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whiskey-bumblebee · 8 months

Note

Hii<33 I'm the one who asked for requests lmao

So... I just had this thought and I can't shake it off </3

dbf!Hotch is having a bad time. Haley had been complaining about his schedule at work for a while, their love life wasn't going well, and Hotch starts to realize that he could feel something for his best friend's daughter. 👀

So when Haley tells him that she wants a divorce, (and to consider themselves divorced immediately, they just have to sign the paperwork) he doesn't have a place to live, and when his sweet, lovely, and caring best friend hears him, he suggests that he might move in with them for a while 👀 (Reader is happy that he's coming to live with them, even if she doesn't yet know why)

I really don't want to make this long (and I'm sorry ughh) but what about Hotch having a nightmare about losing Reader, but she somehow notices that he's not feeling well, and they sleep together?

You know, some flirt around the house and some fluffy and the end 🥹

Feel free to ignore this, I know it's a bit meh LMAO

would it be a sin?

Pairing: dbf!Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Accessibility/Diversity notes: Gender neutral reader (let me know if you want me to change the pronouns, nonnie!), reader's dad is a minor character.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: dbf!hotch (reader is an adult), brief mentions of Jack and Haley, allusions to masturbation.

A/N: Thanks for your request! If you like this, feel free to send another 💃Postscript designed by @saradika (thank you!!) Also I listened to 'Can't Help Falling in Love' while writing this (specifically Haley Reinhart's version), if anyone wants to listen to that while they read :)

Tagging: @ssamorganhotchner @hotchsdoormat

It's bad timing. All of it is bad timing.

Fine, it could have been worse. The case was much like all the others, not one of the ones that wrenched Hotch's heart out of his chest and tore it into little pieces. Although maybe it would have been better if it had been one of those, seeing as the outcome of the day was the same.

"Get out. Me and Jack can't take this anymore."

"Haley, please, let's just talk about this. I'm not going to try and change your mind, but we need to talk about the details-"

"No, Aaron, get out. Just get out. And don't come back."

That gets Aaron's attention. Haley had kicked him out before, but never with the stipulation not to return. His wide brown eyes settle on her, assessing her.

"Haley... This is my house."

"God, you love throwing that back at me, don't you? If it's your house, why are you hardly ever in it? It's your house, but it's Jack's home. He didn't even recognize you when you came home."

"He was watching TV and called me by one of the characters' names. It's developmentally appropriate-"

"I'm filing for divorce, Aaron."

"Daddy?"

Jack walks into the room, clutching his teddy to his chest. He's in his blue astronaut pajamas.

"Can you read me a story before you go again?"

"I'm not going anywhere, buddy."

Jack's face lights up. "You mean... even two stories?"

Aaron grins. "Yeah. Even two."

Haley glares at him. "Actually, Jackers, daddy is leaving. He's gotta go."

Jack looks between his parents, clearly confused by their conflicting words.

"But he said-" Jack starts.

"Go to bed, Jack." Haley rubs her forehead.

"Haley, it's not even seven yet, let me-" Aaron takes a step towards Haley. She takes a step back and looks over at Jack.

"Bed, Jack. Now."

"But daddy's home."

Aaron's heart twists in his chest. He's always felt like the luckiest man alive to be the person that this sweet kid calls that, and the disappointment on Jack's features is sharper than any knife.

Haley shoots Aaron a look that says 'this is all your fault', and Aaron's stomach drops. Maybe he should have slept on the couch in his office. How could he expect Jack to handle this? The constant coming and going, the late nights, the missed soccer games...

"Okay. Alright buddy, I'll see you soon."

Jack's face crumples. "No story?"

Haley scoops Jack into her arms and starts walking towards his bedroom. She glances back over her shoulder and mouths 'out'.

And that's how Aaron finds himself back in his car much earlier than he'd expected to be. He scrolls through his contacts three times before he finds someone he feels okay about calling at dinnertime on a weeknight.

"Hey, Aaron. What's up?"

"God, I don't know where to start. Uh, so it looks like I might need a place to stay tonight. I'd book a hotel but with the concert tonight-"

"Fuck, man. Haley again? It's no trouble. I'm actually out of town for a few days, there's a conference in Dallas, you can stay in my bedroom."

"I'll sleep on the couch-"

"No, my kid's visiting this week, I think they'd prefer if you stay in another room."

"Oh, of course."

You, Aaron thinks. Lovely, intelligent, kind. Of course you're visiting your dad. Of course your dad forgot to block out the time to see you.

"Alright, you know where the spare key is. Let yourself in. Stay as long as you need, I'll be back Friday morning though. Hopefully Haley's cooled off by then."

Three days alone with you. Aaron feels guilty for intruding into your space like this, but he's just about out of options. There's a feeling low in his belly, hard to ignore and harder still to admit, but he pushes it down as far as he can.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and watches the streets pass. Soon enough, there's your house. He rings the doorbell as a courtesy, but eyes the potted plant that he knows has a hollow base.

"Oh! Mr. Hotchner."

"Hi, uh, I just called your dad-"

"He called me too. Come in," Your smile is inviting, if the way you swung the door wide open wasn't enough.

You turn on the kettle and take out two mugs, then tap the instant coffee and the box full of teabags in turn. Aaron nods towards the tea. You gesture for him to take a seat. He calls out from the living room.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I know it's short notice."

"No, no. I only cancelled my birthday party."

Aaron winces. "Oh my god, please, I'll hide out in your dad's room."

You just smile and laugh easily. "I'm just kidding. I thought you knew my birthday wasn't for another few months."

Now that Aaron thinks about it, he did know that. Your birthday was closer to his than this time of year.

You bring out the two cups of tea, setting out a little plate of cookies.

"Have you eaten anything? You look like you're wasting away."

"Thanks," Aaron huffs a laugh. "A week of takeaways will do that to a person."

You look Aaron over. "Hmm. Strong Southern boy like you... How about some green bean casserole? It's just leftovers, but..."

The humility in your eyes, matched with your robust generosity, your effortless thoughtfulness, makes Aaron swoon.

"I can even sweeten the deal with some mashed potato."

He wonders how long it's been since you saw him last. Maybe a year? It's not often you're in town. And this is how you greet him.

"If it's not too much trouble."

You shrug.

"Be trouble. It sounds like you've had a rough day."

Aaron sighs. So your dad told you.

"Jack looked so sad. Haley is, well. I understand that I'm not enough for her, but my son... I should be there for him. He needs a father."

"You are there for him," You cock your head.

"Not enough."

"If Haley isn't capable of parenting him on her own, she shouldn't have settled down with you."

Your tone is cool, but you're not saying it to be cruel. Hotch knows you're right. Haley knew what she was getting into.

"Anyway. You probably don't want to talk about it."

Aaron nods. "Your life is probably much more interesting than mine."

You shrug. "Trying to find the right combination of work and play. Much the same as yours."

Your lives couldn't be more different, but Aaron sees what you mean. You understand.

You finish the last of your tea with one large gulp and head for the kitchen to heat up some dinner for Aaron.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Aaron can't hold back. His heart is full from your conversation, and the food you'd given him sits warmly in his belly. He knows this room shares a wall with the guest bedroom, where you're sleeping, so he bites the fist of his right hand while his left hand is... occupied.

A grunt slips from his lips, and he can't help it, it sounds like the first syllable of your name. He scrunches his eyes shut, ceasing his movements. He waits for you to bang on the wall, or to knock on his door, but nothing comes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Three nights pass that way.

You used earplugs on the first night, but your curiosity and desire dissolve your ethics. He's breathy, a practiced quiet from nights in hotel rooms beside his colleagues. They could almost be the breaths of sleep, but they come slightly too quick, slightly too sharp.

[Aaron wonders why you haven't said anything. He's not exactly trying to be loud, but...]

The thought of your mouth on him makes you feel electric. You bite your lip, willing your mind to think of anything else. This is completely inappropriate. You'd hate to make him uncomfortable. It feels like a violation of privacy.

Later that night, Aaron bursts into your room, trembling. He's been sleeping in a pair of sweatpants, shirtless.

You blink slowly, willing the heavy sleep from your limbs.

"Aaron?"

He takes a seat on the side of your bed.

"I'm sorry, I know it's the middle of the night-"

You shake your head. "Is everything okay?"

He rests his hand over your own.

You lift the covers, the same way you've always done for friends, close family. You pat the bed beside you and he slips in. You sit hip to hip with your backs pressed against the wall behind you. To stay warm, you keep the covers pulled up to your chest.

"Haley's going to leave me."

"It's a hard situation-"

Aaron shakes his head, cutting you off.

"Haley's going to leave me, and instead of dreaming about her, I was dreaming about you."

He can't look you in the eyes, instead staring at the foot of the bed.

"What did you dream about?"

"Psychologically, it would be sensible to dream about losing her. But we were on this ship, and there was all of this swell, and a wave came, and I couldn't save you. You were just swept right off the deck and I couldn't save you."

"Hey," You coo. "You're okay. I'm okay." You wrap your arms around him. "I'm right here."

"You're important to me," He breathes. "I didn't realize it until now, but-"

He turns to face you, and you realize too late that your faces are very, very close together. He glances at your lips, then back up at your eyes.

"Aaron," You breathe.

"Kiss me?" His voice is soft from sleep, but there's a plea in his eyes.

You shake your head. "I don't want to take advantage of you."

He smiles. "Take advantage of me? When I came into your bedroom in the middle of the night?"

"Okay, okay. And you're older, and more experienced, and whatever. But you're tired. I can see it in you. And you just had a nightmare."

You run your index finger over the creases in his brow.

"What does it mean, that the dream was about you?"

A more conscious Aaron would have known the answer, but he's exhausted, sleep-deprived. Without his typical routine, his kitchen, his suits lined up by colour. He's missing his armour.

"Think about it in the morning."

"Can I stay?"

You run your fingers through his short hair. You'd daydreamed of this moment for years. All of your logic is telling you that it's not a good time, he's not in his right mind, he has a room he can easily go back to, and he's still married. The golden band is still on his finger. He sees you seeing it.

He slips it off, letting it clatter on your bedside table.

"Don't let her make the decision."

"So, stay."

Aaron gestures for you to lie down, and you do. He lies down on his back and you move to rest your head on his chest. You drape one of your legs over his own.

"I'm not going to be a rebound."

"I wouldn't let you. You wouldn't let yourself."

You nod.

"Try to get some sleep. God knows you need it."

Aaron nods.

You count the glow in the dark stars that glow on the ceiling. You count again, and again, waiting to wake up. The sun rises before you do.

When your father walks into his bedroom the next morning and finds it empty, the sheets rumpled, he's confused. Aaron isn't the type to leave a bed unmade.

He pushes the door to the guest bedroom open slowly, just enough to see inside. You're in bed, which he expected. What he didn't expect was seeing his best friend beside you. You're both still asleep, curled around each other like you've known each other all your lives. Your dad supposes you have known Aaron all your life, and he's known you all of yours.

He expects anger to well up inside him, or betrayal, or grief. But seeing your bodies entangled in the sheets, he only feels peace. You fit together like this is what you were made for. Your dad smiles and closes the door gently.

#aaron hotchner #my writing #hotch x reader #reader insert #hotch/reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #hotch one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #hotch fluff

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eksvaized · 3 months

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[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 15, MDNI

The journey back home is far from the serene walk you might have envisioned. It's a brutal struggle as you're forced to confront and eliminate numerous biters before you can even consider making your exit from the shop. However, the moment you distance yourselves from the chaotic centre of the town, the imminent threat of danger gradually dissipates. And to your surprise, you find yourself able to enjoy a peaceful stroll, which is a stark contrast to the earlier pandemonium.

The harsh reality that you both are living on borrowed time somehow emboldens you. It drives you to throw all the caution to the wind. An overwhelming sense of freedom engulfs you, sweeping you off your feet. It's a kind of liberation so profound, so intense, that you've never experienced before. There's a wild, untamed exhilaration in this newfound freedom, a thrill that sends shivers down your spine.

Simon, at first, attempts to reel in your reckless behaviour, trying to tether you back to reality. His efforts, however, soon prove to be as futile as trying to cage the wind. Understanding that the best alternative is letting you burst into fits of laughter every time you attempt to shatter the window of yet another decaying, rust-laden car rather than watch you sob uncontrollably all the way back home. He allows you to indulge in your whims, however eccentric or outlandish they might be, all while keeping a watchful eye on you, ensuring your safety.

"Wait—" Your voice trails off as you press your nose against the foggy glass, squinting to peer inside the dented car, your breath creating small clouds of condensation. "—Simon, come back here," you call over your shoulder, casting him a sidelong glance. Your eyes sparkle mischievously, and a wide smile slowly spreads across your face. "I found something."

With a long-drawn-out sigh, Simon reluctantly drags his worn-out boots across the gravel, making his way towards the abandoned car. He's not thrilled about the distraction, but he allows you to investigate because he's reasonably confident no biters are lurking around. Taking a few steps back, you sweep your gaze around the ground, eventually spotting a large stone. You stoop to pick it up, your muscles straining with the weight. Just as you're preparing to hurl it towards the window, Simon's hand shoots out to stop you.

"Get out of the way," you groan, but he only shakes his head in response, a stubborn look on his face.

With a somewhat dramatic flourish, he turns around and shuffles through his pockets. After a moment, he pulls out a thin piece of metal. With a swift movement, he inserts it into the lock, wiggles it around, and then steps back to swing the door open with a satisfying creak.

"You're welcome," he says, a smug smirk spreading across his face as he watches you drop the heavy stone with a thud that echoes through the silent street.

"Breaking the window was half of the fun," you whine, your voice dancing with disappointment.

The blush blooms across your face, unfurling like a rose in the morning sun, colouring your cheeks. You bite the inside of your cheek to suppress the smile threatening to spill over. As you approach the car, he moves to the side, leaning against the cool metal exterior with an air of casual nonchalance. You squeeze inside, your eyes scanning the interior before settling on the backseat. Retrieving something from the weathered upholstery, you turn back to face Simon. When you reveal the item nestled in your palm, he mirrors your triumphant grin, his eyes sparkling with surprise.

"I told you I found something," you say, your voice brimming with pride. With a flourish, you pull two cigarettes out of the crumpled pack. You take a moment to count the remaining ones, your fingers tracing over the rough texture of the paper.

Simon pulls out a small box of matches from the backpack. He strikes one, the small flame dancing on the stick, lighting up both your and his cigarette. He leaves you sitting in the driver's seat, the soft glow of the burning ember illuminating your face, while he searches the rest of the car.

"Looks like it's our lucky day," he announces, his voice wrapped in victorious satisfaction. He chuckles. It's a low, throaty sound that rumbles in his chest. Then, he raises his hand to reveal his findings. Nestled in the trunk, Simon found almost a full bottle of scotch and three candy bars.

With a burst of childish excitement, you immediately snatch one of the candy bars from him. As you unwrap it, the familiar crinkle of the wrapper seems like a sweet symphony to your ears. The moment the chocolate touches your tongue, a not-so-subtle moan of delight slips past your lips. Simon raises his eyebrows in amused curiosity, his head tilting to the side as he blows out a cloud of smoke.

"What? I miss chocolate." A sheepish grin tugs at the corners of your mouth.

As you approach the familiar sight of your home, the world outside has already surrendered to the enveloping blanket of the night's darkness. However, it's a night of exceptional beauty, with countless stars strewn across the canvas of the sky, twinkling like glittering diamonds. The soft whispers of a gentle breeze rustle the leaves of nearby trees, creating a soothing melody.

Like always, as soon as you get inside, Simon searches every corner of the house, ensuring no one is lurking in the shadows. Once he is done, he makes you sit, while he busies himself with transforming the living room into a cosy sanctuary. He lugs in the soft mattress from your room, along with an armful of warm blankets and plush pillows. You ignite the candles. Their soft glow flickers, casting dancing shadows on the walls, creating an intimate ambience.

From the remaining supplies, you manage to whip up a veritable feast. Once you're nestled comfortably, and after you finish eating, Simon fetches the bottle of scotch from the backpack. You were never one for heavy drinking, considering your low tolerance for alcohol, but Simon convinces you that this night calls for a little indulgence. After a moment's consideration, you agree with him.

The bottle of scotch seems to vanish at an alarming speed, mostly due to Simon's insistence on playing a series of silly games while you drink. He even proposes a game of spin the bottle, which you initially dismiss as a ludicrous idea considering there are only two of you. But as the evening unfolds, and the alcohol loosens your inhibitions, you relent. The excitement builds in your chest.

The room becomes a symphony of passion and desire as heated kisses are shared, each one leaving you breathless. But as the air thickens with anticipation, the living room becomes suffocating, the heat overwhelming, and the tension palpable. So, every make-out session (so far there have been three) is cut short, a bittersweet interruption that leaves you longing for more.

* * *

"Do you want to talk about it?" Simon's voice finally breaks the silence that has stretched on for several hours. His words hang in the cold air between you. Yet, you respond with a simple shake of your head. His offer to discuss it, while appreciated, was declined. You're not ready to dissect the looming future, to talk about it, to give it space to breathe and settle into reality. You don't want to taint this peaceful evening with a conversation about the inevitable death.

To your surprise, he respects your decision and refrains from pressing the matter further. He doesn't fill the silence with false assurances or hollow platitudes. Deep down, you were half-expecting him to offer a glimmer of hope, to suggest that perhaps there's a chance you could escape unscathed, that the bite wouldn't have any effect and would heal. But that would be a lie, a deceit wrapped in good intentions, and he didn't want to lie. Not right now. Not when the truth is all you have left.

"I don't want to die," you say, your voice trembling, as you take a shot. The dimly lit room feels suffocating. The scent of alcohol is all you can smell. Simon's unwavering gaze only adds to the pressure. Your head spins, the floors seem to sway, and your cheeks burn with a flush of embarrassment. The scotch coursing through your veins numbs the sharp sting of pain in your shoulder. "I want to die the way I choose."

Your words hang in the air, the weight of their meaning palpable. Simon, realising the gravity of the topic, hastily intervenes. "Maybe… let's not discuss this now." He snatches the scotch from your hand, taking a swig and draining it completely. The sound of the glass bottle hitting the floor reverberates through the room, rolling until it collides with the wall.

Simon lays down on the soft mattress, placing a plush pillow under his head. You follow suit, crawling next to him, taking a moment to find the perfect position after he's comfortably nestled in. You rest your head on the firmness of his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat lulls you into a sense of tranquillity. He gently wraps his arm around the small of your waist, drawing you closer to him. The room is filled with the symphony of raindrops dancing against the windowpanes, creating an enchanting ambience as the heavens open to shower the world outside. It's a moment of serenity, and you struggle to recall the last time you felt so calm and at peace amidst the constant chaos of life.

Breaking the silence, Simon whispers, looking down at you with an intensity that makes your heart flutter. "I never thanked you for letting me stay with you." His gaze roams over your features, each detail being carefully committed to memory. He doesn't want to forget the beauty of your countenance, the way your eyes shine in the candlelight, or how your lips curve into a smile whenever you look at him.

"Technically, I never gave you permission to stay." With a playful smirk, you tease him. His face morphs into a look of mock horror, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you both share a genuine, hearty laugh. "You said you'd crash for a few days, but after that, you adamantly refused to leave. I said nothing because I enjoyed having someone around."

His fingers twist a strand of your hair, playing with it in a gentle rhythm until the lock slips from his grasp. Your fingertips trace intricate shapes on the landscape of his chest. At this moment, you two are just like any other couple on an ordinary evening. Except, the reality is that you aren't truly a couple, and the world you inhabit is far from ordinary.

"I wish we had more time." The words slip from your mouth, quiet and full of longing. You raise your head to catch his gaze. A silent confession lingers on the tip of your tongue. You haven't yet mustered the courage to express your feelings to him.

At first, you erected barriers to prevent yourself from falling for him. Then, when you found yourself sinking deeper and deeper, consumed by the tides of emotion, you tried to convince yourself that it was just a minor, fleeting crush that would soon dissipate. But your infatuation only grew stronger and more intense. With each passing day, it became increasingly impossible to convince yourself that this was just a brief enchantment. You had no choice but to admit the truth - you were hopelessly, irreversibly in love with him.

"I know, but we have to make the most out of the time we have left," he replies. His fingertips trail down, tracing the contour of your jaw before his palm comes to rest, cupping your cheek. Your eyes flit to his lips, a magnetic pull drawing your gaze. And when he pulls you closer, a silent invitation in his eyes, you lean in.

The kiss is slow and gentle. Time stretches, allowing the anticipation to mount. His lips, velvety and tender, brush against yours. The light scruff of his stubble teases your chin, sending a shiver down your spine. As you tilt your head, he pulls you closer, your legs straddling his hips. His hands, exploring with purpose, glide over your supple skin, leaving trails of tingling sensation. Firmly, his fingertips press into your flesh, grounding you when your body writhes in pleasure. Gasping for air, you reluctantly break away, your lungs aflame. The room is filled with sultry heat, the air heavy with desire. The palpable tension hangs in the air, so dense it could be sliced with a knife. Yet, inexplicably, both of you freeze, suspended in the moment.

Before you were terrified to admit your feelings, the thought of Simon's reactions paralyzed you with fear. But at this moment, you have nothing to lose. You want him to know how you feel before you leave this world. So, you muster up the courage to speak. The words feel heavy on your tongue, but you know they must be uttered.

"I know I should have said this sooner…" You swallow down your nerves, "…but I'm in love with you.”

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69 , @browtfyoudoing , @yelenassafeplace, @itsthealice, @naxxsstuff, @lotionlamp, @aquarianix If you want to be added, let me know!

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #writing #ghost x y/n #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost x you #ghost #ghost call of duty #cod ghost #cod x reader #cod fanfic #fem!reader #ap2 #zombie apocalypse #apocalypse

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throneofsapphics · 9 months

Text

piercings

poly!Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: “You can thank me, by quitting doing stupid things when you’re drunk.”

I hummed. “No promises.”

Warnings: nudity, piercings, blood, slight possessive behavior, drinking, a tiny bit of fluff.

Word Count: ~1.3k

I came home drunk, stumbling into my room, laughing to myself. I’d drank enough alcohol that I didn’t feel the pain of my recently pierced nipples brushing against my dress. I had to take a few breaths after opening the door, pressing my hand against the frame to steady myself.

I stumbled into my bathroom, leaning over the sink to splash cold water on my face. I stripped away my dress, tossing it into the basket without a second thought, my underwear following. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, nipples swollen and slightly bloodied around the piercing. “Clean that in the morning,” I mumbled to myself, thinking clearly enough to write a note, placing it under a paperweight.

Cln piercing in mrninh. I examined my work. Good enough, I might not remember it anyways. I stumbled into bed, still naked and probably reeking. I’d have to get new sheets in the morning, but right now taking a bath alone would be risky - considering how intoxicated I am. I slipped under the silky sheets, thanking whatever Gods might still be around for Aelin’s taste in luxury.

I woke up the next morning to a sharp pain on my breasts and my eyes shot open. Small droplets of blood dotted the white sheet barely covering me. I yanked it back. Two bars, right through both of my nipples. Dear Gods, how drunk was I?

I groaned, pulling myself out of bed and grabbing a nightgown, wincing as I pulled it around myself.

A note stood out on my desk, crumpled parchment shoved under a paper weight with a pen messily discarded next to it.

Cln piercing in mrninh.

That explains just how drunk I was. I winced as they pushed against the fabric again, and loosened the strip of fabric tying my robe together. Could I get away with walking around the castle naked? That might be a stretch, and might result in someone’s murder.

When Rowan and Aelin found out about this … pulling them out would be futile, they’d notice the small wounds left behind anyways. At least I remember going to a professional piercer, getting them done with a friend. I discarded the note, and went to clean them as best as I could, bending awkwardly over the sink, hissing as I dabbed a cloth against them. If these got infected I’d never hear the end of it. I likely won’t hear the end of it now. I splashed water on my face and dressed, foregoing the band and choosing a loose top, taking a few deep breaths before resigning myself to my fate, and heading for the dining hall.

We kept separate rooms for this exact purpose - my stumbling into the castle at ungodly hours, often when both of them needed to be up early. Plus, I did enjoy having my own space sometimes.

Aelin noticed something was off as soon as Y/n walked in. She knows she went out last night .. probably hungover as hell. She slid her a cup of tea with a small smile, one she returned gratefully but looked a bit nervous.

“What did you do?” Rowan asked gruffly, setting down the papers he’d been looking out.

“Go out.” She rolled her eyes, “you already knew that.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t question her further, turning back to the papers.

…

Later that night, she figured out exactly what she did. Y/n turned away as she changed, hiding her body from view and throwing a silky blue nightgown over. As she turned back, the moonlight hit her perfectly, outlining her breasts with …

“What are those?” She carefully kept her voice even.

“What?” Y/n said defensively, wrapping her arms around her chest.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Aelin stalked towards her with predatory intent, pulling her arms away. Y/n hissed as she flicked one nipple, flinching back from her. Aelin’s eyebrows raised, “and when did that happen?”

“When did what happen?” Rowan opened the door, spotting the two of them.

“Nothing.” Y/n said through gritted teeth, keeping eyes firmly fixed on Aelin, pleading. Aelin just grinned like the cat who caught the canary, before turning to Rowan.

“Her nipples are pierced.”

He stalked over, pushing Aelin slightly out of the way to look. “Who did those?” His voice grew dangerously low. Sounding as pissed as Aelin felt. Y/n, likely drunk off her ass, getting a piercing where someone else saw her half naked. Saw her mate naked.

“A piercer.” Y/n snapped, looking out towards the window, avoiding both of them. She yelped as Rowan’s hands grabbed the nightgown, ripping it off of her. “I liked that one.” She protested, but he stared at the small piercings cutting through her rosy pink nipples, and trailed a finger around them, ignoring her wince.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He seethed.

“I was thinking I wanted to do something fun. With a friend.”

“Letting someone else see you half naked is ‘fun’?” Rowan tilted his head, the question a challenge.

“That’s not what I said.” Y/n snapped back.

“If you wanted them badly enough, I would’ve done them.” He countered, “Not some random person.”

“And have you given one before?”

His eyebrows raised. “I’m over 300 years old.”

“So? You grabbed some ice and a needle, and stuck it through someone's ear, that doesn’t make you an expert.” He snarled at her, and she kept speaking before he could reply. “I like them,” and wrapped her arms around her chest, wincing as they hit the small wounds.

“You let someone else touch you.” Rowan kept his voice mild, despite the anger rolling from him in waves.

“They were professional,” She rolled her eyes, turning to head to the bathroom. Copper, Aelin scented, and intercepted her before she could go far, grabbing her upper arm so Y/n would face her. She frowned, looking down at her.

“That’s not normally how you react when you see me naked.” Y/n hissed.

“They’re bleeding.” Aelin muttered, before dragging her off to the bathroom to clean them.

“They are pretty,” Aelin reluctantly admitted as she gently dabbed a cloth against them.

“Maybe you should get matching ones.” I whispered quietly, low enough Rowan wouldn’t hear. Aelin’s eyes gleamed.

“So he can be pissed at both of us?”

“I’ll do them. Nobody needs to see their Queen half naked.”

“Have you given someone a piercing before?”

“Multiple times.” I winked, “but never nipples.” I frowned. Aelin snorted.

“I love you, but I’m not letting you near me with a needle.” I huffed in fake annoyance, and she rolled her eyes before kissing my cheek and pushing me back into the room.

Rowan’s eyes devoured me as we walked back out, piercings and all. I pointedly ignored him, picking up the torn cloth and throwing it into a spare basket. Maybe I could salvage it another day. I was sorting through, looking for something else to sleep in so I wouldn’t ruin the sheets, when he gently gripped my shoulder, a small tin in hand. He didn’t say anything but opened it and carefully rubbed a salve on the surrounding area. A bit of relief came through, and I sighed in content.

“Only because I don’t want them to get infected.” He grunted, reaching over me and grabbing a night gown before motioning for me to lift my arms, and he tugged it down my body, lifting it so it wouldn’t drag against the bars.

“Thank you,” I said softly, pressing up on my toes to kiss his cheek.

“You can thank me, by quitting doing stupid things when you’re drunk.”

I hummed. “No promises.”

He rolled his eyes, but tugged me back towards the bed. Dropping the tin off on a small table.

#rowaelin x reader #rowaelin x y/n #rowan whitethorn x y/n #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin x y/n #aelin x reader #aelin galathynius x reader #throne of glass fic #throne of glass imagine #throne of glass #there's fluff if you squint #and a bit of angst #no beta we die like men #poly!Rowaelin

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artaxerxesthegreat · 2 years

Text

Just Turned Immortal

A/N: So I decided to make a part 2 for 'Happy Birthday, Darling'. I hope you guys like it. It's my first time writing smut in a poly relationship, so this was very interesting to me. I'm also very sorry if it doesn't make sense. Also been dealing with a lot of things in life, so this was written during my hardship with my family (thankfully it's getting better). That being said, I might not have written down all the warnings, so I'm apologizing now.

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+, Cursing, Violence, SMUT, Not well written, Anal (male receiving), Oral (f & m), hand jobs, the boys being themselves, Marko being a horn ball, fluffy moments, mildly angsty, turning into a vampire, not beta read.

Word count: 6643

(GIF by @whatisgoingonpaul)

Part 1

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

Y/N was lost.

Everything was spinning, everything was still, her mind was fuzzy, but it was also clear, her body was on another planet, but she knew she was laying on a couch, unfortunately she was in a place she didn’t recognize.

But worst of all, she was hungover… Or at least she thought she was— it was the only logical explanation she could come up with with how she was feeling at that moment.

The only blessing was that she didn’t feel the need to throw up, the downside was she couldn’t remember where she was or what the hell happened last night. Sitting up, she groans holding her head as her blood starts rushing to the rest of her body, and she’s hit with a huge wave of dizziness.

“Ooooohhh sweet fuck…” Closing her eyes, she lays back down, draping her arm over her eyes, “What happened last night?”

Rubbing her eyes, she tries hard to recall her missing memories.

“Yeah, I got nothing.” Sitting up again, she looks round her surroundings; she’s in a cave.

Cool, new problem: why was she sleeping in a cave?

Why was there a couch?! How’d she even get into a fucking cave? Where the hell was Maria? They were supposed to do something last night… or was it two days ago?

“… What day is it?” Furrowing her brow, Y/N sees her jacket crumpled on the ground and two black jackets haphazardly thrown on a… wheelchair? “Okay, what the actual fuck happened last night, where the hell am I, and where the fuck is Maria?”

Running a hand through her hair, it’s instantly tangled in her bed head of curls, and she groans trying to free her hand; finally freeing her hand, Y/N takes a much-needed breath and tries to think clearly and calmly.

Emphasis on tries.

“Okay, as far as you know you aren’t in any immediate danger, Y/N. Just chill! You’re just in a cave— granted, you don’t remember how you got here, but that’s okay! It’s fine! Just peachy! That’s a-okay!”

It was so far from ‘a-okay’.

“Alright, alright. Just think clearly…clearly… clear—” A flash of a memory comes to her mind; the movie theater. She hurt someone, her cousin got mad, then she got mad, and they parted ways. Maria went home without her, they never got to hang out, she was ditched on her birthday by the only person she considers family. Her only saving grace were four guys that had a reputation for being punks, and low life’s, but from Y/N’s perspective they were anything but.

They didn’t reprimand her for sticking up for herself, they didn’t care about her temper or sassy attitude, they didn’t ditch her…

“Wait a minute…” Y/N looks around the cave again, “Is this… Is this their home?!”

Y/N takes in the scene before her— the surf boards leaning against the cave wall, the tattered couch’s, a few skateboards, a boombox, small piles of clothes in random corners of the cave, blankets and curtains hung from different points in the rock face creating sections— as if marking off different ‘rooms’, a huge record collection, and the graffiti on the walls and ceiling— wait, what? Y/N tilts her head up, following the different graffiti tags with pure confusion, “How’d they do that?”

The sound of laughter and voices echoing around her pulls her attention, the voices seem to swirl around her, making her spin around looking for the boys. A fluttering sound behind has her spin one more time, and she lets out a scream as Marko leans into her space.

“Boo!”

“AH! What the fuck?!” Her fist is drawn back, but never connects with the demon cherub’s face, making him grin widely, “DUDE! Don’t do that, next time I’m letting my fist sail through the air— see if you’ll be laughing then.”

“Yay, Sleeping Beauty’s finally up!” Paul stands behind Y/N placing his arms on her shoulders, hugging her neck, pulling her to his chest, “You sleep a lot.”

“What? No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.” Marko scoffs as he gently picks up a pigeon, Y/N makes a face at his change in demeanor as he smiles at the bird. The pigeon coos at him bringing a small smile to his face and Y/N tilts her head smiling at Marko with amusement.

Who knew the most conniving and devious of the boys had a soft side for pigeons, she sure didn’t.

“I don’t sleep a lot, I have an internal clock, I can’t sleep past 9 o’clock.” Y/N takes notice of the glances that are exchanged between Paul and Marko, and squinting her eyes she purses her lips waiting to be clued in whatever secret these two have, “What? What’s with that look?”

“Nothin’.” Marko shrugs, licking his lips as he turns his attention back to the bird in his hands.

“You lie, so spill, Marko.” Y/N takes a threatening step forward, but Paul’s hold tightens, keeping her in place. Marko just laughs and glances at the space to her left, Y/N glances to her left jumping at the sudden appearance of Dwayne, “Holy shit! Don’t do that! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!”

Dwayne just smiles placing something in her hand, looking in her hand, she finds a bracelet that matches the colors of her jacket. A look of surprise and slight bashfulness crosses her features as she stares at the bracelet and back at Dwayne; she gives him a small ‘thanks’ before slipping it on her wrist, feeling heat rise to her cheeks at the proud smile on his face.

Clearing her throat, Y/N admires the bracelet while talking to Marko, “So what makes you think I sleep a lot?”

“You really don’t know?” Paul tilts his head down to the side to look at Y/N wide concerned eyes.

“… Don’t know…what?” Panic is slowly flooding Y/N’s body at the look on Paul’s face, looking at Marko his face is just as concerned and now Y/N is freaking out, “What? What happened?!”

“You’ve been asleep for 3 days, Y/N…” The air stills at Marko’s words, while Y/N’s mind is stuck on loop, replaying his words. Y/N even lets out a huff of disbelief, but when she isn’t met with any laughter, her world slowly begins to crash around her. Or, it would have if it wasn’t for the scoff from Dwayne coupled with a smack on the back of Paul’s head, and a shoe thrown at Marko. The boys start laughing at the look of utter betrayal on Y/N’s face as she realizes they totally punked her. Marko releases the pigeon, doubling over in laughter, “Oh man, your face! Did you really think you slept for that long?! Oh my god, how gullible are you? Oh, that was great!”

Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath, willing herself not to kill these two fools— it’s not easy, especially with Paul putting his weight on her as he laughs loudly in her ear. Unwrapping Paul’s arms from around her, she shoves him away, making him laugh harder as he falls back on the couch, “Get off me.”

“C’mon, babe. Come back.” Paul’s words are incoherent because of how hard he’s laughing. Both boys take a deep breath, smiling brightly as they look at Y/N’s unamused stare. With a quirk of her brow, silently asking if they’re done, they fall out laughing again, making her shake her head and move to Dwayne’s quiet corner.

Sitting down next to him, she crosses her arms, mumbling out, “Assholes.”

Dwayne doesn’t bother to hide his amusement, nodding his head in agreement. He places his arm on the back of the couch, scooting closer to Y/N as he pulls out a book, silently reading— to which Y/N is eternally grateful for, because she wasn’t expecting such nonchalant behavior from him.

Butterflies stirred in her stomach when he gifted her with the bracelet, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why. Dwayne didn’t strike her as a person to randomly give gifts to people, let alone snuggle up to them while reading a book. It was such a domestic feeling— one she definitely wasn’t expecting, so how was she supposed to act in this situation?

On the outside she was relatively calm; sitting on the couch almost completely leaning into the curve of Dwayne’s side, watching as Paul and Marko finally stopped laughing at her and started wrestling, occasionally she'd spare a glance at a page of Dwayne’s book and then at him (never taking his eyes off of the pages, he’d smile making her look away timidly). She even started playing with his bracelets, which lead to her playing with his hand, to them now intertwining their fingers.

But on the inside?

On the inside, it was chaos. Her inner voice was pulling out her hair, running in circles and up the walls, laying on the floor screaming in a puddle of her own tears— tears of confusion, excitement and fear— flipping imaginary tables, clutching her fists screaming into the void, and sitting in a burning, crumbling house that is her mind.

All in all Y/N was a mess, and had no idea how to address the hand holding, all she wanted to do was admire his bracelets without disturbing his reading— so how in the sweetest of fuckary did they end up holding hands?

Well, she knew how, she was there, but it still didn’t add up… oh wait.

She was playing with his rings, she tried to pull one off, and he engulfed her hand in his, stopping her, she tried to get her hand back and HE intertwined their fingers. The butterflies didn’t settle down once, she realized, this was his doing— they simply got worse and all she could do was act unbothered and bored. As long as no one noticed, everything would be okay… and then David walked in.

He didn’t say anything to Y/N, just looked (at her with those strong, commanding blue eyes) at their hands with a face that had her feeling like she just committed some great sin against him, but the smirk that quickly appeared on his face, made her feel like she had to justify herself.

“He- he did it!” Y/N winced at the sound of how childish her words sounded, and she knew that the wide grin on David’s face was going to make her regret even opening her mouth.

“He did what?” His tone is teasing as he shifts his gaze to Dwayne.

“H- he—…” Her voice is small and embarrassed, as she can’t seem to form any words. Shaking her head, she uses her hair to hide away from the eight pairs of eyes on her, “Noth- nothing.”

Y/N closes her eyes, upset with herself for crumbling under all the teasing, she wasn’t easily flustered, but she’s also never been in a situation like this either. Everything that’s happened to her so far has been something she’s only dreamt about, and now that it’s actually happening to her, all she can do is play it by ear. She was way in over her head and she knew it— she also knew that they knew it too, and they were enjoying every second of it.

God, she felt like a fool… maybe it was time to take herself out of the equation and go home, put an end to the teasing and sexual tension—

Wait…

Opening her eyes, she stares down at her lap, taking in the state of her once clean white t-shirt; it was stained with a variation of red she’s never seen before…and was it sparkling in the light?

Blinking in confusion, a tidal wave of memories hits her— memories that have her snapping her head up to Marko and Paul, who are in their own little worlds.

“No way.” With her free hand, she lightly touches her lips, seeing in her mind’s eye a hazy, smokey Marko walking to her with a predatory gaze drinking from a wine bottle. His lips on hers as he fed her the wine, the way his knee grazed her most intimate area, his hand tangled in her hair in the best of ways—, “No way!”

The memory jumps to the feeling of Paul’s tongue dragging across her neck, up her jaw, capturing her mouth in the sloppiest kiss she’s ever had. Had she been in her right mind it wouldn’t have gotten very far, but even now she finds herself wondering what it felt like again.

An inaudible sigh leaves her as she remembers Dwayne’s kiss.

That kiss was… how does she even begin to describe it? It was so sensual, there was such passion behind it— like he was trying to tell her something, trying to drive some unspoken point home…

Then there was David.

With parted lips, she tracks her eyes over to David, who is still watching her with that teasing grin.

“Holy fucking shit!”

The strongest memory was him water falling the wine into her mouth, but that wasn’t the weirdest thing! The weirdest thing was that she wanted to do that again. Heat spread through her body as David’s eyes bore into hers, it seemed like he was trying to communicate with her. Silently telling her he wanted it just as bad…or maybe it was just in her head?

It wouldn’t be the first time she overthinks or misreads a situation. So, in true Y/N fashion, she brushes the memories off as a wild and very vivid sex dream and goes back to debating on whether or not she should go home. Maria is probably worried too, she needs to talk to her, let her know she’s alright and not mad about their dumb fight.

Sighing, Y/N lets Dwayne’s hand go and stands up stretching, feeling the tension leave her body, she goes to the other couch to retrieve her jacket. All eyes are on her as she puts it on, but only David speaks.

“Going somewhere?”

Y/N furrows her brow at the demanding tone in his voice, as he looks at her with a serious gaze— a look a parent would give a child who disrespects them after you told them not to do something. Y/N almost apologizes and sits down, until she remembers that she isn’t a child, and he isn’t her parent. He’s just some guy.

“Yeah, I’m going home.” A beat of silence goes by, before there are scattered chuckles throughout the cave, and David gives her a face that makes her feel stupid, as if it say ‘you are home’. Doing her best not to stumble over her words, she keeps her voice even, “I don’t live here, remember? We were just chillin’, and it’s been fun, but I gotta go.”

“You don’t have to.” Marko chimes from his spot on a ledge above them, making Y/N quirk a brow at him, because how’d he get up there without a ladder? “You could stay.”

“Yeah, babe, we like having you here.” Paul smiles brightly, rolling a blunt glancing at Dwayne, “‘Specially Dwaynie.”

Flustered by Paul’s words, Y/N looks down at her sneakers before looking back at Dwayne, who seems unbothered by the blonde's words. His stare isn’t intimidating, or condescending, but warm and inviting, and that scares the shit out of her. Breaking eye contact with him, she looks at David for help, but his stare is the same, only difference is that now he quirks a brow at her, silently telling her to try to downplay everything that’s been said to her.

It sends a shiver down her spine because it almost feels like they’ve read her mind as they try to get her to stay.

“… But I…” Her eyes are moving around the cave, but she’s not looking at anything in particular, she’s seeing her thoughts roll through her mind like credits as she tries to come up with a real reason to leave, “I need to talk to Maria.”

The cave is quiet as Y/N brings her gaze to David, he sits completely still, his face is blank, and he almost looks like a statue while Y/N wonders if he even heard her. Opening her mouth to repeat herself, David finally answers.

“Come with us.” The boys are moving about the cave with such grace and quickness, Y/N is almost left behind as they exit the cave.

“Huh— wha— wait!” Scrambling after them, she joins them at the top of the bluff. As they get their bikes, Y/N stares at the sky with wide eyes, “Why… Why is it still night? How long was I asleep?”

“You slept all day. It’s about 11 o’clock.” Paul grins, staring up at the moon, blunt hanging lazily from his lips.

Y/N stares at him like he has two heads, “That’s not possible. There’s no way.”

“Apparently there is, Kitten.” Her head snaps to David, who inclines his head behind him, “Get on.”

To everyone’s surprise, Y/N climbs onto the back of his bike without any protest, wrapping her arms around his waist. He shares a look with the boys, but Y/N is too busy staring up at the moon to notice. Revving his engine, David sets the pace as they sped through the woods and down to the beach, at the top of a sand dune, the boys stop, spotting a small bonfire out in the distance.

“Anyone feel like partying?” David sends the group a devious smile, and they drive their bikes closer to the party.

“David, I need to go home. Just drop me off and come back to your party.” Y/N’s voice is growing irritated as she thinks of her cousin. Much to her chagrin, she’s forced to let David go as he gets off his bike, getting ready to join in the festivities.

“You’re gonna want to hang out here first, trust me. After this, you can go see Maria.” David’s smile sends chills down Y/N’s spine as she feels a sense of dread come over her, Dwayne comes next to her, offering a hand to help her off of the bike and that helps calm her down a bit, but she’s still not feeling great about David’s words or smile.

Marko and Paul are ahead of the group crouching at the top of a sand dune watching the party of 9 with hungry eyes, David and Dwayne join them at the top of the dune as the four of them share some kind of unspoken conversation. Turning around to Y/N, Dwayne holds his out to her again, giving her a smile that has her resolve cracking. Groaning,Y/N takes his hand, crouching down next to him; Marko and Paul give her smiles of approval and thumbs up as they look back at the small group.

“So why are we hiding again?” Y/N whispers to Dwayne, but he doesn’t seem to hear her, as his eyes grow dark and dangerous. She’s taken aback by the way he looks at the group— like an animal watching its prey, “Dwayne?”

“Quiet.” David’s voice gets her attention as he turns to look at her with a smiling, monstrous face, “You’re gonna scare them.”

The boys laugh maliciously as Y/N stares at them with fear filled eyes, her voice is lost on her as they disappear from her sights. Looking around frantically, she stands up, gaining the attention of one of the party goers.

“Heeeeyy~ we got a visitor!” A guy slurs pointing at Y/N, she looks down at them about to tell them to run, or hide because there are monsters hanging around, but her warning never comes.

Someone lets out a bloodcurdling scream as they’re lifted into the air, and blood sprays down onto the sand, the individual's friends, and the fire. Everyone seems to sober up quickly as they start running away from their assailants, but it was pointless. Two girls run towards Y/N, yelling at her to run away, but the smell of blood hits her like a ton of bricks, and these girls are covered in it.

A sound Y/N’s never heard before bubbles in her chest, and out of her mouth as she feels the bones on her face shift, and her teeth poke her bottom lip. Her nails become sharp and slanted as her world is flipped upside down. She grabs both girls by their throats, squeezing, watching with glee as her nails rip through their skin with such ease.

Y/N can’t help but admire it, but then, there’s a burning sensation building in her throat. Swallowing does nothing for her, but she knows what she has to do— it’s instinctual, it’s primal, it’s her new normal. Sinking her fangs into one neck, she takes her fill, all but tearing off the girl’s neck, her friend is garbling and choking on her own blood as she tries to speak, tears falling from her eyes as she sees Y/N descend on her next.

As quickly as the carnage started, it’s over.

Y/N breathes out in relief, turning her face to the sky with closed eyes, as blood rolls down her throat, quenching her thirst. Licking her lips, she sits down in the sand wrapping her arms around her knees; not in a scared manner, but a relaxed one as she watches David grab the two dead girls, chucking them into the bonfire. Marko, Paul, and Dwayne are having the time of their lives as they jump around the fire, whooping and hollering, blood gracing their still changed faces, something about this sight makes something inside Y/N snap.

Getting up quickly, she all but knocks Marko into the sand as she grabs his face; not expecting to be grabbed, he lets out a ‘Hey!’ but it’s swallowed by Y/N’s lips on his as she forces her tongue into his mouth— he honestly wasn’t complaining. His hands find their way to her waist as he pulls her closer, and by sheer will power, he lets her have control. She pushes him into the sand, straddling his hips, licking the blood on his face and neck, her fingers tug on his hair, causing him to growl out a groan and roll his hips up into hers eagerly.

Breaking the kiss, she puts her hand on his throat, squeezing it tightly as she meets his movements.

“Oh, fuck.” If it wasn’t for Paul’s words, Y/N would’ve forgotten the others were there. Looking back at Paul, she gets off of Marko (much to his disappointment) and tugs Paul by his jacket, kissing him the same way he did her the night before. Hooking his hands under her ass, he hoists Y/N up making her wrap her legs around his waist, a body is pressed behind her. Breaking the kiss, she sees that she’s squished between Dwayne and Paul and her mind is on overdrive, synapses are firing faster than she can keep up, hands map out her body and before long clothes are torn and thrown about as lips meet teeth, skin and blood.

Her thighs tighten around Dwayne’s head, as he holds her in place on top of him, her back is arched back as Marko is behind her, straddling Dwayne as he kisses and nips her neck, playing with her nipples, hissing on occasion as Paul enters him from behind.

He’s gonna get him back for this, and Paul knows it, you can tell by the snicker that comes from him every time he snaps his hips forward, making the smaller blonde clench around him.

“You are gonna be so sorry later, Paul.”

Dwayne can’t stop the chuckle he lets out, which has Y/N mewling out as it sends vibrations through her body. Her moan has each of them groaning in pleasure… well, all of them but David.

He’s too busy palming himself through his jeans as he takes in the scene before him; Y/N sitting on Dwayne’s face— her face flushed as a light coat of sweat glistens on her body due to the flames of the bonfire, Marko right behind her pulling sounds and caressing her like he’s done this a thousand times before— his own face is twisted in pleasure due to Paul’s thrusts, Paul behind Marko searching for his own release as he starts to slowly get to the edge of cumming— with each passing second the four feel their release creeping up on them. Caresses turn into nails digging in skin, kisses become bites, and once hooded eyes become screwed shut as the coils get ready to snap.

David says nothing— he doesn’t have to, a human can smell his arousal. He opts to just watch, that was until Y/N looked at him, and then to the prominent bulge in his pants. By now, all their faces are human-like, but Y/N’s eyes shift to that yellow red as she quite literally begins to salivate.

In a blur of black, David is in front of her, tugging her head back, staring down at her with a warning in his eyes.

She ignores it, using what little strength she has to tug on his pants.

His pants are pooling around his ankles, and he can’t stop the hitch of his breath as Y/N’s hand grasps him with such familiarity, and stares right into his eyes as she takes him all the way in. Her eyes flutter shut at the sound of satisfaction that comes from him, it sends shivers down her spin, causing her to fidget at the feel of goosebumps going up and down her arms, making her arch back again. Marko’s hands have been gripping her hips, scratching her on occasion from Paul’s thrusts, but seeing her take David like it was working him up more.

Everyone knows that Marko easily gets riled up, especially when it comes to sex, but this took extreme control on his part to not take her away and have her all to himself. He moans at the thought of having his way with her, hearing the pants, moans and screams that she’d let out, begging for more or for him to stop.

Either way, he’ll have her.

His member leaks pre-cum onto Dwayne’s torso and Y/N’s lower back, because of Paul, his dick has been brushing against both of them for the better part of 8 minutes, and now that his mind is reeling, he’s about to explode. Nestling his dick between Dwayne’s chest and Y/N’s ass, he wastes no time getting to his high.

Paul is in his own world, not noticing the scene before him, instead he focuses on the curly blonde in front of him and Dwayne’s stomach flexing due to the brushes of Paul. Pulling out of Marko, he grabs Dwayne’s dick along with his own, and pumps himself two, three, four times— strings of cum shot out landing in the sand, on Dwayne’s side and some on Marko’s back. Panting out, he continues his task with Dwayne, smirking at the way the brunette’s hips buck and the tightening of his core. His seed shoots up into the open air, making a mess on himself and in Paul’s hair.

Marko felt cum land on his shoulder and sends Paul a glare, knowing full well that he jerked Dwayne and angled him like that on purpose.

“Oh, you are so gonna get it!”

Paul just snickers as he licks his hands clean, and then he sees David getting his rocks off in Y/N’s mouth. His mouth hangs open as he watches Y/N hold onto David’s hips like a lifeline, the way she pulls back placing kisses on his shaft, how she shuts her eyes at the feeling of Dwayne grazing that spot just right, taking David back in her mouth with renewed vigor because of it.

Now he wishes he paid attention.

Marko on the other hand is about to blow, and when Y/N takes her hand, placing it on his thigh searching for some kind of perch, he bites her neck. Feeling her blood run down his throat gives him goosebumps of his own as he finally cums in his pseudo hole, riding out his orgasm.

Y/N had been fighting off her release for the longest, she really didn’t think she’d make it far with how Dwayne ran his tongue along her folds, and gave her clit kitten licks, watching her jump at the feeling. She didn’t think she’d make it past the vibrating moans, the teasing tugs on her nipples, kisses up and down her neck, or the way David felt resting on her tongue guiding her head back and forth.

None of those things got her over the edge.

No, what got her there was the feeling of fangs piercing her neck and the sinful moan Marko let out as his hips stuttered under her.

That made her heart stop… well figuratively anyway… her whole body seized up, as the coil finally snapped, her hips stuttered, her thighs tightened around Dwayne’s head, her eyes rolled back as a sound— something akin to a whine and a sigh wrapped itself around David’s dick. Her jaw went slack as she pulled her head back from David, which didn’t bother him in the least because that sound— whatever it was— had him shooting cum all over her face.

“Fuck.” Was whispered by one of them as they all came down from their own highs.

Y/N felt heavy and light at the same time, she felt like she would float off into space with that mind-blowing orgasm.

“Whoa, careful, Spitfire, or you might fly away.” David’s voice is amused but cautious as he grabs Y/N by her arms, enveloping her in a hug. With a content sigh, she lets her body rest against David’s, as he pulls her down to sit in the sand.

No one says anything for a few minutes, each of them enjoying the calm breeze that blows by and the sound of the waves hitting the beach.

Marko hands Y/N her jacket and very ripped jeans, smirking as he does, Y/N graciously takes them, unable to stop the laugh that comes from her as she holds up her jeans.

The bonfire is dying down now, and the boys are uncharacteristically quiet– time to address the elephant in the room.

“... So… What are we?” Y/N doesn’t look at the boys, she just stares at the small fire, playing with a stick she found. In moments like these, it’s always good to have something to distract you a bit from the unknown. How else are you going to stop a panic attack?

“You know what we are.” David says, taking a puff from his cigarette.

“Well, for the sake of me, just pretend I have no idea.” She sends him a small glance, and he isn’t in the mood; he knows she’s smart, he knows that she figured it out when they killed their first victim. Sighing,Y/N begins digging in the sand with her little stick, “The way my brain works its– just indulge me, okay?”

David raises a brow at her, looking at Dwayne, “You tell her.”

Y/N turns to Dwayne, who still has not only her essence on his face, but Marko’s cum drying on his chin, neck and chest, and Y/N can’t hide her smile or surprise.

“There’s a whole ocean, right there, dude. Go wash that off before it gets all crusty or whatever.” She makes a show of pointing at the ocean behind him, but he simply shakes his head and smiles.

“Nah.” Licking his lips, he adds, “I worked hard for this.”

Y/N closes her eyes, trying to hide her smile but ends up laughing at his words, not in an insulting manner, but a surprised one, “Alright then.”

“... Also, to answer your question, we’re vampires.” Dwayne shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, but even a blind man can see that it was awkward for him to say. You can’t say that and expect someone to believe you without some kind of undeniable proof; sure, Y/N had it, but it still sounded ridiculous.

Regardless, Y/N nods her head with a furrowed brow, “I don’t remember being bitten– well, until Marko did just now.”

The boys smile at the memory fresh in their minds– yes, this was going to be something they participate in for many, many, many years to come.

“There’s more than one way to make a vampire.” David lights another cigarette, watching Y/N carefully while she thinks over his words, wondering what he meant.

Sure, she knew what he said, but it didn’t add up to the memories she had; was it done through the kisses? Or perhaps it was done by hanging around them?

Nah, that doesn’t make sense.

“Alright, vampires drink blood, they need it to survive and yada yada… So to make one, you bite someone… What else can be done?” Her brows are scrunched up, as she thinks hard, glancing at Marko who drinks from a beer that one of the party goes had, “Oh wait what?!”

Turning her head to David, her eyes are wide as she gives him a look of ‘bitch what?’

“Look at that, you figured it out.” His tone was a bit harsh, but there was a smirk playing on his lips, as Y/N threw the stick at him, sneering as she did it.

“The only good advice I was ever given was to ‘never take drinks from strangers’– of course, how I ended up drinking it was something that was never covered, but whatever, I guess.” Y/N shrugs her shoulders, smiling slightly at each of the boys; her face grows solemn as she plays with her aglets, “... I’m never gonna see Maria again, am I?”

The boys don’t say anything, but they don’t have to, Y/N knows the answer already. There’s no way she can, maybe for a few years, but when Maria starts aging, and she doesn’t, what is she gonna say?

Sighing, Y/N hangs her head huffing out a laugh, “Oh well, it was just her and me anyways, and sometimes– a lot of times, it was just me. I’ll just have to slowly leave her life before disappearing completely… If that’s alright?”

“Don’t see why not.” Paul shrugs, laying his head down in Marko’s lap, while the smaller blonde leans back on his hands looking out at the ocean deep in thought.

“You could just kill her.” Marko is met with hostile faces from Y/N and Dwayne, while David and Paul keep quiet, but it’s obvious they aren’t opposed to the idea.

“I’m not killing my cousin– I don’t care how angry she makes me.” Y/N pauses before glaring at Marko, “Weren’t you flirting with her?!”

“I flirt with everyone, she’s no different.” Marko sticks his nose to the sky like a defiant child, opening his eyes, he giggles at the death glare sent his way by Y/N. Pushing himself up, he makes his way to her, grabbing her jaw tightly. His eyes flash yellow as he kisses her harshly, chuckling as Y/N bites his tongue in retaliation, “It’s cute that you think that’ll deter me. Keep that up, and you’ll be in for the longest night of your life.”

“That a fact?”

Another thing about Y/N, she that she has a tendency to speak before she thinks (though I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now). You see, she thought she was being cheeky, sassy, even cute, but what she really did was challenge the most dominant, sex driven vampire in the pack. She didn’t need to look around the bonfire at the other boys to know that those three little words were going to be her undoing– in the most sex filled of ways.

Marko’s eyes became cold, calculating, and distant as he stared into Y/N’s very soul, she wasn’t fooling anyone– she was scared. A look like this is something David would give at the drop of a hat, but to see the cherub faced boy do it only confirmed what she said the day before, Marko was a devil, and he was going to show her.

Her throat became dry all over again, but what she needed wasn’t blood, no this was a different kind of thirst, one only Marko was going to quench– it’s not like she was going to complain, even if she did, it wouldn’t do her any good. He was going to make her beg, cry, and shake until she couldn’t anymore, and then keep going.

With parted lips, she stares back at him, almost hypnotically, as his hand trails down her chest. Goosebumps are left in the wake of his nails as he pulls off her jacket, getting a full view of her bare skin. Before he can claim what’s his, a seashell is thrown at his head, making him turn and snarl at Dwayne, who in turn points at David.

“Before you go and fuck her senseless, we’ve got some business to attend to.” David raises a single brow at Marko as he levels David with a glare, “Said she’d see Maria after this, and I am a man of my word.”

“... Fine.” Marko replies after a beat of silence and David’s own hard glare. Handing Y/N her jacket, he can’t stop the small smile at the spaced-out look on her face. She had no idea what was in store for her, but she was ready to be ordered, owned and used by him, that gave him some peace of mind and a huge ego boost.

After they wash up in the ocean, Marko is tasked with putting out the bonfire (David’s punishment) while the rest make their way back to the bikes, Dwayne drapes his arm over Y/N’s shoulders bringing her close to him, as he buries his nose in her damp hair. Smiling up at him, she kisses his cheek, earning herself a warm smile from the brunette.

“So, how’s it feel to be immortal, babe?” Paul muses from his bike, watching Dwayne help Y/N onto David’s bike.

Y/N lets out a breathy laugh, pretending to think for a moment as she wraps her arms around David’s waist. Dwayne straddles his bike, looking at Y/N with a questioning gaze as she shrugs her shoulders. David turns slightly with a raised brow, waiting for her answer; by now Marko has joined the group, and is also curious about her answer. He can’t hide his apprehension at the silence emitting from their newest member.

“I don’t know.” The honesty in her voice strikes a cord with the boys as they share a look with each other. They never did ask her if this was something she wanted– something she truly wanted. They thought that she would be ecstatic– who wouldn’t be? The gift of immortality isn’t something given to just anyone, she met all of their requirements, but if she didn’t want it, what were they going to do? They quite literally stole her life, and now she'll probably hate them for all eternity.

Sure, they had a huge bonding moment, but would it be enough in the long run?

Dwayne opens his mouth to say something to comfort her, but his voice is caught in his throat at the impish smile she gives them with her vampiric face, “I just turned immortal.”

-------

Tag list: @beoneofus @notwithawhimper @thelostone91

(not sure if you all wanted to be tagged or not, I'll remove you if you want.)

#the lost boys #fanfiction #tlb marko #tlb david #tlb dwayne #tlb paul #the lost boys 1987 #part 2 of 2 #the lost boys david #the lost boys marko #the lost boys paul #the lost boys dwyane #the lost boys x reader #woc!reader #tlb x woc!reader #tlb x reader #vampire babies #minors do not interact #18+

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my-brothers-corrupted · 3 months

Text

My Brothers, Corrupted

Book Five: Section Three

Dapper's psychosis worsens as he goes on without treatment, and the others try to figure out what to do while still trying to maintain a feeling of safety. Masterlist

Tws for self-hatred, past abuse, and psychosis and treatment discussions, including institutionalization. Marvin also snaps at the audience a couple times. Tws may not be completely exhaustive - keep in mind the heaviness of the fic and look out for yourself.

Thank you to @lehhoh7822 for taking the time to compile this book!

Blue wakes up alone.

He rubs at his face and turns over, considering just going back to sleep. He’s tired. But he’s hungry, too, and if he’s hungry than his brothers are hungry, and if his brothers are hungry, he needs to make breakfast.

“Jackie?” he calls, hoping his twin is just getting ready in the bathroom, but there’s no answer. The house is cold. He drags himself out of bed, shuddering in the chill. Ugh. The football jersey he threw on as a sleep-shirt is sweaty and unwashed, not unlike his dead white hair. He picks at a scab on his neck til it bleeds, frustrated from the moment he wakes up.

There’s a note on the bedside table in his brother’s struggling, messy handwriting.

Blue, I went to town because I found out about some people who can maybe help us get a place to stay and food and a job and things. I will get some stuff we need at the store. I checked last night and you and me and Chase are registered as Irish citizens in the health care system acording to the website but Dapper and Dok are British and German so it maybe costs some money to take them in to see someone but if they need appointements right now I will find the money. I’ll be home later and hopefuly we can go stay somewhere else. Love Ro

“You’ve got to be kidding, Red,” protests Blue, gripping at his hair. “None of us should be out alone. He hates crowds and public transportation but he just goes out alone… determined bastard. How will I find him if something happens? Dammit!”

He crumples the paper and throws it at the wall, slumping back into bed. Maybe he will just go back to sleep. But then again he feels so disgusting. This goddamn skin. He pulls the blankets over his head and groans into his pillow.

Anonymous asked: Blue, I think it might be possible some of Anti's magic or his 'soul' or anything might remain in you. Not that you are not your own person, but you've been showing signs that some of his magic might have stuck in you when Dark ripped him out. I mean, the anger, the love of Trick, the possible accidental hypnotism. I think it's something you should consider.

“Ah, right, yeah,” says Blue, slouching out of bed and washing his face in the bathroom sink. “Forgive me for having some shit going on right now and a friendship with one of my brothers. Must be a demon in my soul. Glad to know I look that much like my abuser to the lot of you.”

He throws the towel down and stares back at you, eyes flashing. “You sound like Dapper. Anti is DEAD. Move on.”

scunneredzombie asked: Jackie, did you bring a camera with you?

“He probably didn’t even bother to think of that,” mutters Blue, checking the bag to count how many cameras they have with them. “Maybe he at least took Anti’s phone if he really needs anything. He’s having so much fun with his new independence he’s starting to get sloppy.”

Blue shifts through some of his clean clothes for a minute, but what does it even matter? He drops his bag and gets up, heading to the room next door.

“Chase, Dok! Do you want breakfast?”

There’s no answer. He cracks the door open quietly and finds only one sleep-tousled twin laid out in the stolen bed, eyes closed, breathing soft and even. For a second, Blue feels a little better. He shouldn’t be so grouchy. They’re fighting a lot lately, sure, but what matters is that Anti is gone and they’re all together and alive. They’ll go from there.

“Where’s your twin, though, huh?” he sighs, closing the door. “Dok? Chase must be tired if he’s sleeping through you sneaking off. Henrik?”

Anonymous asked: I didn't say you look like your abuser. I said it's seriously a possibility some of his magic stuck to you. Blue, he is dead, and he is gone. But this is a serious thing to consider, you shouldn't brush it off so quick. You looked Chase in the eye and possibly hypnotized him a bit. That can't be just tossed aside like it doesn't matter.

“What are you talking about?” mumbles a sleepy voice behind him, and a second later, Chase is creaking open the door, blinking at him.

“Just something stupid,” snipes Blue, setting the camera down on the shelf beside him. “Forget it.”

Chase hums sleepily.

But the more he thinks about it, the more it starts to eat at him. He’s nauseous. Anti still here? Anti still inside him, moving him, controlling him? He remembers -

Ink in his mouth, and blood on his face -

Laughter. Not his laughter, but from his mouth.

Dapper stares up at him like he’s everything he hates and loves at the same time.

Henrik is splayed out beneath him, screaming for help, but all he does is keep hitting him, again and again, beating his fists against his head, his chest, his arms, til his knuckles are stained with Henrik’s blood.

“Do you think Marvin’s going to fucking wake up, you little bitch, is that what you’re screaming for? Do you think big brother’s going to save you? No one is fucking coming, Henrik, no one is going to save you, and all your brother can do is fucking WATCH - ”

“Blue,” comes a steady voice, and then Chase’s hands are cupping his cheeks, trying to draw his gaze. “Blue. I’m here. Just breathe.”

Blue leans over and grabs his stomach, shaking so hard he can’t stay on his feet. His knees buckle and Chase grabs him, holding him tight and helping him to sit down.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. Blue, you’re okay.”

These hands, these hands, his hands, his hands. He can feel - he still remembers -

He grabs his throat and wheezes, crumpling in over himself, letting Chase fold over him and hold him, making reassurances to him again and again and again.

Anonymous asked: You are you, even if his magic does remain. You were you and he was him. Nothing he did is your doing, nothing he said is your fault. You are Blue/Marvin and you have been through all of this. He stole from you, stole your body, but nothing he used it for is your fault. Do not shoulder the responsibility of your abuser, love.

“I need - I need to talk to Henrik - why won’t he talk, Chase, why doesn’t he talk, I need - ”

“I know, Blue, I know.”

“And Dapper looks at me like he still sees him in me, I hate that, I hate him, I hate all of this. I can’t ever fix anything, I’m just - ”

“It’s not your job to fix anything, Blue, just breathe.”

“He took everything from me!” screams Blue, jerking so hard Chase pins him down slightly, scared he’ll slam his head into something. “I wish I had killed him slower! I wish I had chained him up in that barbed wire and tore through that fucking cut on his throat once and for all!”

Chase takes long, slow breaths, trying to get Blue to follow.

“It’s not your fault, Blue, what he did.”

“I can still feel him crawling inside me, fucking parasite.”

“It’s just the trauma, Blue. He’s gone.”

“What if I did hypnotize you?”

“What?”

“What if I did? The other day? We made eye contact and you - you got all - kind of dopey, you know?”

“I’m not Trick anymore,” says Chase firmly. “Nothing like that happened. Just forget it, Blue. It’s done.”

scunneredzombie asked: Chase, any idea where Henrik got to? Outside maybe? Take your time with Blue, he needs you, but finding Dok should be the next-up.

“Oh, shit,” says Chase, sitting up. “Oh, fuck, he must have snuck off while I was asleep, fuck.”

It puts fear in him immediately, and he’s on his feet, calling for him. “Dok? I’m here! Where are you? You don’t think he ran off, do you? Blue, I’m going to go grab him, just quick, I’ll be right back.”

Blue lets him go without protest, slumping back against the wall. It’s Chase’s job to protect his brother the same way Marvin was supposed to look out for all of them. He buries his face in his hands and closes his eyes, flowers curling out from one sleeve of his shirt in woeful blue petals.

Anonymous asked: None of you have jobs anymore, you all deserve to relate with and help each other at any time, like a family. Not Antis dollhouse, but an actual family, all of you to all of you.

“I gave up Marvin for a chance to save them someday,” Blue tells you quietly, running his fingers over old scars. “But all I could do was kill him and that fixed so little. I still have to see them all breaking in half and I can’t do anything about it. Can’t even get a hold of myself. You’re right, Red and I are just going to end up being the new version of him. Controlling because we think we care, unlike him, but controlling anyway. Maybe I do still treat Chase like Trick. I wish so badly that one of them could just be… okay. Could just be himself again. Happy and healthy and fine. But we’re all just fucked up and tired. How am I even supposed to start fixing any of this? I think even if Red gets us everything we need, we’ll still all just be shadows of the people we used to be.”

He pauses, breathing more even, more slow. Okay. Okay.

“I wish my hair would grow back,” he adds, voice small. “I really wish this body was mine again.”

scunneredzombie asked: And are shadows not still worthy of love and care? You, all of you, need to stop trying to be the exact people you were before he was in control. Trauma /changes/ you. Trauma changes your brain, physically and emotionally. But those changes don't take away your value or your personhood. It's okay to change, and it's okay to feel like shadows for a bit while you heal. Don't give up, you lot!

Blue is quiet, staring down at his feet, his knees drawn to his chest.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “They all still deserve a lot. I… deserve better. A lot better than the way he treated us. I just wish I could give it to them. I think it’s so ingrained in my head - and in Ro’s too - that we have to make sure they’re okay before we can be okay. I guess maybe I should be focusing on myself but I just want them to be… ugh. What a mess all of this is.”

He feels bad all the way down to his heart, doubly exhausted now from his freak-out, and embarrassed that Chase saw him like that. His little brother is coming back towards him now, Dok in tow and a worried look on his face, but Blue doesn’t want to see them right now. Doesn’t want to see Henrik silent and blank from the things that Blue - that Anti did to him. Doesn’t want to risk looking too deeply into Chase’s eyes and realizing that you might be right, and some part of Anti remains inside of him, enough to mess with Chase’s brain. Doesn’t want to be looked at at all, not while he’s… this.

“Can I just get some alone time?” he asks, rubbing his face.

“I could be alone with you,” offers Chase quickly. “But, um, also - ”

“Chase, I just - I just want some alone time.”

Chase glances back at Henrik, who blinks at him. He sighs.

“Um, okay. Yeah, no worries. But if you need anything, Blue… you know I’d do anything for you, right?”

“I love you too,” answers Blue softly.

Chase’s mouth flickers with a small, taut smile. He leads Henrik back down the stairs.

Anonymous asked: Blue. You're putting shields up against people that don't want to hurt you. You have a right to your privacy always, but you don't have to deny the fact that you need help and you want to get better. You're a problem solver but it's okay to ask for help and it's okay to accept it as well.

“Yeah, well,” grouses Blue, getting up and heading back towards his room. “Consider this one more shield.”

And he closes his door and leaves you in the hallway.

Downstairs, Chase flinches at the sound of the door shutting. He squares his shoulders and lets go of a deep breath, stepping out onto the porch.

“Okay, Dap,” he says unsteadily. “Blue is taking a break. But we can figure this out between the three of us, right?”

Dapper doesn’t reply. His hands are coated black with charcoal, which he has spread across the entire back wall of the house, repeating drawings of eyes over and over and over again.

Anonymous asked: JJ, are you alright? Another paranoid episode?

“Hey, Dapper,” murmurs Chase, sinking to his knees beside him. “Hey, look at me. Are you okay? JJ? Can you look at me?”

He just keeps drawing. Henrik is already on his other side, right where Chase found him this morning - trying to pull the charcoal out of his hand and touching the back of his head like he’s somehow holding him in place. It’s the most independent reaction Chase has seen his twin offer in weeks, but it isn’t doing much. Henrik tightens his grip on the charcoal and Dapper shoves his hand away, curled low over an eye on the corner of the house.

“Dapper,” says Chase, louder, putting a hand on his chin and trying to draw his gaze to him. “You didn’t sleep, did you? You have to stop. Jameson, hey.”

Henrik blinks at him from the other side of their brother. Dapper doesn’t stop.

“Okay.” Chase chews on the nail of his thumb. “Okay, so not listening. Maybe not hearing me. Dapper, can’t you just tell me what you need? What are the eyes for?”

He’s been scrawling so hard and for so long that there’s blood on the ends of his fingers.

scunneredzombie asked: Offer a reality check, Chase? Like reminding him where he is, his name, your name, that he's safe, etc. Reminders of truths and things that would provide comfort.

“Dapper? I’m here. It’s me, Chase, and Henrik, too. That’s who’s touching you. You’re safe here, yeah? Dap. Look at me, okay? Can you please? Can you tell me what the eyes are for?”

Dapper scrapes at his ears for a second. They’re black with charcoal and red with how hard he’s been scratching at them, cupping them, striking them. Chase pulls his hand down from his ear.

“You’re going to make yourself bleed. JJ, talk to me.”

“Can’t talk.”

“Hey! Yeah, here I am, okay, I know you can’t talk, I just mean - you know what I mean, right, you - ”

“Nobody’s listening. Just talking talking talking.”

“I’m here, it’s Chase, I’m listening.”

Dapper keeps drawing eyes. Or Chase thinks they’re eyes. They seem to just be devolving into ovals with circles inside them. Dapper rocks himself forward with a sudden intensity, letting himself slump against the back wall like he’s trying to collapse into it, but still drawing, still drawing.

“I’ll get you some water, okay?” offers Chase, drawing back from him, unnerved. Dapper’s posture is distinctly uncomfortable-looking, like a mannequin with cut strings left splayed against the wall, but he doesn’t try to adjust. His pupils are shrunken dots.

“Fuck, fuck,” he whispers to himself, hurrying into the house to get him some water.

Henrik stays outside, staring at Dapper as he draws. After a second he sits down beside him and starts tracing over the eyes with his finger, smudging it in charcoal. Dapper pushes his hand away and corrects the lines he’s marred without comment. Henrik has a hand on his knee, quiet.

Anonymous asked: Is Anti talking to you, Jay? He's just a ghost now, don't fret. He can't hurt you, and he can't see you. He's a hallucination. You're very paranoid and scared right now, I understand. Try to bring yourself back to reality. Focus on the water's coldness, on Henrik and Chase being there for you, on the friendly, brotherly hands that touch and try to bring you back. You will be okay. No one is watching besides people who love you.

Chase is good with him by now - knows what to say, how to hold onto him, what to look out for when things are getting bad. But no matter how much he speaks reassurances in calm, even tones and short sentences, or how gently he repositions his shaking body, or how carefully he’s trying to look after him, he’s not coming out of it.

“How long has he been like this?” asks Chase, looking up at his twin like he’s hoping he’ll start talking again in this exact moment and give him all the answers like he used to. “What are we supposed to do? I need Red or Blue.”

He gets to his feet, stalking in circles as he tries to think. There’s a sudden dry yelp and he turns, alarmed, to see Henrik reeling back, gripping his nose.

“Dapper!” Chase howls. “It’s Dok, not Anti! Did you hit him?”

He reaches down to grab his wrist, but Dapper thrashes free, teeth gritted, eyes watering with fear.

“He’s everywhere, he won’t leave me alone, I can’t get out of my room…”

Chase pulls Henrik to his feet and leads him inside, sitting him down on the couch. This is out of control. He knows what he would do next, but - well, he’s not in charge. He needs Red or Blue.

scunneredzombie asked: You're in charge right now Chase. You're the most functional person around currently. Try doing what your idea was, it could be helpful. JJ just needs people to be cautious and gentle to him right now, remind him he's free and not in that prison of a room. Turn him around and let him see the grass and forest behind the house, take him onto the soil if you can. Literal 'grounding'.

Chase sits with Dapper a while longer, looking at him. He tries touching him, pulling at him, trying to turn him around, but Dapper just yanks back towards the wall with increasing desperation, his fingers smearing blood across charcoal. It’s been a long time since he’s been this stuck in his head, but the truth is that he’s been struggling for weeks now, and there are a lot of things Chase wishes they would have done for him a long time ago.

Okay. He’s in charge right now.

He’s not little brother. He’s just a brother. No more hierarchy. Okay.

He gets to his feet and goes up to Blue’s room. He opens the door and steps inside, and his sibling looks up at him in confusion from beneath a pile of somebody else’s blankets.

“Dapper needs to go to the hospital,” says Chase. “I’m going to take him to the bus stop.”

Anonymous asked: Good call, Chaser. Do you know if there's any behavioral clinics near to you? JJ would have a difficult time in the hospital, what with all the strangers, but it might be just what would help right now. He need his medicine and he needs a safe place with people who know what to do.

“Hold up, what’s going on?” demands Blue, hurrying out of bed. “Let me see him. I’ll handle it.”

“Blue, I love you, but you and Dapper aren’t really best friends right now. He’s been hallucinating and erratic for days now and now he’s almost totally unresponsive, drawing eyes on the walls and scraping at his ears because his voices are so loud. Blue, he’s having a psychotic break, and if it doesn’t get handled, not only is he going to keep suffering, he could snap the timeline. I know we’re used to Dapper being kind of - well, weird. But we can’t pretend any of this is normal.”

“Okay, but Chase, if we take him to a hospital, they might put him in a psych ward.”

“What if he needs to be in a psych ward for a little while?” asks Chase, exhausted. “With professionals? Or what if they just give him some medication and let him come home with us once he’s stable?”

“We need to run this past Jackie,” says Blue, pushing past Chase to go find his little brother.

“Jackie’s not here. And even if he were… you know he wouldn’t let us do this. He’s so scared of losing control he would never let someone else take care of his baby brother. He’s paranoid too right now. Dapper needs to see a professional. Now.”

Blue pushes out onto the porch. Dapper doesn’t look up at him, but when Blue reaches out to touch his shoulder, Dapper gasps and cowers from him, wrapping his arms around his head and curling in on himself, panting.

“Oh, lovey, oh, love,” moans Blue, tugging at his hair, stressed. “Um, I - I don’t know. I just wanted to take him to a clinic to get a prescription.”

“That’s all Anti ever did for him,” mumbles Chase. “It was never enough. Let’s at least look for behavioral clinics like they said.”

“We don’t have any way to do that. No phone or computer or anything. And we are not talking to the neighbors - we’ve already fucked up this whole house, don’t need to be any more suspicious.”

scunneredzombie asked: Blue, I know it hurts, but there's not much you or Chase can do for him right now. Going to an urgent care or a hospital is what he needs right now, or something bad could happen to him. When people become unresponsive there's not much to do - if they don't have their medicine - besides taking them to a doctor. I've had to do it before, there's no shame in it. Psychosis is a serious thing and needs serious help.

“What’s the stress here?” asks Chase wearily. “What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know,” snaps Blue, trying not to cry. “Maybe that we’re broke and he’s not in the health care system? Or that he’s mute and psychotic and they might treat him badly? That he might be scared, that he might be violent, that he might talk too much about his abusive family and all the people we’ve murdered? How about the fact that Jackie is going to be pissed and terrified? Chase, this isn’t going to work.”

Chase stares down at his feet for a second, eyes tired.

“Blue,” he says after a moment. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life sick and hiding.”

Blue sighs, closing his eyes.

“You’re good, right, Chase?” he asks. “That’s not true what Jackie said. That you’re just acting like the sunshine kid to make me happy.”

Chase cringes slightly, looking away. “Can we talk about this later?”

“Fuck,” Blue curses, rubbing at his face. “Fuck…. fine. Okay. Okay, yes, we’re doing this. Jackie will flip his shit, but we’ll deal with it. Dapper, honey. We gotta go. Come with me, okay?”

Still just drawing. Just drawing in circles.

“How are we doing this?” asks Blue.

“I don’t know,” sighs Chase. “Carry him?”

“I’m going to pull him a little here,” warns Blue, reaching down. He ends up wrapping his arms tight around Dapper’s shoulders and heaving him to his feet even as Dapper starts to struggle, alarmed. Once he’s up he’s a little less steady, but less angry too, just blinking around at the world with tears in his eyes and a shaking piece of charcoal in his hand.

“Babe, we’re going to the hospital,” says Blue clearly. “Come on, okay?”

“I’m not allowed - ”

“You’re allowed. It’s okay. Chase, you ready?”

“What? No, I have to stay here with Dok.”

“You’re sticking me with him alone? You were the one who said he doesn’t like me that much right now!”

“What are we supposed to do, bring two tortured brothers into the ER? That won’t look suspicious!”

“So I’ll stay with Dok, then!”

Chase flinches, shaking his head rapidly.

“Chase - ”

“I’ll stay with him,” says Chase, creeping back towards the house. “I have to stay with him.”

Blue groans and turns to Dapper, who stares back at him with his huge, terrified eyes.

“Fine, fine,” he breathes out. “This is going to be a trainwreck. This is going to suck. Come on, buddy.”

“I’m not allowed.”

“You’re allowed.”

“I’m stuck in my room… he’s going to hurt me…”

“Come on, Dap.”

Anonymous asked: Chase, let Blue stay with Henrik. You need to be able to trust other people to take care of him. Get away from the twin hierarchy and let another brother care for him. JJ is scared of Blue currently, he needs someone he fully trusts to guide him. Henrik will be okay without you for just a few hours. Everything will be alright.

Chase shifts back towards the house, clinging to the doorway. He can hear Henrik playing with an old game of dominoes on the coffee table, clicking and placing the pieces together. He doesn’t want to go.

“Don’t you trust me?” asks Blue.

“It’s not about that,” says Chase.

“So what’s it about.”

“He’s mine,” snarls Chase, face darkening. “Not yours. Not anybody else’s. And when he wakes up, it’s me he’s coming back to.”

He turns on Blue and shuts the door.

Anonymous asked: He doesn't belong to you Chase. Henrik is his own person, and he is not to be treated like he's helpless just because he can't speak. Don't be possessive in that way, it too reminiscent of Anti.

Chase chews on his nails, staring at his brother. Henrik is putting the domino pieces together right, or at least in a way that makes sense. Matching colors and numbers. He’s there, just… far away.

“Sorry, Blue,” he calls through the door.

Blue snorts on the other side. “That was fast. You have a temper like a bunny rabbit. Go get Dapper some shoes.”

Chase moves off to find the nearest pair of torn-up sneakers, tired of the day already. He hands them over to Blue and watches him help lace them onto Dapper’s feet, sinking down onto the couch beside Henrik. He moves one of his dominoes and Henrik’s eyes flicker up to him, slightly narrow in a way that makes Chase think maybe he knows he’s being played with. He laughs weakly and touches his brother’s cheek. Henrik gazes at him, blinking.

“I should never have left you alone, man,” whispers Chase. “I wish you were here to forgive me. I just don’t want you to be alone again when you come back.”

Henrik stares at him. His glasses are a little crooked on his nose. A little broken and a little crooked. His twin.

Henrik reaches slowly out and wraps his arms around his neck, letting his head fall down onto Chase’s shoulder. Chase feels a shaky breath escape from his chest. He tries to move slowly. Tries not to startle him. Can’t break this.

He hugs his brother back slowly, his hands pressing into his back. They seem to fit just right.

“I’ll take him if you really want,” Chase tells him a few minutes later, sliding back towards Blue. “Dok’s okay. Dapper’s not.”

“I almost want to take him now,” sighs Blue. “That’s my job, right?”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

“He’s already upset with me. If you take him, he might be mad at you too.”

“Either way will be okay with me.”

Anonymous asked:

Would either one of you be more confident dealing with medical professionals and paperwork and all that to get him admitted? I'd lean more towards Chase just because JJ and Marv are still having a hard time, but of course it's up to y'all. There's practical bits to taking him to a hospital that y'all can consider too.

“Oh, hell,” says Chase. “I don’t even know my fake name. Or his.”

“I gave you your ID, how can you not know that?”

“I don’t know where it is, haha.”

“Chase!”

“I’ll find it…”

Anonymous asked: You are allowed to go Dapper. You are free, Anti is gone. You can finally have therapy and doctors and medicine. No one tells you what to do anymore. You are 'allowed' to do anything at all, especially if it's helpful and beneficial for your health.

“Do you want to pick, bud?” asks Blue, putting a hand on his back. “You can make your own choice now, they’re right. It’s okay. It’s allowed.”

Dapper stares at Blue. Stares at Chase. Stares at Blue.

“Okay, this is going nowhere,” crabs Blue, taking his hand. “Chase, bring Dok and come with us on the bus. You guys can go for a walk or something while we check in. It’ll be good for Dok to get out and about. We’ll leave Jackie a note. Come on.”

“That works.”

scunneredzombie asked: You are allowed to get help, buddy. Anti is dead. You're free from your room. You can finally get the help you need, it'll all be okay. I know it must be terrifying, but you can finally have your medicine and have therapy and people to help you through it. Repeat to yourself. Anti is dead. Anti can't control you anymore.

They go for a walk and sit on the bus with what little cash Blue was keeping from Jackie, exhausted together, though Dapper is a buzzing ball of nervous energy beside Blue, staring out the window like he doesn’t understand how they’re moving or what they’re moving past. Chase and Dok are behind them, Chase’s eyes fixed on his little brother’s head. Dapper flinches every time someone coughs or shifts or yawns around him. Like everything in the world is waiting to hurt him.

“Look at you, all mussed up,” sighs Blue, licking his thumb and trying to wipe some of the charcoal off his brother’s face. “All that curly hair growing out and all these old cuts and bruises. And so skinny. I should have made sure you ate last night. I just hid from you all. No wonder you ended up freaking out on the porch all night. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Dapper clings to the window, leaning forward to trace a dog passing by. Blue tries to smooth down his hair, stroking across the mess of his locks, scratching at his short beard.

“They’re right, okay?” he murmurs, trying to clean him up, though he knows the lot of them must look like disasters. They are disasters right now. “You control yourself. Just a little sick right now. Anti is gone. He’s gone, Dap. It’s just you and - ”

Dapper whirls on him and grabs his face between his hands, staring at him dead on. Chase’s nervous hand reaches out to grab Dapper’s wrist. Blue waits, frozen.

Dapper draws back again, still looking at him.

“You’re okay,” says Blue softly, because if he loses it on the bus, they’re screwed. “You’re okay.”

“Is it you?” asks Dapper.

“I’m whoever you need me to be right now, Dapper.”

Dapper blinks, apparently considering this. After a second he nods and sinks down in his seat, looking back out the window.

Anonymous asked: Sorry, I haven't been here for a bit - do any of you have phones? Can you contact Jackie? I'm a touch concerned that he could come home to an empty house. Is there a camera there for us to talk to him, at least?

“He did that to me this morning,” grouses Blue. “And he took the only phone. But yes, there are extra cameras at home when he gets back. And maybe he’ll actually have found us somewhere to stay… now that we’ve messed up the porch and eaten most of the food, I don’t think we’re exactly discreet.”

“Is it you?” asks Dapper again, looking back at Blue.

“I don’t know,” answers Blue. “Who do you think I am?”

Dapper shakes his head, blinking. “I’m… not sure. I don’t think we’ve met.”

Blue laughs weakly, smoothing out an extra strand of his hair.

“Weird, I was just thinking that too. Maybe we haven’t met.”

“No?”

“We really don’t know each other at all, huh? When he was still alive, you were just the brother in the basement I was supposed to save. His twin, wrapped around his finger. I think maybe that’s why I’ve been so ticked off. You still remind me of him. It’s all I’ve ever associated you with.”

“Do you want me to be something else?”

“No,” says Blue quickly, squeezing his hand. “No, just yourself. Just healthy and yourself.”

“Is it you?”

“It’s Blue, Dapper.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“Okay. We’re friends?”

“We’re siblings. But I’d like to be friends sometime too.”

“You’re being funny with me, Anti,” says Dapper, laying his head on his shoulder. “You always laugh at me when I’m sick.”

Blue lets it go, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“We’re almost to help, JJ.”

scunneredzombie asked: JJ, try to stay calm at the hospital. Strangers will have to touch you to check you out and keep you healthy. Strangers will have to watch over you to make sure you don't hurt yourself/anyone. You'll be perfectly okay and none of them mean you harm. They should be understanding if you lash out, just try your best. I believe in you, all of you!

“Ready?” asks Chase as the hospital comes into view, leaning forward.

“Where are we?” Dapper asks.

“He’s talking now. Maybe we can just go back home?”

“Blue, no,” chides Chase. “Dapper, let’s go get you to a doctor, okay?”

Dapper looks up at Blue in alarm, gripping his hand. “It’s okay,” offers Blue. “Don’t sweat it. People are here to help.”

“This is a test,” signs Dapper uncertainly. “You’re testing me.”

“No.” Blue switches to signing, hoping to avoid as many odd looks as they can. “Dapper, you know that you’re paranoid when you’re off your meds. You know that’s what those thoughts are. No one’s testing you and no one’s trying to hurt you. Some people are going to come help and they’re probably going to touch you and maybe have needles and that sort of thing, but you need to stay calm.”

“You’re going to leave me here, then,” Dapper says, his breath hitching. “You - I did something wrong and you’re going to have me locked up. I don’t even remember, you can’t do this to me.”

“Nobody’s leaving you here.”

Dapper’s shaken, eyes flickering around the bus. Blue takes his arm and pulls him carefully to his feet. “I’m going to stay right with you,” he says clearly. “I’m going to stay right here.”

“You don’t want me to take him?” asks Chase.

“He thinks I’m Anti,” mumbles Blue. “I think that’s the only reason he’s not attacking us or running for his life right now.”

Dapper clings to him in return, shaking. They help him off the bus amid a crowd of people. Dapper cowers against Blue’s chest, scrambling for a knife at his side, but there’s nothing there.

“Why are we out in the open like this?” his hands snap. “You’re just being reckless now.”

“We’re allowed to be out in the open. No one’s coming for us.”

“Make them be quiet, Anti, make them be quiet!” He clutches his ears, knees buckling, and Blue grabs him, keeping him on his feet and hurrying forward with him.

“Dapper,” calls Chase, worried.

“Chase, just take Henrik to the park or something. Keep calm.”

“You stole me and now you’re putting me back,” protests Dapper frantically, his feet scraping against the ground as he tries to pull against Blue’s grip. “Like you said you’d put me in an asylum and I’d never get out.”

“Anti told you that?”

“I know I can’t handle it without you, I know, don’t punish me!”

“Dapper - ”

“I’ll break everything if you’re not around,” he sobs, gripping at Blue’s shirt between signs. “I don’t have any control of myself, of my magic, when you’re not around. You have to keep me in control.”

“Dapper, you can handle this on your own! He just wanted you to believe you were helpless without him, he just - ”

“You’re not even real, why are you still hurting me?” He strikes Blue’s chest, crying in earnest, his face swollen in red. “If I didn’t need you so badly do you know how long ago I would have left?”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t!” shouts Blue, grabbing Dapper’s wrist. “And don’t you dare fucking hit me! You could have run from Anti like I did! I let him take me for the sake of the others, but you! Why did you ever let him keep you like that? Huh?”

“Sir! Hey, do you need help?”

Blue barely hears it. “Why don’t you tell me that, JJ?” he screams, shaking him. “Why didn’t you fight him?”

“You liar,” sobs JJ, pulling away from him, near crumpled in half. “You promised me. You said you would let the others go. I wasn’t enough for you. I hate that Blue got to kill you. I hate that I was such a coward. You took everything from me. I should have killed you slow and painful. I loved you too though. I don’t know what I was holding on to. Maybe if I had been the one to do it you wouldn’t still be here haunting me. You don’t know how much I hate myself. Coward. I should have been the one to do it.”

Blue feels a sob in his throat, his eyes burning. He crashes back into Dapper, grabbing his face and shoving their heads together, meeting his gaze, and his little brother looks back with his tortured eyes, and Blue is sorry for everything he’s been through and everything they’ve lost together.

“He sucks, doesn’t he?” he manages finally.

Jameson sinks against his chest, closing his eyes.

“I hate myself lately too, little brother. We’ll get through it.”

“I’m always going to be dangerous. I can’t control myself without Anti in my head. We’re twins. We can’t survive without each other.”

“Nah,” offers Blue, shaking his head. “No, that’s just more of Anti’s stupid brother system. The cameras were right. It all has to fall apart. We’re going to help you figure out how to stay in control without needing him. Okay?”

JJ stares up at him. “Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. You must have done it before Anti came to take you. When we were living in the house in the woods. When things were kind. Things will be kind again. We just gotta take some steps.”

Jameson watches the sidewalk, thinking.

“It just starts with this, okay?” says Blue, taking his hand. “With getting some real help.”

“I’m… I’m going to get left here. Stuck again. Stuck.”

“No. We’d never leave you behind.”

“Even if you get mad?”

“Yeah, even if I get mad.”

“Even if I remind you of Anti?”

“Yeah. That’s my shit, not yours. I’ll get past it. Cause I love you.”

Jameson looks up, and for a second, his eyes are clear.

“Oh, silly,” he says, laughing faintly at himself. “Sorry, I just realized it’s you.”

“There you go,” beams Blue, relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”

“Marvin,” signs JJ fondly, touching his cheek. “Yeah, I see you now.”

#book five

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clapperboardtalk · 3 months

Text

30 DAYS OF NIGHT : DARK DAYS (2010)

30 Days of Night: Dark Days - Don't Let the Title Fool You, It's More Like 1 Dark Hour of Disappointment

• Title: 30 Days of Night: Dark Days

• Genre: Action Horror (emphasis on the "meh" in both)

• Runtime: 1h 32min (but felt like an eternity in vampire purgatory) • Country: USA

• Year: 2010 (a year best remembered for...well, other things)

• Simple Plot: So, vampires in Alaska during endless winter? That's dark, right? Wrong! It's more like a bunch of wannabe vampire slayers whining, running, and occasionally throwing stakes with all the enthusiasm of a soggy paper towel.

• Cinematography: Think blurry night, blurry snow, blurry emotions. You'll squint more than Dracula at a garlic fest.

• Memorable Scene: The only thing truly memorable is the constant questioning of "Why am I watching this?"

• Overall Review: If the original 30 Days of Night was a sun-drenched adrenaline rush, this sequel is like sipping on expired flat soda under a flickering blacklight. The action fizzles fast, the characters are flatter than a vampire pancake, and the plot twists? More like predictable kinks in a worn-out coffin lid.

• Personal Rating: 1 out of 5 (and the skull only because I appreciate the dedication to the vampire genre, even if this was a major fumble)

Alaskan darkness swallows Barrow whole, unleashing fangs instead of snowflakes. Enter Stella, our supposed badass vampire slayer, with her arsenal of furrowed brows and confused stares. Their team? More like a bunch of paper tigers, crumpling under pressure faster than a garlic clove in a blender.

The plot twists like a vampire with vertigo, leaving you more lost than a caribou in a blizzard. They shove characters in your face, demanding empathy, but the story's a tangled mess, like a blood-soaked Christmas wreath. One minute they're staking like John Wick, the next they're whimpering about not wanting to die (despite signing up for a vampire buffet).

The villains? About as exciting as watching paint dry in a cave. They pose less threat than a paper cut with rusty spoons, leaving you wondering why all the fuss. And then there's the ending, a finale so nonsensical it would make even the most patient vampire groan in exasperation.

So, unless you enjoy existential dread fueled by confusing choices and flat emotions, 30 Days of Night: Dark Days might not be your cup of blood. Stick to the original, where at least the sun eventually rises on a more coherent story. Remember, sunlight is good for the soul, even if you're facing perpetual darkness.

• Fun Fact: Kiele Sanchez did her own stunts, which is actually pretty badass considering the movie itself did about as much stunt work as a cardboard cutout Dracula.

• Compare to the First: Forget a worthy successor, this is more like the discount Dracula to the first movie's Count von Count. Skip this sequel and rewatch the original for a real 30-day thrill ride. Your nightmares will thank you.

#horror #vampire #VampireFail #DarkestHourOfDisappointment #BringBackTheSun #MoreBlinksThanStakes #ConfusedVampSlayersInAlaska #BloodlessBoredom #ThisMovieTookASuckAtBeingGood

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wri0thesley · 3 years

Note

can i request arranged marriage with toji and corruption please 🥰

wedding rings - toji x fem!reader (5k)

the zenin clan just can't stop meddling in toji's affairs. what's he supposed to do with the nervous little virgin who shows up on his doorstep and says that her family and his have said they have to get married? not fuck her?

warnings: not sfw/minors dni. arranged marriage. corruption kink. virgin reader. light cunnilingus, fingering, coming inside. light dub-con by nature of 'arranged marriage'. afab reader, fem pronouns.

[a/n: writing toji is always so much fun ;_; ]

When you showed up at Toji’s door with suitcase in hand, trembling lip and eyes all wide and frightened, he had laughed outright.

It was just like the fucking Zenin clan to be meddling in his life even now, wasn’t it? Even though Toji has abandoned them and slaughtered their ilk, their bullshit about bloodlines still leaks into every facet of what they do; and clearly the idea that Toji, even with his flawed lack of cursed energy, might be able to pass on the technique and hasn’t got a pretty little wife to impregnate yet had rankled them so badly that they’d sorted the whole situation out for him.

If he didn’t hate jujutsu society so much, he’d almost feel bad for you.

You’re clearly in the bloom of life; fresh-faced and innocent, not expecting to find yourself in Toji’s messy shithole of an apartment (why bother making it nice, when he spends so long out of it for work?). He wonders who you’ve pissed off to end up here.

As it turns out, you end up telling him yourself, a frown on your face.

Turns out, you’re . . . not quite just like him, but you’ve been fucked over by your clan just as much for not being able to be useful. You can see cursed spirits, but you’ve got no cursed energy, no technique – despite your clan usually producing good, dutiful, powerful wives. Disappointment of the family. He can understand what that feels like.

So they were probably glad to get rid of you. Might even hope you’ll bear Toji’s kid and it’ll have no technique to speak of itself, too – so both families can forget about you.

(Well, Toji thinks to himself with a grin – his family can’t forget about him, much as they want to, considering both his nickname and his line of work.)

He takes a sip of the glass of water he’s holding in his hand, green eyes focused very hard on you. You’re not in traditional clothing, like most clan members he knows would be; you’re wearing a pale blue dress that you keep tugging uncomfortably down over your thighs. Toji lets his eyes linger on your thighs, too – he might as well appreciate the view, he supposes.

Your suitcase is full of, as well as a collection of clothes in modest cut and soft, pastel colours, documents. Toji flips through some of them, nose wrinkling at the boring jargon. He does linger on a caveat about if you bear him children, they all have to take the Zenin name, and Toji and you will be ‘compensated handsomely’ for handing over the kid’s education and raising to the clan--

Bullshit.

Toji’s about to crumple them up on the floor and tell you to get the fuck out of his house, when he catches sight of you over the edge of the paper. You’ve drawn yourself in; shoulders tight, pretty mouth pressed into a tight line, eyes shining with a mixture between hope and fear. You look so lost. You look so innocent.

A little curl of heat makes itself known in the very base of Toji’s stomach; the thought of you being a good little wife, on your knees. The thought of him telling you exactly how to suck his cock.

He knows how the sorcerer clans raise women like you.

He knows you’ll be eager to please and obedient, falling over yourself to keep your man happy. He knows, too, that you’ll be pliant and agreeable – and that you’ll be pure as the driven snow. That thought gives him pause.

You’re seductive to him without realising it, in the totally guileless way you act, as if you don’t know that he’s considering how your tits would fill his hands and how tight your precious, untouched cunt would feel around his girth.

If he rejects you, what will your clan do?

You’re as fucked as him. He can see it in the shine of your eyes in his kitchen; you’re afraid he will throw you out, like he was thinking of. Leave you to fend for yourself on the streets of Japan, because there’s no way your family will want you back after even scum like Toji’s rejected you.

Would it be so bad?

He lets himself look at you critically. He takes in the curves, the dips, the contours of your body; the way you’d feel beneath him. Your face, and what it would look like lost in pleasure.

Perhaps it would be pleasant, to have someone to return to after a hit; to have someone warm his bed, curl around him, cook for him and take care of him. Perhaps it would be pleasant to take a pretty little virgin and break her into exactly what he wants in a woman. To teach her how he likes to fuck, how he likes her to act, to condition her until he can crook his finger at her and she’s bending over, presenting herself already slick and needy for his cock to use however he sees fit.

“Alright,” he says, draining the glass. “Sure, sweetheart. We’ll get married.”

Later on that night, he creeps into the spare room. You’re asleep on top of the covers in a cute pyjama set that’s all frills and froth and pale pink; elastic in the shorts digging into the flesh of your thighs, top clinging to the curve of your chest. His cock stirs in his pants looking at you. You’re so . . . innocent. There’s no mark to you; Toji wants to cling to your hips until there are bruises in the shape of his hands, wants to worry love-bites into your neck like a necklace, wants to ruin you until you’re tear-stained and whimpering and arching your hips up for him--

Calloused fingers trail along your skin. You’re so soft. Where Toji is all scars and muscle, your skin is like satin. You moan in your sleep, pretty face furrowing, and Toji wants to see your face creased in pleasure too. Your mouth drops open and he imagines thrusting his cock in it; how pretty and shiny your lips would look wrapped around his shaft, almost too big for you to even take.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, thumb skimming the exposed stomach where your pyjama top has ridden up. “Ripe for the picking, ain’t ya?”

Your eyes twitch. Eyebrows, furrow – and you blink your gaze awake, sticky-slow, to see your fiancee looming over you in the dark.

“What’re you—?” You ask, still sleep-laced, but Toji just makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.

“Just lookin’ at the merchandise, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Wanna make sure you ain’t damaged, that’s all--”

“I—I’m not!” The cute little burst of outrage is ruined somewhat by the yawn that you have to suppress in the middle of it, but Toji grins.

He didn’t think the Zenins would send you if you weren’t – they wouldn’t want to risk the precious possibility of a kid born with power and technique not really being one of theirs – but it’s nice to hear your mouth confirm what he’s been suspecting and hoping is the truth.

“Aw, baby girl,” he says, keeping his voice low and even, trying to comfort you even as his hand is sliding further up, cupping one of your breasts (his palm brushes your nipple and he feels it harden beneath his touch, stiffening to a peak – he wants to see what you look like under there so badly), “C’mon, it’s fine. I ain’t gonna hurt you--”

“M-Mr Zenin,” you say, and the tremble in your voice is so cute. His cock is straining against the boxer shorts he wore to sleep in. You’re wide awake now; your eyes meeting his. “I—I know, but--”

He’s on the bed. He doesn’t miss how your gaze strays to his veined forearms, where the muscles bulge in his biceps, the carefully sculpted and maintained abdomen and pecs – he sees the swallow in your throat, the way your cute little tongue reaches out to swipe nervously over your lower lip.

Thumb brushes your collarbone and you shudder, your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation. He sees your thighs twitch, squeeze together – he’s willing to bet if he dipped his fingers into your slit right now, he’d pull his digits back out with your slick glimmering on them.

“Just call me Toji.”

“T-Toji—” Your voice pitches, shuddering with arousal that you don’t know how to handle. He’s heard that note in women’s voice before; that desperate ‘I want to be touched, but I know I shouldn’t want it’ wobble. He’s been the cause of it more times than he can count.

“S’okay,” he soothes, his other hand rounding over your hip, his knees nudging your legs apart. “You’re savin’ yourself for marriage, yeah? We’ll get the papers signed in the mornin’, I promise, botha our families are the kind to make sure things can be rushed through quick--”

“I—” You’re a little breathless, all needy and hot under his touch. It’s adorable. “I shouldn’t, please, it’s only a few days--”

“You want to.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement, as he curls his fingers about your hip, as he settles his own muscular thighs between yours and he sees that there’s a damp spot on the pale pink shorts. Soaked through your underwear and your nightwear? He forgot how sensitive virgins can be. “Don’t lie to yourself, angel.”

He leans down, scarred lips brushing yours. You taste like his toothpaste; peppermint on his tongue as he swipes it over your lower lip and you sigh as you allow him entrance. It’s the first mark of him on you, but he knows it won’t be the last. He deliberately presses his knee against your clothed mount, grinding it just a little – and you whimper into his mouth, heated and desperate.

“We’ll be married soon as,” he murmurs to you, pulling back, looking at you with lust darkening his eyes. No man has ever looked at you quite as hungrily as Toji is looking at you right now. And he’s so handsome, his touches gentle-- “You wanna be a good girl for me, right? S’just what a wife does for her husband, yeah?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Toji grins at you. It’s a feral, starving grin, that you feel deep inside of you as you clench around nothing and burn to be touched.

He kisses you again, hungrier. He nips at your lower lip, his tongue roughly demanding entrance – he dances against your own. You’ve never really understood the idea of kissing with tongues, but Toji knows exactly what he’s doing; hitting a spot on the roof of your mouth that makes you shudder and gasp, your hands coming up to grasp his biceps.

The muscle underneath them is so solid, and Toji can’t help but notice how soft your hands are on him. He knows you’ll be that soft everywhere else, and the thought spurs him on.

“I’m gonna undress you now,” he tells you, thick and throaty. His big fingers curve under the hem of the lacy top you’re wearing, gently tugging it up over your stomach and then your breasts. That sharp green gaze caresses every newly bared inch of you, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Fuckin’ hell. You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart.”

Your skin feels hot under the compliment, Toji’s flat palm sliding along the softness of your tummy to round over your breasts. Your nipples have pebbled and stiffened in the cool air of the spare room, and Toji flicks his thumb along one (making you shiver, again, he notices) before he bends his head to suckle the bud into his mouth, his tongue lapping at it in a way that has your back arching and thighs clenching.

He chuckles at the noise you make as his lips pop off, and he turns his attention to the other side.

“Responsive, ain’t ya?” He asks. “You’re adorable.”

You give him a trembling breath as a response, which he takes as a sign to begin a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses down from your breasts to your stomach, tongue tracing the shape of your navel, teeth grazing your hips so gently that you barely feel them. He takes the waistband of your shorts in his mouth and tugs those down using your teeth, and the vision of him between your legs like that--

“Ha,” he says, as his fingers reach to tug them, expertly manipulating your legs so he can get them off without moving from between them. “Careful there, darlin’. You’re gonna soak right through the sheets.”

His mouth, again – kissing firmly against the wet patch on your underwear, his breath fiery hot. His mouth is solid enough that you feel the jolt that goes through you as his nose pushes against your clit, even through the cotton. Toji almost smirks at how much of a cliché the white cotton underwear trimmed with pale pink lace is, but the scent of you is too heady for him to want to do anything but bury his head between your thighs.

Lower. He kisses all over your slit, hard enough that you jerk, ruing the barrier between you two. His thumb strokes circles into your inner thigh--

He seems content to kiss at you through the fabric – but really, he’s waiting for you to give in. To beg him to take them off. From just how wet his face is even with the barrier in his way, he doesn’t think it will be long – and you do not disappoint. You raise your whips, softly mewling;

“Please, I –”

“Please, what, darlin’?” He asks you. “C’mon, you can use your words – no secrets from your husband, right?”

“I—” You’re so cute, squirming and feeling like a slut for him. He loves it. He loves the tremble of your body and the fact that your eyes are glassy with need. “P-please take my underwear off, I wanna--” You swallow. “W-wanna feel without it--”

“Aww, y’should’ve just said so,” Toji says. Fingers pry beneath the gusset.

He doesn’t bother manipulating your body this time. He simply tugs hard enough to split the seams, the fabric delicate from being saturated in your slick.

(Doesn’t matter, anyway. While he’s home, you won’t be wearing underwear.)

You gasp at the display of strength, swallowing – and Toji grins at you again. Oh, you like that? He’s got more shows of strength where that came from, don’t you worry.

He props up your knees with his hands and says;

“Wrap your hands around these, keep your legs spread for me like a good girl, yeah?”

You nod, shyly averting your gaze as you do just that and the position spreads you open lewdly; your velvet-soft folds bared entirely to Toji’s hungry eyes.

You’re already absolutely dripping, but Toji can see that you’re nervous.

“Don’t worry,” he soothes you, again. He can’t help but notice how small you look; the pearl of your clit nestled between curling soft petals, your pulsing hole. He knows you’ll take him, but . . . fuck, he thinks you’ll be a stretch. Not that that’s a bad thing. “I’m gonna open you up, darlin’, alright?”

“Y-yeah,” your voice is tremulous, soft – and sends a throb right to his cock. It’s been straining against his boxer shorts since the moment he saw you, but your eyes all big and glossy with trust and the vulnerable position you’re in and the knowledge you have never been touched like this are really doing a number on it.

But fuck it, he’s not gonna hurt you more than he has to if he’s really going to keep you around. He gently spreads your plump labia lips even further apart with his fingers, so your clit stands swollen to attention. You shiver under his calloused fingers, as he leans in and a hot wash of breath fans over you.

Toji’s tongue darts out to lap a long, slow stripe from perineum to clit, and though he can’t see your face any more, he hears the way you whimper.

Another. He lets himself soak his face in your slick; lets his tongue get deep between your folds. You taste so good on his tongue; honey-sticky and sugar-sweet. The tip of the wet muscle gently flickers against your clit and your hands are suddenly wrapped in his hair, your chest heaving in sensitive gasps. You keep your legs raised, so he decides to be kind. He eases his lips off of you for a moment to mumble, amused;

“Don’t pull too hard, I’m too young to be losin’ my hair--”

Before he dives back in between your legs, once more licking and sucking at the tender flesh. Your stomach explodes in fireworks, your heart beating so fast you can hear it in your ears. Toji’s mouth and tongue against you is a wet, lascivious noise that at once makes your toes curl in pleasure and cringe in embarrassment. Is it awful and forward of you to be enjoying yourself like this? Your family have always drilled into you that a proper wife isn’t a slut, but still does what her husband wants--

Toji’s not your husband yet, but this is fine, right? To have him eating you out like you’re a desert oasis? His lips lock around your clit and he sucks and your vision whites out for a second, your hands tugging hard at the dark hair in your grip--

And he comes away with a light laugh that still manages to shiver with seduction. His face is shiny with you as he looks at you with eyes half-lidded and still hungry.

“What’d I say, huh?” He teases you. “Angel, I could have fucked you with my tongue all night--” He likes seeing how the crude words make you flinch, nervous but pleased but ashamed all warring within you. Your lips are pushed forward, the moue almost petulant. His voice drops a tone. “Don’t look at me with that cute pout. You don’t know what it does to me.”

If he didn’t still need to stretch you out using his fingers, he’d take a moment to kiss you so you could taste yourself and just how needy you’d been for him on his lips. But he’s still driving a hole through his boxers, so . . . the sooner you’re able to take him, the better.

You’ve gone back to holding your legs apart with your hands. Excellent.

Besides. He hadn’t finished what he was doing, and he thinks it’ll be easier to fuck you if you’ve already come once. Your poor, swollen clit hasn’t had all the attention it deserves. You’re being so cute, so well-behaved for him--

“Relax,” he says, softly, as he eases his fingers from spreading you open, dipping them in the mess he’s made of your slit. “This might sting a bit--”

One finger finds your hole; circles the sensitive entrance, making the muscles in your thighs tremble. But you keep your legs spread open for him like a good girl, and he’s able to gently push his index finger in, first to one knuckle, then to the second, and then to the ones at the base.

“Good girl,” he breathes, barely able to breathe at how tight you feel around him. Your insides are silky and hot and wet, clinging to him like a lifeboat in the sea. He pumps the lone finger in and out of you, rubbing the pad against the inside of your walls until he finds the spot that makes you throw your head back and give him a long, choked moan. “There we go,” he keeps talking to you, softly, like you’re a spooked animal. “’M gonna put the second one in, yeah? You’re takin’ it like a champ, sweetheart. You wanted this, huh?”

You babble something that he doesn’t care enough to listen to but overall sounds positive. This one’s a stretch, his middle finger and index finger even tighter. But he needs to get three in you, he thinks, or you’ll never take his cock. You let go of your thighs, and he sucks in a breath – but your feet clearly need purchase on the bed, your fingers twisting in bedsheets now they can’t twist in his hair, and you breathe through the stretch so he figures it’d be churlish to tell you off for it now.

He keeps hitting that spot as he fucks you slowly on his fingers, until he can feel your cunt sucking him in, pulsing around him.

“Third finger,” he tells you, his own throat dry. “Next time I fuck you with this one, you’ll feel my weddin’ ring--”

You tighten around the other two at that. Cute. Three fingers opening you wide, scissoring inside of you, aches – but you’re being so good for him, the most that’s coming out of your mouth sweet little whines. Toji rewards you by crooking them inside you against that spot, his thumb coming to gently rub circles into your swollen clit.

He’s been teasing you for too long, and you are a virgin – it’s no surprise that the stimulation proves too much for you too quickly, and you arch your back at the same time as fireworks go off inside of you, your cunt fluttering around his fingers, tightening and loosening as waves of euphoria wash over you.

You soak Toji’s fingers with the rush of your release; the gush of liquid.

He whistles, low and impressed. So you’re a squirter, huh? Toji doesn’t mind that at all. It’s not like he’ll be doing the laundry – and it’s kind of hot, to look down at you and see what a mess he’s made of your little virgin cunt--

“That’s it,” he says, guiding you over the last low crests of your orgasm. “I think y’can take me now, sweetheart. Let’s get you comfy--”

He shows off his strength a bit, because he knows it will get you going despite the sensitivity of your body from your recent orgasm. You’re man-handled by him higher on the bed, so your head is on the mountain of pillows you’ve slipped down. He can pick you up as if you weigh nothing at all, despite the creak of the bedsprings clearly saying the opposite.

Your legs are urged to wrap around his hips.

“Don’t worry,” he tells you, again. He doesn’t think he’s ever reassured a fuck as carefully and constantly as he’s reassuring you; but then again, he’s never intended to marry one of his fucks before.

You, though – you’re so adaptable. So untouched. So different from women and men who come onto him at bars and flutter eyelashes and make soft little insinuations. He can corrupt you into exactly what he wants, and the thought of you knowing nothing but his cock forever and serving him like he’s the only man in the world--

It’s enough to make a lesser man come in his pants.

“You’re tired, yeah? I’ll do most of the work. You lie there and take it like the sweetheart you are.”

He’s shucked his underwear off in the man-handling, and now he shifts so that you can see the full glory of what he’s packing. Your eyes widen.

He gets that a lot. Even for a virgin who’s probably never seen a cock before, it’s obvious that Toji’s the real deal – you swallow, nervous, and whisper;

“I—what if it doesn’t fit--?”

(There’s a tremble of fear in there, that you’ve fucked up; that he still might throw you aside if you can’t take him, and now you’ve been utterly ruined.)

“Hey,” he says, all comforting and appeasing, “I ain’t hurt you yet, have I?” You shake your head, but your bottom lip is still trembling. “I’m gonna go slow with you, I promise.” He shifts forward again, the head of his cock catching against your entrance. “Just keep your eyes on me, darlin’. I promise, it’ll feel so good . . . you wanna keep your husband happy, don’t ya? I’ve already got you all stretched and prepped. Just breathe--”

He keeps up the steady stream of talk as he urges his hips forward, your cunt swallowing the head of his cock first before he’s able to push more of his shaft in. You keep your eyes on his, green eyes locked against yours – and though he can hear the shake in your chest, you don’t make any noise louder than a huff when he gets two thirds of the way in. He pauses there for a minute, letting you adjust – he can feel every minute tremble of your body, swears he can hear your heartbeat.

“Good?” He asks, and you nod – and he slides the last third of himself inside you in the same unhurried pace, until he’s settled hot and heavy entirely inside of you.

His eyes map your stomach, pleasure rushing through him at how big he must be inside of you; there’s the lightest shadow on your pelvis, as if he’s big enough to make your stomach bulge. He takes in the sight of you with all nine inches of him buried inside of you; the sore, spread-wide stretch of your cunt around him, the creamy ring of your pleasure where you’re joined.

He can’t fuck you vigorously – he thinks he’d fucking breakyou - but you’re tight enough that he’s getting plenty of stimulation just from keeping his cock in there.

“P-please,” you manage to form, through your swollen lips and your glassy eyes and your dry throat. “W-want you to fuck me, Toji--”

Oh, fucking hell.

You’re perfect.

“I will, sweetheart, don’t you worry,” he instinctively leans down and presses a kiss on your sweat-soaked forehead, flexing his hips so they withdraw the smallest amount. “Just lie there and take it for me--”

You do.

He doesn’t fuck into you with abandon, though he wants to more than he can say; plenty of time for that in the future, as your cunt moulds to his cock and it isn’t such an effort to get it inside of you. Plenty of time for you to learn just how hard he wants to rail you, until you’re covered in his bruises and there are friction burns on your knees – plenty of time for him to show you every depraved thing you make him want to do to you and make sure that you enjoy it.

He fucks you with slow, shallow strokes, taking most of his pleasure from the way you feel around of him; your eyes, your mouth, your heaving chest. You’re hot and tight and wet and grip him perfectly – his fingers digging into your thighs where they’re wrapped around his hips.

He’s been hard for what seems like hours, so it’s no surprise, either, that he feels his orgasm come quickly up on him like a steam train – it’s not like you’re going to shame him for coming quickly, you’ve never even been fucked before. So he lets the heat all gather low in his belly until he can feel himself teetering on the edge – and then, he dips his head and pulls you into a heated kiss as he grinds his hips in a circular motion inside of you and feels himself tip over the precipice.

His cock shudders and judders inside of you, shooting rope after rope of his come deep into your body; thick and hot and full. His teeth worry at your bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood, the groan vibrating through you as he comes and pushing you into another short, trembling orgasm as if trying to milk him dry of everything that he can give you.

(You like him coming inside? He can work with that too.)

Your thighs are tight around his hips, your arms draping loosely about his neck as he kisses you. Your tongue nervously probes at the scar; the slightly raised line bisecting his mouth, and though he usually doesn’t like it being noticed or touched (he knows it gives him an air of danger, but sometimes the events surrounding it’s acquirement sting), he finds that with you he doesn’t mind.

With you, his eyes flicker closed and he just enjoys the closeness and warmth of your body, even as he gently pulls his cock out of you (you leak slick onto the bedsheets, again. He’s gonna have to buy some more laundry tablets).

“How’s that, darlin?” He murmurs to you, not moving from his comfortable place on top of you. “Glad y’didn’t save it for marriage now, huh?”

Your cheeks radiating heat is enough answer for him, Toji’s smirk so wide and smug that it threatens to split his face in two. He flops to one side of you, pulling you in, cradling you against him like a little spoon. He can’t help but notice that the curve of your body fits perfectly against his.

The two of you will fit even better in Toji’s bed, he thinks.

“We’ll get all the paperwork and shit sorted tomorrow,” he tells you, as he feels your breathing begin to even out, the tremors from your orgasm begin to fade. He could get used to this too. Someone warming his bed. Someone to cuddle up to on cold nights. Someone soft, to ease the loneliness he hadn’t realised he was feeling.

He doesn’t want to get sappy on you, though. He lowers his face to the shell of your ear, breathing gently, murmuring in a voice that’s still dripping with desire for everything you represent to him;

“The other stuff that goes with a marriage too. I wasn’t kiddin’ about wantin’ to finger you with my wedding ring on, darlin’.”

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #not sfw #writing #afab reader #fem pronouns #dub con for ts #jjk writing #5555 follower event #jjk posting

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buckyodinson · 2 years

Text

Needless Defense

Jaskier x fem!Reader

Request: something where he is at a bar with the reader and has to kind of like “defend their honour” in his weird awkward kind of way of going about things? Either they know each other or don’t… it’s just a little thought that keeps popping up in my head haha. Sorry if this makes no sense, I never make actual requests!

Word Count: 1.2k~

Warnings: smidge of violence, but nothing too gnarly

You sat in front of the fireplace, considering the events that had led you here. It’s not really how you thought you’d be spending your evening, but here you were anyway. The famous bard sprawled in your bed, sporting a nasty looking black eye, and fast asleep.

You can’t help the smile that sneaks onto your face at the sight of him. All bedraggled from the events that just took place in the tavern below. He looks a lot less suave now than he did when he was performing earlier in the night.

He has quite a way with the crowds. You’d never watched him perform or met him before, but his reputation certainly preceded him. Jaskier has the people of the tavern hanging onto his every word. Almost every set of eyes in the tavern were locked onto him as he moved effortlessly around while strumming on his lute and charming everyone he happened to brush up against.

He noticed you at the bar early on in his performance and he gave you a wink. You raised your tankard at him and smiled in return. He found himself smiling too as he finished that particular song. He carried on moving about the tavern and when his eyes landed back on you, the smile dropped from his lips as he noticed a man crowding you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You looked less than pleased as he did so.

He wasn’t usually one for stopping a performance mid-way, but he couldn’t ignore what was happening. He wasn’t exactly the knight-in-shining-armour type, but it couldn’t hurt to call out to the man to leave you alone. It might even get him some extra coin for his heroics.

There’s some boo’s and a murmur of disapproval at the abrupt stop of his deft fingers playing his tune. All eyes suddenly turn to you and the man at the bar as Jaskier speaks in a firm but jovial tone, “I think the lady is uninterested, my friend.”

“What I get up to in this tavern is none of your concern, bard. You’re paid to sing. Mind your own fucking business.” The man snarled and you rolled your eyes.

“Ohh ho-ho, it seems you know nothing about me, kind sir. Anybody here will tell you I have quite a knack for sticking my nose where it certainly doesn’t belong.” Jaskier gestures to the crowd and there is a smattering of laughs and hums of approval from fans who know of his adulterous endeavours of the past.

“The lady isn’t interested. Go get your kicks elsewhere. I’m sure there are plenty of women practically throwing themselves at your muddy feet.” Jaskier jumps down from the stage, slinging his lute over his back dramatically and stepping in front of where the man is sat next to you.

You smirk at Jaskier’s antics, though it soon disappears as the man stands to full height and Jaskier tries not to show any fear on his face.

“Shall we take this outside, bard?” He grunts.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” You try to intervene, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. Before you can do anything else, he shoves you roughly away before lunging at Jaskier, his fist colliding with the bard’s face.

Jaskier immediately crumples to the floor, and goes to simultaneously protect his face and lute from any more blows, screwing his eyes shut. He hears a struggle, and when no more blows reach him, he opens his eyes and sees the man spread out on the floor across from him and you stood above him with a smirk on your face.

“Like I said, it wasn’t necessary. Thank you, but I can handle myself.” You offer him a hand up and he takes it tentatively, allowing you to pull him up.

“Though I do have something that will help your eye if you want to come upstairs? My honour didn’t need defending, but since you were so selfless and tried to defend it anyway, I can’t let you go un-thanked.” You wander out of the tavern and up the side stairs, Jaskier following behind like a lost puppy.

You open your door and gesture for him to sit by the fire. He gladly takes the seat and watches as you move about the space, finding a rag from the bathroom and rubbing some oils into it before dipping it into some cool water and wringing it out.

“It won’t take the pain away, but it’ll soothe it for now, and hopefully make the swelling go down.” You hand it to him and he stares at you dumbfounded. You laugh heartily at the look on his face, and place your own hand over your eye, and he snaps out of his stupor, placing the rag over his eye, blushing.

You rifle through your bag and find a small vial, pouring it into a tankard, and topping it off with some ale, handing that to the bard too. You pour yourself an ale and sit opposite him.

“Drink up, it’ll numb the pain somewhat.”

“Thank you…” he trails off, realising he never got your name.

“Y/N. And you’re welcome. It’s the least I could do, really. While it was unnecessary, I appreciate you standing up for me.”

“Y/N...” he tests the sound of it in his own voice, finding he quite likes the sound of it, “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Fitting.” He smiles as he takes a sip of his drink. The ale doesn’t completely mask the taste of whatever it is you poured from the vial, but it does a decent enough job. He briefly considers that perhaps you’ve poisoned him, but decides that your face is too fair to be masking any kind of malice. Geralt would roll his eyes if he were here now; first getting himself punched and then accepting a strange drink from a mysterious woman would definitely get him a scolding from Geralt if the Witcher found out.

“Have you got anywhere to stay tonight?” You enquire from your seat, sipping from your own drink.

“Are you trying to proposition me?” He raises an eyebrow then winces in pain, soon scowling at the laugh you let out.

“I’m worried you might have a concussion. I don’t particularly want to send you out and find you dead at the bottom of the stairs in the morning.” You move to kneel in front of him.

You lift a finger up and move it around, asking him to follow it with his eyes. He mostly does a good job of it, though he can’t help but draw his gaze back to your face every now and then before focusing again. He thinks you’re really quite beautiful. An ethereal kind of beauty. Though it could be the ale clouding his mind, or quite likely a concussion.

“You’re speaking out loud, you know.” You smirk as you sit back in your seat. Ethereal, you ponder. Not a word you’ve heard yourself described as before, but what do you expect from the Continent’s best-known poet.

“Shit.” He sighs and sinks down in his chair, a blush painting his cheeks.

“Stay here for the night. Sleep this off and you should be fine by morning. I’ll make sure you don’t die in your sleep, least I can do.” You remind him and chuckle as you help him up and into the bed.

“Thank you, fair maiden.” He manages to murmur as he gets comfy. Soon after his head hits the pillow, he’s out like a light.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #jaskier x y/n #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher imagine #the witcher fic #the witcher oneshot #jaskier fluff #jaskier imagine #jaskier fic #jaskier fanfic #jaskier fanfiction #jaskier oneshot

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belphies-cuhm-sluht · 3 years

Note

Hello! I saw your asks open and i wanted to request some angst headcanons with dad!Asmo. I just read Luci's and oh man that sure hurt my heart, you write angst so well!

Unwanted (Dad!Asmo x F!Reader) ANGST

A/N : Mammon plays a really big part in this, just as Beel played a big role in the dad!Lucifer fic. It's never hinted whether they're together or not, it's kind of up to the imagination... but if you'd like, I can write a part two to this??? (I will also, to anyone who might want it, write a part two to the dad!Lucifer fic)

Word Count : 2.3K Warnings : pregnancy ; children ; maternity ; babies ; hinted abortion ; angst ;

He never wanted children, he didn’t want anything that would actually tie him down to anything or anyone. It wasn’t his “thing”, and you both had done everything to prevent it from happening. Up until now, everything had worked, there had never been one mistake, but the both of you got sloppy. There was a party, and… well, you loved him, and he had said that he loved you, and precautions weren’t a “thing” at that moment. One slip up, one mistake, and now everything was falling apart.

“I didn’t want this. I don’t want that.” He spat the words at you, pointing towards your stomach. He had only stopped pacing long enough to say it before starting again, walking the length of his room as he gnawed at his perfectly manicured fingers. You hadn’t expected anything different from him, but it still hurt that he was blaming the whole thing on you, as if it didn’t take 50/50 participation to make something like this happen. “It’ll completely ruin my image. A child with a human! It’ll be all over the tabloids, in every magazine… I can’t have that.” His behavior shouldn’t have been that shocking to you, but to hear just how selfish he really was, to know that he thought so little of you, it hurt way worse than you ever thought it would. One moment he was professing his love to you, and now he’s disgusted with you. It could have been that your emotions were running high from the situation, or maybe the hormones had just taken over completely, but you wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, and you wanted to fight him. “Your image?! This thing could kill me and all you care about is your stupid public persona… Screw you! I wish I never fell in love with you.” His eyes went soft, and for a moment you thought that maybe he’d apologize, maybe he was rethinking his own words, his actions, that maybe you’d be able to be a team to work through this mess. You were wrong, you were so wrong. “Wish all you want, we both know you’d have never been able to resist me.” Narcissistic, selfish, he was just awful. You closed your eyes tightly, trying to fight back the tears as you walked past him. He didn’t deserve your last words, he didn’t deserve anything. He didn’t deserve you.

The twelfth week was supposed to be the most exciting. It was when most couples would finally make their announcements, happily tell family and friends that they were expecting. Your twelfth week was a nightmare. You were trapped in the Devildom, human doctors wouldn’t know what the hell was going on if they delivered a child with horns, a child so angelically demonic that they’d probably call the hospital priest to your room as soon as they saw it. The only place where you’d be able to safely deliver a child like this and live through it would be in the Devildom. It’s not like you hadn’t tried to relieve yourself of the problem. You had gone to Lucifer, Satan, Barbatos, even Lord Diavolo, asking them if there was any way that they could just… get rid of it. Sadly, Asmodeus wasn’t just a narcissistic, selfish prick, he was also sadistic. None of them could do anything without Asmodeus’ approval since it was his child too. Every time one of them asked him, he would refuse. He didn’t even give a reason, he just wanted to see you suffer. Strangely, you had found comfort and solace in Mammon. You were pretty sure he was only helping because he still had a crush on you, but he became your emotional, mental, and physical support throughout everything. You had told him many times that he didn’t have to basically “fill in” for Asmo, but he insisted that it was the least he could do considering his little brother was being a dick. He wasn’t just your support at the house, he was… invested in the child that Asmo hadn’t wanted. He took you to doctors appointments, sometimes even getting in the way of the doctor as he pointed to the ultrasound screen. He was so excited that most people just assumed it was his kid, and he never denied it either. It was just easier that way, to go along with whatever the other demons said because he knew that any mention of Asmo would upset you and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Some days the both of you would sit on the couch in the living room, flipping through the pages of maternity books. He’d really try to understand the diagrams on the pages, but you could tell that he was confused and sometimes he’d even look up at you from the pages, and then down at your stomach, and then up at you, before looking back down at the pages. It was cute, and you’d giggle lightly, resting your head on his shoulder as you continued flipping through the pages. He had become the only person in the house that you felt like you could fully trust and rely on. Everyone else wanted to stay out of the drama, nobody wanted to get involved, but Mammon wasn’t there for the drama, he was only there for you, he was there when you needed him.

“Can you believe him? Can you believe both of them? We haven’t even broken up and they’re sleeping together, she’s even wearing his clothes. It’s ridiculous, and Mammon is out there playing dad with my kid.” Asmo sat on the edge of the counter, voicing his complaints to anyone who would listen. Sadly it was Beel’s turn since he was the only one in the kitchen right now. Most of the time the other brothers would just hide themselves away, not wanting to deal with Asmo right now, but Beel had gotten hungry and he really thought he’d be lucky enough to avoid his brother. “I don’t know what the big deal is… You didn’t want the kid anyway.” He wasn’t going to walk on eggshells around Asmo, he wasn’t going to lie to make anyone feel better. In Beel’s eyes, Asmo was completely in the wrong. “If Y/N is finding some sort of happiness in spending time with Mammon, who are you to complain? It stopped being your place when you said you didn’t want it.” He shrugged before grabbing his plate and going straight back to his room. He wasn’t going to continue listening to it, but he hoped that he had left Asmo with something to really think about. He walked up the stairs, going straight to the bedroom door, knocking loudly. He wasn’t going to stop until someone opened the door either. Mammon got up from the bed that you both had been propped up on, rolling his eyes as he walked over to his door, groaning loudly when he saw Asmo standing there. “Whaddaya want? We don’t need ya here… yer just gonna stress ‘er out.” He was trying to talk quietly, not wanting you to hear him or even know who was there. He was so protective of you, he wouldn’t let anyone else serve your food during meals, he’d even stand outside the bathroom door whenever you were in there just to make sure you didn’t fall or hurt yourself. Asmo pushed his way into the room much to Mammon’s annoyance. “I don’t care, Mammon. Y/N isn’t yours, and neither is the child. They’re both mine, and I’d like to have a word with her.” He said snidely, but Mammon wasn’t going to have it. Brother or not, he cared too much about you, he had worked so hard to help you get over what Asmo had done, and he wasn’t going to let him waltz back in and ruin everything. Mammon wasn’t weak, he was way stronger than he looked, and right now he was showing his strength, grabbing Asmo’s arm and practically throwing him out of the room. His teeth were barred and the growl that was coming from him sounded feral, animalistic, it was terrifying. “Neither of them are yers! I’ve been there fer everything, every doctor visit, I even bought a damn room fer the kid and she’s sleepin’ in my room, next ta me, and a next ta Y/N. Ya know why?! ‘Cause ya don’t jus’ get ta come back when ya fine’ly realize that ya fucked up! Now… leave us alone. We don’t need ya here.” He left Asmo out in the hallway, crumpled against the wall as he walked back into the room. “She…” Asmo kept repeating the word as he pushed himself up off the floor. He was having a daughter, and he hadn’t even known about it, he wouldn’t have known about it if Mammon hadn’t screamed at him. It was strange how knowing made things more real, it made him care more, and the worst part was that he knew it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to you. He didn’t know how to fix what he had done, but he knew that he had to try at least. “Lucifer…” “I don’t want things to be like this when she gets here. It’s not going to be long either.” You sighed, finally relaxing once more in the bed once Mammon got in next to you. “Why was he here anyway?” Mammon shrugged, focusing all of his attention on your stomach trying to calm himself. He liked watching it move, he thought it was neat.

The delivery was smoother than you thought it would be, and Mammon only fainted twice during the whole thing, so he did pretty good. Delivering a child in the Devildom had its perks, the main one being that you didn’t have to stay more than one day in the hospital to recover. They did some spell and you were completely fine. It was strange, but you appreciated it greatly. The only issue with the perk was that it meant you were going back home and that meant you’d have to face Asmo. She looked so much like him, and you could tell that Mammon was upset by it. Even though he knew she wasn’t actually his, he wished that she didn’t look so much like her father. Her eyes were his exact color, and it left you speechless when she first opened them, gazing up at you with wonder and curiosity. She was precious, and she was yours. As you walked through the door you were met with balloons and streamers, and Asmo. You heard Mammon growl quietly, and you quickly held your hand out to him, silently begging him to stop. He was holding the carseat and you didn’t need him to lose his temper right now. “I just wanted to welcome her home, welcome you home. I bought some things for her, they’re outside of Mammon’s door.” Asmo said nervously, and for once he was terrified of being rejected. “We don’t need noth-” Mammon had started, but you quickly shook your head, pleading to him with your eyes to just stay calm. He groaned loudly, eyeing Asmo angrily before walking past him to the stairs. “Fine. She’s prob’ly hungry… I’m gonna feed ‘er. Ya comin’ up?” You nodded quickly, making sure he got up the stairs alright before turning back to Asmo. “What are you doing, Asmo?”

He moved into the living room, waiting for you to sit down before he did, and he looked scared, he looked sad. Of course you didn’t like seeing him like this, but it was his fault, he had caused all of this. “I don’t want to be alone. I know that sounds selfish, that I’m making this about myself again, but I’m not trying to. When Mammon told me… he said she… It's a girl?” You nodded slowly and you saw his face light up for only a second before it left once more. “I was scared, I am scared… I didn’t know if I’d be a good… father. I never saw myself as one, but seeing Mammon, and he’s doing so well… I never saw him as a father either… I thought that maybe, since he could… that maybe I could too.” He sighed, bringing his hand back up to his lips to chew at his fingers again, his orange eyes glistening with the tears that hadn’t fallen yet. “I know that what I said was wrong… I was rude. I didn’t think I’d have a problem finding someone to take my mind off of everything, but I was wrong. I love you, and nobody else is going to take your place, nobody else can take your place.” You both sat on the couch in silence, his tears finally falling as he waited for you to say something, and yours building up as you tried to think of something to say. “This isn’t fair… You know this isn’t fair. You can’t… you can’t pick and choose when you want to be a dad. You weren’t there… and you made it very clear that you didn’t want her. I… I can’t do this Asmo… I’m sorry… They’re waiting for me… I-I have to go.” You took a deep breath as you stood from the couch, wiping your tears with the back of your hands as you started walking to the stairs. “Y/N…” He walked up behind you, grabbing your hand to stop you. You didn’t turn around to face him, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, but he didn’t mind. He was actually thankful that you didn’t look at him, because what he was about to say was the hardest thing he’d ever have to say in his life. “I know that I’m unwanted… But… If I may… Can I meet her? Just once? Please?”

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theaudacitytowrite · 3 years

Text

Private Tutoring

Loki x Fem!Reader

A/N: Fluffy Request no.2 by the lovely @lucywrites02 :

"How about Loki helping Peter with homework? And the reader sees it and has heart eyes because Loki is so soft uwu"

I got a bit carried away at some point and it's maybe a bit more Loki and Peter than I anticipated. Hope you like it nonetheless :)

Also, I wrote a part in italian... and my skills might be a lil rusty... so sorry to any one who does speak it as their first language. I included an english translation at the end:)

Summary: Loki helps Peter with studying, not aware that the Reader is watching them.

Word count: 1.596

Y/N was casually strolling through the corridors of the tower, her only mission was to acquire a snack. She walked by the living room area when a groan made her stop in her tracks. She peeked around the door frame and saw Peter sitting on the ground at the coffee table.

His head had collapsed on a pile of loose papers and books. Scattered around him laid markers and crumpled up notes. It was finals week and Peter had been stressing over it for months now, annoying practically everyone on the team.

He was constantly repeating the same facts such as the process of kinesines walking on microturbule filaments to transport important components throughout the cell. He even recited during missions, earning groans from the whole team. Some went even that far and turned off their intercom.

Y/N didn’t mind it though, she often times recognized certain terms and processes Peter was describing. She felt proud when she could help him once in a while, when he got stuck at some point. Finally she could apply some of the stuff she had learned at school. Even if it was just to help Peter with studying.

Peter wasn’t too worried about science and sport, but he was a nervous wreck when he had thought of his exams about languages and art. Y/N stifled a laugh, glad she had graduated years ago and hadn’t to endure this kind of torture anymore, when she heard another voice in the room.

“It’s not that hard. You just have to keep the basics in mind. Is it a male or a female person you are talking about? The rest pretty much explains itself.” Loki shrugged helpless.

“Says the one, who has the ability of Allspeak.” Peter muttered under his breath.

“I hate to break it to you, but Allspeak just allows me to be heard by any being in their native language, and in return I can understand them.” Loki pressed his lips into a thin line. He knew that Peter didn’t mean to be so snary, he was just under a lot of pressure at the moment.

“And how do you know about all of these grammar rules and stuff then?” Peter sighed with a frown.

“I became fond of the language and the culture. Also their desserts taste like heaven. So naturally I wanted to know more about it. But I have to admit, I learned Latin when I was younger, so I had a slight advantage in contrast to you. But you can do this too, spiderling. You just need the right motivation. Let’s begin with that: what exactly don’t you understand?”

“I dunno.” Peter exclaimed exasperated, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Hey, hey. Don’t worry. I’m here to help. Please don’t get upset” Loki sat beside him with crossed legs, patting Peters back reassuringly.

“I just can’t wrap my head around it, Mr. Loki. I’ll never understand it. I’m just too dumb.” Peter rubbed his hands of his face.

“Don’t say something like that.” Loki scolded, but softened his expression quickly again.

“I think I’m just a hopeless case. Choosing italian as an extracurricular activity was the stupidest idea I ever had. I could’ve joined the chess club or something. Now MJ will think I am stupid when I fail our oral final.”

“Oh, so all of this is about a girl?” Loki raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe..?” Peter shuffled nervously, he hadn’t intended to say the last part out loud.

“Well, have you considered that you could woo your precious girlfriend with an extensive knowledge of another language?”

“Honestly, that wasn’t my plan. I just wanted to spend more time with her and study and learn another skill together. You really think I could impress her with italian?"

“Picture this: You and MJ together on a holiday in Italy. After a beautiful day of sight seeing, you go out for dinner and you can order in perfect italian, ordering a desert you two share. That surely would impress a young lady, wouldn't it?”

“Even though this is sounding great and really romantic coming from you,” Peter quickly back paddled, when he realised what he had said, “no offense.”

“None taken… yet.” Loki smirked, pleasantly surprised by Peters wit.

“I just don’t think italian can have that big of an effect on someone, can it?”

“You underestimate the bewitching sound of this language, my young friend. You can practically say anything to someone and it would sound like a confession of undying love. Provided, they don’t speak it. For example: Y/N é com-”

“Y/N?” Peter interrupted him with a surprised look. Y/N pricked up her ears when her name was mentioned that casually. Her interest in this conversation peaked.

“Just go with it.” Loki ordered.

“Y/N è come il sole. Calda e luminosa. I suoi occhi brilla luminosi, mettendo in risalta l'essenza della sua bellezza.

Quando la guardi lei illumina il tuo stesso animo. Lava via tutte le tue preoccupazioni e paure. Senza la sua presenza sarei sicuramente morto.

Il sua tocca mi accarezza con la potenza di mille soli, rendendolo a volte quasi insopportabile. Eppure lo bramo con tutto me stesso.”

“Woow… that did sound really good. Did you insult her?” Peter snickered.

“Something along the lines.” Loki shrugged with a bashful smile. He still hadn't noticed her standing in the doorway. Else he could’ve seen Y/N standing there, swooning over the way his words had spilled over his lips skillfully. She had never heard anything that beautiful before, not caring if Loki really did say something mean. He probably was just teasing about one of her quirks like he always was.

“I’ll give you this. It’s sounds pretty nice.” Peter reasoned.

“And I assure you, MJ will swoon over you when you court her with these sweet nothings whispered into her ear.” Loki daydreamed, a soft smile on his lips as if he had someone special on his mind.

“That almost sounds like you have thought of doing something like that.” Peter teased. Lokis smile fell instantly and he glared at him for a moment. Peter quickly tried to distract Loki from his thoughtless comment, “Ok, let’s try this again then.”

“From the top.” Loki let the previous comment slide gratefully.

Y/N chuckled at the exchange she had witnessed. Seeing Loki act so soft and kind with Peter made her stomach flutter. A warm feeling was washing over her and she couldn’t help the stupid smile on her face. She felt proud of Loki, that he had allowed to lower his guards slowly but surely. She couldn’t wait until the whole team could see who Loki really was.

The rumbling of her stomach reminded her of her actual mission, the flutter not helping her hunger in any way. She looked back at the duo who went into a huddle over a book again and smiled, before she reluctantly continued her walk to the kitchen. She could’ve watched those two for hours.

When she returned after a while, full and satisfied, she could hear Peter excitedly translate vocabularies Loki queried.

“Just?” Loki inquired the last vocabulary but Peter suddenly began to stutter.

“Was it something with r?” he rubbed his neck uncertain.

“Focus, Peter. You got this. Think of another word for ‘just’.” Loki advised. You could almost hear Peters brainrattle during the struggle to find the right word.

“Just…. only…? Hmm.. no. Solely…. solamente!” he exclaimed excitedly, jumping up and down while pointing at Loki who sat on a couch.

“Yes!” Loki jumped up as well, pumping his fist into the air, “Well done, spiderling!”

“Thank you Mr. Loki!” Peter jumped around his neck for a brief hug, “Now I feel ready for my exam on friday.”

“You’re welcome. And good luck with your exam!” Loki beamed, as he watched Peter gather all his books and went to leave the room. When Loki turned around to sit back on the couch, a surprised huff escaped his lips.

“Oh, Y/N. I didn’t see you there. How long have you been standing there? How much did you hear?” he scolded himself internally of how shaky those words had come out.

“Not that long...” she grinned at him cheekily as she strolled towards him, “It was adorable to see you two. You really have a way with kids.”

“I’m just happy when I can help.” Loki tried to brush off her compliment. Shit, was his face getting warm?

“What did you say about me earlier?” she suddenly asked. So she must have heard a lot...

“I suppose you have to learn italian to find out.” he joked, scrunching up his nose.

“Rude...” she giggled, poking him into his stomach. He caught her hand in his before she could retreat.

“I mean… you could learn if from one of the best.” he offered cockily, his confidence returning in a flash.

“That sounds tempting.” she couldn’t help to bite her lip. Lokis hand was still holding hers tightly, their eyes locked. She could feel a pleasant coldness creeping up her wrist, suddenly being hyper aware of their lack of distance.

“When do we start?” she barely answered over a whisper.

English translation:

Y/N is like the sun. Warm and bright. Her eyes shine brightly, highlighting the essence of her beauty.

When you look at her she illuminates your own soul. She washes away all of your worries and fears. Without her presence I would surely die.

Her touch caresses me with the might of a thousands suns, making it almost unbearable at times. Yet I crave for it with my whole being.

Taglist: @funsized-mimi

Let me know if you wanna get added.

#loki #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki friggason #loki odinson #loki laufeyson

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 9 - FINALE)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself. except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.

word count: 7.2k

warnings: smut (oral f receiving), semi-public sex (in a parked car) angst, arguments, implied smut, sappiness, time skips, some alcohol consumption here and there, lots of talking about issues including bucky's ptsd, I really have no idea how to warn for this but IT’S THE END SO STRAP IN FOLKS

Since that night, it had been like a stand-off in a Western movie, none of you saying anything because you had no idea what to say. Whenever he tried to start the conversation, you brushed him off.

You took a cab home from the event. He slept in his own room for the first time in months.

Finally, suddenly, you were ready to talk about it nearly 30 hours later, knocking on the guest room door and entering to find Bucky on his bed, re-reading Flowers for Algernon. He sat up quickly and shut it, setting it aside. “Hey,” he greeted softly, hesitant like you were a deer in a clearing and he was extending a handful of grain in his palm.

“Hey,” you returned, already fighting back your emotions. “I think I’m ready to talk.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “I’m ready to listen.”

“I just… I want to make sure that you understand this is a really big deal.”

He nodded again.

“I had to do a lot of damage control to prevent being banned from all HFPA events— that includes the Golden Globes, you know, I can’t exactly skip those just because my boyfriend went fucking nuts at a party.” And there was the anger again— you had tried to wait until you could be neutral about this but it barely lasted, mainly because you were still embarrassed about the way you’d handled yourself that night. “You’re lucky not many people saw; you’re lucky no reporters were there! Can you imagine if someone had a fucking picture of this? There were cameras everywhere, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking!” he defended. “I saw you with him and he was touching you and I just… I saw red.”

You sighed slowly. “That’s not a good thing. That’s really, really concerning.”

“I know, I agree— you’re right. I need…” he trailed off, taking a breath before starting over. “I need to work on that.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I just… I can’t really be a part of that. You need to work on that on your own.”

He stood up instantly, almost looking… afraid? Terrified, really, and heartbroken. “On my own, like what? What does that mean?”

“It means that I think maybe you should go back to your own apartment for a while. I just… need to be alone for a bit.”

“You need to be alone?” he repeated. “Or you need to be away from me?’

“Both.”

His head fell into his hands instantly. "Please don't tell me I fucked this up," he whimpered. "Please don't tell me I ruined this."

"I— I don't know."

"Please, please, please," he sighed, just louder than a whisper, suddenly stepping forward, grabbing your hand and clutching it to his chest. "Look at me," he begged.

You did, hesitantly, fighting everything in you that wanted to cry (and not doing so good of a job at it).

"Please, I lo—"

"Don't," you grimaced. "Don't say that."

"But it's true."

"It doesn't matter!" you yelped, surprising both of you with your volume.

“Are we going to have a chance to talk about this again? Am I going to get a chance to make it up to you?”

“You don’t make it up to me, you fix it. And that takes time.”

He shook his head, looking shocked and confused and completely blindsided which made you feel sick to your stomach. “How long?”

“I don’t know…” you mumbled.

“Am I not going to see you at all, for however long it takes?” he pressed.

“I… that’s sort of the idea.”

He shivered and pulled you into a hug. “Please don’t hate me forever,” he whispered against the top of your head.

“I don’t hate you,” you promised, doing your best not to hug him back even though all you wanted was to wrap yourself around him and feel safe in his arms again.

“Then don’t make me go,” he pleaded as he pulled back, clutching your face. “Let me stay and we can work through this together.”

“That’s not how this works,” you reminded him

“But I don’t know how to be without you,” he explained shakily.

“That’s not really my problem!” you yelped, and he turned away like he’d been slapped, dropping his hands from your face. A long, heavy silence fell between you as you watched him stand there, contemplating.

“If this is my last chance,” he finally spoke softly, barely breaking the silence, “to say everything I want to say…”

“It’s not,” you assured. “We’re going to talk about this again, but you need to go now.”

He nodded, his adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow of nothing. When he looked at you again, you hated how much bluer his eyes looked when they were bloodshot and filled with tears. “Can I kiss you?”

You shook your head. He bit his lip and turned to walk away; you stared at your feet because you couldn’t watch him go.

You heard him grab his backpack, shoving a few things from the drawers into it; he set his key on the table, walked into the open hall, and as soon as you heard the front door open and shut you were plunged into solitude and silence. With a whimper, you crumpled to the floor and cried, the look of betrayal on his face burned into your mind.

It was obvious, to your horror, that he really hadn’t seen it coming; he hadn’t packed his things, or prepared in any way for the conversation going like that. He had been waiting for an olive branch and got a switch to the face instead. You didn’t know anything about working on relationships, repairing broken things… when something went wrong, all you knew how to do was bail.

You knew how to do a new take and say the line right this time. You knew how to take off your eyeliner and start over. You knew how to kick unsuspecting C-listers out of cars because you already got yours. But you didn’t know how to stay, and work, and frankly you were just too scared to try. Last time you tried to make it work, you got burned. And as much as a logical part of you knew that wasn’t Bucky’s fault or responsibility, your heart just couldn’t survive another relationship where you put everything into putting the pieces back together while the other person stood there and watched you just to pull them apart again.

It had to end at some point, right? It was you, it was him… and that’s just how these things go.

He knew it was too good to be true. He knew you were too good for him. Anybody with at least one eyeball and half a brain could see that. But still, he hadn’t been ready to let you go.

Being in his apartment felt like stopping in a ghost town; there might as well have been a tumbleweed rolling through the living room. It was beyond a bachelor pad: it was more like an unfinished work site, considering his ‘couch’ was cinderblocks and a few two-by-fours, and his bed was a mattress on the floor.

One toothbrush. No books. A half-empty shampoo bottle in the shower and some hard water stains he needed to scrub away at some point.

This place didn’t feel like a home, it barely felt like a livable space. It was a three-dimensional homage to how empty his life had been before you, and he realized that was only his own fault.

Then again, this was all his fault.

But still, he had let himself obsess over you, turn you into his whole world and it made him into somebody he didn’t want to be. He had been working so hard to keep you happy, inspired more than anything by his fear to lose you, that he’d forgotten to give you space and now here he was… giving you so much more space than he ever wanted to, or knew how to deal with.

But he wanted to use this, if he could. As much as it was tempting to binge on junk food, drink too much and watch porn for an hour, as much as he wanted to run away from everything he was feeling, he owed it to you and to himself to face it all and learn from it. He wanted to be the man you deserved, if that was even humanly possible; he wanted to be who you used to think he was.

The next week went by in a blur: a blur filled with shitty romcoms, Ben & Jerry’s straight from the carton, and phone calls ignored.

It would all be fine with time, you knew that, but god, it fucking hurt now. It made you want to call him and at least apologize for having sex with him when you knew he wouldn’t have wanted to if he knew you were upset. More time and distance from the situation made you appreciate that it was manipulative, even if it by no means justified the way he grabbed you, or shoving anybody in the first place.

Truth was, you were scared of Bucky long before that happened. You were scared of how strong your feelings were for him; and, in turn, you were scared of how strong his feelings were for you. You felt loved by him, and you didn’t know what to do with that. So you self-destructed.

Just in time to tear you out of your spiralling thoughts, the intercom buzzed from the front gate. You furrowed your brow, wondering who it could be, and got up to check the camera feed.

You couldn’t see the face of the driver, just his arm, but you’d recognize that Rolex on his wrist anywhere.

“What do you want?” you asked coldly, holding down the intercom talk button.

"Let me in," Sam instructed.

"And why should I?"

"Cause if you don't, I'll press charges against your boyfriend."

BEEP BEEP BEEP! the gate announced its opening.

You took the time while he parked his car and walked to the door to throw out the wrappers from all your questionable “meals” (i.e., candy and ramen), change into slightly nicer sweats and splash your face so you looked slightly less dead. Just as you came downstairs from your rushed primping, Sam knocked on the door and you turned off the TV, tossing the remote aside. “It’s open!” you called out.

He turned the knob and stepped in with just one foot, peering around.

“Is the Terminator home?” he asked coyly. “Cause I actually think I’ve been assaulted enough for one week.”

“No, he’s gone. And don’t call him that.”

“What?” he shrugged, finally coming all the way in and letting the door swing shut on its own, taking his shades off and sliding them into the collar of his v-neck shirt. “It’s a compliment, and you really invite the killer robot comparisons when you’re part robot, look like a killer, and act like a thug.”

“He’s sensitive about the arm, okay? It’s one of the reasons he… it’s part of why we waited so long to go public.”

Sam glanced down to beside the door, where three pairs of your shoes were haphazardly lined up while his boots were noticeably absent. “And the fact that he’s moved out? When’s that gonna go public?” He always had an eye for these things, the bastard.

“I… I don’t know,” you sighed. “What do you want, exactly? Because honestly, I really can’t handle you right now.”

“I’m just trying to be a friend,” he explained, stepping closer again as you leaned against the breakfast bar.

“You seemed a lot more than friendly on Saturday,” you reminded him. “God, Sam, why did you have to do that?”

“So it’s my fault, then?” he rolled his eyes.

“No, of course not,” you assured, “but you knew I wasn’t single. I was actually happy… did you even want me back? Or did you just want to fuck with my life?”

“I did want you back, really.” He paused for a moment, more serious than he almost ever got. “I still do.”

You scoffed, looking away. “What happened to just being a friend?”

“That’s not why I’m here, this time. I’m just here to tell you that I’m worried about you.”

You took your weight off the bar and circled it into the kitchen, Sam mirroring you by following around the other side. “Do you want something to drink?” you asked, opening the fridge. He opened his mouth to answer but then leaned in as he stared at your hand where it was right in front of his face gripping the refrigerator’s door handle.

"He did that to you?" Sam pointed to the bruise on your wrist. You let go of the fridge and pulled your sleeve down to cover it again but that was answer enough. "Jesus, babe, this guy's fucking crazy."

"He's not crazy, and don't call me that," you frowned. "I don't think he meant to, really— his prosthetic is powerful and it was in need of a recalibration. He shouldn’t have grabbed me, but, he probably didn’t mean to do it so hard.”

Sam didn’t seem too convinced by that explanation, but didn’t say anything.

“Believe it or don’t, Sam, but either way it’s none of your business,” you frowned.

“Right, I know,” he nodded. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“And that’s you?” you pressed with an incredulous raised brow, opening the fridge again to grab yourself a green juice (because you were, again, trying to look like you had your shit together) and starting to walk away.

“I’ve changed, believe it or not,” he explained as he followed you out of the kitchen again. “Occasionally, people are capable of that.”

“If that’s true, then I owe it to Bucky to wait for him like I said I would,” you shot back. “I told him to leave so we could work on things separately. Not so I could entertain your come-to-Jesus moment.”

“It’s not a ‘come-to-Jesus’ moment, it’s just a ‘give me another chance’ moment,” he corrected as you took a long sip of the juice, “it’s a ‘maybe we ended things too soon’ moment.”

You looked at him in silent judgment as you kept drinking, and the way he was looking at you made you glad the glass bottle was keeping your lips occupied.

“It’s an ‘I’m still in love with you’ moment.”

Before you could stop yourself, you spit the juice right onto him, covering your mouth in shock just a moment too late.

For one of those indefinite moments, you were just staring at each other while you both contemplated that you had said he loved you and you had spat juice onto him.

“Okay, I was prepared to get shot down,” he admitted. “This is… worse.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you rushed, trying not to laugh, “I… I’ll get some paper towels, I can get you a new shirt, but it’ll have to be one of the ones Bucky left behind…”

“Oh god, it’s sticky,” he grimaced, as he tried to peel his shirt from his skin, “can I just use your shower maybe?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you nodded, “upstairs and down—”

“I remember where it is,” he reminded you as he stepped past you to make his way to the bathroom. “I knew I should’ve waited to say it until she was done drinking…” you heard him mumble to himself before he disappeared and you heard the bathroom door shut.

But truthfully, it wasn’t really the fact that he said it, or the concept of Sam loving you at all that made you spit out your drink. It was that when he said it, you realized you were in love with Bucky. Which, yes, would’ve been obvious to anyone else but it came as quite a shock to you.

It made you realize that you wanted to make this work. You wanted to be vulnerable, you wanted to try, even if it ended just as badly as it nearly had last week; even if it meant dealing with all the shit that you’d pushed down for so long.

You wanted to have another chance, this time knowing how hard it would be to be without him.

Just as you pondered what to do with that realization, a knock at the door startled you. Who could have made it to the door without buzzing the intercom?

Somebody who has the gate code already, you realized, and your heart sank. You weren’t ready to see him again— specifically, you weren’t ready to be seen by him again. Sure, cleaning up the trash and splashing your face was enough for a guest like Sam, but you had been imagining that when you saw Bucky again you’d be all dolled up looking like you were doing better than ever, like you were thriving without him just to rub it in that you were the best he ever had.

Couldn’t he have just waited a few hours after your realization so you could go to him on your own terms, with your whole speech prepared and everything? As an actress, you were much more comfortable reading lines than improvising.

Another knock made you sigh and set down the half-empty bottle of green juice, running up to the door to answer it.

“Hi,” he greeted soberly when you opened the door.

“Hey,” you nodded back, “listen, now’s not a great time…”

“Listen, I’m not here to cause any problems, or ask you for anything, I just need some of my stuff back,” he explained.

“Okay, it would’ve been better if you had come at another time—”

“I know, I’m not trying to invade your space,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t have used the gate code, I didn’t mean to surprise you, honestly it was just second nature but I realize now I should’ve called first— well, I don’t think you’re taking my calls right now—”

“Bucky, please, we can talk later,” you assured, trying to shut the door.

“Can we?” he sighed. “I mean, will we?”

“Yes, but I’m busy right now,” you explained.

“When?” he asked, voice full of hope. “Soon?”

“I— I don’t know, sure,” you shrugged.

“You’re just saying that to get me to leave,” he realized flatly. “I understand, I don’t blame you— god, I just hate how scared you are of me. I’m everything I never wanted to be. I just wanted to keep you safe and now I can’t even do that, now you think of me as a threat. You should have the gate code changed, if it’ll make you sleep better—”

“I sleep fine, just go and we’ll deal with all of this soon— really, I promise!”

“You promised before and this week without you has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do!” he returned, getting more emotional as he gestured with his hands. “I’m not saying this should all go away in a week, there’s so much more I have to do, but… but not being able to see you at all is killing me. And it’s not like I don’t see you, your movies are on every fucking channel, but you know, I don’t get to really see you, talk to you— that’s what I miss, I miss when we would talk for hours.”

“I miss that too,” you agreed, “it’s all going to happen, it’s just that I need you to go right now—”

And of course, Sam picked just the right time to come running down your staircase with only a towel around his waist.

Bucky tensed up as he saw Sam, jaw tightening. "Oh."

You had no idea what would happen. Was Bucky going to attack him again? Would Sam try to hit Bucky? Were you going to drop dead from sheer embarrassment?

Instead, Bucky just sighed a little and looked to the ground, almost laughing though he seemed anything but amused. “You’ve got a funny idea of what ‘being alone’ means,” he sneered.

“Sam was just—” you began to defend.

"No, it’s okay, I see how it is," Bucky informed you quietly, coldly. He didn’t even seem angry anymore, just defeated. "I'll leave. I'm sorry that I… I'm sorry."

And he turned to leave, you reached out and grabbed his arm. "Wait, it's not—"

He shrugged your hand away as he kept walking, forcing you to chase him.

"Don't leave, please— Bucky, I love you too."

He stopped, but didn't turn around yet; you just stood behind him, staring at his back as it rose and fell with a slow breath. When he looked back at you, his eyes were red, brimming with tears and heartbreak. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"I mean it," you promised.

“And what does that mean for us?”

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted.

“I don’t think I’m ready to come back yet. As much as I miss living with you— and as much as my apartment is so gross—”

You giggled a little, glad you could laugh with him again even if just for a second.

“I need more time. I’m not going to subject you to me until I know I can be… stable, again.”

“Okay,” you smiled. “Whatever you need.”

“But maybe we could… go out sometime? Somewhere where there aren’t paparazzi, ideally?”

“Uh, Vermont?” you offered jokingly. “I’ll find somewhere, though. We’ll talk this all out.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing a little. “Okay.”

With obvious hesitance, he leaned in slightly and gave you a kiss on the forehead. You wanted more than anything to get up on your tiptoes and kiss his lips, but it was probably too soon. He smiled down at you slightly before he turned to walk away, and you did the same as you made it back into the house.

“Hey, listen,” you began as you found Sam still waiting in a towel looking completely lost.

“That doesn’t sound like the beginning of good news,” he sighed.

“I’m so glad you were honest with me and I’m still really sorry for spitting on you, and for Bucky shoving you, and for everything awful that went down between us. And some part of me is always gonna love you, but—”

“I know,” he nodded, clearly disappointed but resigned in a peaceful way. “It’s okay. I had my chance, I blew it, and if this Bucky guy has his then I just hope he isn’t taking it for granted.”

You smiled a little. “He’s not.”

“Then I’ll get dressed and go. Please direct me to his favorite shirt, so that I may steal it,” he requested formally, making you laugh, but you weren’t ready to let it go just yet; instead, you stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

“You’re a good friend, Sam,” you mumbled against his bare chest.

“Yeah, kinda wish I wasn’t though,” he sighed as he hugged you back.

“Kinda wish I’d made you get dressed before hugging you,” you admitted, the awkwardness of his nudity finally catching up with you.

“Yeah…” he agreed in a whispered sigh.

His palms were actually sweaty; well, at least one of them was. He hadn’t been this worked up about a date since high school.

But there was so much more riding on that now than there was then. If he blew this, you probably would dump him for good, and he’d become ‘that guy Y/N Y/L/N dated for a minute’ to the rest of the world.

And there was so much more to him than that— he was learning to really let that shine after three weeks of therapy on Mondays and Thursdays— and so much more to his relationship with you, but it would still be pretty humiliating. More importantly, he would be heartbroken if he never got a chance to hold you again, kiss you again, tell you he loved you not during a fight…

His eyes glanced to the door instinctively when someone stepped in, but it still wasn’t you. He checked his watch and closed his eyes: it was still a few minutes early, you probably wouldn’t be here until 6:30, since that was when you’d agreed to meet when you discussed all this over text. But the length of time between 6:27 and 6:30 just seemed to keep getting longer and longer.

When you finally walked in, it was like one of those movie moments where everything slowed down, the ambient noise and background music faded away, and all he could see was you. If this was it, at least he got to see you like this one last time.

He waved you over, watching you walk closer and feeling his heart race as you pulled him into a hug.

“I missed you,” he blurted out right away.

“Missed you too,” you mumbled back, pulling from the embrace as he moved to pull out your chair for you.

“So,” he began as he sat down, “do you… want me to go first? Or do you want to go first?”

“I love you,” you said instantly, and he couldn’t fight a wide smile.

“I love you too,” he whispered back.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” you grinned, “I think you should go first.”

“Well, now that you say that suddenly I forget everything I’ve been practicing in the mirror all day,” he chuckled. “I already told you I’ve been in therapy, and they finally got me on stuff for my PTSD… it feels weird to say it, to talk about it like I really have it… but I do, and I’m working on not being ashamed of that. What I am ashamed of is the way I treated you that day, how I let my anger get the best of me and how I hurt you when you’re the most important person in my life. You didn’t deserve that. And if I haven’t said it enough, I’m truly sorry.”

“I know,” you nodded, “thank you. I’m glad you’re getting help… I don’t want to see you like that for your own sake, too.”

“Just because you don’t hate me doesn’t mean you have to forgive me. And just because you forgive me doesn’t mean you have to take me back,” he reminded you softly.

“But I do forgive you, and I do want you back,” you promised. “And I want to apologize, too, for the things I did wrong… obviously it’s basically impossible for me to hurt you physically, you’re so much stronger than I am, but I hurt you with how I handled some things and I regret that.”

“It did hurt, but I still reacted poorly at basically every turn. I shouldn’t have gotten jealous of Sam in the first place, if you and him have something going on then that’s none of my business—”

“Of course it’s your business, Bucky, you’re my boyfriend!” you laughed. “You don’t need to be jumping for joy when I talk to my ex, you just need to not be that aggressive about it.”

“Am I your boyfriend?” he asked sheepishly. “Is he your ex?”

"When you came over the other day, and he was there… nothing happened, really. He came over, I told him I didn't want to be anything more than friends, he asked to use my shower… I don't know how to prove it to you—"

"You don't have to," he shook his head. "If you say nothing happened, then nothing happened."

“I mean, we hugged,” you remembered. “And he took your Fleetwood Mac shirt.”

“He what?” Bucky yelped, but then calmed himself down immediately. “Whatever, it’s fine, the point is that I have a lot of shit I still need to work on. Because the truth is, you’re not mine—”

“No, I—”

“Really, you’re not. You’re your own person. That’s what made me fall in love with you in the first place, I love that you’re independent and strong and… maybe a little crazy, but you’re exactly who you need to be. You don’t belong to me.”

“I don’t mind belonging to you as long as it’s fair, Bucky; as long as we belong to each other.”

“Sweetheart, you always had me,” he laughed. “From day one.”

“Then let’s figure your shit out. Believe it or not, I’ve got shit too… commitment issues, abandonment issues, daddy issues—”

“Ooh, I have that one too!” he beamed, making you laugh. “You know, when I was talking to my therapist, she had me do this thing where I talked about my hopes and stuff and, I don’t know, maybe it’s dumb but I wanted us to do that. I want to know what you’re hoping for for this.”

“Okay,” you nodded, “well, I’m hoping that you’ll move back in soon but not right away, maybe in a few months? I want us to get better at being apart, it’ll come in handy when I have to go to far off places for filming and stuff.”

“Totally with you,” he agreed, “might have to start buying some real furniture for my place though.”

“What about you?” you prompted.

“I’m hoping that you still think I'm cute enough to put up with some of my crap," he smirked, "if not all of it."

"Definitely," you grinned.

“I’m hoping that in the future, if you’re upset, you’ll tell me and we can work it out, and then have make-up sex," he added.

“Deal,” you chuckled.

“And, if I’m being honest,” he continued, leaning in closer and lowering his voice, “I’m hoping that I can take you home tonight.”

It was so simple, but it made a shiver run down your spine. This distance had caused more than just your heart to grow fonder, and you were craving his touch more than ever. “Where’s home?” you asked coyly.

“It’s wherever you wanna go,” he purred. “Your place, my place, the back of your car—”

“That one,” you nodded eagerly, “definitely that one.”

You wanted to go right then and there but he made you sit through the whole dinner, with all the trappings of wining and dining, though for you it sometimes felt more like whining and dying because you needed him so bad you couldn't think. But he stayed patient, keeping up the conversation, asking more about a new project you were tentatively linked with, telling you more about the newest improvements to his prosthetic.

He picked up the check, which was absurd to you but he insisted, and escorted you to your car as if his intentions were just gentlemanliness even though you knew it was far worse than that.

He (gently) pinned you up against the side of the car, kissing you slowly, making you melt like it was no effort for him at all. As his lips made their way to your ear, he whispered to you darkly, "get in the back and spread your legs for me."

You were sure you'd never obeyed an instruction so fast, hopping in and happily watching him climb in behind you. He instantly knelt down between your spread legs, holding you by your thighs as he pushed your dress up, and you were already lifting your hips up to let him pull your panties down to your ankles.

"So eager," he whispered happily, kissing his way up one of your legs and never breaking his gaze away from yours. Your mouth fell slack as you watched him get higher and higher, closer to where you were already dripping with need. "Been wanting to do this since that night, however many months ago, where I had to watch somebody else do this to you," he admitted with a grin that nipped at your inner thighs. "I know I've tasted you a thousand times since then, but I wanted to do it here."

There was a lot you could say to that, but it was all lost to a gasp as he licked one long, thin stripe right across your entrance and over your clit. Already you were shaking and grabbing his hair— he'd grown it out just enough that you could really dig your fingers into it, but even so he kept his teasing pace.

He kept going, that slow and torturous cycle where just as your clit got some much-needed attention, he started back over at your leaking opening again.

"The fuck are you doing down there, trying to figure how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop?" you finally groaned, making him chuckle at how demanding you'd become.

"I'm just making sure I do this right," he dismissed. "Want more, baby?"

"Please," you shuddered. "Need your tongue inside me."

He grinned and put you out of your misery, really latching his lips onto you now as he pushed his tongue inside and curled it against your g-spot. It was enough to make your back arch dramatically and your fingers clench on his hair, a little growl echoing out of his mouth and into your body in response.

Your legs were accidentally clamping down on his head each time he sucked on your clit, but he didn't seem to mind, if anything it egged him on.

"C-close, so close," you chanted our warning as his hands tightened on your thighs he gave wide laps to your throbbing button.

"Say you love me baby," he mumbled his demand against your skin.

"Bucky, yes, I love you," you whimpered. "Love you so much, fuck, I'm gonna come…"

He nodded as he wrapped his lips around your clit and kept sucking, harder than ever, until your whole body was literally quaking and you weren't sure if you had closed your eyes or if your vision just went black for a second. As if that weren't enough, he kept going until you had to push him off of you by his forehead, shivering and catching your breath as aftershocks rocked your body.

"You're so amazing," he groaned huskily as he sat up and pulled you into a rough kiss, the taste of your pleasure coating your tongue as it tangled with his. Just as you were about to reach down and attempt to operate his belt buckle with your tingling fingers, he pulled back from the kiss a moment too soon. "And now you get to drive yourself home," he grinned, patting you on the cheek reassuringly.

"What? That's it?!" you squawked.

"You just came so hard you nearly blacked out and you're asking me if that's it?" he smirked incredulously.

"I just thought you would want to, you know… go all the way," you explained, cringing at the immature phrase.

"Hey, I'm a gentleman, and this is still our first date," he reminded you.

"But aren't you, you know…?"

"Oh, I am," he nodded quickly, leaning in to bite at your neck. "Don't worry about me, princess, I can take care of myself." He chuckled at your whimper and pulled back to look right into your eyes. "But it's not about me, is it? You want my cock all for yourself, don't you?"

You nodded, making him giggle sweetly.

"Well, you're just gonna have to wait," he cooed, poking the tip of your nose with his finger and laughing harder at your needy whine. "We'll go out again next weekend and maybe if it goes well, it'll lead to something more, alright?"

"Okay," you sighed, "I can wait a week. I think."

He smiled and kissed you again, helping you pull your panties back up and rubbing your thigh appreciatively. "Goodnight," he whispered against your lips, slipping out of the car and shutting the door behind him.

You sighed and let your head fall back against the seat, watching out the window as he walked back to his bike. You hated to see him go, but you did love watching him walk away.

two years later…

“Will the Six Million Dollar Man be joining us?” Sam asked with a smirk as he glanced to the door of the bowling alley, checking to see if anyone had walked in.

“When he gets off of work,” you promised.

“Why do you call him that?” Natasha asked Sam innocently.

“You’ll see,” Sam promised, kissing his girlfriend on the cheek, but you figured there was a pretty good chance she wouldn't get the reference anyway.

Right on cue, Bucky appeared in the doorway and you and Sam waved him to the correct lane. “Hey guys,” he greeted, “hey babe,” he pulled you into a quick kiss. “And happy birthday, Sam.”

“Shh, keep it down, we don’t want any Hollywood people to find out that I’m aging,” Sam joked. “Are you gonna join the game or just observe?”

“I’ll join, if it’s not too late,” Bucky decided.

“Since when do you bowl?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“Since I got the prosthetic recalibrated to throw the perfect strike every time,” he winked.

Beers and turns went pretty quickly after that, light conversation interspersed in between, until the more raucous parts of the evening died down and you left Bucky for a moment to join Sam at the bar.

Sam nodded to acknowledge you as you leaned beside him, and you ordered yourself one more drink before you called it a night.

“So, Natasha,” you started the conversation, watching the way Sam couldn’t hide his smile. “She’s great.”

“Yeah, she’s really something,” he agreed. “I wanted you guys to meet her sooner, but you were gone filming for so long and all.”

“Don’t fuck this one up, Sam,” you threatened.

“I’m trying not to!” he defended, before looking around like he was trying to make sure no one was looking. As you furrowed your brow and wondered what he was up to, he pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket and showed you a picture: a ring, with a massive diamond and accents of citrine.

“Holy shit…” you sighed, pulling the phone closer to get a better look.

“Had it custom made, I’m gonna pick it up tomorrow,” he explained, putting the phone away. “I don’t even know how I’m gonna ask her yet… I just know I need to snag this one before she slips through my fingers.”

“You’re really like a whole new man,” you realized aloud.

“I’m telling you, this girl… she really changed everything for me,” he sighed wistfully, and you nodded because you knew what that was like.

“I knew you just needed a good woman to straighten you out, Wilson,” you joked, patting him on the shoulder, “my only mistake was ever thinking it was me.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I thought it was you, too,” he smiled softly. “I really loved you, even when I was stepping out on you… and I think I needed to love you, and to lose you, to be here now. So, thank you.”

“Uh, you’re welcome, I guess,” you laughed a little, taking a slow sip of your drink.

“And if she says yes, I’m gonna need all the marriage advice you have to offer,” he bargained.

“I mean, we’ve only been married for a month,” you chuckled, “I don’t think we’re far enough into it to really provide significant guidance.”

“And you’ve already gone through so much together. Is he doing alright? You know, his nightmares and stuff…”

You glanced over and where Bucky and Natasha were chatting, admiring how at ease he looked; he usually had a harder time with new people. “Yeah, it’s been a lot better, he’s on new meds… how did you know about that?”

“He talks to me sometimes,” Sam admitted. “And as someone who has played a PTSD-striken veteran in not one, but two major motion pictures, I’m sort of an expert,” he winked, but then got serious again. “I would’ve asked him how he was doing myself but he wouldn’t let me ask him personal stuff on my birthday.”

“I bet he’d let you ask him for his opinion on the ring you just showed me.”

“Um, why would I want his opinion when he bought you that?” he grimaced, pointing at the ring on your finger. “I mean, sapphires? Really?”

“Cut it out,” you laughed, shoving him on the shoulder.

“Okay, fine,” he relented.

“Are you coming to my premiere tomorrow, by the way?” you asked. “I have it on good authority you were invited, since I demanded it.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he nodded, “Nat really wants to go, too. She’s a big fan of your work.”

“Well, tell her she was great in that one about the missing girl,” you replied.

“I’ll be sure to tell her exactly that.”

“We should head home, you know how early premiere prep starts,” you sighed with an exhausted roll of your eyes, finishing the last of your drink before grabbing Sam on the shoulder. “Good luck with however you decide to pop the question with Nat. Let me know if you need anything.”

He nodded and let you go, and once you got Bucky’s attention and said goodbye to Nat, the two of you made your way out back to the car.

“I’m glad you and Sam get along,” you reminded him as you squeezed his hand.

“What gives you that impression?” he scoffed.

You shook your head and smiled, letting him walk you to the car in silence.

Less than 24 hours later, you held his hand in just the same way as you sat beside each other in the screening auditorium, watching your latest film fade to black and hearing the crowd at the premiere— mostly cast, crew, and critics— erupt into applause.

"I have a little surprise for you," you whispered in his ear as the credits began to flash.

"I am not gonna let you blow me in this crowded theater," he instantly scolded.

"No, not that," you giggled, although you secretly wondered how much less crowded the theater would have to be for him to let you try it. "Just wait until my name comes up."

Written and Directed by Hope Van Dyne

A Paramount Pictures Film

In Association with Europa

And then there it was, in big white letters, just as much of a trip to see as the first time you saw your name on the big screen. But something very important had changed.

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes

Everyone at the screening was clapping and cheering, but you were so focused on him that his whisper was the only thing you heard. "Sweetheart," he gasped, and you smiled wide. "You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to."

"It's just a stage name, if you want to keep it the same—"

"Buck, really. I want your name there with mine."

"But your credits…" he protested, though the break in his voice made it clear he was tearing up. "You're an actress and you've established your career already and it's so important to you—"

"Hey," you soothed, reaching up to brush your hand over his cheek, forcing him to look at you. "Your wife is the most important thing I've ever been."

#bucky barnes x reader #bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes bodyguard au

745 notes · View notes

paterson-blue · 3 years

Text

Summary: Sackler's working on his impulse control. No, really--he is, he swears. It's just a lot harder when it comes to you.

Word Count: 8,432

Warnings: fem!AFAB!reader, angst with a happy ending, fluff, sexual tension, friends to lovers (but moves into established relationship), domestic shit, the regularly scheduled Sackler chaos, Sackler is soft, an anxious boy; a nervous boy, excessive gatorade drinking (it's his brand), classic Sackler banter, hair braiding, teasing, handjobs, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f receiving), slight nose action, unprotected PIV sex (no chance of pregnancy), cock warming, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint) — let me know if I need to add anything else!

Prefer AO3? I gotcha!

You’d entered his life slowly, inch by inch, sneaking into his consciousness until suddenly you were all he thought about. When he’d decided to wave at you across the aisle of the bodega all those months ago he’d had no idea of what the future would hold. All he knew was that he’d been seeing you there every day like clockwork; same time, same aisle.

He always grabbed a red Gatorade and you always grabbed some sort of sugary drink of your own. Occasionally the two of you seemed to move in sync, opening the fridge, reaching up, grabbing your item, and slamming the door all in one motion together. Adam thought it was kinda funny, two strangers' lives lining up in such a way, being part of each other’s daily routine. So one day he waves, a goofy grin on his face as he points to his signature bottle of red goodness.

You blink at him in surprise before almost shyly smiling back, your eyes bright, and oh—Adam’s stomach does a dangerous little flip-flop.

He waves at you for two weeks straight until it’s not enough anymore. He comes into the bodega one day determined to talk to you but with no concrete plan of how to do it. He’s a little early in his excitement, and he finds himself having to aimlessly browse the little store like a fuckin’ idiot before the familiar bell dings and he sees you come through the door. He half-trips over to the drink aisle, trying not to come across like he’s following you around, even though he definitely is.

You’re studying the various beverages in the fridge, mouth scrunched up as you consider them. He only allows himself a moment to admire you, not wanting you to catch him staring. He steps closer, boots thudding on the floor, making you look up at him. Now’s your chance, Sackler, a voice echoes in his head.

“What’s today’s flavor?” he hears himself say, and he feels relief wash over him when you give him that pretty smile.

“Oh, I’m not sure.” You sigh, settling your hands on your hips. “Maybe just water.”

“What?! Bullshit! You never get water!” Oh, so he’s just gonna double down on being a creep, huh? Saying he knows exactly what you get every day? Adam wants to smack the palm of his hand against his forehead.

But then you’re letting out a laugh, shaking your head at him. “Well maybe sometimes I like to change things up. We can’t all stick to red gatorade every damn day.”

Your comeback makes Adam feel half-giddy, both from the easy banter and from the acknowledgement that you’ve been paying just as much attention to him as he has to you.

“Well, I’ll have you know that red flavored Gatorade has special health benefits that others just don’t.” He states, leaning against the cool glass of the fridge. You’ve gone back to browsing, but you keep shooting him amused little looks; his ego crows at your attention.

“Is that so?” you ask, humoring him as you indeed select a bottle of water from the bottom shelf.

He’s nodding when you straighten back up, and points accusingly at the bottle of water. “Can’t believe you’re going for the boring shit.”

“Well,” you shrug, holding the bottle to your chest, “I’m feeling pretty boring today. But I dunno, tomorrow might be different. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

She doesn’t mean anything, Adam tries to tell himself. The two of you had been there together every day for the past two months. It’s not abnormal for you to assume he’ll show up again the next day. But still, your words, the between-the-lines invitation for him to see you again, makes his heart leap.

“I guess I will,” he responds firmly before grabbing his regular gatorade from the shelf. This time the two of you walk up to the register together, and before Adam can stop himself he’s digging into his jeans pocket, tugging out a couple crumpled bills. “Hey kid, lemme pay for that.”

You hesitate, but nod, chirping out a “thank you” in that sweet voice of yours. Adam slaps down the money, throwing in a pack of sunflower seeds along with the drinks. If it’s just to make the transaction last two seconds longer—to make him standing there with you two seconds longer—then he’ll keep it to himself. Soon, you’ve got your water and you're waving a goodbye as you step out of the store and onto the busy sidewalk.

Adam follows at a distance; watches you walk away, your purse slung over your shoulder, water already open and pressed to your lips. He watches until you disappear into the crowd, and then he’s sighing, looking down at his feet. It’s not until he’s trudging back home that he realizes he never even got your fuckin’ name.

_______________________________________

It’s another day before he gets your name. A week before the two of you leave together, leaning against the wall outside and sipping your respective drinks; two before he’s asking for your number. For some reason, you actually give it to him.

He’s nervous to text you first, which is unlike him. Sure, in the past he would get a little anxious, not wanting to make a complete fool out of himself, but he still went through with it. But it takes him an entire day to shoot you a message, asking if you wanted to go sit in the nearby park after the bodega stop. Your answer is an immediate yes, and suddenly Adam is eying the hole in the collar of his green t-shirt, wondering if he should change.

It’s not a date. The bodega isn’t a date, the park isn’t a date—the walks and lunches, coffee shops and movie nights in the weeks following aren’t dates either. So what if he cleaned the absolute shit out of his apartment before you came over for dinner? So what if he wore his nice jeans and black dress shirt, sleeves all rolled up to show off his forearms? So fuckin’ what?

It’s not a date.

It’s not a date until, a month into all your not-date’s, you’re standing at the sink with him as the two of you tag-team-clean the dishes. He’s washing, you’re drying, and there’s an easy rhythm flowing until a soapy plate slips from your grasp as he hands it to you. The dish smacks into the water-filled sink, creating a splash that soaks the both of you. You inhale a loud gasp, laughter already in your voice.

He seems to get the brunt of it, the front of his green plaid shirt darkening as warm, sudsy water bathes the fabric. His shoulders hunch up in surprise, and you’re giggling, covering your mouth with your hand. “Shit, I’m so sorry, that was an accident I swear.”

“Oh I call bullshit,” he growls, a grin spreading over his face. He yanks his arms up high, wriggling his fingers over your head so that water and suds drip onto you. “Pay back!” He crows, stalking towards you. You can easily duck under his arm to sideswipe him, to escape his grasp, but you don’t.

Instead, you swat at him with the dish towel in your hands, laughing as you shuffle backwards. “You better fuckin’ not, Sackler! I’ll scream!” You make idle threats at him but he doesn’t listen. He steps forward, forward, forward, hands dripping water all over your hair and shoulders as you shriek.

“I’mmmmm gonna getcha!” he sing-songs, jumping towards you, the wood floor creaking under his big feet. He’s got you cornered now, your back against the wall—ha! His arms swoop down in an attempt to engulf you, aiming to press his wet hands and shirtfront against you, but your hands fly out to grasp his wrists to halt him.

“I just bought this shirt!”

“It’s soapy water, it’s just gonna get more clean!”

“Adam!” You laugh, your voice betraying a tone of fond exasperation. And oh, you’re all smiley and breathless, eyes shining up at him—you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, lighting up his kitchen and his heart and his whole fuckin’ life with the brightest, warmest sunshine he’s ever felt. He stares at you, admiring you freely, not able to help it. You don’t seem to mind; you’re looking straight back at him, thumbs rubbing little circles on his wrists where water was trickling down to his forearms.

Adam’s never really been one for impulse control. That shit’s just never appealed to him. What was the point? If you’re gonna do something, just fuckin’ do it—get it out there in the open and see what happens. Yeah, sometimes things don’t go well, or—okay, they go really fuckin’ bad—but sometimes things turn out for the better! And the sweet feeling of elation whenever his bet, whenever trusting his gut, pays off? It was worth the risk.

So he lunges down, capturing your face in his wet palms as he presses his lips to yours. And shit, by some strange miraculous twist of fate you’re actually kissing him back. It makes him press forward, shoulders scrunched up and back curved towards you, angling himself for you to take. He thinks he could die happy, finally having your mouth against his, finally holding you the way he’s needed since the first fuckin’ day he saw you.

You sigh into his mouth and he gobbles it up greedily, sucking at your bottom lip, full on moaning when your tongue swipes against his cupid’s bow. When you insist on pulling away to get some air he stays close to share your breath, brushing his nose against yours. You hum out a pleased little noise and he wants to melt into the floor. He thinks about doing it—about sinking to his knees and pressing his face into your stomach, holding you tight, tight, tight.

He thinks he might have, if you hadn’t reached up to card your fingers through his hair, fingertips massaging deliciously at his scalp. He presses a needy little kiss to the corner of your mouth; your lips quirk upwards at his touch. When you break the silence it’s in a hushed tone, your hands sliding over his biceps. “That was nice.”

Adam grins, rubbing the tip of his nose over your cheekbone just because he can. “I can do better,” he promises cheekily, “Just gotta let me show you.”

You laugh, saying oh really? in a way that has him preening.

“Hell yeah. I’m a very well rounded individual.” He finally straightens back up, watching you with hopeful eyes, painfully shoving back the urge to ask you if you wanted to kiss him again.

“… I’ve got work tomorrow,” you finally say, and Adam nods, because he knows you do. You took your shit seriously. But oh, you’re reaching for his hand, and the relief he feels when you touch him is immediate. “But I'm free tomorrow night,” you tell him, your own eyes bright, waiting for him to take your offering—and there’s no way in hell he’s going to pass it up.

“Well good, because we’re having dinner. That back alley Thai place. And then I’ll take you out to that gross ice cream shop down the street you like so fuckin’ much.”

You nod, bouncing on your toes a little, and it’s so goddamn cute that Adam almost dips down to kiss you again. The most he lets himself do is rub the back of your hand with his thumb, watching you intently. “And I’m fuckin’ paying, don’t even think about bringing any money.”

You offer him a grin. “Alright. It’s a date.”

Adam nods, so fast he thinks he probably looks unhinged, but hey—that’s nothing new. “You bet your ass it’s a date, kid.”

An actual date. With you. It only took three months.

_______________________________________

So yeah. Impulse control.

Never been Adam’s thing.

It’s not that he doesn’t think about his actions. Okay, well, sure, sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he just goes with his gut and throws caution to the wind, like when he’d kissed you. He’d just known it was what he should do, and so he did it. He likes to think most of his impulsive decisions are perfectly logical and sound, even the ones that don’t work out. It’s not his fault if other people don’t always agree with what he does. This is how he’s lived his life all these years, and it’s worked out more often than not. Why change something that isn’t broken, or whatever the saying is.

Except. He meets you. And fuck, suddenly he’s overthinking every little urge, every little snap judgement—tight-rope walking the thread of fate. He’s on edge for the best of reasons; you’re the most wonderful thing he thinks has ever fuckin’ happened to him and there’s no goddamn way he’s going to jeopardize what the two of you have. He has to do this right, has to do things properly. He’s going to date the absolute shit outta you and there’s nothing you can do about it.

He likes it, really—hopping each little stepping stone that leads to more of you. Taking things slower than he has in ages, maybe ever. He knows, in the back of his mind, that if he flew into you at his usual gale force chaos, you’d accept him all the same. Because you’re good. You’re soft and sweet, and have turned his life into something golden and warm.

But you deserve more than his chaos. You were so gentle and vulnerable with him, and Adam—he wants to be the same way with you. For you. So he grapples with his impulses, shoving them down when they rear their ugly heads. He’s not gonna fuck this up, no matter how much his brain tries. And oh, does it try.

_______________________________________

For example, he almost tells you he loves you not two weeks into the course of dating you.

It’s not his fault, honest—or that’s what he tells himself. His feelings just like to…. overwhelm him. Endlessly.

See, he’d had a show—a play; one he’d been working on since before he’d waved at you in the bodega those months ago. You knew about it, sure. He’d talked about it (ranted about it) plenty of times. You always listened even if you had no clue what he was going on about, always gave him whatever he needed—whether that was being alone, or extra rehearsal time, or allowing him to flop into your couch and scream into the pillows.

Still, he hadn’t invited you to the opening night. Or any nights, actually. He was too nervous, as much as he hated to admit it—mostly about fucking things up if you were there. Honestly, the thought of you sitting, watching him, made his insides all… wriggly. And even if it was the good kind of wriggly, he’d be too hyper-aware of it, too distracted by it.

He feels guilty even if you don’t seem upset. You have brunch with him—yeah, he was doing fuckin’ brunch now. That shit was good—and then give him a goodbye kiss, telling him to “break a leg.” It makes him smile, and he insists on a couple more kisses, just for luck. And then he’s off to the final rehearsal before opening.

It goes off without a hitch, and Adam’s beyond elated—and relieved, and proud. As he scrubs off his sweat and makeup backstage, he can’t help but wish he had someone there to share his pride with. But he doesn’t have time to get into his head; there’s stupid fuckin’ rich people to schmooze outside, and the director had told him under no uncertain terms would he be in attendance.

Adam yanks on his tie as he makes his way through the theater’s halls towards the ballroom, not looking forward to the boring conversation and unnecessarily tiny food he had ahead of him. He tries to sneak his way through the crowded lobby area but it’s kind of difficult to be discreet with his sheer size—something that shouldn’t surprise him by now and yet does every single time. He forces out gentle smiles and humble “thank you’s” at the praise his performance receives, attempting to make his long legs work double time.

But then he spots something in his periphery. He’s not even sure what it is at first, really--just that it means something to him. It’s important. A flash of fabric as someone exits the large revolving doors, and there it is, that nagging in his head, that impulse. He veers off course without even thinking about it; fuck the schmoozing. Following that flutter of fabric, he shoves his way through the door and people, stumbling out onto the sidewalk. His dark eyes scan the busy street before landing on what his subconscious had been so attracted to.

You.

It stuns him at first, shocks him to silence--and not much can do that, if he’s being honest. You were here. Had you been here the whole time? Did you watch the whole thing? Were you just gonna leave? Adam thinks all these things at once, his mind a cacophony of noise, and suddenly he’s bellowing your name over the bustle of the crowd. He watches you jump, acknowledges the head turns he’s getting--he doesn’t give a fuck. You’re turning to look at him and he’s all but bounding over, zeroed in on you. You looked so goddamn gorgeous, the lights of the city casting multicolored glows over your skin.

“You’re here.” He says when he gets close enough, gaze bouncing all over you, not able to keep to one spot.

You give him a sheepish look, extending him just half a smile. “I… Yeah, I’m sorry. I wanted to come. I know you didn’t ask me to, but this show is so important to you and I--” You let out a small laugh, “--I wanted to support you, even if it was a secret?”

Adam’s chest fills with warmth, and his voice is noticeably quieter when he speaks again. “And you were just gonna leave without saying goodbye? What the fuck, kid?”

You shrug, but in a bashful way, not in a way where you’re blowing off his question. “Well, it wasn’t about me, you know? I wanted to be here for you, but until you were ready for me to be here, be here… I wasn’t wanting to, I don’t know--force your hand, or anything.”

And shit, if that doesn’t give Adam pause. He doesn’t think he’s ever had someone do something like this for him--support him without wanting something in return, without wanting recognition for their ‘good deed.’ You were giving him yourself even when he wasn’t around to acknowledge it or thank you for it. The words almost slip out of his mouth right then and there. I love you. It would be so simple.

They’re on the tip of his tongue, ready to tumble out in the open area between the two of you at a moment’s notice; he does the only thing he can think of to stop it from happening. He lunges forward, half yanking you to him as he slams his mouth down onto yours. It's… not as gentle as he intends, but he’s desperate, because the words are already leaving his lips in a muffled jumble. He’s kissing you on the crowded sidewalk like he’s fuckin’ starving for it, like he can’t breathe without it. Maybe he can’t. He sure isn’t stopping to find out.

“Adam--” you murmur into his mouth, and he grunts at you in response, which earns him a laugh. Your hands slip over his dress shirt, underneath his suit jacket, and he leans into your touch. You pull away from his lips, but press lingering kisses to his jaw, and Adam thinks maybe it’s an okay compromise. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close; says the only (other) thing he can think of--that he knows he has to get off his chest.

“I don’t wanna fuckin’ date anyone else. Don’t wanna kiss anyone else. Just you.” He makes sure to look at you when he says it, not caring how intense he comes across. If he can’t say that he loves you outright, he’ll do it in every other little way he can. “I wanna do boyfriend shit for you. Like—like make you canned soup when you’re sick and—and text you whenever I see a fuckin’ tree that reminds me of you.”

You smile up at him in that way that makes him feel ridiculously small and a million feet tall all at once. “Boyfriend shit, huh? Does that mean I need to start thinking of girlfriend shit to do?”

Adam nods briskly, but then pauses, his hands sliding up and down your back. “Only if you want to.” He tries to school his tone into something soft and neutral, trying to protect himself in case you say no.

But then you’re relaxing into his chest, resting your head over his thrumming heart. “I want to.”

He’s glad you can’t see his grin, and he holds you tighter to him, hoping you wont notice the way he’s literally fuckin’ vibrating with happiness. He wants to shout, wants to yell out at everyone passing by on the street. Hear that, everyone?! She’s my fuckin’ girlfriend now! Mine!! Ha!

“Do you wanna come back inside with me?” He asks instead, trailing his fingertips up and down your arm. “I have to go suck up to a bunch’a idiots so they’ll give the director some money. They might be willing to give more if I bring along some hot eye candy.”

You snort, pulling away from him; his gaze flits over your face, taking in your pleased smile and sparkling eyes. You were happy. He made you happy. It’s all he ever wants, really. You agree to coming with him, and he gives you his arm to hold onto as he escorts you back into the building, head held high with pride.

_______________________________________

Of course, it just makes things harder.

He’s swallowing down “I love you’s” left and fuckin’ right: when you pick him up from an audition and hand him a red gatorade. When you remember his lunch order from the café down the street. When you laugh at something dumb he’s said—a joke he knows isn’t that funny.

When, alternatively, you say Sackler in that exasperated-yet-fond tone whenever he’s said something annoying. When the two of you sit quietly in the living room together, each doing work, comfortable in the silence. When you pass behind him while he’s cooking and brush a gentle hand against his back, casual as can be.

He swallows the words down the first time he stays over at your place. It’d been an accident; he’d fallen asleep on the couch after getting back from an out-of-state visit to see his niece. He’d woken up in the morning to the smell of coffee, finding himself tucked under blankets. You’d come over when you saw that he was awake; brushed his hair out of his bleary eyes, said- “Good morning, sleepy head.”

He starts staying over a lot more after that, in your bed instead of the couch. Each time he wakes up next to you, wrapped around you, one of you half on top of the other—his chest fuckin’ aches. And still, his brain tells him to keep his thoughts to himself, to hold his feelings in his chest until the right moment. What’s the right moment? He asks himself. He never receives an answer.

It’s a torture he’s never experienced before and he doesn’t know what to fuckin’ do with himself. The first time you climb into his lap, tugging his jeans open, wrapping your perfect hands around his cock--all he can do is stare up at you, plush mouth hanging open, barely daring to breathe much less let the usual filth fall from his lips.

Because holy fuck, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, so perfect for him, and he’s pretty sure if he tries to say a single thing he’s going to let it slip. So he just yanks you close, biting at your lips, letting you swallow down his grunts and groans. He touches you everywhere--tries to let his hands do the talking for him.

He thinks he should probably tone down just how fervently he’s staring at you as he presses his thick fingers deep inside your pussy, but he has to see, has to know he’s making you feel good. “Tell me.” He manages to say, voice hoarse as he glances down to see your sticky wetness on his fingers before he pushes them back in, thumbing at your clit as he does so. “Tell me how it feels.”

You’re quiet but from your whimpers and whines, and Adam almost adds on a desperate please before you’re suddenly speaking, your words more of a babble as he works you. “F-Feels good, Adam, baby, feels so full. Can--can you--a little faster?”

A little faster? He can do that. He speeds up the motion on your clit, curling his fingers against that special spongy area inside as he pounds them in and out of you, brown eyes nearing black as he stares you down. “Like this?” he growls out, and instead of answering with words you let out a squeal, your hips jerking against him as your eyes roll back in your head.

Adam grins, breathless and feral. “Yeah. Like that, huh? Pretty girl.” The feeling of you cumming on three of his big fingers is enough to drag a long moan out of his chest; you’re so fuckin’ beautiful. “That’s it, doll, ride my fingers—good girl, so fuckin’ needy for me.”

You’re all clingy afterwards, clutching at him; he clutches right back, pressing his face into your shoulder, listening to you breathe. I love you, he thinks. I fuckin’ love you.

When you finally let him press his face between your legs one night, the words echo endlessly in his head. He’s lost in you, in the pressure of your thighs against his ears, your hands clutching at his shaggy hair, the way you clench so sweetly against his tongue. He rubs his face back and forth, smearing your slick all over himself greedily, sliding his nose up and down your clit. You let out an uninhibited, shuddering noise and he smirks, eagerly sucking at your folds.

He lets his eyes flick up to look at you, taking in the softness of your stomach, your heaving tits, the arch of your neck as you toss your head back against the pillows. He can’t see your face like this but he doesn’t fuckin’ care, not when he has the vision of you before him, your soft skin under his palms, the tangy sweetness of you in his mouth.

You cry out his name when you orgasm, your hips bucking against his face and Adam just goes along for the ride, using his hands to ease your frenetic movements. He spells it out with his tongue against your clit as you slowly come back down, blood rushing in his ears.

I - L - O - V - E - Y - O - U.

It’s a warm, early fall night when he fucks you for the first time, slow and deep, the bedroom windows cracked and letting in the nightly noise of the city. He doesn’t hear any of it--hears nothing but you and the sounds your bodies make together. There’s no rushing, no dirty words falling from his lips--there’ll be more than enough time for that later. Right now was about the slick slide of his cock in you, his eyes trained on yours, all wide like he’s surprised by this--shocked that any of its happening. In a way, he is.

Adam reaches out to settle a giant palm on your cheek, holding you, rubbing his nose against yours as he rolls his hips, muscles flexing under his skin as his back arches. He wants closer to you--closer, closer, and closer still--so he shuffles up the bed. It's a little awkward, but he doesn’t care, just as long as he can get deeper. You’ve got your knees hugging his hips, hands grabbing at his shoulder blades, making the prettiest noises in his ear. Adam, you say, and somehow his name has a thousand meanings in this moment. Adam, Adam, Adam.

Hearing it makes his toes curl up, makes him choke out a moan into your neck. “Fuck, I’m--I--” He fumbles for your face, breathing hot and heavy as he mouths over your skin to find your lips, kissing you sloppy to shut himself up. You’re clenching tight around his cock, a hand snuck down to rub quick little circles on your clit as you get close.

He doesn’t watch you as you cum this time, not when you’re pulling his own orgasm out of him, milking him for all he’s worth. He’s drenched in sweat, trembling as he sucks in shaky breaths. No thoughts fill his mind, head completely fuckin’ empty but for the pleasure humming through his veins.

You laugh afterwards, the two of you curled up together, Adam having collapsed to the side in an attempt not to crush you. He gives you a crooked grin of his own, sliding one big palm over your tummy, rubbing it as he slings a massive thigh over your legs. “Good?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he starts to finger your belly button. You bat his hands away, calling him a fucking weirdo even as you lean in to capture his lips with yours. He nips at your bottom lip happily, smoothing his hand over your side, grabbing whatever part of you he can.

“Yeah,” he concedes, “-but I’m the fuckin’ weirdo you have custody of.” You smirk, and then you’re tugging on his shoulders, trying to haul him closer to you. You both need to shower--to clean up, probably drink some water, more than likely change the sheets. But maybe, he thinks to himself as he curls up half on top of you, nuzzling into your cheek--maybe it can wait for just a little longer.

____________________________________

“Fuckin’—ow!”

“Adam, stop moving around—“

“Well stop pulling my fuckin’ hair!”

You sigh at him, crossing your arms over your chest and giving him a hard look in the mirror. Adam pouts, slumping on the stool he was sitting on; he knew he was being whiny but his scalp was fuckin’ sensitive!

“You’re the one who asked me to braid your hair, remember?” You point out, grabbing another elastic from the countertop. “You practically begged me.”

“I didn’t beg.” He huffs, making a face at you. You don’t move, and he chances a look at his watch—fuck, he was gonna be late if this took too much longer. “… Fine, I’m sorry, I’ll sit still. Promise.” He chews on his bottom lip, giving you his best puppy dog eyes; he’s heard they were pretty effective. He’s pleased when you finally step forward, reaching up to comb through his hair again, pulling it out of his face and plaiting it across the top of his head.

He’s landed an actual honest-to-fuck movie role. A little indie film, sure, but it was still another stepping stone in his career. He was beyond excited, was putting his all into it—and, apparently, since his character was a boxer, that meant doing early morning training followed by choreography.

It was fine, really. He was enjoying it, and he liked learning a new sport, liked feeling the burn in different muscles of his body. It wasn’t that he was out of shape, it was just fuckin’ intense. Some days absolutely kicked his ass but he was always eager to come back for more. His trainer, Beth, said she liked that about him. It gave Adam a sense of pride about what he was doing.

It’s just that his damn hair kept getting in the way. It would get all sweaty, sticking all over his skin, flying into his eyes at the most inopportune moments. He’d tried to put it up into a ponytail but that hadn’t lasted long at all. Finally last night, after days of his complaining, you’d told him he just needed to braid it. I don’t know how to do that shit, he’d said, and you’d snorted, and here the two of you were.

“M’gonna be late.” He warns, leg bouncing up and down, jittery. He’d been on time—early, even—to every single session so far, and he didn’t want to break that streak.

“You won’t be late,” you murmur, twisting the tiny elastic around the end of the braid, making him wince just a little—he shuts his eyes against the sting. They have to be tight or they won’t hold, you’d said. Your hands sweep his remaining loose hair behind his ears, combing your fingers through it as you give your work a once over.

“I think they’re okay. They shouldn’t fall apart, at least. No more hair getting in your eyes.” You scratch your nails lightly at the back of his neck, a silent apology for the strain on his scalp, before moving to rub the shells of his ears between your thumbs and forefingers. Adam makes a small, pleased noise at the sensations, leaning back into your chest. He wants to stay here like this, with you, but he knows he can’t.

“How do I look?” He questions, eyes still closed. Your hands slide down the sides of his neck to rest on his shoulders, squeezing gently. He feels when you press a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

“Cute.” You tell him, and he can hear the smile in your voice. “Very pretty.”

He opens his eyes to meet your gaze in the mirror, wrinkling up his nose. “Cute?” You nod, and he shakes his head. “I can’t look fuckin’ cute while I’m boxing!” You just shrug, as if to say ‘well, what am I supposed to do about it?’, and then start putting up your supplies. Adam wants to keep on teasing you, but instead he hauls himself to standing, heading into the living room to grab his boots.

You trail in after him as he’s shoving them on his feet and perch on the edge of the couch to watch him. He speaks as he ties the laces, hyper-aware of the time even though the subway was only a couple minute walk from your apartment. “I shouldn’t be home late. Probably be back before you, even.”

Home. It only half registers that he says it, that he refers to your place as his. He doesn’t have time to worry about it now; besides, you only nod at him, like he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. He hops up, heavy feet stomping across the floor as goes to grab his trusty backpack. When he passes you on the way to the front door he drops a gentle kiss to your mouth.

“Thanks for my hair.” He says as he slips his arms through the straps of the bag and proceeds to pat his pockets, making sure he had everything he needed.

“Wait!” You’re crying out suddenly, making him freeze in place, looking at you with wide eyes. He watches you rush over to the fridge, digging in it for a moment or two; he gives his watch another nervous glance.

“Kid, what the hell…?” Adam scratches at the back of his neck, bouncing on his toes, ready to get out the door. When you shut the fridge, you’ve got two tupperware containers and a red gatorade in your hands; you hurry over to him, a small smile on your face.

“Here.” You tug him around with surprising strength, maneuvering him until you can unzip his backpack and put the plastic boxes and drink into the large pocket. “I made you lunch and some snacks. Don’t worry, it’s all protein. I know you always pack water but I wanted you to have more than that.”

Adam whips back around the second he’s allowed, his chest feeling warm and fluttery. He steals another kiss, one large hand on your jaw, nudging his nose against your cheek. Knowing he has to keep it short he pulls away, brushing his thumb over your chin as he does so. He opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t really know how to express what your actions mean to him. When had you even packed that? Last night, while he was asleep?

You give him a gentle smile, nuzzling your face into his palm. “You better get going. You’ll be late.”

Adam exhales. You always gave him an escape route, and he always fuckin’ took it. “Right, yeah. Okay.” He steps back, grabbing his jacket from the coat rack. “Have a good day.” He yanks open the front door; when you speak again, your words are rushed, clearly not wanting to keep him.

“You too! Oh, can you pick up some bread on your way home?

“What? Oh, bread—yeah, sure—“ He’s stepping through the door, mind already focused on the day ahead. His hand finds the doorknob by muscle memory— “Sounds good, I can do that, love you!”—and the door slams shut behind him. He takes the stairs two at a time, his long strides getting him to the subway station sooner than he thought.

It’s not until he’s two stops down, staring blankly out the window as he stands in the crowded subway car, that he realizes what he’s done. Dread settles in his gut, heavy like lead, and his stomach twists. Fuck. Fuck! How could he have done something so stupid?

He wipes his palms on his gym shorts, feeling like they’re all clammy. He’d said ‘I love you’, tossed it to you like it was nothing. It wasn’t nothing! Fuck, what if you didn’t feel the same way? What if he’d ruined everything—pressured you somehow? Jesus Christ, well, guess it was time for him to leave the country. Or at least, move across town. New York was big enough to hide in, right?

He makes his way to the gym in a daze, his chest feeling all tight with anxiety. Getting into his routine is a struggle, and it frustrates him even more. Beth finally tells him to just have at one of the punching bags for a little bit, which does help loosen him up. Adam thinks it’s a tad ironic that imagining punching himself makes him feel better.

It’s not until he’s lumbering to the bodega to grab the bread you asked for, body aching and sticky with sweat, that he remembers you aren’t supposed to be home yet. He could sneak in undetected, plan an escape, or at least formulate some sort of explanation for his morning mistake. Though, he’s pretty sure saying “it was an accident, like when you were a kid and called your teacher ‘mom’” to his girlfriend wouldn’t bode well.

He knows he’s probably overreacting, but he’s never fuckin’ felt like this about someone before! He thought he’d known what love was; he thought he’d been in love in his past relationships. But he’s always said the words too fast, threw himself head first into the deep end. And yeah, he had loved them, in a way—cared about them, wanted them to care for him, too. But this? The all-encompassing affection and support you gave him? Your acceptance of him? He’s never had this before.

He’s never had someone want him fully as he is. And he wanted you the same way, loved every fuckin’ inch of you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of you; wants you by his side, forever. He feels so much that it scares him. And the thought of you not feeling the same, of you not wanting what he did—of his confession of love being something one-sided.

Adam was fucking terrified.

But he can’t run away. He knows he can’t. He always did, and always came back when it was far too late—when people were done with him. He won’t do that with you.

So he takes the steps up to your apartment one by one, trudging slowly, the loaf of bread held to his chest as if it would protect him somehow. He fumbles with the key in the lock, finally pushing through the door and kicking it closed behind him. Looking up, he freezes, heart leaping into his throat. There you were, sat on the couch.

“… I thought you’d be at work,” he says after a moment, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He forces his body into movement, numbly going to put the bread on the countertop before setting down his backpack and removing the empty containers from his lunch. He can feel your eyes on him even if he isn’t looking at you; it makes him hunch his shoulders up to his ears.

“I had a meeting get canceled,” you inform him, voice holding on to a certain edge even while your tone is light. There’s silence, Adam trying to pretend like he’s busy in the kitchen even though it’s pretty obvious he isn’t. “Sackler.” There’s that stern-yet-fond tone he loves hearing so much, and it’s impossible for him to ignore you. He chances turning around, giving you what he hopes is a blank look.

“Will you please come here?” You’re practically batting your eyelashes at him at this point, and his brain is telling him that you’re definitely up to something. But then, you’re standing up, and he registers you’re wearing his favorite tiny tank top—and nothing else—and he finds his feet tripping over to you before he can help it.

“Fuck, kid, look at you.” He breathes, hands reaching out greedily to grab at your tits, the softness of your hips, your bare ass. You laugh, pushing him down onto the couch, pressing your hand between his legs as you lean in to kiss him. He groans, bucking his hips up, already impatient. Shit, it would be so easy to just slip down the waistband of his shorts, yank you down onto his cock—

“Thank you for getting the bread,” you murmur against his lips, leaning over him, one knee on the couch. Adam lets out a strangled sort of laugh.

“This is because I got bread?” he asks, incredulous. You nod, and he still doesn’t believe you, but fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re pulling his hand between your thighs and his fingers are delving on instinct. You’re wet. Wetter than you normally are starting out like this. He swallows hard as he finds your entrance, as three of his thick fingers slip in easily.

“Fuuuuuhhck,” he groans, dark eyes flicking up to meet your gaze, “-you dirty fuckin’ girl. Did you get yourself all ready for me? Too eager for my big cock to wait?” He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as you whine, your hands tugging insistently at his shorts. He’s quick to help you pull them down along with his briefs, the both of you scrambling to be connected.

The second you slide down onto his cock he’s throwing his head back, thighs straining as he tries not to thrust into you with abandon. “Always so fuckin’ good,” he bites out, jaw clenched and voice all gravelly. His hands find your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he prepares to guide you at a punishing pace.

But then one of your hands is finding his face, angling him to look at you while your other hand balls itself in his shirt—and fuck, he hadn’t even had time to get his shirt off yet.

“Adam,” you say, all breathless, clenching around his cock in a way that has him grunting in response, almost fuckin’ shaking with need. You say his name again as you tug on his shirt, pulling the fabric up his chest. He reluctantly lets go of your hips in order to help get the offending garment off his torso, but then he’s right back to you, hands squeezing your ass.

“C’mon, baby, need you to move. Need to feel this tight fuckin’ pussy riding me.” His voice is little more than a growl, and he pulls you in to crash his lips to yours before you can respond. He’s overwhelmed, needy, previous anxiety forgotten—he forgot most things when you were so tight and warm and wet around him.

He plants his boot covered feet on the ground and thrusts upwards, a broken moan leaving his chest as you gasp into his mouth. You plant your hands on his shoulders and he thinks finally, you’re going to give him what he so badly needs. But then you’re pulling away from him, settling into his lap like you had all the time in the world, a little smirk on your face.

“We need to talk, Adam.”

He stares at you, gobsmacked; his cock does a little twitch inside of you, like it’s as confused as he is. “Talk? Now?” You nod, resolute, and Adam let’s out a long, hot breath through his nose. “What,” he bites out, palms kneading your ass; he thinks maybe his eye twitches, “—do we need to talk about?”

“Did you mean it this morning?” Your voice is all quiet as you run your fingertips over his french braids, then down to curl his loose hair behind his ears. “When you said you loved me?”

Adam’s mind—so singularly focused on fucking you—grinds to a complete halt. He gapes at you, unable to come up with any sort of excuse, any sort of witty counter to your question. It’s then that he realizes what you’ve done, you little fuckin’ minx—you’ve weaponized sex against him!

You fuckin’ knew he wouldn’t be able to think like this. Maybe he should be mad, but he knows--he knows this is exactly what he needs. So he closes his mouth, swallowing hard and sliding his hands from your ass to the small of your back, holding you close.

“Yes.” It’s shaky, falling from his lips. He tries to make his voice more firm. “I love you.” And then, just to double down on it: “I’m so in love with you it scares the shit outta me. I love fuckin’—everything about you. I never wanna love anyone else ever again, not if it's not you.”

His heart is beating wild in his chest, and the pervy little part of his brain wonders if you can feel it through his dick. You lean in and kiss him all slow, squeezing your perfect fuckin’ pussy around him, and his hands move further up your back to pull you into him. He feels unsteady, like he’s jumped off a precipice into the unknown. He’s dizzy with the relief of his confession, with the worry of your reaction even as you kiss him, with the feeling of such a tight, slick, heat around his cock.

“I love you, too.”

He almost misses it with the way you murmur it into the corner of his mouth and with his head spinning from overstimulation. He blinks at you, giving you those big brown eyes and his jaw works as his mind catches up to speed. You smile, dropping more kisses over his strong features, then laugh when he finally yanks his head back to stare at you, his breath catching in his chest.

“You love me.” It’s not a question, but more of a confirmation; him reassuring himself that what he’d heard was real. You nod, hands smoothing over his broad shoulders, down his biceps. His eyes search yours as his hips shift underneath you, making you sigh happily. Something in him snaps.

He re-positions his feet on the floor, one of his hands gripping your hip and the other wrapped around the back of your neck. Your eyes widen, and you have a split second to balance yourself against his chest before he’s snapping his hips up, fucking into you at a frantic pace. The gasp you make is music to his fuckin’ ears.

“Say it again.” He growls at you, gaze drifting over your body, watching the way your tits bounce with his thrusts. “Say it.”

“I love you.”

Your words make him moan, and he doesn’t care how ridiculous he sounds. “Again,” he demands, voice ragged, and you obey—you say it over and over again until his mind is filled with it, the words a soothing balm for all his insecurities. You cry out, trembling in his lap, his cock deep inside you, and Adam is overcome.

He holds you there, the hand on your neck moving between your legs to rub quick circles on your clit. “I fuckin’ love you too, goddamn, this tight little pussy. You gonna cum for me? Cum all over my big fuckin’ cock?” He’s panting, staring you down, not letting you look away. “Fuckin’—say it when you cum. Please—please.”

You nod quickly, mouth hanging open, squirming so deliciously on his cock as your cunt gets tighter and tighter around him. He isn’t sure he’s even breathing, fingers moving desperately as you sob out his name, hips jerking in his lap. Your hands clutch at him, fingers raking at his chest as you chant I love you, I love you, the words all broken by your cries and whines. It’s fuckin’ beautiful.

“Fuuuuhhhhck.” Adam groans between gritted teeth, eyes rolling back in his head as your pussy squeezes his cock like it’s trying to milk him, like it’s begging for all his fuckin’ cum. He lets out loud, feral, shuddering breaths, trying to hold back—he isn’t done with you yet. “Oh, you feel so fuckin’ good, jeeeezus.” His words sound all strangled, and he has just the smallest bit of sense to wrap his arms around you when you slump into his chest.

Your breaths are short little pants against his neck, and he closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of them—of you in general, the weight of you on top of him, your sticky skin against his, your body heat. “I love you.” He croaks out, saying it again just because he can. You hum in response, nuzzling your face closer; it makes him smile.

He trails the pads of his fingers down your spine and then back up, feeling the texture of your skin. You were his. His to touch, to kiss, to hold, to love.

He was yours.

It’s a heady, hopeful thought that tastes like the future.

______________________________________________________________

taglist friends!

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#adam sackler x female reader #adam sackler x afab!reader #adam sackler x fem!reader #adam sackler x reader #adam sackler #adam sackler fic #adam sacklet smut #adcu fic #adcu fic exchange #tori writes #feedback always welcome & appreciated!

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sorryjustafangirl · 3 years

Text

it’s a love story

a/n: this is my submission for the @doubleminor’s #hockeychallengemusic ! im so so super late but i finally had the time to write this. the toronto six of the nwhl have this as their winning song and i loved watching them celebrate this season. and apparently all i can write is matty tkachuk but i felt he really fit this idea

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk x reader

Work count: 2.2k+

warnings: mentions of the pandemic and one swear but other than that just fluff :)

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and real person fiction if you don’t like that, please don’t read! also the gif isn’t mine! all credit to the fantastic gif-maker!

prompt: choose an official team/player goal song and make something using that goal song // found here

He had wanted the proposal to be perfect. The moment he knew you were the one he wanted to marry, he asked your best friend for everything you had ever mentioned about a proposal. You were only going to get proposed to once, and he wanted to make sure it was perfect.

Secluded, yet meaningful, place? Check.

Get it on camera? Check.

Cute outfit with nails done? Check.

But a global pandemic was not in his plan. Not even close.

When the season had got put on pause, his parents suggested he come back to St. Louis to spend time with them, since Brady was coming back too. He was hesitant to go considering you were still going into the office for an essential project, but you assured him that he should go spend time with his family. He didn't get to see them a lot, and you knew he missed them. When he packed, he made sure to take the little velvet box and shove it between his socks. He didn't want to risk you finding it while he was away.

A couple weeks later, after many FaceTimes and virtual date nights, you finished your project and work gave you the all clear to work from home. A two week quarantine and one plane ride later, you had joined him in St. Louis. You were still working, but working from the Tkachuk's home and with your boyfriend was much better than working alone in your shared apartment.

Since you had joined the family, Taryn had noticed her oldest brother was a little jumpier than usual. Before, he was more carefree, aside from the occasional moping, and he definitely wasn't making sure his bedroom door was closed whenever he went in there alone. But now? It seemed odd. He wasn't moping, but he had those moments when he seemed too sad for it just to be about the season.

So after Matthew's third sigh and retreat to his room while you were working, she decided it was time for an intervention. She quietly followed him to his room, where he methodically closed it and made sure it clicked.

***

It was the second time today Matthew had looked at the box today. He knew he was torturing himself, opening the box to look at the ring he had picked out. It wasn't too flashy, something just your style. He remembered the way his heart jumped when he saw it in the store. It instantly reminded him of you and he just knew it was the one. It was like he couldn't help himself, looking at the box another time.

You could’ve already been engaged by now. The two of you could’ve been looking at venues and dates and even if he said he never really cared about that stuff… he couldn’t help but long for those things, because it would mean it was real. The two of you would be getting married, and he’d get to be your husband.

But instead of being engaged, he’d just have to stare at the ring and wish he could make this all go away so he could give you the proposal you’ve always wanted. He relived the time he knew you were the one, anything to remind him that you wouldn’t mind waiting until this pandemic was over to get engaged.

It was a home game against the Senators. Nothing speculator, just a regular game that they unfortunately lost in OT. Because it was against the Sens, and because he scored the only goal of the game, Matt knew he’d be chosen for press. He was tired, and there was nothing he wanted more than to see his family who had made the trek out to Calgary to see the boys play. He left the dressing room with his tie a little crumpled from the rush to meet them.

He turned the corner to see Taryn sitting on a bench, with Brady standing with his parents, probably cracking a joke based on the way his mom was playfully glaring at Brady while his dad laughed loudly. His mood picked up a little after the interview and the loss.

As he got closer, he realized that Taryn wasn’t sitting alone. You were sitting there, your head resting against her shoulder, your eyes slightly closed. He stopped in his tracks when he saw your work bag sitting in your lap and your suitcase beside you. Your flight was supposed to get in around 8 and he had insisted that you just meet him at home after the game. This work trip had been horrible, your co-worker throwing you under the bus in a meeting with executives on a project he didn’t work on. You deserved to be relaxing with a glass of wine in the sanctity of your shared apartment. But you were here, at his game, straight from the airport, laughing with his family despite your drooping eyes. He had never felt more loved than he did right there.

A knock startled him from his thoughts.

“Uhh... just a second!” He snapped the ring box shut and quickly stood up from the bed to shove it in his drawer. Taryn popped her head in to see him very suspiciously standing in front of his dresser.

“It’s just me, dork. What are you doing?” She entered his room, making herself comfy on his bed. He scoffed, and closed the door behind his sister.

“I’m not doing anything. What are you doing?” He went back to standing by the dresser and Taryn rolled her eyes.

“That’s exactly it, you’re doing nothing. Normally, when we’re all home you’re like bouncing off the walls. Like I know this time it’s different but Y/n came too so I thought… I don’t know, you just seem off but Brady didn’t think so and I didn’t want to worry Mom… so like, what’s going on? Is everything okay? Are you and Y/n fighting?”

His eyes bugged out and Taryn would have laughed if she wasn’t so serious. “What no! We’re fine! We’re fine, why-why would you say that?”

“You’ve been quiet Matt. You’re never quiet, especially when Brady’s home with us.” He rolled his eyes and she huffed at her older brother. “You know it’s true! So... what’s going on?” He sighed and turned to find the box from the drawer. He looked down at the velvet in his hands as he sat on the edge of the bed. Taryn moved to be sitting beside him and gasped quietly.

“Is that...?”

“Yeah. I was going to...you know, before the world went to shit. I had it all planned out too. The weather was getting warmer and there’s this hiking trail we like in Banff, it’s only like an hour drive. There’s this perfect spot where I could prop my phone up so I could get it on camera, just like they wanted. But now... I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Do you still want to, you know, propose?”

“’Course I do. Honestly, I want nothing more. But, they deserve it to be perfect, you know? And like, I don’t know how I could surprise them here, because we’ve been chilling in the same sweatpants for the past week! Asking them to get dressed up would seem suspicious and I want it to be a surprise,”

“Could… could I help you? I might have an idea…” She grinned towards her brother, his eyes brightening at the idea of marrying you.

***

“Y/N, do you want to do a TikTok with me?” She called to you from across the Tkachuk’s backyard. Taryn must’ve been feeling the quarantine because yesterday the two of you did your nails together, which prompted you to, for once, put on a pair of pants that weren’t Matty’s sweatpants and do your hair, so you had no problem setting down your book and hopping up from your seat to join her. She squealed and you laughed as you joined her.

“It’s so easy! I promise! So, it’s to a remix of Taylor Swift’s ‘Love Story’ and the only set in stone parts are that you actually kneel when she says ‘knelt to the ground’ and then the camera will start to pull away and then you just freestyle! We can do a couple practice ones before we film it for real, if you want?”

“Yes, please, you have severely overestimated my dancing skills,” you laughed. Right at that moment, Matthew came out of the house with a Bud Light in his hand. He placed it on the edge of the firepit before walking over to you.

“What’s got you all cracked up?” He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Taryn thinks I’m a good enough dancer to film this TikTok on my first try,” He grinned at you.

“A TikTok you say? Can I do it too? If you can do it surely it’s easy enough for me,” You gave him a playful eye roll and laughed.

“How bored are you to want to film a TikTok?”

“I want to spend time with my girlfriend, is that a crime?” He smirked and you cracked a smile.

Taryn spoke up. “Hey no, this would be perfect! I need to move the camera away from you when you’re dancing anyways, and this way you won’t be alone. And you’ll get Matt’s dancing on camera for future blackmail!” You laughed at her comment and slugged him lightly in the arm.

“Game on, we’ll see who's the better dancer after this,” He just laughed and then told you to tell what the heck he was doing for this dance. After a while, the two of you were ready to film.

Taryn got behind her phone and started the music. You got into position and bumped Matthew’s hip before facing the camera.

Is this in my head, I don’t know what to think. He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said

You knelt down and pretended to open a ring box, while Matthew pulled out the box he’d been hiding for six months.

Marry me Juliet, you’ll never have to be alone

You started to dance as Taryn pulled the camera away from the both of you. Lost in the music, you didn’t seem to notice that Matthew was still on one knee, an adoring smile on his face.

“Y/n,”

I love you and that’s all I really know

You stopped dancing and glanced to your side. “Oh my god,” Your hands flew to cover your mouth as you saw Matt still on one knee, but with a black box in his hands. “Are you joking?”

“Not joking, baby, I promise.” He opened the box to reveal the most beautiful ring you had ever seen. It was classy, with just enough bling to catch your eye and go with the rest of your jewelry. Your eyes filled with tears as he started to speak.

“Y/n, you are the best person I have ever met. I never thought someone would be willing to put up with me, not with my job and the media and how I play my game, but then I met you, and it’s like the whole world shifted. I have fallen more in love with you every day, even the past few days when we do the same thing every day. I love you so much, babe, and all I want is to keep being your person. I know my job means I’ll have to leave sometimes, but with me, with this, I promise you’ll never be alone. I want to be your husband and I want us to have little mini-us’s running around, well really mini-you’s but with my hair, because let’s face it, they aren’t escaping the curls,” You let out a teary laugh, and you could see his shoulder visibly relax a little. “When I look to my future, all I see is you. You are my future. And I know this isn’t perfect or even ideal but..”

“No, no, Matty, it’s perfect.” You whispered, your eyes full of tears. “It’s perfect because it’s with you.”

His grin widened if that was possible, and he looked down at the box in his hands before up to you. “If that’s the case, then Y/n, will you make me the happiest man on Earth and marry me?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, of course,” You bent down to kiss him, leaving your tears on his cheek when you pulled away. He slipped the ring onto your finger and swept you into a bear hug. “Oh my gosh, we’re going to get married!”

“It’s you and me, baby, for the rest of our lives.” He tried to smirk, but it didn’t last long, a smile covering it as the euphoria overcame him.

“Okay, okay, show me the ring!! Matthew didn’t tell me he was proposing!” Chantel came out in the backyard with a bright grin on her face. You couldn’t contain the smile on your face and the two of you admired the ring together.

“I didn’t tell Dad either, don’t get offended,” Matthew said, coming over to meet the both of you.

“Oh, you liar! You totally called me and asked me for advice.” Keith chimed in with a laugh. “Granted, you never told me you were going to do it today… but I’m happy for you kids.”

“I didn’t think he’d ever get the guts to propose, sorry for the wait Y/n,” Brady chirped, earning a whack from his mother.

“I don’t mind, he’s worth the wait.” You looked to your fiancé, only to find him already looking at you, his blue eyes gleaming full of warmth. “So worth the wait.”

let me know what you think! thanks for reading!

#hockeychallengemusic #matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #nhl imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #nhl fic #calgary flames imagine #nhl x reader #hockey imagine #abby writes #again im so so late but better late than never i guess #also i wanted to do this idea justice i thought it was so cute

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years

Text

Ink on his heart

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

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

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

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

And then? Then there was after.

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

He despised those haircuts.

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

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

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

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

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

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

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

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

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

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

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

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

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

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

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

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

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

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

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

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

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

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

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

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

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

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

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

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

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

—

“Give it back asshole!”

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

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

—

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

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

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

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

There are no words.

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

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

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

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

*****

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

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

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

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

Wow.

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

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

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

“Are you James?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the tricky part.

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

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

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

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

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

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

The third picture appears.

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

But nothing happens.

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

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

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

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

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

*****

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

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

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

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

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

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

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

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

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

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

“Sorry?”

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

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

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

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

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

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

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

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

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

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

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

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

*****

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

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

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

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

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

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

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

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

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

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

So he begins to talk.

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

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

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

A favorite? No question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

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

*****

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

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

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

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

Like the scene in front of him.

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

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

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

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

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

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

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

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

He feels his heart lurch.

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

It leaves him breathless.

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

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

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

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

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you able to - work with it?“

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

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

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

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

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

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

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

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

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

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

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

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

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

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

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

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

“All done.”

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

“There, have a look.”

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

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

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

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

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

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

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

“Will it hurt?”

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

“Okay,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

“Does it still hurt?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay?”

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

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

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

And there it is.

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours,

Bucky”

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

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

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

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

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writing-in-april · 3 years

Text

Converging Parallels

Spencer Reid x Female Single Mom Reader (Spencer’s POV)

Summary: Spencer goes to a support group Penelope suggested after the death of Maeve. He quickly connects with a single mom who’s experiences have been similar to Spencer’s.

A/N: I’m prefacing this by saying I know shit about math and am horrible at it lol 😂 so my math analogies might be horribly off 😂 This is my fifth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April- this one was requested by @samuel-de-champagne-problems- this is the request- (go check out there fics too!!) I tweaked it a little bit so I hope you enjoy it 🥺 a lot of it is confined to Spencer grappling with his thoughts- but there is dialogue I promise lol 😂I had a good time writing it ☺️Thanks for all the love recently and if you want to drop me an ask for any reason you can do so here- I’m always looking for some new friends on here (I promise I don’t bite lol) Thanks again and hope y’all enjoy 🥰

Warnings: Angst with a hopeful ending, General dealings surrounding death and grief, Mentions of Maeve’s death, Reader’s a widow, Guilt about moving on, Reader’s child is a daughter

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.6k

Parallel lines were never supposed to meet, they were set on a strict path following in a similar direction with no hope of ever converging. At least that’s what was the widely accepted definition by anyone with any authority in the field of mathematics.

My own math degree was being contested by a set of two lines set on a collision course with each other, though they were not supposed to. Logically I knew that the two lines were not beholden to any mathematical equation as I was referring to two human lives.

We were set on a similar course, only slight differences that seemingly were leading us to different destinations, or at least I tried to convince myself that. I tried every night to convince myself that she was only a friend, that it wasn’t what she wanted and I was desecrating the memory of the person I still claimed to be the only person I loved.

Logically I knew that by forcing where I wanted our relationship to go, what I thought the universe wanted to happen wasn’t what I truly wanted. The reason I had boxed us in so vehemently was only because I was scared and guilty, I knew it too. I wanted us to converge, but logic doesn’t always win out when dealing with guilt.

It had all started with Garcia mentioning that I should consider going to a grief support group after the death of Maeve. Every action I took was being weighed down by her death, whether I cared to admit it or not.

Garcia had good intentions when she suggested going to this meeting to me, of that I was sure. It isn’t that I saw no reason to go to the support group, I just knew that it would dreg up all the unwanted feelings that bombarded me enough already.

The flier in my hands felt heavy even though it was made of paper it weighed my hands down enough where I almost dropped it. I could have let it go then to have it fly away, being taken by the wind, that would let me forget about it. But, I knew it would have only made me forget for a short while, I’d inevitably get questions from Garcia and my own mind wouldn’t let me forget the reality of what had happened. And, logically I knew that it would most likely help. So instead of letting the wind take it away, I crumpled the paper slightly in my hands out of frustration, moving my feet forward one step at a time to enter the building.

That’s where I had first met her. When I first walked in I didn’t immediately lock eyes with her or anything, my eyes were too fixated on the ground for that to happen.

I only noticed her when she was invited to tell her story. Her strength instantly captivated me, almost making me feel like a failure at first. Her story of how she lost her husband was eerily similar in some aspects, especially the cause of his death. The feeling of failure on my part to be strong swirled in my gut as she recounted her struggles that were so starkly similar to mine. She even had a young daughter to take care of as well, she often spoke of her whenever she told her story, almost neglecting herself sometimes- which she admitted she knew she needed to work on.

However, when she came up to me to talk after the meeting was concluded my opinion switched to view her as inspiring. We began getting coffee after each meeting, sometimes talking for hours, sometimes sitting in silence. Whatever I needed she was there to give it to me, whenever she needed help I wanted to be there too.

To see our almost parallel lives begin to converge at first felt like someone had driven a car into traffic about to collide straight into my path. My mind would not stop arguing about whether or not I should pull away from her or not, like guilt was on shoulder and my potential happiness was on the other.

—-

Guilt was eating away at me from the inside out slowly, that part of my mind would not stop clawing away any good aspect of my relationship with Y/N. The relationship between us had shifted in recent weeks, tension invading what had once been a simply platonic connection formed through our shared experiences. When it became clear to me what our lingering stares and touches were leading to, guilt had reared its ugly head to burrow its way down deep and take root.

It had disrupted my sleep even more than usual, nightmares ranging from Maeve guilting me to the visuals of her death. The images of Maeve and any time I had shared with her invaded my brain at all hours of the night, haunting me. I scrunched my eyes up tight, maybe that would banish the images from my brain. That only made the guilt worse it seemed as I now felt double the guilt for wanting to banish the thoughts about a person I still claimed to love.

My hand hit the pillow in frustration, then grabbing it and throwing it to some unknown location across the room. Sitting up, no longer being able to tolerate laying down knowing that sleep would never come, made my exhausted joints beg me to lay back down. I leaned forward to put my head in my hands, also tangling my curls with my fingers. I tried to think about what Y/N had said to me at one of the first meetings I had attended, my normally impeccable memory struggled as the memory of Maeve’s bloodied face would not leave. Screaming internally was the only thing that seemed to work to push the words I was looking for forward,

“I try to think about something my therapist told me- Although it's difficult today to see beyond the sorrow, May looking back in memory help comfort you tomorrow.”

The quote wasn’t something groundbreaking or new, though the origins were unknown. But, the words still struck me deep everytime I forced my memory to call back on them.

The words she had spoken in the meeting when talking about her husband made me want to try too. She inspired me whenever she told snippets of her story to me or the rest of the group, her story had been similar to mine- with the added element of having a daughter to raise on her own.

Her strength was what had drawn me to her initially, like a moth to flame. Our relationship wasn’t even a friendship at first, just two people sharing advice (more her giving it to me) about how to deal with crippling grief.

What had blossomed since then from death and decay had thrown me for a loop. I hadn’t been expecting for this to happen, I never even thought romance would be an option for me again. I thought that I would have one great love and that our time in the sun had ended along with any option for romantic interests in the future.

Then she came along and spun my thinking upside down, not that I blamed her at all for it. She originally had just reached out to help me, not to pursue any romantic connection purposefully while I was vulnerable.

She continued to stay with me to help despite my urge to push her away even though that’s not what I wanted. I tried hard to convince myself that our lives were never meant to connect, that we were destined to remain apart.

It took many more sleepless nights for me to realize what I hadn’t seen for so long, even with Y/N reassuring me at every turn. Maeve would want me to be happy, I was sure of it. So I’d try to let myself, no longer letting myself get hindered by my own swirling thoughts of guilt that Maeve wouldn’t have wanted me to feel.

—-

Asking her out on a date had been surprisingly easy once I had let go a little of my guilt. We had chosen to go somewhere different than a coffee shop, since we already did that often. I took her out to more of an upscale restaurant than she was used to, which may be too fancy for some for a first date, but she deserved it. She worked so hard to take care of her daughter and even me to some extent.

At the end of the night we were both standing outside her door ready to go in to relieve the babysitter for the night. I had already given her a chaste kiss for the night, even though my nerves kept trying to talk me out of it. I was about to say goodbye when she grabbed my wrist to hold in her hands. She looked afraid at first, almost like she wondered if I wouldn’t like her touching me. Touch may bother me with most people, but she wasn’t most people, I’d happily share germs with her. When I did not pull away relief was evident in her eyes, then taking a big breath before speaking,

“Would you like to meet my daughter?” Her voice was shaky, understandably full of worry.

“Of course.” In the past hesitation would have littered my voice if she had asked me the same question. But, my thoughts had been slowly shifting to want our lines to converge fully and with no fear. Sure, Maeve would always capture a place in my heart, but I was ready for our lives to collide. Our parallel lives converged into one line, with a set path forward. It may get derailed from its intended path, but we would be stronger together than apart.

Ask me anything

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith (damn tumblr just let me tag them)

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #mgg #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid fanfic #30 fics in 30 days

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