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extasiswings · 3 years

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How we feeling clowns? Wrecked? Anyway, here, have an episode tag for both the crossover and Buck Begins. Also on ao3.

Eddie’s driving nearly on autopilot, the roads familiar as they get closer and closer to El Paso. Part of him almost wishes he hadn’t taken the driving shift to get them to his childhood home, even if it made the most sense—he can feel the tension in his jaw and shoulders creeping in, curling tighter with every mile they come closer, and his fingers itch for his phone, for the commiserating sympathies of his sisters who understand what he’s likely to walk into much more than Buck or Hen.

Technically they could have skipped the detour. Eddie hadn’t even planned on telling his parents he was coming to Texas at all—it was Christopher who let it slip, and then Eddie had been immediately put on the spot and he hadn’t been able to come up with a good way out of stopping by after his weak deflection that it wasn’t a social trip was met with well, you have to stop and eat somewhere, don’t you.

Sophia told him to lie and say the department said no. But she’s always been much better at lying to their parents outright than he is. Adriana shrugged and said if he didn’t want to go he didn’t need to give them a reason and should just say he wouldn’t be coming. But then, that’s her tactic as well and always has been—putting her foot down to establish hard boundaries, forging her own path and bucking all expectations. Eddie’s always fallen somewhere in the middle, which he supposes is fitting—struggling to set boundaries, often getting there only when pushed, wanting approval but lacking Sophia’s talent for gentle manipulation that usually leads people to think that whatever she wants was their idea.

So. Here he sits. Driving to El Paso.

“Eddie?”

He blinks and clears his throat as he registers Buck’s voice, the edge of concern that says it’s not the first time Buck has called his name.

“Yeah?”

“I was going to ask if you could pass back the aux cord,” Buck says. “But now I think I should ask if you’re okay.”

Eddie glances over his shoulder—Hen is in the back of the truck, head pillowed against the window, dozing with her eyes closed. He swallows.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen my parents is all,” he replies. “And usually when they call it’s to talk to Christopher so...it might be uncomfortable.”

Buck’s voice drops. “Have you talked to them since the thing? Other than about this I guess.”

The Thing, also known as the huge fight they got into when Eddie decided that if he was going to keep working he couldn’t live at home for awhile and they tried to once again insist that he take Chris back to live with them. Like some terrible combination of the arguments they had before he moved to LA and after Shannon’s funeral, only even worse because Eddie had been raw enough over the decision to move in with Buck and let his abuela take care of Chris for awhile and really didn’t need to hear anyone tell him that choice made him a bad parent—

Sophia had been spitting mad when he told her and while he doesn’t know what she said in her own subsequent call to their parents, he knows that the next time they called him, the subject didn’t come up again. Which, he supposes is as close to an apology as he’s ever likely to get.

He probably could have used that as an excuse to not visit. But then, that’s not really how they are. Don’t apologize, pretend you don’t hold grudges, act like everything is fine, and repress until it feels like it is—the Diaz family way.

Eddie sighs as he focuses on the road.

“Not really,” he replies. “They’ve called Christopher every few weeks, but we’ve only talked directly...three times maybe since then? Things seem to go south more quickly when we’re in person though so I guess I’m…”

“Bracing for impact,” Buck fills in quietly. “I get that.”

“Yeah?”

Buck shrugs. “I don’t talk about my parents,” he points out. “Don’t talk to them either if I can avoid it because they always have a way of managing to just—anyway. The last time I even called was after everything with Maddie and Doug. Haven’t seen them since...since before I started with the 118 at least. So. Yeah. I get it.”

He hesitates, then adds, “You know I have your back, right? You’re my best friend and you’re an amazing father. I’m not going to let anybody get away with talking badly about you in front of me, even if they are your parents.”

Eddie glances back and manages a faint smile, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he admits. “Even if you did try to steal a fire truck in the middle of the night without me.”

Buck laughs and shoves at his shoulder. “At least it wasn’t this truck. Besides—you caught up before I did it anyway.”

“Yeah, my Buck’s about to do something dangerous senses were tingling, couldn’t let that slide,” Eddie teases.

“Just give me the damn aux cord,” Buck shoots back, but he’s grinning.

And as they pass the next exit, Eddie feels like maybe things won’t be quite so bad.

***

Buck hates Eddie’s parents.

It’s not the most charitable thing to think about someone you’ve only just officially met—he saw them at the ceremony when Eddie passed his probationary period, but he’d been on pretty strong painkillers at the time and Maddie had shuffled him back home as soon as possible—but he really does.

He hates the tense, anxious set of Eddie’s shoulders, hates the way his smile looks forced—it triggers the same fierce, protective instinct that rears its head whenever he gets between his parents and Maddie, and, well, he did promise, so—

He really doesn’t feel bad for interrupting the very first digs about how seeing Christopher over video isn’t the same as in person, but it’s nice to have the option and technology really is wonderful, Zoom calls must have been a great improvement from your army days, right son with—

“You know, it is wonderful isn’t it? Did Eddie tell you how amazing Christopher is handling hybrid learning? It’s really so great how his teachers have adapted, I can’t imagine he would have kept up so well anywhere else.”

Buck smiles brightly as Eddie’s mother’s lips thin. Hen coughs and takes a long sip of lemonade. Eddie blinks in surprise from across the table and clears his throat, grasping at the lifeline.

“Yeah, top of his class,” Eddie says.

“He even has a reading group once a week with some of the other kids in his class that Eddie started to help them stay social. I know a lot of the other parents appreciate it,” Buck adds, and Eddie rubs at the back of his neck.

“We definitely do,” Hen says, glancing at Eddie’s father as she clarifies, “I have a son Christopher’s age. They used to play together all the time before all of this.”

“His therapist said kids are resilient, but I wanted to at least try and give him something normal,” Eddie replies, and his mother’s brows raise.

“Christopher is in therapy?” There’s a note in her tone that makes Eddie tense and Buck’s hackles raise.

“I took him to see someone for a few sessions after Shannon died, mom,” Eddie says evenly. After the tsunami, Buck fills in for himself. “It didn’t seem like a bad idea to go back again to make sure he’s okay during a time that’s pretty unprecedented for just about everyone.”

“Really, I think more parents should send their kids to therapy,” Buck interjects. “If it’s a feasible option, I can’t see that it’s anything other than great parenting to make sure your kid has the best tools they can to take care of their mental health.”

God knows if he’d gone to therapy a hell of a lot sooner, he might not be struggling through sessions with Dr. Copeland now that he’s nearly thirty, but that’s not really the point.

“Well, some people feel those sorts of things are best taken care of within the family,” Eddie’s mother replies.

“With all due respect, sometimes the family’s way of handling problems just makes things worse,” Buck replies, his smile dropping briefly before he forces it back again.

“This lemonade really is delicious, Mrs. Diaz,” Hen jumps in as Eddie pushes his chair back and starts collecting empty plates. “I would love to get the recipe before we leave. If you don’t mind.”

Startled, the older woman blinks. “Oh. Yes, of course. I’ll write it down for you.”

Buck pushes back his own chair as Hen continues redirecting the conversation and follows Eddie into the kitchen where he finds his best friend gripping the edge of the sink.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

Eddie looks over his shoulder and exhales heavily. “Hey.”

“Sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t,” Eddie assures. “I’m just...exhausted. And ready to get back on the road and home to my kid.”

He hesitates, then adds, “you know, my sisters would be impressed. I haven’t seen someone manage our parents like that since they left. I—thank you.”

“I meant what I said in the truck, Eddie,” Buck replies. “You’re an amazing father and a great man and—it’s not right that anyone should pretend any different. So. I won’t let them.”

Eddie glances at the hallway. “Guess we have to go back eventually. I didn’t quite think this escape plan through.”

“Once more unto the breach?” Buck offers. The smile he gives Eddie is far different from the fake one he’s had up since they arrived, and when Eddie returns it, a spark returning to his eyes, it makes Buck’s stomach flip and his pulse race.

He tries not to think too hard about that. They still have a long drive ahead of them—plenty of time to save it for later.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

***

When they get home, Eddie barely manages to shower and plug in his phone to charge before falling into bed and immediately going to sleep. When he wakes up, he finally checks his messages and sees several missed calls and texts from his sisters.

So? Sophia asks. How was it?

<em>You were right</em>, Eddie taps out, and then waits. His phone rings a few seconds later.

“I’ll save the I told you so in favor of asking if I should get Adriana on the line for an emergency Diaz sibling parental grievance vent session or if I’ll suffice,” Sophia greets.

“It’s not that serious,” Eddie replies. “I’m okay—a little annoyed still, but...I’m okay.”

He’s not quite sure what compels him to add, “Buck was there. He, uh, he told them off about it a little actually. Politely, but that kind of polite...you know the one.”

“The one that’s basically go fuck yourself with a smile and/or plausible deniability?” Sophia fills in, and Eddie laughs.

“Yeah, that.” He rubs at the back of his neck and leans back in his chair. “It was—he kept pointing out things about what a great dad I am.”

There’s something about the feeling in his gut that he can’t name. Something he wants to poke at, to explore, but that also makes him wary. Like a yellow caution light—it’s not a do not enter but it’s not risk free either—and he’s not sure whether it’s a risk he can take yet.

Sophia is quiet for a moment. Then she says, “You are a great dad, Eddie. In spite of them. I’m glad you have other people in your life who recognize that too. You deserve that. You deserve to trust that you’re good at things, even if mom and dad say you aren’t. You deserve to be happy, so...”

The silence that follows feels weighty.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Is Buck—?” Sophia cuts herself off. “—nevermind. Hey, the twins are calling, so I’ll call back again later, okay? Love you.”

Is Buck what? Eddie wants to ask. But he swallows it back.

“Love you, too,” he says instead. “Talk to you later.”

As he hangs up and tosses his phone aside, his mind wanders back to that feeling. Right up to the edge of warning lights and caution tape. And Eddie wonders for a moment if he should—

There’s a knock at his door.

“Dad? You awake?”

“Yeah, buddy,” he calls back. “Be right there.”

Later. He can think about it later.

***

Eddie figures it out at the worst possible time—in the middle of a five-alarm fire when Buck’s trapped inside and he doesn’t know if—

What do you do when you realize you might be in love with your best friend and they could die?

“We have to go back in there,” he says, before he can think of any reason why he shouldn’t. “We can’t just leave him, we have to—”

“You’re right,” Bobby interrupts, and the other captain makes a noise of frustration.

“Captain Nash—”

“You’re right,” Bobby repeats, holding Eddie’s gaze. “We’re going to get him back.”

Maybe it’s stupid, four trained firefighters diving back into an active blaze in an unstable building with unclear direction, but Eddie can’t regret it when he sees the desperation on Buck’s face. The relief. The impending breakdown.

After, he’s assigned to take care of the victim and Buck’s carted off to the hospital to get checked, and Eddie thinks maybe that’s better. It gives him time, at least. Time to figure out what to say, what to do, whether he should say or do anything at all. Part of him doesn’t know. The rest is screaming I love him, I love him, I love him, wants to get his hands on Buck to verify for himself that he’s fine. That he’s alive. That he’s going to stay that way.

But when he gets back to the station, Buck’s parents are there, sitting at the table, and Eddie just—

He thinks about the look on Buck’s face earlier in the shift when he spilled everything, when he explained how he was apparently born just for parts and how he used to throw himself into bad situations because it was the only way to get their attention.

He could ignore them. But he doesn’t.

“He saved my son, you know,” Eddie says, gripping the top of the staircase as the Buckleys look up. And it’s probably somewhat insane to keep talking because he knows they don’t even know who he is, but he can’t help it because he just needs them to understand— “Buck. He wasn’t even working at the time, he was on medical leave and didn’t know if he would ever be able to be a firefighter again. But he saved my son in the middle of a tsunami—my then eight-year-old son, and god knows I can’t imagine losing him, I think that would be the worst thing I could possibly go through, and I’m not sure I would survive it, but I didn’t have to because Buck saved him. And probably twenty other people as well. That’s just the kind of person he is. The kind who saves people.”

They don’t say a word, so he keeps going. “He could have died today. Because he didn’t want to leave anyone behind. Because he is a good man, even if he doesn’t ever feel like he’s good enough. And he hasn’t said a lot about you, but he’s said enough for me to know that while he’s gotten the latter impression from you, he learned the former himself. He built his life here himself. So...I don’t know why you’re here, if you want to explain yourselves or just want him to forgive you because you feel guilty, but I just wanted you to know that. That he’s a good man. The best man that I know. And if you’re proud of him for that, he deserves to hear it. That’s all.”

Eddie walks away then, heart beating too fast, blood rushing in his ears.

The best man that I know. And I’m in love with him.

That wasn’t for their ears though.

It thrums in his veins, the words caught in his throat as he showers, changes, waits for Buck to return to the station. And when he does, Eddie almost—

But something stops him.

“You have visitors,” he says instead. And leaves Buck to it.

Buck finds him in the locker room after.

“So, my parents said they heard stories about me while they were waiting,” he says. “When I asked them who from, they said they didn’t know, but that I saved their son in a tsunami—and trust me, that got a hell of a lot of questions.”

Eddie is grateful for the open locker, the excuse to hide his face as he pulls out his street clothes.

“Yeah, well—just because they’re not going to appreciate you doesn’t mean that nobody else does.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie pulls back and takes a breath before looking over at Buck. There’s a look in Buck’s eyes like he’s trying to piece Eddie together like a puzzle, to work out all the things he hasn’t said. And Eddie suddenly feels exposed, far more than he had when Buck was sitting in his childhood dining room staring down his own parents.

“You’re a good man,” Eddie says quietly. “They should hear that. And...someone should be willing to defend it.”

Buck’s quiet for a moment.

“I have to go see Maddie,” he says finally. “But maybe I could come by later? And we could...talk?”

“You don’t have to ask, Buck,” Eddie replies. “You know I—” I always want you. “—you’re always welcome.”

Buck watches him in silence for another long moment, then nods. “Okay. Okay, I’ll see you later then.”

It’s hours before there’s a knock on the door. Hours in which Eddie burns dinner and then orders takeout because he’s too busy thinking, hours that he spends trapped in his own head, thinking through all the worst case scenarios, through every what if of how things could go wrong.

But also how they could go right.

And by the time he opens the door, he’s almost ready to just let the words trip off his tongue, but before he can, Buck says—

“Please don’t tell me I’m wrong about this.”

—and kisses him.

Eddie freezes, but before Buck can pull back, he slides a hand around the back of Buck’s neck and kisses him back with everything in him—every bit of thank god you’re alive and I was so afraid and I can’t lose you that he can muster. By the time Buck pulls away, they’re both breathless.

“I’m in love with you,” Buck admits. “I’ve been—”

“Me too,” Eddie replies. “I thought—I thought you were—”

Buck kisses him again.

“I can’t believe you told off my parents.”

“Well, you told off mine, so—”

Eddie pulls Buck through the door.

“Chris is in his room,” he says quietly. “But...you should stay for dinner. And…”

You should stay. Just stay.

Buck does.

#chapel writes #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #911 spoilers #(just in case)

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after-avenging-hours · 4 years

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Out of Time [6]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist with dates on chapter releases - tag list will not be used for this series

Summary: After Steve gets injected with a mysterious substance during a mission gone wrong, you come to find out that the only thing that can save his life is a pure sample of Dr. Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum. Unwilling to let the love of your life die without a fighting chance, you travel through the quantum realm back to 1943. Equipped with little more than your knowledge of past events, you have to figure out just how exactly you’re going to get your hands on that serum. Not only that, but with the infinity stones no longer protecting the reality you’ve come from, there is now a chance that your presence in the past can change the future you’ll return to. Can you succeed without messing things up? And if things go wrong, can you fix it before it’s too late? Or will you run out of time…

Word Count: 6761

Warnings: This part contains smut, Steve is a virgin for obvious reasons, Explicit themes (18+)

The next morning, you meet up with Dr. Erskine first thing to go over the plan for the day, along with Colonel Phillips. The Colonel then calls for a vehicle escort to take you all to where Agent Carter is getting the recruits initiated. The vehicle pulls up just in time for you to see her fist flying into one of the recruit’s face.

You scoff out a laugh, wondering what exactly that guy did to piss her off.

“Agent Carter, I can see that you’re breaking in the candidates. That’s good,” Colonel Phillips announces as he approaches the group. He then proceeds to order the soldier the get himself back up.

You stand next to Dr. Erskine and sweep your eyes over the group. You catch Steve’s gaze for a brief moment before he looks straight ahead at attention. You have to glance down at your clipboard to help fight off your smile.

The Colonel begins to pace in front of the recruits and gives his introductory speech. “We are going to win this war because we have the best… men,” he falters when he pauses and glances over at Steve. He turns to shoot Dr. Erskine with a look. The Doctor has to look away to keep his face neutral. “And because they are going to get better,” the Colonel resumes his pacing. “Much better.”

He continues to explain to the men what exactly they have signed up for. An opportunity to become the man that will lead the Allied forces into winning the war. A man who will be the first in a new breed of Super Soldiers. A man who will personally bring Adolph Hitler to the gates of Hell.

“We will be testing you in just about every aspect you can think of. Strength, endurance, agility, cognition, aptitude... By the end of this week, we will know you better than you know yourselves. You are on the clock from now until we’ve made our decision next Monday. You will follow every single order, explicitly as it is given to you. We tell you to jump, just do it, don’t bother asking how high. We will tell you when to eat. We will tell you when to sleep. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” all of the recruits shout simultaneously.

“Sergeant Duffy, you can take it from here,” the Colonel relinquishes control of the recruits to the Drill Sergeant.

“Alright, men! Step into formation!” He orders. “First up is the ropes course! Ready! March!”

You follow after the group, along with Agent Carter. You take notes on the performance and times of each recruit as they complete the course. You bite your lips and cringe inwardly when Steve barely makes it halfway up the rope wall before losing steam. It breaks your heart to have to check the incomplete box next to his name on the paperwork, but you know if you don’t accurately report what’s happening, it will raise several questions with the others.

This is just the beginning of a very long and challenging week. Every day the men are up before dawn, they have 30 minutes to eat breakfast, then they’re jumping right into the next test. Steve’s differences from the others quickly paint a target on his back. One of the recruits, Hodge, the one that Peggy punched on the first day, seems to have a vendetta against him.

You witness Hodge kicking out one of the posts of the barbed wire crawling course, forcing the wires to collapse directly on top of Steve, pinning him down. Sergeant Duffy was quick to put Steve to blame, but you happily wrote a mark against Hodge on his form. You’d definitely be reporting this back to Erskine.

Steve struggles for a few minutes but is eventually able to work himself loose and crawls out of the remainder of the course. You frown when you notice the back of his uniform is cut in several spots. You’re pretty sure you even saw a flash of red.

Later on, the men are given an hour for lunch. As the rest of the group heads for the mess hall, you watch Steve diverge off to the barracks. You rush to your room to grab your first aid kit. You step back out of the officer quarters at the same time he’s leaving the barracks, dressed in a different uniform. You release a quick whistle to catch his attention before jerking your head to the side to indicate he should follow you.

He looks around to make sure no one else has witnessed the interaction before walking over. You take him around the back of the building before ducking behind a series of large crates. “Vic, what are you doing? We’re going to get in trouble,” Steve whispers.

“Sit down and take your shirt off,” you instruct, kneeling on the ground to open your first aid kit.

“There’s no need for that. I’m fine,” he huffs stubbornly.

You fix him with a pointed look. “Steve, the sooner you stop arguing with me, the sooner we’ll be done, and then the less likely we’ll be caught.”

He stares back for a moment before giving in with a dejected sigh. He looks around once more before ducking behind the creates, too. He starts unbuttoning his uniform and turns around to sit cross-legged with his back toward you. Once the shirt is off, you hiss at the sight of the cuts on his back. Most aren’t too bad, but there’s one going across his right shoulder blade that’s deeper than the rest.

“You and I have very different meanings for the term fine,” you scoff.

“It’s really not that bad. Just hurts when I, you know, move…”

You breathe out a laugh, shaking your head at him. There’s that stubborn jerk you know and love. Leaning forward, you press your lips to the back of his neck. He turns his head slightly to glance at you over his shoulder.

“What was that for?”

You smile, “A distraction from the pain.”

He releases a low hum before turning his head back. You disinfect your hands before reaching out to inspect the deeper cut. You prod gently at the skin around the cut. Luckily, it’s not quite as deep as you originally feared and it won’t need stitches.

“This is going to sting,” you warn as you rip open a disinfectant wipe packet. You dab as gently as you can to the cut, but Steve still releases a harsh breath.

“Think I could maybe use another distraction,” he comments, his voice tight.

You oblige with a kiss to the top of his shoulder. Once you’re satisfied that you’ve cleaned up the cut, you pull out your healing spray from Shuri. “This will feel a little cold at first, but then it will start to numb the pain,” you explain before spraying over the wound. You tape a piece of gauze over the cut to keep it protected before moving onto the smaller cuts.

As the gel begins to take effect, the tension in Steve’s shoulders begins to ease. Your concentration breaks when he releases a long sigh. “Vic, what the hell am I doing here?” he asks, sounding dejected.

“You earned your spot, Steve. Same as the rest of them.”

He scoffs dryly. “But I’m nothing like the rest of them.”

“That’s a good thing!” you insist. “Steve, you know that this isn’t just about who’s tallest, fastest, or strongest. Your strengths are up here,” you tap at his temple. “Find a way to use that to your advantage.”

“Can’t exactly think my way out of a push-up…” He sighs, looking off into the distance. “I’m just so tired.”

You’re not surprised. He’s pushing his body past its limits. “I know,” you scratch comfortingly at the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “But it’s just a few more days. I know that you can do this.”

The scratch of your nails on his scalp helps to relax him. “Thanks, Vic. It’s nice knowing there’s someone here that’s on my side.” He looks over his shoulder to meet your gaze once again.

“I’m always on your side. Even when you’re being a stubborn jerk.” You smirk humorously.

He chuckles quietly and lets you finish bandaging him up. The rest of the cuts don’t need as much attention, just a quick spray of the healing gel before covering them with a few bandages, so the gel won’t rub off on his uniform.

“Okay, you’re done,” you tell him, so he can put his uniform shirt back on as you pack up your kit and collect the trash.

He slips the shirt over his shoulders but leaves it unbuttoned as he turns to face you, sitting on his knees. “Can I get one last distraction?”

When you lift your gaze to catch his, he taps a finger to his bottom lip, right where he’s giving you a goofy grin. You match the grin with one of your own before leaning forward on your hands and knees. You tilt your head and press your lips to his. As much as you want to give in to the kiss and spend the whole afternoon with him tucked behind these crates, you know it won’t be long before someone comes looking for the two of you. If you’re caught together it would immediately disqualify Steve from the program, so you keep things short.

Pulling back, you blink your eyes open. Steve’s face looks more relaxed than it has his entire time here. You smile at him encouragingly, “Go show ‘em what you’re made of, Rogers.”

Darting forward, he places one last peck against your lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

He finishes buttoning up his shirt and stands. He looks around to make sure the coast is clear before reaching a hand down to help you to your feet. You have him go first then wait a minute before stepping out from behind the crates and make your way back to your room to put away your first aid kit.

Dr. Erskine grabs you during breakfast the next morning to go over the progress on the recruits so far. While you’re in your meeting with him, the recruits are taken on their endurance run around the entire camp. It will take the full morning to complete the round trip. You can’t help but be worried about Steve, especially since you’re not there to watch out for him.

You step back outside to meet up with the recruits at the same time that they are returning from their run. You feel dread pooling deep in your gut when you see Steve sitting in the back of the escort vehicle. As you hurry your approach, you find that he doesn’t appear to be injured. In fact, he looks rather content. Maybe even a little smug.

The vehicle comes to a stop, along with the rest of the recruits. Sergeant Duffy dismisses them to lunch, a rather sour look on his face as he holds a bundled green cloth in his arms. Steve hops out of the back of the truck, confirming your thought that he’s not injured.

“What happened?” you ask as he approaches.

“The Sergeant said that if anyone could bring him the flag at the halfway point, they’d get a ride back the rest of the way. I pulled the pins out of the bottom of the flagpole. Once the pole was on the ground, getting the flag was easy.” He shrugs casually.

You and Dr. Erskine share a look, trying to conceal your smiles to not show favoritism in front of the others.

“That is one way to do it,” Dr. Erskine tells him before you both let him continue to the mess hall for lunch.

The two of you then meet up with Agent Carter to get her notes on the recruits after their run.

By the end of the week, Steve has found a few other areas to shine through. Every time you give Dr. Erskine your reports, you can tell that it’s only helping to affirm his feelings on picking Steve for Project Rebirth. You’re currently watching the recruits running through their afternoon exercises, with Agent Carter leading them through a round of push-ups. Your attention is momentarily pulled away from the group when Dr. Erskine and Colonel Phillips walk up, arguing over Erskine’s apparent choice to pick Steve.

“You don’t win wars with niceness, Doctor,” the Colonel huffs and digs through a weapons create in the back of one of the military trucks. He pulls something out of one of the creates that you can’t quite make out from your position. “You win wars with guts.” In the next second, he tosses the object into the group of recruits. “Grenade!” he shouts and your heart completely stops.

You’re about to dart into the fray as the recruits completely scatter, but then you notice one individual jumping directly onto the grenade. “Get away!” Steve screams, huddling over the explosive device. “Get back!”

Time seems to come to a complete stop as you think that this is the moment you’re going to watch him die. A full second passes, then another. As time seems to start moving once more at a normal pace, you realize that the grenade never went off. Everyone else seems to come to this conclusion at the same time and Steve begins to push himself out of his huddled position.

“It was a dummy grenade,” one of the other soldiers announce and everyone begins to collect themselves. “All clear.”

You find yourself releasing the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

Steve looks around in confusion. “Is this a test?” he asks.

You look over to Dr. Erskine and Colonel Phillips to find the two in a staring match. “He’s still skinny,” the Colonel mutters before walking around the doctor and heads off. Erskine watches his movements, trying to hold back a smile of amusement. Once the Colonel is out of sight, he gives that smile to Steve

It’s your last night at Camp Lehigh and you can’t even pretend to fall asleep. You should feel relief, knowing that Steve was successful in getting chosen for Project Rebirth. And a part of you is. But this means that tomorrow is your last day here in this time. Tomorrow is the whole reason you even ventured back into 1943. Tomorrow is your one shot at getting the serum. Tomorrow… you go home.

Unable to stand one more second laying still in your bed, you push yourself up and move the blankets off your legs. Peggy is fast asleep in her own cot, but she’s a light sleeper, so you try not to make too much noise as you slip out of bed. You grab your silk robe to throw over your nightgown once you’ve stepped out of the room. You twist the knob of the door as you carefully pull it shut, so it won’t click. You then walk barefoot out of the Officer Quarters and make your way over to the barracks. As you approach the main door, you pause when it opens on its own.

Dr. Erskine steps out, and he catches you standing there. He chuckles quietly, holding the door open for you. “Don’t keep him up too late.”

An embarrassed smile crosses your face. “I won’t, Doctor.” You slip inside before the door shuts behind you.

Steve is sitting on the side of his cot, with his back toward the door. He looks over his shoulder as you approach, quickly standing to his feet when he sees it’s you. “Vic!”

As soon as he’s within reach, your hands dart out to yank him close. You wrap your arms around his chest and bury your face into his neck, holding him tight. He stiffens at first, before relaxing into your hold.

“Is this my congratulations?” he asks with a gentle laugh.

“This is because you jumped on top of a grenade, like an idiot, and scared me half to death!” You squeeze him a little tighter. “I need to know that you’re okay,” you mumble against the side of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, wrapping his arms around your waist.

When you feel the comfort of his nearness beginning to seep into you, you lean back and unwrap an arm to hold the side of his face. “This is your congratulations,” you say before placing your lips over his.

His arms tighten around your waist as he kisses back eagerly. “God, I missed having you so close,” he whispers against your lips.

Instead of his words causing you comfort, they hit you with a cold dose of reality. You pull back with a snap, your breath hitching.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, looking at you with concern.

You feel the pain in your chest like a knife to your heart, and you’re sure it’s plain to see on your face. “Steve, there’s something I need to tell you,” you confess.

His eyes become cautious and guarded. “What is it?”

You release a shaky breath, feeling the tears already beginning to well in your eyes. “After the procedure tomorrow… I have to go away.”

“Go away?” he repeats, brows furrowing. “You’re getting reassigned?”

“I-” you start before cutting yourself off. You know you can’t tell him the full truth. He wouldn’t understand. “Yes,” you force out. “I’m getting reassigned.”

His gaze flickers between yours, trying to get a read on anything that you can give him. “Well, where to? Maybe I can get assigned there also.”

You shake your head, your lips trembling as you attempt to fight off your tears. “No, you can’t. It’s something I have to do alone.”

He looks like he still doesn’t understand. “So, what does that mean for us?”

You exhale sharply, looking up as a last-ditch effort to keep the tears from falling. “It means we won’t see each other again.”

“Ever?”

All of your efforts begin to fail when your gaze drops to his once more and you see the look on his face. He looks absolutely heartbroken. You feel that knife in your chest dig a little deeper. “Not for a long time.”

He watches as you begin to fall apart in his arms, but he just can’t accept it. Steve Rogers never gives up on anything. “No, we can find a way to make it work. I’ll talk with Dr. Erskine and Colonel Phillips after the procedure. If it works, they’ll have to say yes, right? And even if they say no, we can still write letters to each other. This doesn’t have to be-”

“Steve,” you cut in. You can’t allow him to get his hopes us. “This is our last night.”

His breaths come in quick like he’s gearing up for a fight, but when he sees the raw pain in your eyes, he knows that now isn’t the time for arguing. Maybe he can change your mind before tomorrow. Maybe he can’t. If this truly is the end… “Then, let’s make the most of it.”

His hands cradle your cheeks before he pulls your face against his. He’s in complete control of this kiss and you are more than happy to submit to him. You’re not sure where this sudden burst of confidence has come from, but you are reveling in it. His hands slip from your cheeks, down your neck, and over your shoulders. He pushes against your robe until it’s falling to the floor.

The two of you stumble over to his cot, not wanting to part, as your hands roam over each other’s bodies. Your hands slip beneath his white SSR t-shirt before they crawl up his stomach. He releases you just long enough to tuck his dog tags inside the shirt before he helps you pull it off. He sits in the middle of the mattress and you crawl to sit on his lap, your nightgown bunching up at your thighs.

You hover over him, hands on his shoulders as you barely skim your lips against his. He stretches his neck up as you tease, trying to get more from you. Your lips split into a grin before your tongue darts out to swipe straight up the middle of his mouth. His hands shake when they grip your hips.

“Have you done this before?” he asks breathlessly.

You stop your movements and pull back to meet his gaze. “I have,” you confirm. “Does that bother you?”

He shakes his head fervently. “Oh, no,” he insists, squeezing your hips a little tighter. “As long as it doesn’t bother you that I haven’t…” He drops his gaze for a moment.

Your lips spread into a sweet smile and you run your fingers through his hair, lifting his gaze back up. “That doesn’t bother me at all, Steve,” you assure him.

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, and you can tell he has more to say, so you wait patiently for him. “Bucky once told me that sometimes women don’t feel pleasure if you don’t do it right.” He pauses, looking at you with concern. “Will you teach me?”

You look at him with so much tender affection, he can feel it in his soul. “Of course.” You settle yourself a little more comfortably over his lap, with your knees framing his hips. “Just start by touching me.”

He glances down at where his hands rest at your hips, then his eyes travel back up the length of your body. “Where?” he questions.

“Everywhere.” Leaning back down, you capture his lips and kiss him fiercely.

His hands seem to take on a life of their own. They trail up your sides, exploring your curves so delicately, one would think you were made a glass. They skim just past the edge of your breasts, not quite brave enough to venture there quite yet. He traces the dip of your collar bone and the bend of your shoulders. As you continue to mold your mouth to his, he uses the touch of his fingers to paint the image of your body in his mind.

His hands then skim down your back, fingers spread wide so as not to miss a single inch. They come to a stop just below the curve of your lower back. Pulling out of your kiss, you breathe heavily as you catch his hooded gaze. Releasing his shoulders, you reach back and grip each of his wrists. Continuing to hold his gaze, you push his hands down even further until they are well and truly settled over the globes of your ass.

Steve’s breath hitches and his pupils dilate completely. He may not realize it yet, but you know your man has a thing for your ass. You grin deviously when you feel his hands squeeze. You rock your hips encouragingly, rubbing up on the erection that’s begun forming in his pants. He grunts in surprise at the sensations running through him and he squeezes your ass again. He feels like his heart is about to beat right out of his chest, it’s pounding so hard.

Wanting to touch even more of you, Steve’s hands glide down your thighs and slip under the hem of your satin nightgown. He moves at a pace slower than a snail as he moves back up your legs. His fingertips brush the curve of your ass once more, and when he expects to feel cloth again, he finds nothing but skin. His lips part in shock. “You’re not wearing underwear…” he realizes.

You can’t help the short giggle that slips out. “No, I’m not,” you confirm.

He swallows thickly, trying to process that information. “Do you do that a lot?” he questions, wondering how many nights you’ve shared a bed together like this.

“Sometimes,” you respond cryptically.

He releases a shaky breath, “Oh God, I’m going to hell for this.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. “Well, then we can go together.”

“Can…” his mouth has gone dry and his voice cracks. He has to clear his throat to try again. “Can I see you?”

“You can if you take off my nightgown,” you grin cheekily.

He fumbles a little, getting the satin material up to your waist. You help him remove the gown and let it fall to the floor. And suddenly Steve has a very naked woman sitting over him. After a quick glance over you, he quickly realizes that he could spend hours looking over your body and would never grow bored. He could explore you as he would an art museum. Looking for every single minuscule little detail within the great masterpiece. Lose himself in the curve of your hip, or the swell of your breasts, or between your thighs.

You notice where his gaze drops to and recognize the curious interest in his eyes. You take one of his hands back in yours and slowly bring it to the junction of your thighs. His fingers slide over your folds and he inhales sharply.

“You’re wet…” he surmises.

“I am,” you confirm with a laugh.

His fingers do a little exploring over the area. “Are women always wet like this?”

“No, not like this. It’s mostly just during arousal. It helps to act as a natural lubricant,” you attempt to explain while he’s got his hands on you.

“Where do I… go in?” he questions, his face flushing. He feels like he’s failing in class. Isn’t there some sort of primal instinct that’s supposed to kick in or something?

You smile in understanding and guide him to where he needs to be. “Just press gently,” you encourage. He does as you’ve instructed and slowly, his finger pushes in. Your lips part and you release the sweetest little mewl as your body welcomes him. “Add a second finger,” you urge, more than ready for the satisfying stretch your body has been craving from the moment of arousal.

It’s been a while since you’ve gone this long without sex. Especially since you’d been on that recon mission with the team for several weeks even before coming to 1943. Your body was begging for a little action. You have a brief flicker of thought on whether or not this is technically considered cheating, but then Steve flicks his fingers experimentally, hitting your g-spot, and all other thought promptly falls straight out of your head.

“Oh, right there! Steve, touch me right there!”

Steve doesn’t know if he should be watching what he’s doing with his hand or if he can just stare at your face. You’re absolutely breathtaking. Neck stretched, lips parted, eyes closed. You’re a picture of pure bliss. Your hips begin to rock against his fingers as your body tries to chase after its first orgasm. Reaching down for his hand once more, you position his thumb over your aching clit.

“Rub that in little circles.” You’re growing more and more breathless the longer he plays with you. The sounds coming out of you are so sweet, Steve can nearly taste the sugar in the air. You try not to be too loud, knowing there’s night patrol walking around the camp and you don’t want to call their attention. “Oh, Steve. That-” your voice drops with a sharp exhale. “That feels so good.”

Your hips stutter against his touch and your breasts heave with every breath. Steve is mesmerized by you. He’s not sure what drives him to do it, be it that instinct finally kicking in, or purely an insatiable need, but he leans forward and takes one of your breasts into his mouth. This must be the correct move because the sound that rips out of you shoots straight to his throbbing cock. Your hands dive into his hair, tugging and gripping at the strands, but also keeping him close and encouraging him.

Steve does his best to divide his attention, keeping his hand moving between your legs while he mouths at your breast. He tries to keep his teeth out of the equation, unsure if that will hurt you. He sucks your nipple into his mouth and laves his tongue over the hardened bud. His other hand reaches back down to grab at your ass once more. He uses that hand as leverage to keep you close and encourage the way you rock into his probing fingers.

“Oh yes! Right there, Steve! Don’t stop!”

He’s not entirely sure which area you’re referring to, so he keeps up with it all. He sucks even harder on your breast, circling his tongue around the sensitive bud. His hand between your legs is beginning to grow tired, but he doesn’t dare stop, and he continues to squeeze and push the globe of your ass.

Your voice continues to rise in pitch the closer you get to your peak. “Oh my God! Oh, Steve! Yes! Yes!” And suddenly, your body is tensing above him and your walls spasm around his fingers. Your climax hits you like a splash of paint on a blank canvas. You’re seeing all sorts of colors and swirls behind your closed eyelids. You hold onto him tight, afraid that if you let go, you’ll get whisked away.

He pulls away from your breast, not wanting to miss the sight of your euphoria, but he continues the movement of his hands. His fingers are pushed in deep, stroking at your quivering walls and thumbing at your clit. Your entire body shakes around him. Steve feels like he’s strung so tight that he may just join you with the barest hint of touch to his straining cock.

“Okay, okay,” you ease, gripping at his wrist as your body begins to come down from your high. He’s more than happy to keep going, but you’re going to go nuts from over-sensitivity if he keeps it up. “That was good,” you huff with a breathless laugh, guiding his hand to gently pull out from between your legs. “So good…” you drop your head unceremoniously to his shoulder, needing a second to collect yourself.

He feels your breath fan across his chest, sending tingles in its wake. “I didn’t kill you, right?” he asks jokingly.

You giggle breathlessly, lifting your head back up. “No. You were perfect.” Cupping his face in your hands, you slant your lips over his in a sloppy kiss and start to lean forward until Steve falls back against his pillow. Your mouth drags away from his, over the side of his jaw and down his neck.

“What are you doing now?” Steve asks as your lips ghost down the center of his chest.

You place a kiss just above his belly button before grinning up at him devilishly. “Now I’m going to do you.” Your fingers hook into the waistband of his pants, popping the top button and dragging down the zipper. In one move, you pull his pants and boxers off his legs, allowing them to join the remainder of your clothes on the floor. Steve’s cock is hard and ready for you, laying against his abdomen. He’s not as thick as you’re used to, but he’s definitely got more length than you were expecting. He’s also got a bit of an upward curve right now that seems to have gone away after the girth built up.

Your gaze flickers up to see that he’s watching you intently for your reaction. You give him just the barest hint of a smirk before you lean down and drag your tongue over him from base to tip. His lips part in a shaky breath and he throws his head back. You swipe over the very end of his tip, getting a taste of the pre-cum that’s dribbling out of his head. You wrap your fingers around his base to hold him steady before you take him into your mouth.

“Good God!” he cries out, hips jerking up and his back arching. He grips the bedsheets, his knuckles immediately turning white as he squeezes his eyes shut. He’s never felt anything like this before and he knows that it’s way too much. “Vic, honey, you gotta stop,” he begs despite the way his body thrusts up into your hot mouth. “I won’t last,” he shakes his head fervently, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing up.

Having mercy on him, you release him with a parting lick to the slit on his head. You keep your hand wrapped around him as you sit up on your knees and begin to get yourself into position above him. “Are you sure you want to do this?” you ask for his consent one last time before it becomes too late.

His eyes blink back open and meet yours before he nods. “Yes, I want this,” he confirms. “I want you, Vic.”

You smile sincerely and move to line him up with your entrance. His tip has just barely brushed against your slick folds when he jolts and tightly grips your hip.

“Wait! Wait,” he rushes, making you pause. You’re about to move off of him, but his grip holds you steady. “I’m not wearing a condom,” he tells you in a hurry before you’ll think he’s backing out. “I don’t even have one…”

Your muscles relax as you laugh lightly. “It’s okay. I have birth control.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “What is that?”

You realize too late that modern birth control hasn’t been invented yet. “Uhm… well, I have an IUD. It’s like a small device inside me that releases a certain type of hormone that prevents fertilization.”

“Oh,” he states simply, but wonders why he’s never heard of anything like that before. It certainly sounds handy. “And that’s effective?”

“Yes,” you smile in amusement. “So, can I…” you glance down to where you’re still holding him.

“Oh, yeah. Right. Go ahead.” His cheeks flare with embarrassment.

You giggle at his awkwardness. “You’re so adorable.”

He winces slightly at that, his cheeks only getting hotter. “Not exactly the words most men want to hear when you’ve got your hands on his penis.”

You laugh again and stroke his length in a comforting gesture. “Well, you’re not most men.” You settle back over him and align his tip against your entrance. “You’re my man.” With that said, you begin to sink down onto him. Your body welcomes every single inch that fills you until he’s pushed in to the hilt.

“Oh wow…” he breathes, hands gripping your hips even tighter.

“You okay?” you ask a little breathlessly, your body thrumming with sexual energy.

“Yeah…” he responds brokenly, trying to hang onto his last shred of control. He’s never felt anything like this before, there aren’t even enough words to describe what he’s feeling. Good is an understatement. Great is way off the mark. Euphoric might be close, but it still seems to fall short.

You give him a second to get used to the feeling of being inside you. Your fingers glide up his flat stomach and over the ridges of his ribcage. Sure, this body is smaller than you’re used to, but he’s definitely not as delicate as everyone has been made out to believe. This last week has certainly taught you that much. No matter what got thrown at him and no matter how hard he took a beating, Steve still managed to persevere. He picked himself back up and he kept moving forward. His inner strength somehow manages to shine brighter when he doesn’t have the muscles to back it up. Even though you’d been scared out of your mind when he jumped on that grenade, you’re also so incredibly proud of him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, causing your gaze to lift back up to meet his.

“Like what?” you question, wondering what he’s reading off your expression.

“Like I’m the only man in the whole world that matters.”

The love that you feel for him in your heart swells like a balloon. You lean forward, cupping his cheeks in your hands, and brush your nose against his. “Because you are,” your words caress his lips moments before you capture them.

You start to move your hips in slow circles, taking great pleasure in the way he twitches inside you. His hands squeeze your hips before they fall back down to your ass. He uses his grip as leverage to start rocking up into you. His movements are a little sloppy, more of a reaction rather than a coordinated effort. It feels good either way and you have to pull your lips back to release the delighted gasp that’s desperate to escape.

Your hands reach up to grip the metal bar from the bed frame as you find a rhythm to grind down against Steve’s gentle thrusts. His parted lips are swollen and red from your kisses as they release stunted gasps and heady grunts from deep within his chest. His heart is pounding so fast, he thinks it might just burst, but if this is the last thing he ever gets to experience before he dies, it will be well worth it.

“Can I go faster?” you ask with a needy whimper.

Steve thinks he may pass out, but because he’s a sucker for pain, he nods his head fervently. Your grip on the bed frame tightens and the muscles in your thighs quiver as you begin to bounce yourself on his cock. “Oh shit!” Steve’s eyes roll back as unimaginable pleasure sparks through him. Every time you slam down on his cock it sends a bolt of electricity licking up his spine. He brings his knees up and digs his heels into the mattress, so he can meet you thrust for thrust. Just about every muscle in his body is screaming in protest from this past week of hard training, but he pushes through the pain because the pleasure is way too good to stop now.

Your body pulls him in so deep, he feels like he’s going to fall into you. And maybe, he already has. These last two weeks he’s spent with you have felt like a dream. You dropped into his lap like a fallen angel and every moment since has been pure fantasy. You seem to embody everything he ever hoped he could get out of a partner. You saw him for the man he actually is, not the one you wished he could be. You treated his jagged and broken edges with gentle understanding and care, instead of choosing to throw him out with the trash like so many others had before.

You made him feel like a man capable of giving and receiving love and affection. You weren’t just a flickering candle in the dark. You were a bright, shining beacon, like a lighthouse in a storm. Your light chased away his insecurities and made him believe that he could do the impossible. He wanted to spend every day of the rest of his life basking in your radiance.

“Steve! Oh my- Oh!” Your back arches and your entire body quakes with the power of the orgasm that crashes through you.

The way you clamp around him has Steve seeing stars. Just a few more quick thrusts and he’s emptying himself into you. Your bodies quiver in tandem as your hold on the bed frame weakens before you collapse against his chest. You’re both sweaty and your skin sticks together, but neither of you seems to mind.

“That…” he starts, in between his heaving breaths. “Was pretty incredible.”

You release a tired giggle and attempt to move at least part of your weight off of him. There’s not much room to go anywhere on the tiny, single-person cot, though. His hands slide up from your ass, to curl around your waist, and he keeps you close. His cock, limp and satiated, slips out from your folds when you shift back, landing with a wet slap against his thigh. You can feel a dribble of his thick cum beginning to leak out from between your legs, but you are entirely too worn-out to do anything about it.

You’re already half asleep by the time Steve tries to coax you up enough to be able to peel back the blanket and sheets on the bed. You tuck your head under his chin and slide a knee between his legs, relishing in the feeling of getting to sleep in his arms one more time. Your sigh of content is the last thing Steve hears before he falls asleep.

Part 7

#steve rogers x reader #pre serum steve x reader #40s steve x reader #steve rogers smut #pre serum steve smut

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

Night In/Night Out

Summary: Emily Prentiss is your girlfriend and she finally asks you to meet her family (the BAU): cue the fluff.

Tags: fluff, reader-insert, team as family, flirting, cuddling, domesticity, protective emily, slight shy!reader

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Read on AO3

It’s late by the time you get back to your flat, audibly sighing in relief as you push open the door and kick your shoes off to the side, too tired to put them away properly. It doesn’t even register that the lights are on, meaning your girlfriend is probably home, until you head into the kitchen to dump the groceries you’d picked up on the way home from work.

“Em?” you call, a little confused at not seeing her in the living room or kitchen. You set your bags and keys down on the kitchen counter before going to investigate, padding through the apartment.

“In here, sweetheart,” she calls back from the bathroom, and you pull the door open to reveal your very sexy girlfriend standing in front of the steamy mirror wrapped in a towel, wet hair falling over her shoulders. You’re struck in these moments by just how beautiful she is; how lucky you are to get to call her yours. She turns to face you, grinning widely. “Come here, gorgeous girl, give me a kiss.”

You smile at her from where you’re standing in the doorway and follow your orders, leaning in to press a loving kiss to her lips. “You’re calling me gorgeous? When you’re standing here looking like this?” you tease, kissing her again.

She laughs unashamedly, tipping her head back as she lets her guard down with you. “Hey, maybe we can both be gorgeous,” she says, brushing her thumb over your cheekbone before pulling back to drink you in. “Especially when you’re wearing this dress knowing full well what it does to me.”

“Well I didn’t even know you’d be here to appreciate it when I put it on this morning,” you say in mock defense, raising your hands.

“That’s even worse,” she explains, face deadpan, “you wear it when I’m not even here to appreciate it.”

You both giggle before you sober up a little and meet her eyes with an earnest gaze. “Well. How lucky we are that you’re here to appreciate it now,” you say, voice a little shy as it always gets when emotions get intense. “I’ve had my phone off all day so if you texted me to say you’d be home I didn’t get it, sorry, Em.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby,” she smiles softly. “We’re both home now, let’s make the most of it, yeah? Why don’t you jump in the shower and I’ll order a pizza, how does that sound?”

“That sounds absolutely darling.” You turn away from her to face the mirror, taking out your earrings and pouring some makeup remover on a cotton pad and begin wiping at your eyes. “Don’t appreciate the insinuation that I smell, though.”

“Don’t be cheeky,” she grins, lightly smacking your arse and making you squeak. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know, I know,” you concede. “You’re just usually the one teasing me, you see. If I see an opportunity I have no choice but to jump on it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emily dismisses you, but she’s smiling widely. “Right, I’ll go get dressed and get dinner started. You jump in the shower.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” you grin, relaxing into the gentle banter that comes with an evening in with your girlfriend. You’d only moved in together four months ago, just after your one year anniversary, so nights like these ones were still a novelty. Emily’s away so much and your job keeps you busy enough that you’re apart more than together, so you always take special care to appreciate evenings like these just a little bit more.

By the time you’re out of shower and dressed in one of Emily’s old FBI academy tops, damp hair tied up in a bun, Emily’s on the sofa with the overhead light turned out in favour of the light from the TV and some scented candles dotted around the living room that Garcia had given Emily as a housewarming present. Emily hadn’t really meant to give away her change of address, but it had slipped out at one of their girls plus Spencer nights after a few too many margaritas and soon the gift baskets were rolling in.

“Hey baby,” she murmurs as you clamber -- oh so elegantly -- over the back of the sofa and directly on top of her, situating yourself eventually so that you’re lying with your head nestled in her neck. Her arms come up to wrap around you, sliding under your t-shirt and caressing the dip of your waist, the rolls on your stomach. “How was your day?”

“Long,” you sigh, the gentle caresses and low-level noise coming from the TV relaxing you further. “James, that coworker I’ve told you about, pissed me off again tonight so I finally reported him, but then his buddy Kyle wouldn’t let up on me about it and only left me alone after I threatened to report him, too. Really I wanted to tell him I’d castrate him in the parking lot but Daisy told me that was ‘too unprofessional’.”

Emily giggles at that, leaning her head onto the top of yours and cuddling you closer. “Sorry, Y/N. That sucks,” she says, knowing that you don’t need her to go into a lecture or give you any advice, that cuddling will suffice. “I saw you bought groceries, though. Thank you for doing that, especially when you were tired and pissed off.”

“That’s alright, the shop was on my way home. What about you, how was the case?” You bring one of your hands up to trace patterns on her bicep, relishing the strength under her soft skin.

She groans slightly. “It was alright, I guess. We’ve certainly had worse, it was just long , and I missed you very much since we couldn’t call as often as usual. I’m just glad it’s over and I’m back home with you.”

“Me too,” you say, smiling again as she gives you another squeeze.

“Hey, I do have something to ask you,” she says after a few moments of comfortable silence, voice a little hesitant.

“Yeah?” you ask encouragingly, continuing your light touches over her upper arm.

“I was wondering,” she starts, “if you’d like to finally meet the team?”

Your moving finger pauses for a moment, shocked. “Really?” you ask incredulously. Emily had always wanted to keep her work and home life separate, and beyond telling JJ and Penelope that she was seeing someone, she’d said nothing about you to her colleagues.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ve just been thinking. I’ve tried so long to think of the BAU as strictly my coworkers, but really they’re my family. I mean I regularly have sleepovers with the girls and think of Morgan as a brother, Spencer even more so, especially since we can empathise with one another’s sexuality struggles. Hotch and Rossi, even, I’m closer to them than my parents, and keeping you separate from that doesn’t feel right anymore.”

You smile slightly. You were wondering how long it was going to take her to figure that out. “I’d love to, babe, you know that.”

“Yeah?” she asks, clearly pleased. “Rossi is hosting a family night at his place next weekend and he’s said SOs are invited, though Will can’t make it so I’m not sure if anyone else will be coming.”

“Have you… told them?”

“That I’m a lesbian or that I’m dating you?” she clarifies.

“Both.”

“Not… technically,” she says slowly. “The girls know I’m gay, as does Spencer, and I’m sure the rest of guys have picked up on the hints I’ve dropped. It’s not like I’ve tried to hide it and I work with profilers. But I haven’t told them I’m dating you, just because I like my privacy and… I guess my work, even my teammates, signify so much bad stuff, and protecting you is my job.” She leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, brushing your temples with her fingertips. “Now though, I’ve realised I can still protect you and share your beautiful self with my team.”

“I understand, Em,” you smile up at her. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me.”

“I know, but it feels nice to explain and work through my own thoughts,” she reasons, still gently running her fingers along your side. “But next weekend? Rossi’s?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

★

Although you try to hide it from your girlfriend, you are absolutely bricking it. The team means so much to Emily, you’ve known that for pretty much as long as you’ve been together, and you’re terrified that they won’t like you. You know they’re extremely protective of each other, and although Emily’s always been your protector, you’re worried that you won’t meet everyone else’s standards. It’s not like she’ll break up with you if you don’t all immediately hit it off, you don’t think that low of her, but you know it could cause an issue, start a rift between the two of you, and it’s nerve wracking.

You’re also going into a tight knit group of people who trust one another with their lives as a complete outsider, arguably not a strong position. Your hand shakes a little as you apply the final coat of mascara, nervous thoughts really getting to you.

“Nearly ready to go, baby?” Emily asks brightly as she walks into your bedroom from where she’s been sorting her hair out in the bathroom.

You take a deep, shuddering breath and put the mascara away, sitting back and looking at yourself in the mirror. You brush a fly away hair back into place and brush a stray eyelash away from your cheekbone before finally looking Emily in the eye. “Think so,” you say, giving her a tight smile.

“Well,” she says, coming up behind you at the dressing table and wrapping her arms around your front, bending slightly to rest her chin on top of your head, “you look absolutely beautiful.”

Melting a little at the affection, you send a much more genuine smile back at her in the mirror. “As do you, babe. You know that top is my favourite on you.”

She smiles, pulling away from you to give you a full twirl, making you laugh. “I know. That’s why I chose it. Just like you choosing this gorgeous blue little number knowing damn well all I’m going to be thinking about all evening is taking it off later.” She winks at you in the mirror, coming back to stand behind you as you giggle at her.

“Have to look my best,” you say, only half joking.

Emily picks up on your hesitation, of course. “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to be worried. They’re going to love you, and if they don’t then they’re thick in the head and Hotch should fire them all for poor judgement.”

Looking down at your painted nails in your lap, you sigh. “Sorry, I just… these people are your family, and of course I want them to like me,” you say quietly. “I think I was less nervous meeting your actual mother.”

Prentiss lets out a short laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Well these lot are much less intimidating,” she says gently. “Come on, you. Let’s get going.”

They get there late as planned, Emily knowing that you would feel more comfortable meeting everyone at once rather than having to wait, stewing in anxiety, to meet each person as they come to the door at unspecified times. “You did tell them I’m coming, right?” you ask, tummy rolling as you hold Emily’s hand tightly, approaching the front door.

“I told them I was bringing my partner,” she reassures you, not for the first time. “Pen and JJ are chomping at the bit to meet you and everyone else looked excited, too, okay? It will be fine, I promise you.”

“You’re not supposed to promise things you’re not sure you can deliver on,” you mutter. “Don’t they teach you that at FBI school.”

“Academy, you mean,” Emily chuckles, knocking on the door.

You clumsily wave your free hand in dismissal, tightening your hold on the one in Emily’s. “Same thing,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

The door swings open before you can reply and Rossi is standing there, wine glass in hand as he opens his arms wide. “Emily,” he cheers, clearly already a little bit tipsy. He leans over to give her a kiss on the cheek as he ushers them in.

“Rossi,” she says warmly. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend.” She beams at you with pride as you press yourself closer to her, desperate to anchor yourself in such an uncertain situation.

“Hi,” you wave, shyly.

“Ahh, Y/N,” he grins, smiling as warmly as Emily. “It’s so great to finally meet you. I’d say we’ve heard so much about you but that would be plainly untrue.” He pretends to glare at Emily before directing his happy gaze back to you.

“She does like to keep me tucked away,” you giggle, looking up at Emily as you start to relax.

“Hush you two,” Emily teases. “You’d better not turn them against me.” She nudges your side as you follow Rossi through his gorgeous house into the large kitchen/dining area where the rest of the team are.

“Are you alright, baby?” she says quietly, just for you.

Your answering nod makes her ease a bit of tension you didn’t realise she was holding, and she slips her hand out of yours only to wrap it loosely around your waist, knowing that the solid weight and closeness to her will make you feel even safer.

“Hey guys,” she says as they enter the kitchen and everyone turns to greet the two of you.

A woman who you immediately recognises as Penelope runs up to meet you, awe in her eyes as she takes you in. “Oh my God, it’s finally happening, I don’t even know your name but I already love you so much!” she fawns, gripping your upper arms with her hands as you reflexively do the same. “You are so beautiful, I can’t believe Emily has hidden you from us this whole time.”

“I’m assuming you’re Penelope?” you ask, giggling shyly at the onslaught of immediate love, refusing to meet Emily’s I told you so glare you can feel burning into you. “I’m Y/N, it’s so good to finally meet you.”

“I’m sorry.” A blonde woman who you recognise as JJ comes up to pull Penelope away from where she’s brushing through your hair with her fingers. “She’s already had a bit to drink. I’m JJ, it’s so nice to finally meet you, Y/N.” She leans in to give you a quick hug which you gladly reciprocate, feeling safe in her warm embrace.

“Nice to meet you too,” you smile, edging back into Emily’s grip where Penelope and JJ had pulled you away slightly. “I’ve wanted to meet you for so long, I’m happy Emily finally came around to the idea.” You’re teasing a little, but the fond look in Emily’s eyes tells you she’s on board.

Hotch and Morgan come up to greet you in slightly less invasive ways, Hotch opting for a handshake and Morgan for a quick kiss on the cheek, both smiling at you in the same manner everyone else has. Spencer, though, opts for a hug, which Emily later tells you is a big deal, and tells you how wonderful it is to meet you. “How on earth did Emily manage to pull you?” he jokes, to which Morgan fist bumps him and Emily swats the both of them as you stifle another giggle.

“Don’t worry, Em, I still think you’re the most gorgeous person ever ,” you say, fawning up at her. Emily can’t be blamed for her actions when you look at her like that, so she leans down to plant a firm kiss on your lips, making everyone ‘aww’ at the two of you.

“I think I remember telling you not to turn them against me,” Emily teases again. “But I’m glad you’re still on my side.”

“Always,” you promise as everyone starts to disperse, going to sit around the table as Rossi introduces the pasta dish he’s cooked.

It’s still a little intimidating standing in a room full of FBI agents. Your job is nowhere near as heroic or dangerous and you feel small surrounded by such strong and powerful people, but the love in the room feels palpable. Emily keeps you attached to her side all night, always touching you in some way to make sure you feel safe and anchored in such a new environment.

Penelope, JJ, and Spencer don’t let up on the questioning all night, desperate to know every single thing about both you and Emily before it’s time to go home, making you feel included. “I want to know everything like everything like absolutely eeeeverything…” Penelope asks, as she pointedly takes the seat the other side of you.

“I, however, do not,” Rossi laughs as you blush furiously, comforted only by Emily’s hand on your thigh. Hotch agrees with Rossi while everyone else looks vaguely in agreement with Penelope, even if they’re trying as hard as they can to pretend they’re not.

Emily laughs confidently, and you’re caught up again in how beautiful she is. “We’ll save that for a girls’ night, I think.”

“Am I invited?” Spencer asks innocently.

Emily just rolls her eyes. “Of course you are, genius,” she says, kicking him under the table. Y/N doesn’t miss the small ‘yesss’ he lets out under his breath at that, making her smile fondly.

“Am I invited?” Morgan asks cheekily, waggling his eyebrows.

“Absolutely not,” Emily scoffs, rolling her eyes again. “I can’t reach him under the table, Spencer you kick him.” To which Spencer obliges, making everyone laugh as Morgan punches him lightly on the arm. It’s like watching a family dinner, you think as everyone tucks in, chatter loud and rambunctious, everyone taking turns telling stories and jokes with not a single person left out.

The team embrace you with open arms, thoroughly enjoying the story of how you met and surprised to hear that you’d already moved in together -- with the exception of a few -- but everyone clearly sees how in love the two of you are and you leave Rossi’s with a warm belly and a happy smile. Hugging everyone goodbye feels sad, but you’re happy in the knowledge that you’re invited to the next girls plus Spencer night, and that Rossi has already made you promise to come to the next pasta and wine party he hosts.

As you giggle walking back to the car with the chorus of ‘Bye Y/N!’s and ‘Don’t let her go Emily!’s behind you, Emily pulls you closer, kissing you on the cheek as you press yourselves as close together as you can while on the move. “What did I tell you?” she asks you, teasingly close to the shell of your ear.

“Fine,” you concede, not very upset about it at all. “You were right.”

“I’d like that in writing please,” she says triumphantly as you arrive at the car. She unlocks it and gives you one last kiss on the lips before you part to get in, looking at you sincerely and gripping your face with both her hands. “I’m just glad they saw how absolutely lucky I am to have found you.”

(Keep an eye out for the smutty Emily x Reader fic coming out soon...)

#criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds fic #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x y/n #emily #emily prentiss #my writing #criminal minds fluff

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buckyskorpion · 4 years

Text

11 hours - part seven

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: hello i apologise in advance. pls dont hurt me!!! i would appreciate your feedback and your theories about where this fic is going! i hope this part isn’t too..... upsetting lmao. i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist | please donate to my ko-fi!

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You believed, until now, that you walked the world seeking out dark corners and underbellies other people didn’t want to touch. That’s your job. The current case you're supposed to be working on involves a man suspected of drugging his girlfriend to take nonconsensual nudes of her and sell them to his friends while she slept. You’re well aware the world is a dangerous place.

But things look different now, in a way you never could have imagined before the Lerna. Those men were dead before you could blink, and you know life is expendable and fragile and so easy to take but it’s another thing to see it taken before your eyes. It’s another thing to take it yourself. And you know, now, why Bucky would only show you parts of his life and himself because this whole truth feels like staring directly into the sun - painfully bright, to the point where it’s all you can see and all the good things are reduced to a spotty, hazy blur.

You’re sitting in your office, at your desk where you’re trying to work but you can’t get the sound of bullet casings hitting the floor and the thunk of a knife in skin out of your head. There, in the centre of your tiny office, was where you sat on Bucky’s lap and kissed him and demanded ‘no secrets.’ Too stubborn to know he was keeping them for a reason, that maybe there are things you don't want to know after all. But you can feel his skin under your fingertips and the brush of his stubble as he kissed you, a memory you can touch, and you can’t help but think it still feels worth it. At the end of it all, if it was a choice of the Lerna happening or never having Bucky at all, you know what you’d chose.

As if he can hear you, your phone buzzes with a text from him. Joey’s at 7?

It’s already 6:30. You’re grabbing your keys and leaving the fear on your desk chair as you text him back. Sounds perfect.

It really is. Joey’s is your favourite bar, and just seeing the grimy neon sign outside makes your heart feel less heavy. This, after everything, remains the same. You still feel giddy jogging down the stairs, ready for the heady bass music to push through your chest and a whiskey apple to numb the wounds. It feels like the beginning, half-nervous half-excited to go find Bucky tucked in a booth at the back, dim purple light chiseling out his cheekbones and catching bright on his sharp smile. Back then it was innocent, if a fuck buddy hook-up could be. Now that you know you would do things for Bucky you’d never do for anyone else, that you don’t think you’ll ever be able to remove his brand from your heart- well. You skip a couple more steps as you head down into Joey’s, only a few minutes late.

You don’t slow down as you enter the bar, weaving through patrons searching for a familiar face. Now that you’re here to the urge to see him, to have him in your arms, is almost unbearable. When you do find Bucky, spinning a glass between his fingers in a nervous habit you’ve noticed he has, he feels your eyes on him immediately. He stands and you crash into him, burying your hands under his leather jacket to feel the warmth of his body against your palms. Bucky hugs you back just as harshly, the force of his embrace lifting your toes off the ground. When he pulls away his runs a hand over your head, down your hair, coming to rest by the side of your neck as if to check your pulse and make sure you’re really there.

“You ok?” he asks, bright blue eyes now dark and hooded as he stares down at you.

You nod, unwilling to let go of your grip on the back of his t-shirt even as he pulls away, and say, “Am now.”

“Need to talk to you, it’s important,” Bucky says. He escapes your grip with ease, because he’s huge and strong and it’s easy to forget that when he softens for you. He sits at the booth and you slide in across him, watching as he downs the rest of the straight whiskey in his glass like its water. That bad feeling is back, like back at Steve’s tattoo shop, but you don’t want it here. You fumble for Bucky’s hand across the table, and he lets you hold it but it doesn’t stop the dread settling heavy in your gut. You squeeze his fingers tighter, just in case.

“Is everything alright?” you ask. “Are we- did the cops find out-“

“No, no,” Bucky says, shaking his head down at the table. His gaze catches on your intwined fingers, the glint of his signet rings in the dim bar light, and says, “The cops aren’t the problem.”

“But there is a problem,” you say, and now Bucky raises his eyes to look at you.

“I need to tell you something, it’s important” Bucky says, again, and the dread rises from your stomach like bile to your throat. “You have to understand this, so you can see that I’m not- that this isn’t just-“

“Bucky.” He lets out a ragged breath as you cut him off mid ramble, scrubs a hand through his hair. You hate the way your voice wobbles when you say, “You’re scaring me.”

You almost make yourself laugh as those words leave your mouth. This scares you? Bucky, frustrated and nervous and clinging to your hand like a lifeline, but when he walked over lifeless bodies he sunk bullets into with a giant rifle on his back - that was just fine.

“You know when we were at Steve’s, and we were talking about Hydra? About Rumlow? Do you remember that?” Bucky asks. He stares at you like he’s imploring you to say it for him, whatever it is he’s struggling to say, but you don’t understand.

You nod slowly and say, “Natasha said Rumlow had it out for you. You said Hydra is your biggest rival.”

“Yes, right,” Bucky says, nodding a bit manically. He’s still gripping your hand tight. “Rumlow hated me, and as far as we can tell - or Nat, I guess, she’s been looking into it - he was acting on his own, to get to me.”

“That’s good, right?” You don’t feel sure, with the way Bucky is acting and looking at you all glassy-eyed. “No big gang war, or whatever.”

“I need you to understand why Rumlow hated me, because it’s not just- it wasn’t just about him, ok?” Bucky says, and now he’s looking around the room like that night in your office. Casing the bar, looking for exits. “He’s dead, but none of this died with him.”

“What is ‘this’?” you ask, and wonder for the first time, do I want to find out?

“The first time I met Rumlow was in the hospital, a couple of days after I got back from Afghanistan,” Bucky says. “I’d been honourably discharged, my arm was all fucked up and fried from a chem bomb and I lost all sensation in it so they sent me home. I remember I was lying in the bed looking out the window, and it was snowing. I hadn’t been anywhere but a desert in so long and I was like, what do I do know? I don’t own a coat anymore. I’m a black ops sniper, that’s not exactly a transferrable skill - can’t even put it on a resume because it’s classified. My arm’s fried and ugly lookin’. I’m fucked.”

“You must’ve been so scared,” you say. Bucky meets your eyes, and you can see it haunting him in the back of them - so much heat and fire and pain left behind, so much cold and unknown and pain lying in front. Your dad has told you a similar story, when he came back from Iraq, and he had the same look in his eyes Bucky does right now.

“I was,” he says, and you squeeze his fingers. He looks towards your hands again and says, “I was, and they knew it.”

“Hydra,” you say, and you know you’re right. Bucky nods anyway.

“Rumlow came into my hospital room and told me, Hydra helps guys like me. They helped him and look - he’s got a job and money and friends and a team again. A purpose. But I said no. I’m black ops, I know shady guys when I seem ‘em and Rumlow reeked of it. Just, Hydra doesn’t like being told no.”

“They target vulnerable, traumatised vets in hospitals?” you ask, disgusted. You can taste the hate that boils up, and that ugly, angry part picturing Bucky lying in a bed so alone and afraid and imagining someone like Rumlow trying to take advantage of him like that - that ugly part says I’m glad he’s dead.

“They’re highly trained and easily moulded,” Bucky says in way of answer, and you shudder at the thought. “But seem Rumlow failed and it was my fault. He failed over and over again every time they sent him to recruit me. So he hated me, and then I started the Commandos with Steve and Sam and Nat to target them. The only way to save the next poor bastard like me from ending up with Hydra is to end them, except there ain't a cop in the city who can touch them.”

“But you can,” you say, and you know it’s stupid but your heart has never been known as terribly smart, so you add, “Bucky, that’s dangerous.”

He smiles, small but it’s there, and he rubs his thumb over your knuckles as he says, “I know, doll. I don’t know if you know this about me, but stupid’s kinda my thing.”

“Very funny,” you say, rolling your eyes at Bucky’s cheeky grin now splitting his face. As quick as it came, though, his smile dies and so does the small spark of hope that maybe this story has a happy ending.

“I’ve made Hydra my enemy and I can’t change that. I don’t want to,” Bucky says, nodding solemnly at his own words and you watch him physically turn cold, stony and distant in the space of a second. “But that means that as long as Hydra is around, they’re going to be coming after me. First Rumlow, but it won’t stop there. They’ll come and keep coming and what if, one time, I don’t get there in time? Or you don’t get to leave your phone on, or even make it to a location before they shoot you in the back of the car?”

“No,” you say. You’re not stupid, you know where this is going and just- no. Bucky is being deliberately harsh, speaking loud and unfiltered to try and make it easier to do what he’s about to do but you won’t let him. That dread turned bile has now turned into straight, acidic fire pumping through veins and it hurts.

Bucky smiles faint and sad, says, “You said it yourself - it’s dangerous no matter what.”

“That's not what I meant,” you say, shaking your head vehemently, wildly, as if you can physically shake Bucky of this stupid idea and the actual pain you’re in just entertaining this conversation. “You know that’s not what I meant, what are- you asked me to stay, Bucky. You asked me, and now you want-“

“I know, I know,” Bucky says, tugging your hand close to him now but it’s your turn to try and pull away, albeit unsuccessfully. “I know and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you almost died. Do you understand that? They would have killed you, and the only reason is me.”

“That’s such bullshit,” you say, trying and failing to pull your hand free of his grip but he isn’t letting go now and the death-grip he has on you, tethering you to him even as he pushes you away, makes your eyes sting with ugly tears.

“It’s not,” Bucky says, so sad, and you just want to kiss that guilt away for him even still, even as your heart is breaking under his fist. “You will always be in danger until the day comes where I can’t protect you, and I won’t do that to you. I can’t, I can’t be the reason you get hurt.”

“You can’t protect me if you’re not around,” you say, so soft you can barely be heard over Joey’s house music but honestly, you might as well be completely alone for how little you care about the bar around you.

“The safest place for you is away from me,” Bucky says, and that makes you laugh. Humourless, fucking painfully, but you laugh and Bucky glares so dark you’re reminded of the look in his eyes when he stared down at Rumlow’s body bleeding out on the ground. Through gritted teeth he says, “You think I would do this if there was any other way?”

“There is another way,” you say, glaring right back. “There’s not being a coward about it, Bucky. You lead a dangerous life, I get it. Believe me, I fucking get it, and I chose to stay. Ok? I wanna be here anyway, so why does my choice not matter to you? Is this some stupid excuse to get rid of me?”

“Don’t say that,” Bucky all but growls, and you should be scared. He’s scary, Bucky is dangerous by his own admission but you refuse to be afraid of him. Even when he’s trying to force you to be, holding your hand too tight and dragging you around the booth so he can pin you to the seat and you both know the only way you can move is if he lets you. As if he thinks he can scare you away from him, if he can’t reason you to go.

“I don’t care how dangerous it is,” you say into his seething face, inches from yours, teeth bared in a truly terrifying snarl as he pins you to the leather in a show of strength that will leave bruises tomorrow. “I don’t wanna be away from you.”

For half a moment, you really think Bucky is going to hit you. He moves so fast, and you’ve never seen his face look like that - hurt and angry and upset and half-insane all at once. But he just presses his forehead to yours, closes his eyes and breathes you in, and for another half a moment you get to think, maybe he’ll change his mind.

“You’re all I want,” Bucky breathes, so soft and quiet you almost don’t hear him if it wasn’t said almost directly into your skin. “But that’s selfish.”

“I don’t care,” you say, like a mantra now, or a prayer. Just hoping he’ll hear you, “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.”

“You should,” Bucky says, and pulls away from you just as fast as he came in. “I won’t be the reason you end up dead.”

Bucky sits before you like a solid brick wall - unbreakable, immovable, cold and blank. His eyes are shuttered from you and you know there’s no way to get to him now. There’s nothing else you can say. If you aren’t enough for him to push past his fear and love you anyway, nothing you say is going to change his mind. Just because you know it’s true doesn’t mean it hurts any less, though, as you sit there boxed in by this menacing stranger looking at you in a way you never want to be looked at again. Like he already doesn’t know you. Like you’ve already been forgotten.

“This was always gonna happen, wasn’t it?” you ask, more to yourself than to Bucky. You laugh at his silence, the flat set of his mouth and clenched fists on his thighs. Maybe if you never went to that first party at Natasha’s house and remained at arms length, sneaking out his window and never staying the night, then maybe you could’ve had him just a little bit longer. But you didn’t, and now you’re hurt in a way you’ve never been before. Your dad never prepared you to survive a pain like this.

You slide out the other side of the booth, tripping slightly as you climb to unsteady feet. It’s hard to see through unshed tears but you don’t bother looking back at Bucky still sat in the booth. You weave through people just as fast as when you came in, but for the opposite reason now - you can’t leave behind this dim-lit bar painted with the gorey tatters of your heart fast enough.

When you emerge onto the street you know Bucky has followed you, his hulking presence palpable behind you as you stand on the sidewalk and try and calm your rapid heartbeat. You’re surprised its still beating with how much it hurts, especially when Bucky places a hand on your shoulder and cracks your heart neatly in two. He says, softly under New York traffic, “Let me drive you home. Please.”

Instead of asking why, why does he care, why does he want to, if the safest place is away from you then leave me alone, what you say is a mildly whiny, “You don’t know where I live.”

“I’ll put the address in my phone,” Bucky says, calm and low as if to placate you but you’re well past that point now. You’re crying openly on the street like a lunatic as Bucky gently takes your hand and leads you towards his bike, manhandles you onto it, clicks a helmet on over your head. It feels cruel for him to be this soft after so ruthlessly tearing you apart, but you suppose it’s better than being left alone in the street like he never cared at all.

When you pull up to your apartment building Bucky kills the engine and leans in close to you before you have a chance to jump off and run away. You think, surely he’s not about to kiss me right now and you really hate the part of you that hopes he does, but he doesn’t. He just leans in close and whispers into your helmet, “They could be watching your place, after what happened. I’m so sorry.”

You close your eyes. Bucky’s right, this will never stop, but that doesn’t mean you want to face it alone. Your whole life has been carved out for you only, but just once you thought maybe you could live it with someone else. That’s not a life for you to have, it seems, so you take a deep breath through snotty tears and nod, say, “I can handle it,” because you know you can. You’ll have to.

“I think-“ Bucky starts but falters, bites his lip blanched white before continuing, “They might leave you alone if you make it clear I’m not in your life anymore.”

“You can’t ask me to do that,” you say, and all the resolve you just gathered is shattered as instantly as you found it. You’re crying again because fuck, nothing has ever hurt like this has, from the inside where you can’t find it or heal it or stop it so it just sucks the life out of you one painful second at a time.

“You have to, honey,” Bucky says, and you want to punch him for it. The way he talks to you like he loves you, like he cares, but he can’t if he’s making you do this. Break your own heart to save his. “Scream at me, send me away. They won’t need to target you then.”

“You’re cruel,” you say, pulling away from him. You don’t want to touch him anymore, can’t stand to be this close so you trip off the bike and stumble down the street. Bucky stares after you, his own eyes teary and face screwed up in genuine pain. It could never compare to the sick feelings in your stomach as you take a deep breath and scream, “Go away, Bucky. Fucking leave me alone and never come back or I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me? Fuck off, and don’t come back.”

You can’t help the sob that rips from you, threatening to buckle your knees and break you right on the sidewalk. Bucky is looking at you like you’ve just stuck a knife in his chest but he asked you to, he keeps asking and taking and it’s always you that ends up hurt. You leave him on the street, stumble up the stairs to your apartment and sink to the floor as soon as the door clicks shut behind you. It’s dark in your apartment, nothing but streetlights outside casting shadows on furniture he never touched, but it still feels like he’s haunting you just the same.

Bucky’s bike revs to life and he tears away, the sound ripping straight through and down the street. It leaves you hollowed out, a burnt-through husk curled up on your hardwood floor. You know you’ll never hear that sound again.

****

For your entire life it’s always been you against the world. The only person you could ever trust is yourself, the only one who’s going to look out for you is you and you can’t remember a time where you didn’t think this way. Maybe it’s nature, maybe it’s nurture, but it’s how you’ve always seen the world.

However, you’re only now starting to feel what being truly alone is actually like.

Bucky’s contact lies open on your phone, but you don’t press call. You won’t. He pushed you away for your own ‘safety,’ for his own fear, and you’ll have to learn to live with his choice. Even though you still love him and always will, you can’t have him and you’ll just have to be ok with that. So you leave this contact photo up on your phone, resting on your coffee table beside your open laptop. You’ve got the input feed of the bug you planted in your dad’s kitchen open, chunky headphones on, scrolling through the audio from the past few days since you’d last seen him.

Your heart is broken by the first man you’ve ever let into your life and the only other person who knows you and who you trust, you’re currently spying on. Now, for the first time, you truly have no one left.

Focusing on work has always been an escape for you, and even when your life is in pieces around you and your heart looks no different, work still pulls through. Even if that work is your own father and the inane conversations he has with himself about the baseball teams on TV, or the calls he makes to his vet friends, or the late-night renditions of ABBA songs you remember well from your childhood. A file lies open on your coffee table with your father’s name on it and pages of notes you’ve made from nearly one hundred hours of audio recordings. You hope beyond hope that you’re just paranoid, and that this time when you go digging you don’t find anything at all.

The only thing you’ve noticed so far is your dad makes a lot of phone calls. They’re long, with a lot of names thrown around you don’t recognise as being his friends or anyone from work he’s mentioned to you before. You write them all down to look up later, but you’ve got to go meet a client so you shut everything down and collect your notes in the file. You hide them, just in case, and grab your leather jacket before you leave. You still have rent to pay. The world goes on around you despite everything being turned upside down, almost as if Bucky never happened at all.

You leave via the back of the building, to come out onto the street closest to the subway station. Usually smokers hang out around there so you aren’t surprised to see two men leaning against the wall, but you are surprised when they star following you down the alley. At this point you’re an old hand at being followed, and the petty part of you brain thinks in Bucky’s direction, see? Doesn’t matter if you’re here or not, dumbass. You sigh to yourself and plan to give them the run around once you clear the alley, but you don’t get a chance to.

From behind you hear a couple of solid thunks, a groan, a muttered curse from one of the men and then one final thunk before silence. You turn around, half afraid of who you’re going to meet once you do and half annoyed because you think you might know who it is. Sure enough, standing there in her leather jacket and a rusted metal pipe from the dumpster in her grip, is Natasha.

She blows a stray strand of hair out of her face and says, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“So he’ll break up with me but will still have me followed,” you say, folding your arms over your chest. Natasha shrugs and you mutter, “Figures.”

“I am always the first to say James is an idiot,” Natasha says, twirling the pipe like a baton in her delicate hands. She grins at you and says, “James is an idiot.”

“I’m aware,” you grit out, glaring at the red-head. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you don’t end up as Hydra mince-meat,” Natasha says, “What does it look like?”

“Doing whatever Bucky says even when it’s stupid,” you say. Natasha doesn’t like that, her bright grin dropping into a scowl as she steps up to you. Small, but with a clearly lethal weapon in her hands if the unconscious bodies behind her are anything to go by, she jabs the tip of the pipe into your chest and forces you a step backwards.

“James always has good intentions, even if his logic is sometimes flawed.” She drops the pipe, letting it clang to the floor between you as if to punctuate her saying, “Besides, James didn't tell me to do anything. I volunteered.”

“Why?” you ask, sneering slightly. “I think we both know you don’t trust me, or like me, and you make it very hard to like you.”

Natasha smiles at that, and you hate the face she makes every time you say something she ‘approves’ of - condescending, like she doesn’t expect you to have brain cells and is surprised every time you do. She says, very solemn despite the smile in her eyes, “I owe you.”

That makes you pause. Instantly, like you’re right back in that bar. You can see her groaning body struggling to stand after being thrown into a wall. Rumlow pointing a gun at her back, the blood-thirst emanating off him in waves. Your own hand, as if detached from your body, flinging the knife across the room into his neck before he can put a bullet in Natasha’s.

You swallow thickly, shake your head and say, “No you don’t.”

“I do,” she insists. She steps forward with her hand out, beckoning her fingers like she wants you to hand her something. You just stare at her empty palm for a few seconds before she clicks her tongue and says, “Phone.”

You hand it over without thinking, which was definitely stupid. But Natasha just types away quickly before giving it back and you see you have a new contact with her name attached entered into your phone.

“If you ever need anything,” she says, and taps your phone screen with her nail, “call me.”

It was only minutes ago you were sitting on your couch scrolling through audio from your tapped father’s kitchen thinking you’ve never been more alone in your life. Yet here you are, looking at a helping hand outstretched from the last person you expected it to come from. Your fingers shake slightly as you tuck your phone into your back pocket, and Natasha smiles at you like she understands.

“Thank you,” you say, and you hope she knows you genuinely do mean it.

Natasha nods, then says, “Get out of here, alright? I have to clean this up.”

You suppose that’s Natasha speak for ‘your welcome,’ so you leave her to it. The whole client meeting you can’t focus properly, too busy trying to decide if you feel safer or more afraid at having one of the scariest women you know watching your apartment. By the end of the day, your conclusion is that if Natasha is going to be in your life, its probably best she’s on your side rather than against it.

When you get home that afternoon there is no sign of the two guys Natasha knocked out, nor is she anywhere to be seen. You can’t help but feel watched, though, as you enter your building and climb the stairs. She’s a busy woman and you know she can’t be watching you all the time but you still feel her green eyes on the back of your neck - its not an altogether uncomfortable sensation. That’s something to unpack later, you think, as you collapse on the couch.

You try to resist, but as soon as you sit down and close your eyes the urge to forget about the case you’ve just taken on and look into your own hunches grows too strong. You get up again and fish out your dad’s file again from your hiding place, bringing it back to the couch to flip open. The list of names you’ve been compiling is at the top, scribbled in messy handwriting as you listened to your dad’s one-sided conversations. You tallied up how many times the same name had been mentioned and in what context, however it had been hard to decipher what your dad was talking about with only half the story.

You decide to go looking into the most mentioned name - more of a title, really. Somebody your dad calls Chief shows up in almost every single conversation he has over the phone, and when you were going through the audio it dredged up some strange, suppressed childhood memory. You used to hear him talking to guys downstairs when you were doing your homework, and you always thought he called them ‘chief’ as a nickname or weird, macho term of endearment like how kids in your class would call each other ‘bro’.

Maybe, he was only talking to one guy. You were going to find out.

Starting at your dad’s job, you scroll through their website and LinkedIn profiles to find any link to the name ‘Chief.’ He works as a security guard for a chain of clubs in the city so you are doubtful, and sure enough nothing really comes up to peak your interest. Your dad really only has one other major outlet to look into and that’s the VA, so you have to swallow past the dirty feeling of investigating suffering vets and start scrolling through the website for the Brooklyn VA group attached to the medical centre.

It’s all wholesome stuff and nothing of interest to your snooping at all until you get to a photo gallery from four years ago. It’s dedicated to commemorating the Brooklyn VA and New York Police Department workshop day promoting mental health for vets and servicemen. There are a bunch of photos of group activities and the lunch put on by the VA, and you spot your dad in a couple of them. You’re about to click off when you find one where your dad is posed with another vet and a very official, very dressed up cop. Nothing you haven’t seen at least forty of before in this gallery, but it’s the caption which makes you pause.

It reads, Some of the Brooklyn VA’s finest with NY Chief of Police. It has to be a coincidence, the man’s job title and nothing more. He’s tall, broad, with sandy blonde hair turning grey under his police hat. There are more medals than you can count pinned to his uniform and even in this grainy photo you can tell he would squash your dad like an ant if he gave the Chief of Police a reason to. You’ve never paid attention to this before, steering clear of cops whenever you can, but you find yourself googling him as soon as you can pull yourself away from his mile-long stare.

As soon as the NYPD profile on the Chief of Police loads, your blood turns to ice. You want to say you’re crazy, you’re crazy, you’re paranoid, but name one time your paranoia had led you wrong? Two strange coincidences don’t happen back to back, no matter how disconnected they may appear. Two worlds you never thought you would know, let alone be watching them collide, stare up at you from your computer screen. You can hear Steve’s voice like he’s sitting right next to you, saying “It is strange we haven’t heard anything from Pierce,” and right under a professional portrait of the Chief of Police is his name burning into the back of your eyelids - Alexander Pierce.

You shove your laptop onto the coffee table and stand, pacing back and forth in front of your couch. Scraping a hand through your hair and pulling half of it out of your head in the process, you try to reason your way out of connecting these dots. They’re barely dots, their echoes of dots - so your dad took a photo with the Chief of Police four years ago and he refers to someone he knows as ‘Chief’ as a nickname and Steve mentioned Pierce was someone in Hydra and the Chief of Police happened to be named Alexander Pierce. So what, right?

“Ok, ok, ok, ok,” you say to yourself, rushed and manic. You’ll just ask your dad. He’s your dad, he was never supposed to hide anything from you so why would he start now? If you just ask he might-

You don’t get to finish your thought. Three loud knocks ring through your empty apartment, your doorbell chiming impatiently straight afterwards. You stare at the door with your heart in your throat, long enough for them to ring the doorbell again and a loud, male voice to call out your full name. Someone you don’t recognise, yet they know where you live. You approach the door on silent feet and look through the peephole, reaching for the baseball bat you keep behind a pot plant as you do.

Standing outside are two men in suits, one of whom is looming at the peephole and making stupid faces while his college rolls his eyes and attempts to hold him back. Through the door, you ask, “Who is it? What department are you with?”

“I’m Special Detective James Rhodes and this is my partner, Special Detective Tony Stark,” the unimpressed cop says, elbowing his colleague out of the way who is still trying to look through the wrong side of the peephole. Holding up a badge and gesturing for his partner to do the same, Detective Rhodes says, “We’re with the FBI, ma’am.”

“Shit,” you say, before realising you said that out loud. Your hand feels numb where you grip your baseball bat tightly, and you decide in that moment you have to be dreaming. No way has the events of the past fifteen minutes taken place.

The guy who must be Detective Stark laughs and says, “Shit is right. Let us in, ma’am, we need to ask you some questions.”

You look back at the coffee table laden with copious notes on your father and your open laptop, Chief of Police Alexander Pierce’s face staring back at you. An omen, you think, but it would be even more suspicious if you asked them to wait to clean everything up. Your heart-stopping, life-changing, maybe-discovery will have to wait.

You slide off the chain and unlock your deadbolt, opening the door for the two FBI agents. They walk in without another word, and it really hits you then. It doesn’t matter what Bucky does now, if he leaves you and never comes back or if he never left at all - you’re in this, now. And now you’ll pay the price.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader fic #bucky x reader fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #reader insert fic #pov fic #biker!bucky #biker!bucky au #biker au #avengers fic #marvel fic #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #11 hours #heheheheeeee

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tahitianmangoes · 3 years

Text

Beg Me -Morbell

Pairing: Micah x Arthur Summary: Arthur knew there was only one way he was getting out of this cellar... Tags/triggers:Smut Word Count: 2122

Also on Ao3

Micah had only seen Dutch lose his cool twice before. The first time was in Blackwater and even then Micah wasn’t quite sure what had happened but the McCourt girl had ended up dead. The second time was tonight when Arthur hadn’t returned to camp when he should have.

Dutch had snapped at almost everyone in camp, demanding they found Arthur and found him quick if they wanted to keep their balls.

They split up - Charles and John, Lenny and Sean, Bill and Javier and Micah alone. He didn’t mind going alone, he worked better that way.

It didn’t take him long to pick up a trail and track Arthur down to what looked like a run down farm. Micah wasted no time dealing with the residents then called out for Arthur.

“Morgan? You here?” “I’m down here!”

Arthur’s voice floated up to him from a cellar that ran beneath the house that was entered by exterior doors. Micah descended the stairs into the small room which was dimly lit by a few scattered candles to see Arthur Morgan tied to a supporting column in the centre of the room.

Arthur wore only his undergarments, form fitting long johns but his broad chest was bare. He looked like he had been beaten pretty badly, face bruised and lip bloodied.

Dutch sent them on some search party like he was a lost little lamb and oh didn’t he look so innocent tied up like this?

“Mmm,” Micah purred, “well look at you, ain't you as pretty as a picture?” “Micah? Get me outta here!” Arthur called to him. “Hello old friend,” Micah said with a sneer, “had a good time did you?” Arthur’s head jerked up, recognising the words he had spoken to Micah when he had been incarcerated in the Strawberry jail. “Micah, this ain’t funny.” Arthur said warningly. “Oh I ain’t jokin’, cowpoke… Maybe not funny, no. Maybe a little ironic, I’m sure you would agree?”

Micah leaned back against the damp wall of the cellar and struck a match off of his boot, lighting a cigarette. He drank in the image of Arthur before him, had never had the chance to appreciate how fine his body was; statuesque in beauty, tender skin pulled taut over palpable muscles.

“Untie me now, Micah or I swear you’ll regret it!” Arthur growled, pulling at his restraints with futility. “I might.” Micah replied as he exhaled smoke, a hint of a dark smirk teasing his lips, “But I want you to beg, Morgan.” Arthur spluttered, “I ain’t beggin’ you for shit!” “That’s a shame. Marston and Smith went lookin’ elsewhere for ya, pretty sure Williamson and Escuella will be back at camp by now and Summer and Maguire, well, they couldn’t find a whore in a whorehouse… It’s jus’ me here. I’ll tell ‘em I turned the place over but there weren’t no sign of ya.” “You bastard!” Arthur hissed through gritted teeth, straining again. Micah chuckled. “I know.”

Micah smoked nonchalantly, exhaling deliberately as to cast a fog between the pair of them but he could still see the anguish on Arthur’s face while he weighed up the pros and cons of Micah’s proposition.

“Fine.” He said eventually, “what do you want me to do?” Micah’s ice blue eyes flashed “Beg me.”

Arthur’s expression was mean, his sparkling blue-green eyes were narrowed and full of rage. “Please, untie me.” Arthur said bluntly. Micah’s chuckle bordered on maniacal, “that ain’t beggin’ Morgan. Beg doggy, beg!” “Screw you!” Arthur spat. Micah sighed and stubbed his cigarette out on the wall. “As you wish. I’ll tell ‘em I couldn’t find ya. I’m sure some hungry coyotes will get to you before anyone thinks to come lookin’ for you here.”

Micah turned to leave, ascending the steps of the cellar until he heard Arthur call out behind him. “Ok! Ok!” Micah didn’t turn around right away, he grinned to himself. He knew Arthur would do it. “Micah! Don’t leave me here! I’ll do whatever you want!” He turned slowly, savouring the expression of desperation etched on the younger outlaw’s pretty face. “You gonna play nice, Morgan?” “Yes.” “Good.”

Micah walked back to him smugly and stopped directly in front of him, eyes peering out beneath the brim of his cream hat, eating him up greedily as he licked his lips.

“Untie me.” “You’re forgetting the magic word, Morgan.” “Untie me, please Micah.” “Now now, Arthur. That don't sound at all sincere to me." Micah said with a hint of mirth in his tone that didn’t go unmissed by Arthur. Arthur rumbled. "Get me out of these goddamned ropes Micah or I swear I'll rip your throat out!" "Ah, ah, ah. That ain't nice now, is it? Thought you said you was gonna be a good boy for me, Arthur."

Arthur swallowed hard, swallowing his pride. His cheeks burned scarlet as he said, "please Micah. I'm begging you. Untie me and get me outta here!"

Micah put his head to one side, as if contemplating for a moment. But he wasn't. He'd thought about this before… Many times before. Arthur at his mercy. When would an opportunity like this come about again?

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't." "But I did what you wanted..!" Micah hummed thoughtfully. "You know, you ain't always been nice to me, Morgan. And I tried, I did, always tried my hardest to be nice to you." "What are you getting at?" Arthur asked suspiciously, shifting his weight as he stood uncomfortably. "Maybe it's time for you to be nice to me, Morgan." Arthur's bright eyes widened, as if he suddenly now understood what Micah wanted from him. Micah reached out and touched Arthur's cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle but the look on his face was devilish.

"On your knees, sweetheart."

Arthur made a strangled sound, somewhere between a curse and a laugh of disbelief as if hoping that this was one of Micah’s sick, twisted jokes. And maybe to a degree it was. But when Micah’s face didn’t change, Arthur knew there was only one way he was getting out of this cellar.

He had no choice but to sink down to the cold stone floor before Micah.

Micah was hard already, had felt the bulge growing in his pants when he knew he had Arthur with his back against a wall. It was confusing, for sure. When he had first joined the gang he had thought that he and Arthur were similar - both sharp shooters, both men who provided and knew how to get a job done. Yet Arthur had a chip on his shoulder, a real big chip that Micah wanted to knock off.

Arthur was a pompous ass in a way. Self righteous. Pig-headed. Maybe even dumber than he looked. They say that love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Micah didn’t know about that but he knew that for some reason, he kept being pulled back to Arthur - drawn to him so magnetically. He didn’t know what it meant but he knew it made him hard.

He wasted little time kneading his cock through his pants before unbuttoning and pulling it out. It was average, no bigger or smaller, thinner or girthier than anyone else’s but it got the job done. Right now, the skin was reddened and precum glistened at the slit.

Arthur wrinkled his nose instinctively, drawing away.

“Come on now, Morgan. You said you’d do whatever I wanted and this is what I want from you.”

Arthur wet his lips before slowly taking Micah’s length into his mouth. Micah watched, a lazy smirk on his lips, at how Arthur had to adjust before he could comfortably begin to suck. There was nothing sensual or sexy about it from Arthur, he sucked as if it was a job that needed doing.

Micah closed his eyes regardless, he was going to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. He savoured the warmth of Arthur’s mouth, the flat of his tongue on the underside of his dick and the gentle scrape of his teeth on Micah’s oh-so-sensitive skin. The sound of Arthur slurping and gagging sent shivers shooting down Micah’s spine and right the length of his cock.

“There’s a good boy,” Micah purred. He laced his fingers in Arthur’s golden hair and pushed, forcing Arthur to take him deeper and deeper until he could feel the back of Arthur’s throat. Arthur let out a muffled cry and he bucked against the ropes that bound him but Micah kept his head steady until felt Arthur’s jaw relax as he figured how to breathe from his nose instead of his mouth.

Micah thrust experimentally, keeping a firm hold of Arthur’s hair in his fist to prevent him from pulling away. He heard Arthur choke but didn’t let him come up for air. For the first time since Micah met him, he was able to silence him.

He fucked Arthur’s face, the noises were obscene: squelching, gagging and gasping. Micah groaned at how easily Arthur seemed to take him despite the fight he put up, as if he had done this before... Arthur moaned too though Micah wasn’t sure if it was through pleasure.

When Micah looked down, he cursed. Drool pooled at the sides of Arthur’s mouth, dripping down the sides of his face. His sucking had turned sloppier and wet. Arthur had tears streaming from the corners of his glassy eyes and his face was flushed.

He looked up at Micah pleadingly.

Micah pulled out and Arthur gasped and panted. His restraints stopped him from falling forward but Micah could see he was tired. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath.

Micah took his hunting knife from his belt and finally cut Arthur loose. Arthur moaned softly as his arms were freed; Micah could see where the ropes had cut into him.

Artur gazed up at Micah, seeming dazed. The smirk returned to Micah’s lips, now noticing Arthur’s straining erection leaking through the material of his undergarments.

Micah stroked his cock lazily, looking down at Arthur, “what’s wrong? You want more, doggy?”

Arthur’s cheeks flushed but he didn’t say no. Was he enjoying this too?

“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?” Micah breathed, thumb tracing Arthur’s lips that glistened with saliva and Micah’s juices.

“...Please Micah…” Arthur whimpered.

He didn’t need Arthur to beg this time. Before he could consider what he was doing, he was on his knees behind Arthur, wrenching Arthur’s long johns down to reveal his ample behind. Micah let out a low growl, pulling Arthur’s ass cheeks apart and spitting directly onto his hole. Arthur shivered at the sensation of the saliva rolling down to his thighs.

Micah traced Arthur’s entrance with the tip of his cock lightly, feeling how it resisted him before pressing in properly.

Both of them moaned this time, Micah sighed Arthur’s name at the feel of Arthur’s passage eating him up hungrily. His heat was intoxicating, he squeezed around Micah’s cock almost encouragingly.

Micah began to move. The friction sent sparks of pleasure up and down Micah’s shaft, made the heat in the pit of his stomach start to rise and he fucked faster, pounding into Arthur, the skin of his pale ass starting to redden.

Micah knew he wouldn’t last much longer but having Arthur on his hands and knees before him, gasping at each snap of his hips, biting back his moans and burying his head in his arms, ass up as if willing Micah to do what he wanted with him was the most erotic thing Micah had ever experienced.

Micah saw Arthur stroking himself, felt him trembling with impending release, he contracted around Micah so tightly it made Micah’s hips stutter.

“Fuck Morgan, fuck!” Micah spat as he released, fingers digging into Arthur’s hips as to keep him in place so he could spill himself inside.

He rested his forehead on the small of Arthur’s back, feeling him release too, the trembling coming to a crescendo and his legs shaking before he went limp beneath him. They stayed like that for a few moments. The sound of blood pumping in Micah’s ears was replaced with the evening outside.

Micah pulled out once he softened completely and got to his feet, buttoning his pants back up. Arthur stood too, albeit shakily, his skin still flushed and slicked with sweat and his own spend on his stomach. He found his clothes and satchel across the room and redressed sheepishly.

“Don’t you dare breathe a word of this to no one.” Arthur muttered before he made his way out of the cellar.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #micah bell x arthur morgan #morbell #micah bell #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x micah bell #red dead redemption 2 #fanfic #writing

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jlf23tumble · 3 years

Note

hii!! how are you? happy holidays, i hope you’re doing ok!! i wanted to ask u for a fic rec, bc ur taste is!! so good! do u know any good hot larry girl fics? as in louis and harry are both girls? thank u!!

Oh my god, okay, so I started this last night, then the power cut, I lost it all, and now I’m doing it again, sigh, but rest assured, I have a TON of faves, there are so many greats, but I’ll try to keep it somewhat normal sized, ha, and put it under a cut. Hope you find some fics you love, quite a few are recent, but there is some old gold, too! Pouring one out for Phoenix’s OUTSTANDING genre-defining girl direction fics, and if you want those, she has them, you just have to contact her directly. Anyway, here we go! Girl direction ahoy, bb!

Let’s being with the larger places to start, no. 1 being @girldirectionsource, your place for fic, art, and everything else girl direction, especially if it’s recent--there’s an older fic rec source called @hlgirldirectionfics, but it hasn’t updated in a while. Two fic fests might help, too (and I want to say there were others, but I’ll be damned if I can think of/find them right now, so if anyone wants to send them my way, I can add on here): the Girl Direction Winter Fic Fest and the Girl Direction Fic Fest. @star55 is an amazingly prolific fic writer who writes hl girl direction exclusively, ao3 link here.

There are other writers who have written multiple hl girl direction fics, so I’m going to group them with my two fave girl direction stories they’ve written, but definitely check out their other works, too (they’ve written tons of both hl girl and boy direction, fwiw):

momentofclarity/ @gaycousinlarry:

daydreams are made of this, 19k, series. Mannnn, one of my fave writers, and god this series! Is! So! Good! The pining! Help!!!

still feel the same around you, 13k. I’m addicted to the way Eli writes older larry, doesn’t matter if it’s f/f or m/m, gimme gimme!

disgruntledkittenface/ @disgruntledkittenface:

dream lover, 5k. Why aren’t there MORE reimaginings of Real Housewives in the girl direction universe? Sweet dreams are made of these, etc.!

pink like the paradise found, 18k. I’m always complete trash for the tag “louis tomlinson calls harry styles pet names,” but trust me on the rest of this fic, simply too much to love!

LoadedGunn:

Riding Comfortable, 8.9k. I’m always gonna side-eye a 25YO CEO, but yeah, LoadedGunn wrote girl direction back in the day, and yeah, nailed it!

Lips Won’t Let Me Go, 5.5k. Why does this read so real, regardless of whether it’s boy direction or girl direction?? (this being limo sex and award shows)

homosociallyyours/ @homosociallyyours:

Sour/Sharp/Salty/Sweet, 5.7k. Megan is such a POWERHOUSE writer, but the way Megan writes girl direction? Next level, way too hard to pick two, but c’mon, gotta go with the pubefest entry!

Don’t Have to Be Good to Be My Girl, 12k. HoooooBOY, this fic is so great, gotta love a good daddy kink and kink negotiation, exploration, and fallout.

Blake/ @newleafover:

Something in the way she mooooooves, 11k. I’m gonna list three by Blake here because I can, god, I love 'em all so much! This one’s set in Davis, too, woo hoo!

Ballet Direction, 22k, series. JESUS, I love everything about this fic so much (so many easter eggs, true, but also the idea of this ballet class, disaster ballerina Harry, we love to see it).

Harriet and Louise, 28k. This one lived in my head rent free for a good long time, and it didn’t disappoint, the perfect Jane Austen story.

Okay, NOW let��s get into some one-off stories, and yes, the authors might have written other girl direction fics, but these are a great place to start...and yes, I know these don’t include EVERY single girl direction fic ever written, but these are some of my faves, most of ‘em recent:

Needy, SelinOriginal, 3.3k. This fic, just wow--give me some Princess Park, some daddy kink, some insecure period sex vibes, and some body worship, and I”m alllll set.

You Saw Me Standing Alone, yeah_alright, 4k. Why does this work so well? OF COURSE, this includes the pairing Harry Styles/the moon, but my god, it works.

Hoist the Colours High, @kerasines, 5.2k. The story Kim was born to write, I sooooo want to see at least 10k more, Pirates of the Caribbean AU.

all down your shoulders and back, eleadore, 5.3k. This focus on Harry’s hair and cutting it was so far ahead of its time, yet absolute canon? In 2014?? Yeah!

let me be yours, louhearted, 6.6k. Come for the daddy kink and Louis calling Harry baby, but stay for the overall softness and canon vibes of it all, yeah!

Got Me an Appetite, zedi, 8k. Honestly, everything in the gaybo fest is MUST READ, but this one fits into what you want to see in girl direction for sure (plus these tags, whew).

Make the Yuletide Gay, @flowercrownfemme, 9.7k. This is literally a Hallmark movie come to life, well, a Christmas in Connecticut AU come to life, but I adore the way Chloe made it come to life.

lend me your thoughts, HappyPrincess, 9.9k. I have (and will) read anything Nin writes, and this one, big WHEW vibes, me as all the comments (canon spanking and kink exploration and exhibitionism, ahoy!).

when half spent was the night, @juliusschmidt, 14k. This advent fic owned me when it came out, and I hold out eternal hope for a sequel (Louis’s pregnant, Harry’s the doula, and that doesn’t even BEGIN to express how much ground this one covers).

Tell Me This Is Paradise, QuickedWeen/ @becomeawendybird, 14k. If you read NOTHING else on this list, this series right here is the one you absolutely have to pick, every installment is hotter than the last, plus the characterization is just so good! But everything else? VER VER GOOD!

Lesbian!Alphas series, bottomlinsons, 20k. I’ll admit it’s been a while since I read this one, but I think the world of fic could use more lesbian alphas (Taylor Swift even sang about it, c’mon!)

#fic rec #girl direction #i am SURE i'm leaving some out...fuck!#i have a feeling i'll add to it later rip #one direction

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galaxysgal · 3 years

Text

Five Minutes to Midnight || Llewyn Davis

Pairing: Llewyn Davis x gn!reader

Warnings: Swearing cause it’s Llewyn, very brief mentions of alcohol/being drunk but like, it’s just a) Llewyn drinking one (1) glass of wine and b) random drunk peple in the streets

Rating: Teen for swearing

A/N: I came up with this idea yesterday. less than 48 hours later, a fully formed fic had sprung forth from my fingertips. Thanks to @tinyphantomsalad for putting up with and answering my 19273673 questions in the groupchat and for hyping me up as I wrote this. And also for reading it before everyone else. I have a feeling I’m going to be writing more Llewyn in the future, hes just so... loveable

Wordcount: 2.162 wow thats crazy

Tagging: @softly-sad :))) im really glad someone (aside from jim) was interested in this!!

xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx

Five minutes to midnight.

He was there on the couch, exactly where he had been nearly all evening, a worn tweed jacket pulled tightly around his shoulders. It wasn't even cold. His chill ran bone deep, like he'd never be warm again. You knew this when his hands brushed against yours, his fingers like ice.

Llewyn Davis. The man that had captivated you since the first time you saw him on stage at the Gaslight, since the first moment you heard him sing. There was an air of sweet mystery about him that you wanted to pick apart and unpack. You wanted to know him.

You knew him through the Gorfeins, your father's professor friends. You had been on winter break three years ago, home from college for a few weeks, when he first appeared in your life.

You crossed your arms, pulling your coat tighter around you. "How long do we have to stay?" you asked. You were in the middle of a good book, finally finding the time to read over the holiday.

"Just a little while sweetheart," your dad answered.

The three of you entered the Gaslight, the smell of alcohol greeting your nose as you shrugged off your jacket, knocking snow from your boots. Your mom immediately spotted the Gorfeins, waving happily to them and pulling you along through the crowded bar.

You heard him before you saw him, ears perking up at the rich honey of his voice- and boy, when you saw him… He was a few years older than you, with a halo of dark curls and a close cropped beard to match. His eyes were closed as he sang, his head tossed back as if he was singing directly to the gods.

You heard your name being called by someone, your parents or maybe the Gorfeins, but you didn't listen to their question.

"Who is that," you asked softly, not turning your head for more than a second to address Mrs. Gorfein. You couldn't take your eyes off him.

"Oh that's Llewyn, Llewyn Davis," Mrs. Gorfein answered. "A sweet boy really, it's a shame..."

You hadn't heard the rest.

Four minutes to midnight.

Mr. Gorfien clapped you on your shoulder. "Four more minutes!" You smiled politely at him, wondering why you had come to this party in the first place.

You weren't one to attend social gatherings when you could be at home in your apartment, cozied up by the window with a good book. Right now you could have been at home sipping tea and watching the snowfall, just like you had last new years, and the new years before that, and as many new years as you could remember ever since you were a kid.

The Gorfiens often hosted parties and dinners, and they always invited you but you rarely showed. They just... weren't your people. They were kind, and Mrs. Gorfien was an amazing cook, but you just didn't fit in there.

The room was full of people you barely knew, all engrossed in conversation with each other. You had tried small talk for a while, chatting about your education and your job teaching at a local elementary school, but it all felt forced. Like you were just waiting for midnight so you could sing along to Auld Lang Syne and get out of there.

The only moment you felt truly comfortable was talking to Llewyn. The two of you had been milling about by the punch bowl, awkwardly shuffling around when other guests tried to get to the finger foods. You had bumped into him, nearly knocking over the table, and he had caught you by the arm.

"Woah, easy there." Llewyn saved you just before you landed the punch bowl.

"Sorry, I'm a clutz and a clown," you said, wincing at your choice of words. But Llewyn chuckled softly, and you felt your heart melt just a little. Maybe this party wasn't so bad.

You shook your head, reminding yourself- as your mother has always reminded you- not to dwell on memories. Even if that memory was only thirty minutes old.

Three minutes to midnight.

You grabbed two party poppers from a basket on the table and headed over to where he sat. You settled down down between Jean and Llewyn on the small couch, your limbs feeling acutely awkward as you straightened your back.

Llewyn was nursing a glass of wine, his body turned slightly away from where you were sitting. You knew it wasn't because of you, but a little part of you wanted him to turn to you, to greet you with that lopsided smile. To look at you with those deep brown eyes. To say your name like it was precious.

You left him alone though, keeping to yourself and watching the TV coverage of the Times Square ball drop. Maybe I'll go there next year, you thought to yourself. Who were you kidding, you knew you wouldn't go. Big crowds in the freezing cold, the snow melting and soaking through all your layers. It wasn't your type of thing.

A woman with red hair appeared in front of you, her smile sweet if not a little patronizing. "Hi, can you make room? My knees are killing me."

From the corner of your eye you saw Llewyn look up at her, then down at the floor. There were two options here, and you knew which one you were going to choose. You wondered if he knew too.

"Of course," you said, and scooted over towards Llewyn. You were so close you would feel heat radiating off him, if he had any heat to give. You sat stiffly for a few minutes, avoiding even looking in Llewyn's direction. If you could just find a natural way to start a conversation, then you could talk to him. It was easy to talk to him, it was just so hard to start. Maybe you could-

"Hey," Llewyn bumped his shoulders gently against yours. "Relax, you know I don't bite."

You turned to look at him, blushing lightly. "Sorry, you know me. Parties aren't really my thing."

He chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. "Yeah, same here. But it's warm in here and it's cold out there and ive got fuck all to be doing, so here I am."

You nodded, beginning to relax as the two of you slipped into comfortable silence.

Two minutes to midnight.

"Did the Gorfiens ask you to lead Auld Lang Syne?"

Llewyn chuckled, "yeah, they ask me every year. This is the first time I agreed though."

"Oh yeah?" you bumped your shoulders against his. "What changed your mind?"

His fingers fiddled nervously with the hem of his coat, picking at a loose string. "Earlier you, uh… you said it was the only part of the night you were looking forward to." He shrugged, "I dunno, I figured I'd make it enjoyable."

You blushed deep red, "oh- oh. Thank you."

He nodded, eyes dropping from where they had locked with yours. You saw his tongue dart out over his lips as his fingers played at a tear in the elbow of his jacket. He seemed nervous.

"I could patch that up for you," you murmured, reaching out to touch the rip. Your fingers brushed his, they were ice cold like always. He flinched a little as you touched him, but you didn't let it phase you. "It can't be great for keeping you warm if it's got a tear."

He shook his head, and you could tell he was about to protest. "Oh, you don't have to-"

"It's no problem at all," you interrupted. "You know my address, just come over any time." You gave him a gentle smile, squeezing his forearm affectionately.

"Thank you," he whispered.

You watched as his eyes flicked down to your lips. Involuntarily, you did the same. It would be so easy to kiss him. To place your hand on his cheek, his beard scratching against your palm, and just bring your lips to his. There were so many things you wanted to say to him, multitudes of words building up on the tip of your tongue.

He was so close. Just a whisper away.

One minute to midnight.

The news anchor on the TV announced one minute to midnight, pulling the two of you out of your bubble.

"If you haven't already got someone to kiss, you'd better hurry!"

Llewyn rolled his eyes, turning to you. "Never gotten a New Years kiss," he said with a chuckle. "Guess it's not for everyone."

"I haven't either," you admitted.

"It's a dumb tradition really."

"Uh huh." You nodded along, eyes drifting back down to his lips as he spoke.

"Fuck, I'm just ready for it to be over. I can go home with Jean and Jim, and tomorrow will be just like any other day. Jean'll be shit to me in the morning, and I'll stop by Merchant Marines and try to convince 'em to let me join, or I'll go to Joy's for lunch." He sighed, downing the rest of his wine, "Maybe I'll visit my dad, I don't fuckin' know. But… it's just another day. Not anything special."

He trailed off and you realized you'd been staring unabashedly at him the whole time.

"Fuckin' hell, I'm sorry," he ran a hand through his hair and down his face, scratching at his beard. "Put one glass of wine in me and I'm rambling on like my goddamn sister. I'm sorry I shouldn't have-"

"Come home with me-" you blurted, just as the guests began to count down from ten.

"Ten!"

"What?!"

"Nine!"

"Don't go to Jean and Jim's. Stay with me."

"Eight!"

"You don't have to do that, I've made arrangements…"

"Seven!"

"Jean won't care, Llewyn, Stay with me."

"Six!"

"I don't wanna be a burden-"

"Five!"

"You're not. I want to take care of you."

"Four!"

"I- shit..."

"Three!"

"Let me take care of you."

"Two!"

"Can I- fuck. Can I kiss you?"

"One!"

"God, yes-"

"Happy New Year!"

His lips crashed into yours, his cold hands coming up to your shoulders. Your own hands rest on his cheeks, his beard soft and scratchy under your palm. Just as you'd imagined it countless times before. It was desperate, the two of you trying to be as close as humanly possible after spending years on the brink of this, dancing about each other from a distance. You didn't want the distance anymore. You wanted each other.

After what felt like a lifetime you pulled away, grinning as you rested your forehead against his. "I liked that," you murmur.

"I like you," Llewyn whispers in reply.

"Llewyn-" you give him a gentle kiss, thumb brushing over his jaw.

Mrs. Gorfien clinked a knife against a wine glass, bringing everyone's attention to the grand piano in the corner. "Llewyn, dear, where are you?"

"Fuck- the fuckin' song-" he scrunches up his nose in annoyance, "I'm sorry-"

You shush him, placing a finger on his lips. "Go sing. More kissing later."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Ten minutes past midnight.

The air in the Village was electric. People were spilling out of clubs and bars, shouting drunkenly in the streets. They were throwing snowballs at each other, kissing strangers on the sidewalk. For once you wondered if maybe, just maybe, going out once in a while might not be that bad. After all, it had given you a kiss with Llewyn Davis.

You tucked the hand that wasn't holding his into your pocket, your fingers feeling the unused party poppers. You pulled them out and handed one to Llewyn as you made your way through a crowd outside a bar, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

You pulled the string on yours, sending confetti into the streets- and into the drinks of a few drunken passersby. It didn't seem to phase them.

Llewyn grinned mischievously, pulling the string on his own popper. "Happy New Year!" he bellowed, laughing from deep in his chest. His eyes were sparkling in the lights, big and bright. He looked good in the glow of New York City.

"This is a good look on you," you told him, taking his hand once again.

"And what look would that be?" he asked, squeezing your hand. You thought about it, searching for the right word as you waited for the crosswalk timer to change.

"Happiness," you decided. "Mischief, laughter. New York. It all looks good on you."

He ducked his head, blushing softly. "It's because of you," he replied, knocking his shoulders against yours.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He looked at you, just like you had wished for so many times. Like you had hung the moon and stars. "I'm thinkin' maybe tomorrow won't be shitty. Maybe tomorrow won't be just another day. Cause, fuck, now I've got someone. Now I've got you."

"And I've got you," you whisper back. "It's gonna be a good year, Llewyn."

"A good year," he echos.

End

#llewyn davis x reader #llewyn davis x you #inside llewyn davis #llewyn davis imagine #oscar isaac #mags writes #hhkhjgfkhds i love this fic so much #like #so fucking much #bc i love llewyn so much

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just-another-wasteland-merc · 3 years

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Writing Tag

I was tagged by @adventuresofmeghatron and @suppuration , thank you guys!

I tag @thenightmotherwrites , @trashkingnyx, @thewastelandwriter, and whoever wants to do this, and there’s absolutely no pressure if you don’t want to. I would love to see!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. Honest.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

27,292 words, but that’s going to go up into the 30 thousands pretty quickly here once I finish editing the new chapter for Stimpacks!

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Well, I only have two works so far (that will also be expanding soon)

Stimpacks and Sniper Rounds- F!SoSu/MacCready- Em and Mac’s first longfic.

December, 2288- F!SoSu/MacCready- a quick songfic that might already get a re-write.

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always try to. I like having the author interact with the community and talking about the fic. To me, it’s a way to speak to my readers directly too. I like that sense of community.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Honestly, the only completed fic is December, 2288, and it has no angst at all. But that doesn’t mean that Stimpacks won’t have it. I have angst planned, but I have no idea if that will change in the future.

The rest is under Keep Reading!

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

December, 2288. It’s just them dancing in celebration, and it’s fluffy with Feelings. Stimpacks will have happy in it, I just need to get there, haha.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I don’t think the Mass Effect AU is a crossover, cause I’m only taking three people from the fallout universe and plunking them into Mass Effect, and their character changes due to the equipment and state of the galaxy instead of the state of the Wasteland. Honestly, I’m surprised how well they’re fitting into the universe! I’m excited to unveil it to everyone.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

When I was still on ff.net, yes. But after the long hiatus and coming to a new fandom, I have not. Everyone really seems to like Em, and the pair of Em and Mac, so I’m very grateful to have a lovely community welcome me back to writing.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Alright, listen. I’m improving my smut game here. My improvement is through role-play. But! I also have a steamy shower scene that I need to really finish, and I have one still in my head that’s pretty smutty.

Em and Mac are horndogs, okay? Let them just have at it. Even if I can’t articulate what’s happening without blushing or giggling, just know they’re banging a lot. They’re in their twenties! And they’re in love.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope!

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not. I don’t really count roleplay either yet until it’s posted (and it might, I’m not sure). So, as soon as you see a link, I have not co-written anything yet.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

It’s Em and Mac. I have a couple of other ships sailing around somewhere, but this one has been carefully constructed, and they have the most depth out of all my ships. I think maybe because it’s a part of myself in Em? Or a good portion? Unsure.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I had a Star Wars fic in the brainstorming stage with a few scenes written down, but I honestly doubt I’ll get to it anymore. It’s been so long. I also wrote for Pirates of the Caribbean, but due to some personal things, I don’t think I’ll ever finish that one either.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I received some feedback on some decent descriptions, and how I’m spinning a few familiar scenes in a new way that is fresh, or capturing the tension of some quests. Personally, I think I’m okay with dialogue. Keep it realistic, using words I know characters will use too keep them in character. It’s nice.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

I am HORRIBLE at slow-burn. Even reading it. I’m constantly yelling “JUST KISS ALREADY” at my own characters even. So I’m hoping that Stimpacks will be better paced. Plus I have a couple of friends to help keep me in check if I don’t realize I’m moving too fast.

Btw, Em and Mac, you gonna kiss yet? No? Sigh, fine.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think it’s really cool, like having characters orignally from another country, or if they spoke it at home. Muttering things in their language under their breath is so great. Call me a dickhead again, it sounds great. Hahah.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Actually, I wrote fic for Red vs. Blue first. Then PoTC before the Big Hiatus.

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

So far its Stimpacks. The story sort of told itself to me while I played the game, refined it on a second playthrough, finished Em’s face on the third, and now I just fall in love over and over again with every new playthrough. Sure, there are a few departures from canon, but I hope everyone who reads it is having as much fun as I am as I write it.

#writing tag #thank you for tagging me #merc speaks #about merc #Em Schanda #em and mac take the commonwealth #stimpacks and sniper rounds #december 2288 #my writing

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damn-stark · 4 years

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Child of Ren Ch. 8

A/N- I like to think that the knights of Ren are like a motorcycle gang. I love em even if we got such little screen time with them :/ anyway hope you guys liked this chapter, I enjoyed writing it, take care out there and leave your thoughts below :)

Warning- swearing, angst, Poe fluff, Slow burn, another long chapter.

Pairing- Poe Dameron x Reader x Rey, Kylo Ren x Reader (platonic)

Takes place- after TLJ & before TROS

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

———

“Alright, what do you see hon?” Poe asks just above a whisper over the Comlink

You scan the street once again, taking in the busy city street. Scum, thief’s, vendors and some nice civilians scattered every so often but that was rare, especially so low in Coruscant. The lower you got in the city, the more danger you were put in, especially when it came to you.

“Stormtroopers scattered all around the streets, but beside that just the normal scum.” You sigh pulling away your rifle blaster albeit not your own but one borrowed from base— you push yourself to your feet. “Theirs cameras hidden in every other building, the stormtroopers here you can pay off, but the people not so much. One sight of me and the whole lower level is after us.”

“You know as much as I don’t trust y/n, at least her contact wasn’t in Coruscant.” Finn complained over the comlink, making Poe sigh loudly and practically hear his eyes roll.

You can’t help but let out a small chuckle before jumping down to a lower level of the building and once again scanning the area, pulling your scarf over the lower half of your face to attempt to hide as much of yourself as you could. “I’m just warning that if die here or get captured their will be hell to pay.”

Poe lets out a genuine laugh, the cockiness behind his voice clearly heard over the comlink, “well if you’re scared you can hold my hand, I promise I won’t let go.”

You smile under your scarf and can’t help but roll your eyes in a lighthearted way, for a moment just thinking of accepting his offer.

“Pfft scared, me? Have you met me? you can hold my hand if you’re scared.” You dismiss his offer and zoom in closer to the busy street, keeping a watchful eye for anything or anyone suspicious.

“I’m not scared, but I might just take you up on that offer sweetheart.” He says with the same amount of cockiness or even more than before.

“Focus, what else do you see y/n?” Finn questions sharply, all sort of amusement disappeared from your face. You didn’t need him to tell you what to do, you were already doing it, you could multitask. You were trained by Kylo Ren and the Knights of Ren after all; but of course he didn’t know that. Neither of them did.

“More and more stormtroopers, all heavily armed and armored. We need to be extremely careful, theirs in no doubt also Bounty Hunters hidden among the crowd. And theirs no doubt they’re all here looking for me. Hoping to catch me for the reward.” You informed them both as you got up and secured your weapon behind your back, taking in a deep breath before jumping down into the alleyway.

“You can use the force.” Finn pointed out, almost like he was informing you on what you could do.

“Yes, I can, but one can never be too cautious. Looking over your shoulder has to become second nature. Learn that.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re overly paranoid?”

You muster up a small laugh as you shake your head, “not directly, why? Have you heard something?”

“Focus. No distractions, no talking to anyone, we just walk to our destination, get what we’re here for and leave. We can’t risk being seen.” Poe announces cutting the conversation Finn and you were having as they both climbed down into the poorly lit alleyway with you. “The person I know isn’t far from here, if we hurry we’ll get there quick.”

You respond with a small nod before pulling your hoodie over your head—moments like these were the times where you really missed your helmet.

“How do you even know this person, Poe? Sounds sketchy if you ask me.” Finn expresses to his friend, the same thought you also had. You never pegged Poe as the type to deal with..shady people, always more of a person that always walks on the right side and never the bad—Who knows? even if he did, you’re no one to judge his past.

Poe stays silent as he walks ahead, leading Finn and you before answering, “it doesn’t matter.” He answers rather bluntly, his tone in voice saying in all forms to drop it and ask no questions. Perhaps he’s just as shady or even more than you.

—

Wanted posters of you were decorating every wall, all saying the same thing ‘EXTREMELY DANGEROUS’ and ‘BRING TO THE FIRST ORDER UNINJURED’. It caused you to be paranoid, for your eyes to catch every small movement anyone made as you moved past them. No one could recognize you if you remained disguised, but that still didn’t mean that someone could or would at any moment if they stared for a moment too long.

“Damn hon, theirs posters of you everywhere, what did you do? who are you? A daughter of some important senator or King?” Poe questioned curiously as his eyes moved past yet another one of your posters.

You sigh nervously, “something like that.” You avoid Finn’s curious stare, focusing on yet another poster of yourself. This one catching your eye more than the others one had. You move your eyes back to see if Finn was still looking back at you, he wasn’t. Using that as your opportunity you fell out of line and moved towards the poster, your eyes fixated on the poster.

Once you finally reached the wall with the poster, you ripped the poster from the wall, your eyes widening as you saw something familiar drawn on your mugshot. A scar....just like Kylo’s. Your breath hitched and you gripped onto the poster, wrinkling the corner with a firm hold. Their was a form of similarity to the picture of you and him, if he was placed alongside it; the glare, the frown, the way you tried to project yourself as fearless and with no emotion, when in fact you—neither of you were anything but that. And yet it was a similarity that you couldn’t accept, one you tried to deny. One being that he wasn’t even related to you by blood and two..well..two being that you couldn’t accept that you were like him.

“Ren.”

Instantly your whole body stiffens at the sound of that name, your breath catching in your throat and fear slowly seeping through.

“Turn around. I can’t see you, but I can feel you.” The same voice says, making you spin around to try and spot the location of the voice, your eyes frantically searching the crowd for who it could be. “Don’t try and see me, feel me.” The voice projects louder. You hesitate and think of just running off to catch up with Poe and Finn, but before you could attempt to do so the voice called again; “I sense your hesitation. Don’t worry, you can trust me. After all I have a truth you seek.”

Poe said no distractions. This was currently one. A big one. You attempt to move away but as you take a step away you can’t help but reach out with the force, your curiosity getting the best of you. You continue moving, unconsciously going the wrong way, instead of going to find the guys, you’re moving towards the voice. The energy of the being growing stronger and stronger until—there. Finally coming to a stop in front of a door-less building, the violet light inside shining in a soft and almost calming hue.

A sound of someone shuffling inside, made your eyes follow the sound until you spotted a small blue Ardennian sentient. Your eyes searched the place and the sentient, looking for any sign of this being any sort of trap. Their was an urge to just leave, but then the sentient said something that fully caught your attention, “Y/N, daughter of Kylo. Please come in.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the sound of the comment, not having the energy the correct the sentient or ask how it knew your name. Either way your hesitation returned; “I should find my friends.” You speak slowly, your eyes heavily trained on the sentient before you turned them towards the exit, “they’re probably worried.” You move out the exit, but again you’re stopped.

“I see beyond what’s hidden and meant to be hidden. Truths. Pasts. Stories long forgotten. Flickers of futures.”

Your breath hitches whilst you remove the hood from your head and pull the scarf down, missing the way passing people looked at you. Before you turn to the sentient, your curiosity for your own hidden truths blinded you from thinking straight. Slowly you move towards where the sentient is seated, the curtain beads hanging from the ceiling lightly hitting one another as you moved through them.

Carefully you take a seat in front of the sentient, “what do you know?” You question it, the sentient showing a proud smile. It’s lips part to say something, but it quickly closes them, it’s white milky eyes rolling past your shoulder.

“Y/N! There you are!” You hear Poe exclaim frantically as both Finn and him walk inside. “I was worried. What the hell happened?” you look over your shoulder, and see him already close behind you, his hand wrapping around your arm to pull you to your feet. His eyes fall on the sentient and then the small blanket covered table, instantly getting the idea of what was going on; “it’s all a scam, just after your credits. Let’s go.” He whispers in your ear, offering the sentient a feigned smile as he began to pull you away.

“Not a scam. Anything but that...Commander Dameron.”

Poe and Finn stop moving, both looking at one another wide eyed after hearing information not given.

“Kyber crystals are priceless gems...luckily for you I don’t want what you hold, I just seek y/n’s full given attention.” The voice says. Quickly you pull away from Poe’s grasp and move back to your seat, the sentient once again smiling proudly and knowing. “I know what you seek. A past forgotten.”

You offer a quick nod, “yes. Can you tell me? Tell me who I am?” You speak softly, your voice giving off emotions not expressed on your face.

“Y/N, we don’t have time for this, let’s go.” Poe says to you as he comes behind you again, attempting to pull you back up, only for you to pull away and shoot him a glare.

“Just wait.” You hiss before turning your attention back to the sentient.

The sentient grabs your hands and slightly tilts it head to the side, the white milky in its eyes seeming to whirl as it talked “Child, what you seek is a past not meant to be remembered,” your lips part in disbelief, your eyes beginning to sting with tears, “what you seek you already found, it lies before you. Just let the light shine through to see clearly, when you do that’s when you’ll finally know.” You pull your hands away from the sentient and swallow thickly, your jaw and fists clenching tightly, as you get up to leave the sentient finishes, “but if you really seek who you were before, than that will be revealed soon enough.”

You respond with silence, pulling your hood and scarf back on. The answers you truly seeked not at all what you wanted to hear. It broke your heart, but you didn’t express such emotion, instead your eyes slid to Poe, “let’s go.”

As you move to storm out of the building the sentient says one more thing, one thing that really pisses you off in more ways than one, “let your past die.” Without another word you storm out, letting anger build up inside you, instead of letting your heartache seep and take over. Instead of getting the answers you wanted you were left with more questions.

As you noticed that you still carried your wanted poster from before, you looked down at it, a single tear escaping from you and hitting the poster.

Poe fell to your side, eyeing the poster before turning to look at you with a sympathetic look, “Y/N—”

“Just.” You pause as you catch sound of your own sharp voice. You let out sigh before balling the poster in your hand; “we’re almost arriving to your contacts location?”

“Y-yes.”

“Let’s hurry then.”

—

In a careful movement you tie the end of the delicate side braid that you took too long to do, carefully letting it rest on your shoulder as a small almost invisible smile grows on your lips at your job well done—considering that you weren’t used to braiding your own hair. At all.

A silent exhausted sigh escapes your lips as you lean in on the balcony, fidgeting with the violet kyber crystal in your hand. What the “all too knowing” sentient had said about what you seeked, only left more questions about yourself than before, and left you with no information on who you really were. When that’s all you really wanted, just who you were. But no, it gave you nothing but anger and some a deep saying that you didn’t understand.

All you wanted to do now was just leave, and be by yourself in the deep jungle, just your thoughts and you, but alas you couldn’t get that either as you waited for Poe’s contact to give you all the fuel you came here for. And as for being alone well that was short lived as you heard heavy hesitant footsteps come behind you, getting louder until they stopped beside you. And for some apparent reason your fragile mind thought it was Kylo who stood at your side, but you knew it wasn’t, but for some reason your mind instantly came to that conclusion, perhaps it was the boots? Right?

You didn’t have to look to your side to know that it was actually Poe next to you. His hesitance known not only by his sigh but the energy you read off of him.

His eyes travel your face, unknowingly lighting up as he saw you; “your hair...it’s picked up. It looks nice.” He compliments, making you hide your blush that began to grow, he then cleared his throat, “anyway, I’m sorry my friend is making us wait. Should be back with the fuel soon.” He quietly mentioned, still very hesitant as if almost scared to talk to you after what you had heard with the sentient.

You gnaw at your bottom lip before turning your head to the side and face him, “it’s alright.” You pause and show a feigned smile, “you’re lucky I’m a very patient person.”

Instead of responding with a small laugh or a smile, like you expected him too, he responded with a sympathetic look almost like he saw right through you.

“You okay?” He asks, and with that simple question it takes everything within you not to breakdown in front of him.

You simply nod, while you bite down on your bottom lip and turn away from him. “Yeah...I’m fine.”

He looks at you with a perplexed look, hesitance once again overriding his emotions. “I just—what the sentient said, just seemed to bum you out.” He struggled to say.

You sigh and stare down at your kyber crystal, “I’ll be fine,” again you pause. “I just wanted to know more and well I didn’t so...I’ll be fine.” You feel the confusion within him, the hesitance to ask something else. Scared that you might just turn him away and leave the conversation when he wanted to know more of the stranger within you. Knowing and feeling that within him, you turn your body to your side, facing him while still leaning on the balcony. You hesitate this time, but still manage to speak a little bit more of what he didn’t know about you.

“My past is complicated and something I’m not proud of, but also something I couldn’t control.” You inhale deeply and struggle to say what you were going to say next, while also carefully walking around revealing anything about your real identity, “I loved and trusted the wrong person. He left my heart and my mind broken..” you remain silent and keep your eyes on anything but him, as you tried not to cry in front of him.

He nods slowly, silence overcoming the both of you as his mind ran over what to say. Overthinking the thought of having been unknowingly pushy. He didn’t mean to at all, but as he saw how your face drop when you talked about that mysterious person he couldn’t help but feel bad for overstepping.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to overstep I’m sorry-”

“Its okay, really. I just..,” you don’t know what brings you to reveal your emotions, insecurities that you’ve had a hard time accepting to yourself since everything with Kylo went down; “I just-just feel lost...I don’t know, on who I am or am meant to be. The people I was with before took that away from me, the possibility of being my own person,” you pause and take a shaky deep breath, “And joining the resistance has been hard, I thought I was going to feel different, find myself, but I just feel like I’m not doing anything, I feel like I’m..” You blink slowly, your eyes flooding with tears, “..not worth anything there, like I’m just in the way; but I have nowhere else to go, the only home I knew before, well, he just isn’t that anymore.” Hot tears finally escape your eyes, unwillingly but they do.

You let out a shaky deep breath and finally drift your eyes to meet his gaze, showing emotions you never thought you’d show him any time soon. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overshare, I’m sorry.” You turn away again while wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing. Poe takes a deep breath, taking a moment to come up with the right answer. Knowing that if he said the wrong thing it could hurt you more, and well he didn’t want that. He was having a hard time seeing you so upset and vulnerable in front of him, he just didn’t want to ruin the trust you clearly had for him with a terrible answer.

“You are worth something to me...and you know clearly Rey, never let someone make you feel that way because you are worth something. It takes a while to know who you are, you’re young, you’ll know soon.” Carefully he slides his hand to place it on-top of yours, waiting a moment to make sure you were fine with said interaction, and when he saw that you only moved to sit up straight and didn’t pull away, he interlaced his fingers with yours, once again pulling your gaze to meet his; “and as far as being in the way? You’re not. You’re helping the resistance in more ways than you know, you have a home there, you always will.” He says carefully, offering you a sincere and assuring look, leaving the conversation at that and asking no further questions, even if he really wanted too.

He just wanted to know if the mysterious person you talked about before was some boyfriend or even husband he needed to look out for—but again you were too young to have been married, and well you carried no ring so it couldn’t be that. Perhaps a boyfriend? Or preferably ex-boyfriend. Even then all that didn’t matter at the moment, all that mattered was you. None of that was his business and if you wanted to tell him then you would. Hopefully. But as of now all that mattered was comforting you as best as he could.

So, carefully he brought his other hand up, wiping the tears from your cheeks, a small warm assuring smile decorating his features; “you might be a little mean, but it’s cute.” He continued saying, with a hint of cockiness behind his tone, before turning sincere once more; “But worthless? Far from it hon.” He moves his hand so he can completely cup your cheek, gently caressing it with his thumb.

A warm and shy smile finally grows on your lips for a second before if falters and you’re remembered of something, “I-I just...who I was before—you just won’t think of me the same—”

“Y/N, it doesn’t matter. I’ve done things I regret, but the best thing is not to dwell on them.”

He won’t think the same way when he knows who you really are. As much as he says the opposite right now. But you don’t argue against that as of now, all you do now is smile. It doesn’t quite reach your eyes, but it’s sincere especially after what he said.

He smiles in return, his eyes traveling away from your own to travel down at your lips before flickering them up again. You do the same as him, this time he leans in closer, stopping so his nose brushed against your own. You swallow back nervously, your eyes once again flickering down to his lips before blinking to meet his hooded gaze. Seconds later you ease into his touch, shoving your necklace in your coat pocket before bringing your other hand to place it on top of the one he had on your cheek, gently caressing his knuckles with your own thumb.

The only sound you could hear was each other’s slow breathing, a breathing that gradually picked up at the moment you two were sharing, at the feeling of your heart fluttering and a warm feeling down in the pit of your stomach. This same moment caused you to ignore the sudden familiar presence you felt through the force. It was strong but something you ignored because of the moment. You then slightly part your lips as you move closer, shutting your eyes as you do, your lips brushing against his own soft ones...

“The fuels here.” Finn suddenly announces, quickly making Poe and you part away. Your cheeks burning but still remaining calm as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, unlike poor Poe, who struggled for a moment, clearing his throat to try and ease the awkward situation this just turned into. His eyes only expressing fast emotions on the sudden and unwanted interruption. He had been so close and just like that it was ruined. He couldn’t necessarily blame his friend because one he didn’t know and two....well there was no excuse for two. He was upset that Finn had walked in at the wrong time.

Poe tried to play it off cool but he had failed at showing such attempt, moving past Finn with one quick glance, “Yeah, okay. We’re going.”

—

Collecting the fuel was surprisingly easy, something that Poe didn’t let live down. Comparing his friend with yours— at least Zater provided you with a secret exit, as bad as he was.

“Why do we have to walk all the way back? We couldn’t we have gotten a ride or I don’t know some speeder bikes, huh?” You groaned.

Poe sighed in annoyance, “BB8 is bringing your ship closer, we’re not walking all the way. But if you keep complaining then it will seem longer.”

You only let out a small hmph and continue walking.

“Aren’t you supposed be some trained assassin or something like that? Isn’t walking just below you?” Finn questioned from behind you.

You bring your finger up to correct him but before you could, their was that familiar presence again, stronger than before. You shift your head from side to side, trying to locate where the presence felt the strongest. You quicken your pace, shoving past the crowd of people, your eyes frantically searching past bodies, all the while your heart quickened in your chest and beads of sweat formed on your forehead, anxiety growing within you on who it could possibly be.

The presence only felt stronger the closer you got, and yet no one was seen, you keep shoving past people, maneuvering past hagglers and stands, the sounds of Poe calling you seeming to be heard in the back of your head. It’s not until you see a flash of black right ahead that you halt in your steps, your breath catching in your throat and your heart seeming to drop.

The sudden hand on your wrists pulls you out of your stupor. Realizing that it’s only Poe your shoulders drop, but quickly you put your guard up as you see a tall figure in all black stop a few feet away.

“Ky—” your whole face drops as you realize that it’s not the person who you were thinking it was, but yet someone else completely, probably equally as bad or even more. “Trudgen.” You mouth, moving your hand to fully grip onto Poe’s, guiding him to the nearest alleyway to move past the Knights of Ren, taking advantage that they hadn’t seen you yet.

“What’s going on?” Poe asked frantically, confused on your sudden action.

You don’t stop moving and look for the quickest way around to circle back to the ship, “the knights of Ren. They’re here.” You only look over your shoulder to double check that Finn is following.

Both Finn and Poe gasp at the revelation, Poe’s hand never leaving yours.

“Walking's not going to work anymore.” Quickly you remove your hood and your scarf, your eyes quickly searching for any form of transportation, until there. In the next street were a couple of speeder bikes that you were going to...borrow. “Let’s get on the speeder bikes, they won’t take long to find me.” Surprisingly neither man argues against your suggestion and hop onto the speeder bikes just like you. And as soon you do, you see Trudgen, Cardo and Ushar round the corner, their step quickening as they finally spot you.

Without any hesitance you rev up the bike and try and make a hasty escape back to the ship, ignoring the calls from the owners of the bikes, “you two better keep up!” You shout over your shoulder to both Poe and Finn, very carefully swerving past people diving out of your way. Looking over your shoulder you spot the knights already on speeder bikes of their own, so, in a quick solution you make a sharp right turn into underground train tunnel, jumping down into the rails and moving through the tunnel, immediately feeling Finn’s hesitance and Poe’s excitement but also a small amount of fear because of where you were currently riding in.

“Poe, Finn I need you both to speed up, get out of the tunnels and make it to the ship!” You command loudly.

“What about you?! We can’t just leave you!” Poe argues as he rides at your side.

“I’ll catch up, I just need to get them away until you guys find me.” You leave no room for arguments and suddenly slam on the brakes, Poe looks over his shoulder and you immediately see his glare for your actions and decision, not at all agreeing with it but following them nonetheless.

Making sure Finn and Poe were out of the tunnels you continue racing down the tunnel, picking up your speed only for the knights to catch up as well. Even if their face was hidden behind their masks, you knew that they were smug about what was currently going on with them chasing after you.

“Boys!” You salute them as they ride beside you, causing them to all too quickly try to make you lose balance on your bike to capture you. But at sight of them right next you is when you realized that it was just three of them riding beside you and not six. Shit. Kuruk, Ap’Lek and Vicrul were missing. Not good. At all.

In attempts to contact Poe and warn him on the three missing knights, that were most likely out there chasing them, you got out your comlink and try and talk to Poe, but the comlink was suddenly flown out of your hand and left behind in the rails. You shoot Trudgen a cold glare and all he responds with is a tilt of his head and a quick shrug. Cardo suddenly tries to slash your bike, but at the last second you manage to swerve out of the way, and kick Ushar off of his bike to move to the side and out of the tunnels as you see a trains headlights shining ahead.

Once you make out of the tunnels you go back to the busy streets, swerving past people and mentally apologizing to them. A loud groan leaves your lips as you see Ushar and the other two knights pop out of the tunnels, all alive and well...yay. Anyhow you force pull Ushar’s Vibromachete to your hand, and don’t double think to swing at any of them as they ride beside you. As Trudgen ducks your swing he pulls out his Vibrocleaver and swings at your legs, but you manage to swerve, avoiding his swing. You smirk at his failed attempt, but the smirk doesn’t last long as you spot Poe appear from an alleyway.

“What are you doing?! I told you to go—”

He quirked his eyebrow and shot you a cocky half grin, “I wasn’t going to let you have all the fun!”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes, all the while you bit back your smile, a smile that didn’t last as Ushar uses his club to blast your speeder bike, causing you to lose control and fall off your speeder— you groan as you roll on the ground, landing on your back to only groan more

“Ow.” You groan, well that was going to hurt more the next morning—quickly you jump to your feet, ignoring the pain from your scrapes. Poe sees what happened and tries to help you, but you motion him to just continue riding forward, however he doesn’t and neither do the Knights. “Stubborn men. All of them.” You hiss.

All four of them make a sharp U-turn and ride towards you. You only grimace and begin to sprint towards them, a smirk growing on your lips as you see Ushar ride towards you in a faster speed. As he’s just a few inches away you quickly grab his speeder bikes handle whilst you shove him off, flipping the bike over as you swiftly swing your body over and land on the seat and ride towards the ship. Poe sees what you did and only stares wide-eyed and impressed, his mouth agape before he has to turn and chase after you.

Finally the ship comes to view, albeit you didn’t know if it was Finn and BB8 or the other three Knights. Hopefully the two you had came with though—the ramp opens and you wave Poe to speed ahead of you as you manage to slash Cardos bike and make him crash to the wall, only having Trudgen ride at your left side. As you try and cut him off, a blast flies his way, hitting his speeder bike perfectly; you snap your head to see Finn with a blaster in his hand. It takes all your will not to smile at his successful hit. Alas it’s your turn to get on the ship and finally leave this city planet, so as you try and do so, Poe already has his hand outstretched to you, his face contorting into one of worry and anxiety as he sees you jump onto your speeders seat.

You try and keep your breaths slow and steady as you take step forward and onto the handle bars, your hand already outstretched to Poe. He keeps mouthing ‘come on’ to you as he feels his heart race in his chest, in both still very impressed and scared for how this jump could turn out. You lean forward and push down on your feet, before jumping off the bike and towards the ship just a few feet away. You feel your fingers graze Poe’s and as he was about to wrap his hand around yours, you were shot and pulled back harshly. “NO!” Your eyes go wide and in a blink of an eye you crash on the ground, your eyesight fading to black and your head pounding sharply.

The last thing you see is Trudgen pick you up before it all goes to black.

—

“Ughh.” You moan lightly, your eyes fluttering open, “the hell?” You groan as you begin to feel pain at the side of your head, and well your whole body really. With very precise caution you slowly sit up, grabbing the side of your head and wincing all in the same while. Instantly you’re met by Ap’Lek’s skull like helmet in your face. You pull back and your face scrunch’s up; “shit Ap’Lek your face scared the hell out of me.”

“You can’t see my face.” Ap’Lek rebutted in a low grainy voice—no thanks to his helmet.

You simply shrug and shoot him an icy glare, “all the same. It’s still ugly.”

Before he could answer, snickering is heard entering the same space you were in. “Little y/n, I see that the rebels haven’t changed the good part of you. Thank the maker. Am I right boys?” Trudgen comes up beside Ap’Lek. “We’ve missed you, little sister.” You shoot him a deadlier glare, before standing up inches before him, you try and take the blade that hung from his belt, but you soon figure out that you’re chained up. “Sorry, precautions. You understand, right? I’ll let you go when we get to Kylo.”

You sit back down and scan the dark area, finally your mind capturing where you were, the ‘Night Buzzard’ great. Quickly your mind begins to go into panic as you realize you’re alone and that you’re missing two other rebels. Trudgen notices the panic in your eyes and tilts his head slightly to the side, and clasps his hands behind his back. “Don’t worry, the rebels you came with, are here...not for long though.” He snickered making you jump up to attack him, but only to be aggressively pushed back down. With a simple wave, Ushar comes in with Poe and Finn in cuffs, and seeming to be unharmed. Thank the stars.

“Y/N! are you okay?!” Poe begins, but quickly he’s shut up by a harsh pull down. You part your lips to protest but then Trudgen begins to click his tongue, pacing back and forth menacingly, obviously something on his mind.

“Who knew our little y/n could be friends with scum such as you two, hmm?” He crouch’s down in front of Poe and Finn, on obvious smirk hidden behind his helmet; “you know before she used to relish in killing people such as yourselves.” The boys only looked up at him confused on how he knew such information about you. You shuffle in your seat uncomfortably, something Trudgen notices and huffs out in amusement.

“Before. Keyword before. Before I knew what the first order did to me.” You hiss, leaning forward with a narrowed look, “before I found out you killed my mother.” The words slipped out your mouth, part of you forgetting Finn and Poe were here as your anger quickly grew. An anger that you didn’t care if it got out of control, all so The Knights of Ren payed for what they did.

Trudgen pushes himself to his full height and stands in the middle, watching you carefully before speaking, “mother? kid, you don’t have one or don’t you remember she abandoned you.”

You shake your head, “no, that’s all fake, I know now. You’re all liars. You killed my mother.” Poe and Finn just watch the scene playout, neither wanting to get in-between the drama and obvious history with the knights and you.

“Me? No I couldn’t have.” Trudgen shakes his head, placing a hand where his chin would be. “You know what,” he points to you, “actually I do remember something, little y/n and a pretty women...ahh yes now I remember. It was actually Ushar who killed your pretty mother.” Your eyes go wide and you jump to your feet, your head snapping to Ushar just a few feet away. He only shrugs like if it was just something ordinary and common, like it was nothing. It wasn’t nothing to you. Quickly with the anger within you and the built up revenge you run towards him, flipping over him and wrapping your chains around his throat, wrapping your legs around his waist to get a better hold, whilst pulling tighter and making him struggle to pull you off of him.

Ap’Lek, Cardo and Vicrul watch in amusement, while Poe and Finn have no choice but watch these events unfold, neither of them knowing how to react. After a couple minutes Trudgen claps his hands and let’s out a feigned laugh. “Okay enough! That’s no way to treat your brothers in front of our guest y/n, you know that. Kylo’s taught you better.” Trudgen says as he breaks the hold you have on Ushar and flings you off to the wall using the force. “Sorry, she takes after her father in her...anger.” As soon as Trudgen notices once again the confused reaction Poe and Finn give him (mostly Poe) at the revelation, Trudgen nods his head and walks to you, grabbing your arm to pull you to your feet. “You haven’t told them?” He asks in too much amusement.

He notices your silence and change in demeanor, the way you kept your eyes down instead of on your friends, finding his answer. You swear you can see his grin shine through his black helmet as he takes too much joy before revealing something you were too scared to. “Listen and rejoice, for you are in the presence of blah blah whatever they say— anyway Your little friend here is none other then Y/N Ren! Daughter to our Master Kylo Ren,” he pauses and wraps his hand around your chin to make sure you were looking at your friends; “or as you may know her, The great Child of Ren!”

You quickly rip away from his grip, not before noticing the way Poe’s reaction was; his mouth agape, his eyes wide in bewilderment, confusion and realization..maybe hints of betrayal? you wouldn’t know though, you didn’t have the will to read more to his reaction as you felt hurt that he had to find out the horrible person you were before. Finn though, his reaction was less surprised like the news weren’t news at all, it was like something he already seemed to know.

Trudgen then turns to Poe and Finn, “don’t blame little y/n for keeping such a secret, after all she takes after her father in that. And well brainwashing has got to do something to your head, doesn’t it y/n?” Trudgen continues with a taunting tone, making sure you were listening.

“He’s not my father! And never will be!” You growl.

Trudgen brings his hands up feigning innocence, “Oh, haha okay sorry, correction stepfather.” he pronounces the last words slowly, knowing that the words were hurting you; “anyway. Are you going to introduces your brothers to your friends? Or should they introduce themselves, one by one, hmm?”

“You’re not my brothers.” You grimace, making Trudgen put a hand on his chest, faking to be hurt by your words. “Ouch, that one hurt. After all we’ve done? You have to know that killing your mother was just us following orders, you understand that right? No hard feelings?” Kylo said the same thing...just following orders. Perhaps you didn’t have the same love for the knights of Ren like you had for Kylo, but that still didn’t mean you didn’t care for them, they were like family to you after all.

Taking your silence as an answer he moved next to Ushar by the doorway; “anyhow, enough chit chat, we have work to do.” Again he turns to you and this time he gets a vibroblade from his belt and throws it to you so you could catch it. “We’re taking the traitor here back to base.” He turns to face Finn, his smirk heard through his voice, “they’ll love having you back home, just like little y/n here.” He then turns back to you, placing his hands on his hips, “now about this rebel and his droid companion,” he points to Poe and a poor deactivated BB8, “do you want to kill him? Or should Ushar here? You know he enjoys that stuff.”

Without a second thought you charge towards both Ushar and Trudgen, swaying the vibroblade close to their throats, “touch them and I’ll kill you both.” You threaten them, a hard glare meant for them both. “Just let them leave” You glance back to Poe, before focusing on the two men in front of you; feeling your heart shatter in your chest for what you were going to propose, “let both of them leave, the droid too. Let them leave and...I’ll go back home without a fight.” You swallow thickly, trying hard not to let your demeanor drop and show how upset you really were at the thought of returning, but if it meant that Poe, BB8 and Finn were going to be fine then it wouldn’t matter, you would do it again in a heart beat; “please.”

Trudgen turns to Ushar and then to the other three, silently agreeing to an answer amongst themselves. Ushar simply shrugs his shoulders and that’s all Trudgen needed to pull the vibroblade from your hand and turn you to face Poe and Finn...one last time. “Only because you asked nicely.” He whispered to you, “we’re only letting all of you leave, because it was by the mercy of the ever so great Child of Ren.”

Poe opens his mouth to say something against your decision, the confliction he felt seeping through his facial expression, and as he was going to speak you interrupted him; “don’t come back for me Poe. Don’t. Please don’t.” You beg, your voice cracking as you struggled not to cry. Poe doesn’t say anything and stays quiet, keeping his eyes locked on yours before you turned away.

“Might want to kiss her goodbye, chance is she isn’t going to remember any of you when you run into each other again.” Trudgen tugs you towards Poe and Finn, raising your face to them, “no? No goodbye kiss?” He grips onto your cheeks tighter and turns you directly to Poe, “you? I know you want too.” He waits for a moment and forces you closer. Poe looks down at you, but you can’t find the nerve to meet his eyes, too afraid of reading hate in him after finding out who you were, you only mouth ‘I’m sorry”, before you were pulled back. “No? Good lad. Who knows what might’ve happened, you know, we’re just protective over little y/n.” He pushes you back so Ap’Lek could catch you in his arms.

Trudgen then instructs Kuruk to open the ramp, following by uncuffing Finn and Poe and pushing a deactivated BB8 off the ramp and to the open ramp of the ship you came on. “Bye boys, thanks for taking care of y/n. Hope she at least remembers one of you after her head gets put back in the blender.”

Poe glances at you one last time and this time you meet his gaze. His eyes frantically search your own for a sign of this being a distraction so you could escape, but as soon as he noticed you stay still and shake your head, he knew it wasn’t. He hesitated but he continued walking until he got on his ship, he stares at you longingly before closing the ramp, his figure slowly disappearing until the ramp door covered him completely.

A shaky sigh escaped your lips as you saw the ship fly away. Their was no doubt in your mind that the choice was the right one, making them leave was the right choice, you couldn’t bear with yourself if they died because of you. Telling them to not come back for your was...the right choice—why would either of them want too anyway, after they found out the truth. You were a horrible person and you knew they thought that, your mind had to keep thinking that, keep thinking that they hated you...that Poe hated you for what you hid. Thinking that helped with your hope of him coming to take you back, him coming to stop you from returning back to the first order. You didn’t want them—didn’t want him too, and yet you hoped he would.

But he wasn’t going to rescue you. He wasn’t going to stop you from going back...

A/N- so tell me do you guys want Poe to be mad at reader for hiding who she really was?? or do you guys want him to be understanding??

Tagged- @jennibradley , @xxrouge-lexxx , @daniellajocelyn , @tweedlydumbtweedlydoo , @star-marvel-fangirl , @leilei-draws , @briesangel @lanatheawesome , @madamepsicose, @constantdisgrace , @1-800-depressedlesbian, @commondazy , @logiclies , @robindoesntloveme , @we-all-are-strange , @fandom-addict-aesthetics

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whumpqin · 4 years

Text

Day 3: Held at Gunpoint (Whumptober 2020)

Here’s day 3! Not as good as I would have hoped, but I hope that you guys enjoy it XD

Taglist: @lonesome--hunter@strahlenderzynismus @whump-only

CW: Guns, minor character death, nonhuman whumpee, whump of a minor (he says that he’s 18 but he’s not), blood, biting, mention of someone being shot, likely more. Let me know if something needs to be tagged!

Word count: 826

The click of a gun was his cue to look up.

A grizzly human with a salt and peppered beard greeted his eyes. One eye was clearly missing, and the several scars that littered his face hid the proper reason of its disappearance well. Despite that, his aim was impeccable - trained directly between Adair’s eyes. The human’s calloused, thick fingers peeled back on the hammer of the gun, preparing to fire.

Adair watched silently. Brought to his knees, cradling a bloodied compass that was struggling to point north. A crack was fitted across its top, broken from when it was dropped suddenly and had rolled over to him, when that human had first fired the gun. The recipient of the bullet lay face down, blood pooling from the gunshot wound he had suffered.

If he ignored the deep red, it simply looked like his father had passed out drunk again. Like one of those late nights he spent at the bar.

Adair tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted.

His wet hair plastered against his face and the small horns that curled around his head. Adair kept his tail close and still as he stared up at the Captain, who watched him with an uncomfortable fascination. As if he was expecting a reaction that he wasn’t getting, and that interested him.

“You’re pre’y strong, ain’tcha?” The Captain muttered. “Thought you would’ve come up after me for that.”

“...What’s the point? It won’t bring him back.” Adair winced at how his voice shook, like several weights had been pressed on it. It had been run ragged from when he’d screamed for his father after he’d been shot.

A tear fell down his cheek. Unwanted.

“No, don’t ‘spose it will. How old are you, boy?”

Adair swallowed, forcing his eyes closed so he wouldn’t glance over to his father. He remembered stories that were told of the pirates in the seas. He had always thought that they were child stories to give them a healthy fear of the ocean, but now they were the only thing he could count on.

Pirates, they say, don’t like weak folk, he used to hear his father say. They kill ‘em outright. Bleedin’ devils they are. More than us, eh?

Then he had chuckled, gone back to his beer.

He’d give anything to watch his father drink right now.

“Eighteen. Working age, Sir.” Adair’s gaze flicked up to the Captain’s one eye, hardening his expression as much as he could. “I can be useful to you.”

“Bullshit,” one of the other crewmen said. He walked around from behind the Captain, careful not to get in the way of the gun, moving to forcefully grab one of Adair’s horns and shake his head about. “Bet the little cockroach’s just takin’ us for a ride, Captain. Look at him! Not a responsible bone in that little bod-aaUUGGHH!”

The crewmen had made a fatal mistake. He had gotten too close.

Adair had ripped his head away from the human, and instead of cowering he lashed out, parting his jaws to sink his fangs directly into the man’s forearm. As he screamed the crewman pulled back, separating skin from muscle as Adair ripped the other way.

The disgusting taste and smell of iron and brine was everywhere. In his palate, his nose, and caked all over his mouth. He pushed down the feeling of a retch with a small gag, returning his icy blue gaze back to The Captain.

“Working age, Sir,” he repeated, blood spattering onto the ground as he spoke. He tried not to look at the barrel of the gun aimed directly at him or feel the way his heart skipped a beat when the Captain’s fingers twitched against the trigger.

Moments passed in silence as the two stared each other down. The only sounds were the rocking of the ship and the creak of its metal as the ocean brushed against its sides, and the gentle ticking of Adair’s compass. He supposed it was his, anyway. His father always meant to give it to him.

Suddenly, the Captain let out a hearty laugh and lowered the gun. “You’ve got a lot of grit, biting my crewman. Nice to know someone’s not ‘fraid to show their fangs every once in a while.” The Captain swept an accusatory gaze over the rest of the crew. Then his intense eye landed back to Adair as his crooked teeth drew up into a smirk. “I think I’ll let you live for now, boy. Keep you ‘round as a trophy. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

“...Thank you, Sir,” Adair murmured, gaze falling down to his father. I hope I’m doing this right.

“From now on, boy, I’m Captain to you,” the Captain corrected sharply. “Anything else I’ll shoot you dead. Got it?”

He lifted his gaze to meet that one eye. Making a vow in his head.

I’ll never let you forget this.

“Yes, Captain.”

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chicgeekgirl89 · 4 years

Text

Country Roads, Take Me Home: Chap. 2

Fandom: NCIS LA

Characters: Marty Deeks, Kensi Blye

A/N: I'm telling you right now, this story may have gone completely off the rails. It's been a weird summer and...I honestly don't quite know what happened. This is your warning!

Read Chapter 1 Here

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They were up bright and early the next morning to take Monty to doggy daycare where Roberta would pick him up at the end of the day. Then they hit the road for Yosemite. So far, things were going exactly according to plan. Until they inevitably got stuck in LA traffic.

“Remember last night when I asked you about snacks? You brought some right? Because I don’t know how long I can last without snacks,” Kensi said after about forty minutes.

Deeks looked at her sideways. “Did I buy snacks? Do you think I don’t know you after all this time? Check the fridge.”

She unbuckled her seatbelt and walked halfway back to the little kitchenette. Opening the fridge her eyes went wide in delight. “You got me Reese’s?”

“Of course I got you Reese’s. I wanted this to be fun, not the road trip from hell.”

She rejoined him, plopping happily back into her seat and giving him a peck on the cheek. “This is already off to a better start than all our other vacations.”

“I told you.”

“So why Yosemite? There lots of other parks in California.”

“Well first of all, Yosemite Sam. Second of all I was looking at the out of state parks and mapping our trip. The only one kind of on the way out is Yosemite. Well, and Death Valley, but I thought we should probably avoid any place that advertises killing off visitors.”

Kensi nodded, biting into a Reese’s. “Good point.”

He looked at her. “Are you going to share those?”

“I thought you bought them for me,” she said around a mouthful of chocolate.

“I did, but as your loving, devoted husband who is taking you on the vacation of a lifetime, who buys you snacks and cleans your house and saves your beautiful, beautiful ass multiple times a week, you could share one.”

She glared at him and withdrew one candy from the bag, putting it directly into his hand. “Thank you,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road as he unwrapped it.

“What is all this traffic?” she asked, trying to peer down the freeway.

“Rush hour,” Deeks said, moving them forward another two feet.

“It’s not usually this bad at this time.” She craned her neck, pushing up out of her seat. “I think someone has a flat tire.”

Sure enough up ahead there was a much older and smaller RV half on/half off the shoulder. “We should see if they need help,” Kensi said.

“Babe we’re off duty. They look fine.”

She gave him a look and he sighed, flipping on the blinker to maneuver them onto the shoulder behind the stopped vehicle. They hopped out and walked toward an older couple evaluating a very flat tire. “Hey you need some help?” Kensi called over the noise of the traffic.

“Oh bless me, yes, thank you!” A woman who looked to be about Roberta’s age waved at them. “My Bill here could use some assistance.”

“What’s the problem?” Deeks asked.

The man, Bill apparently, stood and rubbed his hands together. “Carol and I were just driving along and we musta run over something. Tire’s flat as a pancake and those lug nuts are so tight it’s like they’re cemented on.”

“Young man if you could give him a hand we would appreciate it,” Carol said.

Deeks shook his head and gestured to Kensi. “Sugarbear, this one’s all yours.”

“Oh,” Carol seemed startled. “I don’t think—“

Kensi reached for the tire iron and within seconds had loosened one of the nuts. Both Bill and Carol raised their eyebrows. “Well I’ll be darned,” Bill said in amazement.

“Somebody’s been eating their wheaties!” Carol said.

Kensi smiled as she worked the second lug nut. “My dad had a lot of tricks.”

“I’m Marty,” Deeks said, holding out a hand. “This is my wife Kensi.”

“Bill and Carol Weekes,” Bill said. “That’s quite a lady you’ve got there.”

Deeks smiled. “She certainly is.”

“Babe, can you get the spare?” Kensi called.

“On it!” Deeks looked to Bill.

“I think it’s in the back,” he said. “Come on in.”

Deeks followed Bill inside the RV and was immediately assaulted. “Ah! What the—?”

“Oh, sorry!” Bill said. “Kujo! Chewbarka! Tank! Twinkie! Patrick Dempsey get off him!”

In a rush of fur and wagging tails, five dogs raced back to Bill, leaving Deeks covered in slobber and dog hair. “They’re tame, just likely to lick you to death,” Bill said with a chuckle.

“Uh yeah,” Deeks said, wiping his hands on his pants. “Ouch!” He jumped as teeth sank into his ankle.

“Patrick Dempsey!” Bill yelled again, swatting the little dachshund away. “I shoulda said they’ll all lick you to death except PD. He’s vicious.”

“Right.” Deeks rubbed the sore spot. “The tire?”

“Oh yeah!” Bill popped open a hatch and hauled out a donut. “There we go.”

“Great.” Deeks grabbed it from him. “Let’s take this to Kensi and she’ll have you out of here in no time.”

He received a final nip from Patrick Dempsey on the way out the door, then handed the tire over to Kensi. Together they had it on within minutes. “Oh my goodness, how can we ever thank you?” Carol said as Kensi tightened the final bolt.

“No need,” Kensi said. “We’re happy to help.”

“Well that’s not acceptable,” Carol said bustling off into the RV.

“Aw my Carol. She’s not going to let you leave empty handed,” Bill said, elbowing Deeks with a grin.

Sure enough Carol was back seconds later, a tinfoil wrapped plate in her hand. “Here,” she said. “These are some of my world famous chocolate chip cookies. Made with real butter and eggs, none of that vegan stuff all you west coasters are so fond of.”

Deeks had to bite back a laugh as he took the plate. “Thank you. You two be safe now all right?” He said.

“Will do!” They waved cheerily as they headed back inside and started the RV up.

“Well they were…” Kensi couldn’t seem to find the words.

“Yep,” Deeks said. “And you didn’t even get a bite from Patrick Dempsey.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What?”

Deeks shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Come on. Adventure awaits in…approximately five hours depending on traffic.”

It was a lot more like seven hours by the time they finally trundled into the park. Deeks picked up a parking tag for the RV and a map to their campsite. “Oh thank god,” Kensi said as they pulled into their spot. “I need to get out of this thing.”

“You do realize we’re going to spend most of this trip inside the RV,” Deeks said. “That’s why I got the nice one.”

“And it is so nice baby, but breathing the same air as you for this many hours is…too much.”

“I think you’re hangry. Let’s get a little fire going and we can have some hot dogs, a couple s’mores and you’ll feel better,” Deeks said.

“You know the way directly to my heart,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

It was quick and easy to get a campfire burning and soon they were cuddled up next to one another in a blanket, making s’mores. Kensi had just whispered something very dirty in Deeks’ ear and he was on the verge of grabbing her and taking the party indoors when a very loud, rundown RV pulled into the spot directly next to them. “Well that’s not really what we came here for,” Deeks grumbled as the RV backfired and let out a huge explosion of exhaust before giving a wheezing cough as it turned off.

“Um, Deeks?” Kensi said. “Is that—“

The RV’s door opened and a dachshund ran out, barking like mad, and lunging for Deeks’ leg. “Whoa!” he yelled, dropping his s’more and leaping out of his seat.

“Patrick Dempsey! You get back here right now!” A woman bellowed, charging out the door after him.

“Carol?” Kensi asked as she pulled the dog off Deeks’ leg.

“Well hey there fellow travelers!” Bill said, smiling broadly as he descended the steps. “What a coincidence!”

“Coincidence or nightmare?” Deeks muttered, rubbing his calf.

“It is a coincidence,” Kensi said, elbowing Deeks to shut him up. “I don’t remember you saying this was on your schedule.”

“Well we got to talking as we drove and Kensi, you made this sound like such a fun idea we decided to hop on over,” Carol said.

“Really sold it to ‘em huh Kens?” Deeks asked under his breath.

She elbowed him again. “Well don’t let us interrupt your fun,” Carol said. “You two lovebirds looked so cozy when we drove up. We’ll just keep to ourselves over here.”

“And don’t worry about making too much noise! You know, if things start to heat up later.” Bill winked at them. “Carol and I are very sound sleepers. Won’t hear a thing.”

“Perfect,” Deeks said weakly. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

“Well I guess we’ll turn in,” Bill told them. “Been a long day. You kids have fun!”

Patrick Dempsey gave a final yip as Carol scooped him up and they went back inside.

“So…do we turn around and go home now?” Kensi asked.

“No,” Deeks said firmly as he put out the fire. “This is going to be a normal vacation. We’re going to see lots of pretty rocks, eat road food, and have lots of sex. NORMAL.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “I’m not sure we’re capable of normal.”

“Yes we are,” he insisted, grabbing her hand. “Come on.”

He pulled her inside and the door had barely closed before he was kissing her, hands fumbling with the buttons on her shirt. “Deeks!” Kensi laughed, then gasped as he nipped at that one, particular spot on her neck. “Deeks, what are you doing?”

“Well we gave this thing a test drive. We tried out the refrigerator, the wifi, the satellite. And now, I think we need to test out the bed,” he said with a grin, swinging her up into his arms and carrying her to the back of the RV where he tossed her onto the mattress.

He whipped off his belt with a dramatic flair and then dove on top of her, pressing kisses to her face, neck, wherever he could find as she laughed. “I think you’re still a little overdressed here,” she said, tugging at his t-shirt.

“Well that’s easily fixed.” Deeks sat up fast to take the shirt off and whacked his head on the ceiling.

“Ooh!” Kensi sat up, reaching to cradle his face while he closed his eyes in pain. “Oh my god, are you all right?”

“Ow. Yep. That smarts.” He rubbed the top of his head. “I feel like that’s a pretty major design flaw.”

“Well maybe they didn’t intend for people to have wild and crazy sex in here,” she said, trying to stifle her laughter.

“No problem,” Deeks said with a grimace, clearly trying to ignore his throbbing skull. “We’ll just switch tactics.”

He leaned down toward her again and was immediately interrupted by the loudest, most frantic barking either one of them had ever heard. “You have got to be kidding me,” he said dropping his head onto Kensi’s chest.

She ruffled his hair and pressed a kiss to the injured spot. “They’ll stop in a second.”

Sure enough they waited a moment and the barking ceased. “Okay then, back to business,” Deeks said with a grin, leaning over once more.

The barking started again. And then again. And then….again. Deeks groaned and rolled onto his back so they were side by side.

“This is unbelievable,” Kensi said breathless and annoyed.

“So much for a normal vacation.”

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A/N: Sometimes people ask if I base my stories on real life so, fun fact, for eleven years my family had a mini dachshund named Willy. He was a demon beast from hell. Seriously. Patrick Dempsey is based on him. His name is Patrick Dempsey because I think it's hilarious when animals have extremely human names. Anyway, hope you enjoyed! More shenanigans to come!

#NCIS LA #NCIS Los Angeles #Densi #Marty Deeks #Kensi Blye #Fanfiction #Densi Summer Vacation #Country Roads Take Me Home #Chapter 2

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