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#my entire torso is sore from hiccuping
kisakis-boyfriend · 4 months
Note
Scenario thirst/request: It’s already canon that Kaveh can’t handle his alcohol, but once he gets together with Reader he seriously needs to be cut off. Bars are gonna start denying him service bc instead of his normal complaints about some work client, he’s now complaining to any poor soul in the vicinity about how Reader’s cock is so big it’s impossible to take. Also won’t shut up about how they haven’t fucked him in ages (since yesterday) so they obviously think he’s hideous and don’t love him anymore. To top it all off he’s literally saying all of this while draped over Reader’s lap. He won’t stop whining until Reader drags him out the tavern and fucks him stupid in the alley around back.
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Pairings: Kaveh x reader
Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Kaveh, handjob, biting, whiny Kaveh, semi-public sex
Genre/Format: Smut; Short scenario
Author's Note: Your mind 😳 I want to break Kaveh so badly ugh
Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!
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The plan was to have a casual drink or two at the tavern, order a bit of food and maybe split a dessert with your beloved. You should have known better than that...
Now your beloved was whining to the tables next to yours about how your “ginormous monster cock” was just too biiiig! He can't handle taking the entire thing in his little ass but you make it fit anyways 🥺
The guests look on with irritated expressions and you mouth apologies at everyone...Kaveh's weight is sprawled out across your lap while he continues to moan and groan that it's “so so soooo biiiig–” You pinch the bridge of your nose and gulp down more of your drink as Kaveh's slender fingers tug at your shirt, drawing your attention downwards
The saddest, most pathetic expression makes it's way onto his face as he complains that, “You haven't fucked me in foreeeverrr- D'you not like me anymore...?” He slurs, pouting and sniffling. Another patron seated across from you makes eye contact and smirks, shaking their head. Everyone in the damn building can probably hear your partner's voice, seeing as alcohol tends to make him louder than usual...guess there's only one way to fix him now
“Heeeeyyy...don't push me off of– Aah!” Kaveh's startled noise draws even more attention towards the two of you as you drag him out of the bar by his arm. Passing by the owner and tossing a large pouch of mora onto the counter for all of the trouble. The blond protested the entire way out, attempting to grab the door frame so that you couldn't drag him along, though he was a bit too drunk to see straight enough to grab anything...
“Ow, owowow ooooowww!! Y/nnn...what's gotten into yo-oouu...?” Kaveh hiccuped. Your eye twitched in annoyance while your hands found their way onto the wall next to your partner's head, caging him in
“What's gotten into me? What's gotten into you! Mr. ‘My partner's cock is too fucking big uwu’?!” You whisper-yelled. Boring into Kaveh's accusatory eyes as he stammered, trying to form a response but getting cut off by your strong hands flipping him so that his torso was now pressed against the nearby wall. “If you're going to embarrass me in front of dozens of people, then I'm going to embarrass you in this alley. Whatever attention you draw is your own fault.”
At first, he did try to stay quiet, but your cock was actually pretty big and it caused him to have loose lips, especially with the added intoxication from a few drinks...
Kaveh's ass was red and sore after a while of pounding him into oblivion. Your dick was reaching all new places inside of him as you slid in and out vigorously, using every bit of leverage at your disposal to fuck into him faster and rougher, even if it meant that you'd have to carry him home afterwards. Whatever it took for your own tipsy mind to find peace with this punishment
Several instances of footsteps were heard during all of this. Probably people that picked up Kaveh's loud wails and moans, screaming “Cum-cumming—!! ” multiple times as you jerked him off while destroying his hole. His poor, sensitive shoulder was littered with angry bite marks from your own orgasms across the night. All of this would serve as a reminder the next morning; a reminder to work on biting his tongue whenever he drank
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Reblogs are extremely appreciated <3
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tj-crochets · 3 years
Text
Hey y’all! I thought I had grown out of my terrible hiccups, but it turns out I have not! And when I say terrible hiccups, I mean silence the entire math class kind of hiccups, sounds like what a toddler would think a dinosaur would sound like kind of hiccups, neighbors at work once came to check on me because they heard the hiccups through the wall and over the sound of the machinery kind of hiccups* This is the first time I’ve had hiccups since I developed asthma and while it hasn’t caused an asthma attack it’s sure not fun lol I know it’s a long shot, but can you share any hiccup home remedies you have? The only one that’s ever, ever worked for me was scaring them out of me, and that only worked once when my teacher managed it when I was like ten years old (that was after I accidentally interrupted the math class) *all of those are actual things that happened (little kids think the hiccups are hilarious)
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darkmulti · 3 years
Text
King of Hell
BTS
Series : part 1
Pairing: demon!Jungkook x human!Female Reader x demon!Taehyung x demon!Jimin
Genre: Angst & Smut
Word Count: 4.3K
CONTAINS DARK THEMES!
PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! READ WARNINGS CAREFULLY!
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A/N: SHAIWJW, IVE BEEN “WRITING” THIS FIC SINCE LAST YEAR, HOLY FUCK. Anyways I hope you enjoy this shitty story:)
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These are the warnings for the entire series!! This is a dark fanfic that is not meant for everyone! If these warnings trigger you, please leave!!
Smut Warning(s): multiple smuts, cockwarming, face slapping, saliva kink, thigh riding, humiliation, heavy degradation, dacryphilia kink, threesome, anal, blowjob, somnophilia kink, mirror sex, choking, spanking, hair pulling, rough sex, mix of ddlg, sleep sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, begging, small bits of praising, marking, fear kink, cum shots, cum eating
Other Warning(s): possessive!Jungkook, blood, murder, torture, physical abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, submissive reader
I’m probably missing something...
THIS FIC CONTAINS NON CONSENSUAL SEX! PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!
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Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was wrong. But did she care?
No.
The girl laid supine on her boss's desk, sore legs bound around his torso, caging him in. His hand gently kneads her sensitive breast, earning soft moans from her. She grabbed his tie and tugged on it until he leaned down and passionately kissed her. The man gently pulled her up and swiftly wrapped his shapely arms around her body. She pulled away first, eager to catch her breath.
The excessive tension in the overheated room was unbearable. Her head remained low in embarrassment while her boss burned her with his gaze. To break up the tension, she awkwardly clears her throat and hops off his desk. For some reason, she desperately wanted to apologize but stopped herself. From what she remembers, her boss was undressing her with his eyes, so she let him have it. Deciding she’s not going to apologize, she frantically pulled up her skirt and opened the door to leave.
However, her boss was faster than her and instantly closed it again. He cupped her cheeks and attempted to kiss her again, but she stepped away. “I’m sorry, Dr. Kim. It’s getting late and my apartment is far from here, so I better get going. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Taehyung scowled at her. It was insulting to him. No one has ever rejected his touch. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and flung her onto his desk. She groaned in pain, protecting her injured side. Taehyung clutched her face and attached his lips onto hers, kissing her like it was his last time. She instinctively kicked her legs at him, but that made him more belligerent.
“Stop! Leave me alone!” She yelled, throwing her hands against his chest, trying to get him off. Unfortunately, she was no match for him. Taehyung pinned her down without a struggle and pulled her skirt down again. “I tried being nice, princess. But now you’ve gotten on my nerves.” He growled, forcing his cock in, despite her screaming at him to stop.
A sadistic smirk appears on his face as he picks up his pace. His warm cock fitted inside of her perfectly. It was like they were made for each other. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, enjoying the feeling to the fullest. While Taehyung was on cloud nine, the girl was bawling her eyes out underneath him. “T- Taehyung! Stop! It h- hurts!” She sobbed uncontrollably, breath hitching. Her vision started to blur as she felt her energy drain out of her writhing body. She's never endured this much pain.
Taehyung grunts as he pushes himself forward one last time before cumming in her. “Fuck! You feel so good, baby.” He leaned down and licked her tears away. He then created a trail of hickeys along her jawline, down to her collar bone. “How about another round, babe?”
“No, no! Please, no! It hurts!” She hiccuped, putting her hands together. “Please, Dr. Kim. I’ll do anything except for this! I c- can give you money… if you’d like.” Taehyung couldn’t help himself. Watching her beg for mercy was a turn on. “I don’t need your filthy money, slut. Now stay still or else you're fired.”
He ruthlessly entered in again. She let out a painful whimper but didn’t dare to move because her job was on the line. Taehyung held her hips down and quickened his pace. The helpless girl was fighting off the urge to push him away with all her remaining strength. Soon enough, her legs trembled on their own as ripples of forced pleasure went through her body. More tears gathered in her fearful eyes. A minute passed, she was still sprawled on his desk, catching her breath. “C- can I pl- please leave now?” She faintly whispered, on the verge of passing out.
Taehyung pulled her ragged skirt up then pulled her upright. He moved her hair out of her face and tenderly caressed her cheek, admiring her face. “You won’t tell anyone about this, understand?” She sobbed but nodded her head. “Good… get your stuff, I’ll drive you home.”
“No, sir. It’s okay. I’ll call a taxi. You can go home.” Taehyung’s eyes darkened. He grabbed her neck and squeezed it. “You’re making me repeat myself, Y/N. You out of all people should know how much I hate doing that. Now for the last time, get your shit and I’ll drive you home.” He took a step back and followed her to her office. She quickly grabbed her purse and jacket, then they both headed out.
The car ride home was silent. She didn't dare to speak a word. Not after what he did to her. All she could do is keep her head down and play with the hem of her shirt. Taehyung glanced over at her here and there, but he too didn’t speak a word. He looked in his rear view mirror and spotted his best friend sitting in the back, staring at “his” girl. “Keep your eyes off of her. She’s already taken, Jungkook.”
Y/N flinched when Taehyung started talking. “Huh? Are you talking to me?” She asked, confused. Red flags were popping up but she couldn’t exactly jump onto the highway. She bit down on her lip and waited for a response. “Took you a while to detect my presence, Taehyung. I thought you could do better.” She immediately turned around and saw a man sitting in the middle seat, legs spread apart. His long, jet-black hair almost veiled his eyes, and he was covered in tattoos. “Who the hell are you?!” She slightly yells, clearly startled by the man. “I wouldn’t raise my voice if I were you, sweetheart. Anyone who disrespects me will regret it for the rest of their life and afterlife.” Jungkook mockingly said, confusing the girl even more. She turned to Taehyung for an explanation, but he simply rested his hand on her thigh. “Calm down, angel. I won’t let him hurt you.”
“Bold of you to say that, Taehyung. You really think you can take me on?” Jungkook challenged.
“To keep her by my side, I’d knock you over without hesitation.” Taehyung said with a dull expression on his face.
“Don’t tell me you have feelings for this girl. Man, you keep letting me down. First living in the mortal world and now, falling in love. What’s next? Marriage? Family planning? Pathetic, Kim Taehyung. If Jimin were here, he’d be laughing his ass off.”
“If you have nothing nice to say, leave. I thought you didn’t enjoy the mortal world.”
“I don’t, I just wanted to see what my dearest friend is up to. I’m astonished, however. You managed to keep that unpleasant side of yours a secret.”
Taehyung glanced at his girl. Her face was pale and if you looked closely, she was shaking. Taehyung stroked her thigh in a soothing manner, signinally her to calm down. Out of fear, she clings to Taehyung’s hand tightly. This didn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook. He sensed her fear the moment she sat in the car. He enjoyed watching her crumble apart in the passenger seat. She looked vulnerable and afraid, he wanted to ruin her innocent looking face.
“Stop gawking at my girlfriend, Kook. Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“No, I actually don’t. Next month, I’ll be announced king, but until then, I’ll hang around you and this lovely princess.”
From that point on, Taehyung knew he couldn’t leave her alone. If he did, Jungkook would 100% hurt her or even worse, mark her as his own. Jungkook’s one selfish bastard. He will always put himself before others. Taehyung immediately knew Jungkook was attracted to her; he could tell just by observing the way Jungkook looked at her. But he wasn’t going to let Jungkook have her too. Originally, Taehyung was supposed to be king, but Jungkook was stubborn and wanted to fight for the title. Taehyung didn’t want to fight his best friend, so he willingly surrendered.
30 minutes later, he finally arrived at her apartment. She quietly thanked Taehyung for the ride, then got out. However, Taehyung turned off his engine and got out of his car. “I’m staying with you tonight.” Without question, she nodded her head and grabbed Taehyung’s hand. She was terrified of what was going on. Of course she wanted an explanation, but Taehyung seemed to be protecting her. Therefore, she thought it’d be the best to stay with him until she knows exactly what’s going on.
She opened her apartment door and set her purse and jacket on the table. “I’m gonna go shower… Make yourself at home... I guess.” She mumbled the last part and headed to her bathroom until Taehyung stopped her. “Mind if I join?” Taehyung hinted he needed to talk to her so she said yes. Meanwhile, Jungkook plopped down on the couch with his arm behind his head. “Got any bourbon?” He yelled and she responded, “the cabinet behind you has all the liquor I own.”
Taehyung pulled her into the bathroom and hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry! I fucked everything up for you.”
“Taehyung, what are you talking about?” She worriedly asked. Taehyung looked at the door then quickly turned the shower on. “We have to be quiet. He might hear us.” “Please tell me what’s going on! Who is he? How did he get inside your car?!” She whispers as calmly as she can. “His name is Jeon Jungkook. Next month, he'll be announced king of hell. He’s a very powerful demon and currently, he’s looking for his queen. Someone who can be the mother of his children and someone he can somewhat tolerate. Y/N, he has his eyes on you. You need stay around me, so I can protect you. I know I hurt you not too long ago, but trust me on this one. Jungkook has anger issues and if he gets a hold of you, you will be his punching bag for eternity.”
“Demon? King of hell? Are you hearing yourself right now?” She whispers louder, being unable to control her anger and concern. “I’m not lying, Y/N. How else did he get into my car. Do you remember our conversation in the car? He said he didn't like the human world.”
“What about you? What are you?!”
“I’m a demon too.”
“Prove it because I don’t believe-” Taehyung towers over her and his eyes turn black. His teeth become insanely sharp and black, thick horns start coming out of his head. She stood there, staring at his true form. She reached out and touched his cheek which was freezing cold. “Demons are real?” She faintly whispered. “Take your clothes off. He’s coming.” Taehyung’s out of his clothes in a blink of an eye but she didn’t want to remove her clothes. Taehyung heard Jungkook getting closer, so he ripped her clothes off and pushed her in the shower. He followed behind and pinned her against the wall, kissing her forcefully. “He’s looking through the door, pretend you're enjoying it so we're unsuspicious.” She surprisingly listens and returns the kiss. Taehyung picks her up, and she wraps her legs around his waist, allowing him to enter her. “Moan loud for me, baby.” The girl digs her nails into his shoulder and releases her needy moans.
Jungkook was standing in the door way, watching Taehyung fuck the living out of her. What he would do to be in his position. A part of Jungkook was telling him to kill Taehyung and take his place. However, the other half of him knew that it would create a war between the Kim’s and the Jeon’s. Centuries of feuds have been going on between the two families and it finally ended when Taehyung’s father made a peace offering and Jungkook’s dad happily accepted. From there on, Taehyung and Jungkook grew up together as best friends. Jungkook stopped himself from making a big mistake but continued watching the two fuck.
Taehyung came in her one last time before pulling out and cleaning her up with some water. She clung onto Taehyung because she had no more feeling in her legs. Her clit was burning from the overstimulation, but she wasn’t complaining because it felt so good. He carried her back to her room and wiped her body off with a towel. Jungkook went back to the couch and tried to relax his mind. For some reason, her moans kept playing in his head and before he knew it, he was hard. “Shit!” He angrily muttered.
After tucking Y/N in, Taehyung came to the living room to see what Jungkook was doing. Jungkook was leaning on the balcony railing, staring at the full moon. “If you want, you can crash at my place.” Taehyung said, fiddling with his house keys. “Nah, I think I’ll stay right here… By the way, your girlfriend is hot. If she ever wants to have a threesome, tell her-”
“She doesn’t, Jungkook. One man is good enough for her.”
“That’s too bad. Well, tell her if she gets tired of you she can come to me any time and anywhere.” Jungkook cockishly smiled, raising one eyebrow. “Stop with the jokes, will you?” Taehyung's voice got deeper because he’s had enough of Jungkook’s irritating comments. “I’m going to bed now. Sleep on the couch or wander on the street, I don’t care. Just don’t kill anyone.” Taehyung said before leaving Jungkook alone on the balcony. “I'll try not to.”
Taehyung opened the door and saw Y/N struggling to fall asleep. He quickly got into her bed and pulled her into his comforting embrace. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here now.” He carefully laid her face on his chest then ran his fingers through her smooth hair. “I love you so much. You don’t even know how long I’ve been watching you.”
“How long?” She whispers back. “First year of university was when I first saw you. Ever since then, I’ve been looking out for you.” She giggled and wrapped her arms around his body. “Why didn’t you talk to me?” Taehyung smiled, remembering why. “I’m a little shy.” She climbed up his chest and kissed him on the lips. “Is he gone?” She asked, tracing lines on Taehyung’s chest. “He’s gonna crash on your couch. Sorry about him, sweetheart.”
“It’s okay.”
Soon, silence took over the room and the girl fell asleep on Taehyung’s chest. Taehyung continued to play with her hair and trace her back until the door slightly opened. He saw Jungkook in the doorway and sighed. “What do you want now?”
“Her.”
Everything happened rapidly. The door swung open and all Taehyung saw were 2 red eyes staring him down. Before he could react, Jungkook knocked him out and pinned the girl’s body down. He entered into her sore cunt, causing her to wake up. As soon as she saw Jungkook’s face, she started to scream and fight. “Stop! Taehyung, help me!” She shook Taehyung’s body, but he was unresponsive. “What did you do to him?!”
“Shut up and cooperate with me or else I’ll take you to hell.” Jungkook swiftly got into a better position and let his raging boner free. The bed frame began banging against the wall harder and harder each time. Y/N was in a state of shock. She didn’t know what to do. Jungkook viciously thrusted into her and held her down by her neck. “No! Please! Stop!” Jungkook flipped her around and took her from behind. He spanked her ass multiple times, leaving his hand print on her skin. He pulled out and got up from the bed, dragging her along with him. “Look at yourself, you fucking slut.” Jungkook pulled her hair and forced her to look at herself in the mirror. “Watch me fuck you, slut. If I see your eyes aren’t open, I’ll slit your family's throat and send you pictures.”
“No! No! Please don’t! I- I won’t close my eyes, I promise.” Jungkook thrusted in again and had no mercy on her. Tears were rushing down her face but didn't once close her eyes. Jungkook deliberately went faster seeing if she could handle the pain. It took a lot out of her, but she didn’t want to put her family in danger so she listened to every order. Jungkook continued fucking her hard. He could sense the fear that was taking over her body. She was shaking and silently crying, but it merely encouraged him to go faster. At last, he pushed his whole length in and came deep inside her. She squirted around him and collapsed on the floor. “No more, please” “Get on your knees, now!” She whimpered but got on her knees. Jungkook didn’t waste a second to shove his whole cock in her mouth. He grabbed her face and started fucking her throat as fast as he could. After some time, hot cum was running down her throat as he finally pulled out. The poor girl was choking on her own saliva when Jungkook clutched her hair and spat in her mouth.
Jungkook wanted to go for another round, but someone hit his head, knocking him out. Jungkook fell to the floor, revealing a conscious Taehyung. He immediately picked her off the floor and hugged her tightly. She started sobbing on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. We have to leave.” He quietly spoke. Taehyung quickly cleaned her up and gave her some warm clothes to wear. He carried her out of the apartment and into his car. He quickly dialed someone’s number and stepped on the gas.
“Hello?”
“Jimin! Take your fucking brother back to hell. He’s lost his fucking mind. He knocked me unconscious and raped my girlfriend.”
“Holy shit! Where is he?”
Taehyung quickly informs Jimin of Jungkook’s location.
“I’ll pick him up. Just find a safe place, Tae.”
“Yeah, I will.”
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After receiving the call from Taehyung, Jimin rushed to Jungkook. He was still on the floor, passed out. “How hard did you hit him, Taehyung?” Jimin muttered before bringing Jungkook back to hell and chaining him up.
Jungkook woke up with his head pounding. He groaned and looked at his surroundings. “What the hell?” He spoke in a raspy voice. “Wake up, brother. Taehyung informed me you were up to no good.” Right, that bastard Taehyung, he thought. Memories of last night came rushing to his head and he couldn't help but smile. “Where’s Y/N?” Jungkook asked, replaying last night in his head. “Y/N? As in Taehyung’s girlfriend?”
“Don’t call her Taehyung’s girlfriend. Soon, she’ll find her way back to me.”
“Brother, I knew you were absurd, but fucking Taehyung’s girlfriend? Really?”
“You’ve never seen her before, so you won’t understand. But as soon as you get close to her, I ensure you, you won’t be capable of controlling yourself.”
“I’ll see for myself.” Jimin said before getting up and closing the heavy metal door, leaving Jungkook alone.
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1 month later
After the incident with Jungkook, Y/N and Taehyung got into a serious relationship. Every single day, Taehyung worked on becoming stronger to protect his beloved. He felt remorseful for placing her in this kind of situation, so the least he could do is protect her. Y/N was deeply in love with Taehyung. At first, she kept telling herself she only wants him around so he can keep her safe, however she couldn’t help herself. She let go of what he did in the past and focused on the present.
“Taehyung! I’m home!” Taehyung pops his head from the kitchen and she swiftly runs into his embrace. “I missed you.” She pouted her lips and kissed him. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“I missed you more.” She giggles at his response and pecks him all over his face. Taehyung picked her up and sat on the couch with her on his lap. A sweet make out turned into a heated one quickly. She tugged on his shirt then removed it for him and he did the same for her. “How about we try something different?” Taehyung placed her on one of his thighs and placed both of his hands on her ass. “Ride my thigh, angel.” She started moving slowly, unsure of how it might feel. Once her clit started getting some stimulation, she kept going faster and faster, falling apart in Taehyung’s arms. She clenched and came around nothing while Taehyung attacked her tits with his mouth. He left a trail of hickeys all over her upper chest. Taehyung came in his pants just from watching her and feeling her juices leak onto his thigh.
They both eagerly kissed each other until Y/N pulled away. “Can we go out for dinner? I don’t feel like cooking today.” She panted, playing with Taehyung’s hair. “Of course we can.”
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The long-awaited day had finally come. The crowd was larger than it ever had been. Everyone came down to watch the ritual and pay their respects to the new king. Torches were pointed downward, symbolizing death. In the middle of the stadium, there was a massive platform. On the platform, there was a throne, a crown, a pentagram and a tied up angel for the sacrifice. Jimin and his father stood side by side, wearing black suits. The crowd went silent when everyone detected a compelling, cold presence. Jungkook revealed himself from the shadows in his true form. He was shirtless with only a thin fabric wrapped around his waist. He walked to the platform and laid down on the pentagram. Everyone knew, this was the beginning of a new chapter.
Moments later Jungkook was screaming in pain. His body became a portal for all the previous kings. They were passing their abilities down to him, resulting in Jungkook's chest and back being burned. Everyone in the audience stood up and started chanting. Jungkook sat upright and headed towards the angel who was pleading for mercy. He manipulated his sharp nail and slit their throat, killing them in a matter of seconds. He attached his mouth onto their neck as the chanting got louder. The warm, thick liquid gliding down his throat was incredibly addictive. Jungkook could feel his power triple in seconds. He tossed the deceased angel away like a rag doll then faced his people. He stretched his wings and grew out his horns.
“I am honoured to be your new king. Thank you to everyone who came to watch the ritual. Please know I’ve acknowledged your presence and respect. I greatly appreciate it.”
Everyone applauded for Jungkook. Surviving the ritual requires an enormous amount of strength. Jungkook has proved to everyone that he is worthy of being king.
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“Are you ready? I feel like I’ve been waiting forever.” Taehyung said, sitting down on the couch. He was dressed up in his black suit and tie, looking flawless like always. 5 minutes had passed, and he still hadn’t heard a word from her. “Angel? What’s taking so long? Do you need help with your dress?” Taehyung walked back to their shared bedroom only to see Jungkook holding her down with his sharp nail on her neck. “I’m giving you two options, Taehyung. Let me have her, and I won’t hurt her or, she dies, I take her back to hell and torture her for eternity. What will it be, Taehyung?” All Taehyung saw was red. Without realizing, he changed into his demon form and attacked Jungkook. He managed to get him off of her, but strength and power wise, Taehyung was no match. Jungkook punched him over and over, until his nose and jaw was broken.
“Fuck you, Jungkook. I let you have everything! I gave it all up for you because I wanted to be a good friend! One good thing happens in my life and you fucking take it away!” Taehyung yelled, managing to punch him one last time. Y/N sprinted off the bed and rushed to Taehyung’s side. She didn’t care that Jungkook was there, all she cared about was Taehyung. “Taehyung! You’re bleeding! What should I do?! Should I call the ambulance?!” Taehyung looked into her eyes and his heart softened. Tears were streaming down her face. She was actually worried about him. Even after he revealed his true form, she stayed by his side. Does that mean she loves him? Taehyung slightly smiled. “I’ll be alright, love. I’ll heal by tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t.” Jungkook interjected as he got up and kicked Taehyung’s head. “STOP!” She screamed, protecting Taehyung with her body. She wrapped her arms around his head so Jungkook couldn't kick him. “C- can’t you see he’s hurt?! Leave him alone!” She bawled. “I’m not going to leave him alone until he makes a decision. So Taehyung, what will it be?” Taehyung wrapped his arms around her waist, refusing to let her go. “There are billions of other people in the world. Why do you want MY girlfriend?!”
“Don’t question me, Taehyung. Now give me her, or I’ll have to forcefully take her.”
Y/N started sobbing on Taehyung’s shoulder. “Please don’t take him away from me. I love him. Please don’t.” She begged, her tears staining Taehyung’s shirt. Jungkook was slowly starting to lose his temper. He massaged his temples then grabbed her arm, prying her off and away from Taehyung. “If you don’t come back with me to hell, I’ll kill Taehyung right here right now. Or better yet, I’ll make you help me kill him.”
Y/N began to shake. “Please don’t hurt him. I’ll go back with you.”
“No! Y/N he’s going to hurt you! Jungkook you can kill me but leave her alone after I die. You break the promise and will die too.”
“No, Taehyung! I can’t let you die! You can’t leave me alone!” Jungkook pushed the girl back and kicked Taehyung in the stomach. “If you want her so badly, you’re going to have to fight me.” With that, Jungkook turned around, picked her up and disappeared. “NO! Shit! Shit!” Taehyung cursed at himself.
Once again, he failed to protect his love.
——————————————————————————
Uhhh, hi🤠
This is terrible and I’m sorry if it doesn’t live up to your expectations. I completely understand because many people have been waiting for this fic to release and it’s not even good. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed what part 1 has to offer. At first, I didn’t want to make this into a series because I’m very inconsistent. However, I had a sickening plot in mind that I really wanted to do, so the next best option was to make this into a series.
I know, not a lot of Jimin was in this, but the next couple of parts will have him.
xoxo,
naina❣️
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inkykeiji · 3 years
Text
day 4 ❅ let’s go below zero and hide from the sun
i love you forever where we’ll have some fun
day three ❅ day four ❅ day five | series masterlist
character: todoroki touya | dabi
genre: smut + angst
notes: eeeeeeee meery christmas eve everyone, here’s day four!!!!! day four is my favourite out of the five, so i truly hope you all enjoy it as much as i do <3 as always, please pay attention to the warnings n stay safe!! | title credit: snowman by sia
warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), implied noncon, sub-drop, panic attacks, fingering, cockwarming, car sex, mentioned drug use, generally toxic relationships, size difference, verbal fights, tense family dynamics
words: 8.4k
synopsis:
“It’s nothing,”
Tender fingers tuck a tuft of alabaster behind his ear.
“It’s not nothing,”
“It doesn’t matter,”
Gentle lips place soft kisses along his jaw.
“It matters very much to me, niichan,”
“It’s—It’s stupid, fucking stupid,”
A small palm finds solace on his cheek, cupping it as a thumb strokes the skin.
“It’s not stupid if it’s hurting you, baby,”
  ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅    
Sunlight streams through the crystal window, tiny dust motes playing hide and seek between the rays, painting golden beams across the smooth skin of Touya’s bare back, his skin almost sparkling in the warm light.
A little whimper slips from between your lips as your eyelids stick together, sealed shut by dry salt, brow furrowing as you finally pry them open. They hurt, dry and tacky and squinting against the too-bright light, spitting a hiss through your teeth.
“Ow,” you whine as you try to roll onto your side, every muscle in your body aching and stuffed full of exhaustion.
You’re sweating—Touya is always way too hot, and this bed is decidedly much too tiny for the both of you—raising a heavy arm to try and shove the sheets down to your waist, only to find that you can’t. It takes your hazy mind a few moments to realize that the sheets are stuck to your skin.
Bleary eyes blink twice, raising your head off of the plush pillow with immense effort and gazing down at your naked body. The muscles in your arms are screeching in protest as stiff, sore fingers fist in the sheets, giving one hard yank and ripping the material from your body, a sharp gasp hitching in your throat.
Hard, dried cum is splattered across your entire torso, wincing a little as you arch your back and watch it crack on your skin. Vibrant petals of indigo and violet have bloomed across your body, growing in places you don’t ever remember them being planted in.
What the hell happened last night?
It’s hard for you to recall, really, eyebrows knitting as you think hard, sifting through all of your recent memories and trying to remember when someone spurted cum all over your body.
Everything from last night is nothing but a tangled mess in your mind, with loops and crisscrosses, certain memories seeming to overlap, to morph together the more you think about them. It’s as if you’re watching an old film through a thick cloud of fog, flickering and stained with sepia as the sound keeps cutting in and out, the projector stopping once in a while, stuttering and repeating frames or burning holes through the filmstock.
It takes every ounce of strength you have to roll your beaten body onto your side, yelping softly from the massive effort. A sudden rush of tears pricks your eyes, burning in your throat as you try desperately to hold them back, to swallow them silently like a good little girl.
But it’s hard, tiny hiccupped sobs attempting to climb up your raw throat, catching painfully in your chest as you strive to suppress them, to gulp them back down, to force them back into the core of your body and stay put. Yet they refuse to cooperate, becoming more and more vicious as they fight against you, causing you to cough and choke on them as they finally escape your lips, and you mentally berate yourself for such a stupid rush of senseless emotions.
Don’t cry. There’s no reason to cry. It’s too early—you’re going to wake him and he’s going to be—
“Baby?” Touya croaks, voice deeper than normal, hoarser than normal.
And, God, he sounds so fucking hot in the morning.
“M’fine,” you say, though the words just come out sounding garbled and wet.
“Baby, baby, no,” he’s saying softly as he pushes himself into a sitting position, sheet pooling around his waist and exposing his chest, strong arms hooking under yours as he pulls you up and into his lap.
“I’m sorry,” you whine into his neck, shutting your eyes tightly as tears begin to leak from the corners.
“For what, princess?”
You don’t know. You just are. Shaking your head in response, you shove your face against him, letting your tears drip off your jaw and soak into his skin.
“Alright, alright,” a large hand pets your back rhythmically, up and down, up and down, fingers tracing along your spine. “Niichan’s got you,”
“What’s going on?”
The unexpected voice startles you, and you freeze in Touya’s embrace.
“Is she okay?”
It’s groggy and rough, vibrating in his throat, and you nuzzle into Touya’s shoulder, chest hiccupping.
“I don’t—I’m not sure,” Touya responds, and you can hear it, that hint of worry laced in his voice, accompanied by a sprinkling of frustration, but it only makes you cry harder, entire body trembling against him.
The other bed groans as Natsuo slides out of it, bare feet padding against the hardwood, your mattress dipping as he sits on the edge a moment later.
“Aw, poor baby,” Natsuo purrs, a soft, massive hand clamping down on your tense shoulder, thick fingers digging into your muscles. “Was last night too much for you, sweetheart?”
His voice is so patronizing, and you whimper a little against Touya, who kicks his younger brother’s thigh with his foot.
“Don’t be an asshole,”
“Says you,” Natsuo scoffs. “I’m being serious. It might be sub-drop,” The bed shifts again, and then kisses are being pressed to the column of your spine, down, down, down your back, words murmured sweetly into your skin. “I’m sorry, babygirl,”
“S’wasn’t too much f’me,” you mumble, heat seeping into your cheeks as both men laugh.
“Definitely sub-drop,” Touya says with a sigh, resting a large palm on your head. “I’ll run a bath,”
“I’ll make some tea and eggs,”
Peaking out from Touya’s shoulder, you watch as Natsuo heaves himself off the bed, snatching his shirt up from the floor and slipping it on before exiting your bedroom with nothing but his Frosty the Snowman briefs as bottoms.
Touya gently deposits you on the bed, slipping out from under you and shaking his head with a chuckle when you whine loudly, making little grabby hands for him, muttering Yup, definitely sub-drop under his breath.
Touya pulls on a pair of grey sweatpants and a nondescript black t-shirt over his head before he returns to the bed, laughing again at the involuntary pout set on your lips.
“C’mon, brat,” he murmurs affectionately, wrapping your naked, cum-stained body in the sheet before he hoists you up, carrying you across the hall to the bathroom and placing you on the counter, still swaddled up.  
“Bubbles?” You ask, voice small as he bends to start running the bath.
“I dunno if we have any, princess,” he says with a small frown as he turns back to face you, sapphire eyes scanning the washroom quickly.
It turns out you do, in a pink bottle with faded Disney princesses on the worn label, hidden behind half-finished cans of old hairspray and expired toothpaste, covered in a thin layer of dust.
“Very fitting,” Touya snorts.
It must be over ten years old, but that’s alright—bubble bath doesn’t expire, does it?
Touya pours a bit too much of the syrupy magenta substance under the running water, resulting in you being encased in a mountain of foamy suds that reek of artificial bubblegum.
“Y-You’re not coming?” You ask, a frown materializing on your face as you watch Touya turn off the tap, wiping some of the bubbles that cling to his arm on his thigh.
“No, baby,” he says softly, kneeling in front of the tub. He guesses your next question before your dazed mind can find the word. “Because niichan wouldn’t be able to resist fucking you if he did, and that’s not what you need right now,”
“I could handle it,” you grumble, and Touya laughs, eyes glittering.
“It isn’t a question of whether or not you can handle it, it’s a question of whether or not you need it,”
But even without him snuggled behind you it’s nice nonetheless, your niichan cleaning your body slowly, unhurriedly, dragging a rough cloth across your skin and lathering soap in little circles, cleaning the sweat that has dried sticky and salty on your neck and collarbone, then elbow-deep in the water as he gently pries your thighs apart, scrubbing away the dried cum. Soft, murmured affirmations spill from his lips as he works, praising you for being such a good girl last night, for being such a good girl as he washes you.
Good girl, very good girl, his good girl, his best girl.
      ❅           ❅           ❅
Just past noon, Rei kicks you all out of the house.
“The Takasu Snow Park is open until four today,” she tells you curtly, practically shooing the five of you out of the cabin. “Don’t come back until it’s closed.”
She lets you take different cars, this time.
“And Touya, Shouto,” she calls from the doorway, lips pressed in a firm, thin line.
Both boys freeze at the sound of their names, hesitantly turning to meet their mother’s gaze.
“Don’t forget that you’re doing the dishes tonight,”
Shouto scoffs as he turns away, climbing into the back seat of Natsuo’s car, and Touya rolls his eyes, muttering something about being treated like a child, to which Fuyumi retorts that it’s only fair, considering the fact that he’s been acting like one.
      ❅           ❅           ❅
The Takasu Snow Park is just under an hour from the cabin. It’s surprisingly busy for Christmas Eve, filled with high-pitched squeals of excitement and bubbles of laughter as children wrapped up in brightly coloured snowsuits waddle around with tubes in tow.
And Touya drives right past it.
“Niichan, I think you just—”
“We aren’t going tubing, baby,” he says nonchalantly, a wicked spark glinting in his eye as he glances over at you, lips tugging up into a crooked smirk at the way your head quirks cutely, shaking it a little to indicate that you don’t understand what he means. “Niichan would rather play with that pretty pussy of yours instead,”
And he does, finding a shaded little nook just off the main road, snow squeaking under rubber tires as he pulls into it, partially obscuring his car.
“C’mere, princess,” he breathes, patting a thigh. “Come play with your niichan,”
You scamper across the center console and crawl into his lap, thighs straddling him and giggling a little as his fingers inch up, up, up, until they’re pushing your white lacy panties to the side and gliding against your slit.
“Something funny, pretty girl?”
“No, niichan,” you gasp as a finger dips into you, curling as he drags it out and repeating the action a few more times before adding another, your head finding purchase on his shoulder.
Nimble fingers work slowly, lazily, messily, Touya’s free hand busy scrolling through missed text messages on his work phone as he lets you pathetically rut against his palm, fucking yourself on his digits, craning his neck a little and allowing you to trace along the brilliant ink that stains his skin with your tongue.
And it’s nice. It’s almost romantic in a sense, just the two of you silently enjoying each other’s company, the only noise your gentle little mewls and a howling gust of wind every once in a while. The countryside, draped with freshly fallen snow from the storm yesterday, glitters in the late afternoon sun, the cloudless sky as blue as Touya’s eyes. You sigh dreamily as you gaze up at it, basking in the feeling of your niichan’s fingers buried inside of you, stroking your silky walls intermittently, just the two of you in your own little world, protected from everything else by the Audi’s bulletproof glass.
“W-Wanna cockwarm you,” the words are mumbled against his neck sleepily, your eyes lidded and heavy, only half conscious and barely aware of what you’re saying.
But you can feel his cock, hard and hot through dark denim, and it makes your little hole clench, fluttering around nothing. “Jus wanna be full, wanna be close,”
Touya’s chuckling as he shifts a little, hands slipping between your bodies to unbuckle his belt. “That so, princess? Is my baby girl being a needy little slut?” And despite the degrading words used, his tone is warm, gentle and full of compassion. “Niichan will let you sit on his cock if that’s what you want,”
“Please,” you’re whining, pulling back to gaze at him with bleary eyes. “Please, please,”
“Alright, greedy little thing,” he hushes you like he’s calming a fussy baby, shucking his jeans down just enough to let his cock spring out, using his thumb to push it forward, presenting it to you.
“So pretty, niichan, so pretty,” you’re mumbling as a small hand wraps around the base, squirming a little in his lap and lifting yourself to hover over him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his hips.
He lets you do all of the work, merely watching you through hooded eyes, an odd little grin present on his face. Touya doesn’t normally allow you to cockwarm him, hates how goddamn teasing it usually is, but he figures that today we have time to kill, so why not?
“There you go, baby,” he murmurs as you sink down on him, a loud moan getting caught in your throat. “You feel better now, huh? You feel better now that niichan’s stuffing your little cunt full?”
A soft whine is all you can manage, nodding dumbly against his shoulder. Yes, yes, you feel better, you feel right, you feel complete.
And you can’t help but hump him a little, hips rocking against his in tiny, shallow motions, clit catching on his pubic bone with every push forward and drag back.
“Yeah, that’s it, princess,” he breathes, though his eyes are still focused on his phone, reading an article about a drug bust you’re sure his gang was a part of. “Use niichan to get yourself off, come on,”
He tells you to go slow, to be careful, cute pussy still sore from the abuse it suffered last night, and you obey, hips moving in unhurried motions, just enjoying the feeling of him being inside you, of him being this close, of how good it feels, sweet little whimpers of niichan, niichan, being huffed out against his neck.
It takes a good half hour of grinding before you’re finally creaming all over his cock, body trembling in his arms as he hushes you through it, whispering into your hair how good you are for him, one of his hands gripping your hips and forcing you to keep moving until your body collapses against his, boneless and pliant. Touya affords you a few moments to come down, cock still buried deep inside you, twitching as it patiently waits for your breathing to calm.
He isn’t gonna fuck you, he tells you as he shifts your limp body off of his cock, not with how you were feeling this morning. But he doesn’t think it’s very fair to make niichan suffer with such a hard cock, especially after he just let you cum all over it.
You don’t think it’s very fair, either, murmuring your agreement to him as your hand wraps around the shaft, his cock jumping at your touch.
It’s still so wet from all of your own juices, aiding your hand as it pumps him, hard and fast the way he likes it, obscene squelching echoing throughout the car.
Heat floods your cheeks while you watch your motions, stomach curling in on itself as his cock gleams with your slick, and it’s so hot, that’s so hot baby.
It doesn’t take long to have him panting out those gorgeous sounds, throaty moans and broken little whines, and you can tell he’s close when his hips begin to shift, thrusting into your fist. But you don’t want him making a mess all over his nice car, or his pretty sweater, leaning down to close your lips around the tip and suckle, tongue swiping across his slit as your hand works.
He whimpers out a curse before his hips stutter, thrusting his cock into your mouth as it paints your throat with spurts of burning cream. And you swallow it all, like the good little girl you are, looking up at him with sparkling eyes as you thank him for his cum, and God he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.
      ❅           ❅           ❅
Christmas Eve dinner consists of a symphony of forks dragging across porcelain and spoons scraping against bowls. Rei tersely shoos everyone out of the kitchen the moment it’s over, brusquely ordering Touya and Shouto to get started on their chores.
The rest of the family shuffles into the living room, sitting stiffly on the couches, the television’s volume low as Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer plays on the screen.
Fuyumi tries to reason with her mother in a hushed urgent voice, tries to tell her that it’s a bad idea to leave the two of them alone, especially with Touya surrounded by so many objects that could potentially be used as weapons.
“They’re adults,” her mother responds, tone clipped. “And they aren’t alone,” grey eyes glance over at the kitchen, at her eldest and youngest standing together at the sink, frothy bubbles beginning to build as the tap runs. “I can see them perfectly fine from here.”
“Mom—” Natsuo begins, cutting himself off at the glare his mother shoots his way, swallowing his words and nodding instead. “—is right. Mom is right,” he looks over at his sister. “They’re fine, look at them,”
But his voice is high, thin, glassy, the words trembling ever so slightly as stone eyes dart towards his siblings, both with rigid shoulders, weighted with the thick tension suffocating the room.
“They should be fine,”
But it’s hard for you to watch, too much for you to watch, entire body consumed by sharp anxiety as you observe Touya’s stiff movements. His jaw is set, nostrils flaring as he glares down at the sink, frustration and anger and red-hot hatred beginning to ooze through his mask of passivity, to seep through the cracks Shouto’s dexterously created using hostile comments and snide glances as his tools.
And on Christmas Eve, that mask finally shatters.
Because Touya doesn’t have it in him to continue his act of indifference anymore, worn out and exhausted by the effort. Trembling hands pluck a spoon from the mountain of dishes sitting in the aluminum sink, wetting it with water and then laving over it with a soapy sponge.
He’s sure he’s coming down—even though it isn’t time yet, even though he knows, deep down, that the comedown is still a few hours away, even though he knows he knows his body better than this, has been swallowing oxys for so long that he’s got the comedown memorized, right down to the fucking second—but he swears he can feel it, can feel the migraine beginning to throb behind his eyes, can feel the cold sweat beginning to bead at his temples, can feel the chills beginning to course through his body despite how warm the cabin is, teeth grinding to keep from clattering.
The air stings his clenched teeth as he sucks in a breath, exhaling slowly, shakily, trying to force his mind to focus on the dish in his hand, on the warm water cascading over his skin, on the light scent of artificial lemon wafting from his sudsy skin. It’s fine, he’s fine, all he has to do is wash a few stupid dishes and then—
“Listen—”
“Shut the fuck up and scrub,”
“I just wanted to—”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Touya growls, gaze hyper-focused on the plate he’s been cleaning for over a minute now.
A lie. He has a lot to say to him, but he’d rather not make their mother cry, again, desperately hoping that Shouto will just shut his mouth and finish cleaning his side of the skin so they can get this fucking over with.
Shouto sighs, deep and patronizing, scoffing as his chest rises with the force of it.
“You’re impossible,” he grumbles. “Why can’t you—”
But then it’s all bubbling over, acidic words flowing from his mouth before he has a moment to consider what he’s saying. He wishes Shouto would’ve just left it, would’ve gritted his teeth like Touya and finished their chores silently instead of trying to play some fucking martyr, instead of trying to fix something that has always been broken.
“I heard what you said in that fucking washroom,” Touya cuts him off, eyes finally flashing to his face, jaw clenching twice as he glares at his baby brother. “Don’t you ever fill her head with that bullshit again, do you hear me?”
“She’s my step-sister, too,” Shouto shoots back, scrubbing turned needlessly aggressive, eyebrows set in a deep furrow as he glowers at the bowl in his hands.
“I don’t care,” Touya hisses. “Stay the hell away from her,”
Something massive, sharp and shiny catches his eye as he turns to deposit the clean dish on the drying rack, quivering hand hovering over it in hesitation. A butcher knife, gleaming in the dim, warm light of the kitchen, stuck halfway in the knife block.
Beside him, Shouto snorts, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disgust as he looks back to his hands, rinsing the bowl under a stream of hot water and placing it on the towel-covered counter.
“What? You gonna stab me? Really? In front of mom on Christmas Eve? Were the bloody nose and the black eye and the split lip not enough for you?”
No, of course not; it will never be enough for Touya.
“Why not?” Touya asks, voice calm, sounding almost serene, for the first time tonight. “It’s not like she’d miss you. I’m the one she took with her when she left, aren’t I? I think we both know that mom loves me more than she loves you—isn’t that right, scarface,”
And that—that has Shouto freezing mid motion, hand halting under the flowing tap water, half rinsed glass still in his grasp. It takes a moment for the words to sink in, Touya watching him almost lazily, that annoying indifferent smirk finally forming on his lips, achingly familiar.
Heterochromatic eyes glaze over and Shouto swallows roughly, jaw clenching twice as he turns towards his eldest brother, the glass clutched in his sudsy hand squeaking as his grip tightens. And for a moment, Touya thinks he’s won, breath bated as he waits for that first tear to escape, to roll down Shouto’s unblemished cheeks and fall crashing to the floor.
But then Shouto’s rolling his shoulders once, twice, puffing his chest out just a touch as he straightens to his full height, nearly a full inch taller that Touya, and exhales forcefully through his nose.
“Y’know, if you loved her—I mean, if you really loved her—you’d let her go,” His voice is sharp, clear, ringing throughout the kitchen, ringing throughout Touya’s head, bouncing off the walls in his mind and reverberating. “What you have, what you’re feeling, isn’t love—it’s obsession.”
That infamous smirk begins to fall, cobalt eyes narrowing at his baby brother’s words, breath beginning to quicken. Shouto sees it then—that final crack in the mask Touya’s so painstakingly crafted, in the mask Touya so expertly worn for so many years—and he strikes.
“It’s possession.”
No. He doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t need to hear this—it’s all lies, isn’t it? Touya tries to scoff, tries to roll his eyes and shake his head at such ridiculousness, but it feels like his body’s encased in ice, frozen straight to the core.
“It’s insecurity.”
Blood rushes in his ears, but it fails to drown out Shouto’s crisp voice, his words slicing straight through the white noise. Touya wants to tell him to stop, wants to tell him to shut the hell up, wants to silence him by driving that huge knife straight through his fucking chest, but his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth, refusing to obey his brain as it shouts at it to fight back, goddamn it!
“I meant what I said to her in that washroom,” his younger brother spits, words dripping with hostility as his eyes narrow, giving Touya a once-over like he’s the most pathetic thing Shouto has ever laid eyes on. “She does deserve so much better than you and you fucking know it, but you’re too selfish to let her go. That isn’t love.”
And it’s those final three words that finally have the mask breaking into tiny fragments and falling away, revealing glassy sapphires and a twitching nose, a trembling chin and a hard swallow. It’s those final three words that have it shattering concurrently with the glass in Shouto’s hand, shards clattering to the tiled floor, smashing into smaller pieces upon impact.
It catches Fuyumi’s attention first, who had been on edge and observing the pair sharply, body coiled and ready to spring at the slightest hint of danger.
“Shouto, your hand!” she cries as she leaps up, eyes wide and trained on the blood oozing from Shouto’s palm, rushing down his arm and dripping off his elbow.
But neither of them break their stare, Shouto entirely numb to the pain, Touya entirely suffocated by it, molars grinding together as he tries in vain to stop his chest from stuttering. It isn’t until Fuyumi grabs Shouto by the shoulders and forces him to face her that their gaze is broken, the youngest finally looking down to find his palm stained with viscous crimson.
Frantic sapphire eyes dart around the room, something akin to panic clawing at Touya’s chest, tearing him open from the inside out and making each breath more painful than the next. He needs to go, he needs to leave, he needs to get the hell out of this kitchen, out of this house, needs to, needs to, needs…
Feet stumble a little as he rushes up the stairs, catching himself on the railing twice as he ascends to the top. Someone calls his name, he thinks, but he can barely hear it over the intense ringing in his ears, his vision fading in and out of focus. The door to your shared bedroom slams open, brass knob whacking off the drywall and leaving an ugly little hole not unlike the larger one Shouto’s head left in the living room wall the day before.
Startled and gasping, your book falls from your hands and tumbles to the floor as Touya barrels through the threshold, making a beeline for the nondescript chest of wooden drawers tucked into the corner, yanking it open and beginning to riffle through the neatly folded clothing.
It sounds like he’s muttering something to himself, but you can’t discern what it is, heart beginning to thud against your ribcage. The tufts of hair at the back of his neck are coated in sweat, sticking to the skin, his breathing harsh and uneven as a curse hitches in his chest, rapidly moving onto the next drawer when whatever he’s looking for doesn’t turn up in the first.
A potent mix of adrenaline and dread floods your veins, and for a moment you’re frozen, little fingers curled so tightly in the sheets under you it’s painful, breathing stopped as you watch your niichan urgently rummage through the second drawer, his back beginning to hiccup.
For a moment, you aren’t sure what the hell is going on, unblinking eyes watching his motions in some sort of daze. For a moment, you’re terrified he might be overdosing, frantically searching for—for—you don’t even know, for some sort of antidote Natsuo might’ve given him, or something.
But then, he chokes out a pathetic little half-sob, trying in vain to swallow it back down akin to the first night you spent at the cabin, and then you’re leaping off the bed and rushing towards him in alarm, wrapping your arms around him tightly from behind, and he just…breaks. Collapses against the wooden chest hard enough to make the entire thing wobble, burying his head in his folded arms as his entire body shudders under the force of the sob that tears through his chest.
“Niichan!” you gasp, pawing at the front of his shirt, trying to make him move to face you. “Niichan, niichan, what is it? What’s wrong?” your own voice breaks with the threat of tears as you speak, heart racing in your chest.
He doesn’t respond, merely turns in your embrace and collapses on you instead, face buried in the crook of your neck as he weeps, big juddering breaths that have his entire back convulsing.
The action surprises you, a stark contrast from his stubborn resistance from the first night, but it worries you, too, such surrender uncharacteristic of him.
But your body’s running on autopilot, immediately petting his hair as your other arm tightens around his waist, clutching him. Soft hushes fall from your lips as you hold him, rocking your bodies slightly as you whisper into ivory tufts; it’s okay, you’re there, it’s alright, you’ve got him, you love him.
And the sob that rips from his throat as those last few words leave your lips is nothing short of vicious, has him coughing wetly into your neck and whining a little, large hands curling in the material of your dress as he tries to pull you closer, closer, closer.
“Baby, please, tell me what’s wrong,” you beg and your voice cracks, blinking hard against the tears flooding your own eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can help, please,”
He shakes his head, whimpering incoherently into your neck.
Can’t…Won’t…Pathetic…Disgusting…
“Please,” the word catches in your throat as tears finally escape your eyes, rolling down your cheeks in pairs. “Please, let me help, let me make you feel better,”
“I—I—I’m—” he tries, shaking his head again, but you urge him to continue, plead with him to try again. “Need to get out, n-need to—to make it stop,”
You aren’t sure what he means, but it doesn’t matter, body moving on pure instinct the moment the words are out of his mouth, little hand snatching the keys to the Audi off the surface of the dresser and dragging him along behind you.
      ❅           ❅           ❅
The road is empty, silent, entirely barren as the Audi weaves through it, fat snowflakes beginning to drift down from the wispy clouds that decorate the night sky, taking turns blanketing the full moon and softening it’s beams of ivory light.
You don’t drive very far. You haven’t a clue where you’re going, but it doesn’t matter, frenetic eyes searching for the first little secluded clearing you can pull into.
Touya is unsettlingly quiet, save for his soft sniffles and the gentle rustling of his clothing as he uses a sleeve to wipe at his nose. Hiccups are still catching in his chest, but he’s trying his hardest to stop them, to quiet them, growling a little in pure frustration each time one escapes. Your stomach churns uneasily at his muteness—you wish he would just say something, glancing over at him worriedly with your bottom lip sucked between your teeth, his sapphire eyes destitute, bloodshot and glassy as they stare indigently at his knees.
The small village that the cliff overlooks emits a warm glow of golden light, hovering hazily over it like a halo. Christmas lights are strung up on a few of the cabins, little glowing dots of red and green and blue lining the roofs. A dusting of snow has begun to collect, like gingerbread houses sprinkled with icing sugar.
Touya is still silent when you cut the engine, stays silent when you turn to peer at him from your spot in the driver’s seat, stays silent when you place a dainty hand on his bicep, rubbing soothing circles into the clothed muscle and sighing.
“Niichan,”
Nothing.
“Niichan, look at me,”
Nothing.
“Touya-nii,” you murmur, kicking off your boots and climbing over the center console into his lap, his arms immediately opening to embrace you. “What’s going on?”
His gaze still avoids yours, despite the fact that his hands are curling around your body, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to make you wince, needing you close, closer. And his voice is so quiet, almost desolate as he answers.
“It’s nothing,”
Tender fingers tuck a tuft of alabaster behind his ear.
“It’s not nothing,”
“It doesn’t matter,”
Gentle lips place soft kisses along his jaw.
“It matters very much to me, niichan,”
“It’s—It’s stupid, fucking stupid,”
A small palm finds solace on his cheek, cupping it as a thumb strokes the skin.
“It’s not stupid if it’s hurting you, baby,”
Cobalt darts around the car, trying to look anywhere but at your face as sharp teeth sink into his bottom lip, an attempt to quell its quivering. A soft sigh leaves your lips as gentle hands cup his face, forcing his gaze to meet yours.
“Let me in,” you whisper, soft little thumbs caressing the ink under his eyes. “Let me help,”
Burning sapphire sears into your eyes, gaze penetrating and powerful as it shines with unshed tears, and you have to force yourself to not look away, to keep staring into those pools of gleaming blue, feeling as though you’re staring directly at the sun.
He doesn’t blink, but the tears collecting in his eyes become too many, too much, spilling over his lashline and cascading down inky cheeks, leaving little gleaming trails in their wake. He inhales deeply, holding the breath in his chest for a moment before exhaling slowly, the breath trembling.
“I don’t even know where to fucking start,”
And his voice is so low you nearly miss it, raw and hoarse and barely above a whisper.
“Take your time,” tiny fingers run through his hair again, his eyes closing with the motion, more tears dripping down his cheeks. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Just…Tell me what’s bothering you,”
What is bothering him? It’s hard to say, not because it’s complicated, but because he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, doesn’t want to accept it, doesn’t want to admit that his baby brother’s words have affected him more than he ever thought they would.
If you really loved her…You’d let her go.
He does really love you, he wants to scream until his throat is sore, until his throat is bleeding, molars grinding at the thought of anyone thinking otherwise. He loves you so much, loves you too much, loves you more than he’s loved anything in his entire fucking life, he’s sure of it, positive of it.
He’s loved you since he first began stealing kisses from you, in the kitchen when mom wasn’t looking. He’s loved you since you tiptoed to his room, mumbling about a nightmare and seeking solace in his warm bed, in his warm arms. He’s loved you since you sobbed into his chest, that night you told him you wanted all of him, that night when he realized that you love him, too. He’s loved you since you let him permanently sear his name into your skin, branding you as his forever.
Yes, he’s possessive, and yes, he’s selfish, and yes, he can be a fucking asshole, but he does love you. Really loves you. He can barely remember his life without you in it, everything blurry and out of focus before you entered the frame. You’re all he’s got, all he’s ever had, all he ever wants, and the thought of you being unhappy, the thought of you wanting to leave, kills him, drives a large stake straight through his chest and clean out the other side, spearing him.
And yet, he fails to put any of these thoughts, running a mile a minute through his mind, into words. Patient as ever, you wait, petting his hair, planting kisses scattered across his face, tracing patterns on his skin as a war rages inside his head.
“I’m—It’s fucking pathetic,”
“It isn’t pathetic to be human, Touya,” you whisper sadly, little thumbs swiping across both cheeks. “You don’t have to keep it together every minute of every day,” you remind him gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You’re allowed to be ‘weak’, too,”
He shakes his head, but refrains from arguing with you, because he can’t. Because he knows if he opens his mouth, if he tries to speak, he’ll start sobbing again. Sapphire tears away from your gaze, unable to hold your eyes anymore as his chin begins to quiver.
“I do really love you,” he whispers finally, head dropping, eyes squeezing shut against the prick of tears.
“I know you do, baby,” you say softly, fingers rubbing circles into his biceps, though he can hear the confusion laced in your voice.
“But do I—Do I des—”
He can’t. He can’t force those four simple little words out of his mouth, getting caught at the back of his throat, tangling into a giant ball that aches when he tries to swallow past it.
It’s starting again, that feeling from the kitchen, building in his torso, growing, stretching, higher and higher and higher until he can’t fucking breathe. A sharp gasp hitches painfully in his chest as he desperately tries to inhale, tries to suck an adequate amount of air into his lungs, coughing on the saliva pooling at the back of his throat.
“Do I—” the words escape his lips in a pitiful whine, voice cracking.
A sudden flash of blistering fury rips through his chest at his own cowardice. Disgust churns in his stomach, leaving a stinging bitterness lingering on his tongue, revolted at himself for getting so goddamn emotional over this, for letting Shouto’s words eat away at him, corrosive and parasitic as they take root in his brain, infecting his consciousness until it’s all he can fucking hear, think, see.
Tiny fingers find his face, hooking under his jaw and tilting it up, gently forcing him to look at you again. The pads of your fingertips dance along his skin, tracing along his jaw and then up his cheek to catch in the endless stream of tears.
You don’t say anything, because you don’t have to, tender little touches speaking volumes more than your words ever could, inspiring a bout of intense strength as he powers through the sentence, forcing the trembling words from his throat.
“Do I deserve you?”
And you’re so shocked by the question that your fingers halt, and his body stills, his breath stuttering in his throat, staring at you in an almost urgent manner, pleading with you to tell him the answer he’s so desperately seeking.
Salty water trickles over your thumbs, the sensation breaking you out of your reverie, response flowing from your mouth seamlessly, without a second thought.
“Of course you do,” your eyes search his face, studying his features slowly. “Where is this coming from?”
The question leaves your lips before you even know what you’re saying, but your voice is soft, kind, full of so much concern and affection as your fingers begin their ministrations again, tracing the ink decorating his cheeks.
He refuses to tell you, shakes his head as his lips press into a firm line, expression hardening. Blue fire ignites in his eyes, and you have your answer.
Shouto’s words from that first day in the washroom drift through your head, but you don’t press. Regardless of whether or not Touya had heard them on the twenty-first, it is fair to assume that Shouto must have said something along similar lines tonight, triggering this reaction.
Sighing, your expression softens, forehead falling forward to knock against his, hands still on either side of his face, keeping his gaze from escaping again as you speak.
“You—you’re sure?”
“Niichan, my niichan,” you murmur, pecking his lips in a chaste kiss. “That isn’t yours to decide, or Shouto’s to decide, or anyone’s to decide,” and your voice is so tender, filled with so much love as tiny fingers run through his hair, tension dissipating from his shoulders with each comb through. “It’s mine. And I’m telling you that you do deserve me,”
“Do I?” he chokes out brokenly, voice cracking and barely above a whisper. And the look on his face, azure eyes glazed with a thick shield of tears as they desperately search your face, chin trembling almost violently as he swallows a pitiful whine, pierces your heart; and you swear you can feel it shattering into a thousand little pieces, puncturing the surrounding organs and making your whole chest ache.
“Yes,” you whisper, tiny hands flexing on either side of his face as you grip him tighter, blinking rapidly to clear your own vision. “Yes,” you repeat, louder, stronger, fiercer, silencing whatever he was beginning to respond with by crushing your lips against his.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re murmuring between kisses, spit slicked lips sliding against his as he sobs into your mouth.
“I love you,” he mumbles against your lips, voice raspy with tears. “I love you, I love you,”
And, truly, you’re the only thing holding him together at this point—have been the only thing holding him together for a long time now. You’re the glue that keeps his life from falling apart, you’re the stitches that keep his very soul intact, sewing him back together each and every time he begins to unravel, keeping him complete, keeping him whole.
Fingernails dig into the skin of his cheek as you hold him in place, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth and nibbling, relishing in the quiet, broken moan you pull from him. A little tongue laps at the salty tears staining his cheeks, licks along his jaw as his hands grip the meat of your ass, trying to pull you closer as he breathes out your name.
“I love you,” you whisper, words punctuated by kisses down the column of his neck. “So much,”
A whine gets stuck in his throat, head tilting to allow you more access to move as large hands paw at the hem of your dress, rucking it up around your waist. Something pokes you, prods you, pushes up into you through the thick, rough denim of his jeans, and you inhale sharply, instantly consumed by overwhelming need—the need to feel him, hot and pulsing and driving into you, the need to make him feel better, to make him forget, to remind him that you’re his, and he’s yours, the need to be claimed.
It hits your like a fucking freight train, burns through your veins and shoots straight to your core, sharp spikes of heat that have you huffing out his name.
“I need you,” the words are whimpered against inky skin as you grind desperately against his hard cock, clawing at his chest, his biceps, his belt. “Niichan, I need you,”
“Yeah, baby?” he pants into your mouth, hands kneading your nylon covered thighs as he presses his clothed cock against your core, forcing a mewl of his name from your throat.
“Yes,” you cry pathetically, and it’s almost too much, the scalding, throbbing heat collecting between your thighs, hips gyrating in quick little circles as you try to alleviate some of the tension coiling tightly in the pit of your stomach. “Yes, yes, need you t-to fuck me, to—” a sharp gasp cuts you off as he bites into your shoulder, growling darkly against your skin. “—To fill me up, to remind me who I belong to,”
Strong, lithe fingers tear into your thin tights, hooking into the holes they create and ripping the delicate material. Dark eyes flit down, rabidly scanning your clothed little cunt, white lace soaked and stuck to you, outlining your folds. Touya chuckles, delivering a superficial slap with the back of his hand before pushing your panties to the side.
Niichan, niichan, you’re whining out the honorific, fingers tangling in his sweater and tugging roughly as his digits caress your slit, urgently shaking your head.
His lips tug down. “Baby, you know I—”
“No!” you pout, eyebrows knitted together, Touya’s eyes flashing dangerously at being so rudely cut off. “I don’t want your fingers, they aren’t enough,” Because the need to be filled, to be stretched, to be owned is almost voracious now, desire clawing at the pit of your belly. “Mark me, claim me, breed me, I-I’m yours,” you’re wailing, cunt achingly empty, the pulsing in your clit nearly too much to take.
A snarl rumbles in his chest, large hand snaking around your bent leg, wedging between your thigh and calve and gripping the back of your knee, hitching the leg closest to the center console up in one swift movement and planting your foot on the console box, thighs stinging from the sudden stretch.
One of your hands latches onto the handle above the door while the other clutches his shoulder, nails digging into the muscles through the knit of his sweater while he fiddles with his belt, squirming a little and shoving his jeans down to his knees.
Not a second is wasted as the head of his cock nudges against your fluttering hole, and then he stills. He wants you to beg, needs to hear you beg, and so you do, high-pitched and whiny as your hips instinctually wiggle.
“Please, niichan, please! Want it, need it, need you,”
And then he’s shoving himself into you, a hiss slipping from between your teeth, familiar, welcomed tears springing into your eyes, a guttural groan catching in his throat.
It stretches, aches, stings so good, so right, so perfect as he bottoms out, pressed snugly against your cervix, and pauses for a moment, cock twitching inside of you, strong hands on your hips preventing them from rocking forward and forcing you to just feel him for a second, every inch of him, buried deep inside you. The sigh that falls from your lips is nothing short of dreamy, mumbling about feeling whole again, and he chuckles.
Yeah, that’s right, princess. Only niichan’s cock can fill you up like this.
His thrusts start gradual, fingers flexing on your hips as they dig into the sensitive flesh, forcing you to slide nearly all the way off his cock before pushing you back down, hips pressing up to meet yours, cockhead grinding against your cervix as he stuffs himself in your cunt, gaining a little more speed with each motion.
No one but niichan could ever make you feel like this.
The words are whimpered between fierce, messy kisses, between ravenous, devouring kisses, between the clacking of teeth and the slurping of tongues, glistening saliva, sticky and sweet and laced with the taste of blue fire and Marlboros dripping off your chin.
And he needs to hear it—needs to know that you belong to him and only him, needs to know that you want him and only him, needs to know that only he is deserving of you, worthy of you—so you tell him, in breathy little whines, that no, no one could ever make you feel this good; yes, niichan’s the only one that can fill you up this fully, this wholly, this rightly, eyes rolling back and sharp cries echoing through the car as he pounds into you, deep little grunts falling from his lips in time with each snap up of his hips.
“Tell niichan—ah, fuck—tell niichan how badly you need his cum,”
Senseless babbling flows freely from your lips the instant he asks for it, forever incapable of disobeying a direct order from him—please niichan, need your cum so bad, need to feel it in my belly, need to feel it in my brain, please, give it to me, give it to me, give it to me!
“Christ,” he chokes out, hips beginning to falter, muscles bulging and tensing as he forces you to keep bouncing on him, hard and fast and deep. “Cum with me, baby,” he nearly begs, voice more wrecked than you’ve ever heard it before, inspiring a whole flock of butterflies in your tummy. “Be a good girl and make a—make a mess all over niichan’s cock,”
And it’s the sense of desperateness, of urgency, of sheer neediness sown deep into his broken voice that has you spasming around him, that evokes an orgasm so intense it makes you choke on your own scream as it slashes through you, gurgling on spit and tears as violent tremors course through your body.
Hot, thick spurts of cum fill you, your name escaping his lips in a cracked whine, his hips continuing to lazily roll against yours as you milk him for every drop of cum he’s got, as you beg him for more, more, more.
Overwhelmed by emotion, you collapse against his heaving chest, hiccupping out pitiful little sobs between your harsh breathing, and he hushes you, fingers petting your sweaty hair as he murmurs against your scalp—shh, it’s alright, he’s here, he loves you, you’re his, and you did so well.
“Do you want to leave?” the question is uttered softly, after your breathing has calmed to tiny sniffles, voice so genuine it’s almost painful, curled up in his arms as your bare cunt presses against his pelvis, cum still leaking out of you. “Just say the word and we’ll go, baby,”
Swallowing thickly, he’s silent for a moment, considering. Patiently, you wait, nuzzling comfortingly against his neck and licking at the sweat pooled in the dip of his collarbone. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, laced with a hint of disbelief.
“Really?”
You pull back to gaze at him.
“Yes, really,” you whisper, catching a tear with the pad of your thumb and placing a soft kiss against his cheek. “You are more important to me than anyone else in that damn cabin by far, and I don’t care if it upsets them—if you want to leave, if you need to leave, we’ll leave. Say the word, and I’ll drive back, pack our shit, and we’ll be gone. You don’t even need to get out of the fucking car,”
Shining sapphire eyes study your face intently, searching for any sign of hesitancy, finding nothing but sincerity.  
“I love you so much,” he laughs wetly, more glistening tears escaping his eyes with the motion. “So fucking much,”
Tingling warmth blossoms in your chest at his words, at his laugh, conjuring a watery smile of your own as you pepper his face with kisses, soft lips ghosting across his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids and forehead until he becomes too impatient, large hands cupping your jaw and pressing your wandering lips against his.
Giggles erupt from your throat, and he’s sure that’s what liquid sunshine sounds like, allows the noise to wash over him, to bathe him in your everlasting light, to warm him to his very core. A little tongue darts out to lick teasingly along the seam of his lips, evoking an involuntary smile of his own before his tongue escapes to meet yours, another precious squeal of laughter echoing through the car.
Yes, he thinks, as your laughter vibrates against him, arms tightening around your waist as he cradles you against his chest. This is what love feels like.
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viltrumitesuperboy · 3 years
Text
A Promise (Bucky Barnes x Male Reader)
Not so much angst as I would have liked, and the reader learns to live outside of HYDRA by himself. This feels more like an origin story than anything.
Requested by: anon Can I request a Bucky Barnes x Male reader? Maybe starts out angsty but becomes fluffy? Reader could be tasked by HYDRA to kill Bucky but remembers him from when Bucky worked for HYDRA and that he loved Bucky, and Bucky helps him get used to life outside of HYDRA?
Word count: 4105
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The few times you were placed under cryostasis, your last thought was always "I will not forget..." Then you'd wake up, only with the memories of being placed under and that final thought. You remembered when you mentioned it once to one of the people in your group, and they said it was just a memory hiccup. A defect. Because as far as you knew, you were a weapon for HYDRA and had always been one. Then you were back in the chair that made you want to fight more than anything. You never repeated the same mistake again.
You weren't allowed to make mistakes on missions either, and that was how you learned. To never do anything wrong if you were on a mission. There were no feelings involved in killing, as taking a life was merely a necessity, according to your handlers.
You did, however, have some feeling for one of your fellow soldiers. The difference was that he was the Winter Soldier. You usually worked on missions together, and rarely spoke, but when you did, something about you felt less like the soldier you were trained to be. He seemed to feel the same way, if the softening of his features was anything to go by. The few moments you had with each other weren't always erased, but sometimes you'd open your eyes and find yourself remembering the tiniest mischievous grin on the Soldier's lips.
You met a young girl with fiery hair with such potential, and her skills were beyond anyone her age. It took years to get to where she was. When you found out the Winter Soldier had been training her, you felt a sense of pride, and maybe something too much for the Soldier. That was not acceptable.
Little Natalia seemed to fight differently. Unlike you and the Soldier, she felt. She was more human than you both would ever be. You realised she was fighting for her survival. She didn't want to die. Her peers would not make it if she was the one to excel, because they were the weak ones. She did not fight with passion, but she fought for something else. But her heart while fighting was just as cold as yours.
"I hope I'm the first to be dismissed from training tomorrow. I hurt myself but I couldn't tell anyone," she said once.
Hope. Perhaps that was what she was fighting for. Your train of thought broke as you saw her shifting her arm. You took Natalia to a room that wasn't being used and sat her down on a chair. As you moved to inspect the misplaced bone, the Soldier opened the door to the room.
"Soldier. I heard something in this room. Report," he said.
Damn his serum. Yours wasn't as powerful.
"Natalia is wounded."
He looked behind him into the hallway and shut the door behind him, taking long strides to where you both were. He wasn't wearing his usual clothing, but a sweater over a shirt and more comfortable pants instead. He pulled his sweater over his head and bundled it up, putting it in front of Natalia's face.
"Bite into it," he ordered.
"It's fine, my pain tolerance is high," she said.
"You're a child. You can grab my arm if needed."
He held it up to her face, and she grumbled as she did as he told. You held her arm, looking to at the Soldier for approval. When he nodded, you pushed her arm back into place. As expected, Natalia screamed into the Soldier's sweater and held tight onto his metal arm with her other hand. It took a few moments for her to calm down after he pulled his sweater away.
"Natalia, how is it now?" you asked.
"The truth," the Soldier added.
"It's a bit sore but nothing sleep can't fix," she promised.
You held your arm out for her to grab and pulled her up from her seated position. The Soldier's metal arm pulled away from Natalia's grip and the other arm pressed into her shoulder to check it.
"We're counting on you. Survive," the Soldier said, and left.
Of course you were both hoping for Natalia to make it. The fact that he knew what you were thinking almost threw you off, but you were a trained soldier, and surprise was not supposed to be something you experienced. The smallest bit of compassion from the Soldier made you wonder if there was more of that from him. He was the only person consistent to your life, and he was the one thing you could rely on to be there even when you forgot things. The next wipe couldn't erase the memory of helping Natalia with the Winter Soldier. At least that was something you remembered.
The new century brought more radical ideas. HYDRA hated them, claiming that they were the supreme leaders of the world, and no one should be thinking such ideas. You only understood that it was your duty to follow. The Winter Soldier started to behave unpredictably, escaping from his handlers during missions and sometimes taking you with him. He'd have moments of muttering to himself and headaches where he just clutched his head and whispered to himself. It wasn't unlike your own, where you would constantly ask, "What did I forget? How could I forget?" You once overheard someone dressed in a lab coat say that it was the result of wiping memories. It was normal.
On one mission, he asked, "Who the hell is Bucky?" You had no answer. That was the last time you saw him in HYDRA.
Your handlers told you that HYDRA was destroyed by the Avengers. They'd have to build again, but now without any foundation. They said that the Asset was their greatest weapon, and, if their enemies had him, there would be no more HYDRA. So they gave you a mission that gave you only one chance: kill the Winter Soldier.
You were a good soldier. You had trained for years and you had trained with him. No matter what you went through over the years with the Soldier, you had to complete your mission. His death did not matter to you. Or, at least, it shouldn't have.
You kept track of him for a long time. One of his first actions was going to a museum that held a memorial for one of the Avengers. You went inside yourself one day, finding a man from the 1940's who looked just like him alongside the Avenger. He looked more carefree in the older photos, and looked less haunted like the Soldier did now. It was a handsome face, and one that you could not care for.
Every time you were on a rooftop pointing a sniper straight at his head, you found yourself unable to pull the trigger. After two weeks, HYDRA pulled you back, saying he was too well-known, and HYDRA did not have the resources to hide a death like his. Everyone was looking for him, and if he died by HYDRA's hands, it would no longer exist.
It took more than a year for the next time he was mentioned again. He had made contact with Captain America, both of whom were now refugees on the run from the nation itself. You wondered if you would have been like one of them if HYDRA had been truly destroyed.
Its foundations were weak and constantly falling apart. Someone was always dying, and no one knew who was doing the killing. You suspected Natalia had been doing it, but said nothing. After all, she was a grown woman now. Somewhere deep down, you were impressed that she had made such a big name for herself but still managed to kill under the radar. The Soldier likely would have thought the same.
At this point, him being a refugee was the perfect time for him to die, according to HYDRA. Giving the world control over these "superheroes" would align with HYDRA's ideas. For once, some of the Avengers were in agreement. Removing the Captain's main driving factor, his "James Buchanan Barnes," would further push the Sokovia Accords. You returned to your previous unfinished mission.
It was another few weeks of following the Soldier. He seemed less like you. He was different from the Soldier you knew, and emotions tore him apart sometimes. You saw him having more of his fits, but he had Steve Rogers to depend on. They were frequently close together, and you were angry seeing them like that. You were once on the Soldier's side, the person he was meant to depend on. What changed? Why did you have to kill him now?
When you had your first chance, you finally pulled the trigger. Dread suddenly took over part of you, but a metal arm flung up to stop the bullet, and the Soldier glared through the hole in the glass. You knew he could probably see your silhouette, but you were too far to catch. He knew you were trying to kill him now. Leaving now meant that he could escape, and maybe even far enough that you couldn't follow. You supposed you'd have to meet him in the middle. A packed sniper on your back and running across the roofs of the European city had you facing him, your gun pointed at his head and his metal arm at the ready.
"Look, we don't need to fight. Whoever sent you to kill me, tell them I won't kill another innocent again," he pleaded.
"I think that's the problem," you muttered, and a shot rang out.
Something else knocked the bullet off course this time, the accuracy and strength too much to be human.
"Steve Rogers," you stated. "This is not your fight."
"No, this is no one's fight," the Soldier said. "Who are you? Why are you here?"
Your mask was similar to his before he escaped HYDRA. You reached up with the hand not holding the gun and pulled it off. His eyes widened in recognition.
"They said you need to die. I'm supposed to be the one to do it," you said.
Your gun was no longer useful, so you dropped it and charged at the Captain, knocking him off balance so you could get to the Soldier. You threw punches and your entire torso into it, but the Soldier was on the defensive and blocked every single thing you threw at him.
"(Y/N)!" the Captain shouted behind you.
You whipped around glaring at him.
"Who the hell is (Y/N)?" you asked.
You felt a throbbing in your head and dropped to your knees as you clutched your temples.
Who the hell is Bucky?
"Who... who is Bucky?!" you growled, then turned on the Soldier. "You are a traitor! You need to die!"
"(Y/N), I'm Bucky. I'm your friend. We did missions together but we were forced to. You're being brainwashed by HYDRA. It's not you," the Soldier said.
His words sounded like a promise. It felt like you sat there for an hour, his hand on your back in comfort. Your head was still throbbing, but you managed to open your mouth again.
"I wasn't in the museum," you said.
"No, you weren't," Bucky quietly replied. "Do you know why?"
"We had to hide, right? There was something I felt, right here, whenever we were together, before you left."
Your hand patted your chest, and you looked up at him through watery eyes.
"Who am I?"
———
The Second World War
Bucky was dead.
That was what they told his family. You had to hear from his mother, who was the only one who knew about your relationship. You bonded with the rest of his family, mourning together when they learned that you both had loved each other. Then Captain America died, and everything got worse. Two of your closest friends had died in close succession, and one was a supersoldier. He wasn't supposed to die. You vowed to take down those who had killed them.
You sent a letter to Dr. Erskine, who Bucky once mentioned in one of his letters. You asked to help him in the war, telling him that both heroes who died were your friends and you would take their place in fighting for the war effort. Instead, Margaret Carter responded, telling you that Dr. Erskine had been in an accident a few months prior, and sent someone to bring you to a bunker where she was currently working.
Together you found places where HYDRA was hiding, different areas all around the world. You quickly learned the strategies needed to fight them on the battlefield and behind the scenes out of necessity. The first time you were on the field, you had no idea it would be your last. The rest of your group had been killed. You were captured and brought down deep into the quieter, darker confines of the bunker. Because you were already wounded, fighting would have done little for your situation. It was clear they wanted you alive.
"So nice to finally meet you. Your... friend has spoken of you," said the stranger you were placed in front of. "We have heard that you are the best in strategy. Hopefully your removal will prevent more of our branches being taken apart. You work for us now."
"What friend?"
"Your boyfriend."
His tone was hateful and goading you to become angry. You said nothing. They wouldn't give you information. If he was alive and in HYDRA's hands, you couldn't save him anymore.
"You will be moved soon for... recalibration. Take our newest recruit to experimentation."
You fought, but to no avail.
———
You found yourself in the room that you had just shot a bullet into. The sun was already up, and the Captain and the Winter Soldier stood next to each other in the very small kitchen area. The Soldier leaned with his back to the wall as he spoke with the Captain quietly, though it sounded like a disagreement.
"So are we supposed to go to Wakanda now? If they have anything to help me, how do we know if (Y/N) wants that help too?"
"All I'm saying is that it's our best chance. And if he doesn't want the help, at least we're here if he needs us. And I know how much he meant to you before... everything. I know he still means something to you now."
They looked over as you sat up, leaning against the wall behind you. The Soldier walked over and held out a hand to steady you. You nodded to give him permission.
"You're burning up. I don't think your body is agreeing with remembering things. It wasn't as bad for me but I think the serum did more for me than you."
"Just like alcohol," you muttered. "Watered down."
The Captain smiled, "Glad to see you still have a sense of humour. And it's just as bad."
You were too weak to stand up, much less throw a punch at his stupid insulting face. The Soldier laid you back down.
"We're leaving soon. You'll be resting the whole way, but we'll keep an eye on you."
It sounded like a promise, and you believed him.
When you woke again, it was in a small jet. Bucky sat next to you, his hand grasping yours. Your first instinct was to fight, but Bucky's hand seemed to ground you.
"Take it easy. We're in the quinjet and flying to Wakanda. It was a hidden society in Africa with technology beyond anything else in the world. We're hoping they can help Bucky from reacting to the trigger words that HYDRA brainwashed him with," Steve said. "Same with you."
He helped you sit up when you didn't seem to want to fight anymore. For the first time, you felt like you were relaxed. No handlers were keeping an eye on you, and you were alone with two people you could barely remember, but they just seemed like people you didn't need to fight for once.
"I'm Bucky, and that's Steve. We were born decades ago, and the world war separated us all from each other. You and I were controlled by Nazis, and Steve was found a few years ago. You weren't supposed to be in the war."
He looked solemn, and Steve gave him a reassuring smile. You watched both of them carefully.
"Keep talking, Buck. Is there anything else you remember?" Steve asked.
"When we were seeing Stark's demonstration of his flying car, I took you and (Y/N) with me. We'd gone with some girls, and two were a couple, so we could all be on a date without getting in trouble for it. Well, except for you. No offence, Steve. Didn't mean to make you a third wheel."
"None taken. I don't think any of us were really third wheels. We were best friends, and you and (Y/N) were together. And I became friends with him after."
"Aw, we're not best friends anymore?"
"You'll always be my best friend, Buck. 'Till the end of the line."
"End of the line."
You muttered, "That's so cheesy."
"Yeah, and you know what weird thing you'd say with Bucky?" Steve teased.
"I'd punch a Nazi before admitting that I love you," you recited.
"And you've punched ten," Bucky said with a fond smile. "Probably more by now."
"I'm not the same person I was before, Bucky," you said. "You're not either, but you've remembered more than I have. I don't feel like a blank slate, but I don't feel like I need to... kill you. And I don't want to."
"Everything feels like it's closing in on you all the time, right?" Bucky asked. "Like you don't know where to go, and the people you think you can trust are going to be your next enemy?"
You nodded.
"That's how I felt, too. But you trusted me before HYDRA, and you trusted me during it. If we both can get through that together, we can get through this too."
You lightly squeezed his hand.
"Yeah, maybe."
———
They couldn't help, so Bucky wanted to go under cryostasis. He felt that it was dangerous for him to be conscious. You almost thought that it was a good idea for yourself too, but you took one look at the goat currently nibbling at your shirt and felt that you still needed some time to yourself being out of HYDRA's control. Bucky gave you a hug before he stepped into the chamber, and you stayed in each other's embrace for a long time. It was the safest you remembered feeling. Steve looked at the chamber, troubled. He turned away when Bucky was inside, and you placed your hand on his shoulder in understanding. Steve didn't like the cold, and seeing his friend in the same position was painful.
The Wakandans provided for you. You worked on a farm in near solitude, the occasional patrol guards making sure that you were safe and the goats giving you a friendship you didn't know existed. Shuri worked hard on finding a cure for the both of you, and she and her brother came to see you a few times. They were both good friends to you, but T'Challa liked the goats more than Shuri did. She was too busy talking about her new inventions to spend too much time with the goats. She'd come to you with ideas about Bucky's new metal arm, asking about your own experience with the serum to get an idea of his strength and abilities.
Their technology was groundbreaking, and they managed to find a way to remove the effects of brainwashing from the mind. By the time Bucky was out of cryostasis, they'd already finished the procedure on you. You had offered to be their first in case they made a mistake, hoping that if you didn't make it, Bucky would. As all things in Wakanda worked, it was flawless. Bucky found out about what you had said when Shuri had mentioned it in passing. He was angry at first, but cooled down once he saw you. He said that it was so much like you to do something like that for the people you cared most about.
You didn't feel much different from before, but you were remembering things with less effort. Your experience in HYDRA, though terrifying, was one that you saw from your own eyes. It felt like somebody else's. Shuri assured you that it was not you, and everything that you could do under your own control was who you were. You stayed by Bucky's side until he needed to have the procedure as well. He came back to you looking relaxed, even without an arm, as if the world was revolving around him. Then you spent about an hour listening to Shuri rant about her technology, which T'Challa had to cut in to explain issues regarding the nations outside of Wakanda and the politics surrounding your situation. He finished with letting you both know that Wakanda was always open to you.
Shuri said that she still had a "broken white boy's arm" to fix, and that if either of you left, she'd hunt you down herself.
For the first time since Bucky was out of the chamber, he spoke: "Do you remember Natalia? She's Natasha now."
"Yes, and I think she's grown up well. When we fixed her arm, that was when I knew that you were just a little bit human."
He was quiet for a bit, and his hand reached out for yours. You met in the middle.
"I think we need to learn about each other again," he said, his hand clenching yours.
"Well, I think you should meet the goats first."
He loved the goats.
He loved the farm you worked on. It was big, but worked for you as someone with super serum. Bucky enjoyed working on it too, saying it was a good way to get out his energy. But mostly he played with the goats.
Bucky was better now than how you remembered him in the past. He was understanding of what you both had gone through and it was easy to communicate with him, even when neither of you wanted to speak. There was no disconnect from the Bucky then and Bucky now. It was just him. He was exactly what you needed in the past and he was what you needed in the present.
You finished pulling out weeds from the last area of the farm, checking for any diseased plants as you went. You looked up, and found Bucky feeding some of the weeds to the goats that had run up to him. They nibbled at his fingers, and he laughed as he sat on the ground to pet every single one of their heads. His hair was pulled back in a bun and the cloth he wore was saturated in the sun's glare. You picked up the weeds you had pulled, which weren't many because you worked on the farm all the time, and headed over to him. He smiled as you pulled him up from the pile of goats.
"Are we going to the market now?" he asked.
"I think I'm ready to admit that I love you," you said.
Bucky's eyebrows furrowed, then his face lit into a bright smile.
"How many Nazis have you punched?" he joked.
"Depends on how many we meet," you replied. "Did you know there are people called 'neo-Nazis'? For every single one of them we meet that I don't punch is a day that I don't love you."
"Is that a promise?"
"Of course."
"Then I promise that I'll always love you. And I'll tell you for as long as you need me to."
You both headed to the road that led into the more populated towns, hand in hand as you walked up the hill.
"I never believed in soulmates," Bucky began as he shifted to intertwine his fingers with yours, "but I think this is the closest I'll ever find. We've been there for each other when we needed each other most, and I want our future to be the same."
You didn't answer, stopping to pull him into a kiss instead. He returned it with just as much enthusiasm. When you were called to fight a world-threatening event, you were finally ready, and you did it together.
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criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years
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The Reward of Suffering (Part Six)
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Summary: Spencer comes face to face with a ghost from the past.
A/N: Hey... how y’all doin? Long time no see, huh? Sorry about that - hopefully this extra long update will make up for my absence. This has definitely been my favorite part thus far, and I had so much fun writing it. I hope you guys enjoy reading it. You guys know the drill by now: SPOILERS for season 12. Also, shoutout to @zhuzhubii​ for posting the absolute best set of gifs right in time for this update - you’re the coolest.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader
Warnings: cursing, mentions of death, mentions of rape, mentions of mental illness, kidnapping, choking
Word Count: 10.3k
           With every clack of my heels on the concrete floors, the nervous feeling in my gut grows into full blown nausea. It’s been nearly two months since I last walked these halls, but somehow it feels like a lifetime has passed. Considering everything that transpired in the last forty-eight hours, it makes sense that I feel that way.
           I hadn’t been on the team when Lindsey Vaughn first came into the picture ten years ago, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t familiar. At the time, I thought nothing of the kind neighbor that I sometimes passed in the stairwell on my way to Spencer’s apartment. I mean, why would I? I had no reason to be suspicious. Our interactions never went beyond the usual pleasantries – polite smiles and the occasional greeting – and I never gave her a second thought.
           Maybe if I had, Cassie wouldn’t be dead, and Spencer’s mother wouldn’t be missing.
           I shake my head at the thought. Now isn’t the time to ruminate on what ifs. I would have plenty of time to blame myself when all of this is over. Instead of torturing myself, I focus on trying to steady my breathing as I come to a stop just before I reach the interview room of the Milburn Correctional Facility.
           I know what lies beyond that door, and I’m equal parts excited and worried. Excited, because I’d finally be able to see Spencer after two long months of daydreaming about when I’d finally hold him in my arms again. Of course, it was very possible that Spencer wouldn’t want to see me. After all, I promised to keep his mother safe, and instead of doing that, I let myself get swept up in moving in to my apartment, and now Diana was God knows where.
           I was so sure that he wouldn’t want to see me that I’d initially suggested that Emily be the one to go to the prison and get him. My idea was met with a sad smile and a pat on the shoulder.
           “I think that if it was anyone but you standing there when they open that door, it’d break his heart.”
           Her reassurances did little to assuage my nerves. I spent the entire ride here running over every possible scenario that I could imagine, scrambling to form some kind of game plan. But now that I was here, any semblance of preparedness left me the second the guard reached for the door handle.
           “You ready, ma’am?”
           Yes.
           No.
           I don’t trust my voice, so I settle on nodding my head. The door opens with a groan, rusty hinges creaking in protest, and with shaky legs and a heart that threatens to beat out of my chest, I step into the doorway.
           It’s like the world stops turning on its axis when his eyes meet mine. Those familiar pools of caramel stare back at me with such an intensity that I force myself to look away, petrified at the prospect of seeing disappointment in them. 
           I trail my eyes over his frame, drinking in every inch of him - every bruise and every scrape feeling like a dagger to my heart. My eyes linger on the bandage adorning his left arm, before trailing down to the one on his leg. Emily had warned me about happened, about Spencer injuring himself in order to secure his safety. It was smart of him - that I knew - but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t horrified. 
           His hair has gotten longer, and his curls hang limply around his face. The usually clean-shaven Spencer I once knew was a thing of the past - replaced now by a more disheveled, scruffier version.
           Clean-shaven or not, he still looks just as breathtaking as always. 
           I hesitantly raise my eyes up to his again. He’s staring at me still, mouth parted in shock. He doesn’t look angry, just confused, and that fills me with a tiny sliver of hope.
           “Hi, Spence,” I murmur, voice thick with emotion. It’s not until I speak that I realize I’m crying, and I hastily wipe at my cheeks with my shirtsleeve.
           The dazed look in Spencer’s eyes washes away when he hears my voice and he blinks hard.
           “What… H-How are you…?” he trails off, eyes moving up and down my body.
           It feels so fucking good to hear his voice again, and I find myself unable to hold back a sob.
           “M’ here to take you home,” I choke out.
           It’s like all the tension in Spencer’s body is expelled at once and his shoulders slump in relief. I open my mouth to elaborate, to explain how Emily had managed to pull this off, but I’m stunned into silence when Spencer’s body collides with mine. I hadn’t even had time to process that he was moving before his arms snake around me, tugging me forward until there’s no space in between our bodies. Spencer’s hands collect fistfuls of my shirt, clinging desperately to the fabric as he nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck.
           Once I get over the initial shock, I’m hugging him back, arms locked around his torso in a vicelike grip. He doesn’t smell the same – the usual fragrance of cinnamon and vanilla is long gone, replaced with that of some generic detergent – but the way his broad shoulders feel underneath my palms is something so familiar that I can’t help but smile against his chest.
           This is still my Spencer.
           Spencer lets out a shaky breath against my skin and I let out an involuntary shudder at the feeling.
           “Missed you so fucking much,” Spencer whispers. “I-I can’t believe you’re here. Thought I was imagining it.” Spencer takes a shaky breath in, nuzzling further into my neck. His next words are muffled from the way his lips press against my skin, but I’m still able to make out the quiet ‘I’m sorry’.
           “You’re sorry?” I hiccup, eyebrows scrunching up in disbelief. I attempt to pull away so that I can look at him, but Spencer only tightens his grip on me. Something about it makes my chest feel incredibly warm, but I push that feeling aside for now. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I should’ve done more – I should’ve visited more often. I let myself get busy, and if I’d just been more careful, then your m-mom… she wouldn’t be-”
           “Stop that,” Spencer interrupts, and this time he’s the one that pulls away. He holds me at arm’s length and those beautiful brown eyes lock with mine. “This is absolutely not your fault.”
           Spencer’s hands come up to cup either side of my face and his thumbs wipe away at the tears on my cheeks. “You’ve done so much for me – for her. I’m sorry that I took you off the list. Things were getting so bad here, and if something would have happened to you…” Spencer pauses, closing his eyes and leaning down until his forehead rests against mine. “It was never because I didn’t want to see you, I promise. And… And your letter - I can’t even begin to explain how much that helped. I’m sorry that I couldn’t write back. I didn’t know what to say. Especially not after…”
           He doesn’t elaborate, but I’m able to fill in the blanks myself. I bring my hand up and rest it on top of his.
           “S’okay, Spence. I know,” I whisper. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I understand.”
           Spencer hums and a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.
           “Time to get you out of here, Doc.” I remove his hand from my face and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s go get your mom back.”
           Spencer opens his eyes and for the first time in two months I’m on the receiving end of my favorite smile in the whole world.
           I lead him from the room, never once removing my hand from his. Now that I have him back, I don’t ever want to let go.
--
           For the second time today, the clacking of my heels against the concrete floor is the only sound that can be heard. Spencer moves silently beside me, his face pulled into a somber expression as we stalk down the long corridor. His hand brushes against mine, and I long to reach out and intertwine our fingers like I had only hours before. I suppress the urge, stealing one last, poorly concealed glance at him before I settle my gaze on the door at the end of the hall.
           In the last several hours, the entire case had been flipped upside down. We’d been wrong all along – Scratch wasn’t to blame for the shit show that had transpired over the last three months. It’d been an easy enough mistake to make. After the incident with Tara’s brother, Scratch was the obvious choice. Pair that with the fact that Spencer had been drugged and we had no reason to suspect anyone else.
           Cat Adams was the last thing on everyone’s mind when Mexico happened. It’d been over a year since Spencer outsmarted her in that restaurant, and she was very much out of sight and out of mind. She was in a maximum-security prison, for fuck’s sake. That alone should have rendered her unable to carry out a scheme this convoluted.
           But apparently that meant nothing, because Cat had somehow managed to be the mastermind behind this whole ordeal, perfectly orchestrating the entire thing from her cell in solitary confinement – using Lindsey Vaugh as her metaphorical puppet on a string. We’d sorely underestimated Cat, and our arrogance had come back to bite us all in the ass.
           A guard that stands at the end of the hall opens the door for us, and I feel an intense rush of foreboding as we step into the room. The sound of the guard closing the door behind us brings a sense of finality to the situation; there is no turning back now. Either we walk out of here knowing Diana’s whereabouts, or we miss the mark completely and loose Diana in the process.
           I cast a worried look at Spencer, whose eyes are trained on the double-sided glass. The tension has returned to his shoulders, and his fists are clenched tightly at his sides. There’s a sort of fiery determination in his eyes – a sort of menacing resolve that I’d never seen in him before.
           Spencer looks intimidating, and nothing like the Spencer that was led from the courtroom three months ago. I pull my eyes away in favor of looking through the glass.
           Reid had been able to see through Cat’s mind games the first time, but the Cat that sat on the other side of that door is a far cry from the one he encountered a year ago. If she’d looked cold and calculating before, she looks downright deranged now.
           “Are you sure you want to go in there alone?” I ask after a moment. “I could-”
           “No,” Spencer cuts me off. His tone is hard and definite, warning me not to argue. “I can’t ask you to do that. Emily shouldn’t have made you come in the first place.”
           “Emily told me to come with you because she knew that there was nothing she could do to make me stay.” I pause long enough to shoot him a weak smile. “Hope you enjoyed your three-month break from me, because I’m going to practically glued to your side from now on. You’ll be dying to get rid of me in a month’s time.”
           Spencer’s lips twitch, threatening to turn up into a smile.
           “I sincerely doubt that.”
           “We’ll see,” I breeze. “But I’m serious, Spence. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here the whole time – I’m not letting you go in there alone, and I’m not going to leave you.”
           “Promise?” Spencer asks, finally pulling his eyes away from the window in favor of looking at me. There’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and the weight of his gaze is so heavy that I worry I might buckle under it.
           I reach for his hand and hook my pinky finger around his, lifting our intertwined hands to eye level.
           “I promise.”
           Spencer’s pinky finger squeezes mine and he closes his eyes.
           “I don’t deserve you.”
           “You deserve the world, Spence.”
           For a moment I think he’s going to say something else, but then Spencer’s lips press into a tight line and he only nods in response. He releases my hand and I let it fall limply at my side. Spencer rolls his shoulders back, and that stony expression returns to his face. He reaches out and pulls open the door, and I follow closely behind him at he steps over the threshold.
           It’s as if I’m invisible; Cat doesn’t even spare me a glance when I enter the room. Her eyes, narrowed and sparkling with amusement, hone in on Spencer immediately.
           “Spencie,” she greets, smiling deviously up at him.
           “Where’s my mother?” Spencer asks, completely devoid of emotion.
           “I missed you.”
           “What did you and Lindsey do to her? How did you-”
           Cat raises a hand, effectively cutting him off. She points a finger at him, and the smile that she previously wore is replaced by a grimace.
           “Now, stop. You don’t get to walk in here and hiss at me like I’m the criminal. No – we’re going to do this my way.” Cat kicks the chair that sits on the opposite side of the table and Spencer reaches out to grab it. “Have a seat.”
           Spencer complies and Cat’s smile returns.
           “How was prison? Did you like it?”
           “No.”
           Cat hums.
           “It’s not fun, is it?”
           “Unlike you, I didn’t deserve to be there,” Spencer retorts.
           Cat leans forward, crossing her arms before resting them on the metal table.
           “How did you stay sane? A brain like yours needs stimulation in such a gray place.”
           “I worked in the laundry room and I played chess.”
           “That’s three, maybe four hours, tops. What about the other twenty?”
           “I read.”
           Cat shakes her head. “That’s still not enough. You have to… go someplace.” She taps the side of her head. “Up here. Or else you go crazy. Do you want to see where I go? I’ll show you.” Cat crooks a finger at Spencer, and I tense at the gesture. The idea of that psychotic bitch getting any closer to him makes my skin crawl. I clench my fists together and the feeling of my nails digging into my palms is enough to ground me.
           Spencer leans forward, mimicking Cat’s relaxed position. She reaches a hand out towards him, and before I can think better of it, I speak up.
           “Hands off,” I warn.
           Cat halts her movements and fixes me with an irritated expression, looking me up and down distastefully before turning her attention back to Spencer.
           “Close your eyes,” she instructs him. Spencer complies. “Good. Now keep them closed. Sit back and relax. When you open your eyes, I want you to look at me like I’m the first woman you’ve seen after being in prison for three months.”
           I clench my jaw at that. Something stirs in my chest – something foreign and possessive that has me bristling. I tense, watching closely as Spencer opens his eyes and smiles that beautiful smile at Cat. My stomach turns painfully at the sight.
           “Hello, Cat,” Spencer greets her, and all the contempt his tone previously held is gone – replaced with a neutrality that bordered on happiness.
           Cat lets out a pleased laugh.
           “You’re here!” she exclaims, throwing her arms out as she gestures about the room. “You’re really here.”
           “There is nowhere else I would rather be,” Spencer replies, sounding startlingly genuine.
           This is all an act, I remind myself. Spencer’s just playing a part. None of this is real.
           Cat crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him.
           “You’re good at this. You’re so good at this that I almost believe that you don’t want to kill me.”
           “I don’t want to kill you,” Spencer says with a shake of his head.
           “No?”
           “No.”
           Cat narrows her eyes at him.
           “What if I let your mother die?” she inquires. “Then would you kill me? Or would you just…” Cat trails of as she leans forward. “… Hurt me? Would you pin me down and leave bruises that don’t go away?”
           I swallow hard against the bile that threatens to crawl its way up my throat. Spencer might not want to kill her, but I do.
           “Is that what you want?”
           Cat shrugs her shoulders.
           “I guess I just want to know if you would – if you could.”
           Spencer gives a small shake of his head.
           “No.”
           “No?” Cat taunts, cocking her head to the side.
           “It’s not the kind of man I am.”
           Cat’s face drops and her eyes narrow into slits.
           “Do me a favor and tell your little chaperone over there to step aside, because we’re going to play another game. And this time, we’re going to find out exactly what kind of man you are.”
           Spencer’s eyes flit to me and he nods towards the door. I open my mouth to argue, but the pleading look in his eyes has me clamping it shut. It’s okay, his eyes seem to tell me. I know you promised, but I’ll be fine.
Cat waves at me as I reluctantly move towards the door. When the door clicks shut behind me, Spencer takes it as his invitation to continue.
           “Let’s play,” his voice sounds through the speaker to my left.
           “Let’s!” Cat exclaims before resting her head in her hand.
           “So, is it the same game as last time?” Spencer inquires. “I answer every question you ask honestly?”
           “No,” Cat sighs out. “This time you get to ask the questions.”
           Spencer raises an eyebrow at her. “About what?”
           “Well, I know a secret about you. And you can ask me as many questions as you like to figure it out. But you only get one guess as to what it is. If you guess correctly, I take your phone, I call our friend Lindsey, and I tell her to release your dear mother unharmed. If you don’t…” Cat trails off, before mimicking bringing a gun up to her mouth and firing.
           Crazy fucking bitch.
           “Is there a clock?”
           “There’s always a clock.” Cat holds out her hand, eyes flicking down to Spencer’s watch. “Give it to me.”
           I cringe when Spencer hesitates – I know what he must be thinking. That’s Gideon’s watch. The only thing he has left of him. I’d never seen Spencer without it in the two years I’ve known him.
           Spencer reluctantly slips the watch off of his wrist and hands it over.
           Cat smirks and slides the watch onto her arm.
           “Now, you’ll have four hours.”
           “Do you want to give me a hint before we start?”
           Cat chuckles. “Do I look like a girl that gives hints?”            “Actually, you do.”
           Cat takes pause, looking Spencer up and down before speaking.
           “Okay, how about this; it’s a secret you’ll never admit to.”
--
           “I know what the secret is.”
           Cat quirks an eyebrow up at Spencer.
           “You do?”
           He nods. “Why else would you put me through all this?”
           “Ooh, phrasing it in the form of a question that way it doesn’t count as a guess. Very smart, Doctor.”
           “I’m gonna walk you through a scenario, and your face is going to tell me how close I am,” Spencer murmurs, an amused smile on his lips. He leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. “From the moment I arrested you, you watched and waited for the right time to take your revenge. When you learned I was going to Mexico, you took it. You and Lindsey framed me for murder so I’d be put in a prison and treated like a criminal, and then you kidnapped my mother so I would know how it feels to have a parent manipulated, because you want to prove that you and I are the same. Am I right?”
           Cat feigns a yawn in response.
           “Mm. Sorry, I couldn’t hold that in any longer. What were you saying?”
           “Psychopaths tend to get bored easily.”
           “You’re right. Let’s speed this up,” Cat sighs with a roll of her eyes. She pushes away from the table, standing up and walking over to Spencer’s side of the table. I fight the urge to barge in when I see her take a seat on his lap. Cat runs a hand down Spencer’s chest before she continues. “Shall we? What do you think about all the pain you’ve suffered in your life? What would I capitalize on, do you think? Is it… the death of your mentor, SSA Jason Gideon?”
           I can see the way Spencer’s jaw clenches and it makes my heart lurch painfully in my chest.
           “No, because we caught the man who killed him.”
           “What about Agent Morgan and your guilt over not visiting his little boy?” Cat whispers in his ear as her hands fiddle with the collar of his suit.
           “I was in prison.”
           “Yeah, but you had time before that. Why didn’t you go?” she presses as she grazes her nails down the length of his throat. I see red when her hand loosely circles around his neck. Spencer absolutely loathes being touched by anyone other than those closest to him, and I’ve no doubt that he’s horribly uncomfortable.
           “Truthfully, I got distracted. I was trying to figure out a way to help my mom. She didn’t have time. Morgan, Savannah, and little Bobby did. So, there’s absolutely no shame in admitting that. Morgan would understand.”
           “I agree. That’s why that’s not the secret,” Cat divulges, brushing her nose against the side of his face before pulling away and standing up. I let out the breath that I’d apparently been holding and allow myself a moment to run a shaky hand through my hair. If I was getting this frazzled from being a bystander to this conversation, I can only imagine how Spencer must be feeling.
           When I look back up at the mirror, Spencer’s looking over his shoulder at me through the glass. I know he can’t see me, but I can’t help but feel guilty for losing my cool.
           “Good job, Spence,” I murmur to myself as I pull out my phone. After a few rings, Rossie answers.
           “Go ahead, Y/N. You’re on speaker.”
           “Cat has an extremely deep background on Spencer. She knows about everything – Gideon’s death, Derek leaving the team, his mom’s condition,” I inform them, tapping my foot nervously against the concrete.
           “She’s throwing him off-balance.”
           “Yes, but Spencer also purposefully gave the wrong name of Derek’s son and she didn’t correct him,” I point out.
           “She must’ve gotten her hands on Reid’s confidential FBI file,” Emily chimes in. “It would mention pertinent team information but it wouldn’t name Morgan’s son for confidentiality reasons.”
           “We were thinking she’s been getting help from someone inside the prison. This goes deeper than that,” Rossi sighs.
           “Call us if she says anything else of any importance,” Emily signs off. I mumble a quick goodbye before pocketing my phone and turning my attention back to the window.
           “Working deductively, the secret wouldn’t be any of the topics you’ve already volunteered, because you wouldn’t want to make it easy on me,” Spencer reasons. He clasps his hands together and sits back in his seat before raising an eyebrow in challenge.
           “Genius, truly,” Cat taunts sarcastically as she twirls the watch around her finger.
           “So, what is left that I wouldn’t want to admit?” Spencer muses, eyebrows drawn together in contemplation. Cat shrugs her shoulders at him and another moment of tense silence passes.
           “Love,” Spencer utters, and Cat’s incessant twirling of the watch comes to an abrupt halt.
           Got her.
           “Is that what this is all about – love? For my mother?” Spencer whispers, and when Cat fails to respond, he shakes his head. “No, not for her. For you. You want me to admit that I’m actually in love with you.”
           Cat purses her lips together.
           “Don’t get me wrong – I love my fairy tales as much as the next girl – but I’m not delusional,” Cat says as she crosses her arms.
           “Are you sure about that?”
           “Very sure. So sure, in fact, that I had Lindsey leave a clue for you in that little scrapbook in your apartment.”
           I scrunch my face up at that. The clue in question had been a message inscribed on the back of an old photograph;xx-xy. We’d originally deduced that the message, the female and male chromosomes, was to confirm that Lindsey was working with Scratch. But now? Now I didn’t have a clue what Cat was talking about.
           “I couldn’t have you come all the way down here and make a guess until I was positive. That is…” Cat pauses for dramatic effect, a sly smile on her lips. “… until I tested positive.” Cat punctuates her words by placing both hands on her stomach, and the action makes me raise a hand up to my mouth in shock.
           No. There’s no fucking way.
           “What, you’re pregnant?” Spencer asks, confused.
           “No, we’re pregnant.”
           I feel my knees buckle upon hearing the admission and I blindly reach for the chair to my left.
           This cannot be happening.
           “No,” Spencer says, shaking his head adamantly.
           “Oh, yes,” Cat replies. “Mazel tov.”
--
           “Here you are, ma’am.”
           I reach for the file, my movements stilted and awkward.
           “Thank you,” I mumble to the guard, who gives me a peculiar look before leaving the room. I waste no time in flipping through the file, heart pounding wildly in my chest as my eyes skim over the page until –
           Positive.
           I slam the file down on the table.
           “Fuck!” I yell out in frustration. I’m thankful then for the thick, concrete walls, because neither Spencer nor Cat show any sign of having heard my little outburst. I place both palms down on the cool metal of the table, my breaths coming out in haggard puffs as I try to rationalize it all.
           “- not possible,” Spencer’s voice coming through the speaker snaps me out of my thoughts. I cut my eyes to the window to find Spencer pacing the room. “Even if you are pregnant, the baby’s not mine.” Spencer comes to a stop behind his chair and shoves his hands in his pockets.
           “Except for the part where it is.”
           “That’s completely preposterous. You’ve been in prison,” Spencer points out as he once again takes a seat across from her.
           “So have you.”
           “And we’ve never-”
           “I know. We’ve never…” Cat trails off with a suggestive waggle of her brows. “Ask me how I did it. Come on, ask me.”
           Spencer rolls his eyes, but he indulges her nonetheless.
           “How did you do it?”
           “I had Lindsey dose you in Mexico. You lost time. And I gave her very specific instruction on how to get you in the mood,” Cat admits.
           “What?” Spencer snorts cynically. “Did she pretend to be you?”
           “Why, would that have worked?”
           Spencer leans forward and shoots Cat a cruel kind of smile.
           “No.”
           For a split second Cat’s face falls, but only for a moment and then she goes right back to smiling that wretched grin.
           “Yeah, I know, I know. Believe me, I know exactly where I stand on the Spencer Reid hot or not list,” Cat sighs. “So, ask me again.”
           “How did you do it?”
           “I told her to pretend to be Y/N.”
           For a second I think that I misheard her – the blood rushing in my ears almost overpowered her admission – but the way Spencer’s entire body tenses before he looks back at the window tells me that I didn’t.
           Why me?
           Spencer gulps hard before he turns back around. I find my way to the chair nearest me and collapse into it.
           “How do you know about her?”
            Cat gives him an unimpressed look.
           “It wasn’t hard, seeing as she’s your very best friend in the whole wide world,” Cat teases as her eyes wander from Spencer to the glass behind him. She waves at me, endlessly amused, before turning her attention back to Spencer. “But that isn’t all that she is to you – is it Spencie? At least, Lindsey didn’t think so. At first, she thought the two of you were tangled up in some kind of sexy little tryst. But then I had Lindsey do a little digging, and, well, that’s when we found out about the boyfriend.”
           “Stop.”
           “Oh, it seems I’ve struck a nerve!” Cat trills gleefully. “Shall we call her in here to join us? I know she’s just on the other side of that glass. I’m sure she’d love to hear all about how pathetic little Spencer Reid pines after her like a school boy with a crush.” She pouts her bottom lip out in mock sadness. “There’s just something about unrequited love that really tugs at my heart strings.”
           Oh.
           For the second time since arriving here, my hand comes up to cover my mouth as I struggle to process Cat’s words. She can’t be right, can she? Spencer had never done anything that eluded to him seeing me as any more than a best friend. Perhaps she got it wrong. Lindsey saw me come and go and she just assumed it was something that it wasn’t. There was no way that Spencer -
           “I said stop.”
           The underlying plea in his voice is enough to make tears well in my eyes. If what Cat is saying is true, that means that Lindsey . . . 
           “All it took was Lindsey saying she was Y/N for you to crumble like a house of cards. You really made it too easy.”
           “You’re lying.”
           Cat chuckles. “Listen to you, you’re not even trying to deny it.”
           “It didn’t happen,” Spencer argues, voice so quiet that I have to strain to hear it.
           “Hey, I was thinking, if it’s a boy, we should definitely call him Spencie Jr.”
           Spencer pushes back from the table so abruptly that both Cat and I flinch, and he’s almost out the door when Cat delivers one final dig.
           “-But if it’s a girl, I think we should call her Y/N. I mean after all; she played such a huge role in in her own conception!”
           The sound of the door slamming behind him as he trudges into the room is enough to make me bolt up from my seat. Spencer comes to a stop at the center of the room, eyes wide and full of remorse as he looks over at me.
           “I-I… I’m…”
           I try my best to muster up a smile but I worry that it comes out more as a grimace.
           “Later,” I murmur, and Spencer winces before nodding his head in defeat. I walk over to the table and open up the file. “She’s not lying about being pregnant.”
           Spencer joins me at the table, eyes skimming over the document.
           “She’s three months, and the timeline matches, but that doesn’t mean-”
           Spencer yanks the file off the table and hurls it at the window, shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he runs a hand through his disheveled hair.
           I take a step back and Spencer curses under his breath.
           “I’m sorry. It’s not you,” he sighs. “I just… need a minute.”
           I press my lips together and nod.
           “Take all the time you need. M’gonna go call Emily,” I murmur.
           Spencer closes his eyes and lets his head hang low.
           “Yeah, okay,” he whispers dejectedly, and the despair in his voice is enough to stop me in my tracks.
           “Spence?” I call out. He looks up at me from underneath his lashes, more than a little bit timid and scared. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m not leaving you.”
            I open the door and step out of the room, but it doesn’t close before I hear the quiet ‘thank you’ drift from within.  
--
           Spencer waits until the door clicks shut behind her to push away from the table and head back into the interrogation room. He couldn’t bear the thought of her overhearing any more than she already had. As far as Spencer was concerned, Cat had just singlehandedly ruined the one good thing he had going for him, and at this point, he had nothing left to lose.
           “Let’s pretend you’re telling the truth,” Spencer starts. “That means I guessed it, right? The secret, the one I don’t want to admit to? It’s my child?”
           Cat looks up at him with bored eyes and Spencer feels his unease begin to give way to rage.
           “Is that your guess?” Cat asks. “You only get one, remember?”
           Spencer takes pause, before shaking his head.
           “No. It’s too easy,” he decides.
           “Believe me, getting pregnant with your baby was not easy,” Cat mutters, and Spencer’s lips press into a tight line. The implication of it is enough to make his skin crawl. He feels violated and absolutely disgusted, but still he tries to school his impression into one of indifference. Spencer thinks about his mom, scared and confused, and that’s enough incentive to make him focus on the task at hand.
           “You misunderstand. It’s too easy emotionally,” Spencer explains in a clipped tone as he sits down. “Because I can take your child from you. The child I had absolutely no role in creating, but a child that I would care for better than you.”
           “That’s rude,” Cat seethes as she slowly lifts her head from off of the table.
           “It’s true. You can’t be a mother, Cat. I’m not trying to insult you – it’s your psychological makeup. You literally do not have the emotional skills to care for another human being. You’d lose interest in your own baby the way a six-year-old loses interest in a pet hamster. This baby is simply a means to an end, which is to keep me here and playing your game, guessing like a fool and assuming something that I never should have assumed in the first place.”
           “And what would that be?”
           “My mother’s already dead,” Spencer says, and the words taste positively foul in his mouth. “She was dead before I walked in here”
           Cat’s lips pull into a frown.
           “She’s not dead-”
           “Yes, she is,” Spencer reiterates as he rises from his chair.
           “No, because that would be cheating and I don’t cheat. You cheat!” Cat panics, voice growing louder the closer Spencer gets to the door.
           “I’m done playing,” Spencer says as he turns away, reaching for the door knob.
           “Get back here!”
           Spencer pulls the door open. “Goodbye, Cat.”
           He has one foot out the door when;
           “I’ll let you talk to her!” Cat yells out as she slams her fist down on the table.
           Spencer lifts his eyes up from their spot on the floor, and it’s with a jolt of surprise that his eyes meet Y/N’s. It feels to him like it always does when he sees her – like some great relief that floods through his entire body in an instant. He feels guilty for it, now that she knows, but that doesn’t stop him from basking in it. The feeling grows when a triumphant smile graces her lips, one that says you’ve got her, Spence. You’ve got her right where you want her.
           Spencer is positively rejuvenated by that smile.
           He reluctantly pulls his gaze away from her and focuses back on Cat. He’s come too far now to fuck it all up.
           Spencer pulls his phone from the depths of his suit pocket and hands it to Cat. He watches on as she dials the number, and his heart beats so fast that he wonders if she can hear it. The sound of the dial tone ringing fills the room, and Spencer can only hope that the call will be long enough for Penelope to trace.
           “You’re early,” a voice that’s unmistakably Lindsey’s calls out. Spencer lets out a shaky breath of relief.
           “Yeah, I know.”
           “Did he guess?”
           “No, not yet,” Cat sighs. “We need proof of life.”
           “All right, hold on,” Lindsey says, exasperated, and her words are followed by several seconds of muffled rustling and what Spencer deems as some sort of liquid being poured.
           “Spencer!”
           His heart practically bursts out of his chest as he lunges forward, yanking the phone out of Cat’s hand and bringing it up to his ear.
           “Mom - mom, are you okay?”
           “I don’t… know-”
           Spencer opens his mouth to reply when the gut-wrenching sound of an explosion rips through the tiny phone speakers, distorted and so loud that it makes Spencer’s ears ring.
           “Mom!” Spencer desperately yells into the phone, but all he gets in reply is a ‘gotta go’ from Lindsey before the line goes dead. Spencer growls out a string of swears, throwing his phone down on the table before leaning over the table.
           “What the hell was that?” he yells, and he’s vaguely aware of the sound of the door opening, but he can’t focus on anything other than his own rising panic.
           “I don’t know,” Cat replies, opening her mouth to continue but Spencer cuts her off.
           “Lindsey said you were early. Was that a signal?” he bellows.
           “Spence, come on,” Y/N tries to interject. Spencer feels her hand on his shoulder but he shrugs it off before bringing his fist down on the table.
           “Was that a prearranged signal to kill my mother?!” Spencer snarls, eyes wide and teeth barred. He feels positively feral, images of his mother in all sorts of terrible states of distress flashing through his mind like some grotesque picture show. “Tell me the truth!”
           “No! I am!” Cat shouts back.
           “Tell me the truth!”
           “I am!” Cat spits out, eyes flashing angrily. “You wanna know the truth? Your mother is an Alzheimer’s-ridden moron who’s getting dumber by the day and if she’s dead, it’s your fault!”
           Something comes over Spencer then, and in an instant, he’s shoving the table out of the way and pushing Cat against the wall. His hands find purchase on her throat, not dissimilar to how hers had on his hours before, but instead of dragging his fingers against her neck, Spencer’s clamping down on it as hard as he can, taking great pleasure in the way she gasps for air as his hands tighten. Everything around him fades away until all that he can focus on is that way that her pulse feels under his hands – the way it starts off strong, before tapering, slower and slower until he can barely even palpate it anymore.
           “I’m going to kill you,” Spencer hears himself whisper as he presses down hard on her windpipe. “M’gonna fucking kill you.”
           Cat’s eyes are fluttering closed now, and Spencer shouldn’t enjoy the way the light in her eyes starts to dim. He shouldn’t but he does – in fact, it prompts him to press harder and harder and –
           A harsh yank pulls Spencer away from Cat, and as soon as his hands begin to loosen Cat splutters in an attempt to catch her breath.
           “Spencer, she is pregnant,” Y/N yells in his ear, and just like that his tunnel vison fades away and Spencer feels the adrenaline leave his body. He only realizes that his hands are still on Cat’s throat when Y/N yanks at his arms again. “Fucking let her go, Spencer!”
           His entire body goes limp and he allows himself to be drug away from Cat and out of the room. Spencer’s heart still pounds and his blood is still roaring in his ears, but the satisfaction has given away to shame. He steals a glance at cat as he’s being pulled from the room, and despite her ruffled appearance, she’s grinning at him – smiling as if to say see? I told you that you were just like me.
           Spencer stumbles into the other room, steadying himself on the wall to keep from faceplanting onto the cold hard floor. Now that the adrenaline has expelled itself from his body, he’s left shaky and panting and ashamed.
           The feeling of Y/N’s eyes on him as he braces himself on the wall only exacerbates his mortification. What will she think of me now? Will she think me to be some kind of monster? Spencer wouldn’t blame her - he’s held that same opinion of himself for months now.
           Spencer stands there, face turned downwards as he catches his breath, and when he can take the weight of her gaze no longer, he darts out of the room and down the corridor.
           Being alone is preferable to being a disappointment, Spencer thinks as he flees the room.
--
           It doesn’t take long for her to find him sitting in the floor, knees to his chest with his face downturned. Spencer hears her before he sees her, and he prepares himself for the yelling that’s surely to come.
           She surprises him when she slides her back down the wall until she’s sitting beside him, legs sprawled out in front of her. He doesn’t look up – fearful of what he might see when he looks into those beautiful eyes of hers. There had been love there, before all of this happened. Not the kind of love that was reflected in his own, but it was love just the same and Spencer thinks that it might kill him to see that love replaced with disgust. So he doesn’t look. Instead, Spencer just sits there, slumped over and pathetic, hoping that she doesn’t pick up on the fact that his hands are shaking.
           “Richmond County police just reported a gas station explosion. One victim – male. Whatever Lindsey did, we have to assume that your mom’s still alive,” Y/N murmurs. Spencer lets out a shaky breath and his grip on his knees tightens. It’s good news, and he’s grateful, but it does nothing for the overwhelming guilt that’s eating away at him.
           “Hey,” she whispers when he doesn’t reply. “Can you look at me, Spence? Wanna see those pretty brown eyes. Please?”
           Spencer chokes down the sob that threatens to come out. He shakes his head. 
           “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened in there. That… That’s not me. At least, I don’t want it to be,” Spencer whispers. “Emily should’ve sent someone else with me. I never wanted you to see me like that.”
           Her small, incredibly soft hand comes to rest on his own and Spencer closes his eyes at the feeling. Y/N flips his hand over and intertwines their fingers and Spencer can’t help but think that’s she’s showing him way more kindness than he could ever deserve. But he’s selfish, unable to deny himself of the feeling of her hand in his, so he clings onto her hand for dear life.
           “I’m so scared that this is who I am now,” Spencer mumbles, prompting her grip on his hand to tighten.
           “No, Spence. Don’t say that,” she chastises him. “You’re the best guy I know. Everyone has a breaking point – Cat just knows how to bring you to yours, is all.”
           “You… You don’t know…” Spencer trails off, still unwilling to look her in the eye.
           “I do know, Spence. I may not have been able to visit, but I asked about you every day,” she says as she shuffles closer to him. Spencer can smell her perfume now, subtle and sweet and comforting. “I know that two inmates, Frazier and Duerson, killed your friend in front of you. I know that they wanted you to move heroin for them, and I also know that if you didn’t, you would’ve been next. Anyone in your spot would’ve done the same.”
           “You wouldn’t have.”
           “Hell yes, I would have,” Y/N persists, and Spencer can’t help but to look up at her from behind where his unruly curls fall into his face. “I would have, Spence. If someone was threatening my life, you bet your ass I would have done the same thing. It doesn’t make you a bad person – doing whatever it takes to survive does not make you a bad person.”
           She must pick up on the hesitancy that lingers in Spencer’s eyes, because she decides to continue.
           “You know who does think like that? That – that in you doing what you had to do in order to survive somehow makes you a psychopath?” Y/N pauses long enough to point her thumb towards the direction of the interview room. “She does.”
           Spencer watches the realization wash over her face, and for a split second he’s terribly confused. It isn’t until a ghost of a smile pulls at her lips that he catches on, and when he does, he has to stop himself from doing something terribly stupid like kissing her.
           “She does,” Y/N reiterates when she sees that Spencer finally caught on. “Because she knows.”
           “That’s the secret,” Spencer thinks aloud. He pushes himself to his feet and begins to pace down the corridor. “The one that I don’t want to admit about myself.”
           “Hold up, Spence. Let’s talk through this, because she will not lose to you twice. She already said that this wasn’t about the two of you being the same.”
           Spencer scratches the back of his next, nodding to himself.
           “Then she’s all about the game. She thinks that I cheated the last time because I lied about her dad, so it’s integral that she beats me by following the rules.”
           “But, Spence, she’s the one that makes the rules. She can change them to ensure that she wins.”
           “-Which means that I’m locked in-”
           “Like she is.”
           “She needs me locked in, playing by her rules, a game I can’t win, so she-” Spencer pauses then, and an actual, honest to God smile creeps its way across his face – the kind of smile that was only reserved for Y/N. “I got it.”
           Spencer doesn’t elaborate, because he doesn’t need to. He can tell with one look that she understands, because somehow, she always does. Spencer offers her a hand and hoists her to her feet. 
          Spencer almost laughs as the two of them step back into the room. Of course, she would be the one to figure it out. It seems like she’s always saving him, these days.
--
           “Guess that’s one way to get you to put your hands on me.”
           Spencer feels a twinge of guilt, but he pushes it to the back of his mind as he holds a hand out to Cat.
           “Dance with me.”
           Cat lifts an eyebrow at him.
           “Why?”
           “Because I don’t want the people watching to hear what I’m about to say.”
           Cat is still suspicious, but she takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet anyways. Spencer puts his arms around her and the two of them begin to sway back and forth. Spencer suppresses the urge to pull away when her hand lowers and intertwines with his own. It’s rough and calloused and cold – a direct contradiction of Y/N’s – and Spencer positively loathes it.
           “You had eyes on me while I was in prison, didn’t you?”
           “Spencie, don’t ruin the moment,” Cat groans.
           “I don’t want to, but I’m on the clock. Answer my question, am I right?”            Cat places her head on Spencer’s chest, her hair smelling of some generic bar of soap, and Spencer wishes more than anything that he was smelling the familiar notes of honeysuckle and vanilla instead.
           “Yes, you’re right. I wanted to make sure things were just as uncomfortable for you as they were for me.”
           “That’s how you timed everything so perfectly. Like sending my mom and Lindsey to visit me when I thought I was at my lowest.”
           This piques Cat’s interest and she lifts her head up until her eyes meet Spencer’s.
           “Thought? You’re sure you weren’t?”
           “No, I wasn’t. Because I didn’t feel bad – I felt scared at how much I enjoyed poisoning the other prisoners. I had a hundred ways of getting myself out of that situation, and I picked the one that would cause them the most pain.”
           “Well, look at that,” Cat hums. “You might end up saving your mother’s life after all.”
           A moment of silence passes as Spencer contemplates his next move. Before he can get the words out, Cat breaks the silence.
           “They won’t get there in time. They must be on their way, right? Your team is too good to wait around, but you know me. I always have a contingency plan,” Cat murmurs, hands dipping under Reid’s suit jacket. She rubs her palms across his chest in slow circles and Spencer tries hard not to squirm. “They’re walking into a trap, and the only way out is if you give me your phone and you guess – right now.”
           Cat removes her hands from Spencer’s chest, crossing her arms and fixing him with a pointed look. Spencer reaches down and pulls the phone from his pocket, passing it to Cat who wastes no time in taking a seat at the table once more.
           Spencer’s skin tingles, half from anticipation, half from fear. They’ve come too far for him to misstep. He thinks of his mother – of how the next two minutes will determine her fate, and Spencer clenches his hands into fists at his sides.
           Here comes the moment of truth.
           “When we first sat down, you said you were going to show me what kind of man I am. And you have.”
           “Every time I dial a number, you’re getting warmer.”
           “At first, I was furious, because the secret had to be the baby inside you. How could it be anything else? But then I realized that somehow, you knew I liked hurting those men.” Cat dials another number, prompting Spencer to continue. “Now, I know it’s both things.”
           “So, which is it, Spencie? Come on, don’t fumble it now. You’re at the one-yard line.”
           “You’re not pregnant with my child. You got pregnant with Wilkins to put me in as compromised a position as possible. But it should be mine – I wish it were mine. Because you and I… we deserve each other. That is the real secret.”
           By the time Spencer finishes speaking, tears are steady falling down Cat’s cheeks. With a shaky hand she presses the call button, and Spencer watches on with bated breath as the phone rings.
           “Kill her.”
          When Cat receives no reply, she pushes out of her seat and begins to pace around the room. “Lindsey, I said kill her.”
           “You bitch,” Lindsey curses, sounding positively heartbroken in the way only a jilted loved could. “You’re pregnant?”
            “Lindsey, sweetheart, it’s complicated, okay?”
           “No, it’s not,” Lindsey whispers, and then the sound of the dial tone is all that’s left.
           Not a second later, Y/N bursts through the door; the figurative light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.
           “We’re clear.”
           Spencer snatches his phone from Cat’s hand before turning to face Y/N.
           “Is my mom okay?”
           “Yeah. She’s fine.”
           “We do deserve each other, by the way,” Cat calls out, prompting Spencer to pivot and face her. She slides back into the seat and shrugs her shoulders. “You guessed right.”
           Spencer falters for a moment, but then a voice in his head is reminding him that he deserves the world. And that voice sounds a lot like Y/N.
           “You lied, by the way. You were going to kill my mother regardless.”
          “Yeah, I think you really liked hurting those men. Once you cross that line, you can’t ever go back. And you’ll never get her to love you, either. You and I are too fucked up to be loved.”
           Spencer takes two steps forward before he bends down, reaching out and clutching Cat’s forearm in a tight grip. Without breaking eye contact, he slides his watch off her wrist and back on to his own.
           “Watch me,” Spencer whispers, and without so much as a parting glance at the broken women sitting at the table, Spencer walks towards the light.
--
           The elevator ride up to the bullpen is a quiet one, not unlike the jet ride before it. I had about a million questions that I was dying to ask, but I thought it best to let Spencer stew in silence. The poor guy had been through enough in the last twenty-four hours – he didn’t need me hounding him on top of all of that. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure where to start in the first place.
           So, Spence – how was prison?
           I heard you got the shit kicked out of you. How interesting, so did I! Wanna trade war stories?
           I hate to put you on the spot like this, but was that little tidbit about you being hopelessly in love with me true? Just curious.
           As wonderful as all of those conversation starters were, I didn’t really think that now was the time to breech any of the aforementioned subjects. So, instead, Spencer and I communicated in stolen glances and shy smiles, and that more than sufficed for the time being. We had all the time in the world to talk later - there was no need to rush.
           I can practically feel Spencer shaking with anticipation when the elevator ride comes to a close, and the two of us share one last, longing glance before the doors open and Spencer steps out and into the arms of his mother.
           There’s not a dry eye in the house when Spencer and his mother reunite, and it takes Emily ushering us all away to keep us all from devolving into sniveling messes right in front of the elevator. We all scatter about the bullpen, and after a quick trip to the bathroom I meander to Emily’s office.
           “Derek Morgan – you are a sight for sore eyes,” I whistle as I walk into the room, not stopping until I’m pressed up against two-hundred pounds of rock-hard abs.
           “Ah, little bit. I sure have missed you,” Derek laughs as he presses a kiss to the top of my head.
           “To what do we owe the pleasure? I’d be hard pressed to believe that you just decided to drop in at three o’clock in the morning.”
           Derek lets out a sigh and the smile drops from his face.
           “I wish I was just here to say hello, but we may have bigger problems. I got a text from Penelope saying that Reid was out of prison and that he wanted to see me. And that he was staying in an FBI safehouse where he was putting his mother up for the night.”
           I cast a glance at Emily, who shakes her head.
           “I didn’t approve of that,” she explains, and just like that, a weary feeling settles over everyone in the room.
           “I think we all know what this sounds like,” Derek says.
           “A trap.”
--
           “I know we’re all tired, but we may have a new lead on Scratch.”
           “Somebody did a bang-up job of cloning my cellphone to send Morgan a text luring him to a nonexistent safehouse. And whoever that somebody is has mad skills,” Penelope explains.
           “The kind of skills Scratch has,” Stephen mutters, earning a round of murmured agreeances.
           “Were you able to trace where the hack came from?” Luke inquires, earning an affronted glare from Penelope. She shakes her head at him before turning to Derek, who’s watching on with a shit-eating grin on his face.
           “Do you see what I have to put up with?”
           Derek chuckles and gives Luke a pointed look.
           “Alvez, you’ll always get a location with this one.” Derek reaches forward and rubs Penelope’s shoulder, and it’s impossible to miss the way Luke’s eyes zero in on it.
           “Down boy,” I whisper at him. “Green isn’t your color.”
           “Shut up.”
           I roll my eyes good-naturedly before turning my attention back to Emily.
           “Obviously, Morgan can’t come with us. He’s a civilian now.”
           “We’ll miss you out there,” JJ chimes in.
           “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it out there in the field with you guys. I think about it every day. But between my old friends and my new friends, you guys are gonna go out there, you’re gonna handle your business, you’re gonna make people feel safe, and then you’re gonna go home. And that’s all that matters.”
           “Civilian life has turned you into a sap,” I tease.
           “Is it just me, or has this one gotten mouthier since I left?”
           Penelope pats him on the arm.
           “Someone had to fill the silence.”
           After everyone has the opportunity to tell Derek their goodbyes, it’s a mad dash to get everything we need to roll out. I pull my hair into a ponytail and shuck off my blazer, only to replace it with my Kevlar. I’m in the middle of securing the last strap as I hurry down the hall when I come in harsh contact with the front of someone’s chest.
           But it’s not just someone – it’s Spencer.
           “I thought you left already?”
           Spencer lets out a strained chuckle.
           “Uh, yeah. I was on the way out when Penelope texted and said Derek was here. Mom’s sitting with Anderson while I go talk to him.”
           I nod in understanding.
           “Good ole Anderson,” I manage to say, trying hard not to cringe at my awkward choice of words.
           “Yeah,” Spencer mutters, shuffling his feet as he looks anywhere other than my face. “There’s a case, I’m assuming?” he says, gesturing to my vest.
           “We think we have a lead on Scratch, actually.”
           Now, that gets Spencer’s attention. His eyes finally settle on me, and his brows furrow.
           “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I need to go with you-” Spencer makes a move to brush past me, put I stop him with a hand on his chest.
           “Back it up, Spence. There’s absolutely no way Prentiss will sign off on that, and even if she did, I’m still saying no.”
           “And I’m supposed to listen to you?” Spencer tries to keep his face neutral, but his lips twitch as he fights back a smile.
           “Mm. What I say goes, and I say that you need to go home and not even think about work for at least a month. You certainly could use the break.”
           “A whole month, huh?”
           I nod, looking up at him with a faux serious expression.
           “I better not see you around here for at least that long, or there will be repercussions.”
           Spencer finally does smile at that, and I can practically see the way he’s mulling over his next move in his head.
           “Does… Does that prohibition extend only to the work place?”
           I tilt my head to the side.
           “I’m lost.”
           Spencer scrunches his nose up and his eyes dart across the hall before eventually settling back on me.
           “It’s just that, well, I don’t really know where this leaves us. Will I still see you outside of work, or is that all messed up now?”
           “Why would that be messed up?”
           Spencer closes his eyes and he lets out a haggard breath.
           “Are you really gonna make me say it?”
           Even though he can’t see me, I smile up at him anyways.
           “On any other day I absolutely would, but things are a little… hectic right now. How about we put a pin in this conversation until things slow down a bit?”
           Spencer slowly opens his eyes and they roam over my face, searching.
           “You’re not uncomfortable? Considering everything that, uh, she said about me? Especially the part that pertained to you?” Spencer asks, meek and unsure.
           I shake my head.
           “I think you’ll find that I am very much the opposite of uncomfortable,” I reply. We stand there for a moment longer, just basking in the fact that after three long, miserable months, we’re finally together again.
           Spencer opens his mouth to say something, only to be cut off by Emily calling my name from further down the hall.
           “Duty calls,” I chuckle, pulling away from Spencer. “Tell you mom I said hi, and I’ll be by to visit once you have time to get settled in,” I call over my shoulder.
           I make it a good ten feet down the hall before Spencer’s tugging at my hand and pulling me flush against his chest. He hesitates for a moment, and a flash of uncertainty clouds his eyes, but then he’s pushing it down and pressing his lips to mine.
           Spencer’s lips are slightly chapped, but so, so warm as they move against mine. My response is instantaneous – I don’t hesitate for a second before I’m kissing back. The kiss is slow and tentative, as gentle and tender as it is intoxicating. It’s everything that a kiss should be and it ignites a fire in me that has me grasping at Spencer’s shirt, desperate for more. The hand that isn’t cupping the side of my face presses firmly against the small of my back, urging me forward until absolutely no space is left between us.
           Every drag of his lips against mine acts as gasoline to a flame, and I can’t help but think that Ray Bradbury said it best. It is a pleasure to burn.
           I’m the first to pull away, but it isn’t because I want to. What I want is to stay just like this – entangled in Spencer Reid – until not an inch of our bodies lay unexplored by the other. But when Emily calls out my name yet again, I force myself to stop.
           “I really need to go,” I murmur regretfully, and Spencer nods.
           “Yeah, I know.”
           But that doesn’t stop him from going in for one last, delicious kiss. This time when we break away, it’s his doing. I don’t have the self restraint to pull away twice.
           “Pinky promise you’ll come back to me in one piece?” Spencer says as he lifts his pinky finger up in offering. I link mine with his, and I smile a dopey grin at him.
           “Of course, I will,” I reply. “After all, you and I are due for one hell of a conversation.”
           I shoot him a wink before I’m running down the hall and slipping into the elevator just before the doors close. My teammates all shoot me curious looks, but I pretend like I don’t see and I lean against the wall, trying and failing to slow the rapid beating of my heart.
           It’s Stephen who approaches me when we all file out of the elevator and into the parking garage.
           “Spencer Reid wouldn’t have anything to do with that love-sick look on your face, would he?”
           I attempt to school my expression, but one pointed look from Stephen has me devolving into a fit of giggles like I’m a goddamn school girl.
           “Possibly.”
           “Possibly my ass. When we get done with this case, I expect a full explanation,” Stephen chuckles as he climbs in the back of the SUV.
           “You gossip like a teenager, Walker,” I tease as I climb in after him.
           “What can I say? You kids keep me young.”
           I let out a loud laugh at that.
           “Best shrink a girl could ask for.”
-
-
-
If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.
           - Unknown
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beetles-and-rock · 3 years
Text
Mixology Gone Wrong
An X reader about pre-musical Dewey Finn.
As an aspiring Mixologist, you work in a run down dive bar where local bands come to play their music in attempts to get their names out there. You're pretty used to getting hit on by the many self proclaimed "musicians" that play there. You don't expect any different when Dewey Finn comes to flirt with you, but things start to go very differently indeed.
18+ ONLY, DON'T INTERACT IF YOUNGER
TW: Heavy Intoxication, Blood, Vomit, Attempted Sexual Assault (Not from Dewey though. He too believes consent is sexy), Mild Language, Suggestive Comments
As you can tell this is a very different fic for me. There is a lot of Angst to it.
Mixing drinks was still something you were new too, but you knew enough to work at a local bar. Evening shifts were long, and the music was always blaring super loud. You hadn't been working there long, but was pretty sure you'd gone a bit deaf already. The bands that came to play were mediocre. A lot of them were hopeless dreamers, waiting for their ship to come in. Many of them would drink themselves halfway to liver failure after their set, which made you super busy.
It was pretty sad really, to see so many of the ones who actually had decent voices order so many drinks you knew were going to ruin their vocal chords. Still they didn't care. They performed and now they were going to drink like the apocalypse was coming. As was a typical Friday or Saturday night.
It was also not unusual for the drunks to flirt with you or the other bar tenders, so when the lead guitarist for some local band called "No Vacancy" stepped up to the counter with that look in his eye after their set, his forwardness didn't phase you in the least. He had quite some character, that was for sure. Anyone could easily tell that from the way he performed, energetic, ecstatic, and all around sticking out like a sore thumb among the rest of the band. He was a little on the chubby side, wavy untamable hair ridden with grease. He smelled of sweat and beer, along with Axe body spray which he probably considered to be close enough to a shower, and a hint of BO. He may not have looked like a rockstar, but he certainly smelled like one.
"Hey there." He said with a cocky smirk as he reached the bar. It was and old approach, but at least it wasn't some dumb pickup line. he didn't cock an eyebrow or even try to smolder. Every expression that came upon his face was, in a word, lazy.
"Could I get a beer?" He asked. You held back a sigh knowing once again you weren't going to use the skills you'd learned as a mixologist, but by the looks of this guy you knew there was no way he was going to be able to afford a cocktail. You were pretty sure his band played for free here tonight, so that pretty much confirmed how broke he was. You poured the beer and handed him the mug.
It was both disgusting and impressive watching him guzzle the beer. He simultaneously patted the counter of the bar to the beat of the music as he drank.
"So did ya like the set?" He asked you after a long swig. Oh great, here came the flirting...
"It was. . . pretty interesting. You guys have a good sound." You searched for kind things to say about the performance, but in all honesty it really didn't particularly stick out to you among all the other groups of wannabe rock stars they played in this run down shack of a dive. Well that wasn't entirely true. He certainly stuck out. You did your best not to use the word obnoxious when describing his part of the set.
"Your harmonies were pretty good, and your ad libbing was. . . creative. You've got a lot of energy."
"Yeah!" He replied after taking another long swig. "You gotta have the energy when it comes to rock and roll. I've been trying to tell the other guys that for years now. They just kind of stand there."
"Uh-huh. . ."
"I mean I brought the band together. The least they could do is listen to me."
In that moment, it dawned on you how clueless he was. Anyone else could see that the other band members were not very big fans of his antics onstage. The audible sigh from the lead singer into his microphone was very
clear as the man who now sat in front of you had started jumping around and ad libbing perhaps a little too much. He was now polishing off his mug and set down the money for another one. You poured more beer into the mug, almost feeling sorry for him.
"Been thinking about changing my name. . . I don't know though. It's not really a rock-star name, but the thought of a crowd screaming the name Dewey Finn inspires me. Kinda like an underdog story." He said.
"Dewey Finn?“
"Yep! That's my name, and you'll want to remember it cause one day it'll be famous." He set down the mug pointing to it "More please."
You were unable to hide a slight look of disgust at his rudeness, but poured another glass anyway. Dewey took another long drink and belched.
"Y-yep! someday people are gonna be screaming that name, Dewey -hic- Finn." He held his belly momentarily after the hiccup looking like he may be sick for a minute. Unfortunately, he continued. "You ever thought about being a groupie? Maybe I could make you scream it too."
You raised an eyebrow. It wasn't an old crappy pick up line, but he was still one more stupid sentence from getting slapped. You had to admit you did think this guy was kind of cute, and some parts of him were even adorable, but not so cute or adorable that you wouldn't remind him he was talking to a human being.
You shook your head watching him become more and more drunk, and knew he was likely to keep making conversation. Since it was clear to you he was not going to stop speaking, you decided to change the subject instead of letting him dig his own grave.
"So who was your inspiration?" You asked thinking it would be an appropriate question. Little did you know you'd soon be enjoying yourself talking with him. His eyes lit up and he listed a number of musicians and bands that he had been inspired by. How he'd listened to all eras rock music from a young age, and had gotten his first guitar for his tenth birthday. That sparked his dreams to become a rockstar. He talked about how he would spend every moment of free time learning to play. How he played with a band called Maggot Death in Highschool and has been living with one of the members ever since his father kicked him out.
You found yourself laughing, smiling and even coming close to tears at some points as you watched him do so himself. Perhaps the most surprising thing though was that familiar warm tickle slowly spreading on your cheeks. He was certainly no gentleman, but at this point you knew there was some tenderness underneath all the cockiness. Still even in his near-stupor, you could tell he was definitely still keeping most of his walls up. Not that it was your duty to take them down. It was about that time one of his band members came over, and reminded you that you were just a bartender this wannabe rock star had been talking to for the first time.
"Excuse me, Is this guy bothering you?" The man asked. He was thinner, and had longer, straighter hair than Dewey. He wore a leather jacket that left his torso bare showing off a set of abs that clearly he was proud of.
The man's tone surprised you. He spoke as if Dewey had been trying to fondle you over the counter or had been relentlessly trying to pick you up.
"Uh-um. . ." Was all you could manage. Not only had you snapped out of the happy daze of the conversation, but you realized you hadn't been keeping track of just how much beer you'd been giving him. Now the poor guy was drunk out of his mind, you had no idea how much money he owed the bar, and you were pretty sure this could get you fired. The troubled look on your face must have given the guy the wrong idea, cause he smacked the back of Dewey's head.
"Heeeeeeeeeey!" Dewey uttered as he slowly rubbed the back of his head.
"They're not interested, Dewey. Leave them alone." Said the band member.
"I wassssssn -hic- bothering nobody."
The other man looked at you, and sighed. "How much does he owe?"
You just stared at him a full minute before gathering your thoughts.
"Oh. . . um, I think he drank the equivalent of a pitcher." You knew it was more likely two or more, but you didn't want to cause any more trouble. The man slapped several dollar bills down on the counter, before turning to Dewey.
"You owe me."
"Th-thanks -hic- buddy." Dewey said with a goofy smile.
"Come on. We're over here." The guy said, turning to lead him to the rest of the band. Dewey went to follow him stumbling as he got out of the chair. He fell clumsily to the ground. The band member turned and laughed at him, soon joined by the others as well as many people in the bar. Dewey looked up very dazed, but smiled seeing that everyone else was.
"Whoops!" He giggled.
You might have been the only one not laughing though. You felt sorry for him.
"I've changed my mind Dewey. You better call Ned." His bandmate told him.
"Wait!“ Dewey scrambled on the floor trying to stand or at least sit. It was obvious from the way he teetered on the support of his arms his judgement was way off. He managed to sit on his knees. "Wait! I-I -hic- can't! Patti will lose -hic- lose her crap if shhhheee finds out I. . . ca-called Ned to come -hic- come get me. . .
Another band member cut in.
"It's nothing personal, Dewey. There's just no telling what your fat ass is gonna vomit in his car."
Even though the remark wasn't even all that funny in your opinion, the band members laughed. Dewey laughed too, but it was an uncomfortable laugh. The laugh that comes from the person being joked about trying to seem unoffended. Still watching this all play out, you could tell Dewey was hurt and scared of whoever Patti was. Regardless of your sympathy toward him, you had a job to do.
You continued to pour people's drinks, almost too busy to watch as Dewey's band left him. You didn't see where Dewey himself went until after the evening rush had gone. It was about fifteen minutes to closing. He was sitting in a booth with his head down. There were a few tipsy stragglers at the bar, which was nothing the other bartenders couldn't handle. You decided to go over and check on him. You walked over and sat across from him.
"Hey, you okay?" You asked.
He lifted his head. His eyes were red, and his face puffy and tear streaked. He looked sick and exhausted. He made a sad attempt at a smile.
"Jussss fine." He slurred before another hiccup escaped him. An all too familiar panic flashed through his eyes and he clutched his stomach. He covered his mouth and sat back for a moment until a nasty sounding burp escaped him. He moaned and stared miserably at the wall above your head.
"Are you sure? Do you need a bucket?“
His eyes lowered back down to you. "Jusss go away. . ."
You wanted to do what he asked, but with it being so close to closing, you needed to make sure he had a way to get home.
"H-have you texted your friend to ask for a ride home yet?"
“No. . ."
"Why not?"
"My nightssss -hic- been b-bad enough without my roommate's -hic- girrrlfriend yelling at me. . . and threatening to kick me out."
You couldn't disagree. That would be a worse ending to an already ruined night. Still you had to close up soon. You had to get him out of here, and hopefully home somehow.
"W-What about earlier on stage? You were really good."
He looked up at you, a slight smirk had returned to his face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, you looked like you were enjoying yourself up there."
"I alwaaaays enjoy my-myself -hic- onstage. Rock. . . isss what I wass meant fffor. The mussssic sp-speaks to me.
You smiled, seeing that little smirk gave you hope. Clearly he was very passionate about Rock. You decided to try to keep him on the subject.
"When did you first get into rock?" You asked.
"I've pretty much -hic- been Inta rock my whhhhhole life."
"Oh?"
"Y-yeah. I'vvve been singing -hic- since I can. . . m-member. . . It's great for expression. . . a-and sex appeal. . . You think so too, don't you." He was looking you in the eyes now. His expression made your heart skip a beat. You were having second thoughts about this now. Maybe you should have had one of the other bartenders come with you. You nervously backed up in your seat.
"W-what?" You stammered.
"Well yyyyou do keep talking about -hic- the way I looked on stage."
You blushed. It was a big misunderstanding. You just noticed how he stood out from the others.
"O-oh, no I wasn't meaning-"
Dewey chuckled. "Ssssure, you didn't. You even r-risked your job to -hic- over serve me.
You raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
"Speaking of -hic- whaddaya say . . . to another r-round?“
Your voice came a little more stern. "No I think you've had enough.'
"Come. . . Come on, baby. Jusss -hic- a few more?"
Baby!? Who the hell did he think he was? “No!“
"Wwwwann me to take my sh-shhhirt off?"
"No thanks!"
“Kiss you?" He grinned.
"Absolutely not!" You stood to get up from the table. He stood too, leaning forward. He absolutely reeked of alcohol. You could tell from the look on his face he wasn't done, but if he wasn't careful he was about to be.
"What if I sign a tit?" It was then that you noticed he was gawking at your breasts. That was it. You reared back your hand and sent it flying into the side of his face. He yelped, sitting back down in the booth. His eyes were wide with shock. He touched the red mark that was now forming on his cheek. His bottom lip quivered. For a moment, you thought he might burst into tears. Unfortunately, what came next was worse.
Once the look came over his face, you knew what was coming, and there was no stopping it this time. Dewey held his gut as vomit poured from his mouth all over the table, and even down your skirt. You were really pissed now.
"GET OUT!" You screamed at him. He sat there wide eyed, embarrassed, scared, and still pretty sickly.
"I-I'm so sorry-"
"OUT!" You pointed to the door.
He scrambled to get up from the booth, and stumbled across the floor. He stopped suddenly leaning over a booth retching again. He wasn't going to make it very far if he left now. You sighed handing him a bucket.
"Just sit down, and text your friend to come get you."
Dewey hugged the bucket and nodded. You watched making sure he texted his friend Ned, while thinking about quitting your job here. It wasn't bad money, but you certainly didn't sign up for babysitting sick, horny, drunks. Dewey retched into the bucket causing you to look away. It was then that you noticed another man walking towards you.
"You okay?" He asked.
You brushed your hair back out of your face looking up at him. You could tell your expression was still harsh, but had no interest in changing it. After all this, you figured you were justified in a little rudeness despite the bar's policy.
"I'm fine.“ You snapped.
The man chuckled and grinned. "Easy sweetheart, I'm just trying to help."
You rolled your eyes.
"Just leave me alone."
The man stepped closer. "That skirt is looking a little messy. Let me help with that."
Your eyes widened, but you didn't have time to react before the man attacked you yanking at your skirt. You screamed. You could barely register the next movements in your shocked state.
A fist flew into the man's face. He staggered backwards letting out a muffled scream from behind hands covering a bleeding nose. Dewey was now standing next to you staring at his blood soaked fist. You wanted to say something like "thank you" or "sorry for screaming at you earlier" but the man who tried to assault you had regained his composure, and grabbed Dewey.
The angry drunk slammed Dewey into the side of the booth, which backfired because instead of a scream of pain, Dewey regurgitated all over his attacker. The disgusted stranger screamed obscenities at him before throwing him to the ground and pinning him there. His messy knuckles slamming into Dewey's head again and again. You screamed for the man to stop it, almost certain from the blood he'd killed Dewey. Your assumption was confirmed false when a fist with a mug in it shot upward and was slammed against the attackers head. The mug shattered and the man fell to the ground unconscious.
"Oh my god!" You knelt next to Dewey, who now had bruises forming on his face and blood dripping from his nose.
"Are you okay?" You asked, looking him over for anything else. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"
He just moaned in response, his eyes unfocused.
"Can you sit up? I can help you." With your help he was able to sit up. He leaned back against your arm limp and dazed. A tall thin man in glasses came running into the bar.
"Dewey!? Oh God! What did you do!?" He panicked rushing over to him.
"N-Nehhd. . ." Dewey managed.
"Are you alright?" Ned asked him. He looked at you. "What happened?
"It's a long story." You answered. "But, he helped me." You looked between the two of them. “I'll call an ambulance. He needs to get checked out."
"Wahnna. . . go home." Dewey whined.
"Not yet, Dewey. They're right, we gotta get you checked out first."
You pulled out your phone and dialed nine-one-one, and though Dewey really didn't feel like getting looked over, and was less than cooperative, he ended up being pretty lucky. His back was bruised the worst, and he had a minor concussion, but other than that he was mostly okay. The medic really seemed to prefer he get checked at a hospital, but since Dewey was likely to be less cooperative there he let Ned take home. He was given instruction to stay with Dewey to make sure nothing got worse, and to make sure he stayed in bed if he felt dizzy.
Before taking Dewey home Ned thanked you for taking care of him. You shook your head.
"Taking care of him was an occupational thing. I should be thanking him for taking care of me."
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anessthesiaa · 4 years
Note
Heyy, please can I request 86, 91, and 92 with Flip, I can see him being really into being called daddy
Yess! Flip would love to be called Daddy. I hope you enjoy this, I did take a slightly different route than normal, to show Flip as extra daddy-like, we all know he loves and adores his kitten.
CW/TW: General Flip roughness, daddy kink, punishment and degradation + aftercare
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“Yeah?” Flip asked, pressing his palm around your throat, his fingers nearly wrapping around the entire circumference, almost meeting his thumb behind your head. “Is that so, kitten?”
You nodded against his grip, struggling out a weak “Yes.” 
“When you respond to me.” He told you. “You know what to call me, don’t you, kitten?” He upped the pressure, smirking at you as you struggled for air against him. “Say it right, I’ll stop choking you.” You felt nearly purple in the face.
“Y-yes daddy.” You said in nearly a whisper, trying to break away from his hold.
“Good girl, good girl.” He removed his hand from your throat, and you gasped for air. “But.” He paused, palm against your cheek, stroking softly. “I’m going to have to show you what happens to little brats who don’t follow the rules. Do you understand, kitten?” 
“Yes, sir, yes, daddy, I understand.” You could feel your heart drumming against your torso, nausea blooming in the pit of your stomach, rising up to your face, burning red with anticipation. You felt yourself resisting his touch, to which he responded by effortlessly pinning you to the pillow. 
“You’re going to listen to me, and you’re going to do what I say. You’re going to be a good girl for me, right, pet?” Flip told you, both hands now on your face, “I don’t think you understand, I don’t think you do, pretty princess.” Flip slipped a finger into your mouth, followed by his hand, prying your jaw wide open. “Oh, it hurts, does it, doll?” He followed with the other hand. 
“Mmm.” You whined, wincing at the feeling of his huge, strong hands, forcing you open. 
“Good.” He said deeply. looking you over. “Look at that pretty little mouth of yours. Such a shame that you waste it talking back to daddy. I’m going to use that pretty little mouth of yours like the cum bucket you are.” Flip spit into your mouth, drool still dribbling down, which you felt spill down the back of your throat. “Disobedient little cum bucket, aren’t you?”
You tried to respond, failing when your teeth met his fingers. 
“Don’t bite me, kitten.” He removed his hands from your throat, and you struggled to close your sore jaw back. “Now, respond to me. What are you?” 
“Disobedient little cum bucket.” You responded, as he pet your face, smiling down at you. 
“Yes, princess, but who’s are you? Who do you belong to, pet?” 
“You, daddy.” You replied. 
“Good girl, you already know your place.” He pulled your hair again, pressing his forehead against yours. “Now,” He continues. “For your punishment.” He reached to your panties, tugging at them, making you feel the elastic dig into your waistline. He sat on top of you, his legs straddling either side, and placed another hand under your panties. “Oh you’re so wet for me, you’re excited for daddy to punish you, are you?”
You nodded. “Yes, daddy.” 
Flip responded by pushing two fingers into you, without warning, all at once, feeling you squirm against him and resist at the new burning, stretching feeling. He pumped his fingers into your aching cunt, your juices dripping down to his hand. “Is that what you like, kitten?” He pressed harder into you, making you whimper in pain, trying to pull your pussy away from him. “You stay right here. You’re going to take your punishment.” Flip ordered. 
He continued like this, his fingers tearing your tight pussy apart, and his hand around your throat he did so. In the midst of it, he would add a third finger, smiling at you as you cried out at the feeling of him stretching you. “Flip, ow- I, ow.”  You whined. 
Flip slammed into you harder as you writhed in discomfort. He let his fingers rest inside of you for just a moment, before at once, pulling them out, raising his hand to your mouth again, ordering you to clean off your mess. “Knees.” He ordered,
You obeyed his command, sitting up on your wobbly knees as you did so, reaching for him to steady you. Flip pulled down his boxers. his swollen hardness was intimidating as he did so. 
“Suck, princess.” He ordered. Flip pulled you closer, pushing your lips on to the swollen head of his cock. You opened your mouth, allowing him in and he pressed your face on to all of him.
‘Mmm-F-.” You whined, tears forming as your throat burned and you struggled not to gag on him.
“Come on.” Flip said in a soft tone. “Take it all on your own, like a good pet.”
Flip thrusted into your throat, as spit from your mouth dripped from your mouth, and tears fell down your cheeks. Flip held your hair out of your face, a firm grip on it as he did so.
“So pretty like that.” He praised you. “Crying and gagging on daddy’s cock.” He held himself at the back of your throat and you could feel him twitching and pulsing at the roof of your mouth. “Good girl. good girl for daddy.”
Flip pulled out of your mouth, letting the pressure off of your head. “Look at you, such a mess from my cock.” He used his thumb to wipe what was left of the tears from your cheeks, before shoving you back onto the bed. “Now, before I destroy that pretty pussy of yours, how about you touch yourself for me? Get yourself all warmed up. You’re going to need it.” 
You hesitantly reached for your clit, massaging your fingers over it slowly, as Flip watched you intently.
“Awww, is my little princess getting shy?” Flip spread your legs open. “I said to touch yourself, pet.” He demanded.
“Yes, sir.” Your voice shook. You pressed your fingers into your already sore entrance, and Flip followed behind with his hand, making you take all of it. 
“Good girl, get that pussy ready for me, because I’m going to tear it apart.” He smirked at you. 
You did your best to pump your fingers into yourself, and eventually Flip let you stop, still holding your legs open as you did so. “Stomach.” He ordered. 
You rolled over, as he commanded, and he pressed your face into the mattress, pushing his cock into your swollen lips, making you whine and kick your legs as he did so. He yanked up on your hair again, as he fucked you. “Does it hurt when I fuck you like this, like the little whore you are?” 
You were crying into the mattress at this point, trying to hide it, but you shook with sobs, trying to clear your throat responding to his question. You found yourself dizzy and disoriented. 
“Hey, princess, are you still with me?” Flip slowed his pace, eased the grip on your hair“Princess, talk to me, are you okay?” 
“I-uh-” You were incoherent, unable to form words. 
“Hey, hey, it’s alright, come back to me. you’re okay.” Flip pulled out of you, laying next to you, hugging you. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I was a little too hard I’m sorry princess, I’m sorry.” 
Flip petted your hair, and massaged your back, steadying your body as you cried onto him. 
“Come back to me, sweetheart, I know it hurts, we’re all done now, it’s okay.” Flip said softly to you. “Stay with me, honey, it’s okay. I need you to tell daddy if you’re okay.”
“Mm-I’m okay, daddy, I just got scared, I got really scared, it was hurting really bad, I know it’s supposed to, I just couldn’t take it.” You hiccuped, tears spilling onto Flip’s bare chest.
“Sssh…” Flip cooed. “It’s okay princess, you’re alright. Daddy isn’t mad at you, sweetheart.” 
Flip held you tightly, making sure you were brought at least back to reality, staying with you and checking in on you the whole time. He would give you a back, and whole body massage as you returned to reality, and would make you snacks to get your blood sugar back up, making you just about chug water, but would hold the bottle to your lips, so all you had to do was drink as needed. 
Later that night, he would cradle you in his arms, singing and talking to you gently. 
“Daddy loves you so much, sweetie, don’t ever forget that, you don’t have to do any of that stuff, I love you, princess.”
212 notes · View notes
hikaridemina · 3 years
Text
*Quietly tucks this into the corner* I really want to keep making OC x canon snippets but my confidence wavers. Oh well.
This turned out way more sad than originally intended.
Warnings/tags: Angst, swearing, OC x Canon, OOC
-----
A dim ray of sunlight shone through the darkened bedroom from between the curtains. Fizz’s eyelids fluttered open with the light shining in his vision, his eyes steadily gaining a green glow as they powered back on. He turned over on his side in the bed and was now facing the bat demon sleeping soundly beside him.
He was the first one awake apparently, which was... new. Normally Demina was the one waking him up at the ass crack of dawn, so she must have been exhausted to still be asleep. Well, after what they had done late into the night, it wasn’t too much of a surprise. A sly smile crept over the jester’s face as he thought about it.
After a little while, he carefully slid out of the bed, trying very hard not to wake her up. He seemed to have succeeded, and with the utmost care he grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled it up to cover her shoulders. He then made his way over to the bathroom, stepping around both of their articles of clothing, including his trademark outfit, that were strewn about on the floor.
He flicked on the light switch as he entered and leaned on the vanity counter to look at the mirror. A frown appeared on his face as he tapped on the shiny piece of metal that started from where his collar bone would be, then extended all the way up to the middle of his neck. The posture collar had a fancy heart engraved on the front, and was a shiny silver which contrasted with the off-white of his torso.
The thing wouldn’t bother him so much if it didn’t stick out like a goddamn sore thumb, but at least it was relatively hidden while he had his clothing on.
Or maybe it wasn’t the collar itself that bothered him, but the reason why it was there. He had gotten careless, let his guard down for a few seconds and it put him out of commission long enough for Demina’s life to be thrown into danger. Luckily, she had managed to get herself out of it before any real harm had happened to her, but...
Still. That event continued to haunt him no matter how hard he tried to push it from his memory, and this fucking collar did nothing else but remind him of it. Well, aside from holding his upper chest together and keeping his head attached. Honestly, he rather would have gone through the long-term repairs for that instead of this ‘quick fix’ they did on him while he was offline. He let out a sigh as he kept staring into the mirror.
Damn, feeling sad sucked. Who knew that actually, genuinely, caring for someone else would make things so complicated.
His attention was then immediately drawn to the person who just had stepped into the doorway behind him, whom appeared to have put on a black t-shirt and shorts after having gotten out of bed. He quickly turned around and forced a toothy grin as he leaned back on the counter.
“Hey Dems! Finally decided to get up, huh?”
“Yeah...” The bat let out a yawn, “What are you doing in the bathroom?”
“... Uhh.” He didn’t know how to answer that, actually. “Just, you know... things.”
Fuck. That was such a Blitzo answer.
She picked up on the awkwardness right away, especially with that fake grin of his, which she was sure if it got any wider his face would probably get stuck like that. She raised a brow at him.
Another thing that sucked was when someone else cared just as much about you and could tell when you were full of shit.
Fizz then froze completely as she walked up to him and placed a hand on his chest.
“It’s the collar, isn’t it?” She said while keeping her gaze down, running her thumb over the heart-shaped engraving.
How the heck did she know? He had never voiced to her how he really felt about it... Maybe she was just too good at figuring these things out.
“Now I know what you’re gonna say...” He gently grabbed hold of her hand to move it from his chest, his fingers lacing between hers.
“You don’t need to feel sorry for it.”
She kept her gaze down, her hand now squeezing his a bit.
“But you got hurt.”
“Well robots can’t really get hurt, so-”
He was taken aback as she shot a piercing glare up at him. Through her angry expression he could spot her bottom lip quivering, along with the dew forming in her eyes telling a completely different reaction.
She threw her other arm over around his shoulders and nestled her face into his neck.
"That's not what I fucking mean..." She took in a shaky breath to try to keep her voice from cracking, but it didn't do much.
"I know you think you can just keep getting into shit, getting fixed over and over again until one day..."
She couldn't hold it back anymore as steady streams began to flow down her face. Fuck, how did it get to this point so quickly.
"I had to-" her voice hiccupped mid-sentence and she had to gulp down her breath before continuing, "I had to fucking see you on the ground with your eyes all black, you didn't answer when I called you, you didn't move, I thought you were... Gone."
For once the jester was speechless. He had no witty remarks, no comebacks, no smartass-ness. All he could do in that moment was stand there motionless as his girlfriend hung on to him, while he continued to clutch her hand like he was never going to let go.
"Dems..."
If he could be crying himself right now, he would be. This entire time he had thought she had gotten out of that terrifying situation unscathed, but it was now apparent that wasn't the case. His free arm coiled around her waist to pull her closer into the hug.
"I... I'm sorry, okay? I couldn't let those bastards get away with trying to hurt you-"
"But you didn't have to chase them!" She interrupted him, her breath hitching again as she had to breathe through her mouth.
"We could have just ran away! We could have got away together and everything would have been fine!"
She unintentionally let out a sob as she buried her face in his shoulder, her large ears folding flat. God, she was such a mess, and now she also felt bad for practically yelling at him.
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to be such a bitch..."
"N-No you're not bbbeing a bitch!"
Wait, did his voice just glitch out? God fucking dammit that was supposed to have been fixed. He nuzzled the side of her face.
"I'll be more careful from now on, for you."
Demina sniffled as she wiped her face on her arm. She was finally starting to calm down.
"You have to promise, and not just for me either."
"Alright. I, Fizzarolli, promise to stop being a dumbass and scaring his girlfriend."
He smiled at the exasperated sigh he received in response from the bat still nuzzled into his shoulder.
"Stupid fucking clown." She muttered just loud enough for him to hear, a smile also having formed on her face.
"Crazy ass bat." He said playfully in return.
She moved back a bit so she could look up at him, unable to hide her smile.
"How am I crazy?"
"For crying over the stupid fucking clown."
Their smiles widened as they both leaned in to connect for a kiss. The soft moment felt good after the emotional rollercoaster they had just been through.
After the kiss, Demina let go of Fizz's hand and motioned for him to let go of her as well.
"Okay I'm gonna have to kick you out of the bathroom now."
"Oh woe is me."
He unraveled his arm from around her waist, but didn't budge from his spot in front of the vanity as he grinned at her.
"What if I wanted to stay?"
"You are not staying in here when I need it."
"Aww, you never know, I could be into that."
"Ew."
She promptly used one of her wings to push him out before slamming the door shut behind him, whilst he did that wicked chuckle of his that he does every time he acts like a little shit.
At least that unexpected morning drama was over with and he felt pretty much back to normal.
He noticed the clothes that were on the floor had been picked up and put in the laundry basket, with the exception of his jester attire which instead had been laid out at the end of the bed.
He had a different idea though and made a beeline for the closet, sliding the door open to take out a faded violet hoodie. With some effort he managed to slip it over his head, pulling it down over his body. He held his jester ears down in front of himself as he put the hood up and pulled the string to keep it in place.
Now he was perfectly content.
Fizz then moved into the living room to sit on the couch. Moments later, Demina entered the room as well and began to gather her wallet and keys.
"So I have to get some things from the store, you can come along if you want... to..."
She stopped and stared at her boyfriend sitting on the couch wearing her hoodie, which was fine, except there was something missing.
"Where's your pants?"
He shrugged in response.
"Didn't think I needed them."
"Oh for fuck's sake," she rolled her eyes as she went back into the bedroom, a few seconds later returning with his black and white striped pants in hand.
He gave her that shit-eating grin again.
"If it was for fuck's sake, I'd leave 'em offPFT-"
She had thrown the pants over his face.
Yeah, everything was back to normal, alright.
6 notes · View notes
hwas-housewife · 4 years
Note
Okay you're closing the game tomorrow and I can't lose this chance to request for sannie kdnwhdnsns so San + prompt 24 + au prompt 21 + and you can choose how it goes, I'm sure you'll make a PIECE OF ART love ya beautiful 🥺
Prompt: “Stay the night. Please.” + Best Friend AU
Word count: ~2k
Genre: Fluff + angst
Warnings: undertones of a toxic relationship
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: ok wow this ended up sadder than I was originally going for so I am so sorry. I tried to bring it back to being okay by the end but I really don’t know how much I actually like the results, so I hope you like it still!
(also sorry it’s been so long since I put anything out)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your phone vibrated as the violent ringtone of your best friend screaming pierced the air. You can fully blame San for recording and changing it in the first place. However, you keeping it the clip of him screaming bloody murder into a mic was entirely your fault. 
Reading the caller ID, you sighed as your boyfriend’s name was spelled out in big letters. 
“Don’t tell me it’s that prick you call your boyfriend,” San’s insult didn’t even phase you. They never had gotten along quite well. And you were sure that him calling–again–was getting on San’s nerves the longer the phone was screaming. 
“It’ll only be a minute, Sannie. I promise,” you apologetically looked at him and grabbed your phone, heading for the outside of your best friend’s room. 
You were sure San mumbled out some more profanities while he paused the movie and you finished closing the door. Standing in the dark hallway, you took one more breath before pressing your thumb to the ‘answer’ button.
“Why haven’t you been answering my texts? God, I was so worried for you,” your boyfriend almost sounded sincere over the phone.
“I’m watching a movie. I told you it was best friend night,” your voice sounded weaker than you intended, “like every Thursday night,” the whisper left your lips with immediate regret.
“Oh, how could I forget. Thursday night. Of course! It’s not like you spend every single day with him anyway. Yet you can’t spare your boyfriend a text back when he’s concerned for you,” the sarcasm in his words hurt more than a boyfriend’s words should.
“I wasn’t looking at my phone, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? An apology is all I get for the panic I’ve been feeling for the past hour. He could’ve tried something on you within that time and I would have no idea. Do you even know what’s been going through my head? You can be so oblivious sometimes.”
You hated it when he gets like this. He has always disproved of your friendship with San since day one. You just figured that a year and a half into the relationship that he wouldn’t be so reluctant to let you hang out with San.
“I’ve told you before, we’ve been bes–,” he cut you off before you could even finish.
“Best friends since first grade, so he would never try anything on me. You say that every time and yet I know what he’s actually like. The second he gets you far enough away from me, he’s going to take advantage of you. Just watch,” his voice was loud and aggressive and it was starting to freak you out. But you weren’t going to let him insult your best friend right in front of you.
“San would never do that. He’s a good person. How dare you accuse him of something so vile,” you spit the words out, venom in your voice. You were glad neither of the men could see you right now. Your hand holding the phone to your ear was shaking and tears threatened to spill out your eyes.
“Or is that something you’re hoping to happen? Is that why you get so defensive? Oh, I bet it is. You probably already are doing that. That’s why you haven’t been answering me. You were too busy with your hands,” he takes a pause, waiting to see if you’re going to build off his anger. 
However, you were still, frozen in shock. Your boyfriend just accused you of cheating on him with your childhood best friend. You. San. Cheating? You almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. 
“What? No words? I guess that’s what happens when you get called out. I just can’t believe it took me this long to figure out. I mean, I’ve always had my suspicions but I thought you were too much of a goody-two-shoes to actually do it. I guess the guys were right, girls like you look innocent and cute but are actually just a hoe looking for her next plaything.”
Tears now streamed down your face. The false accusations stung. They hurt worse than any other harmful words he’s thrown your way. He was upfront, but never this rude to you. 
You wiped your eyes, mustering up the courage to say what you needed to get out.
“I think we need a break,” your voice cracked, giving away your current state. 
He stopped his ramblings when he heard your words. You could only hear his angered, labored breathing on the other end of the phone.
“And for the record, I’ve never cheated on you.”
You clicked the end call button on your phone as tears fell from your eyes. 
Giving yourself a second to register what just happened, you let out a shaky breath. The tears morphed into sobs as you stood in the dark hallway. All you wanted was for your best friend to shush you and tell you it will be okay. 
With that realization, you faced the door and slowly turned the knob. San laid on your bed, scrolling through some social media on his phone as he waited for your return. Upon hearing the knob turn, he looked towards you with a smile on his face, ready to show you some stupid video he just saw.
But once he saw your red and already-puffing eyes, the smile vanished and was overtaken with a look of concern. He sat up, moving the bedding over to help you get under some blankets.
You slowly made your way to him, letting out hiccups and sobs. Finally, you sat down on the bed, pulling your legs up to your chest and looking into your best friend’s dark eyes.
His dark blue–almost black–hair covered part of his eyes as he grabbed both your shoulders gently, “What happened?”
“I guess I just broke up with him,” you gave him a teary smile, but it quickly faded as the reality of the situation kept returning.
San’s hands made their way around you until his muscular arms engulfed you. He brought your body to his, forcing your head to rest against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” were the only words he muttered as he caressed your hair, trying to hush your tears.
You sobbed for what you think was the greater part of an hour before you were starting to relax. You still sat, cuddled into your best friend as he rubbed circles into your arms, sides, wherever he could to try to calm your aching heart. 
Somewhere in the midst of the tears, he coaxed the two of you into a lying position. So now, your head rested on his chest as he looked up at your bedroom ceiling speckled with glow-in-the-dark stars. They had lost their glow years ago, but the memories of you and San putting them up and pretending they were the night sky still felt fresh in his memory.
“Sannie,” your voice was hoarse as you called him. He hummed for you to continue, “Stay the night. Please.”
It wouldn’t be the first time he stayed the night at your place. You’ve known each other for more than twelve years now, and sleepovers were mandatory best friend activities in your younger teen days. But this was different. You needed him right now, more than the time you embarrassed yourself in front of the entire junior-year class during high school. And he knew that you needed him.
“I wasn’t going to leave unless you were pushing me out the door anyway. I want to be here for you,” San’s words made your heartache more than it already was, and it brought tears to your eyes.
Your arms wrapped around his torso, squeezing him to you, “Thank you. You really are the bestest best friend.”
You looked up at him, a small smile on your face. His hand came down to brush some hair behind your ear, a gentle smirk on his face.
“But he really was a prick. You deserve someone better than him. So don’t let some singular brain celled human upset you this much. You’ll be able to find someone who will love you more than he ever did and they’ll make you happier than you could hope for. And that’s a promise,” San’s words were gentle but firm. They left no room for you to doubt what he said. 
He was always like this. Exuding confidence. You suppose that’s one of the things you’ve loved about him since you first met. It didn’t matter if he was giving you confidence for the test coming up or standing up to some bully who pulled your hair. San was always there to reassure you that things were going to be okay. He would pick you back up and on to your feet while taking care of your injuries all in one fellow swoop.
You snuggled further into his chest, giving him a squeeze of affection.
“I know,” you mumbled into his chest.
San continued to look at the stars, his signature smile sat atop his face.
“Remember when we put these up?” it was a question, but it felt almost rhetorical.
You turned your body so that you were laid on your back next to San, looking up at the stars as well. A smile graced your face as you reminisced with him.
“When was it, third grade?” you asked back.
His smile grew in recollection. San moved his arms to behind his head, letting the moments pass in silence before he finally responded to you.
“After that astronomy unit, you were so obsessed with space that your parents bought you these so you would stop complaining about never getting to go stargazing. And of course, you forced me to help you put them up the following day after school.”
You laughed at your younger self’s persistence. 
“I would apologize but it was a lot of fun. And after we put them up we shut off the lights to see if they worked. I think we laid there for hours until your mom came to pick you up,” you could feel your ex-boyfriend fading farther from your mind the more you talked about the memory.
“And then I was mad at you after that because my arms were so sore from reaching for the ceiling that I couldn’t play volleyball the next day,” you were both laughing at his anger towards you.
You turned your body towards his so that you could look at his face.
“Forgive me?” your voice was soft and your lips turned into a pout.
San looked down at you, reaching forward until his hand rested on your face.
“You know I can’t resist when you give me puppy dog eyes. Although I was quite devastated,” his smirk gave way that he was teasing you.
“Well,” you dragged out the word, “I can make it up to you tonight by bringing some old movies and making you popcorn?” You offered him a truce that you knew wasn’t necessary. But in your own weird way was a thank you to him for being such a good friend to you for all these years.
“Can we also have chocolates,” his eyes were hopeful.
“We can’t forget the chocolates,” you cheekily looked up at your best friend.
He sat up enthusiastically, “Then what are we still doing here? Go make the popcorn and by the time you’re back I’ll have a list of movies ready for us,” he said determinedly.
You sat up, returning his enthusiasm as you made your way out of your room.
“You better have at least one Disney princess movie on there or it’ll be your butt on the floor tonight,” you called out to him as you were making your way down the stairs and to the kitchen.
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theashofwkm · 4 years
Text
Dinner of Rats
Summary: In which Mark adds a little spice to his dinner, and finally takes the sleeping pills he keeps forgetting.
Prompt: Goretober, Poisoned
Warnings: poison, self-poisoning, suicide attempt, stabbing mention, the f word, I say shitty once, description of wounds/stabs, self-hate, mention of starving oneself, longing for death, overdose, death description, downward spiral, cheating mention, betrayal, this ones pretty dark guys.
Note: day three!!! this might also be counted as the suicide prompt, but idk yet. We’ll see if my motivation can keep up with this and if I have another idea for it.
———
Walking through the halls, body sore and colored with harsh red and circles of blooming purpled-blue, Mark wanders around lost in the home he’s lived in his entire life.
He’s in his home, walking though it’s halls. It’s impossible, he shouldn’t still be here, with legs and lungs in a body that still breathes. The stabs littering his torso should have killed him, he should be dead dozens of times over, but he’s not.
He’s not.
Still here, walking, breathing, thinking, against his will. He’d made a choice, committed to it nearly forty times and it didn’t stick. Just left him with missing time and a body that was a little more broken.
Foolishly, desperately, he thinks it’s the method that’s the problem.
It’s not and he knows that, but he needs to be wrong. He needs the voices to be wrong. He needs to be dead.
Sorrow lives his bones, a compliment to the grief of his blood and the guilt tanning his skin. There’s no reason anymore.
It’s hard and every breath feels like a punch in the gut, a rope looped around his neck. If he’s not in some agonizing emotional pain turned physical, he’s numb. Devoid of any feeling, of the sense of touch entirely. Living hurts and he doesn’t want to hurt anymore.
Not over her. She didn’t deserve to hold this power over him. Not now. Not after what she did.
He decides to try a new method. There’s bleach on the cupboard in the bathroom, rat poison in the kitchen. He’d taint his own drink, add the spice to his food and pray that that was enough.
It’s funny, before she left, he wasn’t a religious man, but he prays so often now. Daily, at least. Begging for the same thing like a broken record. Hands clasped and knees bruised, he asks and begs and pleads but he doesn’t receive.
Broken heart, bleeding lungs, self-hate littering his torso, he asks for the pain to stop. It gets worse.
It only ever gets worse.
Every time it does, he feels a modicum of relief along with the new wave of pain, believing it to be the last, the new worst. Then the ocean swells and another wave comes and he’s proven wrong. He hit rock bottom a long time ago, weeks ago. That was supposed to be the worst, that is what everyone said was the worst. ‘There’s nowhere to go but up,’ they’d said. Wrong.
He’s falling. Screaming to wind that swallows his voice and whips his flailing limbs. He can’t see the sky anymore, no sun or moon, just endless black.
Endless, pitch, encompassing black. The place he’s come to call The Nothing flashes through his mind. The starving ground of the whispers, the place where their sound echoes as they try to tear him apart. To lead him down a different path.
Whispering words that tug at his heart, that weaken his resolve, momentarily. Whispering justice, whispering revenge, whispering it’s not fair, is it?
No. None of this was fucking fair.
It would never be fair. What she did was vile and repulsive and downright cold. He’d loved her, had given her everything he could, everything that she asked and she took his willingness to please her, his devoted love and used it to stab him where it hurts. Figuratively. He did the actual stabbing himself.
Her betrayal had hurt more. He suspects that it always would.
And William. It boggles Mark’s mind, what he’d done. They’d been so much more then friends, had been brothers, and he’d gone after the one woman Mark had cared for, the one he’d marked as taken. He’d stolen his wife and cleared the joint bank account he shared with her and Mark hopes he suffers.
Because if the situation was reversed, if William had married the girl he loved, he doesn’t think he’d stoop so low as to steal her. It was a cheap, below the belt move and it wasn’t fair.
He scoffs a laugh as he veers into the bathroom. He thinks of the empty bank account. Cleared entirely by the girl he loved and the man he trusted.
In the end, now, he doesn’t much care for the missing money. It’s just another shitty thing, another mountain he doesn’t have the energy to climb. Just another thing that reduces the percentage of oxygen in his air to leave him gasping.
Thankfully, the bleach is labeled as so. He grabs it, tugging it towards him and wondering why the jug needs to be so big. It’s fine, though, he’d prepared for it. Sneaking the empty flask from his pocket, he messily pours the bleach in before capping it and shoving it back in.
Some of it had dropped onto the floor, splashed onto his robe. It stings against his hand. He welcomes the burn, he’s been through much worse lately. This is nothing.
Everything was nothing. He was searching for the thing that would be last. He wonders if death hurts, or just the process. Would he feel peace, once the deed was done? He hopes so, but he also doesn’t much care. If he wasn’t in pain, mentally ripping at his skin and tearing out his hair, then it was better.
Better was a low bar nowadays, but somehow it was still out of reach. Still too high for him to reach up and grasp. There’s an endless amount of betters, but somehow he keeps finding the limited worsts.
The flask doesn’t sit heavy in his pocket. The first few times he’d tried to off himself, the knife had been heavy, his grip slippery. It had been hard, the first few times. It’s become easy now, easier then breathing.
He wonders what that means, that an attempt to end his life is easier then drawing air into his lungs. Probably nothing good. But he’s not surprised. There’s nothing good left about him.
He’s everything but a walking corpse.
At the last moment, he grabs a bottle of pills. To help him sleep, pills he hasn’t been taking. Pills that could actually help him sleep, now that it crosses his mind. He pockets it next to the flask.
Leaving the bathroom, he makes his way downstairs. This is the hard part, the first hiccup he could experience. Chef doesn’t like people in the kitchen. That is where the poison lies.
Summoning Ben, he concocts some nonsense reason for him to disturb Chef and leave the kitchen free for a moment. There’s a moment of hesitation, where Ben eyes Mark with something close to pity, but it only lasts a moment before Ben goes off to do as requested.
Chef steps out of his kitchen in a huff of anger and Mark slips in through the other entrance. He slips in the cupboard, grabbing the bottle, and quickly retreating.
Skull and crossbones are plastered on the label, beside the no rodent sign. He smiles. Finally. It was in his grasp, again. Hopefully for the last time.
In his bedroom, he goes on his knees and prays for this to work until Ben fetches him for dinner. He grinds the sleeping pills into gravely dust. He prays some more.
Ben pulls out his chair in silence. Mark sits and he expects something about this time to feel different, but it doesn’t. It’s the same as any other meal he’s had over the past weeks.
Except this time he’s planning to actually eat it.
Pockets full of things he shouldn’t ingest, he has something of an appetite. This will be his first good meal in a while.
Ben places the plate before him, bowing and muttering an obedient “master.”
“Ben.” Mark stops him. This death will be slow, probably. He didn’t want any interruptions, anything that could get in the way. “Go to your rooms for the night and tell Chef to do the same.”
The butler turns, shocked. “But master—”
“Now.”
Nodding shakily, Ben follows orders. Chef yells in the kitchen, but follows them too. He’s alone now.
He takes out the flask first, uncapping it and dribbling the clear cleaning fluid into his wine. He dumps the entirety of the rat poison — somewhere between half and three quarters — onto his plate. He mixes it into his potatoes while sprinkling the dust of pills over everything like it’s salt and pepper. After a moment of thought, he adds a bit of powder to the wine.
He begins to eat.
Wine doesn’t taste all that different. There’s an unpleasant sting to it, and it burns like fire going down his throat, but he manages to sip at the glass the whole time. The pills are bitter. Harder to ignore and pretend it’s not there, but he tries. Self-made salt is sour, almost, unpleasant in the way medicine is. It’s not horrible, though.
He tells himself that this is the last time. The last attempt. After this, there will be no Mark Fischbach.
Vision blurring, limbs numbing, heart rate slowing, he’s happy. Relieved and happy and so, so close to peaceful. Slumped on the table, spilling out of his chair onto the floor, he no longer hurts.
He opens his eyes and screams.
———
Masterlist
Welp, that happened. Not a huge, huge fan of this one, but there are some bits I really like, so maybe it evens out.
TAGGING: @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @electricprincess888 @berrie-b @mackenziplier @gerardwayslips @risiskifi @cawestad @theinvisiblespoon @californiakxng @just-another-starfish @superawesomeamazingname @moonstonefox12 @bones-and-tomes @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @itsbumblebunnybee @noisyfreakpersonlover @nightmarejim @schuyleryette @withjust-a-bite @statictay @muraae @harmonyofstars @cosmic-frapuccino @jmweezy (tags are open)
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tiredleekaz · 4 years
Text
Heat Warmer
Here’s a story that’s not an angsty piece of crap! Well— it’s still crap cause when is my writing not 😆.
I kinda just thought of it a few days ago when I was in musical theater without a sweater cause my friend stole my hoodie and I was cold. So basically, my friends always tell me I’m like a human radiator when I give hugs, so when they’re cold they always ask for some huggles.
(also can i just say... jamming to “underneath the tree” 40 days before christmas because it’s a mood and a bop)
Tags: fluff, ticklez
Word Count: 1,715
Summary: It was a cold autumn day and the perfect time to stay inside and be warm. Jason was coming to AJ’s house for some heat as his apartment unfortunately had a broken radiator. Not only was he gonna be nice and toasty, he’s gonna find out a special surprise that AJ’s been hiding from him.
__________________________________________
*ding*
*ding*
*ding*
“Jeez! Alright! Shut up will you!” A short brunette seethed as he swung open his door, glaring into a pair of stormy grey eyes.
“You’re too slow. I could have gotten frostbite!” The male at the door exclaimed, stepping inside like he owned the place.
Rolling his eyes, AJ closed the door with a click, brushing past the taller blonde without a thought. “In only 30° weather?”
“It could happen!” Jason argued as he took off his coat, a long sleeved underneath, and hung it up on the coat rack.
AJ shook his head at his friend’s exaggerations and slid his way over to the couch. He lived with his family, though they were currently gone for the weekend visiting their grandparents. As much as he loved his family, he did not want to join them this time and was lucky to have the entire house to himself. The living room was recorded with a fall aesthetic: reds, oranges, yellow; leaves and autumn-like decor were strewn about the large room.
The beautifully styled fireplace was lit and burning a bright red orange. AJ had already made himself comfortable on the plush sofa by the time Jason finished taking off his outerwear and shoes. The boy adorned a cream, cotton, sweater with grey sweatpants, along with black and white striped, fuzzy, long socks. A soft blanket was wrapped around himself as he leaned back against one of the armrests. Jason smiled at the smaller boy all cozy and warm on the couch. Without warning, he jumped on top of him, squishing the living daylights out of the poor bean.
“wuGh! Get off me you heavy mutt!” AJ wheezed, trying to wiggle out of under the other.
Jason shook his head. He pouted like a puppy would to its owner when not given enough attention, laying his chin on AJ’s chest. His arms wrapped around AJ’s torso, trapping his arms as well to prevent him from escaping.
“I don’t wanna. You’re so warm,” he whined, squeezing AJ like a doll.
The brunette sighed and stared at the white ceiling with a deadpan expression, though honestly he didn’t really care he was stuck in this position. Jason was always the type to be cuddly and touchy, so he was pretty used to it. Jason sighed content lay as he nuzzled his face into the soft fabric.
AJ inhaled and exhaled deeply, starting to get more comfortable with Jason’s lying on him. Just as he was about to doze off, he felt a sudden sensation of coldness under his sweater. A sharp gasp slipped out from his lips as he attempted to lurch away from the cold. His arms squeezed down as much as they could from their held position.
Jason looked up from burying his face into AJ’s chest, a look of confusion spread across. “What.. was that?”
“... what was what?” AJ asked back hesitantly.
The blonde stared at AJ before giving a squeeze along his sides.
“AcK! StOhp!” The brunette squealed without warning, a forced smile on his face.
“No way,” Jason said with a widening grin. “You’re ticklish?”
A wave of heat flushed over AJ’s body, especially in his face as he refused to meet Jason’s eyes that were glowing with amusement. Another pinch was applied to his hips and he tried to twist to the side with a squeak.
“Noho! Plehease don’t!”
Jason’s fingers continued their research by scribbling against AJ’s sensitive skin, gently digging and squeezing along his sides and hips like he was squeaky dog toy. His lips were curved into a smirk as he stared at the blushing and giggling boy in his arms. The sight was honestly the most adorable thing he has ever seen. Even more than when he first saw AJ smile.
“Oh wow, who knew my little toy was so squeaky ~,” Jason cooed.
Curling his fingers, he scratched at the shallow hollows resulting into shriek and bubbly chortles to fall out from the shaking body that was AJ. He tried desperately to turn and wiggle away, but Jason was far stronger than him. Not to mention the the tickling was sapping his energy away. His hips bucked and his legs kicked pathetically while he was attempting to hide his flushing face into the cushions of the couch.
“NOhOHOHahAHAHAh!! noHOo mohOHOHOreHEHEe!!” AJ cried out through his hysterical laughter.
“More? Well if you insist,” Jason chuckled, moving his hands down to AJ’s tender sides while pushing the sweater up his torso.
AJ nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt squeezes on his sides and screeched when Jason decided to blow a raspberry on his tummy. A few tears of mirth glazed over his eyes as he shook his head.
Jason decided to give the smaller boy mercy and released his grip around him. He continued to lay on AJ, feeling his head rise and lower with AJ’s heaving tummy. They lay like that for a couple of minutes until AJ finally regained his breath.
“You suck...” AJ muttered, his voice a little raspy.
“Nah. You love me,” Jason teased, reaching up to pinch AJ’s cheeks.
A rosy red color filled the latter’s face as he frowned and shoved Jason off him, watching his body roll onto the floor. He snorted at the boy’s hilarious landing, curling up and hugging his sore middle.
“You think that’s funny, aye?” Jason groaned, pulling himself up from the other end of the sofa. “I’ll give you something to really laugh about.”
Only a millisecond later, AJ was off the couch and sprinting out of the living room. He sock clad feet pounded against the wooden floors as he ran through different hallways and up the stairs. His breathing was heavy, but despite the racing of his heart, a smile grew on his face along with the glimmering excitement in his eyes. AJ squeezes himself in a corner down a hall hoping to throw Jason off track. Unfortunately his plan did not work.
“Come out, come out wherever you are my little warmer,” Jason’s voice called out. “My hands are getting awfully cold. I promise I won’t do anything bad. Maybe stick them between your arms and sides... keep them nice... and... toasty.”
His footsteps seemed to get quieter with each word, though his voice was doing the exact opposite. AJ held his breath, thinking it’ll help him hide better. He couldn’t see where Jason was but he hoped he was nowhere close to figuring out his hiding spot.
Too bad luck wasn’t on his side. Without warning, he was grabbed and picked up, his arms up in the air as Jason’s hands were underneath them. He almost looked like a cat being handled. AJ squeaked like a mouse in surprise and tried to curl up in a ball in the air, though finding it very difficult to hold himself in that position.
The hands under his arms didn’t do anything but hold him, but even then he could feel the ghostly tickles digging into them. Giggles started to flow out like a waterfall, his eyes squeezed shut as if it would make the tickles go away.
“What’s so funny? I’m freezing here and you’re laughing at me. Tsk, tsk,” Jason clicked his tongue with a smirk. “At least my personal warmer can’t get anyway now.”
Before AJ could try to struggle out of the other’s grip, he was slung over Jason’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His legs kicked uselessly and his wiggling was making him very tired. Eventually he just slumped down and allowed Jason to take away.
They made it into AJ’s bedroom, beautifully aestheticized just as the rest of the house. He was thrown onto his queen sized bed and immediately pinned by Jason’s legs. His body was practically sinking into the pillows and covers he had on the bed because he was just a sucker for comfy, soft things.
Jason pushed AJ’s sweater up his ribs, exposing his ticklish skin, a teasing smirk danced across his face. He didn’t hesitate to dig into the smaller boy’s underarms, grinning widely at the loud squeal he received and cackles followed after. AJ presses his arms against his sides and tried to curl up but his legs were being sat on and this only helped Jason to attack his hairless armpits even more.
“NOhoHoAHAHAAH!!” The brunette shrieked with giggly hiccups.
“Yessss~,” Jason replied back with a smile. “My hands are warming up so fast. I don’t think I ever wanna remove them.”
AJ let out a snort in response and shook his head desperately wanting the tickles to stop, but the same time, somewhat enjoyed the affection. “GEHEHEEHT OHOHOUT!! HHEHheh iHiHi CahHaahn’t!!”
Jason happily obliged to the boy’s request and easily slipped his hands out from under his arms and down to his hips. This caused AJ to screech at the nonstop squeezing and pinch on his hip bones, bucking like a bull when Jason drilled his thumbs into the sensitive spots. He threw his head back with a scream at the sudden raspberry blown on his tummy, his voice losing its sound as the evil blonde evil switched from raspberries to gently nibbling along his sides and ribs.
“PLHEHEHEHAHAHSE!! STHAHAAHPP!! AHAHAHAHAHA TAHAHA TOHOHO MUHUCH!!!” AJ cried hysterically, tears streaming down his face as he weakly shook his head side to side. His body was just a pile of mush by now, having no energy to fight back or even try to.
Jason toned down his attack, but continue with the moderate and soft tickles for a few more minutes until he was satisfied. By then, AJ was embarrassed and a red faced giggly blob. He still giggles after the tickles stopped and even flinched slightly at the hands on his sides that were no longer tickling him.
With a voice as hoarse as having a frog in one’s throat, the male spoke. “I hate you...so much.”
His friend merely laughed and gently ran his fingers through the brunette’s fluffy hair, soothing him like a puppy. “Sure, sure. You say that, but you loved it and you love me.”
AJ couldn’t even swat at the hand petting him. He found the gesture relaxing and was growing drowsy from losing so much energy. Though that didn’t stop the peach blush dusting over his cheeks and nose.
“Shut up...”
The rest of the day they cuddle snuggled on the bed, enjoying each other’s warmth and embrace without question.
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bi-riter09 · 4 years
Text
Force of Nature or Forced Nature? Chapter 2
Hey guys! I decided to upload my original story onto Tumblr as well as on Ao3, but I was limited while trying to post it on my phone, so let’s see if posting it on computer works!
__________________________________________
  Before I could even take another step into the house, an arm wrapped its way around my neck and pulled me back. A big gloved hand grabbed my face and covered my mouth as I tried to scream, to struggle, to do anything. The arm around me just wrapped tighter around my neck, incapacitating me.
I couldn't fight them, no matter how hard I tried. 
"Shh, it's time to go to sleep."
I felt a wet cloth being pressed against my face, and a deep darkness slowly started to creep into the corners of my vision. 
"That's a good boy."
I was so...tired.
The last thing I saw was my sister's terrified eyes staring back at me as she screamed for help before everything faded to black.
__________________________________________
  I knew today was the day I was going to die.
  Every time I so much as lightly stirred, sharp flashes of pain instantly rushed over me. My entire body hurt; I couldn't even tell where it hurt anymore.
  I could see flickers of light out in the distance, but I could never reach them. I was too far away to ever find the surface, to reach a semblance of home. I was never going to see the light of day again.
I just faded away piece by piece, back into the shadows where I belonged. I closed my eyes once again and fell back into the darkness once again.
  When I finally came to, I found myself in a cold, dark room fully composed of nothing but sterile, gleaming silver metal. A single lightbulb hung from the center of the ceiling, flickering periodically between bathing the small room in low light, just bright enough to barely see my shoes underneath me.
I sat up carefully, trying to dull the pounding headache rattling my skull. Everything around me was blurry, and even the small amount of light I did have only stung my sore eyes further.
Electing to ignore the fading and pulsing of the room around me, I tried to raise a hand to hold my head, only, I realized I couldn't. 
My hands were tied down tightly to the arms of an old, wooden chair that I sat in, similar ropes also wrapped around my torso and ankles,  biting into my skin with every subtle shift I made.
  I couldn't move an inch. I was in a strange, dangerous place I didn't recognize, with no way out, and I couldn't move even an inch.
  I was going to die in here.
  I'll never be able to see my dad or sister ever again.
  Something wet began trailing down the sides of my face, and a deep ache that I couldn't swallow settled in the back of my throat.
  Great. Now I'm crying too, as if that will help anything.
  Something abruptly shifted in the corner of the room. There, at the very edge of the light, I could almost make out a bare, ratty mattress haphazardly thrown in the corner of the cold room.
There was a small lump lying in the middle of the mattress, loosely covered up with dark, dingy blankets. The lump moved once again, shifting clumsily around on the musty thing. It seemed to grow more and more agitated as time grew on, its sluggish movements gradually turning sharp and rapid.
  I leaned against the back of the splintered chair and pushed my feet against the floor, doing my best to try and shift the chair backwards and farther away from the mattress as quietly as possible.
  I would have almost succeeded, had one of the nearly withered legs of the chair not caught on— and scraped against— a chip in the metal floor and groaned loudly.
  The lump on the bed stilled almost instantly, quickly crawling away to curl up tightly in the corner of the room.
A harsh cough emitted from the tiny little lump  and the sharp sound of steel chains clanging painfully against the metal floor bounced around the room.
The lump coughed again and sniffed lightly, whimpering, before a couple small, bare feet accidentally stuck out from beneath the blankets.
  My breath caught in my chest. "Sis? Is that you?"
  The small lump didn't answer right away, instead turning over to face me. Even in the darkness surrounding us, it was impossible not to recognize those innocent green eyes I knew so well, as well as the pure fear reflecting in them.
  Oh, thank god.
At least she was safe.
  "Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Are your wrists okay?" I looked her over quickly, immediately noticing each and every small cut and bruise that littered her small body.
She shook her head, ignoring me. "Where are we?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, she coughed again. "I don't remember anything, what happened?"
Her breathing started to pick up, coming in faster and shorter bursts as she finally took a look around the room we were in and realized exactly what kind of situation we were in.
"Hey, hey, look at me!" I shifted the chair over as close as I could to her, and leaned as forward as the rope around my chest would let me.
  "I don't know where we are, but it's going to be alright. Okay? It's going to be just fine. Don't worry." I stared down at her with the most earnest look I could conjure up at the moment.
"I'm scared–" She hiccuped, the tears forming in her eyes pouring over in streams down her face. "I don't want to die!"
"No, hey! Look at me. You aren't going to die, alright? We'll be okay." I tried my best to hold my own tears in, giving her a thin, watery smile.
  No, we won't.
  She sucked in short breaths, trying to calm herself down as her tears continued running their track down her face.
  She knew I was lying.
  "What are we going to do now?"
  I shook my head, "Look, we're going to find a way out of here somehow and go back home, find Dad, and then everything's going to be okay."
"How do you know that?" She sobbed, pulling at the thick handcuffs cutting into her wrists.
  I don't.
  I sighed. "I don't, but I do know that you are the strongest little girl I have ever met. Hell, you might even be stronger than me." I chuckled at myself for a second, and looked at her pointedly. "If anyone can get through this, we can. We're family, remember? And what does family do?"
She sniffed, shaking her head as she laughed exasperatedly, "'Family doesn't quit', I know, I know."
  "That's right. Now, can you get those chains off?"
She nodded, moving closer to the wall where the chains were anchored. "I can try."
"Good, I'll try to loosen up these ropes while you do that. Be quiet, we don't know if someone's  listening."
  I turned my attention back to the ropes around my wrists, trying to pull as hard as I could against them to slide the ropes off my hands. 
I kept wrenching at the ropes until my wrists inevitably started bleeding profusely from the severe rope burns I was rubbing into my skin with every single tug. 
Eventually, my blood soaked the frayed rope enough to finally slide one of my hands out from under it. I yelped loudly, whether it was in pain or relief, I really couldn't remember.
I used my freed hand to make quick work of getting my other wrist undone, and moved down  to my ankles at the feet of the chair and the rope around my chest.
  When the last of the ropes finally fell off around me, I limply stumbled down to the floor, barely catching myself on my hands and knees.
The metal floor bit into my knees unmercifully as I tried to crawl over to my sister, even as the room continued to spin around me and I could hear my breath heavy in my own ears.
  By the time I made it over to her, she had already busted one of the rusty pins on the shambled shackles, and had worked one of her wrists out despite the tight fit.
I grabbed the remaining cuff and yanked at the crumbling pin still stuck through the holes. After a few good bangs against the wall, the pin finally crumpled and gave way to open the shackle.
My sister smiled up at me sweetly in thanks, still rubbing at her sore, red wrists. She gasped audibly when she finally got a good look at me up close. "You're bleeding!" She looked up at me worriedly.
  I shook my head. "Don't worry about it. It's okay."
Finally trying to push myself up onto my feet, I had to lean heavily against the cold wall to my right, still unable to hold my own weight. My vision was still swimming in my peripheral vision and I couldn't stop my eyes from falling closed any longer.
  I was jolted back to attention as soon as I realized my sister was trying to shake me back awake. "...ake up! Come on, get up!"
I blinked at her slowly, my voice heavy with breath. "It's okay, I think I just blacked out for a second. I'm fine now." I tried to gather my bearings before I finally pushed myself off the wall, grabbing her hand and running my hand along the dark wall.
"There's gotta be a door here somewhere, we need to get out of here-" She interrupted me, tugging on my arm and pulling me over to the other side of the dark room.
"Look, here! There's light creeping in from outside." She pressed both of her hands against the outline in the wall, gesturing for me to help her.
I braced my shoulder against the wall and helped her push, hearing the metal squeal and shift until we eventually heard a loud 'click', and a piece of the wall swung open out into a well-lit hallway.
  The hallway was unbelievably wide, either direction of the metal hall seeming to extend for miles. We looked up and down the hallway, trying to figure out which turn would lead us back outside.
  Suddenly, a large bang rang out, startling the both of us and echoing all the way down the hallway, like the sound of a door being swung open hard enough to hit the wall behind it and put a crack in it. As soon as the echo faded off, I could hear the unmistakable sound of resounding footsteps get louder and louder as they got closer to the two of us.
Quickly mentally steeling myself, I grabbed my sister's wrist tight and took off down the hallway in the opposite direction, turning right down the hall as fast as I could go in the state I was in.
My sister was barely keeping up, still trailing a few steps behind my pace, her long brown hair flowing behind her as she kept looking over her shoulder trying to find the source of the footsteps.
The footsteps only got louder, breaking into a sprint as the sound seemed to come from almost all directions around us.
I ran down three more hallways, each identical to the last, with no idea of where we were or where I was going. I just knew we had to lose whatever– whoever it was chasing us.
I took another left turn at the end of the next hallway and skidded to a complete stop, my sister almost slamming directly into the back of me. Before us was a blank metal wall, the hallway leading directly into a dead end.
The footsteps were closing in more and more by the second, echoing in both of our ears as I turned around and ducked into the other hallway.
  Please just let us get out of this alive.
  A fresh wave of dread hit me as I glanced back just in time to see a large shadow wrapping over the walls around us. I tried to run even faster than before, pumping more adrenaline through my veins.
There was another right turn at the end of the hall, and I could finally see bright light pouring into the hall. It was sunlight. I almost cried out in relief as I quickly turned the corner.
Unfortunately for me, I turned the corner just a little too fast, and tripped down the corridor, falling directly forward onto the ground and pulling my little sister down with me.
  I couldn't get back up fast enough.
   The footsteps caught up with us, and I could feel a large hand wrap around the back of my collar as our chaser yanked me up to eye level and turned me around to face them.
Three men dressed in black stood behind us, each wearing a mask to cover their faces. The one holding me by the collar scoffed and leaned in closer to me, growling.
  "You think you're so clever, don't you?"
  I could almost sense him smiling murderously behind his mask.
  Well, this wasn't going to end well.
  He laughed loudly in my face, using his free arm to yank me closer by the shoulder, digging his nails into my arm. "Well, that's alright. I guess I'll just have to teach you a lesson, now won't I?"
  My heart leapt into my throat, tears pouring from my eyes for the second time that day. I begged him, shaking my head slowly. "Please don't, please!" I sobbed dejectedly, "What do you want from us?"
  He only chuckled again, "You'll see."
  I winced as his nails drew blood from my arm and he continued to laugh as if someone had just told him the funniest joke. "Maybe I'll take you where we took ol' daddy of yours too, just for kicks."
  My eyes widened in terror and I cried even harder.
  They... killed him, didn't they? Dad was dead. We were alone now.
They're going to kill us too. This...this is how I'm going to die.
  One of the other men almost giggled in glee, walking over to my sister and roughly pulling her up by her arm. She cried out loudly.
  "She'll be coming with us too."
  "No, don't!" I screamed.
The third man came over to laugh in our faces, using his nails to scratch at my face, just to watch me bleed as I whimpered. He watched joyfully as we were dragged back into the long, dark hallway.
My sister was screaming at the top of her lungs, trying her best to kick and scratch at the man pulling her in any way possible.
  "Stop it! Let her go!"
  I pushed and pulled as hard as I could on the vice-like grip the other man had on my arm as he dragged me down the empty corridor.
  As we reached the end of the hall, there was another break in the path, where the corridor continued to both the left and the right.
The man pulling my sister promptly turned to the right, while the man pulling on my arm continued down the left hallway, almost dislocating my shoulder in his efforts. I screamed out in pain, pulling away from his grasp.
  They were separating us.
  Me and my sister were on our way straight to hell, and I couldn't even protect her, let alone myself.
  Who knows what they were going to do to her. 
To me.
  I screamed as loud as I could for as long as I could, hoping that at least someone would hear me before my voice finally gave out.
  The last, horrible thought to cross my mind was a single hope that they would just kill my sister first, so she wouldn't have to suffer, like me.
  It wasn't her fault we were here, it was mine. It wasn't fair. She didn't deserve this.
  I wished everything would just stop.
   And then... it did.
   The man had finally stopped dragging me down the hall. His grip hadn't loosened, no, but it felt almost frozen.
  I couldn't hear my sister's screams echoing down the hall any longer, even the ringing in my ears had settled down.
   I felt almost…
  Peaceful?
  My body felt like it was being weighed down by something heavy.
My eyelids eventually started to droop shut, and I felt myself fall through the floor beneath me. It felt as if something was cradling me, welcoming me, before everything around me finally faded to black once again.
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fluffyseapancakes · 5 years
Note
OMG could you maybe possibly do a part 2 to your most recent fic, w peter!reader where the avengers do find out from peter ofc and her dad and steve team up on her !!!?? if not it’s okay but i looooved that fic
Finally got part 2 done! I hope you like it
First part here 
____________________________
The mission was a huge success, with the help from you and Peter Parker, the Avengers were able to overtake the Hydra soldiers and they burned the entire weaponry factory to the ground. Fury had dispatched a clean up crew so your family boarded Tony’s private jet and flew back home.
Your father, Bucky Barnes, was clearly impressed by your combat skills and professionalism on the field that he was talking to Tony about putting you in more missions. Steve, being the overprotective uncle-figure to you, didn’t like the idea so the three men spent most of the flight huddled in the corner quietly arguing about your future as a potential Avenger. You were too tired and sore to interject, so you just trusted your father to fight for you to be promoted.
“Ow,” you winced as you plopped down on the large couch back at the Stark Towers. Most of the Avengers went to raid the fridge but you and Peter were clearly not used to being banged up. Your best friend had a couple bruises on his arms but you knew most of the damage was on his torso. The medic on the plane forced him to take off the Spider-Man suit and you had gasped when you saw the dark purple marks covering his ribs.
“It’s really not that bad,” he had assured you when you looked at him with shock and concern. Your dad did a physical checkup on you and thankfully all you had were minor bruises and scrapes with a sore back from you landing on some debris the wrong way.
“We should celebrate,” Tony came out of the kitchen with sparkling grape juice in one hand and champagne in the other, “Y/N went on her very first mission and Peter got to use his brand new suit.”
“Here here,” Clint and Steve raised their empty glasses up in agreement and Nat patted you gently on the shoulder.
“Nice job out there,” she smiled at you, you beamed back at her and wondered how she still looked perfect after being caught in a war for the last couple days.
“I have another reason we should celebrate,” Peter piped up, the room went quiet and you raised your eyebrow at him in confusion. Then when he glanced at you and gave you a wink, all the memories of what happened on the plane flooded your mind and your face turned bright red.
“Parker don’t you dare,” you tried to sound threatening but the stammer in your voice gave it away.
“Woah Y/N your face is red,” Tony chuckled, “what would cause that?”
The gears in your father’s head turned and before you could say anything, he bolted up and furiously glared at Peter who looked terrified.
“You are too young to be dating Y/N!” He shouted, “And I will never let you date an Avenger.”
“Woah dad!” You stood up from the couch and grabbed his arm before he decided to punch your best friend in the face, “I’m not dating anyone, I was just embarrassed by what Peter was going to say.”
“Well what is it?” Steve said amusingly, “Before Bucky turns into papa bear mode.”
Peter cleared his throat and kept his eye on Bucky in case he decided to attack. He grinned and waited until everyone had their full attention on him.
“Y/N’s ticklish.”
Your face heated up from his words and a silence fell upon the room for a few moments. To your horror everyone all had shit eating grins on their faces and your dad playfully cracked his knuckles.
“Thought you grew out of it Y/N,” he grinned, his fingers on his prosthetic arm wiggled teasingly, “first you almost gave me a heart attack, and now you apparently lied to me?”
“The first part was your fault for jumping to conclusions,” you stammered, you started backing out of the room but you walked right into Steve’s chest, “and I didn’t lie, I…fibbed?”
Steve clucked his tongue disapprovingly and firmly grabbed your upper arms, “Looks like Y/N needs to be punished for fibbing to her father.” You frantically looked for a way out but the Avengers had you boxed in on all sides and your father was slowly walking over to you. His hands were formed into claws and was in a direct path of attacking your ribs.
“P-Peter’s ticklish too!” You tried to push your friend under the bus, praying that they would turn their attention to him.
“We know,” you father grinned, “and he’s next, but I have to teach you a lesson on manners.”
“Wait what?” Peter’s face paled and he tried to run out, but Tony quickly caught him and he and Clint pinned the teenager to the ground.
Suddenly your father’s fingers connected to your sides and a loud scream echoed throughout the living room, uncontrollable laughter bubbled up from your chest and you tried to fight back as he attacked your upper body with no mercy. Steve held onto you tightly and Nat grabbed your legs, spidering her long nails behind your knees teasingly. You had no way to escape or fight back, so you gave in to the laughter and the torturous fingers that poked and prodded at your body. Your dad’s metal arm was surprisingly good for tickling and every time it hit a sensitive spot, your laughter turned more frantic. Peter’s laugh mixed in with yours as Clint and Tony was going to town on his sensitive skin. His laughter was high pitched and light, while yours was louder and was filled with snorts and hiccups. You could hear Peter pleading for mercy but it fell on deaf ears, you were unable to even form coherent words in your mind and you felt tears forming in the corners of your eyes. Steve started to wiggle his fingers in your underarms and your dad was counting each individual rib. Nat had lifted your foot off the ground and was scribbling her nails against the sole of your foot. You were going insane and all you could do was laugh and scream.
“Are you trying to teach her a lesson or murder her?” Bruce chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.
“I know how to effectively dispose a body in several ways,” Thor piped up, he shoved a handful of chips in his mouth and watched the scene unfold with great interest, “although I will miss Y/N quite dearly if she perished.”
“We’re not gonna kill her,” Steve reassured him with a laugh, he released your arms and you immediately started swinging at your father.
“Easy there tiger,” your dad grabbed your wrists, chuckling as you tried to catch your breath. Clint and Tony had also let Peter go and he was on the ground in a fit of giggles.
“You,” you pointed your finger at the teenager, “I am so getting you back for that.”
“Before you seek your vengeance, you should take a shower first,” your dad playfully wrinkled his nose, “you and Peter both smell like puberty.”
“Puberty doesn’t have a smell!” Peter said defensively, he shakily stood up and took a whiff of his underarms, everyone laughed as he clearly tried to hide his disgusted face.
“Fine,” you huffed, you started to walk out the living room and as you entered the hallway you shouted loudly, “but don’t forget about my promise Parker!”
Loud laughter echoed down the halls and you pressed the elevator button to go to the residential floor. As the elevator doors closed behind you, you heard Peter’s voice faintly travel through the hallway.
“Was she being serious?”
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grapesodatozier · 6 years
Note
okay so I’m watching IT right now for 17th time and i had an epiphany. idk if this is already an idea out there but i just pasted the scene where Eddie encounters pennywise at the well House. do you think you could write a one shot where right after Eddie escapes, he bikes straight to richie’s house for comfort ? ik this is probably an idea out there in the tumblr world bUT I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE REALLY CUTE. thank you for coming to my TED talk, if anyone reads this.
thank you so much for the request!! this is such a cute idea and it was so fun to write omg
words: 2,137
read on ao3 or below!!
Eddie’s legs quickly became sorefrom how hard he was running, sneakers slapping harshly against the pavementwith every step, but he barely felt it. His chest was on fire, and his heartfelt like it was trying to punch its way out. The wind whipping past Eddie feltlike fingers down his arms, breath in his ear; it made him feel sick. His legs,protesting from years of disuse, managed to carry him all the way past hishouse to a blue Victorian. The sight made it a little easier for him tobreathe, despite how overworked his lungs were. He made his way up the porch onwobbly legs and rang the doorbell, near collapse when Maggie Tozier answeredthe door.
“Eddie?” sheasked, concern flooding her blue eyes. “Are you all right, honey?”
“Is Richie home?”Eddie managed to rasp out, his chest heaving.
“He’s in thebasement,” she answered, stepping aside and letting Eddie in. “Do you want aglass of water? You look a little beat.”
“That’s okay,”Eddie called over his shoulder, already halfway to the basement steps. “Thankyou, Mrs. Tozier!” With that he was bounding down the basement stairs.
Richie wassitting on the floor, video game controller clutched in his hands, neck cranedup at the television, his giant glasses reflecting the light of the screen. Hishead whipped toward the stairs at the sound of Eddie’s hurried steps. “EddieSpaghetti!” he exclaimed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Don’t call methat,” Eddie said weakly, frozen at the bottom of the stairs. He wasn’t quitesure why he was here, and he was still pretty terrified, which didn’t helpclear his mind. He kept feeling like if he turned around… it would still bethere, that thing.
“Aw, you knowyou love it,” Richie winked. “So. You come over for a reason? Or are you justgonna stand there looking pretty?” Eddie blushed furiously at that.
“Yeah, I bet you’dlike that,” Eddie grumbled, making his legs move as he walked over to Richie.They practically sighed in relief as he took a seat on the floor next to hisbest friend. Eddie played with the zipper of his fanny pack; it was still open,and missing a pill bottle, which made Eddie’s heart start up again. Ma’s not gonna be happy, he thought tohimself. God, she’s gonna cry and screamand have a whole fucking fit. The thought was scary, but not as scary asthe memory of where his pills were, why they were currently lying in the middleof Neibolt Street. His breathing became a thin whistle, his entire bodytrembling.
“Eds?” Eddie’shead snapped up at the sound of his name, and he found Richie’s magnified eyesnarrowed as he looked at Eddie. “You okay? I made a joke about your mom and youdidn’t even punch me.” Eddie wanted to respond, wanted to yell at him, but hecould feel his throat closing. He reached for his inhaler, but even the sightof his fanny pack had tears blurring his vision. “Whoa, whoa, hey, it’s okay, I’llget it,” Richie rushed to say. He pushed Eddie’s hands out of the way andretrieved his inhaler. Eddie opened his mouth, letting Richie press his inhalerinto his hand and guide it to his face. Eddie inhaled, grateful for themedicinal taste on his tongue. Richie had one hand on Eddie’s and the othercupping Eddie’s jaw. His hands were a little sticky, but Eddie found that hedidn’t mind; they were warm, and they helped ground him. Eddie pulled theinhaler away from his lips, steadying his breathing on his own. He felt hottear tracks running down his cheeks and wiped them away furiously. Richie slidhis hand away from Eddie’s cheek, resting it on his shoulder. Eddie missed histouch. “You okay?” Richie asked in a voice so soft Eddie practically couldn’trecognize it. “What was all that about?”
Eddie consideredtelling him, but the thought had his throat closing again. “Tell me about yourday,” Eddie said suddenly, the words tripping over one another in their rush toget out. Richie’s brow furrowed, and he looked like he was about to saysomething, but Eddie cut him off. “Any good chucks today?” he asked, his voicestill shaking. The confusion on Richie’s face smoothed out, some expressionEddie couldn’t place passing over his wide eyes before he beamed at Eddie.
“Finally pickingup on my genius vocabulary, I see,” he bragged before launching into an accountof his day. Every word calmed Eddie’s breathing, every wild gesture and stupidvoice dried Eddie’s tears. Before long he was even laughing, smacking Richie’sshoulder half-heartedly. “So you really came over just to hear about my day?”Richie asked, toeing the line between humorous and serious.
Eddie shrugged,already beginning to shrink in on himself again. “I just wanted to see you,” hesaid defensively, wishing he’d worded it differently as a shit-eating,bucked-tooth grin spread across Richie’s face.
“I’m pretty irresistible,aren’t I?”
“Yeah, to licemaybe,” Eddie scoffed. But then he was thinking about lice, and things crawlingon him, inside of him, and he startedfreaking out again. What if that thing had touched him? What if he wasinfected?
“Eds?”
“I sawsomething,” Eddie managed to croak out.
“Congratulationson not being blind? Although considering your present company, you’re kindajust bragging.” Eddie shot Richie a look that shut him up.
“You know thehouse on Neibolt Street?”
“The abandonedone?” Eddie nodded. “Yeah, that place is fuckin’ Creep City.”
“Well, I passedit on my way home, and…” Eddie trailed off, his chest already tightening again.For once in his life Richie was quiet, patiently waiting for Eddie to continue.“I saw this, this man, I guess, but he-” Eddie sucked in a breath sharply,feeling himself getting to the verge of tears again. He gripped the hem of hisshorts so hard his knuckles turned white. “He was sick, like, fucking rotting.” He trained his eyes on Richie’sgangly, bent knees in an attempt to ground himself, unable to look into hisfriend’s eyes as his own began to fill with tears again. “I dropped my pills,and then he just fucking appeared outof nowhere. And I ran, but h-he chased me.” Eddie’s resolve broke on theword “chased,” and he began sobbing in earnest. Richie froze for a moment beforepulling Eddie into his arms. The angle was a bit awkward, as they were bothsitting cross-legged, their knees banging together. Eddie crawled into Richie’slap, throwing his shame out the window and following the instincts that toldhim to seek the comfort Richie was offering. Eddie was both surprised andgrateful when Richie wrapped his arms even more tightly around Eddie’s torsowithout cracking a joke. Eddie burrowed his face into Richie’s shoulder,fingers gripping the front of his shirt. He thought that maybe he should beembarrassed, but Richie was pulling him in, not pushing him away, and insteadof feeling embarrassed he felt safe,finally.
“Did he hurtyou?” Richie asked. His voice sent chills down Eddie’s spine; Eddie had onlyseen Richie genuinely mad once or twice in their six years of friendship, butit was so chilling that he’d memorized what it sounded like, and it soundedlike that. Eddie shook his head.
“N-no, I gotaway.” An image popped into Eddie’s head then, a bunch of balloons in anunnatural triangle formation, none of them bopping or blowing in the wind.Then, behind the balloons-
But no, Richiewouldn’t believe that. If Eddie mentioned the clown Richie would think he’dbeen joking, or that he was crazy. He might even get mad at him, and Eddie didn’twant to do anything that would make Richie stop holding him.
“Damn right yougot away from that fucking creep,” Richie said. Eddie thought he was trying tosound light-hearted, proud even, but there was still that harshness in hisvoice, that anger. “No fucking creep-ass hobo is gonna touch my Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie’s arms tightenedaround Eddie, and Eddie kind of felt like he was melting into Richie. It feltnice. Richie took a breath and said in a voice much closer to his normal,jovial tone, “I swear Eds, you gotta go out for track, you’d knock ‘em dead.”Eddie’s chest tightened again, but this time it was different. My Eddie. Eds. He curled further intoRichie, sniffling; Richie was a bony motherfucker, but Eddie had never beenmore comfortable. “Hey,” Richie whispered in Eddie’s ear, “he can’t get you,okay? You’re safe now. He’s never gonna bother you again.” This was anothervoice Eddie had only heard a handful of times, but it was a voice he liked muchbetter than the angry one. It was a voice Richie never used around the others,Eddie had only ever heard it when he and Richie were alone. It soothed him, andsoon his sobs were nothing more than small hiccups.
He reluctantlylifted his head from Richie’s shoulder, wiping at his eyes. “Shit, I got snoton your shirt,” he laughed weakly. Richie just shrugged.
“This shirt’s seenworse,” he grinned.
“Ugh, you’regross,” Eddie groaned, sharing Richie’s smile. He didn’t want to leave Richie’slap, but he felt like he had to, so he did.
“You know youlove me,” Richie winked.
“Yeah,” Eddiesighed, suddenly exhausted. That wiped the grin off Richie’s face, leaving himwith wide eyes and pink cheeks.
“I’m uh, I’mglad you came over,” Richie said. His hand were in his lap, but his Band-Aidcovered knees were bumping against Eddie’s, so he was close enough that hecould run his fingers over Eddie’s calves just by stretching them a little bit.Eddie got a weird feeling in his chest when Richie did that, but it felt kindof nice. “You know, you’re always safe here. I’m not gonna let anything happento you.” Eddie nodded, taking Richie’s hands in his own. His stomach flutteredas he did so, but Richie held on tight, and Eddie didn’t feel like pullingaway.
“Thanks, Rich.”
“Any time.”
“I’m not gonnalet anything happen to you either, you know.”
“Aw, Eds, myfierce little protector, you’re too sweet.” Eddie rolled his eyes, but he didn’tlet go of Richie’s hands. “You okay?” Richie asked after a moment of silence.
“I think so,”Eddie said, deflating a bit. “I’m just- what if I’m sick now, you know? What ifhe did touch me, or what if it was airborne?”
���Well if it’sairborne then you just got me sick,” Richie joked, “so I guess we’ll rottogether, asshole.” He grinned, but it didn’t do anything to calm Eddie’sfears. Picking up on this, he added, “Eds, you’re not sick, I promise.”
“You don’t knowthat.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
Something Eddiecouldn’t quite name passed over Richie’s eyes. Then, suddenly, Richie’s handswere back on Eddie’s face, and he was pressing his candy-sweet lips to Eddie’s.It was brief, and their lips didn’t quite line up right, but Eddie melted intoimmediately anyway.
“There,” Richiesaid when he pulled away, his cheeks dusted pink. “That’s how certain I am thatyou’re not sick.”
“You’re an idiot,”Eddie mumbled, but he couldn’t help the smile that played across hisstill-tingling lips, and he took Richie’s hands in his own again.
“No, I’m adoctor,” Richie corrected with a huge grin.
“I’ve never hada doctor do that before.”
“I’d sure hopenot,” Richie said, making Eddie giggle. “Was that… okay?” Richie asked, hissmile faltering. It came back full force when Eddie nodded. “Awesome! It was…kind of awesome.”
“Yeah,” Eddieagreed. They looked at each other for a long moment, playing with each other’sfingers.
“You wanna play?”Richie asked, breaking the silence as he nodded toward the TV. “I can plug inanother controller.”
“Can I justwatch you play?” Eddie asked.
“Definitely!”Richie nodded enthusiastically. He turned back to the television, and Eddienestled in next to him, resting his head on Richie’s snot-free shoulder.
“You know, youshouldn’t sit so close to the screen,” Eddie said. “That’s probably why you’reso fucking blind.”
“No, I’m sofucking blind because I’ve blinded by your beauty so many times,” Richiegrinned down at him, kissing the top of his head. He then launched into a storyabout how the round was going as he began to play again, and Eddie was happy tosettle in and listen to his spiel.
As he thoughtabout it, Eddie knew Richie was right; he wassafe, and so was Richie, as long as they were together.
taglist: @jane-doe-663 @reddie4thesinbin @deadlighturis @constantreaderfool @reddieloserz
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cygnuswheel · 5 years
Text
no one’s here and no one’s going to save you. this is a nightmare waiting to happen, isn’t it? but he can’t wake up any more than he already has. everything’s spinning. it’s hopeless.
oscar sits in a bathroom, post volume 6.
( note: this was inspired by @flame-cat‘s recent comic that they posted on their art blog! i had a lot of thoughts about it and wanted to see where i’d go with one particular spin of mine. please make sure to check out their work!! )
oscar. oscar.
oscar, listen to me.
it’s a haze. the rush and the hurt and the panic can only lead to hyperventilation, to discomfort and to a hollowed spite. the air comes in and out, but he isn’t breathing. it’s like he’s drowning in his own presence.
what did this mean? how could he let this happen now, when everything was hinging tomorrow going perfectly? this isn’t the time for this. it was never the time for this, for the tears and the loathing and the absolute feeling of disgust. his thoughts are racing, trying so hard to come to some sort of conclusion, some way to feel better. yet, every time he tells himself to calm down, that his thoughts don’t matter and that this whole thing doesn’t matter, it comes back. a plague that sticks in his chest and summons forth a pain that sits in his torso, soaked by the sobs and heaves and chattering teeth. 
oscar.
it’s all useless. why even try this at all? the relic, the plan, the whole fate of the world-- why, none of it really seemed to be all that important anymore, but, at the same time, it’s the biggest thing that he’ll ever be a part of in his entire life. it matters. it doesn’t matter. everything matters. everything matters but you. how would he be able to contribute to this, to any of this? his job was to be a vessel, a messenger of higher thought and information that the team relied on, but everything’s been so out of order lately. the information is lies. the promises are lies. the bonds he formed with everyone was a lie. he’s nothing without this great and powerful curse placed upon him. he’s just a boy. a fourteen year old boy that doesn’t know how to do anything. and he would never know how to do anything.
stop.
the word grips him like a hand placed firmly upon the shoulder. oscar’s eyes are wide, lips pulled back to show a sorrowful grimace, a face full of tears. his chest feels like it’s going to burst from the pause. he looks from one side to the other, nothing. the bathroom is empty other than himself, light dimly illuminating his strife as the rest of the party slept, surely anxious enough that they didn’t need any of the shit that he could dump on them. it wasn’t worth it for them, surely. he was barely going to be around in the long run anyway. there’s no need to bond with some pathetic creature that didn’t have much time left in the world anyway. and it’s not like he was any fun to be around either, with misery wrapping around him like a homespun cape--
you’re not a miserable person to be around, oscar.
there it is again. the boy squeaks in surprise, voice cracking in a startled motion as he curls further into himself, breathing ragged and wetness beginning to soak into the cloth of his knees. really? right now? his throat is rubbed raw and even the very labor of getting a wheeze out feels like absolute agony, so verbal communication here doesn’t seem like an option that he can take right now. still, his thoughts are loud and clear, defensive and bitter and oh so sorry: what the fuck. what the fuck. what do you want?
... you already know, don’t you? a sigh escape’s ozpin’s lips, presence light and shy, clearly a bit sheepish at the fact that he was around at all. after that grand disappearing act ( something that everyone else labeled as unfair abandonment, though oscar has a slightly different opinion on that matter ), it’s only natural that the wizard is reluctant to be around. to be here for you, something that i had previously failed at quite spectacularly. oscar scoffs. right. that must be it. what a joke. it was already obvious to him, clear as day. they were bound together, linked by an unfortunate rope of fate that put one of the most powerful men on the planet with some pathetic weakling that can’t even do his job without getting cold feet--
oscar, please. it’s a pressing, imploring tone, edging out to something that could possibly be described as sad. ( it still feels euphoric. it’s an addicting sort of validation that only draws in guilt. he doesn’t deserve any of this if he’s practically begging for it through the use of a panic attack. how deplorable. ) ozpin continues on, quiet yet firm: you’ve done more than what anyone could have ever asked you to do. never mind the addition of your age or life circumstances-- this, to any human being, would have had them meet their breaking point much, much earlier than you.
you’ve been strong. liar. more than i could have ever expected from you. stop. stop. i’ve been alive for far too long to not be able to recognize your efforts. you’ve been overworking yourself. but he’s not, he’s really not. it wasn’t true. if he was, then--
‘ then why is everything i’m doing never enough? ‘
his breath hitches. oscar is forced to stare at the wall tiling, the vague image of a warped reflection looking all too brown and black. discomfort dancing from one organ to the next, he tries to imagine dark greens, soft silvers. it’s a warmth that he’s desperate to have. some guidance. some way to keep going forward so he can ignore this ugly mess inside of his chest. inside his mind, he feels from ozpin a sensation that could only be described as a forlorn look gazing down at him, unsure but all too familiar. what would be enough, oscar? tell me.
the question leaves the boy a strange sense of winded, eyebrows knitting together as the frown remains on his face. he sniffles, bare hand coming up to rub at his eyes, hiccuping as he forces out words, something to regain control of the conversation, to regain footing on his very own uncertainty. “ i-i-- i would have been able to, i don’t know, fix this easier. i would have been able to tell them what they could do so they d-didn’t have to risk their lives like this. i would have been strong enough to be able to lead them to wherever the lamp needed to go. “ it sounds ridiculous. he knows it is, but it keeps spilling out, as if someone had forcefully broken open his dam. “ i would h-have been able to tell him that you were gone, and that it was j-just me. “ ( while the pain has disappeared, he will never, ever forget the sensation of having his back shoved against that wall, fury in the blond’s eyes and the reach that oz had made during it. ruby had yelled at him, made him stop in his tracks. oscar hadn’t been able to do anything. anything at all. ) “ i-i would have known what to do-- “
i didn’t know what to do, oscar. ozpin interrupts, clearly not wanting to hear anything more from the boy at the moment. his presence is heavier now, closer to the surface and beside the child. vague instructions and sprinklings of hope. ha ha. it would be unfair of me to think that you would know either. another sigh. this time, it’s both of them in sync. oscar feels his heart rate begin to settle more and more. it still hurts. i left you. after all the measures i had taken to control you. a pause. ... both physically and mentally. 
i never stopped to think anything about praise and encouragement past our shared duty. i never celebrated you for who you were, simply a means to an end by my own action. but that was fine, oscar thinks, incredulous at the statement. it’s fine, because he won’t exist in time, so ozpin could do whatever he wanted, right? right? the wizard frowns. of course not. do you really think i’m above being held accountable for my actions? should miss xiao long and everyone else not been furious with me?
oscar pauses, swallowing a hard lump that had begun to grow in his throat during the conversation that he had neglected to pay any mind to earlier. he can’t say that. he can’t say that because he felt the very same anger right in the beginning, when he had dragged himself out of the depths of his mind and stopped ozpin from taking back the relic. he was angry because it was wrong. he was angry because he thought they were fighting for a justice that deserved honesty. he understood why his cheek had been sore for days after qrow had rushed ahead to give oz a strong right hook. they had been betrayed. 
you had been betrayed.
after i had insisted that you could trust me. it’s a wan, self-loathing sound that echoes through oscar’s mind. he isn’t used to this. this overt display of... well, anything human. it had stopped after the ex-headmaster had run away. his crying had been a phenomenon that oscar had not completely grown to accept as normal yet. whether or not i’m proud of my actions doesn’t excuse what i’ve done to everyone. you especially, oscar.
please don’t try to hold a burden that no single person should bear. oscar closes his eyes. please don’t ignore how much you’re hurting. he’s shaking. there’s tears again, reintroduced. please don’t make the same mistakes i did. 
“ i-i don’t know what else to do. “ the boy chokes out, no longer hyperventilating but so, so sad. he’s holding the cracking pieces of his spirit and begging for direction. “ there’s so much to do, w-we don’t have time for this. “
i do, oz says. i have more than enough ‘time for this’, oscar. especially after everything. a puzzled quirk of the child’s brow. i...
... i want you to be able to grow on your own, oscar. what a kind, gentle voice. my interruptions do little to help you with your autonomy. i’m enough of an overbearing presence already without the whole subject of possession. a sniff from the smaller one. i understand that it feels both too early and too late, with the complications i’ve thrown into the mix, but... you deserve to be able to mature into your own self. 
so please don’t ignore your own feelings, the entity pleads, and in that moment, oscar, more than anything, just wants to hug the other and not let go. it’s overwhelming. to be honest, i’d be insulted if you decided to go down the path of being as foolish as me. he feels a tingling in his arm, not too forceful but still a bit leading. he follows the sensation and, in a strange movement, ends up rubbing his own hair. a confused look. i can’t manage much more at the moment without being disrespectful, ozpin answers, letting the smallest suggestions of a smile begin to hint at his voice. but i’ve always been a good listener, if you ever need an ear from the local curse in your mind. 
something bubbles in him. oscar doesn’t know what until midway of it happening-- a chuckle. it doesn’t sound the most delicate, as his throat had recently been assaulted by his own dread, but it’s so much sweeter compared to all the previous panicked babble and anxiety coming from his own mouth. the corners of them are beginning to upturn into the smallest grin. “ o-okay. i’ll try. “
i’m yours for the rest of the night and always after, mister pine.
“ ... alright. “ 
in the unspoken recesses of his thoughts, he makes a promise, a tiny thing, but nevertheless dear and precious beyond anything else.
‘ i’ll try. ‘
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