heart, but only enough to slowly lower her fingers and peek between them. With a shaky voice and an awkward laugh, she started to rant. “Oh. It’s fine. I’m cool. We’re all cool. We don’t have to talk about that thing from the first time I met you ever again. Because we said we’d never talk about it again, do you remember that?”

“I do remember that,” I answered with a very sarcastic tone and a nod.

“And I just brought it up again, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” I whispered, “Yes, you did.”

“I’m so sorry. Spencer, Hotch is looking for you,” she rushed, turning to the beet-red boy at my side. “Okay, that’s it. Take your time, because I’m cool and not at all mortified.” She was basically already gone before she'd even finished talking, taking off in the direction she'd come from while downing the drink in her hand.

With a loose, clumsy wave I shouted back, “Bye, Penelope.”

“Mortified is a good word. An accurate word,” Spencer huffed as he wiped a hand over his face. His bashfulness, while cute, was not as exciting as the pre-Penelope behavior.

Running my hands underneath his blazer and up his back, I pressed my chest against his. “Gosh, Dr. Reid. You need to be more appropriate in such a public setting.”

The words, while meant to get him riled up, did more to frustrate me. My drunken mind was more than happy to revert to the metro, and before I knew it, my daydreams were filled with images of Spencer stuffing me into the tiniest closet he could find and having his way with me.

“Oh, I’m the one lacking manners?” Spencer chuckled as he apparently read my very lewd thoughts. He pried my arms off of him and pulled them back to rest at my sides before pressing a strangely chaste kiss on my forehead. “Go get your stuff. I’m going to go talk to Hotch and I’ll meet you by the door.”

Before he disappeared around the corner, he shot me one last warning glance and ordered, “Do not mingle!”

“Don’t worry, I will!” I yelled back.

Once he was gone, it was my job to figure out how to make my body work again. Luckily, it wasn’t the first time I’d had too much to drink in a room filled with drunk adults. Granted, they usually weren’t all cops, but, whatever.

Turns out, it somehow made it easier. I managed to grab my things off the counter without alerting anyone except Penelope, who quickly turned back around with a blush. She probably figured I was gonna go blow him in the bathroom or something. I’d have been offended if the thought hadn’t literally just crossed my mind. I made it all the way to the door before I heard it. Back through the halls, a few of the group had separated to talk about how much harder it had been to see Hotch and JJ. It was nothing, just a little bug spreading through daycares like wildfire. That wasn’t what upset me, though.

No, the thoughts running through my head were more than just a passing thought of kids sick with a cold. I looked up at the walls of the entryway to Rossi’s home and saw intricate moulding and nothingness. I saw the exquisite, pristine rug underneath my feet, and I thought about how lonely it felt.

I was standing in a house that should have felt happy, filled with friends and family and love. There was no doubt that everyone who was there wanted to be there, and probably had nowhere else they’d rather be. But the tall ceilings and thousands of square feet felt so goddamn empty.

It isn’t the building, I heard a tiny, terrified voice call out from inside my own conscience.

It’s you. You’re empty.

I had to leave. I had to get out of the house. I had to hear the silence so that the nothingness would feel more appropriate and less noticeable. I couldn’t let them see me, because if they saw me, they would know. They would know that I was nothing but a husk of the girl they used to know. Without even thinking, I threw the door open, stumbling forward and almost falling flat on my face as I misjudged the small step down to the patio.

“Fuck!” I muttered, the world rocking around me with a stubborn persistence. If it weren’t for the frankly freezing temperature, I was sure I would have been sick. To make matters worse, there was a person quickly approaching.

“Hey, are you and Spence leaving already?”

It was JJ. Thank god, it was JJ. Probably the only person who wouldn’t make fun of me for being a mess on Rossi’s steps after only a few shots of whatever Morgan was drinking.

“Oh. Hey, JJ. Yeah. He’s…” I turned to my side, half expecting Spencer to be there to answer for me. But he wasn’t, so I ended up just pointing to the closed door before slurring, “he’s doing a thing.”

She was, per usual, very kind when faced with my buffoonery, and just laughed as she shook her head. “A thing. Sounds like him.”

I honestly thought that would be the end of it. It was a good, easy segue into a farewell. She already knew we were leaving, and she knew Spencer well enough to know that he wouldn’t leave me alone for long.

And I think she almost did leave. She almost walked right past me and into the warmth and comfort of a home filled with family and friends. But she didn’t. She stopped and asked me the one question I was really hoping she wouldn’t.

“Are you alright?”

I didn’t want her to ask because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to lie to her. Even if I could have managed it, she would have seen right through me in a second. Not only would it have been an exercise in futility, but she would also know that I thought it was worth it to try to lie.

So, I was honest… quite possibly too honest.

“No, not really. But it’s a lot and I’m kind of drunk, so…”

The mom eyes appeared so quickly, with JJ’s body turning entirely away from the door and over to me. “Not usually a good combination, but an understandable one,” she softly replied, wrapping her arms around herself to make up for the fact that she was sacrificing her comfort in many different ways to talk to me, instead.

She was probably just being nice— staying with me until Spencer could come take over the babysitting of the drunk twenty year old, but I wasn’t exactly thinking critically at the time. Which is only part of the reason why I blurted out the only thing on my mind; the thing that had been haunting me for longer than I wanted to admit even to myself, much less another person.

“Has Spencer ever talked to you about kids?”

The air, still freezing, also fell uncomfortably silent.

“Oh…” she mumbled under her breath, clearly unsure of how to handle that particular minefield of a topic. Especially with her best friend’s girlfriend, who also happened to be drunk. I almost told her to forget about it, but then she looked up at me with a powerful resolve. “Yeah, he has. Why?”

I thought about my next words more carefully, although you wouldn’t have been able to tell considering how much I stuttered.

“Do you think… Do you think he’d be happy if… I can’t have them?” I asked, wringing my hands together over my stomach. “Like, not just happy today, but like ten years from now?” I could hear how desperate I sounded, but I needed someone to hear the words playing on loop in my mind. Absolutely frantic and with tears pooling in my eyes, I asked, “Do you think he’d still love me if I can’t give him kids?”

“(Y/n), slow down. It’s okay!” JJ urged, lunging forward to cup my cheeks and gently wipe away any stray tears. “Don’t cry! You’ll ruin your make up and it looks like you spent a lot of time on it.”

I had to laugh because not only was it my exact brand of humor, she said it with such a serious face that I had to wonder if it was genuinely her biggest concern. Of course, I knew it wasn’t. In her usual JJ way, she just knew the easiest way to cheer me up was with a laugh.

“Yeah, there’s like $80 on my face, it’s really not worth it to cry,” I agreed, sniffling softly when she finally pulled away her hands. At least I could blame that part on the cold.

“Exactly. And if you cry, then I’ll cry, and then I’ll also ruin my make up, and we’ll just be $150 down the drain with nothing to show for it,” she joked with a tired roll of her eyes and a shrug.

Together, we laughed, finding a pocket of warmth in a world that often felt too cold. Behind JJ’s eyes though, I saw an empathy I wasn’t expecting. That small, instinctual part of my brain tugged at my heart, telling me that there was an unspoken bond forming. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t know why. I had a feeling that it was one of those secrets you just didn’t ask about, so I let it go.

“Thanks. It’s a stupid thought anyway,” I sighed, shuffling my feet and knocking my heels against the somehow spotless patio. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, so why stress about it, right?”

But then JJ said something I wasn’t expecting. Something that I actually really, really needed to hear.

“I don’t know, I think you’re allowed to be worried. It’s normal to feel scared.”

The sentence hit me like a freight train carrying lead and cement. At first, my brain refused to comprehend it at all. I struggled to repeat the idea, not because I was drunk but because it sounded so wrong. I had wanted it to be true so badly, and here she was, telling me it was okay.

Sensing my simultaneous trepidation and revelation, JJ cringed a bit when she said, “But I think it is a good idea to talk to Spence about it instead of me. Because, to be honest, I’ve also had one too many glasses to be helpful.”

That time when I laughed, it was full-hearted and involved every muscle in my body. “God, I love you, Jennifer,” I said through the noise.

She just shook her head, clearly enjoying the drastic mood swing she’d had a great part in. “I love you, too,” she whispered, running her hand over my shoulder and arm to pull me into a small half-hug. And that was how Spencer found us, giggling and sniffling on Rossi’s porch.

“Hey, are you ready to— Oh! Hey JJ,” he stopped, taking a very hesitant step forward in the hope that we wouldn’t both start crying on the spot. Drunk girls had a tendency to do that. “W-What are you guys doing out here?”

She let me go first, shoving her hand, still damp with my tears, into her pockets with a secretive smile. “Girl talk.”

“That usually doesn’t bode well for me,” Spencer answered with an awkward, nervous laugh. He didn’t make a move to grab me yet, probably too scared to step between the two of us. I was too busy giggling at the thought of his mind cycling through all the possible secrets I might have spilled in my uninhibited state.

I was tipsy, but I wasn’t that drunk.

JJ pulled two fingers over her mouth in a cheeky motion as she whispered, “My lips are sealed.”

“An even worse sign,” Spencer winced, turning to finally wrap his arm around me. He must have noticed the chill on my skin, because seconds later he had me practically wrapped in his coat. “I should just cut my losses and get her out of here, huh?”

“Shut up, old man,” I slurred, cuddling closer to his body heat despite my protests. Even in the darkness, I watched the heat bloom in his face at the nickname. By far, the worst part about the situation was the fact that I couldn’t kiss him, because I just knew he would be so warm, and I was really starting to get cold. I suspect that’s why he started to whisk me away, unceremoniously shushing me as JJ cleared her throat and raised her hand in a wave.

Before we got too far, though, I heard her speak again. “Oh! (Y/n), your questions!”

“What about them?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder and nearly falling to the ground as a result.

JJ looked at me, and then back to Spencer, whose arm was wrapped possessively around me. She smiled a pure, toothy grin that filled her face, causing that weird feeling in my gut to flare up again. She saw something in that moment that I wasn’t sure I’d ever really understand, but her voice started to crack just enough to notice when she called out, “The answer is yes. To all of them.”

—————————————————

The ride back to Spencer’s place was uneventful, though I tried very hard to make it interesting. After the fourth time he'd swatted away my hand and threatened to throw me in the back, I gave in to his demand to behave. I blamed my compliance on the alcohol, although it was probably more so a result of total exhaustion.

The respite from socialization was apparently what I needed to be able to function again, because as soon as we pulled into his apartment parking lot, I was awake.

... Awake enough to try and maul him in the hallway. But, in his sober stubbornness, he continued to evade my advances all the way until his front door clicked shut behind us. His hands on my hips had never felt like such a victory before.

“Did you enjoy wreaking havoc all night?” he whispered, slowly leading us towards his room. I couldn’t see where I was going, but I didn’t need to. Even without an eidetic memory, my body cherished this path and the memories it always led to. I trusted him to catch me if I stumbled. Which, I definitely did.

“I’m the cutest devil you’ll ever see,” I slurred.

“At least you admit it,” Spencer laughed. I couldn’t tell if it was at my words or the fact that I was failing terribly at trying to unbutton his shirt. My drunk self was not a skilled multitasker.

Once I felt the bed against the back of my thighs, I hopped on top of the covers before he could even try to help me up. It was muscle memory. We’d been there before.

“I’m feeling more fallen angel tonight,” I sighed, sliding against the comforter until I found his pillow.

Naturally, Spencer saw the way I gravitated to his side. He smiled as he removed his shirt that I’d left mostly intact. “By all means, feel free to stay that way.”

I probably should have taken off my dress, or my shoes, but I didn’t. The world sort of felt like a wave pool on a sunny day, and I was worried that if I paid too much attention to what was going on around me, I'd think about something I really didn’t want to think about.

I couldn’t remember what it was.

But then Spencer’s hands were gliding up and down my calves, and I shuddered at the contact. He took his time removing my shoes before coming up to join me on all fours. I wondered if he could taste the whiskey on my tongue when he kissed me. Did it remind him of the circumstances that had brought us together? Did it remind him of his hangover and sins?

Did he think of monsters when he kissed me?

My hands were tangled in his hair, pulling lightly to try to keep him there. And when he pulled away, I tried to fight him. I tried to follow him, scared that once the kiss was over, I’d start remembering things I probably should have tried to forget.

He must have seen the denial in my eyes, because he hesitated. His hand came up to lightly grab my wrist and lead my hand that had a death grip on his hair down to his face. “Are you too drunk? Should we stop?”

Throwing my head back with a groan, I tried not to hate him for actually caring about me again. “If you stop right now, I’m going to actually scream,” I droned. It got me a laugh, at least.

“That doesn’t comfort me in the slightest.”

Once I opened my eyes, I found myself wishing I hadn’t. It wasn’t that I saw hesitancy or fear in Spencer’s eyes – on the contrary, it was the lack of anything bad at all that bothered me. I looked into his eyes and saw nothing but a sincere, pure adoration that I couldn’t argue with.

I chose to ignore it, instead. I couldn’t remember why it made my stomach hurt.

“Are you going to make me do a sobriety test?” I giggled, letting my hands travel down his shoulders and chest. I wasn’t in as much of a rush as I had been earlier. I wanted to take my time remembering what it felt like to be pinned under him and surrounded by his embrace.

“I’m positive that you’ve practiced those while drunk,” he playfully replied while trying to hide the way goosebumps followed my fingers as they trailed down to more interesting territory.

“Yeah, I can say the alphabet backwards and everything.”

It was meant as a joke, but Spencer apparently had some doubts. With a scrunched up smile, he laughed back as he asked, “Really?”

The fact that he believed I was capable of something like that might have been flattering if it hadn't been based on his incredibly flawed perception of my propensity to lawbreaking. But since it was based on ideas of immorality rather than intelligence, it just made me mad.

Smacking him lightly on the chest, I both pouted and laughed as I snapped back, “No, of course not, asshole!”

Spencer just grinned, giving a delayed wince at the offensive contact before he sat up again. I didn’t realize why at first, but as he slowly started to coax me into turning around, I remembered that I was, in fact, still fully dressed. I figured it was either his way of saying that I’d won, or just an excuse to take off the dress so I might actually go to sleep. I was fine with either.

“I was drunk the first night we met, if you’ve forgotten,” I mumbled, rolling onto my side of the bed and moving my hair so that he wouldn’t catch any in the zipper.

“I definitely haven’t forgotten that night.”

The nostalgia in his voice was both comforting and painful. We’d always joked about that night, though. It wasn’t an insult at all.

“No? Do you think about it often?” I replied playfully, forcing myself not to think too hard about whether he wished I was still the girl he'd met that day.

Spencer made it easy to forget, with his hand starting to draw the zipper down while he leaned forward to whisper in my ear, “I think about it all the time.” My breath hitched in my throat at the way his voice warped into a rough, raspy tone. “You almost made me believe that you were just some shy, innocent little girl.”

This time when he got me to turn back over, there was nothing gentle about it. His hands were clearly craving the kind of violence they got to use last time. I wanted to feel them again.

“We can make a new memory if you want,” I panted, looking up at him with wanton eyes and my dress loose enough to expose parts of my breasts to him.

“Fuck,” he muttered at the sight below him. He pressed his erection against my hip as he ran a hand over my cheek. “Tell me the rules.”

“I tell you to stop if I need to,” I carefully enunciated.

“Good girl,” he moaned, starting to rock against me. Struggling to pull my dress off himself, he pleaded in a slightly pitiful manner, “Can I…?”

I helped him, desperate to feel his skin against mine. I didn’t even think about what it meant for my dress to be gone. It wasn’t until Spencer’s mouth dropped to my chest so enthusiastically that I realized that he’d failed to stop and kiss my lips first.

With both hands on my breasts, he lavished each pebbled peak with his fingers and tongue. He hadn’t ever mentioned the fact that he’d missed me shirtless, but it was painfully obvious in the way his lips trailed along my body. It was obvious in the rumbling of his moans against my skin and the way his hands roughly kneaded the soft tissue.

I was forced to remember why I hadn’t let him see me topless.

I felt naked. Not because of the exposed skin, but because I couldn’t warp reality with lace or cotton anymore. My marred stomach might not have made a physical barrier, but it still made him feel so far away. It was a paralyzing kind of realization, and I felt myself retreat so quickly that it hurt.

Thankfully, it was Spencer who was kissing me. If it had been anyone else, I think I would have just laid there, terrified and small and alone. But I couldn’t do that with him.

“Spencer?” I quietly called, and he immediately stopped, his eyes meeting mine with all the attention a girl could ever ask for. I smiled, and the sensation almost felt foreign.

“Come kiss me here instead,” I said with a little giggle, tapping my lips to bring him back to where I wanted him. And he came to me so quickly, his mouth crashing onto mine in seconds and his hands tangling in my hair.

I had forgotten so quickly how easy it was to get lost in him. Thanks to the alcohol, my mind wasn’t able to stick with any thought for longer than a few seconds. Mixing that with Spencer’s hands and mouth, I was never going to be able to think in more than a few words at a time. And I shouldn’t have needed to, right? It was just sex. We’d done it many times before, and it had never been a disappointment. But there was a nagging feeling in the back of mind — some instinctual warning that told me I was doing something wrong.

I wanted him, so what could be wrong about that? There was nothing painful or unappreciated in the way he lined himself up at my entrance, and I certainly made that much clear. It was hard to even hear him over the sound of my own moans, and my nails dug into his shoulder as I guided him into me with my hips.

“I love you,” I cried, wrapping my legs around his waist and digging my heels into the back of his thighs.

“I love you so much, little girl,” he whispered against my lips, his forehead resting against mine.

For a moment, it was okay. The feeling subsided long enough for me to enjoy the fact that Spencer, the man I loved, loved me back. I thought about how long it had taken us to get to this point, and how I never wanted to lose it again. I held onto him for dear life, rocking my hips to meet his and bringing his mouth down to mine.

It was okay, until he spoke again.

“You’re such a good girl,” he groaned into my mouth, “even when you’re being bad you just want to be useful.”

Useful.

The word had come back to haunt me several times in the recent weeks. I hadn’t said anything about it because I couldn’t understand why it bothered me so much. There was no reason for me to be upset. He was just saying what I usually liked to hear.

So why did it hurt?

And I realized then, that the reason that experience felt so horrible wasn’t because of me at all. It was because it was Spencer. It was Spencer, the man I loved. There he was, trying to love me and comfort me and hold me and I…

In a rush of emotions and memories and repressed regrets, I was forced to face the fact that I had made a terrible mistake. The kind of mistake that if I didn’t do something about it in that exact, immediate moment, would become a disaster. The kind of disaster that meant he might never want to touch me again. The kind that would make him hate me. The kind that would make him leave and I couldn’t blame him for.

I had made a mistake.

“Wait, wait, Spencer, stop!” I slurred, my hands that had been holding him close seconds earlier shoving him off of me with the little force I was capable of. It didn’t take much, though, considering how fast he jumped back.

Frantic and terrified, he grabbed my face and tried to inspect my eyes that were avoiding him. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t look at him. “No, I just really need to stop,” I muttered, my breath picking up even more as I slid away from him, “Can I just— Can you just give me a minute?”

My hands slid over my chest, trying to hide the shame I felt inside to no avail. Spencer only made it worse in the way he quickly grabbed clothing, covering me in his shirt before he dressed himself. He even took the time to find me pants and help me in them, quietly and carefully. Like a doll.

I was going to be sick.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me,” he croaked brokenly while he curled up at my side, trying to wrap his arms around me before he realized I was shrinking away from his touch. He was so confused. He had no reason to know what was going on, but I could see on his face that he was desperately trying to figure it out.

“Does this have something to do with what you were talking to JJ about?”

An interesting question. I didn’t know the answer.

“Yes. No? Maybe. I guess?” I ran a hand over my face that landed on my throbbing temple. The lack of tears on my face almost surprised me. I probably should have been crying, but I wasn’t. In a way, it felt like I had no tears left to give. When I turned to him, bile rose in my throat and I was afraid that I might choke on it if I didn’t get the words out faster. I just had to tell him. He needed to know.

“Listen, I lied to you. And I need to say something.”

I had just gotten my breathing under control, just in time for his to go erratic. His pulse was visible in his throat as he swallowed. “Lied to me? About what?”

“I…” The world was rocking, and I couldn’t tell if it was because of the alcohol or my brain trying to comprehend my own self-destructive stupidity. I knew which one I was going to blame, though. “Fuck, I didn’t think I was this drunk.”

“What did you lie to me about?” he repeated, his hands gripping handfuls of the sheet in hopes of stopping the rest of his body from trembling.

“Well, I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you.”

It was the most useless clarification, and it did absolutely nothing to appease his concern. The longer the words stayed stuck and muddled in my mouth, the more devastated he seemed. In hindsight, I would realize all the millions of awful reasons his mind must have been feeding him in the absence of the truth.

“Please, whatever it is, just tell me,” Spencer begged with a hesitant, shaky hand coming to rest on top of mine. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. Instead, we both looked down at our hands. It was a mercy and a disservice. I just had to tell him, but I couldn’t convince myself to do it without looking him in the eyes. That didn’t mean I wasn’t grateful that he didn’t look back, though. Because once the words were said, there would be no going back from them.

He was going to hate me.

“I… stopped taking my birth control,” I whispered in a voice that felt so foreign. “Like, a while ago.”

Spencer’s jaw steeled, his eyes widening and shooting up to me with the same speed he used to jump off the bed. Despite my efforts to grab him, to stop him from leaving me, he was five feet away in a matter of seconds.

“What?!” he shouted. It was the loudest I’d ever heard him. Even the echoes felt deafening, and my hands covered my ears with a wince.

“Shit! That was loud!” I whined in a pathetic attempt to make him feel bad for me. I didn’t deserve it, but I think it worked. Because the next time he spoke, it was at a more manageable volume.

“What do you mean you stopped taking your birth control?! When?!”

“Stop yelling at me.” I pulled my knees to my chest and ignored the pain in my stomach when I did so. It felt well deserved.

“You aren’t joking, either. Why didn’t you tell me this?” Spencer continued, his hands raking through his hair while he started to pace the room.

Nothing about it felt real. I felt like I was stuck in one of my million recurring nightmares. I just wanted to wake up, to be somewhere other than in a room too small for the bass in his voice. I only barely saw him when he finally approached me. He still stayed a few feet away, but he met my eyes that stared vacantly at the wall ahead of me.

“Answer me!”

Whether it was the order that broke me or the pain in his voice, all of my resolve and apathy shattered at once.

“You’ve always said you wanted to get me pregnant!” I screamed back, digging my nails into my skin in the hope of finding feeling there.

“Not like this! Not right now!” he scoffed. The sound would have hurt more if he hadn't stepped closer to me when he made it.

“Why not?!” I tried to sound angry, but all I heard was the plea beneath the words.

I just want to be useful. Please let me be useful.

“Are you serious?” Spencer’s disbelief was present in every ounce of his existence. His hands were alternating between fists and flat palms, his voice cracking and wavering in pitch. “What has gotten into you? You know that you can’t have a child right now.”

I bit down on my tongue in one final attempt to keep the scary words inside. But he couldn’t feel the way his words felt just like bullets and scar tissue that would never fully heal again.

“You almost died! Do you—“ he choked, but powered through his body’s attempt to stop the thought. “Do you understand the danger that would put you in?”

“I know, alright?! I know!” The words were loud and hoarse, and I covered my own ears to hopefully drown out the sound of failure on my own tongue. “I know I can’t have a fucking kid right now!”

“Then what are you doing?!”

I don’t know. Please, help me.

He waited for my answer, but it stayed trapped in my head. When I started to rock in place, my hands still clamped over my ears and the tears I swore I didn’t have starting to fall, he sighed.

“Get up, we’re going to the store.”

“Why?” I spat, sinking further into my spot in a purely selfish manner.

“Get up,” he said again, this time reaching out for my hand.

But I didn’t want to touch him. I didn’t want him to touch me like this. I was scared that if I did what he wanted, then the fight would be over. And if the fight ended, then what would be left? Was this all just some elaborate ruse to get me in his car so that he could drive me home and leave me there?

His hand touched mine so softly, with so much patience and love that it burned. Why wasn’t he angrier? He should be.

“No!” I screamed, smacking his hand away from me. Although I knew it didn’t hurt, I saw him wince at the contact. His lips flattened as he looked at the stupid sobbing girl on his bed.

Then he left. He turned on his heel, and with less patience that time, grumbled the explanation he'd refused to give before. “We’re going to the store and getting levonorgestrel so that you don’t make the stupidest mistake of your life.”

It wasn’t the words that got me to move, but the fact that he was quickly leaving the room. I scrambled after him recklessly, crashing into just about every stationary object in the way. The shock had hit me so hard that I forgot I was still drunk.

“Is it really that awful to imagine having a future with me?” I sobbed, chasing after him just to crash into him when he stopped.

He still caught me, but I couldn’t tell you why.

“You know that’s not what this is about.” He sounded so tired, but he kept going. He kept fighting with me even though I could see in his eyes that it was the last thing he wanted to do. “I love you, (y/n)! But you’re acting like… like a child!”

“Fuck you,” I seethed, pushing myself away from him.

I was scared that if I didn’t force our bodies apart, I would have fallen to pieces in his arms again. And I knew he would try to put me back together again. He would try to help me because that’s what he always did. But sometimes things are just completely, irrevocably broken. Sometimes there was simply no fixing it.

Good luck convincing Spencer of that.

“I don’t need this shit and I don’t need to go to the store,” I muttered under my breath as I made my way back into the bedroom to locate my purse that I’d so gracefully thrown on the floor.

“(Y/n), just because the chances of pregnancy are low doesn’t mean they are nonexistent, and I’m not going to be the reason you throw your life away! You said yourself you aren’t ready to be a housewife!” I heard him rambling from the other room. Eventually, he followed the sounds of plastic packaging and rustling paper.

“Shut up,” I groaned, finally getting the tiny pill free and successfully shoving it in my mouth before I managed to drop it. “Just leave me alone, Spencer.”

Obviously, it wasn’t going to work. After all, I was in his apartment, and currently sitting cross legged in the middle of his bedroom and trying to dry swallow a pill that tasted a lot like every mistake I’d ever made.

“When did you buy that? And why do you have it with you?” He didn’t sound angry at all anymore. He didn’t even particularly sound annoyed or confused, just… exhausted.

“You’re welcome for saving you the drive.”

Of all the things he could have done, he chose the one I expected the least. He came to me, and carefully lowered himself to the ground in front of me. At first, that was all he did. He just sat across from me with puppy dog eyes and an awkward posture.

“Look at me,” he called gently.

“I don’t want to.”

He sighed, waiting another second to catch his breath and let the earlier emotions settle in the air. “You had that in your purse. Why?” he asked as he reached forward to grab the remnants of the torn up box and confirm that it was what he thought it was. Once he was satisfied, he just sounded even more broken. “You’ve clearly thought about it enough to plan ahead, but apparently I wasn’t important enough to have a say in any of these decisions.”

The pain that was forming in my stomach hurt worse than the AR-15.

“Were you just… Just planning on making those decisions without even telling me?” He was on the verge of tears, though he tried his very best to hide it. It might’ve worked if I'd been both drunk and an idiot, but unfortunately the adrenaline was combatting the alcohol pretty well at that point.

With both hands covering his face, I could still see the way his jaw tensed between the words. “It would be my child, too,” he forced out, “You don’t— You don’t get to make those decisions without me. T-That’s not fair.”

The sounds were so pitiful, and I wanted to feel anything but what I felt. I wanted to feel angry or sad again, but I couldn’t. All I felt was hate; the most powerful, soul crushing self-loathing imaginable.

I didn’t want to be the reason he cried. I wanted it to stop, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t control myself. I just kept rubbing salt in the wound so he would leave. So that I could hate him for leaving me instead of hating myself for making him.

“There’s no kid. I would’ve taken it either way.”

That succeeded in getting a response.

“Then what was the point of any of this?!” he fumed, dropping his hands to gestured to the state of us, dressed in pajamas and tears. “If you really believe that, then why tell me? Why risk it at all?!”

“I don’t know.”

“I deserve a better answer than that. That’s bullshit and you know it,” he demanded with an accusing finger.

But I didn’t know that it was bullshit. Really, it was the truth. I didn’t know why I was doing this. All I knew was that if I stopped, if I was just honest with him, I would have to face a reality I wasn’t ready for.

“I deserve the truth,” he said as his hand fell, unable to stay up under the weight of the feeling behind it.

I looked at him and I saw my mistakes in the form of tears trickling down his cheeks and a tremble in his lips. I saw a man who deserved nothing but the greatest love, begging me to give him something to work with. He wasn’t asking me for the world — he just wanted me to talk. To say something so that he could understand why I wanted him to hate me.

I didn’t have an answer. Not one that either of us would believe, anyway.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Spencer.” My lips moved without my permission, and my legs quickly followed the traitorous pursuit.

“What does that mean?” he begged me as he followed me. He followed me like he always did, with that suffocating hopefulness that we could make it.

But what if I couldn’t? What if this was it for me? What if, in my desperate desire to push him away, I was saving him from a miserable life with me?

I was trying to save him.

“It means…” I paused, turning to look him in the eyes so that he might finally hear what he needed to in my answer. “It means you should’ve picked a different 20 year old to fuck.”

His jaw finally relaxed, dropping open with a broken breath.

And I think he saw it. I think he saw the way I meant the words from the bottom of my soul. He heard me tell him that he should regret me while I tried to walk away, and he knew that I meant it.

“I’m leaving.” The words surprised me when I heard them in my own voice, but I followed them, nonetheless. I barreled towards the door with bare feet and my keys in my hand.

“Where are you going? You can’t leave like this.” His statements were logical, but that only served to further piss me off.

“You can’t tell me what to do. I’m not your property!”

That wasn’t why I was angry. We both knew that wasn’t why. The real reason, the truth behind the reckless self-destruction was approaching too fast and I couldn’t slow it down. Nothing could stop it from rushing down the predetermined path that we stood on, and I was begging him to get off the tracks.

“If you leave right now, you’re going to fucking kill yourself!”

And then it happened. Practically foaming at the mouth with the unhinged rage that had been boiling underneath my skin for too long, I finally managed to let the words go.

“Maybe that’s the fucking point!”

Silence had never been so loud. It had never been that heavy.

“Have you ever stopped to consider that, Spencer?” I laughed because there was no reason in my mind not to. It all seemed so terribly obvious and we’d been skirting around it for so long. Why were we pretending like this was news? Like we hadn’t heard the horns and seen the headlights approaching?

“Please stop.” It was said like a plea but meant as an order. But I never listened to directions and he already knew that.

“I’m not your problem just because you were unfortunate enough to fall in love with me,” I continued, finding a freedom in being able to finally say what I’d been thinking all along. “Put me out of my fucking misery, Spencer. Just let me go.”

“Stop!” he shouted, pulling fistfuls of his hair as his chest heaved with deep, rasping breaths. I’d heard that voice from him before, but only once. The memories were locked away in the part of my brain that I swore to leave locked up.

I was back in the bank. I could feel his hands slipping in blood on my stomach and pressing into my cheeks. I was in the ambulance again. His hands were so warm that they burned, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to leave. I'd had one foot in the grave then. I felt like I was still there, teetering over the edge with nothing but Spencer’s frantic breathing and desperate begging keeping me from jumping in.

“Stop saying that!” Spencer ordered, his hands letting go just enough to come back down on his head with some force. I jumped at the contact and wondered when I'd started feeling his pain, too. I wondered when we'd found ourselves back in his apartment again.

“Y-You aren’t going to die!” He continued. It didn’t have the force of an order or the pathetic breaking of a cry. It was just a statement he was trying to will into existence. An attempt to ward off memories that reminded him he was capable of losing me. He had already almost lost me once. In a way, it was this same scenario.

It was just that he wasn’t losing me quickly from a gunshot wound. No, I was bleeding out in an entirely different way.

“You can’t— I can’t lose you. I can’t do it again,” he sobbed, falling to his knees and not caring at all about the bruises that would follow. The sight of him collapsing in on himself was terrifying, and I realized for the first time the true consequences of my actions. I couldn’t pretend that I was trying to save him anymore. I couldn’t listen to the congested, barely comprehensible ramblings of a man begging me not to want to die and act like I was thinking of him at all.

I was being selfish. How very much like me.

“Please, anything but that. You can hate me forever, but please don’t…” The words trailed off, and I felt compelled to answer them. I needed something to release the knot in my chest and allow my lungs to fill again.

“I don’t hate you, Spencer. I could never hate you.” The words were infuriating in their honesty, but he needed to hear them. He needed to know that none of this was his fault, that he’d done nothing wrong other than meet me.

I couldn’t leave him like that. He deserved so much better than me, but that was all that I had. So, I climbed down next to him, reaching out to him and hoping that he would hold me back.

To my surprise, he did. His hands grabbed mine like they were a lifeline, bringing them to his lips wet with tears. And although he was silent, I could hear the way he prayed that they wouldn’t fade away from him again.

“I-I… I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell you. I’m supposed to be the adult here, I’m supposed to know how to fix these things, but I have no idea what I’m doing, (y/n).”

It was an admission Spencer didn’t often make. The complete helplessness and inability to fix the puzzle before him didn’t just hurt because it was painful to watch, it was also just another reminder of his limits.

One time he had promised me that he wouldn’t let anything hurt me. I should have told him that it was a stupid promise to make then. I should have showed him the skeletons in my closet and the mess in my hands.

But it didn’t matter anymore. He had already seen it, and it was too late. I’d made too many mistakes, and I had to face them. I couldn’t run away anymore. That meant listening to Spencer, pouring his heart out to me and clutching my hands like they would turn to nothing in front of him.

“You’re falling apart and you won’t talk to me. I don’t know how to make this stop hurting. I don’t know how to help you. Sometimes you’re so happy but other times I can see it in your eyes…”

Our eyes met, unguarded, for the first time in what felt like hours but was actually probably only a few minutes. We looked into each other’s eyes and tried to read each other’s minds. I didn’t know what he saw, but I heard the way it struck him.

“Do you… Do you want to leave me?” he asked.

And I realized then, that was what my behavior was leading up to. That was what my mind was racing towards, without ever considering whether it was what was best for me. Because I wasn’t thinking about what was best for me, or what I wanted, or what I should want. All I cared about was the same concern Spencer had for me— I didn’t want him to throw his life away just to be with me.

“Is that what you want?” I asked.

Spencer heard something in my question that brought life back to his eyes. I wished that I could hear his thoughts because he always seemed so much farther ahead. Like he could see the immediate future and knew what would follow.

Then again, maybe I was just idealizing him. I had a tendency to do that. He wasn’t a superhero. He was just a man, trying his best in a world that never really let him rest. I certainly didn’t help with that.

“No. No, that’s not what I want at all,” he said, his hands finding the courage to let go of mine and slide up my arms. He cupped my face with such an urgency and relief that it almost felt the same as before I had uttered those terrifying words. “I told you I want to marry you and I wasn’t kidding.”

It only took a few words for any progress and vulnerability to be obliterated. Four words. That’s all it took.

I want to marry you.

A white picket fence is what I’d promised him. I'd painted a vivid image of us with two children that were just like him. A normal, domestic life is what I’d said.

I hadn't known. I'd made a mistake. I had lied.

“Stop fucking saying that!” I wished the fight would leave my body and let my weary muscles rest, but it kept coming back. Sure as the sun rises in the morning, I couldn’t let go of the hatred. It had to go somewhere, and Spencer continued to be the stupid, stubborn man putting himself in front of me without any defenses.

I don’t think he was expecting that, though. He jumped back at the sound, his hands bracing his fall as I flailed to get away from him. I didn’t have the energy or coordination to stand, so I just let myself fall to pieces on the floor in front of him.

“Stop telling me about this future you have planned for us b-because I’m a useless, idiotic fuck up, and it’s freaking me the fuck out!”

Naturally, the only thing that could incense Spencer more than violating his trust was, apparently, talking badly about myself. Because as soon as he heard the words, he was wound up just the same.

“What are you so afraid of?!”

Without thinking about the words, implications, or consequences, I gave him the answer he fought for. I gave it to him because I couldn’t hold it any longer. I gave it to him and hoped that it would grant me the closure he sought, too.

“That I won’t ever be able to give you a baby and you’re going to fucking leave me!”

Spencer, in all his shock and disbelief, could only utter back a single, exasperated, “…What?” The way the word fell out of his mouth almost sounded like a laugh, the side of his lips curling into an almost imperceptible smile.

“I’m scared that when I stop being useful to you, you’re going to leave me like everyone else,” I explained, my voice as small as I felt in that moment.

But Spencer, in his uncanny ability to predict the future, was trying not to smile. Don’t get me wrong — he wasn’t laughing at me, and the words certainly brought him no joy. But there was something else buried beneath the suffering.

“Come here,” he requested with a sad, small grin and a wave of his hand. When he saw the hesitance on my face, he beckoned me closer again with more feeling. “I want to talk to you. Come here.”

So I came. I came as close to him as I could. And as I practically sat in his lap, I remembered how much easier it was to breathe when he held me, and how much lighter the tears felt when he wiped them a way.

“Why do you think I’m going to leave you?” he asked through a chuckle, like the very notion was so unbelievable that it couldn’t be uttered as anything other than a joke.

“Y-You want kids,” I mumbled, looking down at our t-shirts wet with tears. I played with the hem of his to remind myself that we were both still there. And although Spencer sympathized, he didn’t seem too keen on me looking away at that particular moment. With a gentle finger under my chin, he guided my eyes back to his.

“Okay. So do you, right?”

“Well, yeah…” I paused and pursed my lips and bit down on the bottom one. I waited until he raised his eyebrows in a challenge before I explained. “But what if I can’t have any?”

Spencer’s face scrunched up with his shoulders in a dismissive shrug, “There are other ways to have kids. I’m not worried about that at all.”

Just like that, he’d waved away my fears of inadequacy and failure like they were smoke from an already snuffed out candle. He made it so clear so quickly that biology wasn’t the thing that mattered. That it wasn’t my genetics or physical traits that made him want to share a literal life with me.

Spencer didn’t need me to have his children; he just wanted me to raise some with him.

“Why are you worried about that? Did something happen?” he pressed forward, unsatisfied with the idea that I might still be carrying some heaviness without his assistance.

“The doctor told me that I might not ever be able to have my own kids and I just...”

I should have known better than to doubt the insistence of his greedy hands. They would never let a burden belong solely to me. And I… didn’t want to bear the weight alone anymore, either. The dam was broken, and my heart came rushing out into his waiting arms.

“I’m so tired of it, Spencer. I’m tired of this stupid shit stealing my life away from me. You’ve been taking care of me for months, a-and the way you look at me sometimes-- I can see it on your face. I can feel the way it hurts you just to look at me.”

That hurt flashed in his eyes right then but faded with a swiftness I hadn’t seen in a long time. He didn’t want me to see it yet. One fight at a time, I heard him think. When this shifted load balanced between us again, we could figure the rest out.

First, we had to settle this. It had to end.

“If I can’t give you children, and I can’t... I can’t make you happy then—“

“Stop,” he demanded, his finger coming up to cover my lips. There was no argument to be made at his protest. With a deathly seriousness veiled with bowed brows and a lip that still trembled, Spencer whispered to me, “You can feel however you want to, but you don’t get to decide how I feel.”

Tears welled in both of our eyes, threatening to fall with the other. But they didn’t, they stayed pooled at our lashes and drowned us in visions of haloed lights and blurry reflections.

“I am so happy with you. No matter what. Every second of every day. Do you understand me?”

The only answer I had the strength to give was my surrender. Collapsing forward into his arms, I buried my face into his shoulder. I reveled in the warmth of his chest and the strength of his hands on my back. I felt his heartbeat against my cheek as the deep, joyful breaths he took in came out as relieved laughter.

“I love you, (y/n).”

He must have heard, or at least felt, my soft groan in response, because he peeled me off of him with a smirk. “What’s wrong now?” he asked in an equally tired whine.

“You only use my name when you’re angry or sad,” I grumbled through a pout. It only felt a little silly, to joke about something so stupid minutes after screaming our hearts at each other. We were just so tired, and the finish line was in sight. We just wanted to cross it together, and preferably with less tears involved.

Spencer didn’t say any of that, but I felt it, nonetheless. It was clear in the way he pushed my hair from my face before running his fingers down my jaw. “I use your name when I’m worried,” he corrected. “And you scared me tonight. I’m sorry that you’ve been feeling this way.”

We were toeing the line back into heavy emotions, and I shook my head to ask him not to take me back there tonight. But I couldn’t blame him at the same time. He’d so gracefully handled all of my fears and rage; he deserved a chance to voice his own. They’d fallen so far behind in the race towards the truth.

“I understand you were scared to tell me, but...” he stopped, trying to find a way to explain it without hurting my feelings. He really was too nice to me.

“I know. It was stupid. I feel terrible,” I finished for him. Once my face hit his shoulder again, I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, Spencer,” I said with almost all of the energy I had left. He stroked soothing patterns over my back, and after a moment I realized that we’d started to rock. I wasn’t sure if it was for his benefit or mine.

“I appreciate your apology, but please promise me that you’ll talk to someone about this,” he humbly requested, his words muffled in my hair.

“Isn’t that what I’m doing right now?”

It was almost a joke. Spencer wasn’t going to let it go, though. “Don’t try to be clever with me, little girl. I need you to talk to someone who knows how to help you,” he playfully scolded.

Through a yawn and a chuckle, I pressed on in my attempt to end the night on a horrible joke. “Isn’t that your whole job?”

“Yeah, I guess it is sometimes, huh?” he agreed halfheartedly. Really, he was only trying to give me a little bit of a win. We both knew his job wasn’t very good at helping people before the fact. It was just another poor attempt at avoiding healing. I had been holding on to that anger so tightly that there wasn’t room for us in the space that was left.

“But I think you also know I can’t be that person for you,” Spencer eloquently said, cradling my head as it started to rock with each motion.

“Yeah, I know,” I sighed, “I promise.”

I’m not sure how long we stayed like that, but no matter what, it wouldn’t have lasted long enough. The rhythm of his heart evened out over time, settling into the lullaby I needed to finally find some rest. But realistically, we couldn’t sleep there. Spencer was kind enough to practically carry me back into the bed we had shared when this all started, although this time he laid beside me.

From there, he helped tuck me in and pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead. My eyes were closed, but the smile that spread over my cheeks was enough of a signal that I was still awake.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

My bloodshot eyes opened at his call, and I found love staring back at me. I knew he could see my eyes bouncing back and forth as I tried to see all of it at once in his eyes, and I didn’t care. Even when he kissed me, neither of us closed them.

“We don’t have to worry about anything,” he said as our mouths broke apart. His thumb swept over my cheeks to all the places I knew he was thinking about kissing. There was a very poor attempt to hide his smile at the thought of the future, but I appreciated the effort he put in.

“When you’re ready to try to have kids, I’ll be right there with you,” he said.

It was clear that Spencer really wanted it to be a meaningful sentiment, but I was still a little bitter at his failure to laugh at my previous terrible jokes. So when I saw the opportunity, I took it swiftly and with no regrets.

“I sure hope so, or else I don’t think it’ll work,” I muttered through the side of my mouth before turning onto my back.

Spencer’s first carefree giggle of the night was my prize, and I couldn’t have loved it any more. “That’s my little girl,” he cooed, curling up against my side and wrapping a possessive arm over my chest.

Just before my eyes fluttered shut, I saw movement below my face. I kept them open long enough to see his pinky presented to me and a knowing look in his eyes. “Everything will be alright as long as we have each other,” Spencer offered.

And despite our bad history with promises, I had no reasons left to doubt that one.

—————————————————

| Part 21 |

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #h2m #spencer reid self insert #angst #smut

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herstarburststories · 3 years

Text

Home in a Motel Pool

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Dean and you have some fun in the motel's pool.

A/N: This one took a little longer than I thought, but here it's! Wet Dean in motel pool for us. So canon compliant of me, I know I know. This piece is my submission for @deanwanddamons 's 1st Blogiversary and 2K follower celebration with the prompt in bold. Congrats again, honey! And it's also my part for @anaelsbrunette 's YAS’S POC READER CHALLENGE with the song Home by Depeche Mode. Thanks for the extra time and the marvelous challenge!

Warnings: sex in the pool, p in v, dirty talk

Hunting was brutal. Even when the hunters won, it was a victory with no triumph-- there would be someone dead, always a corpse and loved one weeping as a reminder that you and the Winchesters couldn’t save everyone. You’d come around the town, tell the folks what they wanted to hear to get some information, kill the thing, and luckily save a person or two. It was a page from the emptiest stage, a show for a crowd of three: you, Sam, and Dean. Their own critics and praisers, doctors and patients, sinners and saints.

And if your hands were melted and molded into killing machines, you better pray for your heart to be made of anything but gold. That job didn't leave space or time for tenderness. In order to hunt the prey, you must become ferocious. Attack anything on sight, sing to the loneliest sound that’s the gunshot in the dark, pretend that you’ll make amends only to end up befriending the glorious end of the line that often came too soon.

Thing is, it wasn’t just about that. It would be easier if it was all about perfect soldiers and ultimate killers. A black and white world stained with crimson red would be the ideal, but there were always more colors.

Certainly, it wasn’t the most illustrious job one could get. If anything, it was unfair and underpaid and the seed of violence. Every hunter happened to do things they never could speak about, and all the blood got so normalized to the point red is just the color that pointed you were doing it right. like a good grade or a father’s head pat. Where was the seat on the table for any gentless to sit down in the chaos? In the thankful hugs from the mothers of the rescued children, in the pranks the boys came up with against each other for no other reason but childish nostalgia, in the nights where the three of you stopped and sat on Baby’s hood to watch the stars in silence, in the way Dean’s tough hands touched your cheek so lovingly, in the smell of the Impala’s wheels burning against the streets. Summarizing, when saving people wasn’t reasoning enough, kindness appeared glistening in the middle of the pandemonium, as a paragon of something good in cruelty.

Just like this moment.

‘’My body aches in places I didn’t even know that could hurt.’’ You groaned as you got out of the classic black car, hand on the back of your neck to apply some pressure. Even being thrown against a wall by some demon hurt less than sleeping in the backseat-- sweet mundane problems.

Sam scoffed before adding insult to injury, ‘’At least you were sleeping and didn’t have to hear the same cassette three times.’’

‘’Quit whining, you two. I was the one driving through two states.’’ Dean said in a huff, swirling the keys as the three of you walked towards Bonita Motel’s entrance. He placed an arm around your waist, his own way of showing affection in quietude. Your hand slipped inside his leather jacket’s pocket. ‘’Sides’, Baby’s backseat is comfortable and Zeppelin is awesome.’’

The youngest Winchester refrained his response to an eye roll and a mumble among the lines not when played three times in a row. You, though, turned your head to the side and offered your stubborn boyfriend a cynical smile.

‘’I prefer a bed.’’

He aimed at you with his signature lopsided grin, the one he knew that you loved, while you passed through the main door of the establishment. ‘’That’s not what you said last week.’’

‘’Guys, limits.’’ Sam pleaded, shaking his head at Dean’s comment before turning around. He made a chatter that quickly got old with the woman behind the counter, gaining two keys. The long haired hunter tossed one at his brother, who quickly grabbed it with his free hand.

‘’This is a good motel…’’ You commented as the three walked upstairs, the gleaming blue sight caughting your brown eyes. Your whole body shone as if it was really a beach and not only a cheap motel’s pool. Dean and Sam had never gone to the beach, but you grew up with salt aired weekends, a collection of swimsuits, and a loud family on the sand. You missed the sensation of being held by the ocean so dearly. It wouldn’t be the same, nothing was after you jumped in Dean’s Impala in New York; hustling for some other life, a better one like your parents when they came to the United States. Yet, a pool could be diverting and cozy. Pulling away from your man’s hold, you approached the small chlorine miracle.

‘’There’s a pool!’’ You pointed out, as excited as a kid in a carnival. ‘’We should take a swim.’’

‘’You guys go. I have some research to do.’’ Sam nodded at the pool with his head, denying the request with a sleight of hand as he opened the lock of the room 209. ‘’Have fun, kids.’’

The green eyed man clicked his tongue when his brother disappeared with the craike of a door. He wasn’t exactly against the idea of jumping in the pool - apart from the germes, but his paranoia wouldn’t mind that much, not after trying endless motel’s bathtubs. The drive here had just been too long. Besides, if that crap motel had a well-cleaned pool, it probably had vibrating beds. He could use a massage. ‘’I think I’ll get crash in bed.’’

You arched an eyebrow. ‘’Didn’t you say that Baby’s backseat was comfortable to sleep?’’

‘’How taller than you I am, sweetheart?’’ He smirked as you walked back to him like you always did, your own north star in shape of a magnetic force of a man,

‘’Shush.’’ You slapped his chest playfully, wrapping your arms around Dean’s neck. ‘’Come on. Most motels we go to barely have a door, much less a pool. I miss going swimming. It’s a sunny day…’’ The childish joy in your tone metamorphosed into a newfound malice. ‘’You’ll get to see me in a bikini.’’

The Winchester wiggled his messy brows at your statement, suddenly reinvigorated as he placed his arms around your waist to bring you closer. Forget the body ache and all that, that was a way better reason to be sore in the bones later. ‘’You made some good points.’’

‘’I always do.’’ You kept the adamant tone, even when you could feel his breath on your cheek, those green eyes so livid when looking at you. God, you had to put a period here before things escalated and you two ended up getting to right in the middle of the hall. You attempt to make a joke: ‘’Darling it’s better, down where it’s wetter.’’

He knew it was a prompt from The Little Mermaid-- you two had watched two days ago in Tupelo, in a vintage television after killing a Ghoul, while Sam got some junk food. Yet, the kind of smile that brought to his face held anything but purity. A simple conversation became double-edged with Dean Winchester. You two often ended up breathless, either from fighting or from doing more entertaining dances. You should’ve seen that one coming.

‘’I know another wet spot.’’ He’d say, unholy significance trapped in each word as his right hand started to motion over your skin, guiding his greedy finger under your skirt. Your mouth was set in a grim line, a surprisingly determinate attempt to hold back a moan. You and Dean could do it in the pool, unite the good infant memories with the tent-like emotions of adulthood to make a grand deal.

‘’You’ll get all of me wet.’’ You kissed the corner of his lips, smoothly pulling away with a wink. So much self control. ‘’Hurry up, cowboy.’’

You grabbed your bag and rushed to room 208 to change your clothes, leaving an astonished, mildly turned on Winchester behind. Getting in the bathroom, which didn't stink for once, you swiftly changed into the bikini. A jade green one, directly from Brazil’s brand Cia Maritma. If you squint your eyelids hard enough, you could still put a name to each face that was with you when you wore it for the first time in the calmer days. All the long gone friends and the daily sunbath in your caramel skin.

Decided to leave the past well enough alone, you just smiled in melancholy and turned around, facing your reflex in the mirror. You looked hot. Dean surely would agree about that, especially with the way the top brought up your breast.

Arriving in the room to your boyfriend ready for the swim, you couldn’t help checking him out. You were attracted to the way the righteous man’s body was built since the first glance, addicted since the first touch. His shoulder, the freckles on his nose, and the way he wasn’t all defined, yet had the muscles right in the certain spots. You took off your hairpin, hair falling on your shoulder into a brown sea, like the waves crashing against the ocean rocks. The smell of your sweat and orange monopolizing the edges of everywhere, mainly Dean’s senses. He relished on how soft your skin was compared to his, how your accent tingled his insides, and the way you swing your hips while walking. Your boobs almost jumping at his face because of the tiny bikini only aroused him more.

The place had to get some credit. For a dive motel, it was more than they’d picture. Manageable bathrooms and safe locks, the pool glimmering blue with a small tree by the right side. It was gorgeous.

A dazzling breeze whispered through your bodies, causing you to shiver slightly and Dean to get sweet smelling sheets clinging to his knees and feet. Fucking tree. You could taste the friction swallowing the atmosphere, a report of what was near.

Before you could say anything, Dean grumbled as he pokes a leaf away. ‘’It’s gonna rain.’’

‘’It will.’’ You agreed, holding his hand to pull him closer, well-aware that your body would scare away any linger of adorable grumpiness. ‘’But who cares about raining when you’re in a pool?’’

It's the kind of question that doesn't need an answer, it briefly exists to make Dean distracted in wonder just now, a pause between seconds as you jump in the pool first. The water splashing around with a brutal sound. Your body seems to recall an old memory, how you made a lark of anything with your siblings in the sea, how you used to feel like the beaches were a peculiar way of God to show the living how his touch would feel like. Every fiber of your body missed this.

Dean went in too, emerging to the marvelous sound of your laugh. He glanced at you, now less of a hunter and more of a man. The drops on your face could easily be confused with tears, yet the way you grinned and threw water at him couldn’t leave space for any other world but happiness. The Winchester often noticed your longing for cultural things that you no longer had in the palm of your hand. It was stupid, he even felt somehow resposible for taking you away of everything you ever knew only to coaxe you through the road not taken— full of bumps and blood and undecked halls. Then you’d smile, you’d wrap your arms around him like you were doing in that exact moment, and he would see that the drops all over your face are flickering with your chortle.

What other choice would Dean have, what other option could he ever make himself pick, if not to place his hands on your hips? So it goes. He put his rough hand on your, each tender touch seeming to make the bruises there clear up.

The hunter was leaning in to kiss you as a wave of water met his face.

‘’Ops!’’

He narrowed his eyes, spilling out the water. ‘’You are gonna pay for this.’’

‘’I’d like to see you try, Kansas boy.’’

Yeah, you once were raised in the water, such an important part of your identity which you didn't wish to lose, yet slowly slipped beyond your reaches. But you had Dean, you had adventure, and you had the motel’s shitty pool. If you could find contentment in that, you should know that who you were wasn’t lost. You were still the five years old who played in the plastic pool, the seventeen girl who grabbed your cellphone’s lantern and went looking for what was making a noise at 3am, the twenty years old who jumped in a car with two hunters and a craving for finding her true home. You were all of them at once.

Heaven sent the only true friend you could call yours and you’re under his lips. Dean’s crashing his mouth with yours, hungry like an animal after your playful war. You two are soaked, and so is your pussy. He pressed your against the border of the pool, your back to the wall of it. The water rushes in and you couldn’t care less. When did a bikini start to look like too much clothing?

Breaking the kiss, the Winchester glanced at you. The green of all the wild gardens localized in his orbs, dappled with stars and desire. Waiting for his touches, enjoying when he took his time with you was always worthwhile. Today, though, you needed him fast and dirty and raw.

There was nothing you'd rather than spread your legs, so you did it. Dean’s smart fingers quickly ripping your panties and brushing against your heat. He let out an annoyed huff, missing the satisfaction of your wetness around his digitals, how he knew you were a mess for him and him only. The pool’s water didn’t let it much evident, he’d have to fuck you even harder, make sure you were still needy for his cock.

You whined, clinging to his touch with a swing of hips. His hand covering your pussy as Dean applied some pressure, savoring the way your body winced and your eyes shut close, a beautiful moan leaving your lips. He couldn’t wait to eat you out later after he made you come in this stupid pool. Hedonism made his blood thicker-- like he was a calm sea before you, and now his waters were violent and hungry for destruction.

He pulled his hand away. ‘’Dean…’’

‘’Don’t worry, sweetheart.’’ His throbbing cock entered you, voice even deeper as he spoke. ‘’Gonna give you what you want.’’

You placed your legs around his waist and he held your thighs underwater, the sky spilling out its own water above. It didn’t stop two. Your hand on his shoulders, nails sinking in seemed to be a combustible for Dean to go harder inside of your. His hips attacking yours as his mouth kissed your neck with bites.

‘’Dean, please.’’ You pleaded, warm walls squeezing his long dick. ‘’More.’’

‘’All my cock is for you, honey. You get all of it, fucking you, scratching you open.’’ The eldest Winchester said, his voice so low and sensual. You could come only from his talking. ‘’That’s what you want, huh? You want me to fuck that pretty cunt, mark you up inside this shitty pool.’’ His digital reached your clint and you growled. Dean kept his dick inside you, unable to pull away from the heavenly sensation of being inside you. ‘’Wanna know something? I can’t wait to come inside that tight pussy right here.’’

He increased the rhythm, pounding you even faster and rougher as you tried to keep up, the lack of synchrony causing his cock to reach and pull inimaginable pleasures inside you, all turning more brutal and necessary. The pool had its own waves, your and Dean’s movements causing a chaos ocean chaos in it.

The heat and the sickliest, you were drowning in pleasure with each thrust to a desperate beat that his heart echoed. All your pretty noises tangled with his breathless howls. The rain’s drops becoming one water with the pool as you and him became one with your intertwined bodies, only to grow apart again and come back in need for more.

Your and your lover’s figures distorted on the reflex of the pool water, washing away any piece left of purity as you moved in a hurry when you finally reached your orgasm. Your cunt tightening around his hardness was too much to bear, making Dean come after you.

He rested his forehead against yours, breathless faces with closed eyelids darting together. The heat calmed down by the water. Dean dared to look at you, but not to pull away. His cock remained inside your tight cunt and he caressed your cheek gently. That woman pounded from within and is pinning him down to earth, like you are his own gravity, the glimpse of relief, the lover’s photographe that gives the soldier’s battle a meaning.

‘’There’s a saying in my country.’’ You said suddenly, opening your brown eyes as he lifted his head to greet yours with his forest ones.

Dean captured your small nose, your desirable lips, your big eyes, your gorgeous tan skin, the signals he had map of on his lips. His thumb still stroked your face as his cock took its time to weaken inside your pussy. ‘’Yeah? What’s it?’’

‘’Quem está na chuva é pra se molhar.’’ He arched his eyebrows, a silent request for an english version. The Winchester knew around ten words in your mothertongue. Half pet names, half cussing. You pecked his plump lips. ‘’There's no literal translation, some things just lose their core if you try to put them to another language. It would be like if you are in the rain you want to get wet. It would be another way to say if you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.’’

‘’I gotta say, you look pretty hot when you say those things.’’ You smirked. You rolled your eyes playfully, fingernails tenderly fondling the back of Dean’s neck under his haircut. ‘’Do you miss it?’’

‘’My country?’’

‘’Yeah. Not just your country but your language, your friends, your life there.’’ He shrugged, secretly scared of the answer. ‘’It’s not like we go to the same places you used to go to. I see how many bikinis you carry around.’’

Which was the main reason he booked that motel. You didn’t need to know that. The childish joy you had with the surprise was enough for his credit.

‘’No. Well, I still speak my language when I’m mad at you.’’ Dean chuckled. Whenever you two got in a heated argument, your inner latina would come out and jump at him in both languages at once. It was supposed to be serious, but mostly got him all hot and bothered. Your accent was just too sexy, especially when you were angry. ‘’But no, not really. I miss situations and people, but not how it was. It was a good life, but it wasn’t the one I was supposed to have.’’ You pulled him to you by his neck. ‘’I thank you, you know? For bringing me here. For showing me home, Even for the tears and the fear. I finally I’ve found where I belong.’’

Tranquility engulfed the atmosphere momentarily as comfortable as a silent sleeper, the rain no longer coming, giving stage to a sunny sky. You and Dean, twisted together like that was all serenity you could relish on. You both quiet in the afterglow, his cock no longer hard but neither wanted to pull away. He laid his head on your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck. He certainly would bring you to a beach as soon as he could, maybe pop the pretty question on his knees there. For now, thought, he could enjoy thar simple moment.

‘’After my house was burned to the ground, I didn’t think I’d have another one. I was always rolling around the country, never really stayed in a place for too long. I didn’t want to call some random walls my home and have it destroyed in my face again.’’ Dean said, his thumbs caressing your thighs underwater. Since his first breath near you, he knew he was a goner. Even better, he knew he wasn’t a goner, a nomad, or a lonely wolf anymore. Dean Winchester once swore he would never come back home after what happened in there, and then you appeared. The hot latina who kept up with his stupidity and didn’t think twice before calling him out on his bullshit, and was always there for him and actually loved him-- not besides the job, but with all the things being a hunter included, all the ugly acts he had to go through. You believed he was good and worthy. His house burned, but you gave him a home. For the first time in so long, Dean felt warm and happy and loved. ‘’But you gave me a home. Without the apple pie life and all that. You, me, and Sammy-- fighting the good fight, just the three of us. This is my home.’’

To be a hunter was to be gauge of the deadliest trap ever laid, always carrying the heaviest cross ever made like a soldier’s duty that wouldn’t end with a couple years of trocious war. This treacherous slope was forevermore. A hunter life, all the fraunds and the paid phone calls and the running away with laughs empty of joy, the song from the wrong side of town. But fuck, all the saving and the excitment and the hustled love made a dance for the melody and suddenly it was worth it. All the tender parts, the new restaurants every week, the jokes in the car, the hidden chortles in the dark places. Sam. Dean. Dean and all this am out of love and loyalty he gave to you.

Everything was worth it to be in his arms.

He brought you back home.

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#dean winchester x reader #YASPOCREADERCHALLENGE #deanwanddamons2Kcelebration #dean winchester #dean x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader smut #supernatural #spn #dean winchester imagine #supernatural imagines #spn reader insert #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester imagines #dean winchester x you

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nonbinary-ghost · 3 years

Text

A Conversation Between Vessel and Wyrm

So, I know I’ve never posted my writing here before but this scene has been playing in my head for days and I just need to share it. The premise is based on @chipper-smol ‘s shitlordAU where Ghost somehow goes back it time to when they and the Pure Vessel were kids, and decide to absolutely torment their Father in between finding a way to kill the Radiance. It’s such a fantastic AU rife with opportunities for both humor and angst. Anyone who reads this should totally check out chipper’s work!

(This turned out longer than expected: ~2700 words, so the rest is under the Keep Reading tab)

Ghost leaned back and tilted their head to the side, observing their painting with a critical eye. The corridor in which they worked was dark, but the barest glow of the occasional lumifly that flitted about the palace halls provided just enough light for Ghost to be able to make out the dark lines of ink they had scrawled across the white wall. They nodded to themself in approval. The painting, while quite sloppy, could at least be recognized as the Pale King with monstrously exaggerated teeth and a grotesque tongue. They rubbed their chin thoughtfully, unwittingly getting some of the black ink on their mask, as they pondered if there was something more they could add to the painting to make it even less flattering.

Their current prank was one outside of Ghost’s typical inclinations. Until the Queen had begun to teach Ghost to write, they never held much interest for anything to do with a brush and ink. They had found Sheo’s art beautiful or interesting certainly, and they marveled at the skill with which the retired nailmaster could wield a brush – but such things never appealed to Ghost. There had been so much they needed to do at the time that learning about art seemed unnecessary. But now that they were learning to write, Ghost realized that art could be used to communicate just as much as words, and the motions of painting were somewhat easier for them than the neat script they were attempting to master. Sheo hadn’t lied when he said the strokes of a brush were not unlike the strokes of a nail, and Ghost had found they enjoyed the act of creating something that others could see and understand.

This particular painting was not their best, but it wasn’t intended to be. It was intended to stir up the Knights and bother the Pale King, to prove yet again that Ghost could think and feel – and to illustrate how they felt about the King.

Ghost didn’t notice the approaching bug until the shadow eclipsed the faint lumifly light they were using to paint by. Ghost froze as the shadow slipped over them. Their shoulders tensed as they prepared for the cold hand of a Kingsmould to grip the collar of their cloak, or a loud scolding from Dryya. When neither came, Ghost dared a hesitant glance over their shoulder. Shock rang through them like a stag-bell when they found not a Kingsmould, nor one of the Five Knights behind them.

It was the Pale King.

Ghost went ridged, half prepared to bolt and debating if doing so was worth the effort. Their painting was meant to be discovered after all, and it would never have been any question by whose hands the crude caricature had been created. But the King’s gaze focused not on the guilty Vessel standing before him. Rather, he appeared to be studying Ghost’s painting, his secondary hands clasped behind his back and while his primary ones rested in the wide sleeves of his robe. The Pale King’s unusually calm demeanor unnerved Ghost and they slowly turned to face the Wyrm, their hand almost instinctively reaching for the reassuring hilt of a nail that was no longer there.

“A remarkable likeness.” When not raised in anger the Pale King’s voice was almost as melodious as the White Lady’s. Ghost cocked their head enough to glance between their painting and the King in disbelief. The painting, while recognizable as the King by the crown-like horns, was by no means a “remarkable likeness” to the actual subject. Ghost had deliberately made the painting as messy and obnoxious as possible. Perhaps sensing Ghost’s disbelief, the King unclasped a secondary hand from behind his back and raised it toward the painting.

“I imagine that this is how you must see me,” he murmured. “I cannot truthfully say it is all that far from accurate.”

Before Ghost could process the meaning of the King’s words, the Pale Wyrm finally turned his gaze on them. The weight of that unwavering attention felt like a heavy pressure against Ghost’s shell and they found themself tensing, feeling as if the Pale King was staring right into them. It was unusual for the King to actually look at Ghost without some other distraction dividing his attention – distractions Ghost typically crafted – and they weren’t certain they liked the scrutiny of the King’s abrupt interest in them. Despite the fact that Ghost now stood taller than the King, they felt suddenly small.

“Vessel-“ he began, but stopped before the word fully left his mouth. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Ghost. If I may have a word with you somewhere more comfortable?”

So startled by the Pale King’s use of their name and the phrasing of the request as a question rather than an order, Ghost found themself nodding yes without really considering the consequences. They followed the Wyrm with their thoughts swimming. This was not the kind of response they had come to expect from the King – anger, yes, shouting, almost certainly. But this calm, quiet passivity left Ghost uneasy and they struggled not to fiddle with the hem of their cloak as they walked behind the King, following him down corridor after corridor. As they walked, Ghost began to notice that the pale white light that the king always seemed to give off was much fainter than they remembered. Perhaps the Wyrm was suppressing the glow to avoid disturbing any sleeping bugs whose rooms they passed.

With a final turn the two of them entered a veranda that overlooked a vast garden glowing bright with thousands of lumiflies – no doubt one of the Queen’s creations, though Ghost didn’t recall ever coming to this particular garden with their mother. The King gracefully lifted himself up to sit upon the short wall that separated the tiled veranda from the garden, his wings flaring slightly to aid his balance. Ghost stared, uncertain of what to do. They were fine with breaking formalities for the sake of rebellion, but at the moment the King was adhering to no formalities for Ghost to go against. It made them feel strangely directionless. They fidgeted. They didn’t like this feeling. The King lifted a secondary hand to gesture to the space beside him, keeping his primary hands nestled in the sleeves of his robes.

“Would you care to sit with me?”

Ghost rocked forward to oblige but halted before even taking a step, instead crossing their arms over their chest and staring at the Pale King expectantly. While they could not fathom what all of this was about, they could clearly sense there was something specific the King wanted to say. Ghost waited and the King sighed, turning his head to look out over the garden.

“It has come to my attention that you have begun spending some time with the Pure Vessel.”

Ghost didn’t move. So what if they had? Pure was not some hollow thing, no matter how much they pretended to be in order to appease their Father. Ghost knew the Knights went to great lengths to keep the two siblings away from each other, but that didn’t mean Ghost didn’t seek Pure out from time to time. When they were alone, Pure sometimes even relaxed a little, and showed sparks of interest in the language of hand-signs Ghost was crafting with the Queen. Their meetings were few and far between, as Pure’s life was strictly regimented and Pure would never go against something they were told to do, but their meetings had been occurring with more frequency after the sparing match Ghost had instigated.

“This cannot be permitted.”

Indignation sparked through Ghost and they clenched their hands against their folded arms. The Pale King let out a long breath and turned on the wall to face them, his expression unreadable.

“I must admit, was wrong about you.”

Ghost stared, their anger faltering somewhat. Making their hands into fists, Ghost held them up in front of their chest with their thumbs pointed toward themself. With a quick twist of their right fist, Ghost pointed their right thumb upwards. The motion meant “how” – in what way was the King wrong about them. Ghost wasn’t sure if the King knew any of the signs they used with their Mother, but it was what they had. The King at least continued as if he understood the motion.

“You were never hollow – only a fool would watch your mayhem and attempt to claim otherwise. For a time, I have ridiculed myself for allowing you to remain here with the Pure Vessel. I believed you should have been removed.”

The King’s gaze had shifted down to stare at his primary hands resting in his lap. Ghost could see, now, that they were stained a dark black that stood out starkly against his silver robes. A black so deep and bottomless it looked like it would leech the light out of the room around it. A black so similar to the void of which Ghost was made … Ghost went cold as they suddenly comprehended what the Pale King was implying – that they should have been killed. Discarded into the abyss. The King shifted and Ghost dropped into a defensive stance as their whole body trembled with sudden fear, once again reaching for the hilt of a nail that was no longer there. But the King only lifted his head to meet Ghost’s eyes.

“It was wrong of me to believe that.” He paused only long enough to take a deep breath before continuing. “You are a sentient being, very full of life and will, with a personality all your own. To believe that I have any right to take that from you is a crime against everything I have built Hollownest around. And to see the way my Root adores you … how could I ever take you away from her?”

The raw honesty in the Pale King’s voice made Ghost hesitantly stand from the half crouch they’d fallen into. He…cared? He cared that Ghost could feel? Enough so for it to stay his hand in killing them, when he’d never hesitated with all of their lost kin in the abyss far below? Why? Was it because he knew without a doubt that Ghost was not hollow, and could not delude himself into thinking otherwise as he had with the others? Or was it because the Queen had taken a liking to Ghost and going against her wishes would cause strife between them? Ghost almost didn’t hear the King’s next words, but at the mention of Pure their attention was quickly pulled back to the Pale King.

“But the Pure Vessel is a different matter. It has a purpose – one whose success or failure will determine the fate of every bug in Hollownest.” The tentative hope spurred by the King’s acknowledgment of Ghost’s sentience vanished as the King continued to speak, and unease began to worm its way through Ghost’s chest. “You are not hollow, of this there is no doubt, but the Pure Vessel must remain as such if it is to succeed. The more you are around it, the more likely it is to begin to feel. If it sees the leniency with which you are treated, it may begin to develop a will of its own, and all of the sacrifices made to protect this kingdom will have been for naught. You must stay away from the Pure Vessel to preserve that hollowness for which it was created.”

Rage thundered through Ghost at the King’s words and they sharply signed “You are wrong”. Pure had never been hollow. The King’s plan had already failed, doomed from the very beginning, and Ghost refused to let their sibling go through that suffering again. That was the whole reason they were here – to stop the radiance before their sibling was sacrificed, before Hollownest fell to ruin. The King blinked at the venom in Ghost’s movements as their hands flittered through the signs for disgust, for being too late, for refusal. They were too angry to keep the motions smooth and they shook as that fiery emotion pounded through them. Even if the King could not understand all of the motions, the message was clear: They refused to stay away from Pure.

The Pale King’s brow pinched in anger and his wings flared slightly.

“There is no other way to keep Hollownest safe,” he rumbled, his voice tight with controlled anger, but Ghost shook their head. The King’s hands clenched into fists. “We have tried everything else. Without something to contain the Radiance and Her infection, Hollownest will fall and every bug in the Kingdom will be corrupted. I cannot doom the entirety of my people to an existence of mindless misery for the sake of any one bug. If you continue to interfere with the Pure Vessel, you will condemn everyone in Hollownest to a living death. Surely you must understand this! I know you are not blind – you have been outside of the palace, you have almost certainly seen those the Radiance has already corrupted.”

The Pale King had no idea just how much suffering Ghost had seen at the hands of the Radiance’s infection. The memory of Pure’s eyes filled with the yellow light of the Radiance swam up and Ghost recoiled as they remembered the wretched agony in their sibling’s motions as they turned their nail on themself, trying to cut the infection away. No. The King could not possibly understand just how much Ghost knew about the pain the spreading infection caused. They shook their head, feeling oddly ill as they clenched their trembling hands into fists at their sides in their sign for “I’m done speaking to you”. They turned sharply and moved to leave the veranda.

“If there was any other way, I swear to you I would take it,” the Pale King whispered to Ghost’s back, his voice soft with some kind of emotion. Regret? “But I cannot See any other path that will slow the Infection’s spread.”

Ghost straightened, spinning to meet the King’s gaze with a furious glare. Of course he could not know of any other way. He was looking at this problem from a completely different angle than Ghost. He was trying to find a way to slow the infection, to contain it, while simultaneously trapping and starving the Radiance in a Vessel of Void. He could See no way to remove the infection at its source. Ghost realized that while the Pale King had a measure of Foresight, his Sight must be limited to the scope of the knowledge he already possessed. He did not know of the Seer, of the Dreamnail, of Godseeker. He could not fight the Radiance directly, not without a way to enter Dream and face the enraged Goddess, and so he was attempting to defeat her in this roundabout manner. Did he know his doomed plan would ultimately fail, but believe it to be the only way to buy his people time?

“You are wrong,” Ghost signed, pointing at the king and lifting their thumb and pinky in a gesture under their chin. They then closed their fist and pointed their thumb to the side before using both hands to imitate the sides of a path: “There is another way.”

The King’s brow furrowed and he shook his head.

“I do not understand.”

Ghost opened and closed their fists at their sides in frustration. Even if the King could understand their signs, Ghost did not have the gestures for the ideas they would need in order to convey their plan to the Pale King. Their anger cooled somewhat, shifting to a steady burn in the pit of their being rather than the all-consuming fury that had raged through them not moments before, and they realized that if they could find a way to explain their plan to the King, he might help them find the Seer. If he knew there was another way, would he help them do it?

“I don’t have the words to explain,” Ghost signed by drawing a finger over their throat. They held up their index fingers a little ways apart, then made an ‘L’ with their right hand, pressing their thumb into their raised left palm and twisting their right hand so the ‘L’ was upside down: “I will tell you later.”

They did not wait for the king to respond before turning and storming out of the veranda, their mind ablaze.

The Pale King could not See that there was another way.

So Ghost would make him See.

#hollow knight #Ghost hk #Pale King HK #my writing #this ended up more serious than intended but it was sooooo much fun to write

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master-sass-blast · 3 years

Text

Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter Two.

I had to input every single italic you see in this fic by hand because Tumblr doesn’t hold text format when I paste it innnnnn. *pained smile*

Please give this chapter some love, because that was fucking painful to do.

Summary: The aftermath of capturing Allison proves messy -both in dealing with the teen's evident trauma, and in all the skeletons in various closets that get unleashed soon after.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Frank Castle x Karen Page, and Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin.

Rating: M for gun violence, depictions of death and injuries, depictions of emotional trauma, and gratuitous use of the word “fuck.”

Word count: 8.9k.

Set after “Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter One.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @leo-writer, @emma-frxst, @sadstone-s

“What the hell were you thinking!”

“Ooh, careful there, Doohan,” Wade snarks, head rolling to indicate he’s rolling his eyes. “Get any more agitated and you’ll be saying all the no-no words.”

Scott scowls at Wade. “Stuff it, Wilson.”

“Every damn night, laser pointer.”

A mixture of grimaces, sighs, and groans go up through the crowd.

You’re all gathered in the medical wing of Xavier’s –the X-Force and nearly all of the X-Men. Allison’s off being examined by Dr. McCoy and Alyssa –to make sure she’s stable enough to be taken out of the handcuffs and the suppression band—and Frank and Karen are sequestered in a separate room until it's clear how everything's going to shake out.

Because, naturally, there’s been a wrench thrown in the situation.

Or maybe the whole damn toolbox, you mentally amend as Wade and Scott resume arguing.

“We cannot harbor a mob criminal here—”

“She’s thirteen, Summers!” Wade snaps. The eyes on his mask narrow into slits. “She’s not a criminal –and her parents’ choice don’t automatically make her guilty!”

“Murder, illegal theft and possession of firearms, assault, stalking, kidnapping,” Scott starts listing, ticking off each of Allison’s misdeeds on his fingers.

“She lost her family,” Nathan interjects, voice going to gravel. “Where the fuck were all of you when she needed support? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

The room goes silent. Many of the X-Men members look away or hang their heads slightly.

“We had no way of knowing that Allison was a mutant,” Ororo speaks up. “Without the proper information, we can’t help. It’s unfortunate, yes, but out of our control all the same.”

“But you know now,” Wade argues. “You knew with Russell. You knew with all the kids at Essex house. You turned your back on him and those kids, just like you’re turning your back on Allison now.” He scoffs, disgusted. “Same shit, different day. You’re all a bunch of cowardly cocksuckers.”

“We do have limits,” Professor Xavier speaks up from his chair. “Russell and the other members of Essex house were considered wards of the state. Legally, that meant Essex house had custody of them until they turned eighteen. We wrote petitions. We did as much as we could to bring attention to the issue. Unfortunately, it got swept under the rug or stonewalled by anti-mutant members of the legal system. As for Allison…” He sighs. “Taking in wards with criminal connections put the school at risk. Not just for fear of retaliation –as would certainly be a risk with Miss Ricci’s connections to the mafia—but also our funding and licensing. As an orphaned mutant, she is certainly deserving of our help—” he pauses to glare sternly at Scott and a few of the more stubborn, self-righteous members present “—but we have to consider the needs of our other residents and students, too.”

“I think we’re overlooking that Allison is here right now,” Jean pipes up. “Whether or not she stays with us is one thing, but we need to decide what to do for at least the next forty-eight hours.”

“She stays here,” you say automatically. “As far as we know, she has no other guardians, potentially even nowhere to go. I don’t think it’s gonna kill us to give her a bed and some food to eat.”

“Absolutely not,” Scott fires back –and, behind him, Angel and Iceman nod. “She’s far too aggressive to possibly put the students at risk.”

“She’s agitated and traumatized,” you reason, “but that doesn’t mean she’s going to lash out at people left and right.”

“Doesn’t she have a guardian of sorts?” Neena pipes up. “Artemis? Has anyone gotten ahold of them?”

“We reached out with the number Miss Ricci gave us,” Xavier explains. “The call picked up, but there wasn’t any verbal response for the duration of the call.”

Well, that bodes well. “What about her attorney?” you ask. “If we can’t keep her here, wouldn’t her attorney be able to arrange some sort of safe place for her to stay.”

“Thus far, we haven’t been able to reach her attorney.”

And that bodes even worse. You fight the urge to sigh or roll your eyes, and instead mentally curse monkey wrenches and whoever thought to invent the damn things.

“For the time being, I’ve contacted some of our external resources” –the glance Xavier shoots at both you and Piotr tells you that it’s your uncle and Alexandra—“to help with matters until the dust settles. They should be arriving soon, so—”

There’s a loud crash from down the hall, the sound of glass shattering, and an angry screech that sounds suspiciously like, “Fuck you, Castle!”

You give into the urge to sigh before booking it towards the sound of chaos and rage. Great. Now it’s an entire toolshed.

***

Subduing Allison this time, at least, is easier for several reasons.

First, she’s still wearing the repression cuff on her wrist. Without her powers –without a way to pop in and out of this existence, specifically—she’s much easier to catch.

Second, she’s tired. It’s not just the bags under her eyes or the sweat glistening at her furrowed brow. She’s stumbling unevenly, panting as she tries to exact her revenge.

Third, Illyana happens to show up at the exact same time with your uncle and Alexandra (and Nikolai as well, though he has less involvement in the “subduing process”).

Alex reacts fastest. She hooks one strong arm around Allison’s waist, then scoops her away from Karen and a hangdog-looking Frank. “Alright, that’s enough.”

Allison, however, doesn’t seem to agree. (Though whether it’s due to general teenage contrariness or trauma-induced rage, the jury’s still out.

…Actually, it’s probably both.)

“You don’t even get it, Castle!” Allison snaps with a manic grin, eyes wide and haunted. “You killed a good man. My dad was getting out! He was going to testify against them—”

Alex clamps a hand over the teen’s mouth, making her cut herself off with a garbled grunt. “I said enough.”

Allison thrashes in the older woman’s iron-clad grasp –to no avail, unsurprisingly. Her face scrunches up, then her jaw starts flexing. There’s a moment where her expression goes slack when Alex doesn’t react, then her nose scrunches up again and her jaw starts working harder.

Alex sighs, then starts carrying Allison back down the hall (she’s astonishingly unfazed by been chomped down on). “Come on. Let’s get you calmed down, malen’kiy.”

At the other end of the hall, Neena pokes her head into the fray. “Someone who calls herself Artemis is at the front door.”

Professor Xavier nods, then says, “Please escort her back to Miss Ricci’s room,” before wheeling after Alex and Artemis.

You look between Neena and the Professor –then, in the interest of going where you’re actually allowed to be (and not being bored out of your mind because you’ll be literally shut out of the room), you head towards the foyer.

…

“Do you think Frank was set up to stop the trial?”

Your uncle shrugs; the two of you have taken up a spot at the back of the room, where you can watch things unfold and gossip like the two old ladies you are in spirit. “It’s possible. It’s also possible that it was retribution for Allison being a mutant. The Ricci syndicate is notoriously… intolerant.”

You grimace. You certainly understand just how far people will go against their own flesh and blood for intolerance’s sake. “Blood and water.”

Your uncle nods, expression equally sour. “You fucking said it, punk.”

There’s not much point in hashing it out any further –both from the standpoint of “forbidden knowledge” and digging up old trauma—so you settle back into watching Artemis go through the mandatory security check.

She’s tall, with broad shoulders. Her hair’s dark, just starting to streak with silver at the temples, and her eyes are deep, intense, borderline black color. Her nose is slightly crooked –comes with the territory in this walk of life—and she’s dressed in black motorcycle wear and combat boots.

She honestly looks so fucking familiar.

You frown, brows pinching together as you try and place her face in your memory. Failing your own abilities at recollection, you lean over and whisper, “Is she one of your team members? I swear I’ve seen her before.”

“Uh –no,” your uncle replies (and it’s too fast and shaky, but you’re too caught up in figuring out whom the fuck you’re looking at to notice). “I mean –everyone has a doppelganger, right?”

“I guess.” You squint at Artemis, as though physically narrowing your eyes will help your brain puzzle things out—

And then Alex strides into the foyer –wiping the hand that Allison bit, and if you look close enough you’re pretty sure you can still see a few bloody teeth marks—and the cloud of confusion lifts from your mind.

“Oh!” you gasp quietly. “That’s why she looks familiar! She looks like Alex.” You look from the Rasputin matriarch, to the other black-leather clad woman, then back again. “She looks… a lot like Alex, actually.” You laugh softly –coincidence is a hell of a thing—then keep rambling when your uncle doesn’t say anything. “Two women who love the color black and carry enough weapons on their person to stock an army. You’d think the universe broke the mold with Alex, huh?”

Your uncle shifts from foot to foot next to you, but says nothing.

“You really weren’t kidding about the whole ‘doppelganger’ thing, huh.” You cock your head to one side, then frown as another epiphany starts growing in your mind. “Actually… she kind of looks like you, too.”

Your uncle makes a quiet, pained choking noise. “Punk—”

“Yeah, she’s got more of your build…”

“Punk.”

“And her lower lip has that weird lopsided curve like yours—”

“Punk—”

You peer closer at Artemis’s face. “Actually, her nose looks like you took yours and Alex’s and mashed them together—”

“Punk.”

You finally look up at him and take in the pale, wide-eyed, tight-lipped expression on his face. “What?” When he doesn’t say anything, you look at Artemis, then Alex, and then back at him—

Oh God.

Holy fucking shit.

You stare up at your uncle, agape. “Wait a second –you and—”

“Okay, shut the fuck up!” he hisses, panicked, before dragging you out of the foyer and into the nearest hallway.

“You and Alex had a baby,” you blurt –albeit in a voice no louder than a harsh whisper. “Artemis is your and her lovechild!”

He winces, then holds up his hands. “I can explain—”

“I don’t think you can!” you hiss. “Why didn’t you tell me that I have a cousin who happens to be my husband’s half fucking sister! Oh God, does Piotr know? Do any of the Rasputins know?”

“I…” He trails off, then cringes. He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure, actually.”

You stare up at him, dumbfounded. “You’re not sure. How are you not sure? Nick knows who you are –what, you think Alex just kept a whole child from his knowledge—”

“I mean, he probably knows that there was a baby at one point—”

“The baby is in this fucking house!” you snap in a quiet growl, arms flailing wildly. “She’s a full grown adult who probably pays taxes and has a 401k going! Why wouldn’t Alex tell her husband—”

“Look,” your uncle interjects, cutting you off. “As far as Alex knows… she thinks she’s… dead?”

You gape. Then, as quietly as you can manage (given the circumstances), you exclaim, “What the fuck!”

“Keep your voice down!” your uncle hisses, gesturing wildly in panic. He looks over his shoulder, then when he’s certain no one overheard you, he sighs and looks back to you. “Look, it’s a long story—”

“I’m sure it fucking is!” You cross your arms over your chest when he winces. “How is it that you know your secret lovechild is alive, but Alex doesn’t? What, did she just abandon her?”

“No, no—”

“Didn’t think so. So what the fuck happened?”

He sighs, shoulder slumping, and runs one hand through his already disheveled hair. “Look –long story short, the people who ‘made’ Alex took the baby—”

“Artemis. Her daughter. Your daughter.”

He purses his lips, but concedes with a nod. “They took her away after she was born and told Alex she was dead –and that’s actually what prompted her to get out, but that’s another story for another day—”

“Okay, hang on a second.” You squeeze your eyes shut and hold up one hand. “Alex thinks her baby is dead –probably one of the most traumatic things in her whole life. You’ve known that she’s alive…” You open your eyes again and fix your uncle with a stern stare. “Okay, how long have you known for?”

He grimaces and shifts uncomfortably. “…well, the US took her, but she didn’t present early, so they turned her loose into the foster system because she didn’t have potential as an ‘asset’—”

“How fucking long?”

He ducks his head, carefully avoiding your gaze. “…tracked her down when she was ten.”

Your eyes widen –and then you slug him in the shoulder. “You fucking colossal asshole!”

He panics again, motioning for you to keep it down while checking over his shoulder. “Shut the fuck up!”

“No! Not only have you lied to Alex for decades—”

“She never asked—”

“A lie by omission is still a fucking lie!” you snap in a gravelly whisper. “So, not only did you lie to her, but you also abandoned your daughter to the mercies of the US foster care system!”

“My life wasn’t safe to keep a kid around!” he hisses back at you. “I couldn’t take care of you, and I couldn’t take care of her! If anything, it was safer for her if the government thought I didn’t know she was alive!”

You sigh, pinch the bridge of your nose, and wave dismissively with your other hand. “Okay –fine. That still doesn’t justify the whole lying thing, but whatever. Does Artemis know that you and Alex are her parents?”

“…Yes. She tracked me down when she was in her twenties and I told her the truth.”

“Well, it sounds like determination runs in the family,” you mutter. “But at least you two have kept in touch…” You look up, see your uncle’s grimace, and sigh. “You didn’t keep in touch with her.”

He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. “I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Pretty sure ‘not like that’ is a good answer.” You sigh again, then shrug and put your hands on your hips. “Well, you’ve probably solved your own problem. She’ll probably just tell Alex who she is just to spite you, assuming she got the ‘petty vengeance’ gene too.”

Your uncle’s eyebrows spike to his hairline, and his expression goes through the five stages of grief in a matter of seconds. “She –she can’t—”

“She can and she probably will.”

He hunches over, crouching, and grips the back of his head. “Shitfuckshitfuckshitfuckshitfuck—”

“Myshka?”

You and your uncle both jump, then whirl in unison and give your husband your best convincing, “we’re totally not talking about long lost, hidden family members and other poor life choices” smiles that you can each manage.

(Consider that you don’t look like you just shit your pants, you win.)

Piotr’s forehead wrinkles with concern. “What… is everything alright?”

“Just fine, baby,” you assure him, subtly kicking your uncle so he relaxes. “Just talking about what happens next.”

Piotr nods after a moment, likely picking up on that whatever’s going on right now isn’t life or death and that you’ll fill him in later. “I actually came to find you,” he says, gesturing to your uncle. “Professor Xavier still cannot reach Allison’s lawyer. He has asked for your assistance.”

“Right. Absolutely. On it,” your uncle says with a none-too-convincing smile. He shoots your husband a pair of finger guns, then books it out of the hall and towards the medical wing of the mansion.

Piotr stares after him, then shoots you a confused frown. “Is he okay?”

You shrug. “He’s doing about his usual.” You decide to further sidestep the issue by ambling over to him and giving him a gentle hug. “How are you?” Are doing okay?”

Piotr wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. “I am fine now. Just a little sore.”

“Me too.” You nuzzle your cheek against his burly chest. “We really should invest in that hot tub we keep talking about getting. It’d be great for post-mission recovery.”

“Hot tubs are expensive, myshka,” he chuckles.

“Yes, but we’re not getting any younger. It’d be a good investment in taking care of our bodies.” You tilt your head back and grin up at him. “I thought you were all about that life.”

He sighs and shakes his head, feigning exasperation, but his amused smile is a dead giveaway. “Whatever shall I do with you, myshka?”

You grin wider. “You could kiss me.”

Piotr grins back, then dips his head and presses his lips against yours—

Mikhail appears next to you out of thin air. “Ah. Gross. Big meeting is happening. All hands on deck.”

Piotr rolls his eyes when his elder brother teleports away once more, then looks back down at you and strokes your cheek with his thumb. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, baby.” You unwind your arms from his massive trunk of a torso, then slide your fingers between his as the two of you walk towards the medical wing.

…

“—I am telling you, Charles, not being able to reach this kid’s lawyer is a bad fucking sign.”

You and Piotr walk into a conference room to find your uncle and Professor Xavier locked in a heated argument.

Wade, Nate, and Neena are leaning against the table to watch, occasionally leaning over to whisper bits of commentary to each other (or, in Wade’s case, speak at normal volume).

In the corner of the room, where a couple of armchairs are positioned, Nikolai sits with his two other children; they’re speaking in hushed Russian, but none of them seem too concerned about everything else going on.

“As I previously stated,” Xavier says, words clipped, “we cannot release Miss Ricci without speaking first to her attorney. The X-Men operate as a special law enforcement service, and failure to comply with criminal and civil statutes will have enormous consequences for the Institute—”

“There’s going to be a bunch of fucking ‘enormous consequences’ for the Institute,” your uncle interrupts, growling through clenched teeth, “if you don’t evacuate this building right fucking now! Fuck’s sake, Charles –you hired me as a security advisor; just listen to me.”

Piotr frowns and curls one hand over your shoulder. “What is happening?”

“What’s happening,” a new, strong, feminine voice interjects from the hall, “is that we’re leaving.” Artemis shoulders past your husband –a feat not easily achieved by many—with Allison in tow, then holds up the teen’s arm that has the repression cuff still attached. She glares at Xavier (and God, she really looks like Alex when she does that), then spits out through gritted, bared teeth, “Get this fucking thing off my kid.”

There’s a longsuffering sigh in the hall, and then Alex steps into the doorway. “She has that cuff on for her own safety –as I already told you—”

Artemis whirls, face contorted by a vicious scowl, and snaps, “I didn’t fucking ask for you input!”

(Boy, if that doesn’t just scream ‘repressed trauma and mommy issues.’)

Your uncle looks like he’s about to pass out again, but Alex seems remarkably nonplussed. She merely raises one eyebrow at Artemis, as if to say ‘that’s all you got?’

There’s no way she knows, you think as you watch the two stare each other down. Not with how much she cares about her kids. There’s no fucking way—

“Actually, we’ve got bigger problems,” your uncle pipes up, voice quavering slightly before he clears his throat. “We can’t reach your kid’s shark.”

“They have other clients,” Artemis retorts, upper lip curling in a derisive sneer. Her dark eyes smolder with barely constrained hatred as she tosses a withering glance in his direction (daddy issues, too, this chick won the whole lottery). “Or maybe they got stuck in traffic.”

Your uncle narrows his eyes at that (and now the two of them look so much alike, overcome by ire as they are). “You cannot possibly be that fucking stupid.”

Artemis sucks a breath through her teeth, eyes widening with rage and hurt. “You fucking dick—”

In the corner of the room, Illyana bolts upright before going stock still. Then, she gasps and reaches out towards her mother. “Mama!”

(The way Artemis’s face mars with a pained grimace makes your heart ache.)

Alex tenses, eyes glowing gold as she starts scanning the horizon (presumably checking for heat signatures). “Gde?”

The room goes quiet –and then you hear it.

The sound of engines rumbling –multiple engines—and car wheels crunching against gravel. Doors thumping open and shut, followed by footsteps. Hushed voices.

You scamper over to the nearest window and float up, just enough to see several men clad in black and Kevlar and carrying rifles stalking towards the front door and around the sides of the house in groups. “Guys with guns. Lots of them.”

“Then get down!” Nate hisses before yanking you back from the window.

“Lights out,” Alex orders before hitting the switch herself. “Get everyone to a reinforced room.”

“There’s a safe room at the end of the hall,” Xavier says before wheeling himself towards the door.

Allison clings to Artemis’s sleeve, much like a baby koala. “What’s going on? What’s going to happen?”

“Go with the Professor,” Artemis says. She quickly –but gently—frees her arm, then clasps the teen’s face with both hands. “Look at me. Listen to the Professor, and stay put until I come get you. Okay?”

Allison’s forehead puckers, and her lower lip starts trembling. “But—”

“Is alright,” Nikolai interjects with a kind, reassuring smile. He gently ushers Allison towards the door, then down the hall before she can protest further.

A few doors down, Karen pokes her head out of the room where she and Frank have holed up. She frowns as she takes in the chaos. “What’s going on?”

“Mafia men with guns!” Wade chirps as he half-skips, half-jogs towards the mansion’s entryway. “Tell your boy to suit up!”

“There’s a safe room at the end of the hall,” Neena adds as she runs after Wade.

Frank squeezes around Karen and kisses her temple before falling in line behind the two assassins.

You step to the side so Karen can run past you, then turn and press a hasty kiss against Piotr’s cheek. “Love you.”

He kisses your cheek in return, equally as brief. “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.”

And then the two of you run towards the danger bearing down on your home.

***

In all the firefights you’ve been in, there’s always this moment of silence. A calm before the storm. A moment where everything goes still, while both sides wait for the other to make a move.

You duck behind a wall as the mafia gunmen continue hammering away at the front door, tucking yourself in a shadow. Your stomach tenses, breathing going quick and hard as your mind starts putting a plan together. Don’t want to risk collapsing part of the house by doing a pressure vacuum. Best option is to probably knock them to the ground so the others can jump them.

The door rattles. The wooden portal splits on one side, sending jagged splinters poking out into the air.

You slow your breathing, forcing yourself into a calm, focused state. Wait for them to get past the entryway so you can hit as many of them as possible.

In the back of the house, near the kitchen, you hear glass shatter.

They’re in. You clench your fists at your sides, watching as the front door slowly gives way. Three… two… one…

The door breaks open, swinging inwards as the first gunmen step into the foyer—

And then the door snaps off its hinges and slams into the men, taking them out like bowling pins.

Strike, a small, inane part of your brain giggles.

Shouts go up through the house. You can hear the sounds of rushed footsteps, shattering glass, and what sounds like people being bodyslammed through tables (and, given the type of people fighting for your side, it just might be that). Gunfire pierces the air –and is accompanied by the telltale, metallic plinks of the bullets ricocheting off your husband’s armor.

Angry screams emanate from the front step. Men barge in, firing down the hall, towards some unseen target (likely Alex or Nate, given the door trick).

You wait until as many men are piled into the foyer as possible, then send down a downdraft that blows out the windows on either side of the door.

The gunmen tumble to the floor, swearing in a mixture of English and Italian.

Nate, Wade, and Neena swoop in. They descend upon the mafia men like a pack of wolves, breaking bones, dislocating joints, and cracking skulls as they disarm –and, in some cases “un-alive”—the gunmen.

“It’s raining men!” Wade sings as he runs one of his katanas through the gut of one assailant. “Hallelujah! It’s raining men!” He ramps off a nearby wall, then t-bags another man before stabbing him through the temple. “Amen!”

You crouch, tracking the movement of the scuffle. You tense when you see a couple of the men jump Nathan, then charge towards the railing and dive over when a few more try to break past to run down the hallway. You flip in the air, land in the hallway ahead of them, and unleash a blast of wind right in their faces.

The mafia men fly out through the front door. They sail over half the front drive, then bounce off the gravel surface and roll several times before coming to a stop.

You let out a harsh breath, then dart down the hall towards the kitchen when you hear glass shattering and the sound of Frank bellowing angrily.

The kitchen and rec room are a mess. Glass shards from shattered windows coat the floor, glittering before being crushed underfoot. Doors are cracked from having people slammed into them. The rec room couch is overturned –and is sagging suspiciously on one side, hinting at a cracked frame. The entertainment system is shattered, with smoking bullet holes littering the TV, speakers, and media systems.

Frank has one of the guys pinned down over the sink. He’s snarling as he uses the lip of the sink to choke the guy out. There’s blood smeared his lips and chins, trailing back up to his chin.

Another gunman stalks in through the dining room, gun trained on Frank’s head.

You whip a blast of air at the second man, sending him sailing into the wall so hard the drywall cracks.

He drops to the ground, unconscious.

There’s some terrified shrieking –and then a gunman is punted up and out of the basement stairwell. He sails through the kitchen window headfirst, crumpling in a heap in the hedges outside.

Your husband storms up the staircase, teeth bared in an angry snarl. The waning daylight glints off his metal exterior, almost making him look like some sort of avenging angel. He stops short when he sees you, though; his irate expression vanishes, replaced by concern. “Ty v poryadke?”

You manage a smile and flash him a thumbs up—

And then a truck with a Gatling gun strapped to the roof rolls up to the back door.

“Get down!” Frank hollers before tackling you to the ground behind the kitchen island.

The room explodes into chaos. Bullets plow into the walls, sending up spurts of drywall dust in their wake. Wooden doorframes and floorboards crack, unleashing cascades of splinters in every direction. Glass shatters, raining down upon everything in its reach.

Frank positions himself over you, shielding you as fragmented bullets rain down upon your both. He cups your head with his hands, doing his best to protect you from the hellfire.

Over the din, you can just make out a loud, angry bellow –and then the sound of bullets hitting metal. Heavy, deliberate stomps make the floor shake.

The gunfire cuts off. A shriek pierces the air just before you hear what sounds like a car being tossed into a tree.

(As you’ll discover later, that’s precisely what you heard.)

Frank lifts his head, then carefully rolls off you. He crouches next to you and holds out a hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Your ears are ringing, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got glass shards and splinters in your hair, but you’ve been worse. You take his hand, flinching when you hear the sound of more gunfire outside.

Frank peers over the lip of the island. “Reinforcements. At least five more cars headed our way.”

You suck in a breath. “Piotr—”

“Is holding his own for now,” Frank says.

“I’m gonna help him,” you rasp out. “Make sure everyone in the house that’s not on our side… stays down. And that we’ve still got all our people.”

Frank nods, then runs off towards the foyer.

You catch your breath, then creep towards the back door (better safe than sorry). You flatten yourself against the wall next to the doorway, then peer around the broken frame.

Piotr’s facing off against the new influx of cars. He’s got one hand on the hood of one Range Rover, arm extended out like he’s fending off a five-year-old. With his other hand, he flips another SUV over, causing the thing to land on its roof and putting the vehicle squarely out of commission.

Your stomach sinks when five more Range Rovers tear across the lawn, leaving deep, muddy tracks in their wake –and are followed by three more trucks with Gatling guns attached to the roofs. You sprint out the door, take a flying leap over Piotr, then send out a shockwave of air when you land on the ground.

A few of the cars fly backwards, rolling across the lawn like tumbleweeds. A majority of them, however, manage to stay upright or bump into each other and recover.

Your eyes widen when one of the Gatling gun operators aims directly at you. Shit.

Piotr leaps in front of you, whirling so his back is to the gun. He curls his body over yours, shielding you as gunfire rains down on you both.

You grit your teeth, grunting. You can feel the impact of the gunfire resonating through your husband’s metal body. Worry clutches at your heart when Piotr lets out sharp, ragged groans; he’s largely invulnerable in his armor, not to mention his sense of touch is severely dulled, but you know that with shit like this he’s still feeling some sort of pain –and there’s nothing you can do. You’re both pinned down, and as powerful as your shockwaves are, they’re not enough to stop or even skew the trajectory of a bullet—

Blue light washes over both of you. The sound of the gunfire wanes, replaced by warbling, pinging noises instead.

You peer around Piotr’s side to see Illyana standing between the two of you and the oncoming cars. She has her arms outstretched, palms facing the onslaught of adversaries. A shimmering, sky blue shield with various magical incantations floating through it surrounds all of you, stretching into the sky for at least forty feet.

Illyana grunts. She’s being shoved backwards from the force of impact from the bullets. Her feet are digging into the ground, leaving ruts as she tries to hold her stance. “We need new plan!”

“How about ‘stay alive?’” Piotr shouts back as he digs shrapnel out of the grooves on his arms.

Wade, Neena, Nate, and Frank come barreling out the back door, faces streaked with soot and blood. They dive for the ground, covering the backs of their heads and necks with their hands—

An explosion goes off inside the mansion. The shockwave shatters windows on both the first and second floor, blowing out window frames and trim.

Piotr covers your body with his once more. He cups your head with his hand, shielding you from the falling debris and the worst of the shockwave.

You cough and hack as smoke billows out the broken windows and doors. You do your best to make a vortex to suck the smoke away and send it up into the air. Your lungs burn, and your ears are ringing like a bell from all the gunfire and the explosion—

Four more gunmen emerge from the smoke pouring out the back door.

You snarl, then whip blasts of air at them, slamming them into the exterior walls of the house.

One of them goes down, while the other three are merely stunned.

Mikhail comes barreling out next. He lets out a guttural battle cry, then sucker punches one of the men in the back of the head before aiming a blast of rust colored energy at another’s gut.

The man screams as he sails into the air, arcing over the tree line and disappearing somewhere in the canopies.

The third man aims his gun at Mikhail –then staggers and drops to the ground when a beam of golden energy sears through his chest.

Alex storms out of the smoke with Artemis and your uncle trailing close behind her. She glares down the remaining gunmen and cars, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Blood is flecked across her face and spattered over her leather jacket. “House is clear!”

“Yeah, except now we’re about to be cleared out!” Wade hollers back. “As in, ‘all sales final, no returns, no exchanges!’”

“If we could make plan,” Illyana screams, voice strained with the effort of holding the shield, “would be very great!”

You look over to Alex –and see her eyes widen. You whirl towards the gunmen just in time to see one of them aim a rocket launcher at all of you. “Oh, for the love of—”

The first hit is technically deflected by Illyana’s shield, insomuch that the projectile and the shield both shatter the moment they meet. The force of the magic breaking sends out a shockwave of blue energy that flies backwards into all of you, knocking those who managed to get up back off their feet and stunning the rest of you.

You groan, head reeling. Your vision clears slowly, casting double images when you move too quickly. Shit.

You can make out Piotr, just next to you. He’s lying face down on the lawn, grunting and moving in slow, clumsy movements. He turns his head, brow furrowing when he sees you, and reaches out towards you.

You extend your hand to grab his –but he’s just out of your reach, no matter how far you strain. Your body feels heavy with fatigue and pain; everything inside you is screaming to get up, to fight, to keep moving because death is knocking right on your door, and you’ll be damned if this is how you go out—

Alex recovers first –no surprise there. She shoves herself to her feet, seething and growling like a feral beast. She hurls a blast of energy at one of the cars –and, from the sounds of the carnage, makes a direct hit. She storms towards the sea of mafia men like an avenging angel, hell bound on vengeance and blood.

Audible gasps go up from the amassed assassins.

You lift your head to see several of the gunmen backing away from the mansion and crossing themselves with shaking hands. You chalk it up to Alex being Alex, and make to drop your head back against the ground once more—

And then you see Allison standing in the ruined doorway.

She’s glaring down the gunmen with a viciousness that doesn’t suit the youthful roundness of her face. Her brows are knit together, and her mouth is twisted into an ugly scowl. Her eyes are glowing a brilliant shade of blue and give off little wisps of azure colored smoke. Her skin and hair are smoking as well, creating an aura around her body. Blood drips down from her nose and onto her shirt –which is stained with ash and soot. There are burn marks and indents on her wrists from where the repression cuff and the handcuffs used to be, respectively, but the restraints themselves are gone.

The ground begins to shake. Two patches of cerulean light appear underneath the grass, growing larger until they form swirling vortexes of magical energy. The ground begins to crumble at the edges of the portals, eroding away and growing wider until they make gaping tunnels that channel so deeply into the earth there’s no telling how far they truly go.

You recoil when the smell of sulfur and smoke blenches forth from the tunnels. Shit, did she hit a gas line? Fucking dammit, like this day can get any worse—

Echoing, blood-chilling howls emanate from the tunnels.

Your eyes widen –and then your heart starts working overtime when you see two, then four massive hellhounds (like the ones Allison summoned at the mall) crawl out of the tunnels.

Shrieks of terror sound from the gunmen. Several take off running, while others try to shoot the beasts.

The hounds snap and snarl at the gunmen, then charge at the group. Two of them go off after the runners, while the other two start lunging after the assassins like they’re rabbits.

You stare at the chaos in disbelief –and then a set of strong hands grab you underneath the arms.

“Get up.” You uncle tugs you to your feet, keeping you steady when you stumble. “You can’t be in the flow of traffic for this.”

Behind you, Allison is panting like she’s run a marathon. The aura of blue smoke is growing around her, trailing into the air and floating over the ground. Veins of light spread across her face and arms, glowing the same shade of vibrant blue as her eyes. Her breathing grows louder and more ragged, until she’s growling and shaking with each exhale— and then she screams.

Much like the first confrontation in the cemetery, all those months ago, the scream unleashes a shockwave of blue energy. This time, though, the shockwave is far from a decoy for escape. It washes over you, the X-Force, your uncle, the other Rasputins, Frank, and Artemis harmlessly enough –then slams into the mafia forces and vehicles like the wall of a hurricane.

Alex charges after the shockwave, carefully trailing behind it. She waits until it clears the first line of gunmen, then slams her fist into the face of the man closest to her. She blocks his attempt to strike her, then twists his arm –dislocating the shoulder, which makes him shriek in pain. Then, she wrenches his rifle away from him. She shoots him once in the center of his forehead, then turns the firearm on his fellow men and keeps firing.

Mikhail and Artemis go after the one surviving Gatling gun. Mikhail teleports onto the truck bed; he sweeps the back of one man’s jacket over his head, effectively blinding him, then kicks the other man present in the balls before shoving him over the side of the truck.

Artemis, on the other hand, stops a few feet away from the truck. She uses her telekinesis to rip the Gatling gun off its mount, then yanks the driver out through the windscreen –headfirst, no less—and dumps him on the lawn.

He doesn’t get back up.

“Come on,” your uncle says, pointing towards the further reaches of the property, where some of the gunmen are still trying to outrun the hellhounds. “Let’s give the dogs a helping hand.”

The two of you reach out, creating a wind current that slices through the air and slams into the stragglers.

The men careen into nearby hedges –and the hellhounds have it from there.

The familiar sonic blast of Nathan’s gun rips through the air. The shot slams into the last remaining SUV, rendering the vehicle to little more than glass shards and mangled metal.

The back lawn and gardens fall silent, save for the sounds of groans of pain and the hellhounds chewing on various gunmen.

Mikhail takes a fall off the back of the truck bed. He flops onto the ruined grass below, limbs splaying like a rag doll’s. “Alright. Is time for nap. Wake me… never.”

Illyana scoffs from where she’s sat next to a smoldering bush. She picks up a nearby stone, then chucks it at her eldest brother’s head (and hits her target, no less). “There is still clean up. Bezdel'nik.”

Mikhail flips her off, then groans as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

“She’s right,” Alex lectures her eldest as she picks her way through the carnage. She nudges one body with the toe of her combat boot, then shoots him through the temple when he groans.

“Mama!” Piotr gapes at her, expression scandalized. He sputters, looking between her and the body at her feet.

“Chto? Vy khotite yego zhivym? Chtoby on mog dolozhit' svoim khozyayevam? Chtoby on mog obrushit' adskiy ogon' na etu shkolu i vsekh, kogo vy lyubite? No –no.” She holds up her index finger and stares sternly at Piotr when he tries to argue. “You do not leave enemies on your six o’clock, medvezhonok. First rule of survival.”

Piotr swallows hard, then says softly, “X-Men do not kill.”

Alex shrugs. “And I am not an X-Man.”

“We’ll handle it,” Nathan says. He holds his hand out for Alex’s rifle, nodding when she hands it to him after a moment’s hesitation.

(Wade and Frank are already working their way through the sea of dead and wounded. Frank’s traversing the chaos methodically, sticking to minimal shots to kill the survivors, while Wade’s alternating between singing “Dancing Queen” and getting post-mortem revenge.

“You shot my dick off inside!” Wade gasps as he peers down at a –slightly chewed on—corpse. “Extra bullets for you!” He then shoots the dead body several times before resuming his pitchy serenade.)

“What now?” Allison asks, staring out at the carnage with a slightly shocked expression.

“‘What now?’” Artemis repeats, laughing incredulously. She stomps towards Allison, pulling a pack of tissues out of her inner jacket pocket. “What the hell are you even doing out here? You were supposed to stay in the safe room—”

“They had cameras in there,” Allison says with a roll of her eyes, as if that justifies her decision to join the fracas. “You guys were getting your asses kicked.”

“We would’ve handled it.”

“Yeah, except you weren’t,” Allison fires back. She scrunches up her face when Artemis starts wiping the blood off her face, but otherwise takes the mothering without any complaint.

“It’s not your responsibility to deal with this shit,” Artemis says, voice and expression softening for a moment. She cleans up Allison’s face –then scowls. “And where the fuck are your cuffs? How did you even get out of them?”

Allison shrugs. “I used my powers to short the repression cuff out and ash it off.”

Illyana’s, Alex’s, and your uncle’s heads all snap around to stare at Allison.

“Are you kidding me?” Artemis hisses through clenched teeth. “You could’ve fucking killed yourself!”

“Or caused magical paradox that ripped hole in space-time continuum,” Illyana snaps.

“Ruptured blood vessels in your brain and caused an aneurysm, made the cuff deliver a lethal electrical shock, turned your magic against your own body and rendered yourself to ash,” your uncle continues, ticking off items on his fingers.

“Well, I didn’t do any of that!” Allison snarls, glaring at the others while Artemis keeps cleaning up her face. “And I made sure you losers won the fight –so fuck off!”

“Get her something to eat and drink,” Alex says. “Her blood sugar is bound to be low after pulling a stunt like that.”

Artemis glares at Alex and opens her mouth to respond—

Across the yard, Wade lets out a pained shriek. “My balls are not fetch toys! Bad Fido! Bad!”

Your eyes widen as you watch one of the hellhounds swing Wade around by his legs. You bite down on your lip, holding in a shock-induced laugh.

“Where’s this mutt’s off-switch –hey, hey! No!” Wade wriggles in the hellhound’s mouth, panicking as another beast bounds towards him. “My spine is not a tug toy! Can someone get rid of Fido and Rufus before they rip me in half!”

Allison snorts –then, before anyone can stop her, holds out her hand and flicks her wrist.

All four hellhounds melt back into the ground, disappearing to the depths of hell from whence they came.

Artemis swears under her breath, then catches the teen when she stumbles. She moves frantically, grabbing more tissues as blood starts pouring out of Allison’s nose once more. “You fucking idiot. Why the fuck did you do that? When are you going to fucking learn that you’re not invincible—”

Allison lets out a sharp, hoarse laugh –then passes out.

…

The wreckage inside the mansion is heartbreaking.

You stare at the ruined furniture, the scorched walls, the splintered doors, the ruined rec room and kitchen, and you have to wonder what was the fucking point?

Part of you understands that the mafia came prepared for war; they were going up against powerful mutants, so –naturally—they would want to be prepared. Having the strongest, most powerful weapons available increased their chances of success. Logically –from a strictly tactical standpoint—it makes sense.

Glass crunches under your shoes. You stare down at a litany of fallen picture frames, heart wrenching as you stare at the ruined pictures of graduates, students, and workers inside. We’re just a school. We work with kids. What was the point of trying to wipe us out?

Piotr ambles up behind you. He puts his arms around your shoulders and kisses the top of your head. “Cleaners and repairmen will be here in less than one hour.”

You feel numb. You place your hand on his arm. “That’s good.”

“We have back ups of pictures,” he murmurs. He kisses your cheek. “Insurance to cover replacing damaged items. We will be fine.”

“I know.” You sigh, leaning back against your husband’s chest. “We’re just a school. What… what was the point? Why try to wipe us out?”

“I do not know.” Piotr kisses your other cheek, hugging you reassuringly. “Perhaps they believed we knew information about ‘family business.’ Or that we were protecting Allison for some reason.”

“She’s just a kid,” you argue, voice breaking as your grief and exhaustion wells up and threatens to overtake you. “She’s only thirteen…”

Piotr says nothing, merely holds you closer.

You sigh—

And then a door slams. Hurried stomps echo down the hall. There’s creaking as a door opens again, followed by more footsteps and exasperated shouts.

Allison storms past you and Piotr, heading towards the kitchen. Her jaw is set, fists clenched at her sides.

You and Piotr look at each other –then follow after her, if only to be sure that nothing else is going to explode today.

She slams her hands down on the island counter –and, on the opposite side, Frank and Karen both flinch and stare at her warily.

Allison glares at Frank, jaw working convulsively. Her shoulders heave with each breath she takes. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, making the bags underneath seem darker and deeper by comparison. She trembles, expression flickering wildly between grief, white hot rage, and the neutral mask she’s trying so desperately to hold. She sucks in a breath that sounds more like a pained sob, then stares Frank down and spits out through gritted teeth, “You leave my people alone, I leave yours alone. Deal?”

Frank sighs. He nods, expression heavy with grief and eyes shining with remorse. “Yeah, kid. You got a deal.”

Allison clenches the edge of the island so hard her hands go white. She lets out a strangled, angry laugh as the tears finally start to fall. She ducks her head briefly, then glares back up at Frank. “I fucking hate you.”

Frank grimaces, but nods and says, “I know kid. It’s okay. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“That ain’t worth shit.”

“I know… believe me, I know.”

Artemis –who’d previously been watching at the kitchen threshold—steps forward and puts her arm around Allison’s shoulders. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

Allison clenches her teeth together, but still lets out a choked sob. She presses her lips together, looking around the room to try and regain her composure, to stop the flow of tears. She manages a deep breath, then takes one last look at Frank and snarls, “If I have to see your fucking face again, I’m ripping out your guts,” before storming out of the room.

Frank, to his credit, doesn’t respond (though you suspect he feels too guilty to even consider arguing). He merely hangs his head, expression that of a kicked dog.

Karen leans against him. She interlocks her fingers with his, murmuring in his ear (likely about how it isn’t his fault, and while it looks like that may technically be the case, you’re glad you don’t have to walk the spider’s silk of a line those facts lie upon).

What a shitshow.

Piotr puts an arm around your shoulders and gently leads you out of the kitchen. “Come on, myshka. Let’s go find spot to rest.”

…

Frank and Karen leave shortly after “making the deal” with Allison.

Allison and Artemis hang back for a bit to talk to Xavier. You don’t get all the gorey details but from what you can tell, it’s essentially an offer to help train Allison’s powers so she doesn’t hurt herself rolled in with a warning to keep her nose clean, stay on the straight and narrow, etcetera etcetera.

The sun’s just starting its descent from the sky before the two of them walk out of the meeting room.

Allison is wearing Artemis’s jacket and looks downright haggard.

Artemis has her arm around the teen and is gently guiding her while she talks to Xavier (though, perhaps the term “talk” is too generous, considering most of her responses are nods or terse, one-to-two word replies).

The rest of the Rasputin family, you, Piotr, and your uncle are all gathered in the foyer to make sure Allison and Artemis leave without too much trouble (or causing more trouble themselves).

Your uncle is sweating bullets and looks like he just shit his pants; he’s glancing between Alex and their daughter so fast it’s a miracle he hasn’t given himself a headache yet.

Now or never, you think, watching him with pursed lips. Tell your secrets before they’re told for you.

Alex kneels down next to Allison. “Are you okay?”

Allison’s gaze doesn’t leave the floor. “The fuck do you think?”

She quirks her mouth to the side. “Not all that good.” Alex ducks her head lower, trying to catch Allison’s gaze. “You remember what we talked about?”

Allison’s eyes narrow. She moves her gaze away from Alex. “Go to hell. I know what I know.”

“Sometimes… it’s better to not,” Alex says. She stares at Allison for a moment longer, then pats her shoulder before standing and walking away.

Artemis stares after Alex, expression morphing rapidly between fury and shock. She sputters for a moment before snapping, “What –that’s all you have to fucking say?”

Alex pauses, turning slightly so she can see Artemis. She raises one eyebrow, otherwise looking unbothered. “Is there something else I should be saying?”

“You don’t have anything to say to me?” Artemis presses, crossing her arms over her chest. “Nothing at all?”

“Is there something you want me to say to you?” Alex fires back, smirking slightly.

Artemis stares at Alex for a long, hard moment. She shakes her head, eyes welling up with tears, then turns her glare onto your uncle. “You really didn’t fucking tell her.”

“What?” Alex’s expression sobers, going wary as she looks between your uncle and Artemis. “What didn’t you—”

“This really isn’t the time or place—” Your uncle tries.

And here it goes.

“I’ve gotta do all the work, then,” Artemis snarls with a vicious smile. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense, considering I’m not your favorite,” she tacks on with an angry glare towards you. She storms towards Alex, one hand outstretched, with a cruel, angry smile stretched across her face. “Hey, mom. How’s it going?”

Alex’s eyes widen. She stares at Artemis, eyes tracking over the younger woman’s face. “What…”

“You fucking heard me.”

Illyana, Piotr, and Mikhail look at each other, then at Alex, then at Nikolai. They explode into confused Russian, gesturing between their parents, Artemis, and your uncle—

Realization dawns in Alex’s dark eyes. Her expression trembles, tears welling up in her eyes as she stares at Artemis’s face.

And then she uses her telekinesis to yank your uncle over and decks him.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #nathan summers x wade wilson #frank castle x karen page #alexandra rasputin x nikolai rasputin #love me some soap opera style drama #and frankly so does marvel #and honestly if marvel can have whatever tf infinity war and endgame were i can have this #probably shouldn't have built alex's whole backstory and have it be outside the scope of this series bUT OH WELL #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 3 years

Text

Unexpected Places (Pt. 08 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 1.8 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

<- Previous part (07)

Next part (09)->

{Vikings Masterlist}

Bolt of Lightning

“I can't believe I did that.” You say in between laughs as you enter the main hall. “Does your ass hurt, Hvitserk?” Somehow, while training with Hvitserk, Ivar's clutch found its way to be behind his legs, and with a little distraction and a push, you knocked him down on his ass. It wasn't an actual fight, since you know he takes things a lot easier with you, but still, it made you and Ivar laugh until you cried. And no, you won't ever let this go.

“That wasn't fair.” He says, a finger on your face. “You should be careful with me, Ice Lady.”

“Oh, now he's threatening you.” Ivar sing-songs.

“He's threatening me.” You repeat, sitting on the table and putting your feet on the bench, in between the two bothers. “As if I'm scared of you.”

“You should be.” Hvitserk doesn't enjoy much the fact that you and Ivar paried up to tease him. And you love that he hates it. Taking the jar and three cups, he passes them around, serving you but refusing to serve Ivar, who looks at him with a fake annoyed stare.

Rolling your eyes, you give Ivar your cup, taking his empty one and pouring some of the drink in it, almost spilling everything. “Skol.” You say before taking long sips.

“Skol,” Hvitserk repeats, and at the same moment, you feel your cup being pushed up, the liquid flowing out and rolling down your chin and neck. “Oh, shit.” Hvitserk laughs, and when you put the cup down, you realize it wasn't him.

“You idiot!” Shouting, you take the jar, and in a fast movement, you succeed to throw some at Ivar. But he holds your wrist with one hand, making the jar hover above his head, encircling both your legs with his free arm and pulling you down from the table, your butt hitting the bench hard. “Ouch!”

“Now, is your ass hurting?” Ivar asks, his voice messed up by how hard he's laughing.

“You're such a jerk!” You try to stand up, but Ivar has you trapped, with an arm around your waist, forcing your back against the table. So you give up trying to set free, focusing your efforts on trying to spill what's left of the drink on him. “Don't you like drinking straight from the jar? Drink this.” You mutter, just as you manage to twist your wrist, spilling it partly on the floor and partly on his left arm.

“Stop wasting it.” The loud voice makes you both stop, and you get the feeling that the eye roll is mutual. Bjorn sits on the further edge of the table, a cup in his hands.

“We have plenty.” Ivar snaps back, getting a hard stare from his older brother.

Slightly pissed, you turn around, sitting now facing the table. The atmosphere changes, but you grew used to it. Since the lake incident, you haven't been around Bjorn a lot. He did try to apologize, and despite you assuring him that's in the past, it's not enough. You don't know what he wants, but you don't care. Seeing you around Ivar doesn't help, and you're around him a lot now. “So. It's getting colder every day.” You mutter, drumming your fingers on the table, hoping to change the subject and ease the tension.

“We're in the middle of winter, what were you expecting?” Hvitserk says, with a dramatic eye roll.

Kicking his leg under the table, you giggle. “I know. But it wasn't this cold on Wessex. I'm struggling.”

“It always helps when you have someone to warm you up at night.” Hvitserk gives you a look, right before glancing at his brother. “It's better than blankets.”

“Really?” You ask him, resting your elbows on the table.

“Really.” Bjorn's laugh gets Hvitserk's attention, and whatever he was going to say, it's forgotten. “What, Bjorn?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He mutters, shrugging his shoulders. “I was just thinking that there's no reason to worry if (Y/N) and Ivar want to use each other's body to stay warm at night.” His voice is full of anger, and he gives you a hard, mocking stare.

Exchanging a glance with Hvitserk, you notice how he looks down as if removing himself from the conversation. Turning to look at Ivar, searching for some explanation, you see how furious he is, but also embarrassed. What is going on here?

“What do you mean, Bjorn?” You speak up, not willing to let this go. If he started it, he better explain it.

“(Y/N), don't–”

“Ivar is incapable of... Let's say, fathering children.” He chuckles, his face half-hidden as he drinks up.

“What–”

“Whatever sickness he has on the legs, it also affected what's up there.” He continues, and you don't understand why he's bringing that up now. Why is he talking about something that clearly affects his brother? Is he just jealous?

Taking a deep breath, you bite your lip to prevent all the curse words that fill your head to come out. “How can you be so sure?”

“He tried once.” Hvitserk whispers, clenched fists on the table.

You can feel as Ivar gets tense beside you, so you quickly search for his hand under the table, holding it tightly. “He tried once. Only once. He failed and never tried again?”

“C'mon, (Y/N). You can't possibly think–”

“You can't possibly think that saying this will immediately make me pick you instead.” The words flow out, and you don't think much. The only thing you want is to put Bjorn in his place because he can't just treat his brother like that. “Ivar is not less of a man just because he's crippled. Actually, he has to be a lot stronger than common people, and for that I admire him.”

“Are you truly in love with him, (Y/N)?” Bjorn asks, and you feel a sudden heat on your cheeks, your heart starting to pound stronger.

“It's not your business, Bjorn.” You say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Do whatever you want. It's your life.” Putting the cup down violently, he stands up and leaves.

Ivar soon follows, letting go of your hand and ignoring when you call him. Sighing, you exchange a glance with Hvitserk. “What do I do, Hvit?” you mutter, running a hand through your hair.

“If you want Ivar despite the... Difficulties... You have to make him see that. Him and everyone else because people will try to talk you out of it.”

Nodding, mostly to yourself, you know there's truth in his words. Ivar is a force of nature himself, but he's still human. And you know that, despite his strength, things still get to him.

The rest of the afternoon and evening goes by without any other situation. You meet Helga at the market place and invite her and Floki over for dinner. During the meal, Ivar doesn't show up, but you don't ask anyone about it. You know why he's hiding away. Bjorn, on the other hand, seems pretty happy not to see his brother around, but you struggle not to say anything and ruin the mood. You do manage to have some fun, listening to Floki's stories. He also seems to be growing used to your presence, since his wife took a liking to you.

A few hours later, you're at your room, in the sleeping gown, ready to get some sleep. Your muscles are sore from training, even though half the time you spent joking around. And your mind is tired too, from all the thoughts racing through.

How do you prove Ivar you don't mind the... Difficulties? Telling him would certainly be a mess. You'd blush like crazy, stutter, and maybe even make sound wrong. You should've ask Hvitserk for strict directions instead of just the general idea. Bracing yourself, you sit on the edge of the bed. These walls fail to keep the cold outside, or maybe it's the winter, way too harsh, pushing through the wood. It would surely be nice to have someone else here, to make you warm.

The idea that comes to your head is madness. But maybe, just maybe, it would make him see that, despite Bjorn's little show, you still want to be around him. So, taking a deep breath and praying for it not to backfire, you rush out of your room, the light fabric of the nightgown doing nothing to keep the cold from creeping over your skin. Tiptoeing, careful not to let anyone listen to you moving through the place, you quickly find Ivar's room, lightly knocking on his door, hoping that he's not sleeping yet.

When you hear the door opening, you release a breathe you didn't even know you were holding. Ivar is on the ground, looking up at you. “(Y/N)?”

“Hey.” You can't tell he's still embarrassed by the way he doesn't sustain your stare. But you don't say anything, walking inside and letting him push the door close before locking it. “It's really cold. Do you mind if I stay?” Not waiting for an answer, you walk towards the bed, pulling the blankets away and lying down.

It takes a while until you hear Ivar moving, coming back to bed. With your eyes open in the dim light, you hear his breathing. You're not sure what to say to make him understand that you want him. Because you do. You haven't noticed, but now, like a sudden bolt of lightning announcing a storm, you know.

So, taking a deep breath, you toss around, moving to lay your head on his chest. Your cheeks are burning, and there's a funny sensation on your stomach. “Sorry, but I'm really cold.” You mutter, eyes tightly shut, hoping Ivar won't push you away. But when you feel his arm around your waist, you can't help but smile, your thumb caressing his skin.

“What Bjorn said–”

“To hell with Bjorn.” Cutting him off, you take a deep breath, getting comfortable. “He's just jealous, the idiot.”

“That he is,” Ivar mutters, placing a kiss at the top of your head. “So are you going to sleep here now?” The cocky tone is back, making you giggle.

“Maybe. Let's see if you can make me warm tonight. I'll give you the answer in the morning.” Shrugging your shoulders, you bite back a smile. “Now, good night.”

“Good night, princess.”

Closing your eyes, you embrace the feeling of being here. You never thought you'd be that brave, given how you were raised. But then again, you never thought you'd end up in a place like this, in someone's arms like this. But now you know, better than anyone, that the best things can come from unexpected places.

Tomorrow, you'll have to deal with what was left outside this room. But right now, there's nothing but you and Ivar, and the silence, peacefully surrounding you.

@multific @revolution-starter @crackhead1-800 @youbloodymadgenius @clown-boyyy @kitten0394 @castielsangelx-blog @goldlion07 @midnightmystic @readsalot73 @xvxcarolinexvx @momowhoo @fangfoxy @msrawog @walkingonshunshine @alytavzla @anotherfan07 @heavenly1927 @msrawog @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

#ivar the boneless imagine #ivar imagine #ivar x reader #imagine ivar #imagine ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless fanfiction #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar vikings x reader #imagine ivar vikings #ivar vikings imagine #vikings #vikings x reader #imagine vikings #vikings imagine

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soyeahitsmiddleearth · 4 years

Text

One Weary Human

The Company x Reader

All of the company is drunk. The twist? None of them act the way you’d expect, like at all. Shy Bilbo is all flirty, chill Bofur keeps wanting to start bar fights, Kili/Fili try to be philosophical, Dwalin is the “You’re my best friend. I just love you so much, man,” type of guy, and Thorin is actually FUN and FUNNY. The reader is just sitting there feeling like she’s legitimately in the fucking Twilight Zone ---middleearth2asgard

---

You knew you should've stopped them from drinking all that ale.

Over and over again you thought to yourself that this night won't end well if you don't put a cap on their drinking, but each time you came close to interfering you kinda just decided that letting them have fun is better.

I mean, they've earned it so why not let them enjoy their first night out of danger after all those awful things that happened? Dragons, trolls, orcs, near-death experiences, a war, thousands of horrible things and one night to unwind and be happy. You can't very well take that away from them.

But you really should've.

By the time they polished off the first half of the barrel of ale they are completely wasted, and it's hard to keep track of them amidst the sea of men, other dwarves, and elves who survived the battle.

Well, maybe not wasted since they can still talk and walk around sort of well, but they're definitely inebriated.

You had maybe a quarter mug of drink before you realized they'll need someone to watch over them, so after that you gave up and decided to make sure none of them do anything stupid (also, ale tastes horrible so you don't wanna finish it).

Which, to some extent, they do.

Act stupid, I mean.

It's just the complete opposite of who you thought it would be.

You honestly thought that your biggest issue would be Fili and Kili, and probably Dwalin, but as it turns out they aren't even close to being a problem.

As it turns out, your biggest issue at the moment happens to be Bofur, Bilbo, and Ori.

Bofur is, quite literally, trying to start a fight with everybody. Bilbo won't leave you alone, and flirting with you so shamelessly. And Ori... won't stop crying no matter what you do.

For the life of you, you don't know what to do.

Every time you tell Bofur to calm down he tells you to square up (more or less), when you try to console Ori he cries even harder, and Bilbo... he has pickup lines for days.

"Bofur! For the last time, sit down and stop glaring at everyone!" You snap, grabbing the back of his shirt when he starts yelling at someone for 'looking at him funny' while also patting the back of Ori's head comfortingly.

"E-Everyone is so mean to me..." Ori sniffles and sobs, reaching up to grab onto your hand, using it to wipe his tears away like a tissue.

You cringe but let the young dwarf do it since he's sobbing so much, and when he releases you, you turn to Bofur.

"Stop tellin' me what to do!" He shoots back angrily, though he doesn't fight you when you force him to take a seat. "Damn woman..."

"Bilbo, please keep an eye on these two while I find everyone else." You tell the small hobbit making heart eyes at you.

"Surely, my dear, you would much rather stay with me?"

You kinda just stare at him for a moment before slowly saying, "Do as I say."

He doesn't reply to that and takes a seat, listening to you surprisingly enough.

Once that's done you slide off your chair and try to find everyone else, noticing Thorin right away since he's... doing stand up comedy?

He's standing on a table and the group that's gathered around him is laughing their asses off, telling him to give them more jokes which shocks you to your very core. This mans is the complete opposite of funny and chill.

"And then I told him that no pretty pixie of an elf will talk to me like that!"

The crowd around him roars with laughter and applause, and while you didn't hear the first part of his 'joke' it still doesn't humor you.

You fight your way through the countless bodies and finally get to the table, cupping your hands over your mouth so he can hear you when you yell, "Thorin! It's time to go!"

"Y/N! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Thorin calls happily, successfully putting the attention onto you. "I've lost my nephews! Have you seen them by any chance?"

Why is he asking you???

You shake your head slowly and reply, "No, why would I know where they are?"

"Well, you certainly seem to know the whereabouts of their tongues quite well!" He calls with loud boisterous laughter while everyone around proceeds to find it funny too.

You kinda just stand there for a moment, looking up at him blankly before your face begins to grow hot.

Okay, you know what? No, you're not dealing with this right now.

Very slowly you begin to back away, trying to both avoid eye contact with everyone and also trying to keep yourself from blowing up on the new king.

Where did he get such an idea from anyway? Freaking dummy.

"There she goes, off to another royal snogging!"

More laughter, but you're disappeared and gone before anyone can poke anymore fun at you for something that most certainly did not happen.

The next person you find, coincidentally, is the princes, and you're pleased to see them sitting mellowly at a table and having a conversation.

"There you boys are! Thank god you're not drunk, if you could please help me to gather-" and then you hear their conversation and horribly slurred speech.

"No, I'm tellin' ya, Fee, there's no way lovin' is easier than being loved. It jus' doesn' make sense." Kili tells his brother while shaking his head.

"Of course it does! When ya love then ya don' have t' worry about your own feelin' anymore, 'cause then you already know."

Are these two really discussing the complexity of loving versus being loved?

"An' how would you know that?" Kili asks, shaking his head back in fourth a bit too much to show his disagreement.

"Tha's none of your busn'ess." He slurs back, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"How can we even be sure that it's real in tha first place?"

"Are you sayin' you don't love me?" Fili challenges.

Kili freaks out and shakes his head, "N-No no! Of course I do!"

"You better, 'm your brother." Fili grumbles, turning his head until he notices you, "Oh! Y/N!"

You're quiet for a moment, kinda just looking at them oddly since their conversation both makes no sense, but also makes all the sense.

They take your silence as a go ahead to continue their 'discussion' and Fili then brings up, "Well wha' about Y/N?"

"What about her?" Kili asks back, laying his head down on the table after a moment.

"Nnoo, 'm askin' her."

"You didn't ask me anything." You chime in, reaching over to take their mugs from them. "You two are making no sense."

"Wellll, I think she would rather be loved since it doesn' make sense tha' loving is easier." Kili grumbles, trying to reinforce his point through you.

"I don't think it really matters at the moment, boys. Why don't you both come with me and we can all take a nap and sleep off our drunkenness..."

"No! It does matter!" They both yell at the same time, successfully earning a sigh from you.

"But-"

"Y/N!" Someone calls excitedly suddenly.

You turn your head slowly, but before you can put a face to the voice, someone it crushing you in a big hug.

"Have I told you that you're an excellent woman?" The person crushing the life out of you asks, and it's at that moment that you realize it's... Dwalin.

"U-Uh, no, not really-"

"Well, that's a shame! You're wonderful." He confirms with a quiet hiccup, holding you slightly tighter when you start to squirm.

"Alright, thank you Dwalin but if you could please-"

"See! My point is proven." Fili slurs triumphantly, pointing at you and Dwalin. "He's havin' a ball, nd' she's freakin' out!"

"That h-haaas nothing to do with love, Fee!" Kili grumps back, smacking Fili on the shoulder harshly.

"Hey! Who do you think yer lookin' at!?" An all to familiar, standoffish voice bellows to your left.

You turn your head and see Bofur trying to get some huge dude to throw some punches, and then you hear more jokes from Thorin across the room, Ori's wails, and Bilbo flirting with some other person.

Mahal save your soul.

"You three." You call suddenly, gaining the attention of Dwalin, Fili, and Kili (the three you thought you would be having the most problems with). "Whoever gathers the most of our friends outside gets a big prize."

Kili gasps and asks, "A big prize?"

"The biggest prize." You confirm, feeling relieved when Dwalin lets you go.

"What is the prize?" Dwalin asks, looking at you with a very uncharacteristic grin on his face.

"I can't tell you, it's a secret until one of you wins."

"Oh, I'm gonna get more than you two!" Fili calls, struggling to get up from his seat before Kili, the two pushing and shoving each other while they fight to stand.

"No fighting or you are disqualified." You warn, wagging a finger at them.

Thank god they listen.

---

You manage to gather the original three (Ori, Bilbo, and Bofur) and Nori, and get them outside of the party hall, trying your best to calm Bofur and Ori while Bilbo keeps on calling you beautiful and complimenting you.

Eventually, Dwalin walks out with two dwarves. Balin (who is sober, thank god) and Dori.

The next person to show up is Kili, and he has Bombur and Gloin.

Finally, Fili emerges from the hall and managed to swipe Oin and Bifir.

You smile at them brightly before you realize you're one short, "Where's Thorin?"

Fili sighs and answers, "I tried ta get 'im but he made fun of me until I left."

That sounds about right.

"I tried, too! But he kep' callin' me names." Dwalin grumbles while Kili nods.

"Yea-h, he kep' pokin' fun at my beard." Kili agrees, looking at the two he gathered, "Who won?"

"None of you, it's a tie." You reply, shaking your head.

A part of you is glad, actually that they all have the same amount, because you have no idea what the supposed 'big prize' is supposed to be. "I'll have to find a way to get Thorin, I guess..." You state wearily, already growing tired of their shenanigans.

" 'm sorry." The three you assigned to help you say sadly, looking at you with big upset eyes.

"N-No, it's fine! Just, keep everyone out here, okay? I'll be right back."

---

Suffice to say you were not 'right back' at all.

The moment you walked back up to Thorin he started making more jokes about you 'being with' different people in the original company, and very quickly does your patience wear thin.

At some point you just lose it and end up grabbing his ear and dragging him out of the party hall while people boo at you for being a fun killer.

Once you've successfully made him leave, you push him out the doors and do a quick headcount to make sure everyone is still there.

You take them all to a private wing where they all have their rooms in as well as a private kitchen Bombur introduced you to.

"Okay, good. Now that we're all gathered up in one place... Come with me to the kitchen. Lets eat a bit and have some water, okay?"

"Is there more ale?" Dwalin asks with the same smile.

"No!" You snap a bit angrier than you mean to, "No more alcohol for any of you."

That successfully shuts them up.

Once everyone is seated at the table in the newly stocked kitchen, you go through the cupboards and collect some berries and bread, bringing them over to the table so they can get something in their stomachs to absorb all that alcohol.

You give them all some chunks of bread and leave a handful or two for everyone (more for the bigger of them), then you walk off to get some water. Balin helps you out with it all (being as he's barely even tipsy), and eventually everyone has water and some food.

It doesn't take long for everything to disappear into their stomachs, and once they've done as you instructed you start to help some of them to their individual rooms.

Nori and Dori drag Ori to the room they share, Balin takes care of Dwalin, Bombur excuses himself and thanks you heartily, but you have to take care of everyone else unfortunately.

First, you deal with Bifir, Oin, and Gloin, which isn't too hard luckily.

Bifir says something you can't understand and gives you a hug before going off to bed, and Oin thanks you tiredly before closing his door. Gloin smiles at you, being less drunk then those left behind, and thanks you as well before heading off to sleep.

Now you're left with Bilbo, Thorin, Fili and Kili, and, finally, Bofur.

When you reenter the kitchen, Thorin is laughing about something he said no doubt, and Bofur is glaring at him so angrily you're afraid he might actually hit him.

"B-Bofur!" You call, running over to stand between them before wrapping your arm around his waist when he starts to wobble and walk towards Thorin.

Right away he stops and leans into you, still glaring at Thorin while he wraps an arm around you in return, "Wha' is it?"

"Come along, I'm going to take you to your room for bed. You too, Bilbo, come here."

Bilbo has no problem walking over to you (though he does sway a bit) and stands next to you while you begin to take Bofur out of the room. "That's a good boy, come on." You usher them both out and, eventually, manage to get Bofur to his room so he can sleep it off.

You shuffle him to his bed, and once he's seated you tell him to take off his shoes. While he does that, you swipe his hat and lay it on the bedside table, pulling his blanket back so he can lay down.

Once he climbs in, you pull the covers up over him and pat his head, "There you are. Go ahead and sleep for me, dear, cause you're going to feel dreadful in the morning."

He closes his eyes while grumbling something about being told what to do, of course he listens nonetheless and doesn't move or say anything else.

You lean down and kiss his forehead lightly, then turn and leave the room.

The door thumps softly when you shut it, and then you grab Bilbo's arm and walk with him to his room.

"You're simply stunning in this light, Y/N." Bilbo tells you, wrapping an arm around you despite being able to walk fine. "Completely breathtaking."

"Thank you, Bilbo. Though, you're going to be mortified tomorrow. I can imagine you'll be begging for forgiveness within an hour of waking up." You comment, opening up his door so you can take him to his bed.

"W-"

"Not a word." You cut him off quickly, knowing that he's going to say something very not appropriate, for both your sake and his.

He climbs into bed without further coaxing, though you do have to take off his coat for him and fluff up his pillow a bit, but once he's nestled under the covers, he doesn't go to sleep.

Instead he stares at you with baggy eyes, and smiles lightly, "You look radiant."

"As you've said a few times, Bilbo. You spoil me." You lean down and press a light kiss to his forehead next, and when you stand up straight again he reaches up and taps your nose.

You giggle softly and grab his hand, placing it back at his side before walking over to the door.

"Goodnight, Bilbo."

"G'night, Y/N."

When you arrive back at the kitchen, Thorin is gone and only Fili and Kili remain, talking about another odd topic once more.

"Where did Thorin go?" You ask, looking around then back down the hall.

"His head hurt, and he went to bed." Kili replies chipperly, smiling brightly.

Well, that does make your job a fair bit easier.

"Alright. Well, boys it's time for bed so come along." You tell them in a gentle voice, gesturing for them to come to you with a wave of your hand.

Somehow they manage to get to their feet, but after they take a few steps it becomes painfully obvious that there's no way they'll be able to make it, like Bofur.

Right away you go over to Kili and have him wrap an arm around your waist, and, somehow, you manage to shuffle forward with him to his brother who is looking very unstable at the moment.

You get Fili to wrap an arm around you as well, and once you've got them both you proceed to, very slowly, shuffle your way to their room.

At some point Kili started to press his face into your neck and Fili began to lean into you more heavily. If it weren't for the fact that you had one of them on either side of you, you probably would've toppled over.

Eventually, you do manage to get them to their room, and once you do you bring them to their beds (there are two).

You have them both sit down and go to light a candle, and once that's done you turn back to see if their laid down yet. Only, their both looking down at their feet as if they expect their shoes to taken themselves off.

With a heavy sigh, you walk over to Fili and crouch down, taking off his shoes with little difficulty. "There you go, now take off your jacket and lay down."

Fili nods his head and begins to shrug off his coat, so you turn and go to Kili, pulling off his shoes next.

Once he's barefoot, you stand and smooth his hair back lightly, "You take off your coat too, okay?"

"A'right." He mumbles, doing just as you said.

You step away and take a few steps; and, once their both laying down, you go to Fili and pull his covers up to his chin.

"Do you sleep with your braids in?" You ask quietly once he's tucked in.

"N't my mustache ones..." He replies with his eyes closed.

You nod, though he can't see it, and reach down and pull the clips off, placing them on the beside table so he can grab them tomorrow morning.

Once he's settled, you lean down and press a kiss to his head, then turn and go to Kili. You're basically on a seesaw with these two, tending to one for a moment before going to the other.

Kili is sitting up with his legs under the blanket, but when you walk over he lays down completely and waits for you to give him the same treatment as his brother.

You grab the top of his comforter and pull it up until it covers most of his chest, and once that's done you reach behind his head and pull the clip from the back of his head, off. "Is there anything else?" You ask softly while placing his beaded clip down as well.

"No..."

You nod, then lean down and kiss his forehead like you've done to literally everyone else.

"Alright. Goodnight then, boys."

#the hobbit #the company of thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield #reader insert #reader #fili x reader #kili x reader #thorins company #bilbo #the hobbit bilbo #bilbo x reader #fili #kili #bofur x reader #bofur #dwalin #dwalin x reader #ori #originally posted on ao3

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barricade-gal · 3 years

Text

What it's Like to Drown (in you)

summary: Javier felt like he was drowning. After a particularly hard day, all he wants is to lose himself to you. But you can tell there's something wrong.

rating: E [angsty smut, a brief description of a panic attack, fingering, unprotected sex (don't do it kids), some good ol' hurt/comfort]

pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (no y/n)

word count: 5001

a/n: I wrote this forever ago, but I'm really proud of it and wanted to share. Also I just wanna give Javi a hug. He's been through enough.

read it on ao3

Javier felt like he was drowning. Like he was trapped at the bottom of a murky lake with just enough air in his lungs to make it feel like the pain would never end. How much more of this? How much more could he possibly take?

He’d been drinking. He was always drinking. Always smoking. Always leaning on his vices to curb the ever present ache that lingered in his mind. It wasn’t that Javier liked the cheap whiskey he always threw down his throat. It was just within reach. His one track mind tended to do that – scan for whatever was closest. Whatever he could touch, feel, consume.

Right now that was you.

He could hardly remember making his way home, let alone the phone call he’d made to tell you to let yourself into his apartment – that he’d be late getting there. It was a familiar practice for you, waiting for Javier. The man lived and breathed his work. You could hardly blame him for it. You'd seen what that son of a bitch Escobar could do. You wanted him to see justice just as much as Javier did. The thought of seeing his reign of torment end was sometimes the only thing that helped you get through the day.

Sometimes Javier wondered what sort of magnetism drew him to you. Because as he ripped through the door, limbs and head heavy from the liquor he'd been drinking, he swore he could feel a physical force pulling him to you. Today was hard. Every day was hard, but today especially had worn down Javier's nerves to the bone, prompting him to seek solace in you.

You had dozed on the couch while waiting for him, already having a long day at the clinic with Connie. So it was a surprise to say the least when Javier woke you with a firm kiss, pulling you to him by the back of your neck. You woke with a start, but came to your senses quickly as you started to kiss him back. His lips were bruising, though. When you reached for him, his shoulders were tight and drawn together. Something was not right.

You force yourself away from him. "Javi…" He ignores you, finding your lips once more. His kisses were always intoxicating, all consuming. It was hard to push him away. "Javi, what's wrong?"

Even if he wanted to answer that question, he wouldn’t know how to. He didn’t have the vocabulary to put it into words. So instead he tucked his head into your neck and kissed you there how he knew you liked, finding your lifeline and marking it harshly. It makes you gasp. He can feel how your chest fills with air, feel how it moves in your throat. He presses his eyes closed tight, taking in everything you had to give him. You’re so alive under his touch. It was just what he needed – to be reminded he could do something good. To know you could lose yourself to him as much as he needed to lose himself in you.

You’re worried, you remember, even as his knee parts your legs and bears into you. You manage a breathy, “Javier, stop.”

He does immediately, pulling back to see your face. His pupils are blown wide as he looks down at you. His big, sad, brown eyes that held so many mysteries that you hadn’t even begun to unpack. You grab hold of his shirt, pushing him to sit on the couch beside you before rolling on top of him to straddle his lap. “Jav, what’s wrong?”

Your words are soft, gentle, and should put him at ease. But they don’t. Javier feels his gut wrench as he’s looking up at you. His hands fall to your hips, one trailing up your spine as if you’re the one who’s needing comfort. He’s having trouble meeting your eyes. “It’s nothing, baby. I’m just happy to see you.”

You’re biting at the inside of your cheek. Javier could lie all he wanted, but he was easier to see through than he realized, always wearing his emotions right on his sleeve. You run your fingers through his hair with both of your hands, soothing but forceful enough to make him look at you again. “I missed you too, mi amor. But you know that’s not what I meant.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked, so rigid and wired that he felt his molars click together. “It’s nothing. I just need you, cariño.”

He leaned his head into your neck, mouthing at whatever skin he had at his disposal, claiming the bit of your collarbone that was revealed when he tugged your shirt out of the way. Your hands are at the back of his neck. It’s lovely. It always was with him. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. “Need me so much that you jump me while I’m asleep?”

He was so close. So close to forgetting. If only you would just let him. He pressed his forehead against your chest and sighed. It was clear you didn’t want to let this go. “Please… I can’t – Just let me…”

You shook your head, sitting back on his thighs so you could look at him straight. “Talk to me…”

He didn’t like the anger that was starting to grow in his chest. The frustration. He quickly shoved it down. He wasn’t angry at you. Or maybe he was. He didn’t know, didn’t have the words to understand why that ball of emotions kept clogging up throat. “I can’t…”

“Do you trust me?”

He sighed. That wasn’t it. But he also didn’t know what it was. “Of course I do.”

“Then talk to me, Javi. Tell me what happened. You’re not like yourself tonight.”

He could feel your thumbs working into his hairline, desperately trying to pull this out of him while remaining gentle with your touches. It hurt to see him hurting. And you silently wished he would let you in.

“You don’t know –” You don’t know what I’ve seen. The kind of man that I am. You don’t know how hard it is to keep going sometimes. You don’t know…

“My love, what don’t I know?”

He didn’t respond. The breaking point came when he rolled his eyes. “Please drop it.”

When his hands reached for you again, you leaned away from his touch, your brows drawing together at him. “Jav, you can’t just fuck away your feelings. It doesn’t work like that.”

He’s so tired. “It’s worked for me so far.”

That made you stand. Immediately the rift between you was tangible as he became unable to touch you – like you had ripped an anchor away. He could feel himself drifting. “You mean like with all the other girls you’ve used for a quick fuck when you’ve had a bad day?”

“You know that’s not what I –”

“I thought we’d come to an understanding that I’m not like those girls.”

“You’re not. Please just st–”

“We’re partners. When I need you, you listen. When you need me, I listen. I’m there. We don’t act like children and pretend like everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.”

“Don’t patronize me. I told you I’m fine and that I didn’t need to talk about it.”

You sighed, watching him get up from the couch and walk to the counter where a bottle of whiskey sat half empty before he poured himself a glass. To his back, you spoke, “And I know you better than that. I’m not going to ignore when something’s wrong. And I’m certainly not going to let you use me if you won’t talk to me.”

His grip against the counter turned his knuckled white, talking passively over his shoulder. “I’m not… I don’t want to use you.”

He never would. Not if you didn’t want it. But in a way… he had to admit that his subconscious mind saw you the same way he saw his whiskey that burned down his throat and the cigarettes that clouded his lungs. Something that took the edge off. He always felt better after being with you. Always. You had a way of making him feel safe like nothing else. He had just wanted to come home to you, to be inside you, to forget that anything in this fucked up world existed except for you.

“You have to acknowledge that that’s what you’re doing.” He tossed back his glass at hearing your words. His head was already cloudy from his earlier drinks, but the liquor seemed to make the weight in his chest less… much. He wanted to numb it. “Listen to me. I love letting you take me there, but at a certain point you can’t ignore what’s going on in your head. And it’s not the same when you’re not all there.”

Fuck… He wondered how long you felt this way. How many times he’d turned harsh when he had fucked you. When he wanted to curse the world for being the way it was and instead drown himself in every last drop of warmth you had to give him. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, feeling worse than before.

Cautiously, you approached him, one hand settling between his taut shoulders and the other on his arm. “Just talk to me. Please…”

Why couldn’t he? What possibly could make him so afraid to speak to you? He wanted to. You. You were everything to him. Why couldn’t he just… talk to you? “I can’t…”

His body turned cold when he felt your hands retreat. You bit down on your lip hard, trying to keep the tears you felt prickling at bay. “Okay,” you said, barely a whisper. “Fine.”

The sound of your footsteps retreating felt so loud in his ears, ringing from the silence. He shut his eyes tight, letting his head hang down when he heard a door slamming closed in the hall. He nodded to himself, as if affirming that he deserved that. Moments later, the sound of running water told him you were taking a shower. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding before shooting back the rest of the whiskey in his glass.

It tasted awful. And not just because of how cheap it was. Usually any liquor would go down smoothly. He’d been drinking like a pro for years. But he felt on fire. Every inch of his throat burned. He could feel it in his nostrils when he tried to breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

The glass is slammed down to the counter as he tries to run away from the feeling. Javier runs his hands through his hair, tries unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, tries palming at his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

One more fuck up, Peña. One more thing you’ve ruined. One more thing this goddamn war has made you lose. Shit, the things he’s seen… It wasn’t even just what had happened today. Children dying in front of his eyes. Cold, dead bodies piled up in the streets. It was everything. All of it. It weighed on him more than he liked to admit.

All he had wanted was you. And now you were well and pissed at him for not doing something so fucking simple that he wanted to scream. He grabs a pillow off of the couch and tosses it across the room.

“Fuck,” he curses to the empty space. “Fuck…” Breathe, Peña. Just fucking breathe. He couldn’t lose you. Not you. Not after everything you had been through together. Not after fighting so hard to have what he has with you. Something real. Something he felt could be permanent.

Breathe.

Shit.

He was so fucking drawn to you that he didn’t even notice he was at the bathroom door until he was already turning the handle. You tended to turn the shower to a scalding temperature when you were stressed. He knew that about you. So it was no surprise when he was met with the thick steam in the air, the small mirror above the sink already fogged up and hiding his face from him. Not like he wanted any fucking self reflection at that moment.

He called your name. You didn’t answer. You didn’t tell him to leave either like he expected. This was selfish of him. You were trying to get away. To have some space from whatever was warring inside Javier’s brain. And here he was invading that space again.

But just like he didn’t think he’d ever be able to quit drinking or smoking, he couldn’t quite quit with you. He started to strip, depositing his clothes near the pile of your own that lay on the floor. He knew you could hear him. You could hear the rustling of his clothes and the way he idled in front of the shower curtain, anxious to part it. You weren’t stopping him. So he stepped in behind you.

Your face was turned to the showerhead, water falling steadily on your chest. He cautiously pressed himself into your back, wrapping his arms around your waist, and sinking his head into the base of your spine. Breathe…

The moment he felt you grasp at his forearm, returning his embrace just in the slightest, he was gone. You felt his chest start to shake. God, he was trembling. You turned yourself in his arms, looking up at the man you loved who had tears shining in his eyes.

“Oh Javi…” you whispered softly, holding his head in your hands.

He crumbled into you, desperate to hide his face. His head rested on your shoulder, small sobs escaping him. You wrapped your arms tight around him, pulling him into you as you let him cry. You’d never seen him cry – didn’t think you’d ever see him cry. He wore his heart on his sleeve, but this was not an emotion that he ever dared to show. You weren’t sure what it was, if it was sadness or vulnerability or exhaustion… You had a feeling he didn’t know either. It was unexplored territory that he was letting you venture alongside him.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” you promised, carding your fingers through his dampening hair. He held you tighter.

Javier could only hold you until he wasn’t crying anymore. Until he could breathe again. You were drawing soothing lines up and down his spine with your nails, just hard enough to keep him grounded. How did you always know him? How did you know what he needed? It always astounded him. You astounded him.

He never wanted to let you go. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“It’s alright.” You pressed a kiss into his temple. You realized then that it wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell you about what was going on with him. He simply didn’t know how to. It made you sad, honestly. “What do you need?”

He didn’t know how to fix this – the gaping hole he felt inside himself, the thing eating away at all of his waking moments. There was only one thing he knew. “You… Just you.”

You nodded into the side of his head, nudging him with your nose until he lifted his neck enough for your lips to find his. You kissed him softly, tenderly. You wanted to show him how deeply you cared for him, how you wished to take his pain away. But Javier kissed you back in a way that felt like he was gasping for you. His hands grasped at your waist like he was afraid that you would drift away should he let go.

You allowed him to part your lips with his tongue, to let him taste you. You could taste the salt on his mouth from his tears before the water from the shower washed them away. His hands never strayed from your waist, though he kept his grip tight. You knew he was trying not to touch you, that he was afraid of taking advantage of you now that you had voiced such concerns.

But this was the way Javier Peña spoke. Was it the best way or the right way? Certainly not. But you could let him feel through you. You could provide him a safe place to come home to. You wanted to be that for him. So you grasped at his hand, gliding it up your wet torso until his palm met your breast.

He pulled away from your lips to look at you, to make sure he could have you. "Baby…"

"It's okay," you whispered, holding onto his face. "I want you to."

The way he nodded like he was still guilty for wanting this, for wanting you, made you pull him back to your lips yourself. You sighed, mostly in relief, when you felt him squeeze at your breast, teasing your nipple between his fingers. His mouth lowers, trailing kisses on your wet skin until he finds the other side of your chest to give attention there too. Javier's hands are practiced with you. Truly, the language he knew best, though having two spoken ones already, was you. He knew all the places he needed to touch, where to spend his time, how to draw those tantalizing sounds out of you.

It made a fire light in his gut when he slid his hand between your legs. Every inch of him was responsive to you, his hardening cock pressing into your belly. When he sunk two of his fingers into your heat, you gasped and gripped at his shoulders. He kept his eyes locked on your face as your head fell back in pleasure, his fingers curling into you just right. He was so focused on you that he nearly doesn't notice your hand moving down his chest until it's wrapped around his length. A hot groan leaves his throat as he presses you back against the wall of the shower. Briefly, he presses his forehead to the cool tiles beside your head to curb the heat rolling off of him from within as well as the steaming water hitting his back.

The both of you worked each other with your hands, your palm dragging on his cock while his fingers worked in and out of you. He cradled your chin in his free hand, tilting it up so that he could see your neck stretch before he went to kiss you there. “You are so beautiful,” he marveled.

It was like his words reminded you that you could speak. “I need you inside me. Please, Javi.”

He shushes you, such a turn from how you comforted him minutes before. “Cum on my hand first, baby. Let me take care of you.”

“I should,” You cut yourself off with a moan as his thumb starts to circle at your clit, your walls clenching around his two thick fingers as your orgasm was rapidly approaching. Finally you get it out, panting in his ear as you rut your hips to meet his hand, “I should be the one taking care of you.”

His nose brushes your cheek as he shakes his head. “You are. You’re perfect just like this.”

Javier isn’t expecting it when your grip tightens on his cock when his fingers send you over the edge. He’s moaning with you, staring down as you fall apart beneath his touch. As you come down, your hand leaves him in favor of grasping at his shoulders to keep yourself upright.

“Always so pretty when you cum, cariño.” He hooks his arms on your thighs, picking you up so that your legs wrapped around him. When he pressed you up into the wall of the shower again, his hips were aligned just right with yours so that you could feel him prodding against your entrance. In one careful thrust, he spears you into the wall, driving himself deep inside you. Your arms fall around his neck, fingers making grooves in his wet hair as he filled you so completely and perfectly. Nothing else mattered when you were like this. Everything was made of him, even you, giving everything you had to him.

As he buried himself in you again and again, Javier felt more whole. Just that realization, though, kept the burning thought alive in the back of his mind that this was only proving your point. That he needed to fuck his feelings away. And he knew, he knew, that you were right. That this couldn’t be the only way he dealt with the ever present ache that persisted in his chest no matter what he did. But being inside you, feeling you, making you moan and whimper and whine – selfishly Javier couldn’t find a good reason to do anything differently than this.

He was not a man of words. He was much better in action. How could he even form the words to describe how helpless he felt? How could he explain the war in his mind that tried to draw lines in the sand? To decide what was good and what was evil. How could he tell you that some days he just wanted to leave it all behind and run away with you? To take you away from all of this. You deserved better. Most days he could thoroughly convince himself that you deserved better than him.

Guilty as he feels, he can’t help but bask in the pleasure you’re giving him. “Fuck, you’re so good for me. Feels so good, baby,” he pants as he keeps an eager pace with his hips. “Too good. Too good for me.”

You want to say he’s wrong. But the words are overpowered in your chest by the other ungodly noises he’s pulling from you. You settle instead for running your fingers over his cheek, trying to be tender, trying to be kind. Your lips litter his face with kisses when your head isn’t thrown back in ecstasy. He’s hitting something absolutely blinding inside of you that makes you lose yourself.

“Javi,” you whine, trying to warn him that you were right on the precipice again. He kisses your plea from your lips, hoisting you up again to free one of his hands to find your clit. It’s just what you need, legs trembling around him as you cry out and reach your peak yet again.

The feeling of your walls fluttering around him is enough to make him follow right after, spilling as deeply inside you as he could manage. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer as he finishes his shallow thrusts into you, his spend coming out of you with every movement and getting washed away by the running water. He’s breathing heavily in your ear, his breath relatively cool in comparison to your feverish skin. Then he gently lowers you back onto your shaking legs. Immediately, he’s wrapping himself up in you, arms tugging at your waist as he molds his mouth to yours again.

After your lips part, you’re laying your head on his chest, arms circling his neck. Javier kisses the top of your head before resting his chin there. You stay like that for a while, his hands running up and down your spine while every now and then you kiss his chest. He only leans away from you to grab the washcloth you’d brought with you into the shower to wipe between your legs. You let out a small noise, a little oversensitive after everything.

Silently you help each other actually get clean in the shower before he’s wrapping you both up in towels and taking you to bed. The haze he felt from the alcohol was long gone at this point, only a dull throbbing at his temples to remind him of it. He’s helped you get into some underwear and a nightshirt, putting on a pair of boxers himself, before he’s crawling under the covers with you.

It’s a little unsettling to you that neither of you have spoken. And as he lays his head on your chest, you wonder if he plans to speak anything at all. You card your fingers through his wet hair, always finding it nice how it curled at the ends when it was wet like this. Would his hair curl more if it was longer? You pocketed the idea to propose to him at a later time, struggling to find the words you wanted to say. It went against your nature to leave things like this with him, as much as it was tempting to let him get away with acting in a way that concerned you this much.

“I’m worried about you.” You say it as gently as you can manage, your hands not pausing at all in his hair.

He had sensed this coming. You were easier to read than you thought with the way you’d been biting at the inside of your cheek and how concerned you had looked as he slipped that shirt over your head before. Still, his body recoiled from the words, his cheek pressed onto the place on your chest that bore your skin, the top few buttons of the silky thing undone. Instead of responding, he reaches his hand out for your free one, lacing your fingers together and bringing your fingertips to his lips.

He felt your sigh, rising and falling in your chest, more than he heard it. “I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t talk to me.” He opened his mouth to try to protest, but you knew exactly what he was going to say so you stopped him in his tracks with a squeeze into his palm. “You don’t have to have all of the words. You don’t even have to try to make sense… But you can’t keep it all inside you like this. It’s eating away at you.”

Something in that struck a chord. He thought of the Javier Peña that had come here to Colombia, years ago now, to try to do some good. It was a far cry from the man who was lying broken on your chest. He wondered how much of that confident man remained in him, and what had been eaten away by the cruel reality of this life.

“Cariño, I want to,” he began, not anticipating the struggle he’d have at keeping his voice steady. “It’s just that none of it makes any damn sense.”

He felt your chin nod against the top of his head. “We can try to make sense of it. Together.”

His fingers started to fidget with your own, feeling the uneasiness bubbling up again in his lungs from before. “That’s the thing… there’s no making sense of it. It’s all so fucked up. All of it. I’m fucked up. You don’t deserve to take on these burdens. I won’t do that to you.”

After a beat of silence, your hand drifts from his hair to the back of his neck, massaging into the tight muscle there. “Look at me.” Javier obeys, propping himself up so that he could see your face. In your eyes held a certainty that he didn’t think he would ever be able to have again. Just your gaze rooted him in place. “And you don’t deserve to take on those burdens alone. I’m here for you, no matter how fucked up things get. No matter how helpless you feel. I’m here. And that’s never going to change.”

As Javier nodded his head, desperately wanting to believe you. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes again. He swallowed them down, closing his eyes to compose himself and let your words sink underneath his skin. The overwhelming feeling doesn’t go away. He’s still at the bottom of that lake, his lungs on fire, but as he leans his head against yours it feels as if he’s reaching for your hand to pull him from the depths. “I love you so damn much.”

It’s the first time he’s said all of those three words together, although you’d known for quite a while that it was true. You take his face in your hand, feeling him lean into the touch, his eyes still closed. “I love you, too.”

It’s a rush to hear it, and it’s probably the lightest he’s felt in weeks when he presses his lips against yours again. It’s not an urgent kiss. He knows he has all the time in the world to spend with you. Nothing was fixed. All of the broken pieces inside of him still felt broken. He still didn’t know how he would be able to face the next day and the next one after that with all of the horrors it would bring.

But he had you. And that was as scary as it was reassuring– to feel so strongly about someone, to know that they would be there to see the worst of you at times. But you kissed him so softly. And you let him have you when he needed to just feel you, to remind himself that you were there. You could be fighting one moment and the next be sharing a moment like this, kissing in the dark. He was grateful for you. He didn’t know anyone who had wanted to stay through the ups and downs, through the coldness he put off when he didn’t want to talk, through the stubbornness that he seemed to be made up of.

“So much…” you promised in a whisper, like you knew he was already trying to doubt you. He kissed down your neck, desire curling in his gut once again as you sighed. His hands started to roam across you, venturing lower and lower until they found their home right at your core, showing you how grateful he was with the language he spoke best.

“You’re the only thing that makes sense. Just you.”

Javier felt like he was drowning. But it felt nicer to drown in you.

#javier peña #javier peña/reader #javier peña/you #narcos #fics #the big oof #i love writing javier in love #he deserves it #anyways #please be kind as i really don't post my writing here often #pizzeria saw it first #shoutout to the homies #my writing

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lastxviolet · 3 years

Text

In Neglected Fields, the Fern Grows - CH. 1

Fred Weasley x OC

3,495 k

Ch. 1 / 10

Warnings: None for this chapter. Eventual smut

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13829826/1/In-Neglected-Fields-the-Fern-Grows

_______________________________

How someone in the wizarding world hadn't come up with a spell to mimic the brief high of a cigarette puff, Fern Longbottom had no clue. Being a witch would finally feel worth it if she could blast herself at least once every ten minutes to feel momentary relief instead of having to climb the god-awful moving staircase to smoke one cigarette in the Astronomy tower before she was missed by the other Prefect on rounds.

Not that they even needed her. Prefect duties had become much easier ever since Umbridge had taken over as the unofficial authority at Hogwarts. These days, nary a soul, besides the dead ones wandered the halls after hours, for fear of peeving off the menace in pink. She didn't much mind the strict witch's presence, but then again, she wasn't exactly in the line of fire, nor was anyone else in Ravenclaw. The only thing that did make her roll her eyes was that almost all of her duties and responsibilities had been bequeathed to undeserving Slytherins on the Inquisitional Squad. They were a pack of eager dogs, desperate to bring their master the best corpse. At least when she gave someone detention, it was rather painless and they actually deserved it.

Thankfully, she hadn't run into anyone who deserved it tonight. Not that she'd mind the company. Every hall she had passed on the way up the dizzying stairs, was empty. That was one thing she did miss from the time before Umbridge. Usually, there would be absolute chaos in every corner of the dark seventh-floor hallway but tonight, it was silent.

She skirted through the hall, ignoring the hairs on the back of her neck, reminding her of how dark and empty the hallway was. Without light pollution from civilizations nearby, nighttime at Hogwarts was deep and unrelenting until morning. Even in the castle, candles and fireplaces couldn't illuminate the stone rooms enough to fully ward off the hours of shadow. To make matters worse, she'd noticed in her tenure as Prefect that in the evenings, without company or companion, the cobble architecture swallowed sound. Footsteps, words, laughter, and voices dissipated upon utterance without a crowd to overpower the course sandstone abyss. She didn't normally like the quiet, in any capacity, but especially in the castle that could easily swallow her whole with various secret halls, doors, and chambers.

Even at home, quiet was no good. If Neville wasn't rambling on about Herbology or Gran wasn't lecturing her brother about speaking too fast or walking too slow, the air felt thick. It clung to her limbs, and filled her lungs, and brought her thoughts to a standstill. The emptiness that followed, before sound rushed back in, froze her. She'd read a quote once, walking out of St. Mungo's after a particularly somber visit to her parents that said, 'for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.' Whatever abyss Nietzsche was referring to, she doubted that he knew what real emptiness felt like.

You didn't look at it, and it didn't look at you. It was an extension of consciousness; unrelenting and irremovable. Emptiness was a hospital room with people who couldn't recognize you. Emptiness was seeing the same careless bravery that had gotten them there in her brother who seemed too eager for war. Emptiness was being powerless to change any of it. After a while, she'd didn't feel so empty anymore, realizing that she'd simply become the abyss.

Now, it took up a corner of her mind, whispering evil things and infuriating questions with no answer. Every action had an equal reaction, and she was powerless to control every single one, not for lack of trying, as it liked to remind her. Every glance in the mirror, conversation in her head, and silent moment was tainted by this ache with no relief, other than the few times a week she got to smoke a cigarette.

She briefly closed her eyes as she walked, quelling the downward mental spiral by focusing on the crisp scent of fall turning into winter as it drifted in from the tower at the end of the hall. She imagined herself amongst the trees somewhere warm and beautiful, like Italy. The heat from the lone fireplace to her right acted as the artificial seaside sun. The crackling log was a babbling brook and she couldn't hear her own footsteps because she was barefoot in the grass. Her lips pulled into a soft smile. She was content until she heard footsteps.

She jumped and opened her eyes frantically as a very familiar figure appeared ten feet in front of her.

"Nev?" She half shouted.

"Oh hi," he squeaked out, looking behind his right shoulder, around a corner she couldn't see.

She cocked an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain why he was out of his dorm so late but he just stood, staring at her with wide eyes.

"Hi… uh what are you doing up here?"

She watched as he jumped a little at her question, clearly uncomfortable with her suspicious tone. In recent years, her younger brother had become more akin to rule-breaking but sneaking around after dark wasn't usually his style.

He glanced over his shoulder again and took a few frantic footsteps towards her as if he was trying to herd her back down the hall.

"Erm…nothing," he worried. "I was in the uh tower."

His words slurred with the speed and she took sweeping steps to meet him before he got too far away from whatever it was that he seemed to be hiding.

"Nev," she said slowly. "In the tower…doing what?"

He didn't seem to register her question so she snapped her fingers in front of his face, bringing his consciousness back down to earth.

"What's wrong with you? Why do you keep looking around like that?"

"Um…I'm just uh waiting —"

"For…?"

As if on cue, more voices appeared, loud and bouncing, out of thin air.

"Who is that?"

He looked down at his shoes, content to have her discover his counterparts on her own. Not wanting to miss the opportunity to actually hand out a detention, she breezed past him and towards the sound.

She made it three steps before Fred and George Weasley stepped around the corner and looked down at her, in shock, as if she was the one who had appeared out of nowhere. The evening was already a headache, but it was well on its way to turning into a migraine.

Before they could speak, she pounced.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was cruel and seeping with blame, directed at two of her least favorite people.

From as far back as she could remember, nearly seven years now, the three of them hadn't gotten along. The twins were intolerable, annoying, and self-centered. There was no joke, prank, or quip that could ever really be enough to fuel their egos so they always went too far, too fast, making the entirety of the study body accomplices and victims to their antics. Although, it hadn't been until her brother's unfortunate friendship with the twins that she'd started to harbor a real hatred for them.

"Hey," Fred called down the hall behind her towards Neville, pointing wildly, avoiding her accusatory stare. "Look Longbottom, it's Longbottom!"

"A family reunion," George added, clapping his hands together. "How touching."

Fred's eyes twinkled at her sour look. "Out for an evening stroll?"

She rolled her eyes. "I asked you a question."

"Oh c'mon Longbottom, no need to be so hostile, I'm only making small talk," Fred cooed. "Y'know like, how's your evening? How was your day? Are you —"

"Enough, you fucking half-whit. Why are you up here?"

George smiled big at her instantaneous anger but it was Fred who stepped closer and spoke again with a more threatening tone.

"Not quite, but you've almost got the hang of it. You're supposed to answer someone's question before you ask one of your own, it's polite."

"So answer it," she retorted, closing the last few inches between them.

"You first," he said with a scowl, relishing in her contempt. "How is your evening?"

"Abysmal, thanks to you."

"It always seems to be that way when we're together, Longbottom. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe you're the problem?"

"Funny," she hissed. "I would beg to differ"

"You? Beg? Now that would make for a lovely evening. Go on then," Fred taunted, looming over her with his usual pretentious sneer.

She glared at him, fuming, and ignored Neville's plea behind her to just leave it alone.

"Alright, we should really be off now," George yawned, stretching his arms over his head for dramatic effect. "Longbottom family, it's been lovely."

Fred bared his teeth as if to gloat and brushed her shoulder with force as he followed his brother towards the stairs. She glanced at Neville for backup but he gave her a miserable shrug. Discontent with the outcome, she spun around and grabbed Fred by the arm.

"For fucks sake, just tell me what you're doing up here or I'll give you a detention!"

He whipped around with a fire in his eyes and clamped a hand down on her wrist.

"Ask. Your. Brother," he hissed through clenched teeth, blazingly serious as he yanked her arm up close to her face.

Neville let out a little gasp at the outburst but she just hardened her glare.

She yanked her hand from his. "Charming."

Fred didn't let her finish the word before he stalked away in a huff, tapping Neville on the shoulder as if to say good luck. The less volatile twin shot her an apologetic look before disappearing down the stairs after his brother.

Despite having gotten used to Fred Weasley's short fuse and erratic temper, her heart nearly beat out of her chest. She'd been the reason for many an outburst, from detention slips to thwarted pranks over the years, none having been quite this tame. If they'd been alone, she liked to think that she might have accosted him back. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

Neville came up behind her, radiating with nerves.

"Really, Fern," he stuttered. "It's fine…I just had astronomy homework."

"Don't lie to me, Nev," she accused, probably louder than she needed to.

"Honest, we were just studying!"

"Oh give it a rest, those two have never studied a day in their lives! They're nothing but trouble. What are you thinking, letting them drag you into something sure to get you on Umbridge's bad side?"

"I'm already on her bad side," he mumbled. "So it doesn't really matter if —"

"Well then you can't really afford to make it any worse, can you? I mean hanging out with the Weasley twins after hours is one of the stupidest things I can think of. You're smarter than this!"

"They're my friends, it's nothing —"

"Some friends they are, Neville. Honestly, what could you possibly expect from hanging out with them, besides trouble? You're lucky that it was me that you ran into tonight, and not another Prefect, or worse. How could you be so —"

"You aren't my mum, Fern… I can look out for myself," he squeaked in a small, but stern voice.

She stopped talking immediately, struck by his sudden gumption. The twins had definitely gotten to him. Normally, he would've at least given her the benefit of the doubt and listened to her advice. She furrowed her brow when he glanced up, still looking nervously at the hallway behind her.

"You should get back to your common room," she sighed finally, unwilling to fight and elongate the portion of the evening without any nicotine in her system. "It's late."

"Alright," he said, nodding a little more energetically now that she'd stalled her lecture. "See you later?"

"Yeah….see you later."

He sped off down the hall, probably keen to catch up with his so-called friends. She cursed Fred to high heaven as she scaled the astronomy tower stairs, stopping briefly to retrieve a cigarette from the school stash, underneath a floorboard below the telescope. She tucked it between her teeth, used a non-verbal fire spell, and stepped over to the balcony.

The grounds were fuzzy and dark green beneath the muted moonlight. She stared confused for a moment at the darker than usual, blurred Hogwarts lawn, and then tipped her head upwards. A deep fog blurred the view, making the constellations completely invisible. The moon tried to blaze through the haze but it barely reached the earth's surface.

There was no way they got any astrology homework done, she thought, glancing around the room for clues.

Other than a few cigarette butts, there was nothing.

She took a drag and watched the smoke commingle with the haze. Nicotine rushed through her head providing momentary dizzying peace and oblivion. This buzz, although brief, was preferable to anything else. Drugs were unobtainable and inconsistent, alcohol lasted too long to be truly relaxing and she could never get the various potion options right. Tobacco gave her the two things that she craved, a tiny ounce of rebellion, and an unoccupied mind.

She flicked her finished cigarette onto the floor, one final testament to her moment of disobedience for the night, and flitted back down the stairs, eager to be finished with her rounds.

The hallway was still and dark again as she flew through it. The incident with her brother and his fellow Gryffindors had nearly been forgotten when other voices drifted from the hallway behind her.

Stunned by their apparition, she turned slowly, trying not to look terrified.

"Hey Fern," Padma Patil and Mandy Brocklehurst said in unison, arm in arm, coming around the corner where she'd been a few footsteps ago.

"Hey…guys," she responded, looking for an explanation.

"Prefect rounds?" Padma said, nodding to her house robes after hours.

"Yeah," she stammered.

"That sucks. Almost done though?"

She nodded and watched the girls try and contain their giggles about something she couldn't see. She glanced down the hall and found it devoid of doors or entrances despite the astronomy tower, where they most certainly were not.

"Astronomy homework?" She asked them, surrendering to her urges of suspicion. Where had they come from?

"Yep," Padma replied energetically.

"Lovely evening to see the stars," she goaded.

"They were brill," Mandy chimed in, turning to get her friend to nod in agreement. "Oh, by the way, I think a few people are going to be hanging out in the boy's dorm later tonight if you wanna come."

"Wicked," she responded, faking interest. "Corner and Boot's room?"

"Yep!"

"Ok, I'll try and swing by," she assured them. "You guys better get back though, I don't know who else has rounds tonight but if it's Abbott, you're screwed."

"Shit," Mandy said. "Is the Inquisitional Squad out tonight too?"

"Haven't seen them yet but I think they come round at 9."

"Thanks, Fern, you're a lifesaver!" Padma whispered, turning to run with her friend, hand in hand. "See you later!"

She watched them run back down towards the moving staircase and then turned to inspect the hall in a daze. She squeezed her eyes tight, imagining a door at the end of the hall but when she opened them, the stone wall remained the same; tall, grey, and empty.

There was no door anywhere.

Where were all these kids coming from?

The Weasley's having some secret entrance into the hallway made sense but her housemates and brother didn't. The mystery motivated her enough to make quick work of the walk back to her common room where she ignored a wave of 'hello's from her peers and rushed to her dorm room.

"Daisy!"

Her roommate jumped two inches off the bed and nearly toppled onto the floor as she rushed in and slammed the door. The tall strawberry blonde stared at her with wide, absent eyes for a moment before relaxing back onto the bed and setting her book on the nightstand.

"You might be content dying from a stress-induced heart attack at a young age, my love," she cooed, returning to her easy-going state. "But I, am not. Please exclude me from any further loud and anxious announcements in the —"

"Daisy," she repeated, ignoring her best friend's usual long-winded, abstract ramblings. "I think I may have stumbled upon a mystery."

Daisy gasped and threw a hand over her mouth, smiling wickedly as for one moment Fern thought that she was equally intrigued.

"I'm serious," Fern said flatly.

"I can't say I'm surprised," she said wistfully. "There is no way that we could know all the goings-on in a castle this old or this large. The mysteries it holds….the mysteries it has been witness to…well that must span centuries. Fern, what do you think was happening in this very room, a century ago?"

"Daisy, this room is not the one that I am concerned about. Will you please listen to me?"

"Yes, yes, yes," her roommate rambled, staring at the door as if she could actually see the ghosts of Ravenclaws past.

"On my Prefect rounds, I went up the astronomy tower—"

"So that you could look up at the night sky and not smoke a cigarette because you promised me that it was simply a fleeting phase of insubordination and not a serious habit?"

She squinted at the suddenly alert girl. "Yes."

"Lovely, please continue."

"Well on my way to the tower, Neville appeared out of nowhere with Fred and George Weasley in tow."

She paused for dramatic effect but continued quickly as Daisy didn't seem intrigued in the slightest.

"When I asked what they were doing, the twins wouldn't say, and Nev gave me some excuse about astronomy homework but when I went up to the tower, the fog made seeing the stars impossible!"

Daisy gave her an exasperated look. "So they were in the tower smoking pot?"

"Ah very clever, my love, but no. See, I would have smelled it either on them or in the tower if that had been the case but there was nothing."

"Okay…so what were they doing up there?"

"Now that is the mystery. I don't think they were up there at all."

Daisy stared at her silently, raising her brow in a combination of confusion and doubt.

"And here's why…when I came back down, Padma and Mandy appeared in the hall behind me, looking like they were leaving something, just like Nev and the twins had but they weren't up in the tower with me."

"Okay…"

"Daisy, are you hearing me? They said they were doing Astronomy homework, just like Nev. On a cloudy night! Don't you think that's a little suspicious that five people appeared out of thin air in a seventh-floor hallway this evening?"

"Well it's definitely odd but I don't know if I'd call it suspicious…actually maybe it's a little abnormal….no….bizarre perhaps?"

"Yes, yes, yes, all of the above," she said quickly. "What I'm trying to say is that I think they're up to something."

"Your brother, the twins, and two Ravenclaws?"

"Yes."

"Orgy?"

"Oh Daisy, for fucks sake, don't put that image in my head."

"Well, it's the obvious choice of usage for a secret room in a distant hallway with people who might otherwise consider each other acquaintances."

"They didn't look nearly flustered enough for that to be the case and besides, Padma and Mandy couldn't ever like any of them."

Daisy nodded like she was pondering.

"And you're sure they couldn't just be a study group?"

"Well I mean sure, they could be but what room were they using?"

"Fern, what time is it?"

"What?"

"The time," Daisy repeated.

"8:45, why?"

"So it's nighttime?"

"Yes…"

"Meaning that it was dark…up there."

"There are lanterns and fireplaces and moonlight, Daisy, I know what I saw. Dim light cannot hide an entire door. Or room!"

"No need to shout, I'm only trying to guide you to an air-tight hypothesis. Are you sure your mystery isn't just because of a lack of light or perhaps a result of your lack of sleep?"

She thought back to the hall and all the times she'd been there. It wasn't often, but it was enough to know what was there.

Nothing.

"No, I'm sure there is something else going on."

"Alright…I'll entertain it," Daisy said, propping her head upon her hand. "Do you think it's something sinister?"

"No," she mused, sorting through all the possibilities in her head. "Perhaps more of a nuisance in progress but I still don't like it."

"Fern, it's probably harmless."

"I can't shake the feeling that it's not. I don't want Neville involved with those fucking Weasley twins, no matter what they're doing."

"You're going to smother that poor boy. They're his friends, let him have his fun!"

Fern glared at her level-headed friend and then laid back onto her bed in a huff.

"We'll see."

#fredweasley #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #neville sister #orignial character #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic

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aquilamage · 4 years

Text

“Court will adjourn for a thirty minute recess.”

Even with standing the moment the judge’s gavel sounded, Badd still had to wade through a crowd to get from his spot on the aisle of the first row of the gallery to the stairs outside. Fortunately, once out in the hall, the guards standing at the defendant lobby stepped aside to let him in without a word. The door clicked shut behind him, blocking out the murmur of the countless voices outside.

In contrast, this room was almost silent, save for Sebastian’s crying. He sat in the middle of the couch, curled up on himself, shaking with big gasping sobs.

To one side of him, Kay dropped another tissue in his lap. She looked up as Badd approached, gave him a smile that only reached as far as the corners of her mouth. “Hey.”

He nodded back at her. Then, he sat on the free end of the couch. It was impossible to tell if Sebastian genuinely hadn’t noticed his arrival or simply wasn’t responding, but either way it left Badd at a loss for what to do. He’d had a substantial amount of practice over the past few weeks, but it would have been much easier if he could simply hold him, like he does with Kay. At least that would be easy enough.

“Seb?” Kay waved her hand in front of where he could see. “I’m going to get you something to eat. Then I’ll be back, okay?” When he didn’t respond, she leaned forward slightly. “Okay?”

There was a long moment between, but he raised his head up enough to nod at her.

This time her smile had more substance to it.

He stared at the ground until the door closed again, and then a bit more, breathing still heavy but a little steadier. Slowly, he turned to look at Badd, blinking back tears. He opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say caught in his throat, and he pressed his hand over his mouth.

Shit, the kid was an absolute wreck right now. He’d been holding up remarkably well during the trial today, and maybe he should have been suspicious of that. If this was the cost, Badd wished he would’ve shown how upset he was sooner. Sebastian wrapped his arms around himself, hands grabbing at the fabric of his sleeves. It was strange seeing him out of his school uniform. The plain button-up made him look smaller, or that might have been in his posture.

Well, there was a thought. Badd sighed. “Here.” He slid the jacket off his shoulders and, watching Sebastian carefully for a reaction, draped it over him.

His expression didn’t change at first, but then he relaxed marginally, pulling the edges around himself like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmured.

They lapsed into quiet again, Badd searching for something to say. The kid responded well to the right words, he’d seen that several times over with Edgeworth and Courtney. The key, though, was right, and most of the thoughts swirling around Badd’s head at that moment were of the sort about Debeste that he would not repeat to Sebastian under any circumstances, much less these. ……Yeah, maybe leave his father out of things completely for now. Find something else that could be reassuring and meaningful. Finally, he said, “You...did a good job in there.”

Immediately, Sebastian shook his head. “No I...I didn’t.” He wrapped his arms even tighter around his knees. “I kept messing up the words, and forgetting things, and,” he choked back a sob “and then I started crying. I was just a big idiot.”

It was technically true that Edgeworth had to talk him through parts of his testimony, with a few long pauses, but… “How many trials have you seen?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Have you ever actually watched a trial, before?”

“Um,” he appeared to give it some genuine thought, wrinkling his brow. “I think when I was little with- with Pops, but…”

Badd nodded, then reached over to grab the box of tissues for him. “I’ve seen plenty. You’re far from the first witness to cry on the stand. Especially one who’s been directly affected...by the culprit. And you won’t be the last.”

“But what if I messed everything up?” In the absence of anything else to fidget with, he started to run his fingers along one of the buttons of the coat. “If I did something wrong, and that means he doesn’t get-” He bit his lip, tensing his whole face.

“Hey.” He put as much weight behind the word as he dared, trying to keep his voice soft. “Listen,” One hand went to a spot on the couch next to Sebastian, close as he dared. “You told the truth, right? And everything you remember?”

Eyes red and still liberally teary, he looked over, and finally nodded.

“Between Courtney, Shields, Gumshoe, and Kay, you have someone backing up...most of your testimony. And Edgeworth’s the one who has the responsibility of prosecuting. You trust them?”

Another nod.

“Then just keep doing that, and we’ll…” get him convicted was the first thing to spring to mind, and while it was true, it’s what they all want (and the bastard certainly deserved it), again, not the right thing to say now. “We’ll make sure everything turns out right.”

Sebastian managed a weak smile. Readjusting the jacket, he took a few slow breaths. “Can I-” the words were so quiet as to almost be inaudible.

“Hmm?”

He startled. “Never mind!”

“No, what is it?”

Frowning, he turned his head fully away from Badd before he spoke. “Can I lean against you?”

The hesitancy, and even the twinge of outright fear in his voice didn’t surprise him, but it did feel like a hand was squeezing at his chest. With claws. He shouldn’t have even had to ask. Badd nodded before remembering himself. “Yeah. Of course.”

Sebastian made a tiny high sound, a messy breath that certainly heralded more crying, but shifted over until his head was rested against Badd’s shoulder, tucking the rest of himself in to follow.

Neither sad anything after that. This time was a more comfortable quiet, though, without the expectation of do something weighing down on him. Despite his earlier worry, Sebastian was hardly crying at all, the rhythm of his breath even against his side. This was the kind of situation he was used to. Kid didn’t even run anywhere near as warm as Kay, which helped that he wasn’t immediately overheating.

Speaking of: Kay walked back in, arms full. She paused for an almost imperceptible moment upon seeing the two of them, but kept going. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got a little of everything.”

Badd raised an eyebrow at her. At a glance, he would guess that she’d ventured down to the cafeteria instead of relying solely on the vending machines, but even that wasn’t a cheap option.

She smiled and shrugged, and dumped all of it on the table. “Hey, help me move this over,” she said, already tugging on one end.

As he did, he gave her another look.

From her bag she produced a wallet, which she flipped open to show an id with Edgeworth’s picture on it. Grinning, she put it back. Once the table was in place, Kay immediately turned her attention to Sebastian, scooting everything into his reach. “Help yourself.”

Blowing his nose one more time, Sebastian nodded. He accepted a water bottle, opening it to take a long drink before starting to go through the food.

They ate in relative silence. The food wasn’t bad – mostly packaged, but the sandwiches were fresh, even if they did taste and feel of having been in the fridge overnight. Sebastian had initially sat back on the middle cushion, pulling himself in to touch the others as little as possible. Until Badd murmured “I don’t mind...if you want to sit like before.” Then he carefully leaned against Badd again, angled better for eating. It was nice. Peaceful enough that you could almost forget where they were. He could only hope it was the same for the other two.

As he balled up his food wrappers, Badd checked the time. “Six minutes.” Beside him, Sebastian started to tense.

With a loud crackle of plastic, Kay tore open a packet of Swiss rolls. Carefully, she extracted one and held the second one out, wrapping-first, toward Sebastian. “I know today’s been hard, but we’re here for you, okay?”

Sebastian managed a smile, although his eyes had started to water. “Okay.” Then, smaller, as he took it, “thank you.”

Huh. Unless they’d had a conversation Badd didn’t know about, he wouldn’t have understood the full meaning behind Kay’s gesture. Not that it mattered. Her sentiment had still been made perfectly clear.

And as she broke the remaining Swiss roll in half and handed one piece to Badd, he realized it wasn’t meant only for Sebastian. He reached over the back of the couch and ruffled her hair, and she smiled.

By the time they finished eating, it was just about time for the trial to start. Kay swept the rest of the food into her bag, except for a full water bottle that she handed to Sebastian. “Mr. Edgeworth is pretty sure you won’t need to testify any more, so if you’d rather not sit down here again, you can go up in the gallery with Badd.”

(He remembered before the trial yesterday, when they’d mentioned that Sebastian could stay out of the courtroom when he wasn’t specifically needed. He’d never seen anyone yell that emphatically while crying before.)

“No.” He stood to his full height, a single tear rolling down his face. “I want to be there. It- It feels right.”

She nodded, and held her arm out for him.

Just as they got to the door, though, Sebastian skidded to a halt. “Oh! This is yours.” He reached to pull off the jacket that was still on his shoulders.

“Keep it on. If it makes you comfortable.” For a couple hours, he wouldn’t miss it, and he already suspected that something about the extra weight was comforting to the kid. Among other things.

He stared, wide-eyed. And then slowly, he pulled the jacket back securely into place, smiling.

“You’ll be fine, Sebastian. See you...in a bit.” With that, Badd left the two of them to head back into the trial.

#Sebastian Debeste #Tyrell Badd #Detective Badd #Kay Faraday #aai2 but with badd in #this au concept owns my life now. and that's fine. I had some pretty galaxy brain ideas in here anyway if I do say so myself #partners in crime (platonic)#Ace Attorney #aai2 spoilers #fanfiction #my writing #rambles #bastard man #(mentioned)#I don't /think/ there's anything I need to tag for but if so let me know #untitled aai2 au

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s-n-a-k-e-p-i-t · 4 years

Text

simple questions / draco x hermione

A/N: coming @ you with some more dramione things that just live in my head rent free until they get moved to tumblr rent free

Warnings: mention of alcohol

Premise: After getting his task from Voldemort, Draco is coming to terms with the fact that once he kills Dumbledore, his life will no longer be his own. Overwhelmed with feelings he decides to do one last thing for himself.

Word count: 2k ish

- - - - - -

It was ridiculous, really, for him to be be so concerned with trivial things, the Christmas ball no doubt. But, he supposed it was a part of his acceptance. Acceptance that after this year his life would never be the same. That from that point forward he would either live forever in fear or be forever feared by others, and if he was being perfectly honest with himself, neither of those lifestyles appealed to him much at all.

He had never really wanted people to fear him, it was just easier that way. Love was complicated, but fear, oh fear was very simple and it had served him for the time being. But the fear he was used to had always been instigated by a couple of harsh words he didn’t really mean or maybe a scowl, and the new fear he would come to be controlled by would follow murder...

He’d have to take life from another human being... when he’d never even squished a bug.

And so he sat, alone in the Slytherin common room while everyone else was at dinner, thinking about all the things he could do while his life was still his, before he’d have to murder dear ol’ Dumbledore, and his path would change forever.

He scoffed. Tad dramatic.

He knew he’d still have his friends after carrying out his task. After all, most of their parents were Death Eaters. One life taken by him was nothing compared to what their parents had all done. They'd be hesitant at first, but eventually would come around, especially once they took their Marks.

A face flashed behind his eyelids and he pinched the bridge of his nose. A sinking feeling filled his stomach and he took a deep breath. That face would surely never come around, not that she thought much of him to begin with. No, he’d definitely never come back from this one with her. These last few months were all he had left with her, better make the most of it.

She had always intrigued him and he had found it hard to ignore her. She was smart, sharp, and she challenged him in ways no one else really had the guts for. They were similar in many ways and he had come to find that he actually really enjoyed being around her. And though she had what his father had always referred to as, “dirty blood” he had found himself caring less and less about it over the past six years of knowing her. He’d even stopped using that awful word their second year after seeing how upset it had made her. He had always wondered that if things were different, if they would’ve stood a chance. And now, with this given assignment, he was sure they never would.

His stare bored into the fire as the gears in his mind continued to turn. The reflection of the flames danced on his face and he pressed his knuckles against his lips. He took a deep breath in and a deep breath out and made a decision. “Now or never,” he breathed. And with that he stood up rather quickly, and slipped into the corridor to make his way to the Great Hall.

- - - - - - -

Hermione had just said goodnight to Harry and Ron, who were turning in early in preparation for tomorrow’s quidditch match. Tired, but not quite ready for bed, she had decided to hang back at dinner. Ginny and Neville were carrying on a friendly, but heated debate, but even they eventually wore each other out and retired for the evening. Hermione stood to leave with them, but as they exited the Great Hall, she stopped and turned to the courtyard. It was a clear night and she enjoyed catching constellations when she got a chance.

Draco rounded the corner, managing to keep his pace calm and his appearance normal despite the fact his nerves were eating him alive. As he made his way towards the Great Hall, assuming she’d still be at the table talking with her glued-at-the-hip companions, a slight movement caught his eye. There she was, looking up at the night sky and completely oblivious to him approaching. He swallowed hard, his nerves threatening to suffocate him.

“Granger,” he whispered. No response. She was completely mesmerized. He inched closer, as quiet as possible as to not scare her.

“Granger!”

She yelped, clearly startled and he instantly felt a twinge of guilt for freaking her out that badly. When she regained her composure, she raised a skeptical eyebrow to him.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” She asked, her voice almost tired of having to ask that question.

He licked his lips. His adrenaline had gotten him to her, but he still hadn’t quite planned out what exactly he was going to say. He opened and closed his mouth. He suddenly felt extremely foolish for thinking she would actually say yes to him.

“Right,” she sighed, “Well, when you think of whatever insult you want to throw my way, you know where to find me.”

She took a step, in an attempt to walk around him, but he moved to his right, blocking her path. He looked down into her eyes, feeling her breath hit his face. They were closer than they’d ever been and she was not having it.

“Malfoy, seriously,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Granger, please, just-” he stammered.

She took a step back and he immediately felt the absence of her presence. She crossed her arms across her chest, waiting for him to get to the point.

“I know I haven’t been the nicest guy in the world-”

Hermione laughed. Out loud. In fact, it echoed off the stone surrounding them. The sound completely engulfed him. He closed his eyes and waited for her to be done. He deserved it and he knew it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but are you trying to apologize to me? Has Hell frozen over? Are you ill?”

His hands balled to fists. “If you’d let me finish, you’d know what I was trying to say,” he clipped back.

The amusement in her eyes returned, “Right of course, carry on.” She was mocking him.

“Granger. I know this sounds ridiculous, believe me, I'm surprised too..” he took a step towards her. “..but, the truth is, you have always interested me.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. That was not what she had been expecting to hear.

“You challenge me in skill, you actually stand up to me when I’m, well, myself and well you’re, um,” he struggled to find the words, ”actually not too hard on the eyes either.”

Neither was he. She banished the thought almost immediately.

“Gee, thanks, Malfoy. Can I go to bed now?”

He rolled his eyes. “Granger, please just listen to me.”

“Let me think about it,” she said, tapping her chin three times before replying with a short, “No.” And then she went to step around him again and he went to block her again, grabbing her wrist. Her eyes met his, they held the gaze, neither one of them daring to back down. When he blinked, she use the excuse to sweep her eyes over his face, noticing how his jawbone stood out more than usual and his eyes seemed to ache for the comfort of sleep. He slowly let go of his hold on her. Maybe he was falling ill.

“Granger. Look everything is going to hell, I’m just hoping for a glimpse of heaven, before you-you,” his voice faltered, “Before you hate me forever.”

She laughed under her breathe and muttered, “Little late for that.” And then louder, “Now if you’ll excuse me, as much as I’d like to pretend you haven’t chugged a flask of fire whiskey and there’s actually a point to this conversation, I’m going to bed.”

She saw the hurt flash in his eyes and decided to use that to her advantage. This time when she stepped around him, he didn’t block her. He was grasping at straws. Admitting feelings? Not something his father had prepared him for. Asking a long time enemy to a ball? Not covered in Bellatrix’s teachings.

“Look, Gra- Hermione please just hear me out,” he tried one more time.

She heard her first name and turned swiftly around. Curiosity danced in her eyes as she took in the sight of him. Vulnerable, pleading, honest...? She almost didn’t recognize the boy in front of her, almost. Luckily, over the past few years, she had seen this version of him a handful of times. Times when his mask slipped and she saw who the real Draco Malfoy was. Not the hard outer shell reinforced by Lucius time and time again, but someone who overcame a great deal of expectations and was tired of playing the part. She would never admit it out loud, but had he been like that all the time, she believed they could’ve been, at the very least, friendly. Her curiosity had the best of her. “What?”

He closed his eyes, another deep breath. She watched him carefully, her walls coming down, but still guarded. His eyes betrayed his normally calm demeanor. She stood, anxious in anticipation.

“Will you go to the Christmas ball with me?” He hadn’t meant to say the words so fast, but his nerves had gotten the best of him. He felt his cheeks immediately heat up, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

The words hung in the air between them. She certainly hadn’t expected him to say that. Hermione didn’t even realize her mouth had fallen open, shock written all over her face. She shook her head, as if to gather her thoughts and then took a step towards him.

The silence was painful for Draco. His eyes remained glued to her every move as she scanned the courtyard.

“Please?” He added with a shrug, his voice small, sounding very not like himself at all.

Her face changed suddenly, and she spoke. “Look Malfoy, I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, but I refuse to be the punchline.”

His face twisted into confusion, hurt littering his features, “No, that’s not what-”

“Ha ha! So funny! Go ahead run back to report to your little friends and collect your winnings.” She fought hard to keep her voice steady, but her emotions were threatening to break out. She was embarrassed not just from what he had asked her, but for what admiring him just moments before. She threw her walls back up.

“Granger, please, I just, let me prove it to you, just listen-”

“No, you listen. If this is seriously your idea of entertainment, count me out. I’ve heard enough from you and I will not continue to put up with this garbage. I refuse to play along with this stupid little act. Now if you don’t mind, I really will be going now.”

She stalked away and he let her go, watching her disappear into the darkness of the castle.

When he was finally alone, he let out a big sigh. Perhaps he deserved this, no scratch that, he knew he did. He felt incredibly stupid thinking she would ever even entertain the idea of agreeing to go with him. He hadn’t even stopped to think about how she would take it. And now she had seen him like this. He’d really dug quite the hole for himself.

The bells rang out on the hour and he headed back in. As he made his way towards the edge of the courtyard, he noticed a rose bush. The flowers seemed to have a soft glow under the moon and starlight. He cut a few off of the bush with his wand and stuffed them in his robes before retiring into the castle for the night.

- - - - - - -

She laid in bed that night, tossing and turning. Sleep would not come easily. Had that really happened? Had Draco Malfoy asked her to an event? As his date? She thought of his face, giving way to his real personality. Who he was without his gang of friends, without his father, without his tyrannical leader. She had always thought he had a nice face. And though she could go without the douche personality, she did enjoy his mind as well, how he too seemed to know all the answers and how, without fail, he always managed to be the one to finish her sentences in classes. She remembered glances they’d shared, off character things he had said, and a smile she’d managed to catch a few times over the past few years.

She thought about it all night.

- - - -

The light peaked through her window, slowly stirring her from her deep, dreamless sleep. No one else in the room had woken up yet and so she decided to head out early and get a jump start on some reading. She threw on her uniform and quietly made her way down into the common room.

As she sat on the couch, a new object at one of the tables caught her attention. Timidly, she tiptoed over to the table to find a single rose laying on the warm wooden surface. A small piece of parchment was attached. She picked it up, inspecting it closely, blinking several times to ensure she was in fact, not dreaming.

Just let me prove it to you.

-DM

She put the rose into her bag, careful not to scrunch it up and sighed before exiting the common room in pursuit of the library.

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wkemeup · 5 years

Text

In the Embers

summary: Bucky finds his burdens weigh a little less when he’s with you pairing: bucky x reader word count: 4.6k warnings: self-loathing!bucky, PTSD symptoms, talkin bout ✨S P A C E✨ a/n: this was done for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan writing challenge! I had the prompt “I’m having a bonfire. You should join me” and because im incapable of writing fluff without first prefacing it with angst, I apologize. (Also included anon’s request of playing with Bucky’s hair)

The universe simply wouldn’t let Bucky Barnes set right all the wrongs he’d committed in his life. He was certain that in every attempt he made to step closer to the light, the cold embrace of a cruel, empty darkness would shove him several paces back and down into the abyss of a never-ending pit, leaving him with no way to climb back up to the surface.

The universe would find a way to keep him alienated from those who worked so tirelessly to help him, to make sure he stayed as lost and broken as Hydra made him to be, to ensure that he never made amends for his crimes the way he so desperately needed.

He was never meant for anything more, he supposed. He was tempting fate at it was, just simply continuing to live after all he’d done.

Perhaps he should have known his first mission with the Avengers would be a colossal failure. It was supposed to be simple, something to ease him back into the field; something his stupid, mushed up brain should have been able to comprehend, but he couldn’t even do that, could he?

No. Instead, when Bucky was meant to stand guard while Natasha finished downloading the software she was assigned to extract from the Hydra warehouse, he’d been distracted. He lost his focus for only a moment; his eyes having darted over to a room on his right. No, a cell. A prison.

It looked too much like the one he’d seen in his nightmares; the one he only got bits and pieces of in his memories. He recognized the cement flooring and the metal door with bars over the impenetrable glass. He knew the faint discoloration of red along the floor in the hallway leading into the room, like a bloodied body had been dragged and thrown inside without remorse. The smell of something decaying burned in his noise and his breath felt shallow in his lungs.

He knew this wasn’t where he was held. Steve had been able to track down enough answers for him to know Hydra had never kept him in South America, but it was just so familiar. He froze up, hands sweating and heart pounding so loud he was certain someone might hear it through the coms. His breaths were too pained, too fast, and he didn’t notice the Hydra agent come up on his left and lunge at Natasha.

A knife scraped along her arm as she attempted to dodge the attack and her yelp was the only thing that shocked Bucky back to his body. He rushed in to help, but it was already too late. The Hydra agent had managed to destroy the computer before the download was finished and alerted the entire building the Avengers were present.

Red flashing lights and sirens echoed in the halls as Natasha sprinted past him. She shot him a look; something of frustration and understanding mixed in one, and Bucky clenched his jaw so tightly he was sure it would never unlock again. He chased after her, escaping the influx of dozens of Hydra agents because he knew staying to fight wasn’t an option.

The jet was quiet on the way home. Fury had called in for an update and Bucky all but slumped into his seat in an effort to disappear as Steve reported the mission had failed. Stark, who was still getting used to the idea of having Bucky around in the first place, was grumbling under his breath, staring daggers at the reformed Winter Soldier and Bucky couldn’t help but think Steve should have just come out with it and told the director that he was the one that fucked up.

Steve was too understanding, too forgiving of his old friend, and everyone on the jet knew it. It was the disappointment in Steve’s eyes that hurt more than anything else. He thought Bucky was ready for something like this, thought Bucky was stronger than he was, but he wasn’t.

He was weak, and pathetic, and set to lose it at any given second. He was a raging mess of trauma and panic attacks and nothing he did seemed to make any of it better. Steve should have known not to trust him. He could barely trust himself.

Hours after the jet landed, Bucky sat alone in the dark of the living room, clutching at his hair enough to burn in his scalp, hunched over on his knees. He didn’t know why he even bothered to leave his room after the team returned, but the walls were just so white, his lack of belongings so evident, it left a kind of emptiness hanging in the air mirrored to that in his chest.

The whole team was elsewhere, no one around to witness his unbridled self-loathing and poor attempts to pull himself together. Steve and Stark were still holed up in meetings and attempting to explain why the team would need additional resources to run the mission again to extremely disgruntled higher ups in the Pentagon. Natasha and Sam were sparring down in the gym, getting out their frustration and testing the limits of their aching muscles. Clint was off at the farm with his family, where the guy belonged. Thor was still out in space doing who knows what.

And Bucky?

Bucky was alone.

Until, he heard the soft patter of footsteps sneaking down the hall, a light humming through the air that sent a shiver down his spine, just enough to lift his hands from his head and peak over the edge of the couch.

You whizzed around the kitchen, headphones in and swaying your hips along to a song Bucky could only vaguely hear; something with a light, melodic beat and lyrics you clearly didn’t know the words to. Smile on your face and wrapped up in dark black leggings, a sweatshirt that looked to be about twice your size, fuzzy slippers and a worn scarf, you gathered items from the pantry and set them on the countertop.

Bucky watched, not noticing that his anxiety had started to go down as you filtered through old cereal boxes and dug out a box of graham crackers from the back of the shelf and tossed a bag of marshmallows onto the counter. You dug into the plastic bag and popped one of the white clouds into your mouth with a content sigh, almost a moan, and Bucky found his lips curve just a little. Certainly not enough for anyone to notice, but enough that muscles were used that hadn’t been in a while.

Next, you snuck a block of a chocolate bar from the top shelf Bucky was almost positive belonged to Sam. As you turned back to the counter, gathering everything up in your hands, you froze, eyes falling on Bucky and a breath hitched in his lungs.

You slowly removed your headphones, raising an eyebrow as a smile easily pushed on your cheeks.

“Whatcha doin’ sitting in the dark like that?” you asked, voice sweet as ever and Bucky swore his face must have been beet red from the rush of heat in his cheeks.

He swallowed nervously, hands raking through his hair to tame the mess he’d created as he nearly ripped it out just moments earlier. He stood, slowly, and realizing his legs were a little numb from how long he’d been sitting there.

“Nothing,” he replied, straightening out the wrinkles on his pants. He looked down and realized he was still wearing his stealth suit. You must have noticed too because you started to laugh a little. It made Bucky’s stomach twist in knots.

He turned to leave, needed to get out before he made an even bigger fool of himself. You were the last person he wanted to know that he was as broken and damaged as the rest of them thought.

“Well, if you’re not doing anything,” you called after him, unbothered as Bucky tried to escape the room, a mischievous smile on your face as you gathered up your snacks. “I’m having a bonfire. You should join me.”

Bucky froze in his tracks, a careful look over his shoulder. “What?”

You nodded, walking closer to him. “I mean, you should change first. Can’t imagine Kevlar and thigh holsters will be very comfortable out there. Dress warm, alright?”

You turned to walk away, just assuming he’d come because you always did think the best of him, despite having absolutely no reason to. Bucky watched as you practically skipped down the rest of the hall, waiting impatiently by the elevator, and you sent him a beaming smile before you stepped inside. If Bucky didn’t know better, he might have thought he was dreaming.

He’d only been living at the compound for a few months now since his pardon and he’d largely kept to himself. He'd take long runs outside alone and eat most of his meals in his room. Never one to initiate interaction, though he agreed to spar with Steve and Sam on occasions. Throwing fists was easier than talking. Talking was how his demons seemed to fall out. He’d say the wrong thing or remind Steve that he wasn’t who he used to be and he’d just get those sad, disappointed eyes again.

Steve never meant to make him feel so unwanted. He knew that, but Steve longed for Bucky as he was before the war, forgetting that pieces of him were still right here; damaged and broken, but still here.

Things were different with you. You never once asked him to be anything he wasn’t. You never stepped around eggshells or treated him like he was something to be feared. You never left the room as soon as he’d walk in and often purposefully went out of your way to ask him what he was doing that day or to include him in whatever pop culture argument you were having with Sam, even though Bucky couldn’t begin to follow what you were talking about. You’d invite him to every movie night, no matter how often he declined. You encouraged him to come to the publicity events and promised to make fun of Sam the whole time if he came.

Try as you did, you never could get Bucky to open up.

Except for tonight, it seemed.

He appreciated your gesture more than he admitted; out loud and to himself. He did start to notice the way his stomach hurt when you’d be a day overdue on your check-in’s while on missions overseas and how he often glanced over to your spot on the couch when you weren’t around. He noticed that his heart skipped a little when you’d touch his shoulder as you walked by and how your smile seemed to always make him blush.

He put too many rules on himself; so easily giving into the voice that reminded him that he deserved to be alone and isolated and without someone as kind and forgiving as you. He wondered, if maybe he told that voice to shove it, if he could find an ounce of something other than self-deprecation tonight. Any time spent with you would be better than his original plan of allowing his guilt to swallow him whole.

Bucky was already changing out of his suit before he realized it; throwing on an old SHEILD crewneck from Steve and a pair of sweatpants he stole from the training center. The cold didn’t bother him much, but you’d been so sweet all wrapped up in your sweats, it made Bucky want to try for something normal.

You made Bucky want to be normal.

It was how he found himself standing at the edge of the compound, looking out into the dark field to the soft flicker of a fire. You sat curled up on a blanket, smiling and proud of your work. You didn’t notice him just yet and Bucky decided he liked the way you smiled to yourself when you thought no one was watching.

He started to make his way over to you and you nearly jumped as he approached, hand clutching at your chest to still your heart and you started to laugh.

“Bucky! You scared me!” you grinned, making room for him on the blanket and patting the surface next to you for him to sit down. He did so, amazed that the feel of your thigh against his didn’t scare him away. If anything, it made him want more.

“You’re surprised I came?” he asked softly, a semblance of a smile on his lips.

“Of course, I’m surprised, Bucky! You never come to anything I ask you to,” you replied and Bucky frowned, a twinge of guilt in his chest, but your smile was too bright for it to stay long as you continued, “but I’m really glad you did. Now I can give you partial blame for stealing Sam’s chocolate.”

A laugh escaped him before he could suppress it. It felt odd in his chest, but warm, welcoming maybe. “I see your true motives at work here.”

You shrugged, sending him that teasing grin that made his stomach twist, and you plopped a marshmallow on a metal stick and handed it over to him before doing another for yourself.

“You know how to make s’mores, right?” you asked, almost nervously, as Bucky eyes the marshmallow.

“Of course, doll, I wasn’t born in the stone age,” Bucky teased, surprised by his own voice.

“Just before sliced bread,” you shot back, grinning wildly and nudging at his shoulder. You didn’t seem to be affected at all that it was metal you touched, hard and cold beneath the surface of his sweatshirt. Bucky couldn’t help but smile.

***

Ten minutes later and Bucky had already consumed two whole s’mores before you got the perfect toast on a single marshmallow. You berated him for not caring about the ‘art’ of the s’more and that he under toasted or set them ablaze just to eat it sooner. He agreed and you shoved him playfully in the side.

“So where is everyone?” he asked, wiping the marshmallow from his lips, as you lit your third marshmallow on fire with an aggravated huff.

You stuck a new marshmallow on the end of your skewer and held it with careful precision over the flame. It was adorable, the way you squinted at the flames, determination over your features. After a moment, as you felt content with the ratio of flame to heat, you shrugged, answering his question, “right here”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Were you just going to do this by yourself if you didn’t see me in the living room?”

“Sometimes it’s nice to just get away for a while, have some place to think and just be,” you replied softly. “Besides, I like looking at the stars. It makes me feel small.”

If Bucky thought he had a decent read on you before, he was certainly at a loss now. “You like feeling small in the universe?”

“It reminds me that there are things out there that are bigger than myself,” you said, turning the marshmallow over the flame, a pleased smile on your face as the underside was toasted to the color you were looking for. “It reminds me that the little things I used spend days agonizing over only have power if I give it to them.”

The confusion must have read on Bucky’s face because you smiled at him, readjusting in your seat.

“We’re like these little blips,” you explained, pulling your marshmallow away from the flames, “and we only have this impossibly small amount of time here with so much before us and an eternity after we’re gone, and... I don’t know... I guess that makes me remember how important every moment is. I don’t want to spend my time here suffering, you know? I want to enjoy it. I want to do good with it and make it matter.”

Bucky nodded, looking up at the stars as you started to make your first s’more. The patterns of constellations were so clear outside of the city, imperfect patterns and arrays of tiny shiny specs in the sky, stretching out into the vast universe. Each one was a sun to its own solar system, each one surrounded by planets with potential life, and there were billions more than he could take in with his own eyes from this very small corner of a single world.

He knew what you meant about feeling small, though, he wasn’t quite sure how to get to the part about being thankful for his time here. If anything, if felt like his mark has been nothing but pain and violence and destruction. He should be sentenced to spend his time here agonizing over it, shouldn’t he?

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, noticing the contemplation on his face as you finally took a bite of your s’more and marshmallow oozed out the side. You groaned, eyes rolling back before you could catch yourself, and you giggled with full cheeks.

Bucky smiled at that. He might have forgotten entirely if he could just watch you do that again. “Nothing.”

“A face like that isn’t thinking about just nothing,” you retorted teasingly, shoving the rest of the sandwich into your mouth with a satisfied grin.

You had a bit of chocolate on the corner of your lips and Bucky’s hand reached out to brush it away without thinking. Your cheeks were warm from the fire, lips sticky from the marshmallows and the chocolate brushed off easily onto his thumb. He let his hand fall away and wiped it on the grass. He didn’t notice the way you watched him with a kind of awe that would have set his heart on fire.

“Come here,” you urged, pushing your legs out to lie flat on the blanket and gesturing to your lap. Bucky raised an eyebrow, confused, and you tugged on his shoulders, motioning for him to lay down.

Bucky didn’t quite know what to do, but he knew he’d do just about anything you asked, so he laid down along the blanket with his back pressed against the earth, his head resting on the soft cushion of your thigh.

“Look at the stars. They’re never ending. They go on for infinity and carry worlds of possibility. They’re limitless. Let them take some of your pain, Bucky,” you told him gently, leaning back to rest one hand against the grass as another gently wove into his scalp.

He flinched at first, surprised by the sudden action, but found himself soon melting against the movements as it sent waves of shivers through his head and down his spine.

He did as you instructed, trying to find purpose in the stars, focusing on the gentle lull of your fingers tracing patterns in his hair. He only saw what he could; something beautiful, something vast and endless, but nothing that could take any the guilt he carried.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever find a way to let go of that. It was engrained in him. It was a part of him. The things he did were unforgivable, irredeemable, and it was all consuming. It weighed on him unlike anything else and pushed him so far beneath the surface, his lungs were filled with dirt.

After a while, Bucky’s eyes started to drift, losing focus on the stars you so endearingly found hope in, letting himself fall into the soft embrace of your nails as they wove patterns on his scalp, drawing a calm about him he hadn’t known in years.

“I heard about the mission,” you said quietly, suddenly, like you’d been thinking about it for a while, and Bucky stiffened instantly under your touch, his heart skipping several beats, but your fingers continued to rake gently against his scalp, drawing him back to a sense of calm. “It’s not your fault, you know. They never should have sent you to a Hydra facility on your first mission in the field.”

There was a hint of anger in your voice, like you’d had this conversation before, like maybe you’d argued with someone about it, tried to stop it from happening and no one had listened. Bucky’s stomach started to hurt, thinking that maybe even you, who thought so highly of him, didn’t think he was good enough to be an Avenger.

“There were too many reminders there, you know?” you said, continuing as you looked up at the stars. “I kept thinking they should have sent you to Bratislava with me; ease you into the field by breaking up trafficking rings first and maybe stop a few drug shipments, not by sending you right back to the people who hurt you for so long. I don’t know what they were thinking.”

That surprised him. You wanted to work with him? He knew you didn’t usually take part in Hydra missions after your father had been exposed as one of the double agents in the attack on D.C. There were enough agents with vendettas against Hydra to take on the cause and you were plenty happy to take down bad guys without worldwide organizational skills.

“We’d make a good team, don’t you think?”

Bucky realized then that he wasn’t watching the stars anymore, he was watching you. The flicker of the fire illuminated your skin in soft waves of reds and yellows, warm flush in your cheeks. You glanced down at him, fingers still gently carding through his hair, and he wondered if he’d ever seen a more beautiful smile in his life.

“Yeah, think so,” he replied. He never wanted to raid a Hydra base again if he could spend more time with you like this.

You smiled at him, proud, before you looked back up at the stars. “You’re more than just a culmination of your actions, Bucky. I know you feel like the things you did under Hydra’s control have turned the universe against you and that you’ll never be able to make up for all of it, but you don’t have to save people from burning buildings and throw yourself straight into your trauma to prove you’re good, Buck.”

Bucky sat up slowly, letting your hand fall away from his hair and trace down the side his left arm until it rested delicately on his hand; the metal warm to the touch as it absorbed the heat of the flame. You turned to him, smiling sweetly, though your eyes were sad.

“The small moments count, too,” you said.

“I thought you said the universe took away the small things, that they didn’t matter?” he replied, confused, but you shook your head.

“Only the bad things, Buck; the things that cause you pain.”

“That’s convenient,” he teased, enjoying the way your nose scrunched up in feigned frustration.

“You forget that small moments of good can change someone’s entire day. They can make a world of difference,” you countered, your free hand reaching up to cup the side of his face. He shivered under your touch though he didn’t dare pull away. “The first day I saw you smile is a pretty good example of that, actually.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at that, surprised.

“I had just gotten into a fight with Fury over the mission he was trying to send me on, one I didn’t believe was the right call, and I was about to go hit a punching bag for hours until my knuckles bled,” you explained, thumb brushing gently along his cheekbone, “but then I saw you sitting in the kitchen with Steve. I don’t even know what you were talking about but Sam had dropped the entirety of his lunch plate on the floor and you just... you smiled. It was wide enough to see the dimples in your cheeks and the wrinkles by your eyes, and I forgot why I was so angry to begin with.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He shook his head. “I never knew you were there...”

“I could list dozens of other moments like that Bucky,” you said softly, “and they all add up. Like the days you’d leave out an extra cup of coffee for me on Wednesdays because you figured out I only drink it before my mandatory board meetings and how you always pick up the empty dishes of those sitting around you when you go to clean your own or when you offer to help new recruits struggling with their hand-to-hand in the training gym. Please don’t disregard those moments. They matter. If anything, they matter more because they’re small. These tiny little moments that make the smallest differences and create a chain effect of something... good.”

How long have you been picking up on things like that?

Did you also know that it was him that always made sure your stockpile of microwave popcorn was full or that he took Natasha’s shift training rookies once a week so the two of you could spend more time together, because he hated seeing you so disappointed each time your schedules clashed. Did you know that his heart eased a little when you walked in the room and the soft hum of your voice made his stomach twist in knots?

“Do you think I’m crazy?” you asked quietly, studying him for a reaction as he got lost in his own thoughts.

“No! No, of course not,” Bucky said, shaking his head, and reaching up for your wrist as you stared to pull your hand away from his face nervously. “I never considered that before, is all. I think I’ll have a lot of small moments to go before I can make up for all I’ve done.”

He said it in a teasing way, but you frowned.

“Not to me,” you said quietly, almost in a whisper. “You’re overflowing with good, Bucky, and I swear, I’m reminded of that every time I get to see you smile.”

Bucky paused, his heart aching and swelling with every word you say. He pulled your hand into his lap, holding it gently. “So, not very often then?”

You grinned, letting out a laugh, and it brought a smile to his face. “No, not very often, but it’s nice to see it now.”

“Might have to start smiling more, I guess,” he replied, a hitch in his breath as you leaned into his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. You started to shove him down to the grass and he let out a heart-filled laugh, letting you lay down beside him along the blanket, head resting on his shoulder, arm draped over his chest.

“Can we just stay here a little longer?” you asked, glancing up at him and he swore he’d never say no to you again. He’d let you take him anywhere you wanted; to movie nights, to extravagant galas, to the ends of the Earth.

“As long as you want, doll,” he sighed, reveling in the warmth of the fire and the press of your body against his.

He’d stare at the stars for an eternity with you.

*insert that meme of Jenny Slate screaming about space*

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #marvel #bucky barnes x female reader #ldatfwc

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