#I am exhausted after these last two weeks so this is a low key post but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lemonluvgirl · 2 years

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The Both of Us (Part 3) Now Finished

You can read parts 1&2 with this link.

As I stated earlier this week, I wanted to write a short continuation of this fic, because it has recently reached over 500 kudos on AO3. I also thought it would be cute to do for Valentine’s week and I wanted to write something about Everlark being a power couple during Mockingjay and being low-key married. (FYI I might have written a marriage kink into this, but in all honesty I think it’s pretty evident that Peeta has a super hard wife kink when it comes to Katniss in Catching Fire...so I will not be apologizing for that.)

Friendly reminder, this is a work of fiction and I own nothing. The characters I’m borrowing belong to Suzanne Collins and I get no reward for writing this beyond the comments and kudos and of course the thrill of writing Katniss and Peeta in 13 without the hijacking. Also, I’m updating the tags on AO3 but I am not posting this chapter on AO3 yet until my beta has a chance to look it over. But I did want to post here on tumblr, because I know you guys don’t care about typos.

Happy Valentine’s Week, my lovlies.

I’m in surprisingly good spirits in the morning while my prep team works to get Peeta and me ready for the new propo we’re meant to be filming later. I’m not sure if it has anything to do with the way Peeta and I spent the evening tentatively exploring each other’s bodies until pleasure and exhaustion overcame us both, or with the increased amount of uninterrupted sleep I’ve been getting. I might have gotten five or six hours last night after everything.

I sneak a peek at him in the chair a few feet away from where Flavius is brushing some translucent powder over his face. He looks better rested and his skin has taken on a more healthy glow that suits him. The thought suffuses me with a small warm burst of satisfaction, at seeing him healthy and recovering.

I fight a blush when I think about the way I kissed every inch of his face, neck, and chest last night.

This new thing between us is a distraction, to be sure, but not necessarily an unwelcome one. The days in Thirteen are long and we’ve been working hard to try and fulfill the demands of those around us. It's nice to have a respite from all the pressure. When he and I are alone in his room all of that seems to fall away. That space becomes a retreat of sorts, where Peeta and I can forget about the world for a few hours and just be ourselves. Bare and honest with each other.

Peeta catches me looking and the corner of his mouth peeks up in a small private smirk.

I bite back the urge to tell him to cut it out, knowing that would only lead to questions from my preps that I don’t want to answer.

When Flavius turns away Peeta chances a quick wink at me in a way that brings to mind his teasing yet sweet attentions from our first arena.

I roll my eyes at him affectionately, ready to volley a trademark scowl if he keeps this up, but then Venia strides in with our propo outfits.

The Mockingjay costume Cinna created for me still takes my breath away when I see it sometimes. So does Peeta’s. They are all sleek lines and beautifully crafted functionality. Dark pieces of geometrically shaped bulletproof armor cover our most vulnerable points, and durable but flexible material bends and moves along our joints and legs to lend mobility to the ensembles as well as protection.

The final effect looks stylish but also deadly if I’m being honest. Especially when paired with the weapons Beetee custom designed for us. The way my bow comes to life underneath my hands still thrills me. I’m eager to dress and sling the quiver over my back, even though the only arrows inside will be normal ones. They still won’t let me walk around with the specially loaded ones Beetee made.

Venia affixes my mockingjay pin over my heart to complete the look and Peeta nods at me to signal his readiness when he finishes clasping his blade and firearm to his belt. I stare for a moment at the image of the two of us standing side by side in the mirror.

We don’t look like a pair of tragic star-crossed lovers any longer.

We look ready for a fight, for vengeance or retribution. Maybe both.

“They’re either going to want to kiss you, kill you, or be you,” Peeta quips, parroting Finnick’s humorous words when we did our first test run in the costumes yesterday.

“I’ll settle for them joining us, or simply laying down their arms,” I reply dryly.

Peeta’s face takes on a more serious expression almost instantly.

“That’s why we’re doing it this way,” he says reassuringly, cupping my shoulder with one of his large hands.

“I know,” I tell him. And I do. Plutarch’s explained a hundred times, how just the sight of Peeta and I, alive and united, is supposed to inspire people to join the rebel cause and inspire the loyalists and capitalists to abandon their misguided fight.

But I still feel guilty asking people to fight for me sometimes.

“Katniss, Snow is just going to keep bombing districts and sending in reinforcements until he breaks everyone’s will to fight.” Peeta’s voice is barely a whisper, but I hear him all the same.

After all this time it shouldn’t surprise me that he’s getting much better at reading me. Sometimes it's uncanny how quickly he can figure out the way my mind veers off in a certain direction.

“You’re right,” I say because he is. His hand travels up the back of my neck, to fall against my hair soothingly as he caresses my braid. I lean back against him.

He locks eyes with me in the mirror.

“If you don’t want to do this anymore, we’ll find a way to get out of it. I promise. You’ve given enough. We both have.” he says, sternly, so determinedly that I believe him, even though it's unlikely either of us could back out now.

I shake my head. Even if we could somehow walk away from this, from being symbols of the rebellion, I could never live with myself afterward.

“No, we promised Finnick we’d get Annie back. And Johanna. Snow…needs to be stopped. He needs to pay for what he did to 12, to all of us.” I say, voice resolute. Peeta’s hand comes down to twine with mine.

He interlocks our fingers.

“I’m with you.” He tells me, and it's enough to get me moving again.

Soon we’re on the soundstage, where we seem to stand for hours while they adjust our makeup, lighting, and smoke levels.

Eventually, the commands coming via the intercom from the invisible people in the mysterious glassed-in booth become fewer and fewer. Fulvia and Plutarch spend more time studying us and less time adjusting. Finally, there’s quiet on the set. For a full five minutes, Peeta and I are simply considered. We go through our lines again. Just the two for Peeta and the one slogan for me. Tomorrow they’ll focus on speeches and interviews and have us pretend to be in rebel battles. But today they just want those three lines corked into a propo that they can show Coin.

“Has the Capitol hurt you, or someone you love? Are you tired of slaving away by day and going to bed hungry at night?” Those are Peeta’s lines. He delivers them with the same sort of conviction I’ve come to expect from him but it strangely still feels like he’s reading one of Effie’s cards from the Victory Tour.

Then it’s my turn.

“People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!” That’s the line. My line. I can tell by the way they presented it to me at first that they spent months, maybe years working it out and are proud of it. It seems like a mouthful to me though, and stiff. I can’t imagine saying it in real life— unless I was using a Capitol accent and making fun of it.

But Fulvia’s in my face, describing the battle I’ve just been in and how my comrades-in-arms are all lying dead around me and how to rally the living I must turn to the camera and shout out the line!

I catch sight of Peeta grimacing slightly from the corner of my eye but before I shoot him a questioning look I’m hustled back to my place, and the smoke machine kicks in. Someone calls for quiet, the cameras start rolling and I hear “Action!” So I hold the bow over my head and yell the line with all the anger I can muster.

There’s dead silence on the set. It goes on and on. I turn to look at Peeta. He looks like he’s trying to keep his expression neutral, but I can see it there, beneath the cracks. Something like sympathy.

Then, Haymitch’s acerbic laugh fills the studio, crackling through the old intercom. He contains himself long enough to say, “And that my friends, is how a revolution dies.”

Peeta is obviously and immediately happier to see our old mentor than I am. He’s rushing over to the booth to speak to him at the drop of a hat while I hang back and work up the motivation. It was a surprise to hear Haymitch’s voice, especially after his disparaging comments about my propo performance, but ultimately I put my annoyance aside to join Peeta to welcome our mentor back.

“Well, well, well, look at you, sweetheart. Your acting skills haven’t improved but you certainly look better than I’ve seen you in a long time,” Haymitch says, surreptitiously studying my face and in particular, the lack of deep circles underneath the stage makeup I’m wearing.

“Surviving a second arena has done wonders for my sleep regimen,” I deadpan.

Haymitch raises a brow at me, suspiciously, and his gaze swings between Peeta and me, assessingly.

“I seriously doubt that. But I can guess what have you playing nice with these birdbrains,” he says with a knowing smirk aimed in Peeta’s direction.

Cue flaming cheeks for both Peeta and me.

“Are you sure they drained all the booze out of you? You seem just a little too carefree to be 100% sober right now,” I accuse, defensively.

Haymitch laughs heartily, then winces.

“Nice try, sweetheart, but you can’t throw me off the scent that easily. Lucky for you, we’ve got bigger things to catch up on than the state of your love life. Kids,” he says, addressing Peeta and me together, “these propos suck,” he states bluntly.

Peeta, the traitor, nods quickly. I shoot him a deadly glare and he shrugs sheepishly.

“I’ve been trying to reason with them for weeks. They won’t listen to me about the lines,” Peeta tells Haymitch.

I huff. He has been trying to get the writers to take his suggestions more seriously. But I had no idea why he was so dead set on it. Maybe the lines they are feeding us sound as unbelievable to him as they do to me.

“Yeah, I figured kid. Don’t worry. We’ll take ‘em on together first thing tomorrow,” Haymitch promises and Peeta’s face relaxes with relief.

“Now, why don’t you two show me where a man can get something to eat in this crazy maze?” Haymitch prods and Peeta and I signal to the others that we’re done for the day and lead our mentor away in the direction of the mess hall.

During dinner, Peeta and I fill Haymitch in on what’s happened since he’s been away. Or, more accurately, Peeta fills Haymitch in with his patent enthusiasm and I merely add a bit of color commentary to round things out.

“Coin promised she’d try to rescue the other victors, including Annie if we cooperated,” Peeta informs him between bites of dry, tasteless bread that leaves his mouth pulling down a smidge in disapproval.

I know if we weren’t so busy he’d be clamoring for a chance to get into the kitchens. He’d be running the entire show within a day or two, having won everyone over with his smiles and his superior baking abilities.

I’d be tempted to let him have at it, simply for the promise of good bread again.

Maybe I could even perch on a counter and watch him knead the dough with those big strong hands—

“You’ve backed yourselves into a corner, kids,” Haymitch says with a sigh, interrupting my bread fantasies.

Peeta gives him a look.

“She would have found a way to make us comply. This way, we get something in return for our services. Or do you think 13 is so benevolent that they would have waited until we were emotionally and mentally fit to take up the mantles?” Peeta asks, not accusingly, but in a tone that flatly states the obvious.

After he says it, it does seem plain to see. President Coin doesn’t strike me as a patient woman. She is used to getting her way and calling all the shots. Peeta had realized that even more quickly than I had. Maybe he’d seen it from the first.

“She made a public announcement in front of the entire district. She can’t go back on her word now.” I tell Haymitch, almost reassuringly. Peeta and I have done alright without him. We’ve made sure that they know we’re a team and we won’t be exploited blindly. We have our voices.

Haymitch gives Peeta a disbelieving look. Peeta merely taps a finger against the tabletop impatiently.

“I don’t even have to ask who thought that it would be a good idea to play one-ups with a woman in possession of actual nuclear weapons, Haymitch growls.

Peeta bristles, visibly.

“Look, our options were limited-” he starts.

“Boy, it's wartime. Everyone’s options are fucking limited,” Haymitch interrupts, brusquely.

“Hey, lay off!” I hissed, leaning forward and giving Haymitch a fierce glare.

Haymitch pauses, open-mouthed and holding up a finger as if he’s about to say something but then, he just doesn’t. He closes his mouth. He sits back. A slow grin spreads across his face.

“So the rumors are true. You have tamed the beast,” Haymitch tells Peeta before a chortle overtakes him.

My temper flares and I am on the verge of delivering an angry comeback, but Peeta beats me.

“I know you mean that affectionately, but let’s not lose focus here. I know what happened on the rescue mission to save us from the Quell arena. Katniss was the priority. Over Finnick, over Johanna, and Beetee. Over me. She’s our best chance to make sure Coin keeps her word, but we need your help too, ” Peeta says in a quiet voice. His tone is non-threatening, but his words…oh his words and his expression are so somber.

All teasing is gone from Haymitch’s expression and what is left in place is something like guilt and dogged resolution all at once.

“It’s what you wanted,” Haymitch croaks out. Then, he clears his throat, “You knew she was the key. You lobbied for me to save her, again,” he reminds Peeta in a careful tone.

I cut my eyes at Peeta, and he doesn’t even look sorry. He just nods once and reaches over to grasp my hand.

I almost pull away from him, so angry am I at the unspoken confirmation of this. Not that I hadn’t expected it. Not that I hadn’t known deep down, and we had all but spelled it out for each other that night on the beach. Haymitch and his double deals. Haymitch chose me, over Peeta, again. Indignation surges up swiftly.

“I never asked-” I begin, tone hot, eyes blinking furiously at the angry pressure that is building behind them. Because these two and their deals make me so mad, even if being angry makes me a hypocrite. Because hadn’t I done the same thing for Peeta? Made Haymitch promise to save him over me when the time came.

“You know how I feel about you,” is all Peeta says, in explanation, in apology, perhaps, but is it an apology if he isn’t one bit sorry?

I tear my hand away from his and cross my arms over my chest.

“We’re all here now and I think that if the two of you don’t start being honest with me I will show you how beastly I can be,” I say, practically growling the words at both of them.

“That, that right there. Is what we need to channel into the damn propos,” Haymitch says with a hint of a smile. Peeta nods approvingly, pulls my chair closer to his with a loud scrape of the metal on the floor, and wraps me in a one-armed embrace even as I pull back and scowl at him.

“I love it when you threaten me,” Peeta whispers, so quiet I’m sure only I can hear.

It’s a testament, really, to how far we come that I don’t automatically bite his head off, and instead grumpily settle into his side, ignoring Haymitch’s supremely amused expression in favor of finishing my bland meal.

The meeting the next morning goes by with very few hitches. I don’t enjoy the way Haymitch shreds our propo to pieces, but as soon as he says the words I immediately know he’s right about our performances.

“Peeta sounds like an advertiser, and not the trustworthy kind, despite how hard he tried to pull it off. And your Mockinjay there, she’s just flat. Completely unrelatable. Now, would anyone like to argue that this is of use to us in winning the war?” Haymitch asks.

No one does.

“That saves time,” he says with a nod.

Then, he has everyone going around thinking of moments when Peeta and I truly inspired them. There is a lot to choose from apparently, considering that we have two reapings, two hunger games, and a victory tour captured on camera for posterity.

The conclusion everyone seems to come to is that Peeta is good in just about any situation but I shine when I go off script.

Fulvia is the one who makes an off-hand remark about putting Peeta and me in combat situations. I’m pretty sure she meant it as a joke but Haymitch latches onto the idea.

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” says Haymitch. “Put them out in the field and keep the cameras rolling.”

That’s how Peeta and I end up going to Districts 8, 11, and 7.

The damage done by the Capitol bombs and their peacekeepers is horrifying. The dead bodies, and the broken and burned homes, pale in comparison to the anger and desperation in the eyes of the survivors.

Peeta is so good at looking each of them in the eyes. He holds their hands, he listens to their stories. He eases their pain in some vital way that has nothing to do with morphling or medical procedures. I follow his lead and it’s almost effortless.

He’s a wonder and I find myself sinking further into that deep entrenchment of admiration and love than ever before.

As for me, their suffering sparks a blaze inside my heart.

"I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do." My hands go out automatically as if to indicate the whole horror around me. "This is what they do! And we must fight back!"

It's the first successful propo they manage to film of me, but it’s not the last.

The nights get successively harder to sleep through again, after the new things we see.

Peeta murmurs soothing things in my ear when I wake up screaming from nightmares where the Capitol drops bombs so devastating that they reach down in the earth to District 13. In my dreams I watch my little sister and my mother and the remnants of District 12 go up in flames, or get buried under tons of rock and unmovable earth.

“I don’t want her in this, I don’t want Prim anywhere near this war,” I tell him as I shake in his arms.

“We’ll sit her down, and speak to her. Ask her not to sign up,” Peeta promises.

All I can do is clutch him and cry in relief. If anyone can convince Prim to stay out of the majority of the fighting it's him, it's my Peeta.

Prim reluctantly agrees and continues to devote the majority of her time to the hospital ward. She and Finnick, who hasn’t been cleared yet, quickly become friends.

“Your sister is smart as a whip,” Finnick tells me one afternoon when we make it back early enough to swing by the hospital and pick Prim up before dinner.

“She is,” I agree. He looks at her with a sad sort of fondness and I wonder if the Capitol took a sister or a niece or a friend from him that reminds him of Prim.

“Do you wanna eat with us in the mess tonight?” I offer tentatively.

Finnick’s eyes light up. Peeta’s invited him many times, and Finnick had accepted occasionally on his better days. But it seems like the invitation means something different coming from me.

“Thank you. I’d like that,” he replies in an equally hesitant, but hopeful manner.

It’s just my luck that the Capitol chooses that night to air their first propo of President Snow giving some long judicious sounding speech while Annie Cresta and Johanna Mason stand behind him with blank faces like hollowed-out shells.

The next morning Peeta sounds the most unbending I’ve ever heard him sound.

He argues with President Coin, doggedly, unflinchingly. The dark circles under his eyes only make the righteous fury in his blue irises stand out starkly as he speaks.

“They are prisoners of war. They can’t be held responsible for what they say or do at this point. The Capitol could, and very likely is torturing them as we speak. How can we gain the trust of the remaining districts when we are so willing to abandon our allies to the brutality of the Capitol?” he asks, looking each person at the conference table in the eye, daring them to come up with an excuse.

Coin doesn’t really have an answer for him, but she doesn’t cede control of the meeting either. She wrenches it back inch by inch reminding us that we have yet to fulfill our part of the bargain, namely, inspiring widespread rebellion to the point where storming the Capitol to rescue the other victors is an option.

The opportunity we’ve been waiting for comes while Peeta and I are on different assignments. I’m filming a propo on District 12 with Gale, of all people, while he’s on assignment in District 4 with Finnick who has just recently been cleared for propo work. Finnick’s improved a lot lately, and hasn’t been caught forgetting to put on pants in while.

Boggs gathers us up and directs us back to the hovercraft swiftly, saying something about the hydroelectric dam that sends power to the Capitol having been hit.

“Their defenses are down. We’re going to hit them before all their backup systems can kick in,” he announces.

“But we’re all the way in 12,” I say with a frown.

“Not us specifically, but the closest team,” Boggs replies as he checks to make sure everyone is strapped in correctly before we take off.

“Who’s the closest team?” I ask, something like dread churning in the pit of my stomach.

“Peeta and Finnick’s team is en route as we speak,” Boggs tells me quietly, almost remorsefully.

I fail to choke back a shaky exhale that threatens to turn into a sob or a scream. I want to yell at whoever thought gave the order. This was not part of the plan. My chest feels tight. Panic has quickly overtaken all other thoughts.

Beside me Gale looks over, picking up on my distress. He looks conflicted for a moment, lips pursing as if he can’t make up his mind whether to rejoice in my discomfort or not.

Finally, nearly six years of friendship must win out because he says, carefully, “They’ll make it back. You’ve all faced worse and come back.”

It sounds plausible considering Peeta and I made it out of a Quater Quell specifically designed to kill us, but there’s always that fear that lives in the back of my mind. The one that claws to get out, teeth bared and snapping at the thought of losing someone I need beyond reckoning. I am about a minute away from coming up with a way to commandeer this vehicle at bow point and demand the pilot fly us straight to the Capitol, even if logically, I know we’ll never make it in time to be of any help.

Gale gives me a look that says he knows what I’m thinking and he thinks it’s a really bad idea. I am too panicked to feel even an ounce of guilt or self-consciousness. But then Boggs leans in and says in a low voice, “Commander Jackson and her team will make sure they make it back. She knows her orders. Bringing the Mockingjay’s husband and Finnick Odair back alive is the top priority.” His dark brown eyes are steady and truthful. I don’t even move to correct him when he calls Peeta my husband, I’m that distraught.

I gulp down my fears, and nod at him. I choose to believe what he says. Partially because I know that losing Peeta at this point would be disastrous for the rebel propaganda campaign. The bigger part of me believes what Boggs and Gale are saying for the simple fact that I desperately need to.

They do make it back, but just barely. The hours I spend in suspended torment, seem to fade from my mind when I get word.

Their hovercraft comes back with part of its left wing damaged and smoke billowing out of one of its engines. I catch sight of their return and watch with muted horror as the craft executes a shaky but ultimately successful landing from the small window that looks into the hangar from the hall.

I race toward the hangar entrance but am not allowed inside. The soldiers redirect me to the hospital where they say everyone from the rescue team is going to end up anyway.

Haymitch shows up two minutes after me and we wait for what seems like hours but is probably more like a handful of minutes until we’re admitted.

Through a doorway, I catch a glimpse of Jackson, Peeta, and Finnick's squad leader, perspiration streaming down her face as a doctor removes something from under her shoulder blade with a long pair of tweezers. Wounded, but alive. I call her name and start toward her until a nurse pushes me back and shuts me out.

“Katniss!” It's not the voice I’ve been searching for, but it’s a welcomed one. Finnick hurries toward us, looking somewhat exhausted but also exorbitantly happy. I decided that if he looks like that, nothing serious could have gone wrong during the mission.

“They separated us when we got back,” he says in a breathless rush, eyes darting, “The doctors just cleared me but I don’t know where they took the others. They were unconscious from the gas when we found them and —”

"Finnick!" Something between a shriek and a cry of joy catches our attention. A lovely if somewhat bedraggled young woman-- dark tangled hair, sea green eyes--exits one of the patient rooms and runs toward us in nothing but a sheet. "Finnick!" And suddenly, it's as if there's no one in the world but these two, crashing through space to reach each other. They collide, enfold, lose their balance, and slam against a wall, where they stay. Clinging into one being. Indivisible. A pang of happiness and relief hits me. Finnick has his beloved back. He kisses her with such heartfelt certainty, and she, him. No one seeing them could doubt their love.

My thoughts run toward Peeta, my eyes searching frantically for any sign of him.

Mitchell, one of the other officers on Peeta’s team, looking a little worse for wear but uninjured, finds Haymitch and me. "We got them all out. Except for Enobaria. But since she's from Two, we doubt she's being held anyway. Johanna Mason's at the end of the hall. The effects of the gas are just wearing off. Peeta’s in the room next to hers. He’s fine but he got clipped in the shoulder-” That’s as far as he gets before I’m running.

Peeta. Alive but injured.

Away from Snow. Safe. Here. With me.

In a minute I can touch him. See his smile. Hear his laugh. Haymitch is grinning at me, actually keeping pace. "Come on, then," he says, hurrying me along. I almost giggle.

I'm light-headed with giddiness. What will I do first? Hug him? Inspect his wounds? Peeta will be ecstatic no matter what I do. He'll probably be kissing me the moment I’m in reach anyway.

Celebratory kisses sound good. Fantastic even, I wonder if maybe those kisses will lead to more in his quarters later tonight. If he’s not gravely injured I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea at all.

Peeta's up and sitting on the side of the bed, looking tired as a trio of doctors examine him, flash lights in his eyes, and check his pulse. His right arm has a bandage wrapped around it but the dressing isn’t the heavy-duty kind reserved for serious wounds so I know he didn’t lose too much blood. He’s nodding along to their instructions or whatever it is they are telling him.

I'm disappointed that mine was not the first face he saw when he got back, but he sees it now when he turns and catches sight of me entering the room. His features register relief, then delight, and something more intense that I’ve come to know in our more intimate moments. Something like belonging or tenderness. Surely both, for he sweeps the doctors aside, leaps to his feet, and moves toward me.

I run to meet him, my arms extended to embrace him. His hands are reaching for me too, to caress my face, I think. My lips are just forming his name when his mouth slants down over mine, tasting perfectly like sweat, smoke, and home.

We kiss for an inordinate amount of time and it's oddly reminiscent of our reunion after our first games. Peeta even does the bit where he tries to push Haymitch aside when he starts cracking jokes about us needing to come up for oxygen.

“Glad to see you’re okay, kid. We’ll talk later.” Haymitch departs with a final clap of his hand against Peeta’s shoulder, and Peeta turns toward him to murmur his agreement. I listen to the sound of Haymitch’s retreating footsteps and I can’t hide the relieved sound that escapes me. I just want Peeta all to myself for a minute.

“I take it someone’s happy to see me,” Peeta quips when we finally break apart, amusement and adoration shining in his eyes as he looks down at me.

“You are hereby banned from going on any more life-threatening missions without me,” I growl at him, clutching at the front of his uniform and pressing my face into his chest.

“Trust me, I am not eager to do it again,” he says, arms clutching me tighter, hands trailing soothingly up and down my back. “It was a tricky escape. A trap most likely. All their guns turned back online before we could get clear of their air space. Snow was probably counting on being able to shoot all of us down. Luckily, Jackson is an ace pilot as well as a crack shot.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to hear about the death-defying odds just yet. I just need—” I tell him, my voice straining almost to the point of breaking.

“Shhh, I know what you need,” Peeta whispers back, planting a kiss on the top of my head, and running a hand down my hair.

He just holds me, as everyone bustles around us, talking and asking questions that we promptly ignore, proving that he does in fact know exactly what I need.

That night after we escape all the commotion we walk slowly back to his compartment in companionable but contemplative silence. I break it reluctantly when we reach his door.

“What do you think they did to them?” I ask quietly, thinking of the two souls they brought back with them from the Capitol. I bite my lip, remembering the way Johanna Mason had to be sedated when she caught sight of Finnick. She had actually tried to run towards him, attack him, it looked like, but she was so weak and malnourished that she didn’t get far or do any permanent damage.

Peeta sucks in a breath.

“They were being held in the Tribute Center. In a facility underneath it, actually. The op was so quick, we didn’t get the chance to investigate much. Just locate them and get them out, but…I think Snow messed with their minds, or at least Johanna’s. She seemed so sick and frail when we opened her cell. Small in a way she never seemed before. But the way she looked at Finnick when she woke up. It was like she thought he was a monster. Annie wasn’t in as bad a shape when we found her,” he replies heavily before unlocking his compartment. I nod, thinking of how Annie recognized Finnick instantly but Johanna’s eyes just seemed off.

I suppress a shiver at the implication of his words and my own thoughts. I don’t want to think about the numerous ways the Capitol could twist a person’s mind to the point where they can’t recognize friends from foes.

Peeta guides me through the door with a gentle hand on my lower back.

I make it a few steps inside before I’m turning back and watching him with wide eyes, drinking in the sight of him as he works one-handed to unbutton the top half of his uniform.

He is so beautiful, so alive, and so mine, and in the next second I can’t stand to have any distance between us any longer.

“Let me,” I murmur, taking over for him as I slowly undo his shirt, remembering to be careful of his injured arm.

He lets his hands fall away and I press my lips, gently to every bit of skin I can reach, as if needing to verify every inch of his skin myself.

“I need a shower. I’m all dirty, sweetheart,” Peeta says in a husky voice when my lips fall in the slight valley between the defined halves of his upper chest.

“I don’t care,” I murmur, kissing his sweaty skin, undeterred. Peeta groans, obviously debating the merits of letting me continue my attentions. The remnants of blood, sweat, and traces of the acrid smoke they used to knock out the inhabitants of the Tribute Center while on their mission cling to his skin, but his blood beats warm and alive inside his veins and his heart pounds in a beautifully fast rhythm. It makes me forget almost everything else. But then he pulls back just slightly, most likely to tell me he needs a shower before we continue, and I can’t bear the idea of being parted from him. Even for just a few minutes.

It's like those nights in the training center where I fear any door between us will be locked and I’ll lose him somehow.

“We’ll take one together,” I demand more than suggest. Peeta raises his eyebrows slightly but doesn’t protest.

He lets me lead him to the small attached bathroom and lets me strip him bare.

We haven’t done this yet. Showering together. We’ve made love several times since that first night, but we haven’t been naked together outside of the close vicinity of his bed.

My hands travel across his frame, touching every part of him I can reach. There’s this feeling I can’t shake like we’ve had another near miss. It takes considerable effort to turn away from him and turn on the water. I motion for him to step ahead of me, taking a few precious seconds to try and calm my riotous nerves while I slowly undress.

The shower stall is small and a bit cramped but we make it work. I am not going to complain about being in close proximity to Peeta right now. I relish the way his large frame crowds me against the shower wall, my back pressed against the cold tiles while my front brushes against the warm expanse of his chest with every movement.

I wash him gently, careful of his injury and he lets me examine him in detail, cataloging every bruise and scrape I can find.

There are quite a few.

I wrap my arms around him, clinging to him as the water sluices down on us, warm and cleansing, and I kiss the spot right next to the patch of skin where the bullet grazed him. He doesn’t so much as flinch, but it still must be tender. I make sure my lips are gentle, imparting softness and an unspoken wish to take away his pain. His eyes remain closed and his face relaxes into a slightly slack but receptive expression. He doesn’t say a word about how I’m acting. He just lets me care for him. Logically I know he’s capable of doing this himself. His injury isn’t serious, but somehow I feel like I need to do this.

Peeta seems to know I need this as well because he bends his head without me having to ask so I can shampoo his hair with the mostly scentless standard soap District 13 stocks in all their showers. Wincing only slightly when the soap runs down over the scrapes that run over his hand. My mind cycles through the list of injuries, both old and new. I take his hand in mine, kissing the expanse between a scraped knuckle. I hate when he gets hurt and I’m not there. It makes me feel powerless.

“Peeta.” His name tumbles out of my mouth. He automatically hugs me to himself tightly and, for the moment, our naked bodies pressed together don’t cause the usual reactions. The moment isn’t sexual, even though I think his naked form is beautiful despite the bruises and scars.

“I’m here Katniss. I’m here. It's ok,” he tells me over and over, until finally the tears are flowing down my face, hidden surely by the stream of water but I know Peeta can sense I’m crying by the way my body shakes.

“I can’t lose you. I can’t,” I blurt out, spluttering the words desperately and most likely unattractively against the spray of water as I tilt my face up toward his. Then I’m sobbing and he has to hold me up because my knees go weak at the thought of him not coming back, or worse, being taken prisoner by the Capitol.

He holds me tighter, and kisses me so fiercely I almost lose myself in the warm, familiar, reassuring rhythm of his lips against mine.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not if I can help it. Always, remember?” he whispers against my lips before he kisses me soundly again. I almost melt into him, almost.

“We don’t always have a choice. Sometimes, it's out of our control,” I say, breaking away from him panting, on edge, maybe almost angry. But this is the kind of anger born from bone-deep fear, nothing else.

He stills, blue eyes opening to settle on my face. His hands come up to cup my jaw before he lets his forehead rest against mine.

“You’re right. We can’t control everything. But Katniss, I hope you know how hard I’d fight to stay with you. To get back to you, if it came to that.” He tells me quietly, firmly, and in his eyes is a wealth of determination, of love, of boundless resolve that sets to life a small quivering spark deep in my belly.

It roils and rumbles the truth back at me, that I know this. That I know him. That Peeta is as true and steady as they come. We have faced nightmares and death together several times and lived. He has come back to me from the brink of death before. There is some assurance I can take in that. There is some relief.

Still, I need the reassurance of his skin underneath my fingertips, of his lips and his tongue, of his body joining mine to prove to myself that I have him, that he isn’t going to slip through my fingers.

I drag him down for a needy kiss, hands roving over his body, pressing my breasts against his chest deliberately. Peeta groans into my mouth, his hands slip down to cup the curve of my backside, even as he pins me against the shower wall.

I moan my approval, the heavy sound passing from my mouth to his as he swallows it up with kisses and swirls of his tongue. One of my hands reaches up to grasp at his hair, while my hips rock forward of their own accord, seeking friction for that space between my thighs that clutches in anticipation of the memory of him, and the exquisite way he fills me up.

“You think anything could ever keep me from you? That I wouldn’t fight with everything in me, tooth, nail, every molecule in my body staging its own rebellion to reach you?” Peeta asks as he changes direction and slants his lips down over the edge of my mouth, slipping and traversing the path toward my neck with single-minded intensity.

He leaves me breathless and unable to speak. He starts sucking a bruise above my pulse point, although I’m almost certain his questions were rhetorical.

“You’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me. I don’t care if I had to survive two arenas and we’re still fighting this war. You are it, Katniss. You’re it for me. It will all be worth it every day I get to wake up with you by my side. Every night I get to hold you in my arms. That’s all I need. Tomorrow with you. Just that would be enough to balance out the nightmares and the ghosts that I have to live with. That we both have to live with. But I’m not ashamed to admit that I want more. A whole life with you, if the odds are in my favor. An entire future with you, blooming out from under the shadow of the games. Happiness. Peace. Family if you want one. Just you and me, if you don’t. But there’s one thing you can count on Katniss. And it's that I will stay. Always,” he states with a finely tuned certainty that resounds through my bones, sinking in and slating some soul-deep question that I hadn’t even thought to ask, or could put a voice to, but needed to be answered nonetheless. His words of love and a life spent with me should scare me but they inspire the opposite of fear to bloom inside my heart. I want that life. I want it more than I want Snow dead. I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted before.

Because I’ve known since the first hour after we were rescued in the hovercraft that there was no turning back for me. I wasn’t built to love and lose and move on.

I only know how to go all in once I make I choice. I hold on tightly, far past the point of pain, past the point of regret, and even sanity. Something of my mother’s clinging love persists inside me, despite how I hate how weak it makes me feel. The love I know, and carry is not the fast-blooming kind. It is slow growing, deep-rooted, and unyielding. I am not sure I will ever want a family, but I do know I want Peeta. I want him and all the years he has promised me. A wealth of happiness and peace and a life built together without the past casting shadows on our joy.

“I need you,” I whisper, whimpering almost.

Peeta closes his eyes slowly, his head resting against mine, as the water, now tepid and no longer hot washes over us.

“I know, sweetheart. I know you do,” he assures me, and then he kisses my temple. “I need you, too,” he whispers as he holds me, one hand around my back, the other cupping one dainty breast in a slightly possessive manner, while he mouths little kisses against my hairline.

“Let’s go to bed,” he says after a moment, and with a considerable effort pulls himself back.

We towel off quietly, in no hurry. We both know where this is going and barring an actual emergency there’ll be no interruptions for us tonight. My mother has long since given up trying to persuade me to sleep in my assigned quarters at night. After a mortifying conversation where she made me promise that Peeta and I are being responsible, the subject was dropped. No one will bother us here.

Peeta lays me down with such respect and admiration that it lays my heart as bare as my freshly showered body. Something I think will never get old.

He kisses me until I’m out of breath, out of my mind almost with longing and anticipation for him. He slips a hand down my body, cupping and caressing my breasts as he goes, measuring the span of my hip bones as he lays the flat of his palm against my lower belly, thumb swirling in little circles even as his tongue circles one of my nipples.

“Peeta,” I plead. I’m not above pleading I’ve discovered in recent weeks. And Peeta is not one to make me beg, he just likes to take his time. Citing all the nights he spent dreaming of what it would be like to do this together. ‘I want to go slow,’ he’d told me once, when I’d whined greedily, and wheedled him, trying to urge him to take me faster. ‘I want to enjoy every second,’ he’d explained. ‘I waited for so long for this. For you to be ready. For us,’ he had said, and I had stopped my grumbling. Because he had waited for me. He had waited so hopefully. Been so patient. The least I could do was do the same.

But sometimes I can’t help the way his name slips out of me, breathlessly. I can’t help the way my hips incline forward of their own accord, seeking his practiced touch at my center. He’d spent so much time learning me, and me him, that we’re experts now in bringing each other pleasure. Peeta though likes to savor whereas I prefer to rush, greedily devouring every touch and kiss, that all-consuming hunger that sings in my veins for him raising its constant song of yes, and more, and please more, chanting above the rush of sensations he draws out in me.

Whenever we’re together like this, it’s a wonderful battle between his patience and my need, but tonight it's something different. Peeta slips his tongue into my mouth at the same instant two of his fingers work their way into my slick depths and there’s something so raw about the way he kisses me and pumps his fingers into me. It makes me keen into his mouth and rock my hips back and forth, relishing the way he touches me, wanting more of this feeling where the entire world narrows down to his lips on my neck, his hand on my hip, and his fingers filling me.

“So wet for me,” He murmurs, almost to himself, his eyes trained on the spot where his fingers disappear inside of me with each stroke. “I can feel you gripping my fingers sweetheart,” he says, his voice low and sensual in a way he only sounds here in the privacy of this space.

He’s right. I clench his fingers with each pass, my body steadily being driven toward its peak under his care.

“How do you want to come? Just like this? Or on my mouth?” Peeta whispers as he nips my ear. A moan slips out of me, loud and unbidden, and I clamp my mouth shut.

“You can be as loud as you want.” He reminds me, fingers never losing their rhythm. His closest neighbors work the late shift. A fact that he’s happily pointed out in the past. I really shouldn’t be so self-conscious anymore but it’s just instinct to guard myself when we’re so vulnerable. Peeta however revels in the freedom of these moments. He often loses himself in the glory of it all, moaning my name without shame, loud strings of praises and encouragement falling from his lips without hesitation.

“Everyone thinks we’re married anyway.” He has said it so many times I’m beginning to wonder if he just likes the way it sounds. I have several memories of him saying it while his blond hair and blue eyes peeked out at me from between my legs, and his hot tongue stoked the flames of my pleasure into an inferno.

“One day, I’m going to ask you to marry me for real.” He even told me one night, while he was buried deep inside of me, hips pistoning in and out after I begged quietly and drove him into a frenzy. We both came immediately after I told him that one day I would allow it.

I’m struck by that particular memory and the immediacy of my need to feel connected with him like that again, to come apart while he talks of our future and he loves me with his body in that determined and relentless way of his.

“I want you inside me. Not your fingers. Not your tongue. You. and I want you to tell me again how you’ll never leave. How we’re going to make it through this and come out the other side. How we’ll be together, always.” I say, voice strained and breaking on some words but eyes resolutely locked on his face.

He stares back at me with awe and reverence and a love so sweet it’s intoxicating and sobering at the same time.

“I can do that.” He replies, sounding almost as affected as I do. His eyes are shining, and I feel the weight of the moment settle over us.

He leans down to kiss me, softly, anchoring us together, his eyes closed and his pulse fluttering at his neck even as my own heart beats thunderously loud in my chest.

“I’d be happy to.” He says, eyes opening slowly as he gives me a look, so transparently pleased and unguarded it tugs at things deep within me.

We shift until he’s lined up with me, and then he slips in smoothly, helped along because of all the time he’d put into making sure I was properly aroused and ready.

Twin groans of pleasure spill out of us, combining gently into a sweet note of relief and anticipation for more. I shift my hips, to allow him deeper, as I always do when I want to signal to him that I’m ready.

Peeta doesn’t miss a beat. He builds up a beautiful chorus of moans and sighs between us with every measured thrust and passion-filled kiss. Its revolutionary in the way the entire feeling sweeps through me, extending out from the place where he buries himself, to the tips of my fingers, until I can pleasure and sweetness building with every inhale.

“Do you feel this?” He asks, eyes locked on mine.

I nod at him frantically.

“This is us.” He tells me at the end of one poignant thrust, demonstrating the physical before he brings one hand up between us. He takes my hand in his and places it over his heart, then he mirrors the action by placing his own large, warm palm over my stuttering heartbeat. “This is us.” My eyes fill with tears.

He leans his head down to kiss my lips in the gentlest caress, an echo of the kiss we shared in the hovercraft as we flew away from the Quell arena. I just know that is what the kiss is supposed to remind me of. “This is us.” He reiterates, eyes locked on mine again.

“This is real. We are real, Katniss.” He states. A tear slips freely down the curve of my cheek. I let out a tiny sob. “Yes,” I tell him, reaching up to cup his face. “Real,” I whisper as I kiss his lips. “Mine,” I murmur. “My love,” I state with as much courage as I can before I’m overwhelmed by the feelings breaking loose in my heart and soul at the same time my body starts its inevitable climb.

“My love,” Peeta agrees in between kisses. “My sweetheart. My woman. My wife. I’m going to marry you someday. Prim and your mother will weave flowers into your hair and we’ll share bread over a fire and toast to all the things that brought us together and only made us stronger. I’ll bake cheese buns for you every day and I’ll love you thoroughly each night and when the nightmares come I’ll hold you. And you’ll hold me and we will have each other for the rest of our days.” He says, promises.

It's so simple, the picture he paints for me, of a life together filled with good things, the best things, that I’m overcome with the beauty of it. A sharp cry breaks out of me and I fall apart, unraveled by his words and his artistry, and the way he knows me, soul to soul, and everything that would make me happy.

I drift, boneless and languid in a sea of ebbing pleasure, watching contentedly as he begins to lose himself. His hips falter in their rhythm, his breath stuttering, and his arms straining as he gives in and lets go. I watch as his climax hits him. My eyes lazily and lovingly fix on the way he throws his head back, arches his spine, and stills, except for the haphazard jerk of his pelvis against mine. My name is a wheeze or a whine on his lips that bleeds into a low groan. His adam’s apple bobs and I watch in fascination as the flushed skin of his jaw and neck ripple with the motion of swallowing, making an elegant play of his sparse freckles.

Yes, I think. Enjoy it, my love. I say without words and he collapses against me, my fingers pushing back the sweaty locks of his hair from his face.

We will have this moment and many more. I vow as I kiss his warm and slightly stubbled cheek. I’ll make sure of it.

#The Both of Us #fanfiction #thg #thg fanfiction #everlark #everlark fanfiction #lemonluvwrites #CANON DIVERGENCE #mockingjay reimagined #no hijacking

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beautifulreflections · 2 years

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Blog Post 4: Looking back to move forward.

This week I’m remembering the why. I truly believe your willpower will only be as strong as your why. So, I’m taking you back to my why, which takes us back almost six years to the birth of my second son. It was a beautiful day, when He was born with His big brown eyes and brown hair making me the proud mom of two healthy boys. Except I still remember the nurse coming in every hour and pricking my youngest son’s feet. It was horrible. I was tired, He was tired, my husband was tired, and all I wanted to do was sleep, but the nurse had to check His blood sugar.

Why? Well because I had gestational diabetes all during the pregnancy leading up to the birth of my second son. My Dad had triple bypass surgery about three years ago, His mom had type 2 diabetes and later developed Alzheimer’s, and my aunt has type two diabetes as well. The gene pool clearly wasn’t flowing in my favor and the sickness seemed to trickle right down to me. The symptoms were low mood and a lack of energy, but I was mom. So, I chalked it up to job description. I mean, all moms are exhausted right? Apparently, these were warning signs of what was to come, I just didn’t know that at the time.

I ate sugar free chocolate pudding every day after dinner to curb my sweet tooth in a healthy way and took walks when my sugar was especially elevated. After I had my son, and after the heartache of hearing Him cry when the nurse checked His blood sugar, I moved on with life, sweets, and all. But a couple years ago I was diagnosed with chronic gastritis and acid reflux. So, this is when I became a vegan. I let go of the meats and cheeses, filled up the fridge with vegetables, and watched many documentaries about how diet is connected to overall health. My favorite documentary is still “What the Health” by Kip Anderson. In this documentary, Kip uncovers the secret to reversing chronic diseases.

After years of living a vegan lifestyle and seeing the health benefits including clear skin, good digestion, and overall increase in energy, I began to get lax in my efforts and became a vegetarian, and now I eat meat again. The point is that those habits are only as effective as my ability to maintain these healthy eating choices consistently and over a long period of time. Now I am focusing on eating healthy foods overall. I’m pulling back out those old but loved vegan recipes including crispy tofu with quinoa and steak seasoned zucchini. I even put some of the candy from my Christmas bag into the communal candy pile for someone else to devour. This may sound small to you, but it’s a big deal for me.

I said no to Super Bowl brownies and key lime cake last night, as well as all the diet sodas that I used to love. My favorite soda used to be cherry coke zero. The point is that Americans, myself included, consume too much sugar. I know I did, and I now must come up with a game plan to leave the sugar where it needs to stay, on the shelf for special occasions. According to the American Heart Association Americans on average consume 20 teaspoons of sugar per day while the recommended daily amount of sugar is 6 teaspoons for women and 9 teaspoons for men. Beverages make up most of our sugar consumption at a whopping 47% which include soft drinks, sports drinks, energy drinks, coffee, and tea. The second leading cause of excess sugar comes from snacks and sweets at 31%.

The point is, sugar consumption has gotten way out of control, especially in the United States, and we need to be aware of the risks associated with excess sugar which include chronic inflammation, tooth decay, acne, advanced skin aging, weight gain and obesity, diabetes and insulin resistance, cardiovascular disease, high blood pressure, brain loss, cancer, and premature death. Sugar though sweet can be deadly. It’s recommended by John Hopkins Medicine that we avoid sodas and other sugar sweetened beverages, reach for fruits instead of candy, cookies, or other sweet treats, read ingredient labels, and watch for sugar aliases. As it turns out, smoothies with no added sugar still taste sweet because that’s how they are made naturally. If we stop and think before we run to the sweets isle, in the future we will be happy with the choices we make.

“Always begin with the end in mind.” - Ellen Muth

References:

“How much sugar is too much?” American Heart Association. https://www.heart.org/en/healthy-living/healthy-eating/eat-smart/sugar/how-much-sugar-is-too-much

Ndumele, Chiadi. “Obesity, Sugar, and Heart Health.” Johns Hopkins Medicine. https://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/health/wellness-and-prevention/obesity-sugar-and-heart-health

#beginwiththeendinmind

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n1k1tty · 3 years

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keep it on the down low - nishimura riki

╰─ ever since you were selected as riki’s next partner for his upcoming dance collab, you may or may not have developed feelings for each other. but despite their companies not really supporting dating in their idol's careers, both riki and y/n tried to keep it on the down low. key word: tried

pairings: idol! riki x idol! reader

genre: fluff

It was around 2 am in the morning when you and Riki decided to stay for a little bit more to finish up the first part of the song.

"1 2 3 4, 5 6 7 8" Riki counts as you both move in sync, he smiles at your worn out figure laying down on the ground "tired? we can wrap this up if you want to"

He sits down next to you, handing you his cup of cold water. Your mind secretly going on frantic over his little gesture "Let's just finish this last part and i'm heading home- unless you're tired too-" you sip the water, sitting up.

"-Nah, nah i'm not tired yet" He shakes his head. crap, did that sound too desperate? Riki asks himself, trying his best to not make it seem like he was avoiding your gaze

"Alright then, 2:30 we'll leave" You say, walking towards the table as you place the cup. Riki seriously didn't know how calm and collected you were especially with just the two of you alone, together. No managers, no members, nada.

You start playing the music, feeling yourself getting more exhausted each minute that passed by. Sloppily moving your body with the rhythm. Of course that didn't go unnoticed by Riki.

As the song ended, you both face each other. It was a part of the dance, but your face being barely an inch from Riki's wasn't. You both froze, not knowing what to do. Well, facing a different way was another solution, but neither of you wanted to do that, let's be honest.

At this moment, Riki didn't give a shit.

He grabbed you by the waist, faces inching closer by the second. But before your lips could touch—

“This one is for the boys with the boomin syst— Riki? Y/n?” Heeseung takes a second to blink, eyes refusing to see what he was seeing “I uh, I gotta go. My manager is asking if i’m at home. See you Riki, Bye Heeseung” You hurriedly pack your things, face red from embarrassment and the thought of you and Riki almost kissing.

“Hyung— I can explain—“ Riki walks towards him, trying to grab his hand “—Riki calm down, I wont tell” Heeseung chuckles, patting Riki’s bag “If you don’t know where my airpods are, then go walk her home. She’s not supposed to be out at this hour alone. I’ll take your stuff back to the dorm aight?”

“Oh gosh” you groaned, dragging your feet as you rethink what had happened “What should I do?” You pull your hair.

Just as you were about to turn to the corner you hear him call your name ‘No Riki! This is not the time!’ you panicked, but just before you could act as if you didn’t hear him, he taps you by the shoulder “Riki, just what the hell are you thinking chasing me right at this hour!?” You whisper-yell at him “I was just worried about you walking home at 3 am. Your company sucks for not getting you a driver”

“No I told them I could walk home” You chuckle, in Riki’s eyes you seemed so bothered. Noticing the way you dragged your feet and messy hair “Everything okay?” He asked, facing you

“Riki we’re doomed! Heeseung knows, and maybe dispatch is somewhere out there already taking pictures of us at this mome—”

He giggles “So what?” You gasp, mouth open. You seriously couldn’t believe this kid.

“So what?! Ugh, why do I even put up with you” facepalming as you groan

“Heeseung hyung said he wouldn’t tell, and I don’t care about dispatch, engenes know how close we are and does your fans. They’ll think this is a friendly gesture” Riki reassures you as he looked at the stars, finding peace within your presence.

“So don’t worry okay? Everything will be alright. And if they ever suspect anything, I’ll try to find a way to get us out of it” He stops by your doorstep “Well, this is your dorm, good night y/n—”

Without a thought running through your mind, you pecked Riki Nishimura. Immediately trying to unlock the door “Good night Riki” You smile, squealing once you closed it “I saw that” Ningning smirks. There goes your money.

—

It was the following week after your collaboration with Riki was released and so far everything was going great. Both your fans really liked the content you both made, appreciating your talents and especially loved your ‘friendship’

Riki was right, everything was going to be alright. No dispatch and no suspicions from the fans and both companies.

And ever since that night, you and Riki had decided to make it official. Both agreeing to keep it a secret for now until you were both ready.

Thankfully the fans recognized the playful personalities and cherished your friendship, making videos like “Y/n and Riki being chaotic in their (collab) behind” and “Riki and Y/n being the best friends everyone would want” Of course, your companies noticed the sudden increase of popularity for both groups and proposed an idea of having each other in shows, and other things that could possibly make you interact more. Almost immediately, you both were very supportive of the idea and agreed to do more shows.

—

You guys had an episode to go to the beach with the other Enhypen members. As you were filming the things that you were packing, Riki knocks on your door “Oh? Riki came~” you cooed, smiling at the sight of his head peaking through the door “Y/n! You’re packing more than necessary” He laughs, looking at the big pile of folded clothes.

After a few minutes, you decided to stop filming. Immediately throwing yourself into Riki’s arms “Are you excited?” you asked, rubbing circles on his back “not really— I mean yeah i kinda am but what if the other members—”

He pouts at the sound of you laughing “No ones gonna steal me Nishimura Riki. If that’s what you’re worried about” you squished his cheeks

“Now help me pick which swim suit I should wear”

“Okay :D” He gladly says, sitting patiently as you start gathering the options.

So far, filming with enhypen was fun, you got to play games in the pool, grill meat, answering mini interviews the other members held, you enjoyed it all.

Of course the trip wouldn’t be complete without you and Riki flirting with each other once in a while. Which caught both your fans attention, posting overly suspicious interactions between you and Riki. Leaving comments like “act surprised when they reveal that they’re dating” and “OKAY CAN WE TALK ABOUT: Y/n casually wrapping her arms around Riki’s neck while just staring at each other in today’s behind” all around twitter.

Jungwon being active on all social media platforms didn’t help either, resulting to him realizing that you and Riki were more than just friends. Soon enough the other members figure it out as well, silently sitting back and enjoying you both so oblivious towards the fact that everyone knew.

Meanwhile, you and Riki thought you were doing an excellent job at keeping it a secret. While resting on the same bed watching a movie, your manager barges in, shoving the phone into both your faces “Nishimura Riki, care to explain?”

A screenshot of Dispatch tweeting about your guy’s relationship is trending on twitter, following a few screenshots of fans posting about your relationship.

Your heart drops

His manager chuckled, “I already knew. Just came to tell you CEO Bang supports it and would like to have a meeting about confirming it”

Long story short, you both did agree to publicize your relationship and was extremely happy to hear that the fans supported you both

yall, i dont rlly like how i wrote this :( but i rlly missed posting so…. I SWEAR ILL MAKE BETTER ONES. i just need to find my motivation to do so :)

#enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen x reader fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen riki #riki fluff #enhypen niki #niki fluff #enhypen niki fluff #n1k1tty: riki m.list !

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breakfaststuffs · 3 years

Text

Fluctuations

Pairing: Bucky x Reader!Powers

Warnings: Language

A/N: I blame @angrythingstarlight for inspiring me to start this...thing. I don’t know what it is but I have done it. Lurker turned whatever.

Please, do not copy, translate, rewrite or post my work even if you credit me.

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“Fuck,” you hissed as you scrambled up the 6th flight of stairs in a desperate bid to outrun your pursuers. As soon as your eyes had landed on that tell-tale skull and tentacle laden logo, you just knew that things would go sideways.

Even as your calves burned and begged for a rest, you hauled yourself up the last set of stairs and spilled out onto the roof with a gasp of exhaustion and you made a wobbly dash over to the fire escape. Making one last adjustment to the straps of your backpack, you felt reassured that the weight of the stolen goods were still nestled between your shoulders and reached for the ladder.

“You should probably just hand it over, you know,” a voice stated simply from above and, in all of his winged-glory, Captain America landed softly on the rooftop a few feet behind you. Another half-second later, the person you had been hauling ass from silently appeared to the left of Sam Wilson and you felt frozen to the spot as his sharp blue eyes trained in on your face.

A bead of sweat trickled down your neck and you just knew that the wig you had worked so hard to affix on top of your hair was now very obvious and askew. You let out a breath you did not know you had been holding and let the reality of your situation settle over your shoulders.

Grasping the straps a little tighter to summon up your courage, you took a few unsteady steps to the side to be clear of the fire escape and then turned to dive off the roof. You heard a rush of raised voices behind you and a shuffle of movement before the world turned into a dark blur rushing up to meet you.

“Fuck!” you yelp as you dropped.

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Life has never been easy for you and, after coming back from the blip, it had gotten insurmountably worse.

Before the blip, you had managed to find security in your work and in your own personal life. The design firm you worked at was lobbing more work for high priority clients your way and there were signs that your boyfriend was close to proposing. You wished that you could share your accomplishments with your parents, but the fates had decided to remove them from the equation 3 years earlier in a sudden clash of metal and rubber that had permanently left a part of your heart hollow and numb.

The moment your life shattered for a second time was right after you had completed your usual circuit run around the neighborhood to help burn off some of the extra energy that had built up with the excitement of your sister finally visiting you in the city. Your sister was an hour out from touchdown and as you chatted over the phone with your boyfriend about dinner plans for the evening a sudden shock of cold settled low in your belly. Whatever words were on your tongue faded and drifted into nothingness.

The next thing you knew was you were standing in the same spot on the sidewalk with a gasp and were immediately bowled over by a jogger who seemed just as shocked as you were. From there, the disorientation only grew as the ripples of the repercussions of having the returned trying to find normalcy in a world that had moved on grew into tidal waves.

It was bad enough that your apartment and belongings were lost, your boyfriend had married someone else and the company you were working for had since dissolved. The true horror came when you realized that your sister had been flying 30,000 feet above the ground the moment of the blip. You had screamed until your throat was raw and the tears had gone dry as you realized your world had ended.

Thanks to government assistance, you had a roof over your head, but you were adrift in your loss and felt directionless for the first couple of months after your return. It wasn’t until you had saddled up at a bar that was one of your father’s favorite drinking spots did a sliver of hope crept back into your life.

As you took another long pull from your glass, a gentle weight landed on your shoulder and the barstool next to you was quickly occupied by a sharp-dressed man with a disarmingly soft smile.

“Hey, [Y/N]. Did not expect to see you here,” the stranger said with a chuckle as he raised his hand to flag down the bartender.

“Oh, didn’t really expect me to be here, either. But, sorry, do I know you…?”, you questioned with a thread of wariness stitched in your words. It also didn’t help matters that single touch on the shoulder was the first human contact you’d had in weeks. Deep down, you felt another layer of despair settle in the back of your mind.

“Ah, sorry about that. You see, I knew your old man and he was never shy about showing off how proud he was of his daughters. But, [Y/N], he really did go on about how special you were.”

You couldn’t keep the watery smile from your lips as you extended out your hand to his for a shake. “Well, glad to make your acquaintance…,” you left the word hanging as his hand grasped your hand firmly in his.

“Michael,” he said with a chuckle as he gave the bartender a quick nod as a glass of whiskey slid his way, “Nice to be finally meeting you.” He dropped your hand and snatched up the glass to raise it up into the air in front of him. “Here’s to your father,” he spoke as he took a gulp of the amber liquid.

“Yeah, to my dad...and all those we’ve lost,” you toast and raised your own glass to your lips.

“So, since you’re here drinking at 2 o’clock on a Tuesday, I am guessing that things aren’t going that well for you,” Michael pointed out with a sympathetic smile. Looking around the bar, it was clear that the majority of the current patrons were either in the middle of drinking their sorrows away or well-past an attempt at redeeming themselves. You had to wonder where you landed on that depressing spectrum.

“That obvious, huh?”, you sighed as you took another sip of your drink. “Everything that I worked for is gone and I don’t know how to even remotely get back on track. Just trying to get out of bed with a plan makes my head spin most days.”

“Well maybe I can help you start on a new path, [Y/N]. You see, your father sure could put away his drink and he had a hard time keeping his mouth shut when he got too two sheets to the wind. Now, he sometimes did a few odd jobs here and there for me and my associates over the years and it was bound to happen that he would start talking about you…” his eyes slid over to lock onto yours as he gulped down the content of his glass and, without breaking eye contact, threw the bartender another sign for a refill.

You had been in the middle of taking a sip of your beer when he dropped his insinuating remark and you suddenly found yourself wide-eyed and choking on your beverage. You heard him give a chuckle as you desperately tried to recover from the surprise and you shot a glare in his direction.

“Oh, don’t give me that. I’m offering you a job opportunity that will land you enough money to build whatever future you want. I just wanted to let you know that your special skills make you a very appealing candidate.”, he said as he leaned over and gave you a few encouraging pats on the back.

Of course, the one person in her life that had ever discovered her abilities and swore to secrecy would have spilled the beans. She had fought so hard to hide that she was different and it wasn’t until her father had burst back in exclaiming he’d left the keys on the kitchen counter and found her lifting the couch easily with one had to pick up the remote at 16 did the secret get out. Once he had stopped gaping like a fish at her, the onslaught of questions and a never-ending stream of curiosity continuously poured down for years.

“How much did he say?,” you murmured bitterly.

“Enough to know that you can get the job done. Now, you weren’t the only one to take a few losses after coming back. Turns out a few of our properties fell out of our control while most of the family was gone. Word is that one of our old buildings downtown was hiding a bit of a secret in the basement that had managed to stay undiscovered until someone else started renovating our property.” Michael’s voice took on a bit of a hard edge as he wrapped up the last sentence.

“Seems like they are having a hard time getting inside, but we want to know what’s inside and for you to get anything valuable out for us. And that, my dear, is where you would come in.”

“Wait, why exactly do you need me? What is it that is stopping you from just walking in and taking it?”, you ask with words laced with suspicion.

“Your father always said you were clever.”, he smirked as he gave you a small toast in acknowledgement. “For whatever reason, we think the government might be interested in what is rightfully ours. Just in case they send in a more specialized cavalry, we figure it would be safest to send in one of our own.”

“Less collateral damage, yeah?”, you scoff as you finished off your pint.

“Exactly, [Y/N]. I knew you’d be smart enough to catch on. So, want to know how much you stand to make?”, he said with a knowing grin.

You took in a deep breath, set your empty glass on the bar and swiped a hand across your face in resignation. “Sure. What do I have to lose?”

“Nothing at all, kid. Nothing at all.”

----------

You let yourself free fall for a split second before you let your body’s density shift. You suddenly dropped down to the ground and, right before you would leave a crater in the pavement below, you made yourself as light as a feather. You almost landed daintily on one toe before you bolted towards an alley to your right. You were well aware that Captain America would almost immediately be airborne, but you were so close to a very noisy, pedestrian choked city thoroughfare two blocks over.

Making sure you were light enough on your feet to gain a substantial amount of speed, you didn’t bother looking up or back as you booked it into the busy city street. Once in the throngs of people, you jerked off the wig you were wearing and shook out your hair with a grateful sigh. You unzipped your jacket to wrap it around your waist and then shifted the backpack to sit on the front of your chest. You hoped that it would be enough as you did your damnedest to nonchalantly make your way to the drop-off spot.

You kept waiting for the hammer (well, more like shield) to drop as you walked, but as time wore on nothing happened. By the time that you stepped in though the heavy double doors of a rather upscale restaurant and were led off to a separate dining room, you were almost in shock at how you had managed to get away with it.

“Ah, [Y/N], our hero returns!” Michael proclaimed proudly as he stood up when you entered the room. He offered to take the backpack from you and wrapped his arm around you as he corralled you over to a table near the back window. Two more men were seated at the table and their auras were far-less boisterous than the man who gave your shoulders a warm squeeze before setting you down at the head of the table.

As he opened up your backpack and spread out the haul across the table, Michael gave a sharp whistle and the dour mood shared between the other men quickly dissipated. “Now these look rather impressive. Who would have known we were sitting on top of a secret stash of Hydra weapons all these years? I know this can’t be all of it. How much did you leave behind?”

You shrugged and you gave a gentle shake of your head at the question. “There wasn’t too much left, but there were at least two boxes I didn’t get a chance to go through before I heard someone coming. I was able to start running before they had a chance to realize I had broken the door down in the first place…”

“Well, job well done. My associates and I are pleased with your work.” He flashed you a smile before reaching down into a briefcase to grab a couple of stacks of hundred dollar bills that he stuffed into your backpack. He walked over and dropped the backpack into your lap before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Let’s have a drink to [Y/N]’s success tonight and to our continued relationship.”

He gave your shoulders a tighter squeeze that was borderline painful as he spoke. You knew that you might be way in over your head, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. This was something different and it felt better than drowning in failure.

----------

The next day you found yourself actually happy to get out of bed. You damn near whistled as you brewed up a cup of coffee for yourself and you bothered to even clean yourself up for a change. When your eyes fell upon the backpack that sat upon your plywood table and you couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across your lips. Things were finally looking up.

Taking stock at your lack of food in your apartment, you decided to grab a few of the bills out of the backpack and to head down to the local corner store that always had some amazing fresh produce out on display. With your stomach growling at the thought of food, you tucked the money into your back jean pocket and sauntered out the door.

You gave a quick wave to the owner as you grabbed a basket and started to peruse over in the direction of the fresh fruit. Spotting some jazz apples that were catching the morning light and your attention, you slid over to reach out and grab a few when your hand ended up grabbing at leather instead of an apple.

You blinked owlishly before jerking your head up to see who had blocked you from your potential breakfast. Any words you had died in your throat as your heart felt like it was seizing in your chest. A pair of steely blue eyes met yours and the expression in those orbs went from surprise then quickly morphed into something far more accusatory.

With your brain suddenly working overdrive and any rational thought flying out the window, you let out the breath you had been holding shakingly and brilliantly said the first thing that came to you.

“So, uh, come here often?”

Those eyes narrowed just a fraction more and you knew you were doomed.

----------

So, should I continue this or nah? This is my first...so please be gentle.

#bucky barnes #bucky x female reader

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notalittlebutalottie · 4 years

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Lottie, sweetheart, I am in urgent need of some hurt/comfort. Do you have anything that you might be willing to share? Please, please, pretty please! 🥺 THANK YOU! 💙🌼💙

Aga, I appreciate your commitment to this ask that I asked you to ask ❤😘 I started writing this in January when I was feeling my sad girl shit™️ and it’s been nearly two months since I last posted a drabble this long so...be gentle 🌼 Quite frankly, I don’t even know if I like it...but I hope you guys do!

♡ KLAROLINE DRABBLE #65: No Lights on the Horizon♡

New York City rains far more than Caroline had anticipated. It seems to coincide with every bad day and kick her when she’s already down. It waits until she’s out of the subway and on the long stretch of block to pour from the sky. She trudges along as best as she can but the mop of hair that begins to weigh her down isn’t exactly motivational. Then, when she’s finally stumbling into her apartment building, her clothes are dripping with each step. Today is no better. It’s worse. Her bag feels heavier than usual and her attempt at dolling herself up by way of stilettos has proved to be an ill-choice. But the stairwell feels unbearably long, heels or no heels. Sleep has been hard to come by as of late and the higher up she gets on the stairs, the harder she has to pull herself up by the banister.

It’s not all bad living in New York, though. The Spring she arrived was one of the most thrilling moments in her life. Freedom from her small town of Mystic Falls was an alluring prospect but nowhere near the true excitement of what she experienced. And then September came, the seasons changed and it all went to shit. Her first job is fine, her co-workers are fine, and the pay, while questionable, is fine. But life has been nothing but a drizzle since her mother’s death. The two weeks she spent back at home collecting pitiful glances from townsfolk and attempting to box up her childhood home while her absent father looked on weren’t cathartic in the slightest. All she can do is throw herself into work and hope that the gaping hole she feels will close up eventually.

When Caroline finally reaches her door, she can hear a cacophony of voices and it draws a tired breath. She lets her eyes fall shut and her shoulders sag for a moment. The bi-weekly meeting of the MFSG or Mystic Falls Support Group is one strict in her calendar. She had started it only a week after settling into life in New York to rally all those who had escaped their small town of Virginia. She had been more gung ho about the idea than the others at the time, most of them content to go their separate ways, but managed to succeed with some prodding. Katherine is adamant that the name sounds cheesy but when Caroline asked for a better idea, she rolled her eyes and told her, “whatever.”

It’s Caroline’s turn this week and she’s sure she cancelled it but her mind hasn’t been very focused past the daily motions. Of all the things she doesn’t need right now, it’s her friends arguing back and forth over meaningless crap while she pretends to care. The energy they’ll no doubt demand from her is energy she just doesn’t have right now. She contemplates whether she can make a break for the nearest coffee shop and wait them out. It won’t be a proud moment but at least she’ll have some peace. She scraps that idea the moment she realises that the collective stubbornness of her friends far outweighs hers alone.

She fumbles with her keys, taking a deep breath because she really can’t be crying over opening a freaking door, and twists it roughly when it’s finally in. She does her best to blink away all exhaustion as she’s making her entrance and even that feels like a terrible effort. The least she can do, she thinks, is brush her damp curls behind her ear in hopes that it somehow makes her presentable.

“Finally, the host is here!” Katherine yells before she even crosses the threshold. When Caroline does step in, she’s quick to comment, “You look like hell, Care.”

Caroline manages an eye-roll but she can’t bring herself to grin as she says, “Thanks, Kat. I’ll let the weatherman know rain doesn’t go with Ralph Lauren.” No one takes note of her demeanour, thankfully. They’ve all collected on the couches at the far end of the room, their belongings strewn over the coffee table. She’s lucky to have such a nice apartment when Kat and Bonnie share what’s practically a shoe box and Matt’s couch-surfing at Elena and Stefan’s place. If she was less needy, she might complain about the shared bathroom but even that is much larger than the New York average.

When she pushes the door shut behind her, Katherine is already continuing on a conversation, “So anyway, Greta told me that April told her—”

Caroline sheds herself of her brown duffle coat and clumsily lets it fall onto the hook beside the door. She kicks off her shoes and spends a few seconds standing idle. She wonders if locking herself in her room would give them the hint to leave or whether they’ll take to banging on her door until she reappears. Just like the coffee shop idea, it becomes null and void when she remembers who her friends are.

“How was work?” she hears to the right of her, low and careful. Her shoulders hitch upwards but she forces them to settle before looking in the voice’s direction. Klaus is standing in the kitchenette, paint stained henley and sweatpants on, his eyes fixed on hers as he holds a mug.

“Fine,” is all she can muster for now.

Stubborn friends aside, Klaus is another thing she just can’t deal with right now. Her relationship with him wasn’t a planned one and neither was the not-so-happy ending to it. She had initially asked Rebekah if she could crash at hers but apparently, giving up even one inch of space was too much for her. So Caroline was pawned off onto her brother with the empty room and poor social skills. Scratch that. Great social skills and an even greater unwillingness to use them. And a serious ability to push her buttons. Between their heated discussions over music and run-ins after showers, it wasn’t long before she began thoroughly considering the moral quandary of jumping into bed with her friend’s older brother. Katherine, of course, encouraged her the moment the arrangement was mentioned. She’d done her best to avoid it but just one wandering eye and a quirked lip at one a.m. was all it took for her to be nestled in his lap with his hands on her hips and their lips battling for dominance.

READ THE REST AND COMMENT HERE

#klaroline #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #klaroline fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the originals #kc fanfiction #drabble #hurt and comfort #human au #romance #klarolineagainnaturally

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lilydalexf · 3 years

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Tabula Rasa

Tabula Rasa has 8 stories at Gossamer, but there are even more X-Files fics at AO3 and her website. She writes Mulder and Scully in a very lovely way. I've recced 3 of my favorites of her fics here before: Bird in Snow, Fall: East on M St, and Skuamorph. Big thanks to Tabula Rasa for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I'm always extremely pleasantly surprised to get kudos (or, very rarely, a comment) on my old fic, but I'm always happy to see it! I did post them all (I think) to AO3. I'm not surprised people are still reading fic, though. It's an iconic show and now with streaming, it's really easy to watch older shows and natural to want fic about them!

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

XF was my first fandom, definitely my first online fandom, and so it will always have a special place in my heart. Also... I had a great time! I stumbled upon and joined the Scullyfic email list by accident, but it was the best thing I could have done. I learned a lot about how to be a writer and how to be in fandom, and those lessons are still important to me. Foundational. Also, in terms of modern fandom drama, XF was more low-key on the drama (although it didn't seem like it at the time!). But I learned something that's always served me well: find like-minded people, and hang out with them. Don't worry about the rest.

Also... you can't control the show, but you kind of can control the canon.

Because of Scully, I ended up taking a forensic anthropology class in university-- and now I have a Master's in a forensic science! Part of the Scully Effect, and proud of it!

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Definitely mostly email list! I never really got the hang of message boards. Posting fic was exhausting, and tbh I never figured out how to work Ephemeral. I checked it every day, though! I loved, after a new episode, everyone sending in their thoughts and reading everyone's experiences together. Fandom was a lot more work back then, tbh!

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

That fic can be just as good, or better, than traditionally published works. There are works of XF fic that have stuck with me for years now, far more than some books I've read. That fan writers can know the characters better than the show writers. The fandom in general was really smart, and mostly more adult than me (I joined fandom when I went away to college, so I always felt at the younger end of the scale. That was good though!).

Also, my first time reading and writing porn. Not gonna lie, I was shocked the first time I accidentally read smut. But I adjusted fast. lol

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I was still a kid (now we would say preteen) when the show premiered- I think in middle school. But I was already into ghosts, aliens, monsters, solving mysteries, and I'd already imprinted on the dynamic thanks to Square One (really)! I was also just old enough to start developing celebrity crushes. Hilariously, I did not twig to the fact that I'm bisexual the entire time I was in XF fandom, despite having enormous crushes on BOTH Mulder and Scully. Ahhhh!

Also, my whole family was into the show, but I was definitely the one with the hyperfixation. I used to take notes and record the episodes as I watched. It just had the right stuff and hit at the right time. And I've always been obsessive.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

As a kid I also really liked Star Trek, and someone had given my dad a book about the history of Star Trek, which I read. This included mentions of fandom and fanfic. As soon as I had a private-- and perhaps more importantly fast-- internet connection (in college), I went looking for XF fanfic, and that was that. Hooked immediately. Also I shipped them A LOT so that's what I went looking for.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I tend to not go back to a fandom once I have a new fandom, so I wouldn't say I'm in it. I did hang around the edges for the revival, of course, because I wanted to experience that with the same people, but since the revival was mostly not that great (with a few exceptions), I didn't get pulled back into it. But I still think of the people I knew in the fandom a lot, and always hope they're doing well.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I've never left fandom, and I've been in a BUNCH: Harry Potter, Doctor Who, Bandom, Supernatural, now CQL/The Untamed and other Chinese-media fandoms, with many smaller ones in between or on the side. I feel like at their core fandoms tend to be similar, although where you host the fandom makes a big difference: Livejournal, tumblr, twitter. I think that because fandoms now tend to be bigger and more diverse (which is good) there tends to be more wank (which is bad). In some of them I was close to a group of people, some of them not. Honestly the best thing is when someone you know from an old fandom is in your new fandom. It's so much fun. I have really good friends thanks to fandom, and I've had them for YEARS. Like. 15 years.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I tend to focus more on ships than characters, but some of my all-time favs: Scully, Hermione, Sirius Black, Castiel, Lan Wangji, Xie Lian. That's just fandom-oriented ones, otherwise we'd be here all day. :D

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I don't often rewatch episodes any more, although if I come across an ep on tv I might. I definitely still think about them though! For example, I'm a teacher now, and just a couple weeks ago one of my colleagues mentioned he'd heard the students saying they shipped two of their classmates, and he was like "Ship? I don't get it" and I was like "HOO BOY, do I have a story for you!" And I explained how shipping came from XF fandom, and why. That was fun. I definitely still think about Mulder and Scully too-- I mean, they're cultural touchstones, so they do come up sometimes in greater pop culture. Also, I was in Hannibal fandom for a while, and Gillian Anderson is still The Best.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I haven't read XF fic in years, even the ones I remember as being really significant/important to me. I still have my all-time favs saved on an external HD though! Fic in another fandom- every day lol.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Blinded by White Light by DashaK has stuck with me. Mr. and Mrs. Smith and the Ruby-Throated Warbler by I forget I'm so sorry -- that's lasted as my ideal post-canon MSR and as an interesting and different way to tell a story. [Lilydale note: It’s by rah.] I was always thrilled to see fic by Brandon, JET, MaybeAmanda, Syntax6... and, frankly, everyone on the Scullyfic/ Emuse list. So many talented people in that fandom!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Things Outside, which is the only thing I've ever written based on a dream, and I'm really satisfied with it. It was hard to write but so much fun to revel in the weirdness. I always kind of wanted to write more because I know a lot more about the situation, but otoh, I like the open, ambiguous ending (usually I am very HEA).

In other fandoms, King & Country in bandom (MCR) and in Supernatural I'm very proud of Hope and Clay. I struggle to write casefics even though I love to read them, but that one really worked out.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I don't think I'll ever write something new. There is an old fic that may be done but it was smut so I was too shy to post it at the time. In theory if I find it and it's decent, I could post it!

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I do! I write fic very slowly, but I do write still! I have a million ideas for stories, but I'm so slow at the actual writing part.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

I usually take a jumping-off point from canon, or of course, something I need to fix or expand on. Or sometimes I start telling myself a story as I fall asleep and the idea grabs me long enough I can manage to write it.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I was getting into fandom and realized people didn't use their real names. I flipped through my history book looking for inspiration, and decided tabula rasa was a great name for a writer. I tend to add an X because it's rare to get "tabularasa" as a username, and the X is indeed for X-Files (so I'm something like tabulaxrasa most places). I usually go by Tabula Rasa or Tab, though. And I still use it because 1) it IS a great name for a writer; and 2) it's not fandom-specific so I can keep it in every fandom.

I identify with it so much I have answered to this name in class (oops). I have a "Tab" t-shirt (as in the soda, but I have worn it to Comic-Con for ease of ID-- better than a nametag!). And my mom got me a necklace with a "tab" typewriter key as a charm, which I adore. Yes, I have accidental merch of myself.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

As you can tell from the above, my family knows (my family being my parents and sister). They are supportive! I think my mom read a couple stories? But obviously she has to know the fandom to get it... I got my sister into fic, and we even wrote a couple fics together (in Gundam Wing). She's a lot more selective about fandoms, but she's joined fandoms on her own, too. She's just not in one constantly, like me. :p

I tend not to tell not-online friends unless I have felt them out and know they're super fannish, or they bring it up first.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Most of my old fic is now on AO3 and I hang out on twitter a lot, @tabula_x_rasa

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I'm really glad people are still in this fandom! It will always be so important to me. Thank you Lilydale, for this nostalgia trip!

(Posted by Lilydale on March 30, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #tabula rosa

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terrm9 · 4 years

Text

Fall On Me

Words count: 4 200 Warnings: mentions of fertility issues, other than that just fluff Author’s note: This is the fic I have thought so much about. I have written something, then stopped, then written again, thought about it and considered for so long if I should post it or not. I have never been this nervous posting something, probably because there is a big part of me in it - therefore, any kind of feedback will be greatly appreciated!

After four years of dating and their first year being married, Chiara and Ethan find out that there are still surprises in store for them.

Important notes: My MC (Chiara) has been diagnosed with an immune system disorder that makes it close to impossible for her to become pregnant. It has been stated in Destination fic as well as in Already Gone series, but for those who haven’t read those, it’s important to know that so you understand the context.

There are three more important notes at the end (they would kind of ruin the experience if you read them in the beginning). PLEASE read them, especially the first one, it is really important to me.

*** *** *** ***

As Ethan stepped into his office, the sight of sleeping Chiara on a couch didn’t even surprise him. It was the fifth time in the last ten days. She would throw an apologetic smile at him along with a muttered “I just need to catch a quick break” and half an hour later, he would find her fast asleep in his office.

At this point, surprise has been replaced by worrying. Ethan knew his wife and he knew that she could go weeks without rest. This behavior was strange, to say the least.

He approached the couch and knelt next to it, gently brushing the hair off her forehead. Placing a soft kiss on it instead, he whispered: “Chiara, are you okay?”

She opened her eyes slowly at first, obviously confused about the whole situation. Realizing what was happening – again – she sat up rapidly, trying to come up with a good excuse.

“I am sorry, Ethan, I must have fallen asleep. I just wanted to sit down for a while and-“

“It’s okay,” Ethan cut her off and took a seat next to her, hugging her waist. “I’m just a little worried about your constant tiredness.”

Sighing, Chiara rubbed her eyes and leaned into his chest, shaking her head slowly.

“I am fine. It’s just… ever since we’ve gotten back from the Europe, the work has been crazy. Two weeks and I feel like I need another vacation.”

Visiting Europe has become their habit through the years. It started with a trip to Tuscany on Chiara’s third year of residency, continuing with a quick trip to France after getting engaged, honeymoon in Greece and finally this year, when they decided to spend their first wedding anniversary on a three-weeks long roadtrip through Scandinavia, finished with four days in The Basque Country, so that Chiara could pursue her dream of visiting Guernica, the village on Picasso’s painting.

Chiara was right about the work being absolutely crazy ever since they’ve gotten back and throwing a glance at the paperwork on his desk, Ethan was very well aware of the exhaustion they both felt. Still, he managed to get through his days without needing a nap.

“Let me draw your blood so that I can run some tests. Maybe it’s just iron deficiency, but I want to be sure,” Ethan murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head. “And go home to sleep.”

She turned to him, brows furrowed as she shook her head again.

“Absolutely not. I am fine, just a little weary. Just make me a cup of coffee and I’ll be fresh.”

Ethan stood up to make her the coffee, however he had no intention of letting her stay in work. He would bet that she was just ‘resting her eyes’ while he was turned to the coffee machine. As a doctor, there was one particular idea about what her exhaustion was about. Noticing such symptoms with anybody else, he would be absolutely sure. But this was Chiara he was thinking about and so he didn’t allow his mind wander into the direction it was tempted to.

“I am serious, Rookie. You are no use here, hardly keeping your eyes open. Drink the coffee, let me take your blood and go home to rest. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

She rolled her eyes and took the cup from his hands. Just as she was about to sip the coffee, she scrunched her nose in an utter disgust and looked up at him.

“Did you change the brand? This smells… ugh, I am not as demanding as you when it comes to coffee and even I can tell that this smells worse than the cafeteria coffee.”

Ethan bit his lip to hide the jitteriness overwhelming him at those words.

It was the same coffee brand they’ve been ordering for more than three years.

It was all adding up.

He shrugged as casually as he could and said: “Yeah, I tried a new roastery and it’s disappointing. Lets get you out of here, shall we?”

Chiara wanted to fight him, to stubbornly stay and prove him that she was more than capable of working, but she had to admit that she’s probably never felt as exhausted. And the vision of their king-sized bed was way too tempting.

Relucantly, she nodded and followed Ethan into an empty patient room to get her blood taken.

To say that Ethan was nervous would be an understatement. He could’ve gone home a long time ago and instead he found himself pacing back and forth in his office, waiting for a nurse to page him that Chiara’s results were ready.

Still, when his pager went off, he all but jumped on the spot.

Seven minutes later, Ethan thanked the nurse and clutched the results in his hand, fighting the urge to read them right then and there, not quite believing his own self to be able to not to break down is the results confirmed the diagnosis he suspected.

Breathing heavily as he reached his office, he sat down on the couch – the very same Chiara was sleeping on just hours ago – and with trembling hands opened the file to see the results.

His eyes widened and just then, his vision turned blurry. New lump formed in his throat and his heart kept beating as if his dear life depended on the rate it was beating. His hands trembled so hard now that the file fell on the floor.

He was right.

Ethan could feel the tears damping his cheeks and falling on the fabric of his navy blue pants and he realized that he couldn’t care less about crying while at work.

Throwing his head back, he stared at the ceiling, letting the tears fall down freely, his heartbeat slowly calming back to normal.

He knew he needed to go home and share the results with Chiara. He just didn’t know how he should do such a thing.

Chiara’s peaceful five-hours long nap has been interrupted by the sound of keys clinking in the door.

Stirring lazily in a blanket, she sat up and smiled softly as Ethan walked into the living room.

“You look exhausted. Hard day?” she asked, patting the seat next to her. “Come here.”

Ethan slumped down on the couch next to her and kissed her cheek instead of answering, his mind a battlefield of ideas on how to tell Chiara. As a doctor, he knew that he needed to be honest and straightforward. As a husband, he didn’t feel comfortable throwing such a bomb into her face as if she was simply a patient.

Noticing how lost in his head Ethan was, Chiara grew concerned.

“Did something happen, Ethan?”

He blurted his next words out before he gave any of his battling ideas a chance to win.

“I’ve got your test results.”

“Am I dying?” Chiara laughed, putting her hand on his bouncing knee to calm him down. After Ethan refused to look back at her, she sensed that something was indeed wrong. “Oh, I am dying, aren’t I?”

Chuckling, Ethan finally turned to look at her and kisser her temple. “You are not dying.”

“But?” Chiara raised her eyebrow while Ethan took the hand on his knee into his own, stroking Chiara’s knuckles softly with his thumb.

Taking a deep breath, he stuttered: “I… we… you are pregnant, Chiara.”

Chiara’s face grew paler than he’s ever seen it and there were big drops of cold sweat on her forehead. Ethan squeezed her hand to stop it from shaking, but with no success.

At last, Chiara let out a choked whisper.

“What kind of sick joke is this?”

For a second, Ethan almost felt offended by her accusation, as if she didn’t know him, as if she didn’t know that he would never joke about such a thing. Then, however, he recalled his own reaction when he found out just an hour and half before and could understand the Chiara’s one.

Instead of another word, Ethan reached down to grab his bag from the floor and pulled Chiara’s file out. Handing it to her, he made sure to point his finger at the row that indicated the elevated level of hCG in her blood.

Her eyes widened as she recognized what he was showing her and she gasped audibly, looking up at Ethan and down on her own file, back and forth until she found her lost voice.

“But… how? That’s impossible.”

“Nobody has ever said that it was impossible, only that your chances were extremely low, close to none.”

Chiara started to reminisce the last days, trying to connect the dots now that she knew the result.

The extreme fatigue, waves of nausea here and there, those could easily be read as literally anything else. She missed her period, but her cycle has never been regular, so she hardly considered it anyhow important, especially knowing that travelling has always made things even more irregular for her.

“Did you know?” she whispered as she turned to Ethan, who was staring at her intensively.

“I didn’t know. I became suspicious few days back, when you wouldn’t let me go anywhere near your chest,” he grinned. “Together with the exhaustion, the possibility of pregnancy found its way into my mind, but I didn’t even want to think about it, knowing how very unlikely it was. It was your disgust with the coffee today that made me almost sure that you were, in fact, pregnant.”

Chiara stared at the results again, not quite absorbing what they were saying. For almost six years, she believed she could never be pregnant.

“You need to see your gynecologist tomorrow, of course,” Ethan cut the silence again. “But as Dr. Ramsey, I can say for sure that you are pregnant.”

He scooped her into his arms so that she would sit on his lap and hugged her shocked form tightly. Chiara’s lips were still slightly parted and she was blinking just a little bit faster than usually as his words – and their new reality – sank in.

When it finally did, she wasn’t able to contain the emotions any longer.

First sob escaped her mouth, followed by another and so much more, accompanied by huge tears falling from her eyes.

Ethan gently pulled her head closer so that she was resting it against his chest and peppered her hair with soft kisses. Even though his share of tears has already been shed in a privacy of his office, feeling Chiara’s shaking body as she cried all those happy, surprised tears, he couldn’t help but cry along quietly with her.

“I am going to ruin your shirt,” Chiara mumbled against his white Oxford, noticing how her mascara stained it.

Ethan let out a quick laugh, his voice thick with emotions as he replied: “I couldn’t care less.”

After what could have been minutes or hours, they breaths steadied, however their positions haven’t changed at all.

They were both quiet for a long time and one could say that they were lost in their own thoughts when really, they were both lost in the very same thought.

Parents. They would become parents.

They talked about adoption on a regular basis at this point, both open to the idea that two or three years from now, they would go for it, that they would become parents to a kid that was left alone.

But those were talks about future. Hypothetical.

This was real. In less than a year, they would be parents to their very own newborn.

“Are you happy?” Chiara whispered, looking up at him with a gentle smile on her lips.

Ethan kissed her forehead before responding.

“I can’t imagine being happier.”

Biting her lower lip, Chiara asked again: “Are you also a little bit…scared? Because I am.”

Laughing loudly at the adorable confession, Ethan nodded: “God, I am terrified. Being a father, that brings so many possibilities to screw it up.”

Chiara cupped his cheeks and pulled him down for a kiss, their first real, deep kiss that day and as his tender lips moved over hers, she knew that there would be no better father for her child than Ethan Ramsey.

One of the perks of being in her sixth month of pregnancy was the fact that her belly could easily serve as a tiny tea table. Right now, a large bowl of popcorn was sitting on her rounded torso as she was sitting on Bryce’s couch.

“The poor kid,” Bryce muttered as he noticed.

It was another Bryce & Chiara movies Wednesday, a habit that started even before Chiara and Ethan got together and carried on through the years.

With her third trimester slowly approaching, Chiara has been even more insistent on attending those, knowing that once she would give birth, they wouldn’t be able to watch a whole movie in one sitting.

“How is Ramsey? I haven’t seen him in the hospital this week,” Bryce asked as he put a glass of water in front of Chiara and played with a remote control to find the movie on Netflix.

“He’s busy with paperwork, so he mostly stays in his office these days,” Chiara explained. “Other than that, he has read two books about child’s development this week, so I guess everything’s as usual.”

Bryce laughed loudly and just before he pushed the ‘play’ button, he turned to Chiara: “Do you remember when you told me about not being able to have kids all those years ago?”

Chiara nodded, that day somehow still fresh in her mind.

“I told you back then, that you only had to find someone whose sperms will be stubborn enough to beat your own stubborn immune system, remember? Well, I was damn right,” he grinned smugly, earning a popcorn thrown into his head from Chiara.

On the other side of Boston, Ethan and Naveen just finished their meals and moved into the living room, glasses of scotch in their hands.

A comfortable silence accompanied them, their talks about work already finished.

Taking a few gulps of his drink, Ethan leaned into a couch with a soft smile on his lips.

“It’s going to be a girl,” he let out finally, his soft smile soon turning into a wide, happy one.

They only found out yesterday. Ever since beginning of the pregnancy, they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to know the gender of the baby or not. After long discussions – and Sienna’s suggestion that they should do a blood tests that would reveal the gender, give the results to her without looking at them so that she could organize a baby gender reveal party – they came to the agreement that they would only find out if the ultrasound would show it. And yesterday, in Chiara’s 25th week of pregnancy, the doctor informed them that their ‘princess’ is growing beautifully.

Neither Chiara nor Ethan wanted any kind of baby party organized – much to Sienna’s disappointment. This pregnancy – most likely the only one they would ever get to experience – has been such precious, sacred thing to them that they tried to keep everything as private as possible. They found joy in their bubble of emotions only two people who never believed would be this lucky could feel.

“A girl!” Naveen clasped his hands together and beamed even brighter than Ethan. “A granddaughter!”

Ethan nodded, the warmth in his chest expanding even more at Naveen’s words.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” he asked, his curious nature not letting him keep the question to himself.

Shaking his head this time, Ethan said: “Since the beginning, we’ve known that if it was a boy, he would be named Dorian after Chiara’s father. There have been some ideas about girls name, but nothing seemed right so far.”

The first idea they both had was Dolores. It came naturally to Ethan, knowing that she named her son after him and that his friend’s name deserved to be celebrated. Still, he didn’t want to be reminded of the tragedy every time he would talk to his daughter. Chiara has been very supportive about the name Dolores, knowing better than anyone what it felt like to want to name her child after someone important to her. But she never insisted. She could tell that simply thinking about Dolores Hudson made Ethan’s heart ache and she would never push the name on him.

“You seem lost in your thoughts,” Naveen commented. “Are you worried that your daughter will inherit your insufferable stubbornness?”

Ethan laughed at that, raising an eyebrow at his mentor and his friend.

“As if you didn’t know Chiara. The kid is going to be insufferably stubborn no matter who she takes after.”

The truth was, he did wish their daughter would take after Chiara. The idea of raising his own little self terrified him more than he would ever admit and on the other hand, the idea of having someone else as bright as Chiara in his life made his heart happy.

“Well, no matter who she takes after, it’s safe to say that she will be a strong girl,” Naveen smiled, raising his glass. “Beating all those odds and finding her way into your life, she is already a bigger rebel than any of us. She will be a warrior and a mighty one, I am telling you.”

When Chiara returned home, she found Ethan deep in a research on his laptop.

He registered her presence only when she sat down next to him, taking a glance on the screen only to find yet another study about children.

“Hey,” he kissed her cheek and closed the laptop. “Did you have a good time?”

She laid down, putting her head into his lap. “The movie was terrible. I could feel my braincells leave my body. Other than that, yeah, it’s been great. Bryce is so excited about being an uncle to the ‘little queenie’. He said, to quote him, that he will make sure she sees him as an example of how gentlemen should treat their ladies, so that when she is dating she doesn’t settle for anything less than what she deserves.”

“That’s really… nice of him. Thoughtful,” Ethan nodded; however, his furrowed brows didn’t quite match the words. “I don’t think we need to talk about dating just yet, though.”

Of course he will be that kind of a father, Chiara thought, laughing.

“What were you reading about?” she decided to change the topic.

“Oh, I’ve been looking up baby carriers online and so I decided to read some articles and studies about them.”

“Baby carriers, huh? I never took you for someone who would want that.”

Ethan shrugged, fighting the temptation to read her all those articles. Instead, he went with simply pointing some interesting information.

“It helps to build a healthy attachment between a child and their parent. You know, you are carrying her in your body for nine months, you have a possibility of breastfeeding, you two are naturally connected. As a father, I would like to… increase my chances of bonding with my child properly,” he swallowed harder that he wanted, hoping that Chiara didn’t notice just how nervous about this whole attachment thing he’s become.

He was so excited to meet their daughter, to hold her in his arms, it sometimes surprised even him.

But there was another part of him. The one that constantly doubted his ability to be a good father. For such a long time he didn’t believe that he could ever find himself in the role of a parent and he got used to the idea, no matter how painful. He used to remind himself that it would be for the best if he never had them, that as a man unworthy of his mother’s love, he wouldn’t know how to be the parent his children deserved.

Everything has changed with Chiara in his life and now he was about to become a father. And he was scared that it would be the one task he would fail. He tried his best to be prepared – reading books and studies and articles, watching videos on how to bath a newborn and taking notes about how many layers of clothing was suitable for various temperatures. He made arrangements with Naveen and his team so that everyone knew that he would be stepping down as a head of diagnostics once the baby is born, with Aurora becoming the director of the team.

For more than fifteen years, he’s been building his career and he’s been proud of what he achieved. But there was no feeling connected with his career that would make him as proud as the idea of being a decent father.

“According to these studies, the position they are in while in a carrier helps the newborns with their colics and also there are children that don’t like being in a stroller and the carrier helps them to fall asleep.”

Chiara nodded, noticing absolutely clearly how nervous and overwhelmed Ethan was. She also knew why, even though he would never share his concerns with her.

“I kind of believe that. When I was born, I was the perfect baby. You know, the kid that everyone envied when my parents talked about me. I slept most of the day and then the whole night, I never cried, I smiled at everyone. My parents would joke that sometimes they forgot they had me. And Liam was very similar from what I can remember – and what my mother told me. He was such a cutie and even if he couldn’t fall asleep or calm down, a little bit of bouncing in a stroller and he would be fine,” she laughed softly as she was reaching the end – and the point – of her monologue. “My parents were so proud. They always said that they could only create the good sleepers that never cry. Probably encouraged by the belief, they decided to have a third child and God, Alicia was such a difficult baby. She would always cry and never sleep. The only thing that calmed her down enough to sleep was when someone carried her in their arms and walked around the house – so that’s what my parents did. All the time. Sometimes, when they’ve gotten too tired or needed to do something, they would put her into my arms – let me remind you that I was seven – and I would be in charge of walking around the house. I bet they would appreciate the baby carrier back then.”

Ethan chuckled softly while stroking Chiara’s wild hair and after a while decided to tell her the real reason he even browsed the internet this evening.

“I might have found a name.”

After Naveen left, something he’s said resonated with Ethan.

‘She will be a warrior and a mighty one.’

Ethan never cared about meanings of names, he didn’t even know the meaning of his own name until this evening. And yet, despite his best principles, he decided to search girls names that meant warrior or ‘strong, mighty’.

And he found it.

Mighty in battle.

It clicked.

“What name do you have in mind?” Chiara asked.

“Matilda.”

Chiara didn’t even try to suppress her surprise, expecting anything but Matilda. What surprised her even more, she loved it on the first hearing. It indeed was the one.

“I have also thought about the name a little bit,” she admitted. “I found one that I would love to be a second name for her.”

Nodding, Ethan encouraged her to spill it.

“Nekane.”

“Nekane? I have never heard of it.”

“It would be surprising if you did,” Chiara smirked. “It’s the Basque form for Dolores. And you know, since now we know for sure that our daughter has been conceived in Spain, I think it would be rather fitting. It would still carry the honor of Dolores, just in a different form.”

Matilda Nekane Ramsey.

They both loved the sound of that.

It sounded like their daughter.

After sharing another silent moment full of love, peace and understanding, Chiara decided to go to bed and Ethan promised to follow her as soon as he’d finish the study.

When Ethan stepped into their bedroom, Chiara was already asleep, lying on her right side. Climbing to the bed, he laid down on his left side so that he could face her. Suddenly, not knowing how the idea has gotten into him, he was shifting down slightly until he reached her round stomach.

Moving the fabric of her cotton shirt higher, he put his hand over her belly and did something he had never done before.

“Hello, Matilda,” he whispered nervously. “This is Ethan speaking. Your father. Or your dad, as you will probably call me. We have never really talked before but the annoying knocking you hear sometimes, that’s me stroking your mom’s bump.”

He paused for a while, composing his thoughts.

“I am sincerely scared about how this whole father thing is going to work for me, but I promise you as I am trying and I will by trying for the rest of my life. I have done a lot of bad things in my life, Matilda and I can’t take them back. They are part of who I am. But looking at your mother and thinking about you makes me realize that both of you are part of who I am too. And I don’t know in which point of my life the universe decided that I have shared enough kindness to earn your presence but I must have done something right to deserve you in my life, right?”

Kissing the skin of Chiara’s stomach, he added: “I just really hope you inherit your mother’s patience and kindness so that you will forgive me every time I fuck things up.”

Biting his lip, he grinned to himself before saying one last thing to his Matilda.

“Please don’t tell your mom I said ‘fuck’, she would be furious.”

*** *** ***

1) as someone who is mother herself, I realize that topics of pregnancy, infertility issues, children in general are extremely sensitive - in this particular fanfiction, Chiara has gotten pregnant against the odds while on vacation. PLEASE note that I, by no means, am trying to say that if you are suffering from fertility issues, taking a vacation/reducing stress/changing the environment would definitely help you. There are some cases /that I know of/ in which it did help, however I would never dare to say that it’s the solution. I just need to make sure that I acknowledge how difficult and sensitive the topic is.

2) I really, really wanted to write a pregnancy fic, I had this idea in my head for very, very long time. However, I also absolutely love the idea of Ethan and Chiara adopting a child (I think especially Ethan would be fond of it, since he knows what it feels like to grow up without a parent) and so here is a little HC for after this story - Matilda is indeed the ‘miracle’ and their only biological child and when she is around six years old, Ethan and Chiara decide to adopt ophraned twin girls Luna and Siria. Purposefully girls, because I can see Ethan not trusting women after his mother leaves him and feeling like no woman could ever love him truly and boom suddenly there are four women in his life that love him more than life itself and he is proven wrong every day.

3) the story about the name Matilda is so funny/tragic that I have to write about it - I love the name, always loved and believed that I would name my daughter Matilda one day. My man hates the name so it’s off the table and I always knew that little Ramsey would be named Matilda to pursue my dream at least fictionally. When I was looking for some photos at David Gandy’s IG, I found out that his very own daughter is named Matilda. Whoa. Then, I was on a search for a faceclaim for Chiara and boom - the girl is named Matilda. Ooops. And only when this fic was finished and I googled the name Matilda for some reason, I found out that there is kinda popular person named Matilda Ramsay and I was just like okay screw this. But I couldn’t bring myself to change the name, so here it is. Sorry not sorry.

Taglist: @takemyopenheart @maurine07 @senseofduties @mercury84choices @flightlessbirdiee @udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers @ohchoices @adrex04 @queencarb @archxxronrookie @choicesfan10 @whatchique @drariellevalentine @gryffindordaughterofathena @mvalentine @doilooklikeiknow @custaroonie @secretwolfdreamertree @jamespotterthefirst

#also I could've named the fic COUCH #since 90% of the story happens on some #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfiction

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Sunshine City: Five

A/N: We have reached the end, my loves. Thank you for coming along on this little journey with me. Thank you for all the wonderful comments, likes, and reblogs. I owe you my heart.

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 5.5k

Rating For This Chapter: NC-17 for Whiskey being Whiskey and putting his moustache to good use (female-receiving oral), penetrative unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, loves), just a whole bunch of mush because I love a sappy happy ending.

Catch up previous chapters here!

Perhaps learning that it was Agent Moonshine that had set them up shouldn’t have been a surprise. How many times had Jack “taught Moonshine a lesson” about manners—both in and out of the field? Moonshine had apparently been burning for some more-permanent payback and thought getting rid of Jack in the field would regain some of his honor.

Whatever.

Both Moonshine and Alice had disappeared into Statesmen’s holding cells about six months ago and Champ dealt with them. She didn’t ask what happened and she didn’t want to know. All she cared about was that Jack was okay and she knew what it felt like to have Jack’s arms wrapped around her without the confines of the mission and she knew that he liked to smile before he pressed his lips to hers.

She loved how he kissed. Loved how he held her tight like she was something—someone to be treasured. Loved how he always tried to make her smile even when they were thousands of miles apart or if he had managed to sequester her alone in some room of the Kingsman headquarters, or in her townhouse—or even that one time when he’d managed to get her alone in Champ’s office last week when she was needed stateside for a mission. He stole a kiss then, too, feeling like mischievous teenagers hiding from too-strict parents.

It was…good.

Better than good, actually. It was all much too sappy to say out loud but she felt happier than she had in a long time. Like she had shed some sort of heavy coat made of metal and wool and she could move and breathe without restraint. She would never tell Whiskey—his ego was already insatiable—and she had a feeling he might have an inkling he knew how she felt.

“I’ve never seen you smile like that, Sunshine. Do it again.” As she thought: insatiable. And it felt like they had readily settled into some idyllic relationship that a person could only dream of having. They spoke as often as they could, about anything and everything—Jack even told her about the discussions he had with his therapist and she spoke about the nightmares that sometimes plagued her in the dark. They bickered, of course—they were human, but it was usually few and far between and over trivial things (like which agency had the best tech or Bela’s favorite movie) and over before they really began. It was good. But at the moment, she had just finished a mission in Singapore and expected to hear her phone ring with Jack’s Skype call. They kept tabs on each other’s missions and always called one another when they came home. Bela zoomed down the staircase and leapt on his little legs into her outstretched arms. Her dog-sitter, a Kingsman technician, happily reported Bela behaved himself while she was away before saying goodnight. She pressed a few kisses to Bela’s fur and locked up the doors and windows before pulling her phone from her pocket, ignoring her suitcase for a bit longer. Bela settled on her lap as she pulled up the app and was just about to dial Jack’s number when Ginger’s face appeared on her screen with an incoming call. Ginger was back stateside to assist Statesmen with some sort of kidnapping ring and had been giving Sunny updates every few days. She answered it quickly. “Hey! I’m about to-” “Jack’s been shot.” “What-” “Let me finish,” Ginger said in her usual calming tone. “He’s going to be fine. But he wanted me to tell you that he’s sorry he couldn’t make your usual call.” Ginger’s lips picked up in a small smile, probably trying not to laugh at her fellow agent’s mortified expression. “For a pair of agents, you two are very bad at keeping your relationship a secret.” And then Ginger did laugh. “He’ll call when he’s cleared by medical. Okay?” She pushed out a breath and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” “He’s fine, Cap. I promise,” Ginger said, old moniker slipping by her lips. A few more words of encouragement were given, mission details were traded, and eventually they hung up. Her appetite gone, she eventually wandered upstairs to her bedroom and simply stared at the ceiling. Bela was asleep on her chest, giving her a little comfort. And she knew Statesmen had some of the best medical team and technology available. She knew Jack would be fine. But it still… hurt. Worry bit at her bones and pressed at her already-buzzing mind. There would be no sleep tonight.

Whiskey did not like the smell of the medical wing. He did not like the bright white lights. He did not like the stupid paper gown they insisted he wear after sewing him back up. And he definitely didn’t like watching Champ settle into the chair next to his bed with a frown.

“Ain’t you supposed to be the one leadin’ the charge, Whiskey? Grenadine said you were distracted-”

“I was fine, Champ. I had it handled-”

“You’re in the medical wing. Did you forget that? Or did you hit your head, too?”

Whiskey felt his lip start to curl in a snarl. “My head’s fine and you know it.”

Champ’s frown deepened before he let out a sigh, pulling out a silver flask from his blazer jacket. He grabbed two of the small plastic cups from the bedside table, usually meant to hold medications, and poured two shots of amber-colored liquid. He slid one toward Jack before quickly downing his and putting away his flask. “You’re a good agent, Jack. A fine Statesman.”

Jack quickly grabbed the offered shot and drank it, knowing no conversation that started with compliments like that was ever good.

“But you want more than that.”

“Champ-”

“I’m old. Older than you and I’ve worked my entire life to save the world and the people in it—usually from themselves. And I got squat to show for it outside my big office and nice car. But you-” he pointed a finger, “-you have a chance at something real. Another chance. Those don’t come around every day. And you two have been tip-toein’ around each other for years.”

And, for a moment, Jack Daniels didn’t have a word to say. It was embarrassing to realize that everyone seemed to know they had moved past the fellow-agent relationship. But it was also strangely calming to know that people beside him and his Sunshine wanted them to be happy—together.

“You’ve saved the world enough. I know you’ve been thinkin’ about retiring anyway.”

“I-”

“Give it a little more thought. Visit your lady, yeah?” Champ said as he stood and patted his chest. “Take the next week off. I’ll have Grenadine handle the debrief.”

“Champ-”

But he was already out the door.

She wiped at her eyes, trying to press a bit of exhaustion out of her head with limited success. But Harry had accepted her debrief and then let her go for the rest of the day. “

Mordred, you’ve nearly fallen asleep twice just sitting here. Go home.”

Not her finest moment but she wasn’t going to say no to a nap. Maybe if she was asleep she could ignore that she still hadn’t heard from Jack. Ginger did say he would be fine but it still didn’t sit right with her and-

“Hey, Sunshine.”

She dropped her keys.

There he was, posted up against the side of her house, one foot kicked up behind him on the white-washed wall with his stupid Stetson pulled low over his eyes. She leapt at him and pulled him close, sagging into his grip as he wrapped his arms around her. He was so warm and wonderful and here. His familiar, expensive cologne touched her nose as she breathed him in, laughing at how he pressed his lips against her neck, mustache tickling her skin.

“You’re here,” she said as she pulled back.

He stole a quick kiss with another smile. “I am. Champ gave me some time off. I guess I should get shot more often.”

She quickly grabbed at his face. “No. That’s not funny-”

He kissed her again, smiling against her frowning mouth. “Are you going to invite me in or do I have to hang outside your door like a lost tomcat?” Jack bent and scooped up her keys and pressed them into her hand.

“You drive a hard bargain.” She slipped from his grasp and moved toward the door, undoing the three locks and stepping inside, Jack right on her heels. She closed the door behind him, only just noticing the small bag slung over his shoulder before he kissed her again. She would never get tired of kissing him.

But now was the first time in six months since she was alone with him—six months since Edinburgh. Six months of only stealing kisses and wandering hands when others were around and not having a moment truly to themselves. But work came first. Saving the world wouldn’t stop because she wanted to kiss him and hear his laugh.

And she really loved the sound of his laugh.

But then she yawned right in his face when he broke away from her lips to breathe.

“Now, Sunshine, you truly know how to cut a man to the quick.”

She laughed and leaned her forehead against his chest. “I’m so sorry. I got no sleep last night.”

Jack wound his arms around her and pulled her tight again, uncaring that they were still right beside her front door, barely a few steps inside. “And why not?”

“Ginger told me what happened and then you didn’t call. I was worried.” Her hands found purchase on his shoulders, thumbs rubbing against the buttery soft leather of his jacket. “Stupid in our line of work, right?” Her laugh was soft but sharp with self-deprecation. And she knew it was stupid. Knew that her line of work that nothing really was promised. That her time with Jack, no matter how much it made her smile, was never guaranteed.

“I never meant to-”

“It isn’t you, Jack. It is just… me, I guess. I think I worry too much.” She stepped back as she yawned again. “Sorry, jeez.”

But Jack just smiled. “Tell you what, Sunny. I’m here all week. I’ll let you worry about me all you want.”

“A week? Jack, you know I want to but I have to wor-”

Her phone chirped.

“Shit, sorry.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and frowned when she saw the message. It was from Roxy and it simply said;

Have fun! See you on Monday. ;)

It took a moment, but if finally dawned on her what it meant and she tossed her phone onto her couch with a smile. “It seems that I’m not expected back in the office until Monday.”

Jack let out a holler and all but started to drag her toward the staircase. She had to slap his hands away to lock her door before she let him grab at her sides and strong-arm her upstairs. Her laughter finally woke Bela from his mid-morning nap and he poked his head out of the guest room to let out an indignant huff at their noise before retreating again. Jack knew where her bedroom was, having been there for a total of ten minutes after Scotland, and he basically dragged her inside and plopped her onto her overstuffed mattress, rumpling the blankets immediately. And she happily let him crawl over her and pressed her down into the welcoming softness as he shucked his shoes and jacket. Hers soon followed with fumbling limbs and they both laughed as Jack continued to kiss her lips, her cheek, her nose, her neck—anywhere he could place his lips was quickly kissed.

She let him pull his shirt off and divest her of her own and they both scrambled with their jeans and trousers before falling back against the pillows in a pair of matching, tired huffs. Maybe she should have been a little more demure about this casual near-nakedness—it was the first time they’d bared this much skin with each other—but all she felt was comfort when he looked at her. Some beautiful, gentle warmth bloomed in her chest as she looked at him.

Jack leaned forward to press a slow kiss against her lips as one of his hands landed on her hip, thumb tracing the lacy edge of her panties.

And she might have let him continue—let herself finally know what it was like to be touched by him in that way—but she yawned again and her eyes caught the fresh scar on his shoulder. Her fingers brushed against it, feeling how the skin was raised and twisted, something even Statesmen’s tech couldn’t stop with some injuries.

Jack’s hand stilled on her hip. “I’m okay, Sunshine. I’m right here with you.” But then he touched the mark across her stomach, the one she’d gained from their time in Italy. His fingers trailed to the scar on her chest and then down to another zig-zagging twist of puckered skin on her side. She shivered at the contact, nerves alight. “And you’re with me, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m with you.”

“Good.” He smiled, soft and tired-eyed. “Let’s get some sleep.” He reached back and managed to pull her sheets and blankets down enough for them to slide underneath and then slid an arm under her shoulders so he could bring her to his side as she closed her eyes. And she fell asleep to the quiet beat of his heart.

She found Jack liked Hyde Park, free museums, and having tea. “It ain’t sweet tea, Sunshine. But it’ll do.”

And he never pressed her for more than a few heated kisses and she never swatted at his wandering hands, even when they seemed to always gravitate toward her ass when they were alone—he did have the sensibility to keep them above the waist when they were outside her house.

Again, she was struck with how easy and domestic it all ways. No one was shooting at them. No one was trying to poison them or use them for information. All they wanted from each other was each other.

It was just her and Jack and Bela and the occasional autumn rain sliding against the windows. And she let herself believe that her life could be like this—simple and fulfilling and quiet. They both had enough money in the bank to live very comfortably if they both wanted to leave—but she was definitely getting ahead of herself. In the grand scheme of things, she didn’t even know if Jack wanted that. What if he wanted to live out the rest of his life as a Statesmen, retirement be damned? Did she want to be in Kingsman for the rest of her life? Those thoughts didn’t stop her from realizing that her house finally felt like a home when he was inside it.

But when Jack’s lips found her neck as she finished drying the last pan from breakfast and his still-damp-from-the-washing hands wrapped around her waist, wetting her pajama shirt, all thoughts disappeared. All there was—was Jack.

“What are you up to?” She asked with a smile, turning in his grip to wrap her arms around his neck. His hair was still mussed from sleep and he had on only his boxers and a t-shirt, but he was handsome—so handsome in the low morning glow.

He didn’t answer but grabbed at his phone on the countertop and pulled up an app behind her back and soon Johnny Cash’s voice started to croon over the small speaker and flood the kitchen. She instantly recognized the tune and had to laugh. “Really, Jack?”

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” he sang along, letting his fingers trail along until one of his hands was wrapped around her waist and the other was holding her hand against his chest.

She grasped his shoulder and let him lead her in a swaying, mellow version of a dance as the sunlight trickled through her kitchen window and painted everything in a hazy yellow while the air still smelled of sticky syrup and pancakes.

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you,” he sang, slightly off-key, the words muffled into her cheek, but they made her heart leap all the same. “Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

“This is a sad song, you know,” she said without making a move to change it.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied. And he sounded sad, too.

And that just about did her in. Well, that and the fact that he was set to be back in New York tomorrow. She pulled out of his grasp and grabbed at his phone, switching to another song with a forced smile. But the smile became real when he laughed at her choice, low and rumbling in his chest.

“Dolly and Kenny?”

“This song is a classic!” She argued, letting him pull her close again and she tried to follow him in an abbreviated two-step jaunt that had her laughing and pressing a kiss to his perfect, single dimple. But the song eventually ended, fading into another and then another. And their steps slowed too, once again simply swaying on her cool tile floor. “I don’t want you to be sad—not with me.”

His next breath was slow but his grip tightened. “I think you make me the happiest I’ve ever been, Sunshine.”

“You make me happy, too.” She turned, murmuring the words into his chest like a secret, like if she said it too loudly it would be used as a weapon. “We really wasted a lot of time, didn’t we?”

“But we turned up exactly where we’re supposed to be.” He turned to press a kiss to the top of her head. “You know I love you, right?”

And her heart sprouted wings in her chest while the smile splitting her face almost hurt. “Yeah.” She turned her head just enough to look up at him, seeing him already looking down at her. “I love you, too.”

Easy. It was so easy. And they continued to sway to the music even as he turned his head just enough to catch her lips again in a kiss that so sweetly stole the breath from her lungs. Her lips were slick and tender from his ministrations but it was an ache she would gladly live with, especially when he gently grasped her face in his hands to angle her face just-so, leading the kiss until she was unmoving in his hold. Her hands circled his wrists and she sighed against his mouth. A different kind of heat was starting to curl in her stomach like perfumed smoke that left her whining when Whiskey pulled back to breathe.

“You look so pretty like this, darlin’. I’ve never seen you look like this before.”

“Like what?” Her voice was hoarse.

“Like you want me to eat you alive.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest at the dark, hungry look in his eyes. Heat took root in her stomach, clenching her muscles and her hands unconsciously fisting the soft material of his shirt. “Oh.” She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. “You…you want to?”

And he laughed and kissed her again—god, she could never get enough of his lips. “You gonna let me?” His warm hands slid down to grab at her hips and he tugged her a little closer. “Huh? You gonna let Jack eat that pretty-”

Her hand pressed against his mouth as she bit back a laugh. “Don’t refer to yourself in the third person if you want to get anywhere near me.” And then she felt him smile against her fingers. “I mean it.” The words were stilted with her laugh which only grew when she felt his lips pucker so he could kiss her fingers.

He reached up to gently remove her hand, the hungry look in his eyes now sparkling with a bit of mischief. “You drive a hard bargain.” His fingers tangled with hers and started to tug her toward her staircase. “But I accept.”

The pair was quiet as they retreated to sun-soaked haven of her bedroom. Warm hands slipped beneath her shirt and dragged it up to just beneath her breasts but then stalled, a quiet question in his eyes that was quickly answered with a swift nod. He pulled her shirt up and over her head and tossed it aside—his shirt quickly followed. He moved to brush a kiss against the scar over her chest as his palm settled over the scar on her stomach, like he was trying to wipe it away. She reached out to cradle his face and pulled him up, smiling against his mouth as he sighed.

“I’m here,” she said as she stretched to brush against the faded scar at his temple. “We’re just fine.” Her skilled fingers curled under the elastic band of his boxers and shucked them down his legs before he shuffled her backward. Her knees hit her bed and he pushed her back to make her bounce on the mattress. It was then that she allowed herself to truly admire him—strong legs and chest, a little soft around the middle, but still very capable. She found herself licking her licks—a little unconsciously—as she eyed his cock as it curved up toward his stomach. “Are you just going to stare?”

“Well, you are such a pretty picture.” But he climbed over her anyway, mouth slanting over hers with a passion and curl of his tongue that had her moaning and delighting in how he almost shivered under her hands as they trailed down his chest. He pulled away from her mouth to let out a groan of his own when her warm hand encircled his hard cock and squeezed. “Don’t be cruel, Sunny. I want to get to the main event before I make a mess.” Jack shuffled back, pressing wet kisses against her throat, her chest, her stomach, before he huffed out a long breath against her sleep shorts and it was her turn to shiver. He slowly pulled them down her legs and he pressed a kiss against the lace of her underwear before he pulled those down, too, tossing them over his shoulder. “So pretty for me,” he murmured, mostly to himself as his hands around her legs to pull her open, exposing her to the warm air of the room and his greedy gaze.

She curled her fingers into his thick hair as he dragged his nose along her folds, breathing her in. He had barely begun and she already felt like she was floating, held down to the bed just by his strong hands on her thighs. His tongue finally—finally parted his beautiful lips and he licked, strong and firm.

And she keened, hips lifting from the bed only to be pulled back down by his unyielding grip. And the bastard had the audacity to laugh and glanced up at her, mustache wet and glistening in the low light.

“Be good, darlin’. I wanna treat you real nice.”

“If you don’t finish-” The next words stalled in her throat as he licked another firm stripe before sucking her clit between his smiling lips. “Fuck!”

And then he truly began—a ravenous mix of tongue and plush lips moving against her and stealing any sort of coherent thought she might have had. He didn’t stop when she thrashed in his grip with her first. Didn’t stop when she tugged on his hair with the second. Didn’t stop when she wailed and panted and pleaded for a bit of a reprieve as the third started to crest and the damp spot beneath her legs continued to grow. But he let it build, continued to let her writhe under his hands until he was drinking her down like ambrosia again.

“J-Jack, please! Enough,” she begged, tugging on his disheveled hair. Her sigh was a little broken in her throat when he finally raised his head, smile glistening. He was such a pretty sight, bracketed between her thighs. A shiver shot down her spine as he pressed a kiss to her hip. “You… are something else, Jack.”

He chuckled and pressed another sticky kiss to her other hip. “I’ve been wanting to know what you tasted like for years, Sunshine.”

She slid her hands down to frame his face, letting her thumb brush against the edge of his mustache letting just a bit of slick coat her thumb before bringing it up to her mouth and sucking. His mouth dropped and a guttural groan pushed passed his shining lips as he watched. The sharp tang of herself was lost to her as he suddenly reared back onto his knees and he climbed over her, legs pushing against hers to spread her wide and hands dropping to either side of her head on the rumpled blankets. The feel of him pressing against the crux of her thighs made her moan, soft and breathy as he loomed above.

“I never thought you’d be a tease.”

“I just wanted to know what the fuss was about,” she shot back, fighting a smile, but it bloomed just as Jack’s did and he laughed before pressing a kiss to her lips and she tasted herself again.

He dropped to his elbows so he could gently cradle her face. “You got one more in ya? Just about did me in like a teenager.”

She laughed and let her hands pull through his hair again. “I think I can try, for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I wanna know what the fuss is about,” she repeated, smiling into his lips as he bent down to kiss her again with a laugh of his own.

“Be kind to me, darlin’. I’m half-cocked already, finger on the trigger.”

“Oh?” She wiggled her hips and tried to bite back a smile when his eyes fluttered shut as she let herself glide against him. “I think you’re more than half-cocked.”

His hands suddenly grasped at her cheeks and he stole the breath from her lung with a vicious sort of ease despite the smile she still felt him pressing against her mouth. “Mean, baby.”

One hand slipped down and her entire body jolted as she felt him push the tip of his cock up and down, up and down along her folds before catching against her opening. Then, in one slow, delicious push, he slid inside. Her entire body seemed to catch fire as he bottomed out, curls at the base of him scratching against her skin. The stretch burned but she didn’t care—she didn’t care because he was there. Her Jack. And she was so deliciously full. Her hands scrambled to grab at his shoulders again and she barely managed to sigh out a heated “move” before he slipped his arms around her back and was dragging in and out with a slow, harsh thrust that had her choking on every breath while he pinned her down. Every sense was Jack—touch, taste, sound, sight, smell. All of it was him.

And that was sending her careening toward another orgasm at an embarrassingly quick pace. To finally have Jack, the man she’d been in love with for years, made it all the more terrifyingly lovely and erotic.

“You feel like heaven,” he grunted. “Tight, beautiful heaven.”

“Oh please,” she breathed, shaking hands reaching down his back, feeling his muscles flex as he continued to thrust. “Please.”

“I wanna feel ya, Sunshine. Wanna feel ya gush for me. Can you do that?” His slow drag continued and he buried his face into her sweat-slick neck, tongue sliding against her pulse.

“I want to feel you too, Jack.” Somehow she managed to find the words she needed through her buzzing mind. “Give it to me. It’s okay.”

He pulled one of his arms from around her back and slipped it between their tightly bound bodies, finding her clit like he had done it thousands of times and rubbed quick, firm circles that had her crying out and turning her head to kiss him, catching his jaw with her lips. “You first, Sunshine.”

And she erupted, one more time, shaking and shuddering in his grasp as white light flashed behind her eyes. But then she heard Jack’s beautiful, broken groan as his hips stilled, flush against hers, and warmth flooded as he gave a few small thrusts, chasing the last bits of his high. Her lips pressed against his neck, his cheek, finally finding his panting mouth. Her fingers traced his spine as they both tried to catch their breaths, bodies still reeling from the aftershocks. The afterglow was quiet and warm and perfect—sticky, syrupy, sweet. When Jack went to pull away, she tightened her grip on his back the slightest bit, uncaring of the slick she felt trickling down to puddle beneath them. “Stay a little bit. I like how you feel.”

His breath was warm against her skin, smelling of syrup and mint. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

“Call me when you land.”

“It’ll be late-”

“I’ll be awake. Just call.” She tried to press a smile to her lips but she was sure it looked withered. With all the years of subterfuge and espionage she had under her belt, it still seemed like she now couldn’t lie with him. Maybe her heart just couldn’t take it anymore. It refused to go back to pulling into frowns or impassivity.

Jack brushed his lips against hers with a sigh. “I’ll call. I promise.”

She sucked in a breath as her hands pressed against his chest, feeling his warmth and steady heartbeat. “I kinda got used to having you all to myself, Whiskey.”

And then he was quiet, face pulled tight, before he wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her close and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Let me see what I can do, Sunshine.”

“Jack-”

“Because I got used to being able to kiss you whenever I wanted. I got used to saying I love you whenever I wanted—”

“We just started saying that yesterday,” she grumbled, half-pleased, half-despondent.

“I got used to being able to kiss you any time I felt like it.” And then he stole another kiss. “But I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?” She whispered.

“I promise that I’m very hard to get rid of.”

She liked the sound of that.

Two years later:

“Bela! No!” The corgi had stolen a piece of toast from the counter—how did he even get up there?—and tried to scamper away with the large treat.

Jack had been planning for weeks. His Sunshine had taken an assignment in Prague alongside Ginger Percival and Lancelot and was due back home in just a handful of minutes. He wanted everything perfect. The perfect flowers, the perfect music, the perfect meal (breakfast for dinner was a favorite of hers).

Perfect—until the dog stole a piece of toast.

It had been a year and a half since he had stepped back from Statesman, becoming a consultant for more complicated missions and only stepping into the field for end-of-the-world scenarios. He had shown up on his Sunny’s doorstep with a bag in hand and she had welcomed him inside without blinking.

She was…she was everything. His love. His second chance. His Sunny, filling every part of his scarred heart with warmth like sunlight sparkling on a skyscraper, sending beams of light into every dark corner and alley.

And living with her? It was so easy. His own slice of paradise on this wretched earth. They were a family—him, her, the dog. But he had definitely wanted more and he knew she did, too—they’d talked about it during more than a handful late-night phone calls and when they were wrapped up in each other under her soft blankets. And maybe they could have that. Maybe they could have a little more of this beautiful paradise.

He heard the door open and Sunny greeted Bela. “Hi, baby. Where’d you get toast?” She walked into the kitchen, carrying the corgi who was still chewing on the pilfered toast with his tiny, sharp teeth. She smiled as she looked at him and quickly pressed a slow, soft kiss to his mouth. “Hi, handsome.”

“Welcome home, Sunshine.”

She bent to set Bela on the ground and then gave him another kiss before looking around at the kitchen, seeing the spread of food and the large bouquet of her favorite flowers. “I will never get tired of coming home to you.” She plucked a piece of toast from the plate and took a bite and he watched as she smiled with crumbs on her lips.

For a moment—just a moment—the small box tucked in his back pocket could wait. He wanted to look at her a little longer.

A/N: And that’s all she wrote, folks! Please let me know what you think! Thank you all for reading. I love you. Period. The end.

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm @honestlystop @paryl @fioccodineveautunnale @lackofhonor @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @chibi-liz05 @huliabitch @iellaren-uodo-rian @roxypeanut @mrpascals @paintballkid711

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #kingsman imagine #jack daniels reader #jack daniels imagine #kingsman: the golden circle #kingsman

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unityghost · 3 years

Text

Masquerade

Oh look, I wrote part 29 of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels.

Based on the following prompt from Archive of Our Own user PersonFace:

Gabe hides his true thoughts and pretends to make progress, and, to his surprise, he's good at it. Not, they let it go, not, they're not noticing, he's really good at hiding away, and putting on a face. Even Sam is fooled. Gabe is conflicted on how to feel about that.

I'll confess that some of this doesn't follow the prompt to the letter, but I did my very best. And of course I am sorry for how overdue it is.

“No,” said Sam.

“Yes,” said Gabriel.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you, you’re not coming to fight.”

“I heard what you said, which is why I lied and agreed I’d lay low. Thing is, I don’t want to see you flop because you lacked the knowledge to keep from getting slaughtered.”

Sam’s face softened. “You gave us all the information you could.”

He and Gabriel stood alone in a motel room near the Uinta mountain ranges in Utah. It had been a long while since Gabriel had spent a significant amount of time out west, and indeed, they planned on being here for no longer than a few days. Dean had already left to start the car, and Sam was blocking the doorway so that Gabriel couldn’t accompany them.

Gabriel knew that Sam had a point: since healing an injury on Sam’s hand two weeks previously, after a witch and her miniscule but bloodthirsty familiar had attacked him, Gabriel had been exhausted.

Even so:

“You really don’t know much about these sons of bitches,” Gabriel reminded Sam, trying not to sound like he was pleading. “And I’ve seen them before; I would be able to take one on.”

But Sam held firm. “You’ve already done plenty to help us along, all right? You taught us more about the satori than Wikipedia and all the Japanese folklore books combined. We don’t need you to fight; we just needed that guidance. Okay? You really aren’t ready for this. And I’m not saying that to try and make you feel bad. When you’re stronger, I won’t make you stay put. Promise.”

“In other words, I’d slow you guys down.” Before Sam could protest, Gabriel added, “Fine. You’re hardly off the mark, so fine. I’ll entertain myself while you go hunt down your furry lunatic. Remember, get a good swing in, and if it doesn’t know what’s coming then you’ve got yourself an extra three seconds or so to avoid being eaten.”

Sam nodded, pretending Gabriel hadn’t told him this already. “Sure thing.”

“Did you meditate? Clear that noggin of yours? The satori feed on thoughts. Especially complex, contemplative thought.”

“Dean and I both meditated.”

“Like I said: complex and contemplative. I’m not as worried about Dean.”

Sam glanced down at his watch. “Gabriel, I’ve got to go. But while we’re gone, put your feet up. Let yourself relax for a while. I promise we’ll be okay.”

“Did I say you wouldn’t be?”

Sam smiled, and just missed the raised middle finger cast behind him on his way out the door.

Gabriel waited for the engine to fade before he checked his pocket to ensure the room key was there.

Yes, he was worn out; yes, he was low on grace; and yes - he had enough sense to understand that Sam had been generous in allowing Gabriel to come at all when he was sure to slow the others down. Nevertheless, it was true that Gabriel knew these creatures better than Sam did: he’d dealt with them more than once when they had free reign over the Central Pangean Mountains, long before humankind could take advantage of any opportunity to mess with them.

Gabriel was familiar with what scant literature was accessible to the public these days; and no matter how many times he insisted that not only were these monsters more cunning than the Winchesters’ average prey, but quicker and more ferocious, neither of them took the warnings seriously.

“I’m not questioning whether you can take them on,” Gabriel had told them. “I’m just trying to get you to believe me when I tell you that you gotta prepare for more than you’ve been able to read up on.”

“So tell us more,” Dean prodded, watching him in the rearview mirror.

“I told you all I know! It’s not like I’ve ever sat down to have lunch with one. But I’ve seen what they can do to humans, and …” Gabriel paused, remembering. “A couple of times I was able to chase them off.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “And the other times?”

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter.” He didn’t want to admit that the “other times” had seen him standing out of sight, watching the carnage and unwilling to get involved. “I just hope you had good reflexes in Little League.”

“We’ve got everything we need,” Sam assured him from the passenger seat. “Plenty of options in the trunk.”

“I’m not worried about what weapon you use. What matters is how fast you can swing it. The goal is to take the sucker off guard, not to destroy it.”

“Then what’s the point of this trip anyway?” Dean demanded.

“See, Sam? Your brother gets what I’m trying to say.”

“As long as we can chase it off,” Sam reminded them both. “Look, Gabriel - I hear you. We don’t know how to kill it. So we’re going to immobilize it.”

“Right.” Gabriel sat back and closed his eyes. He could feel a headache coming on. “With your fancy-pants spellwork.”

“Rowena told us - ”

“Rowena knows how to chase them into isolated sprawls of water. They can’t swim, and that’s all well and good, but what happens after that? Did she do a follow-up study? For all we know, this could be the same one she took down all those years ago. You want me to page the coral reefs, see if they found a mangy corpse over yonder?”

Sam sighed. “You’re just gonna have to trust us. We’re doing the best we can.”

“I know. That’s why I insisted on tagging along.”

Outside of the motel, Gabriel halted, breathing in the mountain air. Not for the first time, he was discombobulated at the subtleties his near-graceless body picked up in a way it never would have before: the way this oxygen was thinner than that of Kansas, the chilly tickle of fall as background noise in the latter half of summer. These minute changes affected him in strange ways, altering his heartbeat and sometimes making him feel as though he was surrounded by unfamiliar presences.

He began walking. It had been a long time since he’d set foot in the Uinta Mountain ranges. Memories flickered at the back of his mind - memories that might have taken place prehistorically or may have happened a mere few centuries before. It was hard to tell sometimes which memories fell where, considering that his time with Asmodeus was a history in itself that felt both very old and very fresh.

That’s how it works when there’s no end in sight, he thought, making his way down the road toward the mountains themselves, where he knew the monster would be lurking.

It was an hour before he got a text message from Sam. Nothing yet. Probably gonna be a few hours.

“Cool,” Gabriel said to the mountain air. “Because this won’t take me long at all. Good thing one of us knows what we’re doing.”

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been on rolling, open grass like this. Lebanon was beige; the mountain ranges were a pure, warm green.

He wished he could move positions the way he used to. It was conceivable that he might manage some distance should he attempt to fly, but there was no point in wasting his energy on that, especially since he wasn’t sure whether he had the grace he needed to take this creature down. He couldn’t remember having ever seen one killed another way; all that could be done, it seemed - at least for humankind - was to frighten the satori off with whatever object an unwitting traveler could swat at it.

What Gabriel had wanted to say to Sam, and hadn’t, was: “If it’s a choice between you getting clawed to death and turned into a meal and me taking myself out with a last gasp for grace, why are we even debating?”

How’s it going? Gabriel texted, and Sam wrote: I’ll let you know when we get rid of it.

That terse reply, indicative of irritation (although Gabriel, sensitive as he was these days, knew he wasn’t a good assessor of others’ emotions), was nothing compared to what he would face when Sam found out he’d tried to tackle the satori on his own. The real upside to Gabriel not making it through this in one piece was that he wouldn’t have to deal with punishment.

Sam’s not going to punish you, something inside of him retorted, but he focused on taking one step after another. He was tired, but he could feel that his grace was present. Maybe healing Sam’s hand had stimulated it.

Doesn’t matter. Just gotta get this done.

When he felt the satori, his neck prickled and his heartbeat sped up. It seemed that his ability to sense unwelcome supernatural presences had either never left or been reignited at some point in the recovery from his time in Hell.

Or perhaps he was attuned to predators lying in wait.

“Come on,” Gabriel called. “Eat me.”

All birdsong ceased as Gabriel turned around.

The creature stared at him and smiled.

“You’re gross,” Gabriel told it. “You look like if the offspring of Mr. Potato Head and an orangutan got its finger caught in an electric socket.”

The goblin-esque animal-thing only grinned wider. Its eye sockets were still and hollow in a furry face.

When it spoke, its voice was high and tight as if it had inhaled from a balloon, and the words came rapidly:

“The blackness thickens,” it said. “No one will be here for long; it’s all pretend. Not one of them wants you; not one of them cares. It’s a good thing you came along to destroy the enemy: make yourself useful and perhaps they’ll let you stay. Ask nicely and they’ll allow you to keep stealing from them.”

Gabriel’s skin crawled. “What are you doing, you mangy freak?”

“It has not been able to read your mind before,” the beast replied. Gabriel, who could only assume that “it” meant the satori itself, could no longer tell whether it was actually looking at him or whether those grotesque holes were sightless. The horrid animal looked dead. “You used to be an angel. When you were more than this, it couldn’t get into your head. But look: is this not proof of what you have become?”

“I’m here to - ”

“And yet if you use what little grace swims in your near-human flesh, what use will you be? Perhaps it is time; the hour has come to show that you’re a failure, and they’ll have the excuse they so sorely need to throw you away. It can eat you, too; if you are human, and it can read you, then it can swallow you as well.”

Gabriel stepped backward.

Chill out, he told himself. The son of a bitch is screwing with you.

“The son of a bitch is not screwing with you,” the creature said. “Your memories - I smell them on your breath.” The satori cackled - harsh, like retching. “You fear that he is still inside of you. Who would have thought that you, once so esteemed and powerful, might buckle? Paralysis maintains its grip upon the creature you once were.”

Paralysis indeed, Gabriel thought as he found himself struggling to respond with either speech or movement.

The creature gave its choking laugh again. “You see? You are frozen. It knows. It knows better than anyone.”

“Wrong.” Gabriel steeled himself for either overwhelming exhaustion or worse. He felt a pang of annoyance that he couldn’t do this the way he used to. “No one knows better than yours truly.”

The flash of grace hit the creature hard, and Gabriel felt some of it ricochet back to him. It hurt, but wasn’t enough to knock him over. That came only after he saw the satori crumple to the ground, its eye sockets just as lifeless as they had been a few seconds before.

Gabriel found his face pressed into the dirt. Every muscle ached in a peculiarly human manner.

He experimented with standing up and found that, although it was a sluggish process, it wasn’t impossible. He was dizzy but he could walk.

He took breaks here and there to lean against a tree and catch his breath. The birds had started singing again.

During one of these brief siestas, he sent a message to Sam:

I know you’ll hate me and I don’t blame you but I squashed the big furry toad thing.

A few moments later, Sam replied: Where are you???

Almost to the motel.

What were you thinking???

Gabriel didn’t reply. Sam sent another message only a few seconds after that: We can find you if you stay put. Don’t move.

I’m almost back; calm down.

He could picture Sam closing his eyes and inhaling, trying not to show that he was frustrated.

Are you sure? Sam asked.

Yes. Chill. I’ll meet you there.

He didn’t check the messages after that.

Gabriel arrived first. The motel room smelled like coarse carpeting and the salami sandwiches Dean had eaten in Gabriel and Sam’s room several hours before.

Gabriel groaned and lay down on one of the two beds. He wished he could fall asleep then and there, but he knew he was about to be in trouble.

“You didn’t even take a weapon?” Dean cried when the brothers returned. “You were just banking on being able to lasso him with possibly nonexistent angel milk?”

Sam strode over to the bed. “Did you really - ”

“I’m sorry. I know. I didn’t want you to get slaughtered by something I knew I could get rid of for you, okay? Sue me.”

Sam cupped his hands over his face and exhaled. “Did it do anything to you?”

“No.”

“It didn’t hurt you?”

“If it had, then my answer would’ve been yes. I’m fine, Sam. I’m good. And I knew you’d be upset with me, but I would rather you be mad than dead.”

“I’m not upset with you; I just - you should have told me you were going to risk your neck like that.”

“Well, I asked your permission to risk my neck and you said no! What was I supposed to do, Sam? What’s done is done and we’re all still freakin’ alive, so go shower and stop yelling at me.”

He knew that Sam wasn’t yelling, but to Gabriel it sounded dangerously close.

Sam glanced at Dean.

“He’s an idiot,” Dean announced.

“Come on,” Sam snapped. “That’s not helpful.”

“Neither was going after a monster without telling us first.” Dean glared at Gabriel before making his way to the exit and slamming the door behind him.

“He’s worried, that’s all,” Sam said.

“Yeah, he’s all in a tither over my safety. I could tell by the way he tried to disembowel me with his eyes.” Gabriel shoved his face into a pillow and groaned. “I know, okay? I do. I really - I mean - look, I’d be royally pissed too, but I was doing what I thought was best. I’m not sorry for that.”

“I …” Sam struggled for a moment, but all the fight seemed to have left him. “I’m glad you managed to pull it off. Just don’t do it again.”

With an effort, Gabriel sat up. “I’m not interested in standing by anymore.”

“We’ve had this talk already: you don’t owe us anything.”

“Fine.” Gabriel flopped back down. He hadn’t removed his shoes. “I just knew what had to be done in this instance. It can’t be taken back now and I’m glad you’re not dead.”

He shut his eyes, then felt the mattress sink under Sam’s weight.

“I’m sorry,” Sam told him. “It’s only that - ”

“Don’t be sorry.” Gabriel kept his eyes closed. “I knew the reaction I was in for. As if I didn’t run through this a thousand times in my head. You disowning me is more appealing than me having to dig your grave.”

“I wouldn’t disown you. You know that. I’m not mad, and if I was - ”

“You are mad. But frankly, I figured you’d be a lot worse than this.”

“You really don’t trust me, do you?”

Gabriel opened his eyes and squinted up at Sam. “I trust you. You obviously don’t have enough faith in me to help you when you need it, though.”

Sam stood up. “Maybe let’s have this conversation tomorrow.”

“No need. Go clean yourself up.”

“Take off your shoes.”

“Too tired. Not conscious.”

As he was drifting off, he felt Sam untying his sneakers.

There was little dialogue during the long trip home the following day. Dean was still tense, which surprised Gabriel, who had been ardently convinced that Sam would be furious and Dean would be relieved. Dean wasn’t worried about whether Gabriel lived or died, and someone had taken care of his dirty work for him.

There was, of course, the possibility that Dean was upset over being denied a triumphant capture. But Gabriel wasn’t particularly concerned about Dean’s feelings in this instance. What mattered was that he and Sam were both alive and well.

Gabriel slept most of the way home, and his dreams were full of eyeless beasts clawing at his face and digging soiled ape-like paws so harshly into his skull that the pressure became too much and he grew blind. In the nightmares, he tried to scream at them, but couldn’t make a sound.

There was nothing he could do, because they already knew he was afraid.

He was stiff and clammy when it was time to climb out of the car. During the extraordinarily long journey (probably not so extraordinary for them, Gabriel realized), Sam had taken Dean’s place at the wheel and Dean was staring sullenly out of the window.

“Okay back there?” Sam asked.

Gabriel nodded.

“Here - ” Sam made his way around back to open the door and help Gabriel out.

“I’m fine,” snapped Gabriel. “I can move on my own.”

He immediately felt guilty for his tone of voice, but the dreams wouldn’t leave him.

“What’s wrong?” asked Sam. “Hey, you’re all sweaty and shaky.”

“Tired from using up my grace. Think there’s probably none left.” Both halves of his explanation were true. There was no need to explain that the nightmares had made it worse.

He shoved himself out of the car and Sam reached out a hand to steady him. Gabriel stepped away before Sam could touch him.

“Gabe,” said Sam, “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“I’m not.”

“I can tell when something’s wrong with you.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw. “Is that so?” He straightened himself and made a concerted effort to walk evenly and steadily up to the door and down the stairs into the bunker. He stumbled toward the bottom step and Sam grabbed his shoulder.

Gabriel wrenched himself away. “Jesus, Sam, I’ll tell you if something’s wrong!”

“Okay!” Sam looked alarmed. “I just - okay.”

Gabriel ignored the shame that accompanied his outburst. Sam didn’t deserve anybody shouting at him, but there could be no denying that he was right: Sam had seen Gabriel in various states of distress and knew what it looked like when he wasn’t well.

He turned away, making for his bedroom; then he paused and looked back at Sam.

“I just need a little rest,” he said. “That’s all it is. I’m on edge, all right? But I’ll be fine.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Go. Get some sleep. I’ll bring you something to eat later.”

“All right.” Gabriel wasn’t sure he would be able to eat, but there was no reason to make Sam more suspicious. “I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t look back this time.

That week, Gabriel made it a point to eat in front of them - especially Sam - at least once a day. He wasn’t unable to eat, and mostly it wasn’t a necessity; usually, however, he didn’t have any appetite. Besides that, hunger made him feel guilty, and sometimes he had a hard time eating without an immediate recollection of being held down and force-fed during his time with Asmodeus.

If Sam noticed that Gabriel was eating more, he didn’t say. Gabriel tried to let his mind go blank during mealtimes. Asmodeus often crept in, and he must have looked a certain way when that happened because Sam would frown.

Not one of them wants you; not one of them cares.

Gabriel forced himself to swallow, privately willing Sam to stop watching him, desperate for control over his own mind.

Is this not proof of what you have become?

Not even Sam ought to have access to his innermost thoughts and memories - not anymore.

Meanwhile, Dean’s behavior had settled into some semblance of normalcy. Gabriel had never been more thankful for his indifference; he had never taken such joy in the absence of intuitive empathy.

Then there was Castiel, who seemed mostly inclined to leave his brother alone. He sometimes looked puzzled - although that wasn’t unusual for him - but he didn’t say anything.

If Jack had any suspicions about Gabriel’s newfound stoicism, he didn’t let them show. He was cheerful and inquisitive as always, and yet - maybe from spending so much time with Cas, or perhaps because he had learned neither how to express his compassion nor how to block it - there were times he too appeared confused, not sure what to make of his uncle.

“Why are you looking at me like that, kid?” Gabriel asked him one evening.

Jack replied, “How am I looking at you?”

“Like I’m still brushing off loam from the uncanny valley.”

Jack didn’t know how to respond to that, and the subject didn’t come up again.

The four of them were sharing dinner one night when Gabriel made his decision.

“Hey,” he said to the others. “You guys all need to chill right the hell out, okay?”

Everyone turned to stare at him.

“Every time I take a bite,” Gabriel elaborated, “At least one of you watches me like you think I’m going to burst into flame. Or tears. Maybe that was warranted at one point, but I’m starting to feel like there’s something stuck in my teeth and nobody wants to tell me.”

“Your teeth look fine to me,” said Jack.

“Look,” Gabriel went on, “I get that I kind of wore myself out back in Utah, but can you fellas please stop watching my every move with those confused looks on your faces?”

Sam appeared taken aback. “Is that what we’re doing? I guess I was just …”

Slowly, looking him in the eye, Gabriel forced himself to take a bite of the pizza Dean had crafted. He had tasted it before, and although it was exceptionally good, Gabriel had a hard time with the richness of it. Had it been up to him, he would have steered clear of meals that were meant to make a person feel full. This was the first time in the last week that he had fully committed to this sort of sustenance; before that, he’d been able to get away with lighter fare.

The fact that Gabriel was able to dismiss the taste and weight of the food, that he was able to bring his mind elsewhere and ignore the spasm of nausea he had anticipated when he sat down, was encouraging.

“You were just what?” Gabriel asked when he’d swallowed.

“Uh …” Sam blinked. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“You’re used to me being a swooning maiden,” Gabriel countered. “Right now I feel fine, and your constant inspection is nothing short of creepy.”

Sam furrowed his brow, but nodded. “All right. Sorry, Gabriel. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Gabriel took another mouthful, swallowed, and said: “Who knows? Maybe using my grace to wipe out the monster was just the kick in the pants I needed to get up and running again. I mean, hey, if I have it in me to off a predator from Jim Henson’s fever-dream, maybe I’m not in for the permanent misery that seemed inevitable before he and I faced off.”

Sam smiled, looking more at ease. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

“Hey,” Dean interrupted, “You including me in that accusation? You and I have been having a great time.”

“That’s true,” Castiel agreed. He hadn’t taken any pizza, but was enjoying the company. “I’ve never seen the two of you get along so well.”

“Right?” Gabriel sat back. “So what do you have to complain about, Sam?”

“I’m not complaining, Gabriel, really.”

“Good. Because if you’ve got something to say, you can say it to me.”

For a moment he was afraid Sam was going to shout at him, although Gabriel knew that when he’d dared use that tone with Asmodeus, he deserved whatever response came his way.

Instead, he saw Sam further relax. “All right. I will.”

Sam was watchful during the remainder of the meal, although it was possible that Gabriel was only imagining as much. Sometimes he thought he felt Sam’s eyes on him, but when he looked over, Sam was just enjoying the food.

After dinner, Dean crooked a finger at Gabriel. “C’mere a minute.”

Gabriel followed him into the hall.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked, which surprised Gabriel.

“Nothing,” he replied.

“Look, I’m not complaining. I like you like this. But last week, before we left for Utah, you were afraid to ask for a napkin - and that’s even if you took five minutes to eat without Sam practically forcing it down your throat. So what gives?”

“Nothing,” Gabriel said again, wishing Dean had used different hyperbole. “Why are you harassing me about this?”

“Well, maybe if I knew what I was harassing you about it, we wouldn’t need to have this conversation.”

Gabriel stiffened. He felt betrayed. He had trusted Dean to be ignorant and unconcerned.

“I don’t know what you think you’re seeing,” Gabriel told him. “All I know is it isn’t real.”

“Maybe Sam should be the one to decide that.”

“Oh please. What’s Sam got to do with anything?”

Dean remained stone-faced.

Gabriel hardened his voice. “No one’s bothering Sam about anything. What, have you consulted him how to fix whatever imaginary problem you’ve got keeping you up at night? Asked him how to rewire his favorite disaster?”

“No,” said Dean, “Because I’d never hear the end of it from this new version of you.”

“What ‘new version’ of me? I can’t figure out if I’m being insulted.”

“Look, all I know is people don’t change like this overnight. Not without a reason.”

“Good thing I’m not people, then,” Gabriel snapped.

Dean shook his head. “Like I said, man, I don’t know what’s going on with you. Maybe it’s none of my business; I just figure you should ask Sam for help if something isn’t right.”

“I - ” Gabriel faltered. “You don’t want me to bother Sam about this, do you? Not that there’s any - but if there were, if I was - look, no one’s asking Sam for anything, okay? There’s no need, and if something was wrong with me, then he doesn’t need to do anything. Poor sap’s done enough for every lifetime he’s been put through.”

“I think he’d wanna know.”

“What would he want to know? What do you think the issue is here?”

“Well, if I knew, I wouldn’t’ve thought to bug you about it. But fine. Maybe my intuition is off.” He turned to leave, but then paused and looked back at Gabriel. “Sam would never forgive himself if you felt like you couldn’t tell him something, though.”

Gabriel stared at him. Then, more timidly, he asked: “Are you sure you haven’t mentioned anything? About … about whatever you think you see?”

“No. Should I?”

Gabriel shook his head.

“Look, Gabe,” said Dean, “He worries, but at the same time, he really wants to see you get better. He might be pulling the wool over his own eyes about this. If something happens to you and he thinks he could’ve done something to stop it, neither of you is going to be okay.”

Gabriel didn’t respond.

“I’ll see you later, Gabe,” Dean said, and left him standing in the hall with his heart beating twice as fast as it had been during dinner.

With static humming in his mind, Gabriel went back to his own bedroom. He shut the door and lay down on the bed, puzzled and frustrated by the sudden tautness in his throat. He ignored it.

He felt as though he had just been scolded, although he was reasonably confident that no such event had taken place.

Paralysis maintains its grip upon the creature you once were.

It occurred to Gabriel then that even he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. He allowed himself a brief indulgence in the notion that Sam really was under the impression that, for the first time in months, nothing was so wrong with Gabriel as to require immediate attention. He wondered if they could be friends without the ongoing dynamic of victim and savior, although he knew Sam would have scoffed at such a description.

Then he considered the practical implications of remaining here when he had just taken such a hit to his grace supply. He had reason to believe that it would come back - he had been entirely without grace more than once, and it always came back - but the amount of time that would take couldn’t be predicted. If he was to stay here, in the bunker, he had to have grace sooner rather than later. He remembered being without grace in Hell, and wished he could forget the punishment for such a crime. Now, in the bunker, he might not be penalized so much as …

Well, uselessness was a punishment in itself.

The hour has come to show that you’re a failure.

Gabriel sighed and closed his eyes.

They’ll have the excuse they so sorely need to throw you away.

No dreams, no nightmares, no tossing and turning: this slumber was quiet and pure.

But the next thing Gabriel knew, there were two voices calling his name; one he recognized immediately as Sam’s, and the other took him a few seconds to identify as that of Castiel. He couldn’t make out the words, and then he realized he couldn’t fully open his eyes; they had grown too heavy.

Panic set in as someone lifted him upright. He didn’t even have the strength to go rigid, let alone any power to fight back.

“Gabriel.” Sam was speaking to him in a low, hurried voice. “We’re not going to hurt you. Just wake up, all right?”

Gabriel wrenched his eyes partway open. The room was hazy. He took shallow breaths.

“Geez,” Sam told him. “Gabe, buddy, we couldn’t get you to wake up.”

Gabriel tried to ask, Why? but couldn’t make himself speak.

“It’s almost two in the afternoon,” Sam told him, “And when I came in to check on you, you just …” He trailed off.

“Wouldn’t move,” Castiel finished.

Gabriel leaned back against Sam.

“What’s going on?” Sam pressed. “I’ve never seen that happen to you before.”

When Gabriel managed to reply, his voice was hoarse. “I’ve fainted plenty.”

“This is different. Hey, keep your eyes open for a minute; we thought - ” Sam paused. “We just didn’t know what was going on.”

“Tired,” Gabriel slurred.

“This goes beyond tired, Gabriel,” said Cas.

“My grace … it’s …”

“It’s what?” Sam prodded.

“Dunno. I …” Gabriel tried to ignore the pounding in his head. “Killing the monster, the satori - ”

Sam and Castiel waited for him to continue. When Gabriel’s breath began coming a little more easily, he finished, “Maybe took some fight out of me.”

“This is why I told you not to come.” Sam didn’t sound angry - just worried, even afraid. “I know you were trying to help, but Gabriel, you were the one who said how vicious those things are. You’re not ready for something like that.”

“Through no fault of your own,” Castiel added.

Gabriel tried to push himself off of Sam and found that he was too weak.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked him. “Does anything hurt?”

“Why?” The question emerged, at last, without Gabriel even thinking about it.

“What? Why what?”

“What good’re you gonna get out of knowing what’s the matter with me?”

Sam shifted so that Gabriel was lying with his head on Sam’s lap instead of bent at an angle against his chest.

Castiel spoke up: “I suspect that Sam is simply trying to remind you that you’ve become an important part of his life, and he doesn’t want to see you suffer.”

“Well, whoop-dee-doo.”

“Gabriel …” Sam checked for a fever, then pushed stray locks of hair from Gabriel’s eyes. “I don’t understand. You seemed okay last night.”

“I’m still okay.”

“That’s obviously not true,” said Cas.

“Can you try and sit up?” Sam asked.

“Maybe.” He let Sam shift away and prop him against the pillows. As he watched Sam step back, face pale with concern, he had a moment’s doubt about his own pride.

Sit back down, he wanted to say, or I wouldn’t want to touch me either.

He closed his eyes.

“No,” Sam commanded. “Gabriel, don’t. Not yet. I want you to stay awake for now.”

When, and how, had this suddenly become too much? He knew how to frolic in lies. He knew how to make personal falsehoods into very real truths; pretending until he was no longer play-acting was a familiar process.

Why now, then, did he feel his throat tighten as he stared down at the blankets?

He was committed this time, though. He was well-versed in the warning signals of a breakdown and understood that there was no benefit in acting like a child. Sam had seen and dealt with enough, and Gabriel had debased himself so often that he couldn’t imagine anyone harboring even a modicum of respect for him at this point.

That was fine. He needed to learn not to care so much about his reputation at the bunker.

“Cas,” Sam said, “Maybe …”

“Yes. Of course.” Gabriel felt his brother watching him. “If you need me, I’m nearby. Although I suspect you know what you’re doing, Sam.”

“Thanks. I think we’ll be okay.”

Gabriel heard the door close.

“All right,” Sam said, “I know you don’t like to be coerced into talking to me, and usually I’d let up a little, but if you’re sick you need to tell me.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what happened just now?”

“Beats me. But what do you expect?” Gabriel spoke more smoothly now, but directly to the blankets. “I used up all my grace on the satori. Can you blame me for being a little out of sorts?”

“No, of course I don’t blame you. But I’m not talking about your grace. Or at least I don’t think I am.”

“Yeah? What do you think we’re discussing here, then?”

“I don’t know.” Sam looked helpless. “You seemed fine yesterday, and now you’re - I mean, how did you go from that to this? This whole week you've been ... I mean ... I don't know. I thought ... ”

“Am I not an open book to you anymore? Good.”

“What?”

“There’s no reason for you to be inside my head. There’s no reason for you to - to know any more about me, or what happened to me, than you already do.”

Sam was silent.

“I see through your strategy, Sam,” Gabriel added, still staring at the blanket. “I - when you’re quiet, you want me to talk.”

“I’m just worried.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear, and I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what I can do to make you feel better about this whole thing.”

“About what whole thing? About you trying to get well?”

“Pal, if that’s what you’re looking for - for me to get back on my own two feet - then what are you complaining about? Obviously I’m better. I haven’t cried or thrown up once since we got back, and I don’t see how that’s a questionable development.”

“No, I mean, it’s not, but - ”

“But what, Sam?”

“It’s not. Really, it isn’t.”

In the moment of silence that followed, Gabriel felt such an urge to speak, to tell the truth and recount exactly what had happened in the mountains, that he tore his gaze away from the blankets and met Sam’s eyes. He now had a choice: he could say something about what had taken place, or he could lose control of himself altogether.

If there was a third option, Gabriel didn’t see it.

“I don’t want to give you a whole novel about this,” he said. “My head is killing me.”

Sam nodded.

Gabriel hesitated for a few moments longer. Then he took a deep breath and began: “When we were out in Utah, and I took down that creeptastic freakazoid, it - you know - it did what it does. It found some way into my brain, and yammered on and on about my every thought. Which wouldn’t have been a problem in and of itself if I hadn’t - if I wasn’t - well, before, when I faced one of them, it couldn’t read my mind. I was an angel and it couldn’t get in. So what does that tell you, Sam?”

Sam looked blankly at him.

“Come on, Mr. Ivy League,” Gabriel pressed. “This is measurable proof that right now, at least, I’m more human than anything else. Plus, I’ve already got one monster in my head. I don’t need another psychic bedfellow. You mean well, I know, but - but don’t you think, Sam, that you being the way you are to me might be holding me in one place? Or making me an easier target, instead of building me back up to what I used to be?”

“I’ve never thought that.”

“Well, does this change your mind? I just wrote you a whole thesis.”

“Gabriel, if you didn’t have any power then you wouldn’t have been able to take that thing down in the first place.”

“And look at how that turned out. I can barely move.”

“That’s because you haven’t given yourself a chance to recover.”

“How was I even supposed to know I needed it? I’ve been fine this last week.”

“Have you?”

“Yes!”

"I sort of wasn’t talking about the satori.”

“Oh for the love of all things holy and unholy, Sam, stop being so dramatic. I’ve had plenty of time to tunnel my way out of this.”

“Did you get through the whole week without a flashback or nightmare? You seemed like you felt pretty good. I … should I have checked?”

The guilt in Sam’s voice made Gabriel wish he’d stayed unconscious. “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I said no, Sam.”

“You’re not well.” There was horror and distress on Sam’s face now. “I thought - ”

“Christ, Sam, relax.”

“Why didn’t you - ”

“Because this is on me, Sam! It always has been. And that’s almost beside the point. Geez, you know - you really need to make up your mind. Am I meant to improve by eating more and learning to calm myself down, or am I supposed to hold you like a security blanket every time my engine misfires? Which is it, Sam? Should I be strengthening the muscles that Asmodeus deflated or should I keep letting you man the ship when a storm kicks in?”

“Gabriel …”

“Answer the question. I’m serious. I can’t solve this equation no matter how creative I get with it. What am I supposed to do? For me, for you, for everyone here? I need an answer and maybe you have it. I sure as all get-out have no idea what I’m supposed to do or where I’m supposed to go without messing something up.”

Gabriel thought Sam looked like he might cry. “I guess it depends.”

“No, see, that’s not how this works. Because if this was a case-by-case endeavor, one of us would have found the balance by now. No, Sam, I don’t feel good. Why’s that? I don’t feel good when I’m alone; I don’t feel good about how I act when you step in. There’s no winning for me, and for you there’s just constant sacrifice that never leads anywhere. There’s a right and a wrong answer here, and if neither of us can figure it out, then I don’t know what to do. Just stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop - stop trying to make me showcase my emotions. Maybe it works for you but it doesn’t lead to anything good for me; all it does is make me feel ashamed.”

Sam seemed at a loss for words. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “I’m not trying to make you do anything. Gabriel, I think you should just do what feels natural. If that means pretending everything’s okay, then - then fine, I guess, except I don’t think that’s what you really want.”

“Well, I don’t know what I want; as far as I’m concerned, I don’t want anything except to be more like an angel and less like a toddler.”

“I don’t think of you that way. You know that, Gabriel.”

“Sure, fine, but let’s not sugarcoat the fact that I am the way I am, and the responsibility is on me to change.”

Sam looked away, contemplating. Then he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about what happened with the satori?”

“Because then I would’ve gotten worked up about it and so would you. You would’ve been worried about me.”

“I’m worried about you anyway.”

“Yup, I missed the mark on that one. What else is new?”

“So you think - ”

Gabriel shoved himself properly upright. “Stop it, Sam! For the love of every damn good thing left in this world, just stop it! Stop trying to coach me into a breakdown!”

Sam looked aghast. “I’m not!”

“So what are you after? You want to help? Do you want to keep me in one piece or break me into a thousand? I never know with you anymore; it - ” Gabriel took a shuddering breath and began to cry. “You know exactly what you’re doing. I’m not here for you to play with me, Sam!”

Sam stood up. “Gabriel - ”

“Is this what you want?” Gabriel raised his face so that Sam could see the tears. “You think that bullying me into showing my feelings is going to lead to success? I don’t like myself like this! I don’t want you to see and you keep on trying to open me up just like he did! Stop it, Sam! Stop it!”

“No, no - hey - ” Helplessly, Sam took his hand and Gabriel tore it away. “I - Gabriel - should I get Castiel?”

“No!”

“I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Neither do I!” Gabriel pounded the mattress with his fist. “So stay, because I need you here, and I hate you for that and I hate me for that too. I hate all of this!”

“I know you do.” Sam’s voice shook. “But you haven’t done anything wrong. Maybe I have; I don’t know. But none of this is your fault. I’m so sorry if I messed up.”

“You didn’t! I did! I don’t know! Stop it!” Gabriel took frantic breaths, tasting salt where the tears met his lips.

“You said I was like him.” Sam sounded weak. “If I ever made you feel that way, it was an accident.”

“You’re not like him; you - you’re trying to do something to me, and so was he, and I don’t know how to tell the difference between you pushing me to bleed out in front of you and him ripping me open with his bare hands!”

“I had no idea that’s what I was doing!”

“Because you’re - Sam, you’re - ” Gabriel found himself unable to breathe for a moment. When he managed it again, he said, “You’re not evil.”

That seemed to perplex Sam. “I hope not.”

“Of course you aren’t. But do you have any idea what that does to me?”

“I … no, I guess I don’t.”

Gabriel didn’t know either. He ground his teeth against the urge to scream.

No one will be here for long; it’s all pretend.

“I wasn’t like this before,” he said.

“That’s because you weren’t trapped in Hell before.”

“You’ve been trapped in Hell! And you’re nothing like this! Talk all day about how you need help, about how you have your bad dreams and your breakdowns - but you’re nothing like this, nothing like what I turned into.”

Not one of them wants you.

“That thing knew,” Gabriel wailed. “That thing knew exactly what I believe, exactly what I’m afraid of; that thing got into my head in a way even I can’t get into my head! I don’t have any control anymore, Sam - none.”

Not one of them wants you.

“That creature thought I was human, Sam,” Gabriel whispered. “Feeding on your kindness hasn’t done anything except squash me.”

Not one of them wants you.

“I know I can’t really understand what it’s like, exactly,” said Sam, “But what scares you so bad about being human? Especially if you know you aren’t, and your grace always comes back - even it’s on the slower side.”

Gabriel shook his head. “It’s not about the grace.” He swiped at his cheeks with his palms. “It’s about this.”

“About …”

Gabriel looked at him. “Do you know, and you’re just trying to get me to say it?”

“No! I’m not trying to make you say anything.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure he believed him, but lacked the energy to argue. “Well, then it’s about - it’s about the stuff in my head, and how I seem to be open season for anyone who wants a shot, for better or worse. In your case, it’s for the better; you don’t want to hurt me, or at least I don’t think you do. But you still know. You still see inside of me, and I’d give anything at all for a little emotional opacity. I’m weak, maybe as weak as I was in Hell.”

“No.”

“At least in my stupid cage I had a consistent idea of what the next day might bring. I anticipated chaos. He’d destroyed me, on purpose, for fun - so after a little while, I didn’t have to pretend I was holding myself together. Giving up the effort was easy enough; I had no choice. Well - no - unless I did have a choice, and made the wrong one. But he had power over me and I was used to being hurt. I didn’t have to play at not being vulnerable. It’s not like that anymore, Sam.”

“Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“You’d expect so, wouldn’t you? Me too. I’ve lost track of what’s good and what’s bad. So it’s not my grace I’m worried about. Or - no, that’s not true. I do worry about my grace, because I don’t know what the heck I’m supposed to be without it. It’s more like - it’s that worrying about my grace is almost a luxury right now. If I get to lose sleep over how much grace I have instead of how easily I get scared and lose control of myself, I count myself lucky.”

Sam frowned, trying to grasp what Gabriel was telling him.

Sometimes Sam understood, and sometimes he couldn’t relate. In this case, Gabriel suspected, Sam was at a loss because at no point in his life had he ever known genuine autonomy. With Gabriel, it was different: independence and secrecy were everything to him.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel muttered. “I know I don’t make this easy for you.”

Sam was silent for a moment longer, then asked: “Can I tell you something?”

Gabriel froze. This wasn’t the first time he’d become immobile over the possibility of Sam explaining that no, he really couldn’t do this anymore. Perhaps this was the paralysis to which the satori had referred.

“It’s nothing bad,” Sam added hastily, in yet another demonstration of how naturally he could read Gabriel. “I just wanted to say that I don’t look down on you for being affected by your time with Asmodeus. Of course you freak out sometimes; who wouldn’t? And don’t say anything about me," he added as Gabriel opened his mouth. "I’ve been out of Hell a lot longer than you, and you were gone for so long … there’s a lot you didn’t see.” Bitterness crept into Sam’s voice. “Anyway, you can’t help what this has done to you. But hey, you know who would judge you for struggling? Asmodeus. Not me. Not any of us, but especially not me.”

Gabriel tried to respond, but there was no way to speak around the tightness in his throat and chest. The sincerity in Sam’s voice hurt him.

Finally, he managed: “You set that up to sound so dramatic.”

Sam smiled. “Sorry.”

Neither of them spoke for a while after that, although the break in conversation felt natural, not awkward.

Gabriel was fighting sleep when Sam broke the silence. “You’re convincing, you know that?”

“I’m what?”

“The way you just … slipped into your old role. I was surprised, but it didn’t seem forced. The way you spoke up for yourself at dinner last night was impressive. Normally you would’ve been scared of getting in trouble.”

“Hm.” Gabriel considered. “Well, I’ve said it before, Sam: I don’t know who or what I was before Asmodeus. Something changed; that’s all I can tell you.”

“And I was thinking - you know, even before we got back from the mountains, I saw something different. You pushed to come, and then you broke your promise about staying in the motel. I don’t know, maybe I’m off, but that’s a decision you might not have made before.”

“It was important. If something happened to you because I was too afraid to help, that would’ve been punishment on its own. It was a no-win situation so I took the option that I knew would keep you alive.”

“But you probably weren’t so sure about whether you would come out okay.” There was no accusation in Sam’s voice; he was merely making an observation.

“No,” Gabriel agreed, “I didn’t.”

Sam went on, “And it says something, doesn’t it, that you were able to put on such a good act? That’s an old talent that maybe you haven’t tapped into in a while.”

“It must not have been as good as you say, because your brother picked up on it somehow.”

Sam looked surprised. “When?”

“Last night he cornered me about how it isn’t standard to switch from empty to full in such a short span of time. Said I should go to you if I needed help.”

“Wow." Sam blinked. "I guess I don’t really know what to make of that.”

“Well, to me it means that some lucky winner always has access to my cesspit of a brain. Whether that’s you, or Dean, or Asmodeus, or a mountain-dwelling monster.”

“Oh geez, Gabriel …” Sam reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “It’s not like that, buddy.”

“Of course it is. Everybody gets a piece of me if they want it.” Gabriel turned his eyes to the sheets again, fighting tears. “And when I wasn’t whatever I am now, the satori couldn’t get into my head. Like I said - proof, Sam. Proof so concrete you could draw chalk around it. Proof.”

Sam shook his head, but didn’t seem to know what to say.

“I can’t stay awake,” Gabriel muttered, because it sounded more reasonable than When you look at me like that, you’re proving my point. “Can I rest a little bit?”

Sam hesitated. “Let me wake you up in twenty minutes. Just to make sure you’re not out cold again. Then, if you’re okay - another hour, and we can take it from there.”

“Fine.” Gabriel hated the idea of being shaken awake in such a short time, but hadn’t the stamina to argue.

Sam helped adjust Gabriel’s position so that he was lying down, then pulled the blankets around Gabriel’s shoulders. He didn’t move to leave.

If this was an instance of Sam being able to read him too easily, he didn’t want to know.

#Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels #PASF #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN fanfiction #Sabriel #Platonic #Friendship #Fanfic prompts #Do I regret my decision to forgo anonymity?#Sometimes #Too late now #Oh well #Gabriel #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Gabriel/Sam Winchester

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lovehugsandcandy · 4 years

Text

bloom (ColtxMC, RoD)

A/N: I almost did not finish this in time for Colt day and I would have been heartbroken. (also, alternate summary was “Colt has a plant” but GOD why would he ever have that, right?) @rodappreciationweek

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: ~4500 words

Rating/Warnings: N*FW (It’s not explicit but there’s enough there that it’s probably N*FW. And swearing.)

Summary: Bloom where you’re planted.

It comes cheap, as cash deals often do. The walls are riddled with holes, gaping gunshots and massive dents inflicted in incidents even he doesn’t want the stories of; the roof is in shambles, caved to the floor in spots while leaks spread oily over the surface in others. But the land is secluded, safe, and, though it needs work, the foundation is sound.

Colt has never been afraid of hard work, anyway.

He wanted to rebuild on the ashes of his father’s shop. It would have been apt, fitting, rebuilding the place that had been his legacy, passed down from ancestor to ancestor until it arrived at his feet, decaying and ruined.

But it was too obvious. Every single time he drove by, he could see the undercover cops staking out the place, blindingly obvious behind the tinted windows of shiny SUVs. The drive also made him ill; when he caught sight of the charred sign and burnt out support beams, his vision would sway, hands clammy in leather gloves, heart racing a frenetic beat. The last time he sped through, he had needed to pull over, two blocks away, to spew stomach acid into a gutter.

He hadn’t gone back since.

But this new shop, this would work. He would make this work, rebuild here, in safety and relative anonymity, forging a new crew and avenging all he had lost.

A bitter voice cuts through his mental scheming. “There’s one more thing.”

“What?” He glares daggers at Smokey, the gruff man selling the place who earned his name from the trail of tobacco wafting behind him.

“The yard.”

He follows Smokey out back, to where two wrecks sit on concrete that bleeds into dust at the edges, all surrounded by rusted-out barbed wire fencing. The Lambo would be worth something, if the engine was still there, but the MacLaren is destroyed, probably only worth scrap metal and parts.

“All this is yours, too. But I ain’t moving shit.”

Colt shrugs. “Okay.” He surveys the lot. Buried in the dust, he notices a flash of green, a leaf peeking out of the dirt caked against a metal post. “The hell’s that?” he asks, pointing over to where the small stem is, remarkably, making its way out of the dry earth, spouting where no living thing should ever be able to grow. It’s tiny, barely an inch, but it’s vibrant amid the washed out dust basin surrounding it.

“That plant thing? Fuck do I know.” Smokey sticks his hand in his overall pocket, fishing around until he grabs a pack of smokes. “Anyway, like I said, it’s all yours.”

Colt hands over the cash, takes the keys, and starts planning.

~~~~~

He plasters the walls himself, sledgehammer tearing through the plywood and insulation, dust and dirt raining down on him until he’s covered, paint chips grinding into his skin until every visible inch is full of grit and grime. He stands in the shower for an eternity, scalding water raining on muscles tense with exertion, physical labor quieting the screaming rage in his head.

He can’t do everything himself, gets a truckload of guys to shingle the roof, hires an electrician to ensure that the lifts work on the floor. He keeps his ear to the ground, always scouting new talent, people looking to make a break into his world. There’s a few, various tuners and losers, but no one he trusts. Not yet.

One thing he can do is rebuild, plan, and deal with that stupid plant. He almost ignored it, figuring it would wither away on its own, but he has begrudging respect for something thriving in an inhospitable environment. The guy at the nursery thought it looked like a melon, handing over some instructions and a bag of soil that Colt balanced on his lap as the bike wove through city streets. It’s stupid, utterly ridiculous, but he puts the soil down, anyway. Maybe the melon just needs a chance.

By August, Mona’s out, sprung from jail by some hotshot lawyer and begrudging LAPD acknowledgement of the corruption in the force. He is under the bike when she saunters through the bay doors, a smirk on her face and swagger in her step. She makes a snide comment about his transmission, then wanders into the break room to make popcorn.

He stares after her for a full minute, completely befuddled, but finally shrugs and wanders out back to water the stupid melon.

He wonders if this is his life now.

~~~~~

Colt looks closer, dropping to his knees in a cloud of dust to peer incredulously at the ground beneath him. Yesterday, there had been only one green sprout, the result of careful tending and effort, somehow reaching burgeoning leaves through the fencing slats to chase the sun. But now, there are two, as an evil-looking clover emerges through the soil carefully packed against the fence. How the fuck did a weed grow here? Hell, he has no idea how the fucking melon was growing here, pushing through the dust that caked the ground, but he would be damned if he let a fucking weed ruin his work.

He’s just digging his fingers into the dirt, trying to get every offending root, when footsteps thud behind him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mona asks, skeptically.

“Getting this fucking thing-”

“What is that?”

“A weed.” He drops the invader, and it scatters in the wind, dancing through the fencing.

“No…” She hesitates, sounding puzzled, and he squints at her profile in the sunlight, waiting. “The plant thing down there.”

“Guy at the store said he thinks it’s a melon.”

She blinks. “You’re growing a melon.” He doesn’t know what to make of her tone, half accusatory, half mocking, so he only shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. Finally, she snorts. “It might be nice for you.”

“What?”

“Might be nice for you to actually make something, instead of fucking shit up all the time.”

He glares daggers at her retreating back before inspecting the stupid green stem again. It might be his imagination, but it already looks stronger, as if culling the invading weed had already strengthened its roots.

Maybe the fucking thing would thrive if its enemies were removed.

~~~~~~

In October, Ximena makes her way through the front door, a smile spreading across her face and a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. He’s speechless as she lifts him into a giant hug, his ribs creaking in protest.

“Heard things were getting better around here, sweetie.” Colt feels a bashful flush heat his cheeks at the familiar nickname, but she’s not wrong. He and Mona had just swiped a couple of Sodertaljes for a half a million just last week, and he’s already scheming to snatch two more. The crew is making a name for itself; he’s rebuilding. “Where’s Mona?”

“Back room,” he answers, watching X stroll away in absolute confusion before he wanders to the yard. Apparently, he can’t control the comings and goings of the dregs of his father’s crew.

But maybe he can control the fucking plant.

~~~~~

Ellie doesn’t come home for Thanksgiving.

He knew she wouldn’t. It’s his business to know things, the location of priceless cars, the name of the rival crew who’s been running jobs in the Hills. Collecting tidbits of information and splicing them into a bigger picture is one of those skills that keeps the crew afloat and him alive.

But knowing things about her (the spot at the curve of her shoulder that makes her cry out, exactly how much pressure to use where she’s so sensitive, hell, even the stupid, sappy shit like how she likes her coffee, all locked away deep in his brain), well, that’s far from business.

He knows her house (third from the corner with the busted up cruiser in the drive) and he would recognize her car anywhere, even just a flash of it.

She stays at school for Thanksgiving.

But she comes home for Winter Break. He drives by one morning (three am after a successful job, when the roar of adrenaline in his blood makes him desperately miss the one person he wants by his side) and it’s there, vivid pink reflecting the streetlights. He has to remind himself to fucking breathe.

The next afternoon, groggy after tossing and turning all fucking night, he can’t decide when he should just show up at her house and how to avoid the detective if he did.

He actually doesn’t need to decide.

“Why didn’t you rebuild the old shop?”

He spins, splashing the coffee in a sticky mess over concrete (one cream, two sugars, far too sweet to be anything more than a reminder). “What-” The smile on her face is playful, teasing, and his fingers itch to run through her hair. “How did you…?”

“You’re not the only one who has friends in low places.” She turns at the echoing footsteps and is soon swept into hugs and smiles and the dull banter of catching up.

But after, after he steals her away, upstairs to his loft, coaxing sugar sweet sounds from her lips with the rapaciousness of a man denied for far too long, he ensures that she remembers exactly who she came to the shop to see.

When he’s exhausted, temporarily sated yet only waiting until the next burst of energy for round two, he traces random designs down her bare back. “You ready to come back, yet?”

“Colt…”

“Hey, I know you’re too good for school. Just wondering if you know it yet.”

She spins in his arms; when her bare skin glances across his chest, he tightens his fingers, still curled into her back. “Jesus, Colt, you haven’t changed at all.”

“Did you expect me to?”

“Your dad…” His nails dig into her back at the mention; her wince makes him drop his hand to the sheets. She continues, “Your dad wanted more than this. For you.”

“What about what I want?”

“Well, what about what I want?”

He blinks, pulling his arm back. “The fuck? You’re doing what you want across the fucking country.” He watches her stand and storm about the room, pulling on clothes, swiping at her eyes. “Ellie, come on-”

“This was a mistake.”

He sits up, crossing his arms over his bare chest to fix her with his darkest glare. “What the hell does that-“

“I should have…” She trails off and, for a moment, he sees the glimmer of indecision in her eyes. “I made my choice. I’m going back to school and I can’t…” Her voice wavers and she doesn’t even finish the sentence.

When the door slams, he flops against the bed, worn and wilting.

~~~~~

Winter brings the first fruit.

One of the many benefits to living in Southern California is the weather, where each sunny day is a picture-perfect copy of the last. So, even though it’s February, Ximena watches as he carefully cuts the fruit from the vine and stands, cradling it in one arm. “Huh,” she says, shooting him a critical eye. “It’s kinda like that saying: bloom where you’re planted.”

“Huh?”

“The saying… bloom where you’re planted? It kinda means… um….“ Her hands flail about before settling across her chest. “Work with what you’ve got? Plants need fertile soil and plenty of water and sunlight. That plant was given this dusty piece of shit lot owned by a fledgling crew. But even though these aren’t really the best conditions, it’s still blooming anyway. Even though the circumstances aren’t the best, you need to use your talents where you are, not think about what could have been.”

He runs the words through his head, callused fingertips tracing the dappled skin of the melon, trying not to think of different circumstances. “Christ, X.” He shakes his head ruefully. “Its just a fucking plant.” He turns and heads through the shop, careful not to splatter fruit on the concrete, her heavy footsteps close behind.

Mona is already in the break room, lazing about the table, and he gingerly cuts into the skin, handing her and Ximena a pale orange slice.

“Is it hygienic to cut it with that knife?” X asks, teasingly, but takes the proffered piece, regardless.

“Shut up and try it.”

He waits as they bring it to their mouths, holding his breath as each takes a tentative bite. Finally, Ximena breaks the silence, wrinkling her nose. “It’s kind of… bitter.”

“You mean it’s fucking awful!” Mona spits the blob of flesh into a napkin, disgust curling her lip, and she wipes at her tongue rapidly.

He glares at them steadily but can’t disagree once he cuts his own piece. It tastes wrong, flesh too chewy, too tart on his tongue. His eyes water as he swallows it down; he closes the switchblade and chucks the entire melon into the trash.

Maybe this whole thing is a fucking waste of time.

Maybe nothing would ever bloom at this shop.

~~~~~

Winter also brings Toby.

Colt hears the engine roar from the loft and, when he opens the bay door, he gapes at the blaze before him, raging from the hood of a modded-up import.

“It’s not supposed to do that.” Toby leaps from the driver’s seat, grabbing the fire extinguisher that he apparently keeps conveniently under the passenger seat.

“No shit.”

“I think I dialed the ignition force up a little too high, but with a couple of modifications-”

“What are you doing here?”

Toby’s jaw drops. “What do you mean? I heard you were building a new crew.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you suck at the delicate modifications needed to create the next generation of revolutionary sports cars, and you also wouldn’t know your way around surveillance technology if it bit you in the ass and bought you a milkshake afterwards.”

What the... Awkward phrasing aside, he’s not wrong. “What the fuck. Is everyone just gonna waltz right in and…” Colt trails off as Toby walks away, tripping over nothing on his way down the hall.

The cheer when he strolls into the break room is loud, raucous. Colt wonders when his shop became the thrift stop for local rejects.

He wonders why he does nothing about it.

~~~~~

“I’ve heard they like it when you play music for them.”

Colt looks up. “The fuck?!?”

Toby peers down at where he is carefully packing more soil around the base of the stem. “The plants,” he explains, eyes blinking wide behind his thick lenses. “I think they like music. Do you wanna borrow one of my German trance electronica CDs?”

“God, no,” Colt snarls, standing and wiping dirt on his jeans before turning heel, storming back into the shop.

After watching for two days (weren’t there supposed to be flowers sprouting on this fucking thing?), he finally buys a wireless speaker, hiding it next to the fence. At first, he tries classical; based on a quick internet search, soothing orchestra is recommended. However, the strings gnaw on his ears and, even worse, the plant still looks like shit.

Once he’s annoyed with that prissy crap, he flips to music he likes and is amazed when the furled leaves seemed to get greener and greener. Colt can just make out 2pac as he stares in amazement at the plant. Will I see the penitentiary or will I stay free? He shakes his head and walks away; he doesn’t know shit about plants.

~~~~~

She comes back for Spring Break, too. He doesn’t even need to drive by her house; she posts a picture at LAX, beaming grin filling his phone screen as she poses at arrivals.

He waits, doing petty jobs and minor repairs, anything to keep his hands occupied, but it doesn’t stop his mind from racing. Finally, on the fourth day, soft footsteps edge onto the shop floor. He tries to keep his eyes from widening; based on her smirk, he doesn’t succeed.

He doesn’t even let her speak, crossing the floor in five steps, arm on her wrist, dragging her upstairs so he can push her against the door.

“I’m not gonna apologize.” He says it into her mouth, words rushed to shorten the time before her lips were on his.

“I would never expect you to.”

“You know how important this is to me.” Her fingers curl in his jacket as he rolls his hips.

“I know,” she moans as his lips slide down her neck. “I just want… you could be so much more than this. I don’t want you to destroy yourself.”

He makes his way back up to kiss her ear. “Fuck, Ellie.” His voice is low with promise and she shivers at every word. “I’m going to destroy you.”

She laughs joyful and clear as they fall into bed, and he reacquaints himself with the curve of her shoulder, the soft skin of her thigh. The dirt under his nails leaves streaks of grit down her back, over her ass, and he scrubs her clean in the shower, catching the droplets of water as they fall from her lips.

“How long are you staying this time?”

She’s in a towel, water still dripping from the pile of hair at her nape, skin glowing from being scrubbed clean. Colt had never seen anything so radiant. “I’m home until Sunday.”

“Not what I was asking.”

“Tonight?” She bites her lips, eyes wide on his.

“I’ll take tonight.” He leans over to pull on the fabric, dropping the towel to the floor. Beaming, she squeals as he pulls her back into bed. If he only had tonight, he was gonna make it fucking worth it.

~~~~~

They try the melon again. It’s May and the days are getting longer; snooty colleges would soon let underclassmen fly home for the summer.

He tries not to think about it.

He cuts through the fruit, three pairs of eager eyes around him, and hands out crescents, his leg bouncing under the table as he waits and watches the crew take hesitant bites.

“It’s…” Mona chews thoughtfully. “It’s not bad.”

Ximena smiles. “It is definitely better than last time. It’s not very sweet, but at least it’s not terrible.”

“Thanks,” he replies dryly.

“What do you guys mean?” The words are hard to comprehend over the entire wedge that Toby has crammed into his mouth. “This is incredible!”

Colt takes a tentative bite. It definitely wasn’t as bad as last time, the sourness of the last attempt now faded into an inoffensive tartness. The flesh is soft against his tongue, but it’s not sweet; unlike the fruit from the store, it is bland, inoffensive, boring.

At least it’s edible, a marked improvement from when the first fruit sprung from the barren soil.

Only Toby takes another piece, but Colt counts it as a win.

~~~~~

The soil disappears easily, lather carrying it down the drain as if it were never there. The grease is more difficult, solvents and scrubbing not enough to take everything off, and he can see the dark lines coating his skin for days, until they are as much a part of him as the freckles dotting his nose and the scar under his rib cage.

He carries other dirt with him, foul and dark, and no amount of scrubbing will ever make him clean.

~~~~~

He almost thinks she won’t come back, not this time, that Spring Break was a bittersweet goodbye and her full year away has convinced her that her new life is a better fit, holding more promise than a crew still finding its legs and growing into its reputation. He fears her time in the books may have taught her she belongs in musty libraries and dim corridors, soaking up knowledge like she soaked up gearshifts and speed, and that formulas and theories would replace the itch to drive fast and take chances.

But he’s wrong.

The door opening on the shop floor barely twinges his consciousness, and the increased chatter doesn’t stir him either. He just rolls over, burrowing his face into the pillow.

But the hands sliding down his bare back definitely jar him awake and he whirls, brain working far slower than his limbs, and it takes a minute to come to grips with the figure in front of him. When he finally realizes that she isn’t some dream-induced phantom but is real, a corporeal figure perched over him, morning sunlight glancing off her hair and fingers solid at his back, well, then he moves, quickly pulling her down before she can change her mind, relearning how she cries out and moans his name.

After, her body drapes over his, slick skin on slick skin, and his fingers trace their way up her back, her forearms; he’s comparing the real Ellie in his arms with that of memories and dreams and his mental mapping is disturbed when her lips forms words, hot against his chest. “Have you ever gotten something you wanted and realized that you might not want it anymore?”

The question makes him pause; he can think of a million things he’s wanted, desperately, abject need coursing through his veins and making him desperate to destroy all obstacles.

But he can think of only one he has actually gotten. He pulls her close, heart simmering at the question, and drags needy lips up the bare skin of her shoulder, etching tongue and teeth in a haphazard line that only stops behind her ear, when the moan flows through her chest and vibrates against his skin. “I’ve gotten things I wanted and realized that I wanted them even more.”

Her answering smile glows in the sunlight and, yet again, he finds himself again lost to the world of sensation and pleasure and the utter rightness of her body under his.

When she sits up in bed, hours later, he is deeply satisfied when her voice again rasps over his name; he is so distracted by imagining all the things he can do that will make her again dip the vowel, slow and sexy, tongue sliding over the single syllable desperately, that he misses the question. “Wha-?”

“Show me around.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’ve been here before.”

“Yeah, but...” She tilts her shoulder and tugs the sheets tighter around bare skin; Colt pulls his eyes from mapping the dark marks lining her shoulder and focuses on her words. “I only really saw the break room and your bedroom.”

“The only important spots here.”

She huffs a sigh. “Show me around?”

“Fine, fine.” He trudges out of bed, dressing slower than normal since his eyes won’t stop cutting to her, jealously watching her jeans slide up to cover the teeth marks on her thigh. If she was just going to skip off again, he was going to do his damnedest to memorize the sight of her perched on his bed, glowing in the daylight.

“Ready?” she prods.

He rolls his eyes, throwing on his t-shirt and walking out of the room, taking the stairs twice at a time, hand vaguely waving at the shop floor as he saunters through. “Hydraulic lift. Air compressor. Impact wrench. The piece of shit that Toby swore he could get running two months ago, but the engine still won’t fucking turn over.” He turns to see her trailing careful fingertips over a toolbox. “Can we go back upstairs?”

“Is it like your dad’s shop?”

He starts. Usually he bristles when people mention Pop, fury and regret and a deep need to prove himself just below his skin; however, there is only curiosity brimming in her eyes, a hint of concern below the surface. He has nothing left to prove to her. “What?”

“I dunno. Does it have everything the old shop did?”

He shrugs. “Mostly. There’s more space, so I added in another lift. We also have the lot, so Tony has been collecting more pieces of shit that he swears will be vintage collectors one day.”

“There’s a lot?”

“Hm?” He eyes the distance between them and the stairs, probably 50 feet, but he could get Ellie back there and up to the loft in seconds if he were properly motivated. “Yeah, out back.”

“Can I see?”

Internally, he groans but nods, leading her out the back door and into the sun. It’s the same dust pit as normal, and he casts an unimpressed eye around the heaps of metal. However, Ellie looks enraptured, peering around the wrecks, walking the perimeter in slow, careful steps.

“Wow, it’s huge.” He shrugs; he feels the tips of his ears reddening and tries to fight it, but it’s a lost cause when she gazes at him like that. “Wait…” She pauses, eyes falling to the ground. “What’s that?”

“What?”

She kneels to the ground, hovering over the dust to stroke careful fingers over the melon. “This.”

“A stupid plant.”

“A plant?” She blinks up at him, squinting against the midday sun, and this time he can’t suppress the huff.

“Yeah, it’s a stupid melon thing. It was here when I bought the place and I’ve been trying to actually get something decent, but it’s fucking pointless.” She stares at him so long he fidgets, rocking back on his heels. “We’ve tried it a couple times, but it never tastes good. And I looked up when to water it and the guy at the shop blathered on about soil and sunlight, but it never seems to come out right.”

She falls silent again, and he stuffs his hands in his pocket, waiting until she finally asks, “You… you did this?”

He gapes. He did everything in this fucking place, from installing the bay doors to filling the tool chests to even putting together the bed she had just fallen apart in. “Yeah?”

“Huh,” she murmurs, eyes falling on him as if she was just seeing him for the first time.

He rocks back on his heels. “It’s just a stupid fucking plant.”

“I just… I never expected… you...” She stares at him, piercingly, as if she could see right through him, deep inside his brain to his deepest thoughts and desires and fears, deep to where she had already twisted tendrils inside him that he could never prune. “I thought you were gonna burn yourself down.”

“And I said we were both gonna be great.”

She bites her lip, considering, and Colt has the dawning realization that can actually, finally get what he wants. “When are you supposed to get fruit?” she asks and his heart skips a beat.

“Well…” He calculates days in his head. “It flowered a week ago, so I dunno, three more weeks? A month?” A smile spreads, slow and sure across her face, and Colt realizes that things will be different. “Why?” He smiles back. It’s impossible not to break into a grin when she looks at him like that, like he answered a question she never asked. “You gonna stick around?”

~~~~~

And when they finally cut into the melon, a week after he built two more things (a desk and a dresser, painted in such an audacious shade of pink that he smirks every time he walks into their room), he licks the juice dripping from the corner of her mouth, sucking the sweetness and laughter onto his tongue. It tastes amazing. It tastes like home.

Tags:

Perma @desireepow--1986 @leelee10898 @emichelle @client-327 @choicesgremlin @brightpinkpeppercorn @thequeenofcronuts @lilyofchoices @choicesarehard @desireepow-1986

ROD @mskaneko @lovemychoices @burnsoslow @troublemakerinspace @omgjasminesimone

Colt

@deimosensblog @alegria1580 @thefarrari @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @flowerpowell@poeticscolt @zaira-oh-zaira @akrenich @sibella-plays-choices @maxwellsquidsuit @liamzigmichael4ever @octobereighth @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @theeccentricbibliophile @dancingboba @tempesrature

RoDAW @ritachacha

#RoDAW #colt x mc #colt kaneko #n*fw #ride or die: a bad boy romance #playchoices fanfic #amy wites #cw: police #very brief police mention #but its there #it is late and i am tired #amy writes

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twiceblackvelvet · 4 years

Text

Username: xNotYourJoyx

A/N; hi. i have no clue where this idea came from. i don’t know why my brain always tells me to start more red velvet series’ randomly. but here is the latest spawn from it. this will have more parts to it because i’m interested in expanding on the dynamics of this trio plus i signed up for things that have since blown up my emails for this because i’m dedicated like that. anyway! enjoy. or don’t. idk anymore.

It was only a suggestion. A quick mention, really. “There’s this site, Seungwan,” is how it started. Except for that brief conversation spiraled rapidly into a whirlwind of curiosity and excitement. Perhaps, discussing the lack of sex life and the frustration that comes with that whilst you’re supposed to be busy working on the latest financial development wasn’t the smartest move, and yet, the conversation ended in a better resolution than she imagined when Joohyun had managed to pry the information out of her about why she’s been so on edge lately.

On edge being both literal and metaphorical. Getting to the high is easy, however, toppling over into the rush of being able to feel the full experience of pleasure has been evading her for the last few weeks now. Nothing seems to do the trick and though you may think it’d be fun to simply keep trying, it’s starting to become an issue with the more extreme methods she attempts. So, it desperately needs to be fixed, just not in front of all of her colleagues who are idly typing away the dull workday.

The rest of the day drags along. Nothing particularly interesting happens which Seungwan is grateful for, she could do without the extra stress. Though, she’s sure the new sponsorship to promote a dead-end product that everyone had warned their boss about will cause a headache in the future, she ignores the nagging feeling in the back of her mind. Joohyun was kind enough to buy dinner for the both of them which her stomach is currently grateful for as she’s certain her fridge at home is empty. But, watching her friend and colleague suckle on the ice cream bar she purchased for herself should not have resulted in her needing to press her legs together on instinct.

Joohyun didn’t notice, or if she did, she didn’t say anything and continued to lap her tongue across the cold strawberry flavored ice cream. Probably for the best. Nothing good ever comes from getting too involved with people you have to work alongside every day, even if that person does look like Aphrodite herself. The awkward looks between you both, everyone else knowing that the two of you have slept together but are now deciding on which color scheme to use for an advertisement, it just isn’t something that Seungwan wants to deal with. So, she and Joohyun will have to remain platonic. Unfortunately.

It’s late by the time she gets home. The hallway lights leading up to the apartment door flicker every few seconds and the apartment across the hall has the television turned up loud enough that Seungwan is sure they’re trying to let those in hell hear the latest episode of whichever show they’re currently watching. The keys in her hand rattle as she unlocks the stiff door that barely wants to open anymore. The loudness doesn’t disappear once she closes it behind her but it’s home and somewhere she can erase the feeling of being stuck, in more ways than one.

The latest routine of ordering in unhealthy food that is slowly destroying her insides, a cold shower to wash away some of the exhaustion, and then listening to the same songs for about an hour feels almost robotic but it’s what she’s grown used to now. Once the darkness begins to creep in across the apartment, cold air making the hairs on her arm stand to attention and the neighbors suddenly growing quiet, it’s the small bed in the corner of the room that calls out and the only thing echoing inside her head.

Well, it would be, had she not suddenly recalled Joohyun’s description of a site where many people frolic and entertain those who perhaps need a little extra help with their more sinful needs. She moves on auto-pilot toward the jacket hanging on the coat rack and reaches into the left side pocket for the small piece of paper where only the web address is scrawled upon it in Joohyun’s perfect handwriting. The laptop she bought years before and barely runs anymore rests on the dining table she never sits at, closed, and with a line of dust taking up home upon it. Grabbing it, she plops herself down onto the bed after removing her dressing gown and the towel around her hair which has long since dried and throwing it into a corner of the room to be cleaned up tomorrow.

Her fingers trace the keyboard idly, never pressing in a single key, simply going back and forth over the letters whilst her brain tries to decipher if this is something she wants to try out.

“Fuck it.” She thinks. Soon enough, the site is loading, slowly, and asking for her to confirm she is of legal age to enter it.

The screen finally loads and brings up a bunch of profiles under the “popular” banner. To say that the sight of all the various people before her is overwhelming would be an understatement. A sidebar reveals that she can choose a category as well as filter out specific things that are not of her interest. Some of the categories are the standard you would expect, for example, she immediately filters to only see profiles of women. However, others are a little more out there and specific toward what Seungwan assumes are people’s fetishes. A lot of them are things that she would never consider a person could find interesting sexually, and yet, the option is right before her. She ignores the curious voice inside of her head telling her to click on some of them.

A screen full of women now presents itself in front of her. All of them are beautiful and there’s a whole variety to choose from. The profile pictures range from selfies where they’re simply smiling to some of them being without clothing whatsoever. She scrolls for quite some time simply admiring all of the choices before her until one, in particular, captures her attention.

Wide dark eyes with hair of the same shade of brown, plump lips that are sporting a small smirk that’s both enticing and teasing. Part of the girl’s neck is on display for Seungwan to imagine herself kissing and biting softly. Without hesitation, she hovers over the username and clicks onto the profile.

“xNotYourJoyx” she repeats mentally a few times.

The next page reveals a sign-up box that doesn’t allow Seungwan to venture any further. She’s quick to type in her email address, a username not as clever as she would like and the same password she uses for everything else. The next step is to add her bank details in order to be able to subscribe to various pages. She hesitates at this portion realizing that it’s probably very easy for people to fall too far down this rabbit hole. Thus she promises herself not to subscribe to anything until she’s 100% sure.

After completing her profile, she’s brought back to the girl she assumes is named Joy or at least uses that name here. Her subscription rate is the first thing to appear. Her price is low Seungwan thinks, around $10 when she was expecting something far higher based on the type of content Joohyun had told her the people on the site create. The next part is an Amazon wishlist with various items in it ranging from hair extensions, expensive perfume, and medical equipment? She must be a nurse, Seungwan thinks.

Further down the page reveals a VIP service which is more expensive than the standard subscription but allows for you to request specific pictures or videos. There are rules that come along with it which Seungwan reads multiple times over.

Don’t ask me to say or tell you anything personal about me, we are not friends. You don’t know me like that.

No, you can’t have my Instagram or any other social media so don’t ask.

Don’t be a dick.

My amazon wishlist is not for me. I am not a doctor. But I’m down to dress as one for you if you’re into that.

“Well, that clears that up I guess.” She thinks.

For the next ten minutes, Seungwan simply scrolls through the free content on offer from Joy. A few shots of her without clothes but covering her body up with her hands or a sheet, all of which look professionally done which is surprising. She’s captivated and drawn in by this girl a lot quicker than she thought she would be, she can see why Joohyun would recommend such a thing to her now. The possibilities are endless and there are no strings attached. It’s an ideal situation for both parties.

Despite making the promise to herself, she’s quick to subscribe to Joy’s feed but ignores the large “upgrade to VIP” logo that’s glistening in gold below the payment button. It would seem strange or suspicious surely to her if someone new to her profile was suddenly paying for the premium option Seungwan tries to logic with herself.

A few seconds pass as the page reloads itself before finally Joy’s profile is unlocked for Seungwan’s eyes to devour. The same type of photos as previously, however, without anything covering herself up. The same natural reaction to jam her thighs together that she felt earlier with Joohyun ends up happening again except this time she positions her hand under the waistband of her bed shorts.

The further she explores everything Joy has posted the more the need to be touched becomes overwhelming Before she knows it her fingers are gently caressing her soft skin slowly yet with desperation. Many of the images have comments from other people praising the effortless beauty that Joy manages to convey with ease. Seungwan thinks that Joy must be someone with great confidence to display herself so openly like this. She wishes she too were able to picture herself in the way that Joy likely does.

Her body aches for some release but once more she’s not able to reach the peak as the page of images suddenly comes to an end. Once more, the gold button for premium appears and tells Seungwan she’s reached the limit of what she can see. A blurring effect does a good job of hiding what follows next, however, what it doesn’t do is stop her from being enticed further when she spots that Joy has also uploaded videos of herself, they are simply hidden from those on the basic subscription as her.

Almost sub-consciously she finds herself going against every warning sign inside of her mind telling her that paying to watch Joy rather than just look at her is a bad decision, one she will definitely come to regret or become too attached to doing, and yet, it’s too late once she’s confirmed the upgrade and clicked onto the first video that appears.

White background, likely a wall in her home, Seungwan thinks, until finally the girl steps into the frame with yet another smirk on her lips.

“Hello, welcome to premium. Thank you for subscribing. I hope you enjoy all of the videos and pictures that only a select few of you will ever get to see. If you’re feeling even more generous please be sure to check out my wishlist. Now, let’s have fun together.”

Her voice is silky smooth, Seungwan thinks. She replays the simple video a few times just to hear her make this decision sound like she’s part of an exclusive club where only she is invited, though, she’s aware that isn’t true at all. Joy likely has a ton of people paying to see the most intimate parts of her. The comments on this simple welcoming video are at 59 which means at least that many people have also fallen into the trap, though if Joy is the prize, Seungwan wonders if be tricked into paying extra like this is worth it in the end.

She decides to read through some of them just to get a sense of how people communicate with her here.

ksgeees says: can’t wait for you to send me my video Joy😏

canudoit2609 says: so hot🔥

r4bb1tfr13nd says: damn i should have subbed earlier🥵🥵🥵

speedzoom0408 says: YOU CAN HAVE ALL MY MONEY

HYUNSKY says: most beautiful girl ever

Strangely, the latter comment is the only one Joy has bothered to give a reply to.

xNotYourJoyx says: @HYUNSKY wow, thank you😳

The compliment is definitely correct and deserving of a reply, yet, Seungwan wishes she were the one to tell Joy such things and have her respond solely to her. Jealousy is a green-eyed monster and though she probably shouldn’t be feeling it toward a complete stranger, she does. The sound of the keys as she types out her own comment with her free hand that hasn’t been teasing herself is the only thing she can hear now. Not even the wind outside is able to pierce her eardrums and break her from this spell that Joy has put her under.

Wannie2102 says: you are so perfect, Joy.

It’s simple and Seungwan hates it, but she simply must tell this girl something, anything, in hopes that she sees it and feels happy to be complimented.

Silence now, nothing but the screen before her for light inside the cold bedroom. The list of videos, 71 in total, tempting Seungwan, taunting almost. Her left hand numb now from just resting against her own body whilst her right-hand clicks onto the next one in the list after the welcoming video.

The same white background, however, Joy is positioned in the video as soon as it starts this time. Laying down on a black crushed velvet sofa in only her underwear. Her right hand gently caressing her breasts as she grunts out a few low moans. Her left hand in a similar position to where Seungwan is resting her own. The tired and slow circles in which she moves her hand causes her eyes to roll into the back of her head as Seungwan changes her own pace to match that of Joy’s on the screen.

Her bed creaks with every movement of Joy’s that she mimics, the headboard bashing against the wall behind her whenever Joy quickens her pace and then sounds like a light drumming whenever she slows. The neighbor next door has definitely been awakened by the rhythmic sound of Seungwan rocking her body against her fingers.

“You’re enjoying this, huh?” The words surprise Seungwan out of her reverie as it’s as if Joy is present and asking her specifically and knowing that she too is pleasuring herself as she is doing. Without even thinking she manages to gasp out a yes in reply that only she can hear, yet gains a response from Joy almost like she can magically hear her. “I wish I could watch you touch yourself to me.” she pauses to lowly moan. “For me.”

The pressure rises between her thighs once more except this time her body allows her to release every bit of tension she’s had to keep trying to get rid of for weeks. Her entire body collapses against itself as she indulges herself in what she’s convinced is the longest orgasm to ever exist. Her legs shaking wildly as her arm tenses up and flex to make sure she feels every bit of her undoing. The sound of Joy finishing up her own continues to play in the background for further motivation but the deed has already been done.

She rests momentarily, staring up at the ceiling as gentle pants fill the room both from herself and the laptop. Nothing else in the world matters at this very moment. However, once more Joy manages to surprise Seungwan with her telepathic way of just knowing somehow when to speak to her viewer.

“Thank you for that, I hope you come back soon for more.” and then the video ends.

A dark screen replacing the beautiful image of Joy just as spent as Seungwan feels. But, now she’s left to think about everything that has just transpired between herself, the screen and a girl she doesn’t even know. Guilt wells up in her chest and she slams the screen shut almost shattering the glass. “Why did you do this?” is the only thing that repeats inside of her mind. No longer focused on the pulsating feeling against her hand as she pulls it out of her shorts too fast and whips herself with the waistband which will no doubt sting in the morning.

Her legs shakily drag her body to the bathroom almost tripping over various clothes that have sat there waiting to be cleaned for way too long now. She turns on the shower for the second time tonight and steps into it, almost falling immediately. The cold water shocks her body into feeling something other than the after-effects of pleasuring herself. Scrubbing every inch of her body intensely and repeating inside of her mind that she’ll cancel the subscription tomorrow and never do anything like this ever again. She can’t. Joy is a stranger and she shouldn’t be doing these things.

By the time she’s finished almost burning her skin with the washcloth to make sure she’s rid herself of her sins and changing her fair skin to a reddish shade, the clock on the bedside table shows that there are only three hours before she’s due to wake up for work. The bed seems tainted now, so she grabs the blanket and sleeps on the sofa that is far less comfortable.

Joohyun is definitely going to ask her about whether or not she used the site, definitely going to notice the dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep and will definitely draw up her own conclusion anyway no matter what her answer is. She tries her best not to think about any of this but there’s just a constant loop of the images of Joy, the sound of her voice, and the way she encouraged Seungwan to feel again.

She dreams of dark hair and brown eyes that night and moans that could be the most heavenly sound in the world or a new addiction that Seungwan isn’t ready for but may not have a choice but to indulge in it.

pt. ii

#red velvet #bae joohyun #son seungwan #park sooyoung #red velvet scenarios #girl group scenarios #irene #wendy #joy

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moonstruckbucky · 5 years

Text

Come Over (2/7)

Summary: You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.

Pairing: Neighbor!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Chapter Warnings: None

Notes: Thank you everybody for the amazing feedback on the first chapter! I don’t think I’ve ever had that much response from the get go on a new series. Anyways, this part’s a bit longer. Feedback/comments/reblogs are always appreciated! ♥ P.S. - Not sure how many of you saw my recent post regarding tag lists but I figure I’d mention it here: I am not longer doing tag lists. Honestly the work to payoff ratio is so off there’s no point in my doing them anymore, coupled with the fact that Google docs is unreliable. More than half the people on these lists don’t interact with the stories they’re tagged for anyways, so I’m just not doing tag lists anymore. Please don’t ask me for tags.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Your first day at Stark Industries goes perfectly. Tony is a little ...out there for lack of better terminology, but overall he is the perfect boss—not too needy except in his caffeine addiction. He doesn’t go easy on you, firing off press conferences and meetings and so many other events at you in some funny attempt to get you to slip up. You surprise him by repeating each event, date and time included, in perfect chronological order. Behind his sunglasses, his dark eyebrows raise.

Your lunch is taken at your desk as you fill in your new planner with all the events Tony had given you. Your entire month of September seems to be filled to the brim with meetings you’re required to sit on, presentations of new tech, and luncheons with other big conglomerates in the industry. It’s overwhelming, but you didn’t plunge yourself into massive student debt for easy.

You even get a chance to meet a few of your coworkers when you step out for coffee for both you and Tony. Unsurprisingly, he takes it black with two sugars. A brunette woman and a tall man with glasses stand in front of you in the coffee shop on the bottom floor of the building, and when she notices you, she smiles and turns around to fully face you.

“You must be Tony’s new assistant,” she says. Returning her smile, you nod and throw out a hand.

“Y/N.”

“Wanda. And this is Vis, he works in Finance for Stark Industries.” The tall man smiles too and instead of shaking your hand, he kisses the back of it. Wanda giggles at the surprised look on your face and lightly slaps Vis in the chest.

“Vis, don’t scare the poor girl on her first day.”

The two of them step up to the counter and order, and Wanda waits while you do the same. She pulls you into a light conversation, asking how your first day is going, what it’s like so far working for Tony, where you moved from, and you answer them all easily. Wanda seems to be an easygoing person, one you look forward to getting to know better. Vis is quiet, but he interjects here and there for clarification on some things or to ask you questions of his own.

Wanda works in Marketing for the company, a huge duty in your opinion, but she seems to like the responsibility. She’s funny and sweet, and the three of you get into the elevator together once you all have your coffees. After exchanging numbers and a promise for a night out together soon, you part ways. Tony’s on the phone when you step into his office after knocking lightly with your knuckles, and he waves you in while telling the person on the other line just where he can shove “such a bullshit offer”.

Your face must show your slight shock at Tony’s mannerism because he smirks and accepts the coffee you hold out to him, downing half of it in a single gulp. He jiggles the cup idly.

“Sometimes you gotta play a little hardball. I’m expecting his call back in about, oh, twenty minutes,” he boasts, spinning on his heel to saunter over to the workstation set up in his office. “So, new blood, why me?”

You’re momentarily surprised by the question; most of your day had been spent following Tony around and scribbling down notes, and now you find yourself put on the spot by his suddenly asking about you. Mentally you fumble for an answer, your confidence a little wobbly after the surprise wears off.

“Where else am I going to be part of the greatest technology to ever exist?” is the response you settle on, if only to stroke Tony’s wild ego a bit. He grins cheekily and sips at his coffee.

“I like you,” he mutters, as if to himself.

He asks you a few more personal questions about yourself, questions that weren’t answered in the interview he regrettably, so he says, could not be present for. It feels rather odd having this kind of rapport with your boss, but it definitely doesn’t feel like a bad thing. Your previous employers only cared about your being on time and getting your work done, but Tony seems to take an honest interest in your schooling, your experiences, and where you see yourself headed in the future.

“Yikes,” he yelps when he checks the Stark Watch on his wrist. “I didn’t mean to keep you so long. I’m sure you have some work to finish up before you go home.”

He says it with an apologetic smile behind his sunglasses, and the responding smirk you send him feels natural.

“Of course, Mr. Stark—”

“Ah, ah, Tony, please. Mr. Stark makes me sound old and cynical.”

You snort. “Very well, Tony. If I don’t see you before I leave I’ll see you in the morning for our seven AM meeting with AIMTech.”

Winking quickly, you spin around and head back to your office, humming lowly but happily. Your first day at Stark Industries has gotten much better than expected and it puts a small spring in your step as you head back to your office. Office. You can’t even believe that as a personal assistant you’re entitled to an actual office as opposed to just a desk out in the open. But, from what you could gather from talking to Wanda, working for Stark Industries won’t feel like work at all.

You finish keying in changes and adjustments to Tony’s schedule that you’ve received via email. Fortunately, your meeting the next morning remains unchanged, but you feel secure in staying on top of everything. There’s a comfort and a calmness that comes with strict, almost obsessive organization for you. Things feel complete, in their proper places, and so you spend the last fifteen minutes of your work day organizing and reorganizing your desk in a fashion that seems most efficient and less hectic. Your planner is within easy reach, and your computer calendar is pinned to your taskbar. You feel good, at home here, where you can keep someone else’s life perfectly organized.

You take the subway home, earbuds shoved in your ears and streaming the latest episode to the My Favorite Murder podcast. Your feet are a little sore from your shoes, only slight relief when you shift your weight and readjust your feet inside them. The couch, a blanket, and some tea are desperately calling your name as you step off the subway and walking stiffly back to your apartment building. Your first real day in the city had been spent familiarizing and memorizing the routes to and from work so as not to be late for your first day. Now you know it perfectly and you greet the doorman to your building with a tired smile.

Your day was invigorating, but man, are you exhausted. Now that the pressure to be professional and keep focus is off, you allow your shoulders to drop with a sigh. The rickety elevator doors open with a squeak and you step inside and lean against the cool metal of the back wall.

Bucky is in the hallway when the doors open on your floor, looking like he’d just gotten home from work himself and on the phone. Your steps falter a little at the look on his face; it’s pinched, brows furrowed low over his eyes and jaw muscles jumping. You can’t hear him from the elevator where you wait, his voice is low and hurried and sharp. He’s arguing with someone, that much is obvious.

Carefully you step forward, acting as if you weren’t assessing him and his body language, and busy yourself with unlocking your door.

“Oh, hey.”

You look up and over at Bucky, who has ended his phone call apparently but still holds the device in his hand. His smile is faint, and you give him a small, tired one of your own.

“Hi Bucky. Long day?” He catches the quick glance you give his phone and huffs, shoves it roughly into his pocket as if he wants to forget to conversation that’s just taken place.

“Somethin’ like that. How about you? You look tired, doll.” You swallow at the pet name, the way it rolls off his tongue lighting something warm in your belly. It’s forgotten though when Bucky’s face brightens with realization. “Oh! Today was your first day with Stark wasn’t it? How’d it go?”

“It went very well actually. Tony Stark is...not who I imagined he’d be when I first applied to work for him. He’s better, but he’s definitely way more out there than I’d expected.”

The two of you shoot the shit back and forth for a few minutes longer, Bucky’s previous phone call nearly forgotten until it rings again and his face falls when he checks the caller ID. He wags his phone in the air as it continues to shriek.

“I should take this. Hey, um, maybe this weekend you can tell me all about your first week?” He looks shy when he asks, and it only serves to make your face flush crimson. “O-Only if you want to, that is. I’m sure you’re still trying to get settled in.”

“I’d love to,” you interject before he can go off on a nervous tangent. “Maybe you can come over for coffee and help me assemble some furniture?”

“Sure,” he replies softly and with a grin. He seems to have forgotten about his phone until its ringing shatters the small silence again, and he frowns. “I’ll see you, Y/N.”

“Bye Bucky.” You just get the words out before his door closes and the lock flips.

Sighing, you enter your own apartment and kick the heels off your feet, wiggle your toes to get some feeling back into them. Through the walls of your apartment, you can hear Bucky’s raised voice, though it’s still muffled enough that you can’t make out the words.

Truth is, you’ve heard Bucky arguing a lot the past few days. Despite only been here a week, you’ve come to enjoy having Bucky as a neighbor. He’s a tattoo artist, you’ve learned, which explains sometimes why he’s home or away at weird hours, and you’re not surprised to learn he designed his own tattoos. And aside from the recent conflict that seeps through your conjoined walls, he’s quiet and doesn’t do anything untoward that would have you calling the landlord. He says hi to you when he sees you in the hallway or at the mailbox, asks about your day, and goes on his merry way.

And because of all that you may have developed just a teensy crush on the guy, for which you’ve scolded yourself because how could you possibly like a guy you’ve known, barely, a week?

With a small grunt, you head to the kitchen for a hefty glass of much deserved wine.

Chapter Three

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes neighbor au #neighbor au #neighbor!bucky

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dickgraysonisnothereforthis · 5 years

Text

Three AM, Aching and Tender

A Jason Todd x reader oneshot

the title is a bit fucked, but my inspiration ran out, so here we are

warnings for a character getting triggered, and also SMUT

*edited because I added a tag and tumblr decided that meant it could delete the whole fucking post

***

Jason aches.

Aches. All over, everywhere. He aches, and he’s so, so tired. Standing in the dark hallway in front of his apartment door, he can almost feel the exhaustion enveloping him, a physical wave threatening to pull him under as he fights for lucidity. He’s got the achy sort of tired that comes from a mission, a deadening of senses that just spent hours of hyper-alert, of muscles that were overstretched and overused. Half his body seems to be twinging lightly, sending minor flashes of pain that glimmer faintly in his soup-slow brain that’s doing it’s damndest to focus up enough to unlock his fucking flat.

The weariness is so pronounced that he couldn’t be bothered to enter his apartment like a proper vigilante and had walked in the building’s front door. He isn’t too worried, it’s 3:15am and the streets outside are nearly deserted. Besides, Babs has alerts on all CCTV cameras two miles in every direction, she’d scrub the footage if any of them caught the Red Hood waltzing into a building like he lived there.

After digging through his pockets for a few seconds, Jason gets his keys out and unlocks his door, flicking on the living room light. He sets his rucksack on the floor by the kitchen island, running the zipper down and taking out the few sets of dirty clothes from the top of the bag, putting them aside to wash later. He’d packed light for the two-week job with Roy and Kory.

Frustration edges in on the exhaustion lightly fogging his mind as he thinks over the mission itself. The drug sting on Santa Prisca had taken out some major players, but on their way out Roy got hit by some trigger happy idiot. Jason and Kory had had to perform emergency first aid on the helicopter ride off the island. It was touch and go for a bit, but eventually they’d dug the bullets of out his shoulder and thigh, and Kory cauterized the wound with her powers. Jason was taping gauze over her handiwork not twenty minutes ago. Roy will end up with two new scars and nothing more, but it wasn’t exactly how Jason preferred to end his missions.

He sighs, trying to push the days’ events from his mind. Giving himself a shake, he starts stripping down, taking off his helmet and body armor and placing them on the countertop, a tarp he’d laid down keeping his kitchen clean. His guns and miscellaneous other weapons, knives and the occasional batarang, make their way onto the tarp as well. Once he’s down to his pants and undershirt he surveys the counter, wondering what he can get away with just wiping down with disinfectant and what he’s going to have to soak in bleach overnight. As he eyes a particularly grimy blade a noise makes his way out of his bedroom. He doesn’t have to guess at what it is, and sure enough you appear a moment later, wearing an overlarge t shirt and hair mussed from sleep.

He grunts in your direction, mood still black from Roy’s close call. “Hey. You didn’t have to get up.”

“S’okay.” You softly pad over and take a seat on one of the barstools ringing the island. Neither of you say anything for a bit, silence stretching comfortably as you watch him in that even way of yours while he cleans and puts away his gear.

It still makes him pause, seeing you in his kitchen like this. This isn’t the first time you’ve graced his apartment in the early morning hours, kitchen light flickering over your head. You’d stayed over a few times since Jason had started sort-of-dating you a month and a half ago. He had actually handed you the keys when he left for Santa Prisca, you had asked if you could crash at his place while your landlord fumigated your apartment. He knows you’ve been here for two weeks, and you seem comfortable enough in his space, but Jason doesn’t think he’ll get used to moments like these. To having you here, clock ticking low while you huddle up on his barstool, streetlights outside bouncing through the window and shining hazy light on your skin.

In the month and a half that he’s known you, you’ve proven soft and sweet. Can you really fit into the seedy grooves of his life? He’s admiring you while he cleans his fucking guns at three in the morning for chrissakes, do you really belong here? Stills of you in his apartment drift across his brain, he imagines you having breakfast here in the morning, cleaning your teeth in front of his bathroom mirror, laying in his bed with your head resting on his pillow. Can he really have you like this?

Six weeks since Tim introduced you, and Jason still feels uneasy with these moments of quietness stillness, of just being together. He likes spending time with you and he’s happy you’re seeing each other, but Jason feels like he’s missing a trick, here. Something isn’t right. Maybe that’s the problem, not whether you belong in his life at all. It’s that something’s out of place with the two of you, with your relationship, if he can call it that. You text back and forth often enough, you go on dates, you fuck, but something doesn’t sit well with him. Maybe it’s that, for all the time you spend together, neither of you have actually ponied up and admitted some real feelings. It’s almost as though you’re settling into a routine of a long relationship before you’ve put in any of the grunt work, before you’ve run the risk of being vulnerable with each other. The two of you are groping blindly in the dark, hoping the other person feels the same way but never reaching out to confirm it, only to be pleasantly surprised when you bump into each other, wordlessly. It’s setting his teeth on edge, because it’s pretty clear to him that he likes you, and quite a bit more than a lot. He’s not great with emotions, hasn’t been since the pit and even before that, but he’s getting the sense that this thing with you might be starting to brush up against something big. He just doesn’t know what to do about it.

“How’d the job go?” your voice is a murmur in the dim light. For all his misgivings about whether his life can fit someone like you, you’re still choosing to sit next to his vigilante gear with no comment. On your second date, you had dropped the bomb that you know about his nightlife, and for a split-second Jason had frozen, ready to wallop Tim for clueing you in, or at the very least ignore his calls for a few weeks. Before he could even open his mouth to deny it, you told him you’d figured it out from Tim’s schedule back in college. It didn’t take a genius to make the leap from Tim to Bruce Wayne and his brood.

Jason knows you’re hazy on the details about his death and then non-death, but he isn’t in any hurry to bring you up to speed. He’s quietly grateful that you haven’t pressed.

He sets a gun down, stifling a wince at the sight of blood on the muzzle. You know about his night gig and his methods, sure, but there’s a difference between knowing and seeing blood coating a deadly firearm. A quick glance in your direction reveals that you don’t seem disgusted or repelled at all. He’s not even sure you’ve noticed it, from where he stands it looks like you’re keeping your gaze on him. You’ve drawn your knee up to your chest and are resting your chin on it, eyes wide and open as you wrap your arms around your bent leg.

Jason takes a deep breath, thinking on how to answer your question about the mission. He wants to grunt his way out of this and into the shower so he can wash the day off him, but your sweet concern deserves at least a response. Squeezing his eyes shut, he says “the sting went okay, but on the way out Roy got hit in a few nasty places.” He hears you shift in your seat. “Oh no, is he alright?”

He starts to shrug a bit as he opens his eyes. “He’ll be okay, but performing emergency surgery while under fire was—”

The last word comes out clipped and awkward as Jason catches sight of the shirt you’re wearing. You’d brought your leg down to the chair, leaving your chest open. Now he can see the shirt properly, and his gut sinks as he realizes that it’s his, that it’s one of his old ones from before, one of the ones Dick gifted to him while he was still Robin, while he was still with Bruce. His body turns stiff as his eyes trace the faded Haley’s Circus logo. Jason remembers admiring it every time a teenage Dick Grayson wore it around the manor, remembers admiring the teenage Dick Grayson himself, and his throat goes tight. Memories of who Bruce used to be to him, of what he used to be to Bruce, flood his mind and he finds he aches in a different way, more urgent, as the past takes over.

“Jay?” you ask, and there’s no way you could have missed that, the way his body locked down. “Is everything okay?” You’re moving again, hands braced on the counter like you’re about to get up and go over to him, which is the last thing he wants right now.

He can feel old defense mechanisms whirring into place. “What are you wearing?” he says, voice curt, instead of answering.

“What?” You glance down at yourself. “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to bring something to sleep in so I just—”

“Where did you get that shirt?” Somewhere in his brain Jason feels guilty for making you recoil like that, but it’s lost to the wash of anger that had welled up so suddenly.

“I—I found it in your drawer, I’m sor—”

“So you were snooping through my stuff?” What is he doing, what is he doing? He doesn’t care if you went through his fucking sock drawer, why can’t he stop lashing out at you? But he knows why.

“No, of course I wasn’t snooping, I… I just,” you’re stammering in confusion. “I didn’t know the shirt was…I can go change if you want?” you offer, trying to placate him.

Jason takes a deep breath, trying desperately to get back in control of himself. He thought he was past this, he thought he was past turning into a crazed jackass any time Bruce pre...pre-Death came up, but apparently not.

“Jay?” You say quietly. Squeezing his eyes shut, he abruptly turns around, facing his back to you. “Just,” he manages to grunt out, “just give me a second.” This isn’t their fault, he hisses in his brain, they don’t deserve his temper. Flailing about, he finally remembers a breathing exercise Dick taught him years ago. Breathe in one two three four out one two three four five. In one two three four, out one two three four five. After about a minute or two, he feels in control again.

“No,” he says out loud, turning around to face you again, anger leaving him in an exhale. “No, you don’t have to change.” The tired ache slowly creeps back in. “I’m sorry, doll, I shouldn’t’ve gotten angry at you, that wasn’t cool.”

“It’s okay,” you say after a moment. Your shoulders don’t relax from where they’re bunched up around your neck, though, and Jason wants to kick himself.

“Seriously,” he says instead. “You’re fine, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who was wrong for shouting at you.” He needs to make it clear to you that he knows he was out of line, and that there hopefully won’t be a repeat performance of this. “It’s not even about you, it’s just…” He sighs. “Dick gave me that shirt, before. When I was, you know…”

“Still with Bruce,” you supply for him. That was much nicer than ‘When I was still on life number one,’ which is what Jason had been thinking. “Oh, Jay, I’m so sorry, if I had known…” and the compassion in your gaze is so bright he almost wants to take a step back. “You couldn’t’ve,” he says instead, because of course it wasn’t your fault. “It just took me by surprise, is all.”

You nod. “I understand.” And you don’t, not really, but he appreciates the effort. "I can try to be more...aware of stuff like that, in the future."

And Jason wants to say 'don't worry about it,' but what comes out instead is "thank you."

After a few moments of silence, Jason picks up the dirty gun and gets back to work, glancing at you worriedly every few moments. Your eyes follow him for a while, bright and sharp, but eventually you stretch your arms over your head and leave the chair. Jason expects you to go back to bed, and half wonders whether he should offer to take the couch, especially after what just happened, but instead you step into the living room and sit on the sofa, legs stretched out over his coffee table.

Jason cleans and stows the rest of his gear, washes his hands, and wipes down the countertop for good measure before collapsing onto the couch next to you. You turn your head to look at him. Your hackles are still up, and Jason feels sick with himself. “Are you sure you’re okay, doll?” He asks. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no, it’s okay, I promise.” You flash him a smile, quick and dry, but he notices some of the tension leave you. “So I, um,” you clear your throat, eyes darting away from his. “I really missed you, while you were away.” You hold his gaze then, drawing your lower lip into your mouth, which always drives him a little crazy.

He’s bad at this feelings stuff, he knows he is, which is why he surprises himself when the words “I really missed you, too,” roll off his tongue, easy as anything.

Your lips curve into another smile, syrup-slow this time. He’s momentarily stunned, and when you bring that smile closer to him and peck him on the lips, he has to remind himself to kiss back.

Jason thinks you’ll stop after a minute, and it surprises him when you don’t. Instead, you let a soft sight escape and tilt your head for a better angle, licking sweet into this mouth. He’s not complaining, Jason loves kissing you, so he follows your lead and brings a hand to your waist. You hum when he does, and press yourself closer to him, almost climbing into his lap. Jason’s never been one to miss an opportunity, so he grabs you by the hips and pulls you squarely onto his thighs.

The movement startles you enough that you break from his lips, panting slightly as you reorient yourself. “Hi,” you say, still catching your breath. “Hi,” he answers, then surges up slightly to kiss you again. It’s filthier this time, your breath coming fast as you wind your arms around his neck and start running your fingers through his hair. Jason loves it when you do this, loves feeling your small hands make their way over his scalp. Any remaining tiredness flees in the face of his slow-building arousal. How can he be tired when he’s got your ass in both hands?

When he squeezes lightly you exhale into his mouth and roll your hips against his. “Naughty, naughty,” he murmurs in your ear, smiling against it. “Don’t worry, I know how to make you feel good.”

Your triumphant smile catches him off-guard. “I know you do, baby,” you purr, placing your lips at the juncture of his neck.

His instincts ping lightly. You’re grinning like you’ve won something, or something has gone right. Jason thinks for a second, remembering your soft, too-innocent step out of the bedroom, hair perfectly out of place, at almost the exact moment he came home. This setup seems too good to be true, or at least unplanned. He reaches under your borrowed shirt and confirms his suspicions: you’re not wearing any underwear.

“You were after this the whole time, weren’t you?” You pull back and oh, your grin is wicked, lips cherry-red and glistening. In retaliation, Jason snakes a hand up your chest and pinches your left nipple, lightning-fast. The soft “oh!” you make in surprise is entirely worth it.

“This whole time, you just wanted to get in my pants?”

“Guilty.” There’s a smirk in your voice as you roll your hips again. “You don’t sound too upset about it,” you tease, and you must feel his hardening cock through his pants.

He’s not upset, but he can’t resist the opportunity to tease you a bit more. “That’s what the shirt was about, wasn’t it?” God, it’s so hard to make fun of you when you’re squirming in his lap. “You were trying to do that thing where you wear someone else’s clothing and they find it really sexy and all?”

You slow down there, stop rolling your hips. Shame coats your face as you direct your eyes at the floor. “Jay, I’m so sorry.”

Your shame doesn’t belong here, and Jason’s quick to ease it away. “It’s okay, doll.” He tugs the offending shirt off, tossing it carelessly to the side. “Besides, I happen to prefer you like this.”

You’re a sight to see. Completely naked, sitting pretty on his lap, and fixing him with a look he finds almost challenging. He wants to wipe it off, so he brings his left hand back to your breast, and this time his palm meets skin.

Your eyes flutter shut. “You ‘happen to prefer me like this,’ hmm?” you murmur, arching your back into his grip. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Oh, I think you can,” Jason says slyly, but you’re not listening, you’re too wrapped up in what his hands are up to. He loves it, loves touching you and knowing it’s driving you wild, so he gets his forefinger and thumb around your nipple and pinches lightly, how you like it. He looks up to see your eyes still shut. “Aren’t even looking at me, huh, princess? Can’t even look at me when I’m giving you what you want?” He mock sighs. “Is this it, then, you manipulate me into getting you off but then can’t even look at me while I’m touching you?”

You open your eyes and huff at him. “Yes, Jay, that’s it.”

He grins, and keeps going. “Is it that I’m piss ugly? That’s it, isn’t it, you don’t want to look at my fuck-ugly face?”

“I wish your fuck-ugly mouth would shut up,” you mutter.

“What was that?” Jason moves his hand back to your waist, and you pout at him. It looks so attractive on you.

“C’mon, Jay.” You yank at his hair. “You know you’re stupid hot,” and you’re right, he does know, but some of his scars are ugly and they tend to itch. But you know that, which is why your face softens. “You’re stupid hot, and it’s very distracting. Just shut up and kiss me, you’re being annoying.”

“Okay,” he says, easy, but instead of going for your lips he licks a stripe up your breast and closes his lips around your nipple, the right one this time. Your breath leaves you in a rush, and Jason thinks it’s the best sound he’s ever heard, but then your breathing comes back online a moment later. It’s punch-drunk and delicious, and gets to him in the best way. His cock is becoming harder and harder to ignore. A few seconds later and you’re making these small moans that are almost obscene, so he stays right where he is, with his hands alternating between giving your ass more attention and running up and down your back.

“Fuck, Jay,” you pant, clinging onto his shoulders for dear life. “Knew it, knew you would make me feel so good.”

Something occurs to him, and he sucks lightly one last time before pulling back and licking his lips. “Did you touch yourself, doll? While I was gone? Did you make yourself come?”

He has his answer when you look down and bite your lip again. “No, I, um,” and the innocent act you’re pulling is completely ruined by the small smile you’re fighting to keep off your face, but Jason doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. “I wanted you to do it, so I saved it for you.”

Fuck. Fuck. Your words go straight to his groin. The only thing he can think to do is to roll his hips against yours. You meet him there, moving torturously slow against the blunt head of his cock that’s now painful against his zipper. That bit of pain makes it so, so good, and for a few minutes he just moves with you, enjoying the feel of your body against his. Soon, you start talking again. “Jay, Jason, please, touch me,” you beg, your voice going tight as he rolls his hips.

“Where? You have to tell me where, sweetheart,” he murmurs. You stay silent for a few seconds, and then—

“My cunt. My cunt, Jay, and my clit, please.”

You never talk like that, ever, and the filth coming out of your mouth sends electricity crackling through his brain. He immediately stands up, taking you with him. You shriek a bit at being suddenly airborne, then crowd even closer to his chest and start sucking a hickey on his neck. Thoughts hazy, Jason makes for his bedroom and deposits you on his bed.

You quickly collect yourself, stretching out and preening on his rumpled sheets. Jason decides he needs to be naked immediately, and busies himself shucking off his pants and underwear and tearing off his shirt. When he looks at you again, night air cool against his skin, he sees your hand moving between your legs.

Quick as a flash, he darts onto the bed, grabbing your hand with one of his own and placing himself squarely between your thighs. “No, no,” he chides you, pressing your hand into the mattress above your head. “Come on, doll, you’ve waited this long. Let me.” And he brings his free hand to your crotch, finding your clit and rubbing the pad of his index finger against it.

“God, finally,” you hiss, bucking your hips against his hand. He chuckles at that. “Love how impatient you are, love how slick your pussy is.”

You look him in the eye, then. “For you, Jay.”

Well, hell's bells.“For me,” he agrees, then neatly slides his index finger into you. “Ngh--!” He smiles at the aborted sound you make. Jason spends a few minutes here, moving his fingers in and out of you, enjoying the way you’re shivering under his touch. Eventually, your voice stops him.

“Fuck me, Jay,” you plead. “Fuck me with your cock.”

He growls, then reaches for his bedside table. Yanking open the drawer, he fishes out a condom, then backs up to open it and roll it on. When he looks back at you he sees your eyes are wide. “You sure you want to do this?” He asks, just to check in.

You nod, then scoot back so you’re flush against the pillows, laying flat on the bed. He moves back over you, coming to rest between your thighs again, one hand on the wall above the bed for support. You gasp as he slowly pushes into you, a bit at a time. “This okay?” He asks.

“No,” you say shortly, and then you hook your legs around his waist and drag yourself toward him, taking him inside entirely. He narrowly misses biting his own tongue as sparks fly behind his eyes. “Go faster,” you order him.

Jason looks down at you. “You’re six different kinds of crazy, doll,” he says, but he smiles in spite of himself, heeds you and starts thrusting, pulling out of you a bit only to fill you again as his hips snap against yours. “You like it,” you say. He can’t believe how good you feel, how tight you are around him.

“Yeah, I do.” And of course he does.

The two of you spend a few minutes trying to match each other’s pace, hips stuttering in the face of your fragmented concentration. Eventually, though, you’re moving together again, and every time you meet one of his strokes you start to make a low sound in the back of your throat. Jason a;ways makes sure to keep his eyes open when you're fucking, and he's had them trained on you from the start. He loves how you look stretched out below him, how your breasts jump lightly when he fucks into you, how your mouth is shaped into a perfect o with lust. It’s a heady feeling, knowing he can do this to you, and he feels almost drunk with it.

Not that the lust and desire is at all one-sided. Suddenly, your muscles squeeze tight around his cock and he almost loses his mind. Before he starts to go completely he reaches a hand between you and starts rubbing at your clit.

“Ah-ah!” you shout, hands moving to his shoulders. He barely registers the feeling of your fingernails biting into his skin, all he can think about is how good you feel and how he can make you feel good. He starts swiping a thumb across your clit every time his hips slam against yours, and the string of swear words you let out in response is delicious.

“Ff-fuck. Fuck, Jay, I’m going to come,” and suddenly you do, face scrunching up below him as you ride the crest of your orgasm. Your walls clamp down on him, and Jason thrusts once more, twice, three times, and then he follows you blissfully over the edge. For a few moments, the two of you keep still, panting together and staring sightlessly into the dark as you wait for the waves of pleasure to subside enough for you to surface. Eventually, Jason wakes up and out of himself to the feeling of you planting a kiss on his lips. He gives himself a shake, then kisses back eagerly. It’s sloppy, but you don’t seem to mind, pulling back after a few seconds to sigh contentedly. “Well,” you say, dragging your arms down his shoulders, “that was nice.”

“You’re being stingy, doll,” Jason berates you lightly, pulling out of you and removing the condom. “That was a few levels beyond ‘nice.’” He ties off the condom and drops it neatly in the trash, before rejoining you on his bed and pulling you to his chest. You waste no time snuggling against him, fitting your head into the hollow of his neck.

Jason feels brave, so he says “I’m really glad you’re here,” before dropping a light kiss to your hair.

You reach up to stroke along his forearm where it rests on your chest. “I’m really glad I’m here too. And, um, I’m really glad we’re together.” You tilt your head up at that, shy eyes peering up to gauge his reaction. It’s almost too easy to meet you halfway. “I am, too.” A beat, and then “does this mean I’m calling you my girlfriend now?”

You smile pleasantly at the ceiling. “I like that.” And Jason does, too.

#Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagines #batboys #batboys x reader #DC imagines #smut #jason todd x reader smut #dc comics #dc #dc comics imagine #kira writes

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katsukikitten · 5 years

Text

Weighted

A/N @zbops for you bb as per your request. I hope that this lives up to at least half of your expectations. Thank you so much for supporting me and for encouraging me. Enjoy it and may it help you just a bit more. I send my love XOXO Kitten 💋

It was not unlike you to occasionally stay up late into the night. Late enough to see the moon rise high in the inky black sky watching the constellations move by at a lazy pace.

But to lie awake long enough to greet the sun was abnormal.

At least it was supposed to be abnormal now. Before it was your normal to lose sleep as fat droplets slid from unblinking eyes. Thoughts consuming you with nothing and everything at once.

You thought yourself better.

Not cured, not immune, but well.

Fine and level headed for once.

Yet here you lie again unable to will your exhausted body to sleep as you replay failures from pasted years.

Like an old film one must study to improve but every time it is rewatched another haunting flaw jumps out.

And there is nothing you can do to right your wrong.

Frustrated tears well in your eyes now as you watch the clock for the second week in a row burn an obnoxious 3 am into your retina.

Furious as you thought you had put this problem in its place. That you had long ago learned how to make your demon small and to lock it away.

As with everything in life it adapted, slipping through the bars of its cage only to find itself looming over you once more. Delighting in your anguish as it exploits the coping mechanism you developed.

Turning it on its head to haunt you, to hurt you. To put you in your place as you thought you did it.

Although it knows this will be enough to pain you, it wants to do more.

Truly a petty being as it steals your voice, worming into your head just to whisper.

"Did you really think a few extra hours of training a day would make a difference? That you would suddenly be sought after as a pro hero? You could barely get an apprenticeship and look at how you're failing at that!"*

This dredges up your failure from last week, your first offical mission as apprentice.

What was supposed to be a normal patrol quickly unraveled into a full on street brawl.

You aided your hero holding down the perpetrators bodies with your quirk, straining to keep them in place.

There were tenty or so overpowered drug enhanced strength quirks fighting the pull you placed on them.

Your arm pangs now, reminding you of how it threatened to snap beneath the own weight of your quirk.

"Useless." Its laugh echoes in your ear.

Your temper flares, fist smashing the small black box that mocks you with the time before you rise. Dressing into your training clothes, sliding on your weighted vest as your bruises groan against it. You push your already consistent 1.5 times Earth's gravity pull to a consistent 2.5 for now.

Hands grab for your phone and headphones before fumbling to find your key in your amassed returning symptoms. Throwing piles of clothes, books, and homework onto other piles of long neglected items.

Irritation mixed with a twinge of panic sets in as you look for your FOB that accesses not only the gym you are so desperate to use but also it accesses your dorm building as your dorm room key rests on a chain around your neck. Your memory works overtime as you wonder where it could have been placed.

Was it it Kirishima's room?

Or Bakugou's?

Who's room did the three of you spend the night in last?

You cannot remember, time all runs together much like a watercolor painting caught in the rain.

Colors bleed and the world dips into sun bleached greys as you think of the two of them.

Had you even texted either of them good night?

When was the last time you told them you loved them?

You pick up your phone, bloomed bruised hand winking back at you before the phone obliterates into metal and glass confetti at your feet.

"Fuck." You hiss having forgotten that you had the gravitational pull around your hands as well. Damning yourself for being so careless although you are still careless enough to walk over the shrapnel with bare feet.

It is then you find your key FOB lying in the middle of the chaotic room which you snatch greedily before locking your post nuclear bomb room away.

And with that the thoughts of ash blonde and ruby red hair.

You slink on guilty feet in the shadows of the hall, the moon your only witness as you make your way outside.

The air is cool agaisnt your heated skin, hinting that fall is almost over. That winter will be sure to rear its ugly head and harshly at that.

As if to prove a point an icy wind cuts through your skin deep into your bones, you sigh out upping the force on your body.

The gym is a short walk from the dorm, the night caressing you with soft fingers as it guides you to the thick metal door.

A worried gulp echoes back at you as your hand hovers just before the panel. FOB just out of range to be scanned.

Last time a student was on rest probation their key could only work if Sensei scanned theirs as well.

With gritted teeth you bring the key to kiss smooth plastic. For a moment you're sure it will flash red but when it beeps with a flash of glorious green you cannot help the small smile that spreads across your lips.

They must have forgotten to add those restrictions to yours, that or they didn't think you would disobey your physical therapist and other Sensei.

It doesn't take long before you're sweating.

And the more you swing the harder you make the gravitational pull on your body. The floor groans from the pressure as you push the pull towards you beyond limits for a recovering body, 3.5 times Earth's normal pull. Sweat slides down a bruised nape and drips into now stinging eyes.

You do little to alleviate the pain or sweat that is trying so hard to blind you.

Another swing of your weighted fists has your bones creaking, muscles burning while you have half a mind to add more sand to your wrist and ankle bands.

Hell maybe even more to your vest although it presses against your sternum harshly with each step, threatening to snap a rib. You begin to lose the concentration on the areas you want to afflict as the incresed gravitational begins to spread out. The floor groans harder depsite being designed to withstand many powerful quirks.

A hairline fraction fissures through the smooth wood, attempting to snake up the cinderblock wall.

"None of this is going to change anything. You will still be..."

A heated punch hits the dummy hard, causing it to skid but you advance without letting up, snarling.

"Don't fucking say it."

Another hit to the dummy and you've got it cornered agaisnt the wall but still the voice goes on, a smile dancing along its tone as it purrs.

*"Worthless"*

You begin to jab agaisnt the dummy with enough momentum and force that the padding begins to fall away from its "face" revealing unforgiving metal beneath.

Metal that you pound into anyway.

Metal that warps for a moment from being too close to your pull, still your barrage of fists and feet cease to let up.

You follow up a punch with a round house kick increasing the force on your body subconsciously. As you rotate your vest slams heavily into your ribs and an audible crack echoes around the room.

"Fuck!" You huff slamming your foot against the cool surface, the dummy implodes as you land on your feet.

In that moment the room pops from the pressure as you let up the force. The floor creaks, almost breathing as it returns to normal although now heavily warped. Suddenly you feel as light as a feather. As if at any moment you could float up to the ceiling like a lazy balloon only to get tangled in the harsh overhead lights.

Crimson splatters the floor from your knuckles and spit, hand feathering over your ribs. Sliding beneath dampened fabric, smoothing over already bruised skin. You're sure it will only worsen now that you count, one, two.

Three fucking cracked ribs. Your breaths come out in heavy puffs all echoing back to you as you right your self, eyes seeking out another dummy, ignoring the pain begging you to stop.

But feeling pain was better than feeling that weighted void in your chest.

As if you were a super nova that imploded, pulling everything around you into the darkened abyss.

Turning it all into hollowed nothingness.

The first sparring dummy you spy seems to look at you funny, you rear your fist but before it can make contact a growl cuts out.

"You've done enough little one."

His voice dips low, borderline pissed. It is a warning and one you must obey as the air permeates with salted caramel.

But you're in no mood to deal with Katsuki, no mood to be submissive, obedient or anything relative to feeling at all.

Regardless if it's clearly for your own good.

All you wanted, needed, was for everything to fade.

And maybe to black.

But it doesn't instead he advances hand finding your wrist with a sharp grip, that softens only to assess. Turning your wrist this way and that with heated calculating eyes, before he rips off your weighted vest with a growl. Lifting your shirt to reveal blush black painted beneath your smooth skin. His finger prods your ribs and when he counts them in his head he snarls. You watch his muscles twitch as he holds himself. Muscles that had grown twice their size since first year and yet you were left unchanging.

"Training is futile, you'll always be puny."

You rip your wrist free, teeth bared at an already snarling Bakugou.

"Not. Now." You misread his actions beneath the initial rage. He is concerned but all you see is punishment in his eyes

Disappointment.

You look over Katsuki's sculpted shoulder to see Kirishima waiting at the door with glistening ruby eyes that seem to be torn.

Who does he support? How can he defuse this?

"You're fucking hurt." The blonde bites out venom.

"I'm fucking fine. Drop it!" You shove past him slamming your shoulder into his. He wants so badly to reach for you. To yank you back to him so you can look him in his angry scarlet eyes.

"Oh so the blood on the floor means you're fine? Your cracked ribs and bruised to fuck all body means you're fine?!" His temper shows with deadly pops that dance along his skin.

You weight him and Kirishima down gently as you leave, hoping it slows them down long enough for you to return to the safety of your dorm room.

Katuski snarls as he walks with leaded feet, as if walking through mud under the influence of a muscle relaxer. But he and Kirishima have trained with you plenty of times, not to mention they are exposed to your increased pull.

"Maybe we should give them sometime? They are upset, babe." Kirishima offers only to be met with a glowering glare.

"I've tried listening to you, I've tried it your way and look what has happened." A snarl so low that Kirishima feels his gut twist.

"But..."

"But what?" He turns on his lover quickly, "We gave them two weeks of no contact. This is clearly a symptom we need to bisect before they kill themselves over some stupid fucking training."

Kirishima can do nothing but follow as Bakugou stalks you up the steps that you stomp.

You're seething, steam rising from your skin with each heavy breath as your vision blurs between rational thought and white hot rage.

Rage that is always so easy to give into. Especially when your only other option is immobilzing sadness. Before you know it Bakugou is barking at you from the jamb of the door while your ruby haired boyfriend presses gently against his back.

Trying to remind him that his own irate reaction could further the situation, Bakugou feels it but it is lost as you strip to change. You rip the velcro from your wrists, dropping the fifty pounds weights with a harsh thud. The floor rattles the items on your desk and even the window before you move onto the hundred pound weights on your ankles.

Grumbling as you think of your two hundred and fifty pound vest abandoned in the gym. How hard had Bakugou torn it from your strong yet sleek frame?

Would you have to take it to the support class?

You strip your shirt and then your pants as two sets of red eyes gauge different reactions.

Rubies widen, shining with the threat of tears. While blood scarlet narrow with burning, hot, wrath.

Katsuki knew you were bruised, he knew you had those broken ribs and he knew you were set out of rehabilitation probation due to injuries but he did not know the extent of them.

And how the fuck could he? What with you locking yourself away in your room, refusing to text them, refusing to eat the meals cooked and left for you.

Refusing help as you promised you would not do.

Katsuki's warning signs of blowing do not go unnoticed, a strong hand wraps around his hip. Squeezing, hoping to convey the softness the ash blonde so desperately needs.

It works, at least as far as his quirk goes. Bakugou Katsuki could erupt in more than one way.

"What. The. FUCK?!" He goes to take a step in but Kirishima keeps his grip tight. But that does not stop the tongue lashing you get. Bakugou takes a large slow breath, as you once taught him and snorts it out like a dragon.

"You promised you would stop doing this..." His voice, once soothing now grating your last nerve, "You fucking promised, damn it."

Kirishima gives another small squeeze before piping up.

"We are just worried about you, love. Very worried." His voice cracks at the end, causing Katsuki to look over his shoulder.

The tears well faster over dancing garnets.

From the weight of the guilt something in you finally snaps. The room blurs as you subconsciously pull the force to you, items slowly crushing beneath the weight as you lunge for the first thing you can wrap burning hands on.

Your desk chair to which your hurl while screaming

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Your hot headed boyfriend catches the chair with ease, exploding it on impact.

With an angry enough blast that the paint on the ceiling and walls peel.

Oh if Bakugou wasn't pissed at you before he was now.

And not angry over the fact that you've thrown something at him.

But over the simple fact that you were hurting in deadly silence. So badly suffering that you cannot even rationally express yourself anymore.

And more over he is pissed he has let it get this far.

The glass of your window shatters behind you, both from your exertion and his explosion pulling you into the here and now.

The room spirals as quickly as you do, suddenly forgetting how to breath. Gasping as a fish does out of water before you fall to your knees. The two men rush to you, fearing you'll lose yourself in your panic. Two sets of strong arms wrap around you both crushing you between them.

"You're okay." Kirishima soothes, "You're okay. Just breathe."

Nails bite into toned flesh though you are unsure which unfortunate mail is receiving the half blood moons as tears prick your eyes. Falling towards the Earth as much as you wish they wouldn't. Your stomach lurches, your side screams but it does not stop the racks of sobs that tremor through your body.

You come undone in the worst way before the very two men you wanted, needed to be strong in front of. There was already a detrimental gap between your development and theirs. In every fucking aspect you could think of.

Muscle mass.

Durability.

Capability.

The list could go on.

After some time Bakugou coos to you.

"Now tell me what's wrong."

Kirishima places his head between your shoulder blades, reaching out for Bakugou's hand.

"I...I'm behind. I... I cannot even train right." Tears slip over ruddy cheeks that Katuski gently wipes away.

"Behind how?" Kirishima prompts, letting lazy circles trace your stomach.

"On my first mission I get put on recovery suspension, I worked so so so *hard* to even get that hero to agree to take me on and yet I fucked it all up!" Another frustrated sob that has you hiccuping for a moment. You watch Bakugou's face turn to stone as he tries to calm himself.

"I almost died on one of my first big missions. I sat out for a long time, this was a little bit before you transferred." Kirishima admits, "Resting and PT made me stronger."

"Hell I was behind at one point too. I couldn't even fucking pass the provisional!" Katsuki growls at the thought.

"Neither could Todoroki-kun." Kirishima adds.

"But you three...you three are strong. I'm so....weak." With that Bakugou snaps.

"You think I can run with a two hundred fifty pound weight on my chest and keep pace with Iida's jog? Do you think Kirishima could hold down twenty fucking tweaked out villians at once?" His voice is gruff but his hands are soft as he lifts your chin, purposefully making you hold his gaze as he speaks, "Answer me, little one."

"N...no." You sob, Kirishima's strong arm squeezes tigher around your middle, careful to avoid your ribs, as he peppers kisses over your blackened shoulders.

"Just because your body does not reflect mine or Eijiro's does not mean you are weak. You are strong Y/N. Real fucking strong." He kisses you softly, capturing your lips tenderly as Kirishima kisses along your throat.

"Share this weight with us." Bakugou breathes out after pulling away.

"Its not weak to cry or ask for help baby." Kirishima whispers in your ear, your eyes look over your sturdy shoulder before they fall to their hands intertwined. You notice Bakugou's knuckles turning white. Had you really made them worry this much?

"Isn't that right Suki?" Eji asks, resting his chin in your shoulder. Katsuki looks at him for a long time, this man and you have helped him more than he would ever like to admit. But if this is what brought that natural magnetism about you that attracted him in the first place he'd say it

Fuck, if it brought that blinding smile of yours back to your kissable lips he'd scream if from the fucking roof.

"Yes." He lets out a shaky sigh, "Now please, please let us help you little one."

Searching his eyes you wonder if there will ever be a time when you will stop feeling this way.

When you will stop feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders over little to nothing at all.

When you will stop feeling that black hole that crawled into your chest weighing you down and making you weightless all at once.

When you will stop the haunting feeling of sadness that lingers on the fringes of your every thought, tainting every memory and moment with its shimmering darkness.

You wonder if this cancer, if this demon that has since crawled into your chest and devoured your heart whole will ever die.

Scarlet eyes soften as they rove over your lovely features, strong arms support you from behind and you know what the answer is.

The answer is no.

It will never die, never cease to exist, never leave you alone. It will stay with you until you lie motionless forever and even then it will crawl into your casket cradling your cooling skin.

But you will not stop fighting.

Cannot stop fighting because of the small sliver of a feeling you have now.

The love that resiliently blooms despite the pressure, despite the darkness, despite it being trampled over and fucking over.

You know that these two men are not your worth nor or they your reason for being and even if, Kamisama forbid, you three broke up, you would fight on.

Tooth and nail keeping this demon under the ball of your steel toed boot.

Because in the end, after it is all said in done you will do anything to feel this.

This hope and love that radiates from within. You sigh out a shaky sigh, releasing the tension of your shoulders and the constant pressure you've kept on yourself since that mission, your shoulders sag from relief.

"Thank you, thank you for baring this with me." You squeeze their arms respectively as you speak to them both at once, "I love you."

They speak in unison their two tones melding together and soothing over your skin like an ointment.

"I love you too."

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