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fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years ago

Text

Face Me

Gif credit: @haloforsam

Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 3673

Summary: The Winchester brothers are recruited by a former girlfriend of Dean’s to help with a haunting problem. As the case intensifies, Sam and Dean uncover the ghost’s origins and the reader’s dark secret.

Notes: Welcome to the Winchester October Take Over! As always, as this month progresses, let me know what you think and buckle up for plenty of Winchester angst. This was totally inspired by Becky Barnes from the Starkids musical Black Friday. This is very very intense, but I hope you guys like it.

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Warnings: Extreme domestic abuse, violence, death (like I said, it’s intense so please please read only if you are comfortable)

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

It wasn’t a call you ever thought you’d have to make, but as police swarmed around you, you lifted the phone to your ear. You thought you had calmed down enough to speak, but as soon as you heard the voice on the other end, you felt the whole situation crash into you again, along with so many feelings you’d kept locked away in your heart.

“D-Dean?” You sniffed, feeling your stomach drop as they brought the body out the front door, sealed up in a bag. “Oh god.”

“Who is this?” Dean’s voice was gruff and tired. You must have woken him up.

“I’m sorry. You probably don’t remember.” You started to regret calling. After all this time, you couldn’t expect him to come racing to save you. Dean was quiet for a moment.

“Y/N?” Sam stirred awake and gave his brother an inquiring look. “Y/N, is that you?”

“Dean, I-” You tried to catch your breath. “I need your help.”

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“Something… something killed Danny.” Or someone.

“Are you still in that same sleep town in Nebraska?” That’s all he needed to know. No details, no suspicious activity. You were in trouble. That was enough for him.

“You know me. I never go anywhere.” You winced, thinking about the last time you saw Dean Winchester. There was a loud shuffle as Dean started to pack his things, motioning for Sam to do the same.

“We’ll be there by morning.” You uttered a tearful thanks and hung up.

“What was that about?” Sam asked, climbing out of bed and grabbing his duffle bag.

“You remember when we were in Nebraska for a few weeks trying to find that coven of witches?”

“The ones that were using high school kids in their ritual? Yeah.” Sam recalled a fiery English teacher that Dean had dated for most of their time there.

“Y/N’s brother is dead.” Dean said somberly.

“The one that bought us drinks after we saved some of the kids?” Dean nodded. “Damn.” He was a good guy. “She thinks it’s our kind of thing?”

“I don’t know. Y/N’s one tough broad, Sammy, and she-” The sound of your trembling voice echoed in his head. “She sounded scared.” By the look in his eyes, Sam knew how important this was to him.

“Then what are we waiting for?” He zipped up his duffle bag and threw it over his shoulder. “Let’s get to Nebraska.”

You spent most of the night answering police questions and carefully watching the windows. He was in there somewhere. Waiting for you. Once the ambulance and the police were gone, you didn’t dare go back inside. Instead, you curled up on the porch swing and broke down. This was your fault. Danny was gone and that cruel smile was burned into your brain. He was coming for you.

You must have fallen asleep because the bright morning sun and the low rumbling of an engine pulled you out of your nightmare. You’d never been so happy to see that beautiful car.

Sam got out of the passenger side and you slowly walked towards him. You had to restrain yourself from just crashing into him to be safely wrapped in his arms.

“Your hair’s different.” You noted with a small smile. He pulled you into a hug.

“I’m sorry about Danny.” He whispered, pulling back to give you a sympathetic smile. Behind him, his brother waited anxiously, straightening the sleeves of his jacket. He hadn’t changed at all.

“Dean…” You gasped, memories flashing through your head faster than you could register them. The first touch. The feeling of his flannel wrapped around your shoulders. Your last kiss.

“Hey.” He greeted. Neither of you moved. You just looked at each other, both wanting to say something but not having a single clue as to what.

Suddenly, it hit you. What might have been. How different everything would be. Danny would still be alive. When your eyes started to fill with tears, Dean enveloped you in his arms without a second of hesitation. Feelings he had tried to forget came rushing back, but he tried his best to ignore them. That’s not what you need right now. So he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He wished more than anything that you had reunited under different circumstances. He knew how much your brother meant to you. He ran his hands down your arms. You felt like ice. “Jesus, Y/N, you’re freezing. What, did you sleep out here or something?” He quickly shed his jacket and draped it over you.

“Why don’t we head inside?’ Sam suggested. “Talk about what happened.”

“No.” You responded a little too quickly, earning a strange look from both Winchesters. “Why don’t we talk down at the diner? Breakfast’s on me.” They exchanged a skeptical look, but agreed nonetheless.

People were already whispering when you walked in. Word traveled fast. As uncomfortable as the stares made you, anywhere was better than home.

“Hey Josie, can I get a few cups of coffee?” You asked the only waitress who wasn’t too busy gossiping about you. She gave you her usual smile.

“You got it, sweetie.” At least you still had one friend. The three of you picked a booth, Dean sitting on the other side and Sam sliding in beside you. He put a hand on your arm.

“Can you tell us what happened?” You tried to ignore Dean’s worried gaze and took a deep breath.

“I’ve been living with Danny for a little over a year now.” Just tell them. Just tell them. “After Isaiah left, I needed a place to stay.”

“Isaiah?” Dean stiffened. You couldn’t look at him.

“My husband.” Both Winchesters froze.

“Oh.” Was all Dean said. You set down your coffee mug a little too fast and the hot liquid splashed onto the counter.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” You tried to clean up the mess with your napkin, your voice sounding more flustered than you intended. After all this time of keeping the secret, why was it so hard to lie to them? “He’s gone now.” Sam was the first to speak.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was so sincere, you felt yourself choke on your words, the emotion becoming too much.

“What matters now is destroying what killed Danny.”

“Do you have any idea what it was?” Sam asked. Dean seemed very interested in the inside of his mug. You wanted to tell him the truth, but the words caught in your throat. “Y/N?”

“I don’t know. One minute he was fine and the next his head was cracked open.” You closed your eyes, remembering that awful scene. You felt a hand rest on top of yours. Dean had reached across the table, his warm touch giving you enough courage to keep going. “The police can’t figure out how anyone else got in the garage, what the murder weapon was, or anything that could give me an answer. So I called you.” Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

“We’ll do what we can.” Sam promised you and Dean nodded.

“And we’ll fry this son of a bitch.”

Without a good enough excuse not to go back, you took Sam and Dean to the house. The police had cleaned the scene so you were able to get in. Dean stopped by the garage and laughed softly to himself.

“Still working on the bike.” He mused. You smiled slightly.

“He finished restoring it last year.” That motorcycle was Danny’s prize possession. A 1984 Disc Glide Harley Davidson. It was one hell of a bike. He had been washing it when he died.

“So… married.” Dean blew out a long breath. You looked away.

“After you left, Isaiah was… the normal I thought I needed.” You almost laughed. How wrong you were. “And then after a couple months he was… different. I guess I was too.” You thought of every red flag that you had missed, every great big warning sign you chose to ignore.

“Ah,” Dean nodded. “Normal.” You looked at him, shaking your head.

“I was wrong.” He read the glint in your eye that you had tried to hide. Your ex scared you.

“What went down between you?” His question wasn’t out of plain curiosity. He knew there was something you weren’t telling him.

“He started vanishing into the beds of barmaids and the occasional tennis coach until he didn’t come back.” You shrugged, hoping that he would buy the lie. He didn’t, but he didn’t ask you anything else.

“Hey guys, I think I found something!” Sam shouted from the living room. He was holding up a picture of you and Danny from a couple years ago. It looked fine. “Check this out.” Sam turned the farm around, revealing the words scratched into the back of the frame. Your heart stopped. Face me.

“Face me?” Dean read. “What the hell does that mean?” He and his brother both turned to you.

“Does this mean anything to you, Y/N?” Sam asked. All you could hear was Isaiah’s voice.

“Face me you stupid bitch!” You instinctively pulled Dean’s jacket tighter around you even though you knew they couldn’t see what you had hidden under your shirt.

“Y/N?” Sam repeated. Both brothers were staring at you waiting for an answer.

“You know Danny. He used to get in bar fights all the time. Maybe one of them died and wanted to get revenge?” You wouldn’t have believed it either . Dean ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“Look, we can’t help you if there’s something you aren’t telling us.” He snapped. “What the hell is going on?”

“My brother is dead, Dean!” You shouted. And it was all your fault. The two fell totally silent and you tried not to cry again. “Sorry. I’m just… tired.”

“Maybe you should just take it easy for the rest of the day. We’ll go back into the history of the house and see if there were any violent deaths.” Sam suggested sweetly.

“Don’t leave me here.” You pleaded, grabbing Dean’s hand. “Please don't leave me alone.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I won’t.” Dean assured you. What the hell was going on. He briefly turned to his brother. “Sammy, why don’t you head to the library and I’ll take Y/N to the motel?”

“I’ll call you if I find anything.” Sam gave you one last concerned look before heading out. Dean gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

The motel room was relatively nice compared to the other places they had stayed. You sat on Dean’s bed and took off his jacket.

“Here. You probably want this back.” You held it out, but he shook his head.

“You can keep it until we get this son of a bitch.” He pulled up a chair across from you and you couldn’t help but check him out. Those muscles under his shirt, his perfectly messy hair, his unreal green eyes. He really hadn’t changed at all.

“Do you ever think about it?” You blurted suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“About how we said goodbye?” Dean looked at the floor.

“Sometimes.”

You had thought about it nearly every damn day for the past three years. After facing the witches, it was time for Dean and Sam to move on to the next hunt. Dean had fallen in love with you, which was not something he usually allowed himself to do. You knew that you loved him and it scared you. The man hunted monsters, for god's sake. So when Dean asked you to come with him… you said no.

“Look, Y/N, I don’t hold anything against you.” Dean started, “I mean, we’d only been together a couple of weeks and you were still teaching and, you know, I had just killed a bunch of witches pretending to be lunch ladies.

“Dean.” You crossed to him. “Not leaving with you… It’s the biggest regret of my life.” Dean stood, eyes intense. YOu weren’t sure who kissed who first, but just like that, the years melted away. You quickly threw his jacket over the chair and Dean lifted your legs up around his waist as he backed you towards the bed. His jacket joined his jacket.

Dean’s hands slipped under your shirt, just grazing one of the lower scars on your back. You panicked and pushed away from him.

“Wait.” You gasped, catching your breath.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t.” Too many questions that you didn’t know how to answer. “I’m sorry, Dean. I can’t-” Seeing how upset you were, Dean tried to relax, putting his hands on your shoulders.

“It’s okay. You’re tired. Today has been pretty crazy. How about you rest?” He was being so sweet, which just made you feel worse for keeping things from him.

“Will you lay down with me?” It seemed like such a juvenile question after literally tearing his shirt off. Dean just smiled.

“Yeah, of course.” You both got under the blankets, keeping apart at first. You moved closer and he wrapped his arms around you, your back pressed against his chest. “Hey Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“Sam and I are gonna keep you safe, okay?” His breath was warm against the back of your neck. “You can trust us.”

Dean knew that you were hiding something. Something that absolutely terrified you. He felt the marks on your back before you pulled away. For now, he would let you sleep. Hell, he could use a few hours himself. But sooner or later, he would find out the truth. He just hoped that it didn’t destroy you first.

You slept without nightmares. It was so unfamiliar after so many sleepless nights that even as the afternoon light streamed through the windows, you slept more peacefully than you had in years. It wasn’t until you felt a rush of cold and turned around to cuddle closer to Dean. Your eyes fluttered open and you screamed. The spirit stood over Dean menacingly with a stone raised over his head. Even though half of his face was bashed in, you could see Isaiah’s furious scowl.

“Dean!” You cried. Dean woke up and looked over his shoulder as Isaiah brought his hand down. Dean rolled out of the way, both of you tumbling off of the bed.

“You cheating whore!” The apparition shrieked. Dean pushed you behind him and you screwed your eyes shut. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Y/N! Face me!” He reappeared, standing over both of you and raising the jagged rock over you.

“Get down!” Sam burst through the motel door and fired two salt rounds into the ghost. Isaiah vanished. Sam hurried to his brother’s side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Dean stood, eyes burning into you, demanding answers. “What the hell just happened?”

“I’m sorry.” You let terrified tears stream down your cheeks. “I should have told you. I should have told you.” Sam helped you to your feet, trying to calm you down.

“Y/N, who was that?” He asked gently. There was now way to hide anymore, but you just stood there. Dean’s anger disappeared, connecting the spirit’s words and your fear. He cradled your face in his hands.

“Sweetheart, we can’t help you unless you tell us what happened.” He tucked your hair behind your ear. You tried to pull yourself together.

“It was Isaiah.” You sat on the bed and pulled your knees up to your chest.

“Your husband?” Sam asked. You gave them a weak nod.

“He didn’t leave me. I tried to leave him. He hurt me. He kept hurting me.” Every cut and every bruise stung now as if they were fresh. Dean gripped the back of the chair. “I told him I wasn’t going to let him hurt me anymore. He got so mad…” You gulped and turned around. You slowly lifted up the back of your shirt. Your back was a jagged puzzle of scars, some small and some stretching across your skin.

“Oh my God.” Sam gasped. You kept your back to them, unable to look them in the eye.

“He pushed me out of a glass door.” You pulled your shirt back down and wrapped your arms around yourself. “Our yard opened out to the river where there were some trees. So I just ran.”

Dean closed his eyes, the entire scene playing out in front of him. The blood soaking the back of your shirt. Your crying pleas for help. It haunted him. He somehow felt like it was his fault. Like he should have been there to protect you.

“I ran and I ran, but everything stung and it was hard to see straight with the pain. He caught me and shoved me to the ground. I was screaming, but nobody came. He wrapped his hands around my throat.” You sank further into your nightmare. “I grabbed a rock and hit him over the head. I just kept hitting him and hitting him and hitting him.” Your body shook as you cried. Nobody said a word for a long while. You were grateful.

“Y/N,” Sam sat down beside you. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“I shouldn’t have fought him, Sam.” You exclaimed. “If I hadn’t fought thim, none of this would have happened. Danny would still be alive.” Dean pushed the chair aside and crouched down in front of you, making you face him.

“None of this is your fault.” He said sternly. “Not what he did to you when he was alive and not what he’s doing now. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault.” He pulled you to him and let you cry into his chest, gently stroking your hair to sooth you. He looked at Sam intensely. “We’re burning this son of a bitch tonight.”

In order to find the body, you had to go back to the river. As you lead Sam and Dean through the grove of trees, Sam asked more questions.

“It’s been a little over a year since everything happened, right?” You nodded. “Why do you think he’s back now?” You shrugged. You had been trying to figure that out too. You suddenly remembered a conversation you had had with your brother.

“It’s because I’m leaving.” Of course. If you were gone, Isaiah wouldn’t be able to exact his revenge. He may have been tied to you, but he was also still tied to his body. Dean joined the conversation.

“Leaving?”

“Yeah. I need to get out of this place. Get away from everything that happened here.” You sighed. “I guess Isaiah had other plans.”

“Where will you go now?” Dean glanced over at you with a flicker of hope in his eyes. Before you could respond, you reached the North Platte and the tree you buried the body under.

“This is it.” You forced yourself to stay calm as the memories flooded your head. Dean gave you a reassuring nod. “No one ever came looking for him.” It was kind of sad. Everyone in town just assumed that he left you and he didn’t have any family to worry about him. “I couldn’t bury him very deep with my back cut up like that, but I couldn’t bring myself to just throw him in the river. Monster or not, he was till my husband.”

It was late evening now so you didn’t have to worry about anyone stumbling upon the scene. The boys started digging, that lump in your throat getting bigger and bigger with every inch. Once the body was fully uncovered, you made yourself look at him. Sam and Dean stood on either side of you.

“Alright Isaiah,” Dean started, lighting a match. “You’re not gonna hurt her anymore.”

Both Sam and Dean were flung backwards and you felt icy cold hands wrap around your neck.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Isaiah hissed in your ear. He flung you into the tree, hitting your back hard.

“Over here you freak!” Dean fired a salt round, but missed. Isaiah knocked him to the ground, slamming a rock against his temple. Sam rushed to help his brother and Isaiah simply raised his hand, throwing the younger Winchseter into the river.

“Stop!” You tried to scream, but it just came out as a wheezing gasp.

“We’re going to be just fine, Y/N.” Isaiah sneered. “Just as soon as you face me and learn your lesson.” He hit Dean again, this time knocking him out. You reached into your pocket.

“Face this you son of a bitch.”

You threw your lighter onto the body and watched it go up in flames. Isaiah raised the stone one last time before burning away. You ran over to Dean, your back aching with every movement.

“Please please please.” You begged, holding his head in your hands, his blood oozing from his temple and onto your palm.

“Y/N!” Sam called out, crawling out of the water. “Dean!”

“Come on Dean.” You cried. “If you wake up, I’ll say yes this time.” You leaned down, pressing a desperate kiss to his lips.

“That’s gotta be my favorite way to wake up.” He teased, his green eyes slowly opening.

“Shut up.” You shook your head and laughed, pulling him into your arms.

Sam packed the last bag into the trunk and gave you a small smile before getting in the passenger seat. Dean had his arms around you, his hands soothingly running up and down your back.

“I guess this is goodbye.” He sighed dramatically. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m going to be right behind you.”

“I don’t know if I can wait until we get to the motel.” He gave you a cheeky grin and pulled you into a passionate kiss. He went to the car and you revved Danny’s Harley to life. Dean pulled the impala out of the driveway, you trailing on the motorcycle. You followed that beautiful black car down the open road, ready to face anything.

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination; @mylovegoesto;

#dean winchester x reader #abuse warning #sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural imagine #jensen ackles #winchester take over

198 notes · View notes

ambersky0319 · 5 years ago

Note

Idea: Intrulogical fusion, completely in sync despite being a fusion of Remus and Logan. But Virgil and Patton didn't like it. Virgil because, It's Remus. He shouldn't be with a lightside. Patton because it makes him feel like he failed Logan, after all, hes eith Remus. So they force them apart. But, their roles are switched. Logan looks like King George III, but he has shackles & broken crown. Remus looks like your stereotypical mad scientist. They have no memory of who they once were. -Rayne

I had a lot of fun with this- also I decided to draw Macabre! It also ended up being longer than I intended. I hope y’all enjoy this!

Pairings : Intrulogical, Background Roceit

Warnings : Unsympathetic Patton, Morally gray but also pretty Unsympathetic Virgil (I mean, he feels somewhat regretful of what he does at the end-), Fusion, blood and pain mentions, if I need to add anything else please let me know!

Masterpost

—————————–

It started off as something small- an idea that Remus had, which Logan was more than happy to try. They were just figments of imagination, after all, it’s not like it was an impossibility. And it took a lot longer than either side believed it should have taken, but they got there.

Logan and Remus fused.

When they first fused, they cried. Tears streamed down their cheeks as they hugged themselves because it just felt so incredible, so loving. They hadn’t even looked in a mirror yet, but it felt right, being together like this. They fell to the ground just hugging themselves, rocking back and forth. He wasn’t them, though, and both Logan and Remus knew that. They could feel that. And when he looked in the mirror, that’s when they fell apart.

Logan and Remus were choking back tears of their own as they held one another, crumpled on the floor of Logan’s room. Remus buried his face into Logan’s neck, grinning wide as he laughed almost hysterically.

“I can’t believe that worked!”

“I can’t believe how that felt.”

The silence stretched on for a moment as they collected themselves until Remus broke it, pulling away from Logan slightly. “I want to do it again.” He said, reaching up to play with Logan’s hair. “Can we do it again, Lolo?”

Logan smiled the softest Remus had ever seen him smile, and he nodded. “Yes, whoever that was, it felt great. I would do it a hundred times or more.”

Remus giggled before leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss to Logan’s lips before they fused once again.

And so, Morbidity was created.

Morbidity stayed hidden for a long while, and Remus and Logan felt strange each time they unfused. They felt lonely, more so than they had before fusing. Remus had correlated it to how Ruby felt when she and Sapphire unfused and Ruby had gone on that adventure. And Logan couldn’t agree more. Being Morbidity was intoxicating, because when he formed, neither felt lonely or unloved anymore. And Morbidity felt more love than when Logan and Remus spent time together unfused.

Morbidity just felt right.

Morbidity didn’t want to unfuse anymore. Logan and Remus didn’t want to be apart, not when they were constantly torn down and ignored. So they stopped unfusing, and Morbidity stayed in his room. His own room! He had been shocked when it had formed but felt overjoyed nonetheless. Because it meant he was a part of Thomas, a true part of him! But with the new room, that meant that the others would start to notice. And they did.

Macabre, the name Morbidity found he liked most when brainstorming, was peacefully watching a documentary about some of the worst crimes ever committed to date. He was fascinated with how the killers had gotten away with it for so long, and how all the evidence from the buckets of blood that had needed cleaning up to the finest of hairs left behind all played a roll in solving the cases. He was writing a novel, a murder mystery, and wanted it to be as exciting and puzzling as possible. So research was needed.

That’s when his door was opened, no one knocking as it slammed against the wall. Macabre flinched at the sound, finally looking away from his television and notebook littered with notes and random, horrific doodles.

Standing there was Roman, stunned when he saw Macabre, dual-colored eyes staring into his green ones. “Um…”

Then Patton peered over his shoulder, confusion flashing across his face. “A new side?”

Macabre laughed, and it sounded like glass shattering. “Not a new side, Patty-cake. Merely an experiment gone extremely well!” Macabre stood, stretching and hearing his bones pop and feeling the pins and needles in his feet creeping up his legs. How long had it been since he last got up? He made a mental note to set a timer so that his limbs wouldn’t fall asleep like this again.

“…. Experiment?”

“Who are you?”

“What are you?”

Macabre frowned only slightly, fixing his glasses. “I’m Morbidity! I would say it’s great to finally introduce myself, but I believe your facial expressions aren’t the proper reactions one would want.

"And I was an experiment. Not one any longer, though! Remus and Logan sure enjoyed doing them. Maybe I should try it out too!”

“You’re behind Logan disappearing?!” Virgil’s voice raised a few octaves as he started on at the fusion. Macabre crossed his arms, now frowning completely.

“I’m not behind anything. And Logan didn’t disappear. Not completely.”

“What does that even mean?”

It seemed Roman knew the answer to Patton’s question, though, because he broke from his daze to answer. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Morbidity, but you’re a fusion.”

Macabre smiled. “Right you are, Roman! Oh, I knew you would remember. Remus didn’t think you would, but I knew you would.” He clapped his hands together, once.

“What’s he talking about Roman?” Virgil asked.

Roman only briefly looked at Virgil, offering a small, half-hearted shrug. “Remus brought up the idea one time that maybe sides could fuse. I just brushed it off, but it was definitely one of his good ideas.” He turned back to Macabre. “So… You’re a fusion of Remus and Logan?”

“Morbid Creativity and Logic sure go quite well together, don’t you think? Both always ignored, finding that they are the outcasts of their supposed families, and finding love in one another. It really shouldn’t be a surprise that they got along so well.”

“Wait wait wait, Logan fused with… With Remus?” Patton looked absolutely horrified.

“Well, they were dating for a year before they made me. But yes.”

“They were together?!”

“It really isn’t hard to believe, Patton.” Macabre glanced at his nails, painted as though they were dipped into blood. “Now, unless you three are interested in watching this documentary with me, can I get back to work?”

“We still have-”

“What are you working on?” Roman cut off Virgil, approaching Macabre. He shot Virgil and Patton a slight glare when they tried to protest. Because he could feel the anger and frustration, and even the panic radiating off the pair. “If you two even think of pushing Morbidity to talk, by the way, I’ll let Thomas know why I actually chose to go to the wedding.”

That sent the pair off, and Roman sat down with Macabre, the door closing. If this is what Remus and Logan wanted, to be together like this, then Roman would support it. He wasn’t in any place to judge though, considering just this morning he and Deceit had attempted to do the same.

It suddenly became very different around the Mind Palace, what with Macabre (or Copypasta’ as Roman and Deceit had taken to calling him after seeing Macabre’s love of creepypasta) having introduced himself to Thomas not long after the others had ventured into his room.

Thomas didn’t really mind Macabre, while he sometimes felt uncomfortable by the insane amount of violent knowledge he had, knowing about certain chemicals and their reactions to drinks was definitely helpful when attending bars. Especially when his drink shifted in color just slightly, and Thomas knew not to drink, because Macabre had remembered a case where someone had drugged their date. And Macabre got along with Deceit and Roman just fine(though the two still hadn’t come out yet).

Patton and Virgil, though? They were furious. They were absolutely livid that Logan would even agree to ever fuse with Remus. Logan deserved better than Remus, in their eyes.

They fueled one another, Virgil and Patton. They fueled the negative thoughts towards Macabre. He shouldn’t exist. He should have never existed in the first place. Logan was too good for Remus. What could Remus possibly offer that Logan would want, anyway, that Logan didn’t already have? The others had been working on showing their appreciation of Logan. Virgil and Patton had worked on not cutting him off, and Virgil had tried listening to him a bit more. Patton had stopped laughing at a few jokes Roman made about Logan.

And then there was Remus. The imbalance of negative and positive ideas was weird. Because Macabre wasn’t intrusive, not to the extent Remus had been. Now, Remus’s gruesome ideas were rationalized or internalized, suppressed in Macabre until he could jot down the idea and either write or draw the thought. Everything just felt wrong.

So they devised a plan, about three weeks after Macabre had been found by them.

Virgil had been horrified by Patton’s idea at first, listening reluctantly as Patton explained to him how to split a side. Because even if Virgil hated Macabre being together, and didn’t like Remus, he still remembered what the split had done to the twins. And he worried how that would affect Remus, going through another split. But Patton persuaded him, claiming that if all the facts that Thomas knew were tainted, were bad, then Thomas was a bad person. And Thomas couldn’t be a bad person, he just couldn’t. So Virgil agreed.

He doesn’t remember it much, though. He purposely forgot Macabre’s scream as he was quite literally torn apart. Virgil blocked the image of Macabre’s agonized face from his mind, keeping it a blurred memory that could have been a dream. He felt sick at the thought that he did it, but the idea that Logan would come back was enough to keep him from stopping.

Patton though was completely unfazed.

However, they didn’t get the outcome they had wanted.

Remus and Logan had indeed been split, that much was clear. But they weren’t Remus and Logan, not the ones that Patton and Virgil wanted.

They were pushed out of the way by Roman and Deceit, who had finally broken into the room that Virgil and Patton had sealed off. It looked so incredibly wrong, and to say Deceit and Roman were angry would be an understatement. They were bursting with rage as Logan and Remus finally stopped whimpering, the pain no longer overwhelming them. They cradled the two sides, all the while having a shouting match with Patton, Virgil making no attempt to defend his actions.

Roman held his brother tightly, though Remus only blinked at him in confusion, and once Deceit and Roman had stopped arguing with Virgil and Patton, they had turned their attention to the two sides, taking them in. The guilty pair sunk out to their own rooms, leaving Roman and Deceit with the new Logan and Remus.

Though they didn’t even know Logan and Remus were their names.

—————————–

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chrisevansgoodgirl · 5 years ago

Text

the closest i’ve been to a bar was at ballet class

summary: just some smut building up to 🎟🩰(that’s a ticket and ballet slippers in case you aren’t reading this on mobile)

pairings: reader x natasha romanoff, reader x steve rogers, reader x carol danvers, reader x ...someone 👀

word count: a little under 12,000

warnings: everything. as usual, all kinds of sex in here. i can’t remember all of it. some is pretty rough so avoid if that is not your thing.

a/n: so...i may have added a fourth and bc i’m a jerk, i’m not yet tagging who... but i’ve been thirsting for this character so hard lately and idk why! i’m done tho, i swear! no more. none.

a/n2: so, obviously there is no show here and they have yet to find out about each other but i started writing that but this all happened first and it would have been like a billion words. so part 3 will be coming!

a/n3: part 1

Your ballet instructor was Natasha’s number one enemy. It had started almost instantly. As with her experiences in ballet, she felt that your instructor was someone who simply needed to be watched. She said ballet instructors were hardly ever completely honest, they always had ulterior motives.

You highly doubted your instructor—a 38-year-old woman with an amazing husband and three adorable children—was up to no good. But you couldn’t take another lecture!

Natasha liked to remind you that she had been at this for a long time. Sure, she was paranoid, sometimes. But other times, she was very much correct and that was enough for her. She just wished you would put your guard up sometimes.

So she claimed, anyway. And she was convincing, but at the end of the day, she was glad you weren’t jaded and cynical. It meant she got to take care of you. It meant that she got to protect you in all the ways she knew how—threats, murder maybe.

She was waiting for you at your apartment around noon after practice was over. Her eyes sought out any signs of stress. You knew you looked tired—a big show was coming up, that same show you knew was going to conclude this whole sneaking around thing you had going on. You also knew there was a huge bruise on your shin and arm that she would be furious about when she undressed you.

"Hungry?" she inquired. No 'hello', no 'I missed you', but Natasha liked to save that for when you were falling asleep. She really thought you wouldn't remember how sappy she'd gotten in the morning. You let her pretend because the alternative was no sappiness.

"Starving. Are we going somewhere?"

"Let’s stay in, I’ll make something."

You opened your apartment for her and she waltzed right in. She directed you to change as she headed for the kitchen.

You didn’t have the energy to try to hide the bruises. It was better to get it out of the way. Besides, were you going to say no when she wanted to fuck you?

You chose a tiny bra top and a pair of tiny shorts. Maybe your ass would distract her.

She was at the counter, waiting to see what you came out in. A box of pasta in front of her, a few jars and a saucepan off to her side. It wasn’t anything too crazy but you were okay with that, and at least she wouldn’t get to tease you in that restaurant she loved taking you to.

Concept: picture that scene from a movie where the rich, white man has his favorite restaurant that he takes his billions of too-young, way-out-of-his-league dates to and the staff is used to not mentioning any of the terrible things they see to his wife. Now, take that vision and place it on Natasha. Subtract all the dates and the wife and that Natasha was out of your league, and that had you sitting at her usual table of her favorite overpriced, noisy, terribly lit restaurant at least once a week. At least you were starting to make friends with all of the hostesses and most of the servers. But they weren't naive, they knew when Natasha was, in a sense, in a mood, and they knew when to be succinct but still helpful. That was what made part of The Incident possible—

"What is that bruise?" she demanded, startling you out of your thoughts.

You contemplated the innocent act for a moment, but you'd rather be dismissive. It was just quicker. "Nat, I'm fine—"

"Did you get that in class?"

"No."

"Where, then?"

You sighed. "When I was leaving class. I fell walking down the stairs."

"Because you’re so tired!"

"I am not that tired," you protested.

"Y/N—"

You sauntered over to her, sliding in between her and the counter. "I guess I am a little tired but only because I’ve had some trouble falling asleep lately."

She already knew where you were going, but she would never refuse one of your challenges. You weren’t in charge, she was, and you wouldn’t know that if she was too soft with you. She sighed, "why is that?"

"Because you haven’t fucked me in so long."

She rolled her eyes.

"When you tire me out, I sleep like a baby. Without you...I have to tire myself out and that can take forever."

She sighed, knowing she was not going to get you on a different path. "Forever, huh?"

You nodded. "I mean...I can think about you when I do it. Your mouth, your fingers... But it’s not the same."

"And how often, exactly, do you think about me?"

It was the closest she was ever going to get to asking where she stood with you. She knew there were others but she wanted to hear that she was special compared to the rest. She was, so special you couldn’t put it into words. But that didn't mean Steve and Carol weren't special in their way as well. You figured they were going to have a hard time wrapping their mind around that when they found out about this. A competition? Sure, they could understand that.

"Very often," you promised. "I missed you."

You craved them exactly as you had gotten used to having them in your life. The mornings had you longing to be with Natasha, staying in bed late while you thought about how she wasn’t going to be walking you to class or waiting for you after. Nights were reserved for Steve when you realized how empty your bed felt and wanted to have one of your under-the-covers conversations with him—a trend started in the winters when he would unintentionally wake you up because he was trying to slip out of bed, it was your way of keeping him there for just a little longer. Then there were weekends, random mid-days, and every Thursday night that Carol had you set aside just for her so she could take you to Maria's for dinner.

Natasha's hands settled on your hips. "I missed you, too. But that doesn’t mean I don't want to hit your damn teacher."

"Why waste time?"

"I’m nearly retired," she countered. "I have the time."

"No, you really don’t." You slowly removed your shirt and then shimmied out of your shorts before kicking them away. "All of your time needs to be spent on me, not worrying about my teacher."

Natasha always looked at you like she’d never seen anything quite so beautiful regardless of how little time elapsed from the last, but there was something different this time. For the first time since she’d met you, your skin was an unpainted canvas. Steve and Carol had been gone as well and that meant there were no bruises anywhere because there was no one else.

Natasha liked marking you up because Steve did—not that she knew that, but it was a possessive outlet for them both. Steve’s marks were always bigger, bigger fingers, bigger love bites, she’d known instantly that he was a man—random, inconsistent. Hers were smaller, healed quicker, but no doubt sent the message that you were fucking a woman. Something she wanted to be known to whoever else was sharing your bed.

She lifted you onto the counter, leaving your hips hanging over the edge as she dropped to her knees. Immediately, her mouth was set to your inner thigh where she nipped at your skin and kissed after. She never once took her eyes off you as she switched legs..

You wouldn’t beg, even after the eighth time she made that switch. You knew she had her plans and not even you could change them. That didn’t mean you weren’t dripping and squirming, cursing her for being so thorough, however.

She shoved your legs apart wide as she stood, dipping down to run her tongue through you slowly, just once.

You shuddered when she caught your clit. "Natasha—"

"Hush." She eyed your pussy, then the rest of you. "You are delicious, baby. I can’t believe I had to go so long without tasting you." She chose your hip bones to mark up next but finally, slid two fingers inside you. She didn’t move them, she just wanted to fill you up a little.

You clenched around them several intentional times and she didn’t bat an eye. She was trying to drive you crazy; she hadn’t said it but the second you tried to take, if you rolled your hips, if you grabbed her arm and attempted to rush her, she would make you wait longer.

She trailed up to your breasts, small kisses scattered without pattern before she started to bite and suck until your skin was numbly tingling. You knew her game was over when she pressed her lips to yours.

You wasted no time, opening your mouth for her tongue and moaning out of the sheerest need. There was just something about Natasha’s lips that could always get you weak. They were beautiful to look at but they felt even better gliding across your skin, kissing, sucking.

She was the one who pulled away, turning down to look at her fingers still inside you. "You are soaking my hand."

Now you grabbed her forearm, pulling her fingers in deeper. "Fuck me, please."

She acted as if she was thinking about it, arched her eyebrow and curled her fingers once, twice, and then yanked them away from you.

Your eyes widened up at her. What the hell?

"Go sit at the table while I finish making the pasta."

Your mouth dropped a little. "Um...?"

"Hurry up," she ordered.

She was serious, dead serious. You slid off the counter, leaning down to reach for your clothes.

"I didn’t tell you to get dressed," she pointed out. With her hands on your arms, she stood you back up and turned you around. You went to move away but she grabbed your ass and leaned down to kiss your cheek, then gently urged you forward. "Sit down, stop pouting. Be a good girl or else I won’t be fucking you, understood?"

No, hell no, not understood. At all! But you didn’t say any of that as you moved for the table. No, no, no way in hell.

Steve teased, even Carol had her tendencies to make you wait, but Natasha was different. After that first time in the studio, she had never again made you wait for something that you wanted. She gave and gave until you shamelessly flaunted how spoiled you were to anyone who would listen—mostly the ballerinas from class. It was that Natasha didn’t need to be as in control as them, it was that it didn’t need to be some power struggle.

Maybe she was trying something different, but that meant that you could do that, too. Instead of sitting in a chair like a boring mouse, you turned to her and sat on the table instead.

She was pouring the box of pasta in the pot, but she turned up to arch an eyebrow at you.

You lifted one leg, then the other, setting the arches of your feet on the edge of the table. You were obscenely spread for her and she acted as if that wasn’t unnatural.

You brought your hand down to your pussy, two fingers slowly tracing circles around your clit. You watched her watching you the entire time, there was never a break in her resolve. But you were too far now to just quit, besides that was more than likely was her feigned indifference was trying for.

She didn’t stop making the pasta either, but that was how you knew you were winning. She was trying to speed dinner along because she was going to remind you that she was in charge.

It was so cute that they believed that. You worried that she may not let you finish that night, so even if you wanted to give her that little bit of obedience you could manage, you weren't convinced it was in your best interest.

Your hand began to move frantically as you cried out her name because you were just mean like that. Your eyes closed and your head fell back as you took in two of your fingers. Your hips rose to grind against the heel of your palm, around that time you were almost certain you’d heard something clatter in the kitchen.

Your finish was little more than a show, an end you’d drawn yourself to many times in their absence but one that you played up. It felt as good as it could have but you needed them, nothing else could suffice. That didn't mean you weren't acting like it was the best orgasm you'd ever had.

You came down quickly and did so without a word or even another glance at her. You climbed off the table, sat in a chair, and looked at her once more.

She looked down at the counter in front of her and shook her head. Yep, you were in major trouble, but you deemed it well worth it.

After an uneventful meal, she took you to the bedroom where she edged you ruthlessly. She was trying to get you to apologize for misbehaving, but you refused. Well, until she told you that she wasn't going to give you the presents she brought you back from Paris. (Later, you opened a new pair of thigh-high boots and a diamond choker with a dangling charm of cursive letters spelling out angel.)

And finally, when you gave in and apologized, she herself was worked up beyond comprehension and set your cunt over her face so she could eat you out until you were crying and delirious. Thankfully, she didn’t stop even though you begged her to, not until she was satisfied.

That was the first night Natasha stayed over. She kept her arms wrapped around your bare torso to keep you pinned to her as tightly as possible. You felt her running her hands through your hair until you fell asleep, enjoying the sound of her breathing in the quiet room.

In the morning, you woke first. You were able to watch her sleep for a while, surprised by how peaceful she looked. And you were caught off by how good she looked in your bed, her red hair fanned out over your pink pillowcases, the sunlight filtering through the blinds and layering her in gold light.

Her arms were slack around you, her right falling away as you sat up. You situated yourself on her side, crossing your top leg over her hip. You took her hand in yours, guiding two of her fingers to your already wet pussy.

You teased your clit for several minutes, careful not to wake her just yet. When you were ready, you slid down on two of her long fingers. Still, she was not woken by you.

You rolled your hips desperately, moaning every time your clit swept against her palm. You felt her fingers curl on their own and moaned louder, an attempt to get her conscious.

When her eyes shot open, they focused on you instantly. You continued to fuck yourself on her fingers, setting your head on the pillow next to hers and staring in her eyes.

"Fuck," she whispered. Then she was up and urging you onto your back. She spread your legs wide and slotted herself between them. She started slow, hands groping your breasts as she dragged her pussy against yours.

She was deliciously slick, you could feel her cunt dripping onto yours. Wet sounds filled the room, along with the small, desperate noises that spilled from your open mouth.

When she knew she was close, she used your thigh as leverage, moving quicker. It was a breath-taking scene when Natasha got lost in pleasure. She shut her eyes, tilted her head back and her red curls lined her back, her breasts bounced hard because that was how she was fucking you. She didn’t stop until you were both screaming each other's name and coming.

She collapsed on top of you, mouth lazily seeking out yours. "That’s the best way I’ve ever been woken up."

You smiled.

"Turn over, let me see your gorgeous ass."

You waited until she stepped off the bed to roll over, eagerly sticking your ass out for her. She had never asked you to do this so you were excited to see where she would take it.

You heard her get back on the bed and then felt her hands gripping your ass hard.

"You have such a beautiful ass."

You smirked, glancing back at her.

She set her body flat against your back and you titled your head just so you could kiss her. She began grinding her cunt against your ass, nipping at your lips as she moaned. One of her hands slithered down between your pussy and the mattress, her fingers circling your sensitive flesh skillfully.

Her soaking pussy brushed over your ass desperately, you could feel her soaking you all the way down the back of your thigh. She got herself off on your skin, never once easing up on your clit even though you’d finished and were terribly oversensitive to her touch. Instead, once again, she stopped only when she wanted to.

And if you thought that would be the end, you didn’t know her very well. She sat up and brought you with her. She took your hips in her hands and situated you over one of her thighs, her front pressed to your back once again. "Come on my thigh, baby, don’t stop until I tell you to."

You leaned over, using your elbows to keep your balance. You rode her thigh hard, making sure to give her quite the show of your ass. When you were reaching your end, you grabbed one of her hands and set it over your ass. She took the cue immediately, grabbing you, digging her fingers in.

When you finished, she shoved you flat onto the mattress. You were only half aware of what she was doing behind you, still floating from your orgasm. You snapped right out of that when you felt her lips against your ass. She kissed you several times before you felt her tongue against your hole.

You startled, hands fisting in the sheets. You were definitely surprised, you guys had never even approached this topic. But just as soon as you had felt her, she was gone. She turned you back over, kissed up your body, stopping only to worship your breasts. When she reached your mouth, she gave you an out-of-place chaste kiss and sat up. "Seriously, we need to get out of bed or I'm never going to stop fucking you."

When Carol opened her apartment door for you, things quickly changed. She gripped your arm and walked you to the couch where she forcefully sat you down. One thing was clear: she was in no mood to hear you speak.

"Stay." She headed to the kitchen where you heard cupboards being opened and slammed shut, the fridge a few times. Mostly, she was just walking around.

Perhaps you should have been scared, but you were just wet. So fucking wet.

She came back with a beer, glanced at you, then began pacing. "You’re..." she trailed off and shook her head before taking a long drink from the bottle in her hand. "I mean, I can’t even..."

It was definitely a mistake to laugh.

Her eyes widened and she turned to you, a clear warning, but one that you would not heed. "Just try to make me understand," she finally settled on. "What possessed you?"

"Well, you were gone for quite a while."

"So, you missed me?"

"Of course."

"So, you decide to be a brat?"

Was that supposed to make you regret acting out? It was a somewhat humiliating thing for her to call you but you didn’t dislike it. "Well, you weren’t paying enough attention to me."

Again, that sharp look that you were sure was supposed to make you backtrack. "I only pay attention to good girls, girls who behave."

You hummed, standing. "I suppose I should go home, then."

"Sit down," she growled.

Instead, you tossed your purse on the couch and slowly removed your jacket. Nat had left you covered in marks but she was secure enough in her place with you that she didn’t need to do so in a way that would inconvenience you. She understood you were a ballerina so she left your neck, shoulders, and chest mostly untouched. Your breasts, stomach, and thighs were another story, but you were still in a tiny ass skirt that allowed Carol to finger you in the car before you’d arrived at another little gathering Maria was having—who had more parties, her or Tony Stark? She was giving him a run for his money.

Which was where you’d started acting out. Carol had picked you up around noon and you were as sweet as could be. But around 3, you were suddenly hit with the realization that you wanted to be fucking her more than anything else. It started with a text about how you had taken off your underwear. She was having none of it, she told you this was not happening. You let her know that the scrap of lace was in her purse.

You sent a picture 30 minutes later. She warned you to stop. You sent a video showing her just how wet you were for her, then told her all the things you wanted her to do to you. All the things you had missed while she was away.

In total, you sent her 27 texts, 2 videos, and 7 pictures. You’d received 4 responses, but the final one was completely out of place. Show me your ass. You obliged but then nothing. She said nothing, she requested nothing further.

Did you feel as though you'd gone too far? Not exactly. Carol was definitely into the most public shit, making possible for the second part of The Incident. You still blushed thinking about that day.

She rolled her eyes at your display of disobedience, bringing the bottle to her lips once more. "Strip."

You didn’t need to be told twice. First, it was the shirt, and you paid no mind at all to what Natasha had left you with, but you noticed Carol's lingering gaze. Next, you pushed your skirt down and stepped out of her pumps you’d borrowed. You loved wearing heels when you were out with Carol, she was taller than you without and sometimes it brought you to her level or made you just a tad taller.

She made her way closer to you, setting her bottle on the coffee table off to her side. Abruptly, she grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled you closer to her. "If you wanted me to get rough with, princess, all you had to do was ask."

You didn’t have time to respond before she was kissing you, greedy and demanding. But just as you reached up to touch her face, she yanked back and turned you around with her hands on your shoulders. She grabbed your hair once more and forced you down toward the table.

You were on your knees, bent over the edge, your breasts flat against the freezing glass. Your cheek was pressed so hard against the solid surface you almost couldn’t open your mouth to speak. "Carol—"

"Silence."

It was a while before you heard her move, she got down behind you and kept one hand on your head as the next began to feel through your folds.

She slipped one finger inside you, pulled back, then added another. She curled up against that spot that always made you buck your hips wildly, even though now you were digging into the sharp wooden border of the table she’d bent you over.

"You know how to drive, right, princess?"

You paused for a moment, confused.

"Answer me."

"Um, yes?"

"You know that when you reach a traffic light, green means go and red means stop, don’t you?"

"Yeah..."

"So, right now, bent over this table, your soaking cunt filled with my fingers, you are...?"

She was speaking slowly as if you were a child that could barely comprehend this conversation. Never mind that you were definitely getting lost and her fingers were turning your brain to mush. It was another humiliation tactic and you felt yourself blushing. She’d never been quite so...formal. "Green?"

"Are you asking or telling? Green means that you are still my desperate little whore that needs to be fucked hard."

"I’m green," you assured.

"And if at any point you feel like you need me to slow down or you are beginning to get worried or uncomfortable, if you need any verbal communication, you’re yellow. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"And you understand if you need me to stop, if I’m hurting you or you don’t like what’s going on, you can tell me you are red and you know I won’t get mad at you?"

"Yes."

"One more time, what are you?"

"Green."

She pulled her fingers from inside you. "Arms on the table."

You hurriedly obeyed, gripping the edges hard. Carol never really spoke to you like this, it was all spoiling you in attention and affection. This was something else, something you hadn’t anticipated when you started this game.

She brought her hand down on the right side of your ass, your hips stuttered forward and your gasp and the echo of the smack filled the room. Your cheeks burned and your eyes filled with tears. It didn’t hurt, she was experimenting, but you knew it would eventually.

"And what are you now, princess?"

You swallowed, willing your voice to stay even. "Green."

She finally let go of your hair and you tilted your head a little just to get the pressure off your cheekbone. She repeated the slap on the opposite side with just a bit more pressure.

You shuddered and blurted out the same color. Your skin was stinging but you felt yourself growing wetter, your slick running down your thighs now.

She had you in this cycle until she found enough force that it was barely manageable. Tears were running down your cheeks, landing on the table and she had to hold you up on your knees because you no longer could.

She hummed. "These marks are going to be pretty in the morning."

You realized then where this came from. Had you come to her with the same attitude but without all of those marks Nat left you covered in, you probably never would have pushed Carol to this point. They had both officially found their ways to be just the slightest bit possessive.

"You sorry?"

You snorted. "No...are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You should have fucked me at the party if you really wanted me to stop sending you pictures and videos."

She rolled her eyes. "Stay here. I'm not joking."

You smirked as she stormed off to her bedroom. You knew what she would be coming back with. She returned naked, save for her strap. A smooth red dildo hung between her legs, one of the larger ones she owned.

You went to stand up but she clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Crawl over here."

You lifted your eyebrows—crawl? Hadn't she just called you ‘princess’? But you could be a ‘whore’ since she called you that, too. On hands and knees, you made your way to her.

She reached down to grab your hair, pulling you up to stand on your knees. She said nothing else as she used her other hand to press the tip of the dildo against your lips until you opened your mouth. A struggle that ended with the sounds of you choking on the piece of silicone down your throat.

The rest of the night was spent on the couch. She made you ride her strap until you physically couldn't continue, which ended up being a bit after two in the morning. She didn't tease or edge, she allowed you to come as many times as you wanted to, in fact, she ordered it—unstated, but the threat that would come from not playing her game was clear.

She didn't help, however, she stayed still underneath you and didn't say a word. She just watched you, watched as you pathetically attempted to get her to break. You would kiss her, take her fingers and suck on them, place her hands over your breasts. A few times, you even got up, turning your back to her before sinking back down on the dildo, knowing that she would love the sight of your battered ass.

Steve understood your love of ballet.

Sure, Natasha knew what you were talking about and related to you somewhat, but she also had her opinions about ballet and sometimes she was a little closed off about your dancing. And hell, Carol would support you doing anything. Tap, softball, book club, Broadway, murder, she just wanted you to be happy.

With Steve, well, he sort of understood interests that left you a little battered and bruised. His new obsession (TM) was patching you up through those unanticipated injuries and wrapping your feet before you practiced at home to prevent injuries. It was a careful 20-minute process where he was utterly focused on making sure you were completely protected. And either he paid tremendous attention to you—his skills at quickly prepping your feet was enviable—or he had a thing for ballerinas. You were okay not knowing.

When he called you and told you he was coming over, you noticed something in his voice. It was different, not that usual sweet and doting tone, but you'd heard it before. Steve was always confident and assertive, but this was...something else. Something more. When he told you that you needed to get dressed in nothing more than a leotard, you wanted to be a brat and flat out refuse, maybe just tease, but you didn’t. You had enough sense to know that it wouldn’t get you the results you wanted.

You also had reason to be nervous. Carol had left you some nice marks. They didn’t really hurt anymore, but they were there. There was also no false illusion about what they were. Steve would know and you just weren’t sure how he would feel about them. Most of your ass was covered with what you were wearing but there were still the especially dark areas that could be seen through your one-piece, and there were a few bruises that extended the cut of your outfit. Not to mention, there was no way to hide what Natasha left on your upper thighs.

But you just decided to act like it wasn’t an issue. He was the one who said he couldn’t be your boyfriend, right? He couldn’t get upset over others leaving marks behind. At least that was what you kept repeating to yourself as you walked toward your barre in the corner of your apartment living room.

You began going through your usual warm-up routine, only glancing at him when you felt you wouldn’t be caught. He was laid out on the couch, eyes following your legs as if he hadn’t seen you do this a dozen times already. He was already hard, made more noticeable by the one leg draped over the edge of the cushions. His hand was on his thigh, fingers twitching just barely. The control he was trying to maintain was clear on his face, through his sharp blue eyes, his set jaw, and furrowed brow.

It was silent the entire time and your nerves were growing. Eventually, you would have to turn around and he would have the perfect view of your ass. He’d already noticed your thighs, you saw him eyeing you when he was prepping your feet for the pointe shoes. But he didn’t say anything and he wouldn’t, because he wasn’t allowed to. Right?

With a finishing soutenu turn, you were facing the opposite direction. You heard him sit up but then it was completely silent, minus your breathing and your shoes brushing along the floor.

When you were done, you stayed put. You’d gone as far as teaching him a lot of ballet vocabulary because he knew what he wanted to see and after your warm-ups, he would often direct you. It was always somewhat thrilling—apparently, you both shared this depraved ballerina kink. Maybe there had been role play—maybe he was the casting director and you were a desperate ballerina auditioning for a role, willing to do anything to get it, and maybe he pretended he had a million and one critiques for you, and maybe instead of having the talent, you got the role after you sucked him off.

“Face the barre. Run through your pliés.”

You turned to your side, pretending to be focused on keeping your hips squared and your pelvis locked. You could do pliés no problem, but the alternative was meeting his stare in the mirror and you were too nervous to do that. You completed the demi-pliés slowly and the grand pliés much the same. Normally, he would speak during this step, knowing that he wasn’t going to distract you, but nothing.

You waited for more instructions but they never came. You felt his arms wrap around your waist and you startled—you hadn’t heard him get so close.

He just held you for a moment, pinned your back to his chest as he kissed the side of your face. His hands began to squeeze your breasts and you melted into him eagerly. But soon, gentle touching became rough grabbing and all you could do was watch him in the mirror. He looked at you like he was starving and he touched you like it had been ages.

One of his hand dropped down and grabbed your ass. You held on tighter to the barre, shuddering. "What do you call him?"

Because you just didn’t know what was good for you, you laughed. "Are you jealous?"

He gripped you harder, bringing down his other hand to join. "I don’t need to be. What do you call him?"

'I’m not fucking another man," you informed, amusement still clear in your tone. Steve Rogers jealous, you never thought you’d see the day.

"Then what do you call her?"

She had you call her captain, but you couldn’t exactly tell him that. "What do you want me to call you?" you purred. "Sir?"

"No."

You hummed. “Master? You don’t strike me as the type, but you’re weird enough that I wouldn’t be surprised."

"No."

"Then I’m not sure what you want, Steve." You did know, you’d always had the suspicion since he liked to take care of you and loved calling you baby girl.

"I won’t ask you again," he finally said. He didn’t much care what you were doing with other people, but he did have a special liking to your ass. Maybe he was just mad that someone was spanking you before he was.

When it came to Steve, you knew how to get under his skin. You always knew just what to say to shock him and he could pretend all he wanted that he didn’t love when you would say the filthiest things to him, but you knew better. And after he just handed you this, how were you supposed to resist? "I don’t think I’ll have enough time to answer."

He lifted his eyebrows. "Oh, are we on a clock?"

You shrugged, leaning back to set your head on his shoulder. "Well, yeah, if you want to fuck me before mom gets home."

He scoffed, averting his gaze forward.

You knew you’d caught something though, his hands tightened on your hips and his jaw was doing that thing.

"You are sick."

You snorted. "And you’re hard, so."

He turned you abruptly, pinning you between his body and the barre. "Fine, what’s the story?"

You hummed. "You met my mom in a bar, you liked her, you started this all with the purest intentions. But then you stayed over one night, and there I was. You’ve tried fighting it—"

"But you don’t make it easy," he sighed.

You smirked. "I’m sorry, daddy. Really."

Any last reluctance he had was destroyed when you called him daddy. "Well, baby girl, daddy really isn’t okay that you’ve been letting so many other people fuck you."

You shrugged. "Maybe I was practicing."

He scoffed, fully aware of how you were intending to turn this. "Practicing. For what?"

"You. I just wanted to make sure I was good when you fucked me."

He hummed, turning you away once again. "And are you?"

"Good?"

"Mhm."

"The best," you promised.

"Baby, I don’t know how I feel about sharing you. What if I wanted to be your first?"

"I—"

He brought his hand up to your neck and you fell silent. "Daddy is really disappointed."

Rarely did Steve commandeer your scenes. Mostly, he pretended that he was just humoring you, then he fucked you well enough that you weren’t in the position to tease him afterward. It was a great system. But you weren’t complaining that he was suddenly changing things.

"Are you sorry for letting me down?"

You nodded quickly. It was surprising how naturally he could commit to this character.

"How are you going to make it up to me?"

"I’ll do anything," you promised.

He took his other hand, palm sliding over your ass. "Have I ever told you how much I love your ass?"

"No."

"I do... you ever had your ass fucked?"

That was a huge no. The men you had been with up to that point, prior to Steve, did not meet your standards that well. There was lacking trust, skill, most of them couldn’t define 'foreplay' if their lives depended on it. And after, well, Carol was the only one who liked straps so much and she’d never brought it up.

"No."

"No?"

You were about to repeat the answer when his hand came down on your ass. It (illogically) was the last thing you were expecting and you pathetically squeaked before you could stop yourself.

"You know what I want you to call me. Correct?"

"Yes, daddy. No, I’ve never been fucked there."

"You want daddy to fuck you there?"

"Will daddy forgive me?"

"Maybe."

Pouting, right now? Steve Rogers knew no bounds. "Yes, daddy, I want you to fuck me there."

"Spread your legs and hold the barre."

You hurriedly did as he asked, watching his face in the mirror. His eyes were focused on your ass, the way you moved, the way you were teasing him by leaning over just a little.

First, he moved your suit aside and buried two fingers inside you. You were obscenely wet, something he chuckled at.

You would have blushed, had you not already been. He pumped his fingers in and out, ordering you to watch, even though you couldn’t see much with your leotard in the way. When he added another finger, you squirmed a little, trying to get more comfortable.

"Does that hurt?"

"A little, daddy." It always hurt, taking Steve was always an adjustment process. The first few times, uncomfortable, an orgasm without his fingers rubbing quick circles around your clit was impossible. You were getting used to him, it was still a stretch, you’d just grown to like that ounce of pain because you knew how much pleasure was going to follow.

"Well, imagine how they’re going to feel in your ass. Then imagine how my cock will feel. Worried?"

"No, daddy. I like it when you hurt me."

He thrust his fingers a tad indelicately and your hips jerked.

Ass—obviously you’d said that to get a rise out of him, but still, rude. You had completely soaked through your thick suit by the time he pulled his fingers out, and not a single finish to show for it. But you figured he knew what he was doing, he’d probably had experience with this before so you were fine letting him run the show.

He pulled the material over your ass so he could watch you take his fingers.

"Take it off, daddy," you pleaded, voice all weak and breathy. You were pathetic.

"Can’t, baby. If your mom walks in, you can’t be naked."

You whined unintelligibly. Was he serious right now?

"Don’t misbehave," he warned. "I don’t want to have to punish you. Understand?"

"Yes, daddy." You set your forehead to the bar, angling your head so you could still see his face.

"Are you ready?"

You nodded slightly. "Yes, daddy." You startled a bit when you felt his finger, taking a breath when he told you to. The first finger didn’t hurt but you felt impossibly full—he was right, how were you going to take him? There was a sting when he got to his knuckle but he told you to relax so you tried.

His opposite hand reached through the suit where he pressed his fingers flat to your clit and began to massage them over you, back and forth, with a toe-curling pace and pressure. He pumped his finger in and out of your ass until you were crying out about your approaching orgasm. His finger felt different now, better, and you weren’t sure any finish had ever built up so intensely.

Before you could find out, he stopped touching your clit, dipping his first two fingers down to tease your entrance. It was then that he decided to add another finger to the one working on opening your ass for him. He was quick about it, slid one finger out, shoved two in.

You threw your head back, moaning loudly.

"Starting to feel good, baby?"

"Yes, daddy." Maybe just the looming promise of the right kind of pain, but not necessarily good. Not yet.

He continued his pattern of edging you until he had four fingers inside your ass. Your legs were shaking and his other hand was completely soaked. He never stopped talking, telling you about all the times he had thought about fucking you like this, how he touched himself during these fantasies, how he was going to make you feel better than you’d ever felt.

Steve wasn’t the most forthcoming man. He didn’t lie, never, but sometimes he kept things so completely to himself and you never had a clue. When did this obsession with your ass start, and how? And if Carol had never spanked you, would he even be doing this now? What other fantasies was he keeping to himself?

"Do you want to go to your bedroom, doll?"

"Not yet."

"Do you want your mother to catch us?" he joked.

You snorted. "Maybe I do."

He leaned over you, kissing the side of your face. "You know, I’m just saying, if you really did have a mom and I was your stepfather and was trying to fuck you on a clock, we would have definitely been caught by now."

You couldn’t possibly refrain from smiling. "You’re such a dork, Steve."

He smiled a little. "You think you’re ready?"

"Yes."

He arched an eyebrow at you. "Don’t drop the act now, baby girl."

You scoffed. "Yes, daddy. I’m ready." You watched him in the mirror as he moved his pants out of his way, something he eventually had to remove his fingers to do. You immediately missed that full feeling.

He adjusted your leotard out of his way once more, opposite hand leading his cock to you. He pressed in just barely, allowing you time to adjust or to protest if this was a failed experiment. You guys had had a few of those. Beyond handcuffs, he did not like tying you up. You guys actually weren’t overly into public sexual situations, save for the final act of The Incident. And phone sex was something that only occurred in times of true desperation. This would not be making the same list.

He folded his hands over your hip bones, pulling you back further on his cock. Your mouth dropped and your eyes slammed shut. It didn’t feel natural, it was like your body was trying to push back at him but well, Steve was nothing if not stubborn. He just kept pushing and pushing until your ass was flush against him.

It felt like an eternity when he started to pull out and then another eternity when he thrust back in, but you enjoyed every second. You felt high by the time his hips were moving easily, steadily. It was this maddening feeling like you were on the edge of something really good but he wouldn’t touch you anywhere else and it just wasn’t enough to finish. You suspected he knew that.

His hands moved up your hips and your waist until he could grab your shoulders. He stood you up, his hips stilling, your back flat to his chest. Just when you thought you he couldn’t get any deeper inside you. He pressed his hands up until he closed around your breasts. He pinched your nipples through the material, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

"Let’s go to the bedroom."

He would have a much better angle to watch, of course. Two months prior, you were days away from a huge audition so you were either at the studio or at home practicing. One night when you arrived home at nearly 10, it just felt like something wasn't right. Like someone had been in your apartment, nothing looked off. You just felt it.

You didn't lock the door behind you, just in case. You kept hold of your phone. You hadn’t spoken to Natasha that day and you worried she wouldn’t answer, she didn’t generally stay awake so late. And well, it wasn’t like Steve was a stranger to your AM calls or texts. But Carol lived closer and would have been there in a second if you’d needed her.

You made yourself move, tomorrow was another busy day. You flipped on your bedroom light, nearly sprinting straight back out when you saw flowers on your bed. But fear was quickly replaced with all sorts of confusion.

It looked like an expensive bouquet and there was a card right next to it. And see, these were not roses or daisies, these were dahlias—dark red, full, extra flowers. And who was more extra than... As the card read—ding, ding, ding. Steve Rogers.

When you’re not so busy, we’ll try it out.

Fear soon returned. Oh no, you thought to yourself. What could he have possibly done? It took you only three more seconds to find a full ass mirror over your bed. At the moment, you were stunned, but once more, pulled yourself out of it with your insistence of sleep. You did not have time for this.

However, when you were in bed, your phone charging next to you, you just couldn’t fall asleep. Of course. You had to call Steve. He’d broken into your home, or allowed others to break into your home, without your permission. All to put a fucking mirror over the god damn bed? He was insane, you realized.

"Hey, doll."

He sounded so smug. "You’re sick."

"Hmm, does that mean you don’t like it?"

"That means what I said: you’re sick."

"Take your clothes off."

You snorted. "Who said I’m wearing any?"

As mentioned, this wasn’t your usual routine with him. Steve loved seeing you, feeling you—phone sex just didn’t cut it. But who knew when you would have time for him next?

"There are many toys in your bedside table, pick one now."

You eagerly obliged, spreading your legs and fucking yourself with a vibrator he’d used on you several times. He told you to watch, to not take your eyes off the mirror.

The mirror added to discovering that Steve Rogers liked role-play had been some of the most pleasant surprises of your life. It was fun for both of you, never a question about when or where. When either of you wanted it, the other was always up for it. You’d thought it was just a one-time thing after the ballet incident, but then he found handcuffs in your room, which believe it or not, you hadn’t actually been using for sex. They were sex handcuffs, but they were just part of your costume to the Valentine's Day party Carol had taken you to, thrown by the lovely Maria.

Regardless, he asked you about them and you dismissed them. He then “arrested” you for “being a brat”. That got you bent over the kitchen counter as he fucked you from behind. He had you beg him to let you go but didn’t stop until his cum was dripping out of you onto the floor.

Then he’d noticed you were struggling in one of your classes and offered a prize for doing well on an upcoming exam. Of 50 questions, you’d only missed 4. He laid you out on your bed and told you he was going to eat you out. After the first time, you attempted to pull him up to you, gasping about how you needed him inside you, please Steve. He grabbed your hands and held them down, ordering you to call him professor Rogers.

Then there was the loose sugar daddy scene. He’d bought you a diamond choker on one of his trips away and it was stunning. You felt spoiled and wanted him to feel the same. You got on your knees and stayed there until you were sure your jaw was going to suffer permanent damage if you kept your mouth open that wide for much longer. It was three days later that he sent you a screenshot of your Instagram post about the diamond choker and told you to get dressed exactly how you were in the photo. So, in a rose pink wig, a tiny pink satin dress, a dangerously high pair of red heels, and the diamond choker. He didn’t use your name when finally got to your apartment, he called you baby and made you ride him, fully dressed, until you couldn’t sit up on your own.

Then there was the time Steve Rogers actually sent you the address to a sex shop and told you to meet him there. You’d had no idea until you pulled up to the building but you knew immediately that you were going to enjoy this. He asked you to help him find toys that his wife would enjoy—you told yourself you could play along, but you definitely needed to smack him upside the head later. When he got you in the car, after a little back and forth, you being somewhat mouthy, he placed one of the vibrators inside you and wouldn’t turn it off. His fingers paid attention to your clit the entire drive home.

Your payback for that was you dressed as one of his former chorus girls. A designer at the university that you’d met because she always made the costumes for the show was all too happy to help. You sent him a picture of the outfit then flipped the skirt up to show him you weren’t wearing underwear. The absolute last thing you expected was for him to show up in one of his suits. He was wild almost animalistic, he made you scream so loud that three different neighbors came to check if you were okay. Which had been a great source of pride to him.

Then you bought a stripper pole. It took 7 entire classes before you had any idea what you were doing. Though he appreciated it, it was a requirement of patience that he did not want to execute. Natasha, though,

Natasha loved watching you dance. Carol had the same problem as Steve but if you let Natasha, she would watch you for hours.

When you woke up, it was because Steve was getting out of bed. You glanced at the clock, 4 in the morning. He was getting up for his run, then he'd head out to the tower for another day at the office.

He fucked you again before he left. He had you on top of him, chest to chest, his arms wrapped tight around your back, one hand on the back of your head to hold you to the bend of his neck. He liked to do this with the mirror. He liked holding you flat against him and then watching your ass as he fucked you fervidly. He had become wild and insatiable since the mirror's arrival.

Natasha liked to lay you down, tie your legs to the bedpost, sometimes your arms, and would spend hours teasing you with her mouth. Sometimes, when she knew you weren’t too tired, she would tell you to finger yourself and she would stay next to you and watch in the mirror for as long as you would allow it.

Carol liked making you ride her and you couldn’t deny that was a beautiful scene to watch play out from above. She also liked to turn you away from her, settle directly behind you, drape your leg back over her hip, and fuck you with one of her straps.

They had their shared interests, that was undeniable. You still blushed every time you thought about The Incident. It occurred four months ago. They’d been on a short trip; not even a mission, they’d promised, they’d told you it was more politics than saving the world. The first one you saw when they got back was Carol.

She had texted you while you were out with friends and asked where you were. You informed her that you would be shopping alone after lunch. She joined you because she had a present that she just couldn’t wait. It was a vibrator that she could control from her phone. She never used it while you were walking, concerned that you may actually fall and hurt yourself but if you stopped to look at something or sat down for even a second, it was on.

Natasha had taken you to the restaurant. She told you to go to the bathroom and take off your bra and panties and she handed you her purse to place them in. She made you sit down next to her, slipped the same vibrator inside you, then made you sit on her lap for the entire night. She let you watch her phone, let you know when she was going to speed up or slow down, and all she did the entire night was sip on her wine and keep a tight hold on you so you couldn't move away from her.

Two days later, Steve made you wear it to class. Not ballet class, actual classes where you would be sitting down. It was so random when you would feel it and it was terrifying as he wasn't there. You never knew when or where, or if you were standing up and reading! You wanted to hit him when you got back to your apartment and he was waiting for you. You didn't, but you were really upset. Mostly because he hadn't let you come the entire day.

You wanted to know why? You’d asked, but their answers were dismissive and it wasn’t like you could elaborate on what you actually meant. You weren’t just asking why, you were asking why all three? It was just one of those answers you weren’t going to get while you were still keeping secrets from them.

When Natasha showed up after Steve left, it was two hours before class. You were still in bed checking social media when she slipped under the covers and made you come with her mouth and fingers. You’d taken a shower since Steve left, fortunately.

She kissed up your body and settled on top of you. You undressed her, kissing her bare skin as soon as you exposed it, her arms, her chest, her stomach, her legs, her ass, her cunt. She wanted you on top, grinding against her as she watched in the mirror.

She walked you to class and you fingered her in the dimly lit hallway before she left. She picked you up afterward and made you eat since you simply did not have the time to before class. She walked you home, set up her phone on the table next to the couch, sat down, sat you on top of her, and made you ride her fingers. Sometimes, Natasha wanted videos.

In between your second and third lecture classes, the biggest gap in your day, Carol texted. She picked you up in her car and drove out to some hiking trails that she felt were empty enough. In the back of her car, she had you pressed down to the seats, ass up as she fucked you with her strap. She held the side of your face down against the leather, not so much that it would stifle your screams.

When you finished, she made you clean the seat with your tongue. You could distinctly tell the difference between her taste and yours. She watched you as she removed the strap, taking the dildo and fucking herself with it.

She laid back and let you on top, directing you to sink down on the dildo as it was still buried in her pussy. You didn’t stop taking it until your pussy was against hers, thankfully it wasn’t one of the longer ones in her collection. Leaning over, you used the side of the car to keep your balance. She rose onto her elbows, nipping and sucking at your nipples as you ground your wet center against hers.

This was a regular day, one you had grown to love, one you were completely obsessed with. You were scared. You felt that the likelihood of them all being okay with this was low. But you were not so scared that you would ever lie to them. Withhold information? Sure. Lie? Out of the question.

You'd finally confided in the ballerinas. They'd always known about Natasha because she was at practice all of the time, but you only told half-truths about Steve and Carol. You didn't actually want them to know that you were sleeping with three Avengers. Maybe it was because everyone was drunk, but they promised you that Natasha adored you and she wouldn't leave you.

Okay, but what about Steve and Carol? You were stressed, really stressed. During the preparation period for shows, when training was intense, the ballerinas often went out on Saturdays and got wasted and talked. This was why you were in a loud night club with dancing and alcohol, and no one who was going to stop any of you from getting in trouble.

You were impaired but you were not a bad friend. At the bar, you counted all of your friends. They would likely be leaving with someone as they had all found someone to dance with, you would make the rounds in a minute. It was a rule, if they wanted to leave with a guy, that guy had to give you his number. You would verify it right then and there by sending him a text, then they could be on their way.

It was one in the morning when the girls started leaving. You had a drink at your side and five new names (proven by ID) and numbers saved in your notes.

"That's sweet."

You turned to your left, eyebrows shooting up. Gorgeous blue eyes, long brown hair, and beautiful fair skin. Wanda Maximoff was either sitting right next to you at a bar or you were completely imagining her. Given your drunken state and your current obsession with her, it was possible.

"Well, they don't exactly agree...I read stories about guys and bars and how to avoid getting chopped up into little pieces."

She smiled a little. "Who makes sure you get home?"

"I live close."

She hummed. "Were you heading out?"

Yes, you should say yes. You should leave because this could not happen. You didn't know how to explain that you were sleeping with three of them! And Wanda was wearing this red dress that was really tight and so low cut, so, how would you explain four?!

"Maybe...after I finish my drink."

She eyed your glass for a moment. "I'm Wanda."

"I know. I'm Y/N."

"I think you're the first person who's recognized me all night."

"You're stunning. I don't know how anyone wouldn't recognize you."

She smiled slightly, turning back down to her glass.

There was something so wrong with you. Instead of leaving, you just wanted to sit there and drunkenly flirt, clearly.

"Can I buy you another drink?"

No, say no! "Sure."

It was two drinks later, technically three drinks later, since you finished your drink and then she bought you two more. Things were starting to get...closer. You guys were closer. You'd started out at a normal distance, at least you assumed, but the next thing you realized, you were centimeters away from her.

She had her hand on your arm and she'd stopped ordering drinks. She was ready to leave or almost ready to leave. You hadn't neglected your duties as the best friend. You had 12 names and numbers in your notes but now you were realizing that you were all alone and if you wanted to do something, you could.

You'd talked about yourself a little, the usual. You were a student, you were a ballerina. However, you left the part out about your apparent gambling addiction! She didn't share much and you didn't think that was odd, the others didn't for a long while. They had to be a lot more guarded than you. You completely understood.

Wanda glanced at her phone when the conversation died down, or when you stopped babbling like the intoxicated fool you were, before looking back at you. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Yeah." You should still be saying no. You should try being honest. You should say: I'm sleeping with three of your team members and I should go home. But god, she really was fucking stunning.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"I do. I have a boyfriend that I love very much...but sometimes, there are things that I want to try. Things that he doesn't want to try."

"Are you...referring to me?" That was a stupid question, you were almost sure. But was she? Was that what you were supposed to be picking up?

She scoffed. "In a sense, yes. I do think you are beautiful and you're nice, and really cute. I want to have sex with you, but it can't be a relationship. My boyfriend is offering me an open arrangement... I'm still with him, very committed, but sometimes...I would like to call you and meet you. Does that sound like something you would be okay with?"

Should you be offended by how many Avengers didn't want to be in a relationship with you at this point? You may end up dwelling on that later, but now, you were thinking about having sex with her. She looked soft and sweet, very unlike Carol, Steve, and Natasha. You weren't saying she was better or worse, it wasn't like you were comparing them to rank them.

You were just acutely aware of the fact that they were so dominant and you were not. Wanda didn't seem to need that so much, she seemed like she would be fine just having sex. Meaningful sex, but not too meaningful. Soft sex, but not boring. In fact, it sounded like she wanted to try something different, and maybe you wanted to also.

So, you said yes. Mostly because it reminded you that Natasha, Steve, and Carol all said they were not able to be in an actual relationship with you. You were getting ahead of yourself, maybe they wouldn't care at all. Maybe it would be a complete non-issue, and you shouldn't miss out on having sex with Wanda if you don't have any proof that they'll react negatively.

She kissed you the first time while you were both still sitting at the bar. After you'd given her your consent, she set her hand to your cheek and pressed her lips to yours. It was all soft lips and tongue, no teeth, no power play. She tasted like alcohol and lip gloss, at least her mouth did. You wanted to know what her pussy tasted like, which you didn't fail to whisper to her when she pulled away.

She immediately took your hand and led you out of the club. It wasn't terribly cold as you waited for the Uber she sent for. She was just a bit taller than you and wrapped her arms around your shoulders as she leaned down again to kiss you. Your hands started at her hips but soon began to roam, her ass, her waist, her back, her shoulders to pull her down closer.

By the time the driver showed, you were both completely flushed and very ready to find a bed. She was taking you to a hotel. You figured that was best, no need to add any more people to the list of individuals who randomly show up at your apartment without calling or texting.

She kept her hand on your thigh the entire drive there but didn't dare move it underneath your dress. Another point of difference between her and her teammates. Any of the others and you would have already finished at least twice.

Getting up to the room was a blur. Thankfully, she did all the talking. You weren't sure how to function under this kind of calm, steady build. It was always fast and immediately, but Wanda was taking her time and making sure everything was how she wanted it.

When you finally got into the room, she didn't bother turning on the light. She curled one arm around you, the other pulling your hair off to the side as she began to kiss your neck. She held you against her as she walked forward. There was a bed that you supposed was big enough, a small bathroom, a sad excuse for a kitchen, a huge window with dirty curtains shining light on the mattress.

None of that really mattered, anyway. She led you closer to the window, stopping only when she wanted to remove your dress. It hit the floor, she peeled the curtain away from the window, and her hands were all over you. "Is this okay? I like the moonlight tonight."

She waited for your confirmation before she ran her hands up and down your sides, a teasing touch before she grabbed your breasts. She was still kissing your neck, gentle and open-mouthed.

You turned your head upward, catching her mouth. She opened her lips for you instantly and you took full advantage of that with a slow but sloppy kiss. Her fingers trailed down from the middle of your chest, straight down your stomach, and all the way to your pussy.

She hummed when she felt you were wet. The brushes against your clit were faint but somehow it was enough, it didn't take long at all for you to unhurriedly fall apart. Your legs were shaking and your mind was even more blurry than before.

You turned to her to slip her out of her dress. You kissed across her collarbone, then over her chest, glancing up as you closed your lips around one of her nipples. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head fell back, and she opened her beautiful mouth to moan.

Your hands on her hips, you directed her to the bed. She sat down first, grabbing your arms to pull you down with her. Your naked skin was flush against hers and all you did for the longest time was kiss. Hands buried in each other's hair, quiet moans and gasps filling the room, all the while just building up to this intense scene.

When you sat up, she remained on her back. She pushed your hair over your shoulders so she could see your chest and your face. She was right about the moonlight, it washed over her so well.

You kissed her chin, off to the side of her jaw, then down her shoulder and arm until you reached her hand. You took it in yours, the same with the other as you lowered onto your knees on the floor, intertwining your fingers. There was no prelude, you simply took her with your mouth.

She cried out your name, arching her back and squeezing your hands. She tasted sweet, smelled musky and a little like vanilla. You kissed down the length of her soaking cunt, sliding your tongue into her entrance.

"Oh, fuck," she gasped. "Do that again."

You obliged, releasing one of her hands so you could rub her clit with your fingers. She took her newly freed hand and grabbed your hair. She pulled you down harder, rolling her hips up slowly, trying to get your tongue in deeper.

Not even a minute later, she was making you aware of her approaching orgasm, "I'm close, suck my clit--please, fuck! Suck my clit."

You ran your tongue through her as you brought your hand down, you closed your lips around her and began to suck hard. You pressed two fingers inside her and pumped them in and out, moaning when you felt her clenching around them.

She was shaky and smiling as you lazily licked her through her finish. She pulled you up as soon as her brain was working enough to tell her arms to pull you up. "And how do I taste?"

"Amazing."

She smirked.

You had to figure her boyfriend wasn't much for going down on her since she was looking at you like you were the reason the sun would rise tomorrow morning.

You laid on top of her but she quickly rolled over, legs slotting so you could grind against one another's thigh. Her slick center against your skin was almost enough to make you finish. Again, her mouth was on yours and nothing was hurried. You canted your hips, catching your clit on her soft leg, and she did the same.

Soon, your hips started to gain speed, you were close and could tell she was, too. The sounds of wet pussy slapping against thigh nearly drowned out the desperate screams and whines you both made.

You completely soaked her thigh with your orgasm. As she continued pursuing hers, she reached down, hand gliding between you and her wet skin. She brought her fingers up to her mouth, humming and sucking on them. "I can't wait to have you sit on my face." Then she closed her eyes, her hips stuttered, and your leg felt much hotter.

She didn't waste any time at all, she rolled back over and hauled you on top of her. Your hips jerked when you pressed against her, still sensitive from the last finish. She didn't seem to mind, she just placed both hands on your hips and moved you relentlessly against her.

"Hands behind your back, lean onto the mattress," she instructed.

You quickly did so, relieved to have some type of balance.

She loved watching your breasts bounce this way, loved watching your eyes roll to the back of your head. And she especially loved when you sat up again to grab her hands, an attempt to pull away from the overstimulation. She didn't allow it, she kept her grip tight and pulled you in faster as she rolled her hips up.

#natasha romanoff x reader #steve rogers x reader #carol danvers x reader #will tag the fourth a little later bc i believe in surprises #my writing

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thesparkinthefire · 5 years ago

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Ghost - Pedro Pascal x Reader, part 2

A/N: I finally, finally finished this. Wuhu! Part two of the Ghost series (that is turning into a three piece) is here for your entertainment. The musical mentioned later on is called Six and I am referring to the character of Katherine Howard, in case anyone is interested. I tried not to let the musical-nerd take over but I don’t know if that worked. I also wrote a bit about The Mandalorian and will just assume everyone who likes Pedro has already seen that, haha.

Word count: 3,729

Paaring: Pedro Pascal x musical!Reader

Trigger Warning: anxiety, age gap hinted, someone cried a bit

part one

“If there's anything left I can do to convince myself it could be true it's up to me, to suspend my disbeliefs.” - Suspend my disbeliefs, the Ghost cast album

You were nervous. More than that. Your confidence had gone missing two days ago and you started asking yourself why you had even accepted the role in the first place. You were portraying Molly. Molly. The female leading role of a musical based on a movie that everyone had seen. What made you think that it was a good idea in the first place?

Of course you and Oscar, who was playing Sam, had been practising for weeks but the premiere was only two days away. Two day. You had been staring at the script in front of you for ten minutes now. What was the line? This morning, when you had done your first run through you had remembered it but now it was gone – erased from your memory and you couldn't stop asking yourself how you were suppose to remember anything once you were on stage. No, you thought to yourself. Now was not the right time to panic. You just had to go through the whole scene and the line would come to you. Okay, breath. What was the scene?

Molly and Karl were sitting in a restaurant, talking about how she had information about Sam's murder. Sam, as a ghost, was standing beside them. While she was trying to convince Karl to believe what the fortune-teller had said. Suspend My Disbelieves was playing in the background. Molly was telling him the things the psychist had told her – the photo they took in an empty bus, the starfish in Montego Bay – and that Sam knew who killed him. Karl protests and Molly tells him, that she had a name and address and that Sam wants her to go to the police. “The police? Jesus, Molly,” says Karl. “What are you gonna tell them?” Sam talks in the background and Molly-... What does Molly say? Fuck.

It was gone. The line was gone, fucking vanished. You would never be able to do the whole show even though that was what you started with. Acting in a movie was so different to performing in a musical. When shooting a movie you had multiple takes to get a scene right – sometime you would even go back at a later point and rework it, when the writers changed a dialogue or something just wasn't right about it. But when you were doing a musical you normally only had about a month of rehearsals with the cast, before that you learned the songs on your own and had your vocals prepared for the assemble to join you. And then you rehearsed. And rehearsed and rehearsed. But there was no rewind once the show started. No one was gonna yell “Cut!” and ask you to do it again. The audience was right in front of you and they expected nothing less than you doing your job without any mistakes.

Musicals had always been your passion. You had been in music-focused classes in school giving you two extra music lessons a week and joined the school's choir as soon as you were allowed to. You had been taking dancing classes since you were a child. Playing theatre in the long summer holidays and visiting theatre camps. You had been growing up wanting to be a musical actress and your dream had become true when you joined a West End production in London. Your first role was in the assemble, the next was a side character and the next a main. People saw you had potential and they never regretted giving you a chance. Then you had the offer to play the female leading role in a teen-romance movie – before that you had never through about filming movies but you gave it a try and hell. It felt like a dream when they called you to tell you, that the statistics had been going through the roof. From one day to another your life changed completely. That was when you stopped playing theatre and musicals. You moved to California, after you had been offered a role in a promising movie series and then got the part in The Mandalorian. And met Pedro.

You grew up with Star Wars. Your whole childhood had been Star Wars themed – from birthday parties to the prequels in cinema to The Clone Wars series to reading literally every book out there. If there was anything you loved as much as you loved musicals it was Star Wars. You remembered your dad calling you “Padawan” when you were building birdhouses when you were ten years old. You remember presenting a Star Wars book in school. You even did your final oral exam in Spanish about Star Wars just because it was the only thing you could possible focus on other than musicals. So when you had the chance to be part of that universe you took it. Nothing could have kept you from doing it. You knew you would accept it before you even knew what the part would exactly be. When you met John and Dave – who were producing and writing The Mandalorian – you were shaking. You were so nervous that you felt like you were about to shit your pants at any minute, you chugged a whole glass of water during the meeting and just couldn't stop shaking. That's how excited you were. And it didn't get better when they told you about what they had planned for your character.

Aurine Jaxx – your character – was set to become something like the girlfriend to Din Djarin. Not really a girlfriend, because his life and story line was focused about The Child but you were introduced to show even more how much he struggled in between being a Mandalorian warrior and wanting to retire and just be human. You loved Pedro Pascal and how he portrayed Din. Of course you had seen the first season of the show. That scene in the last episode when the droid took his helmet off? Those were the only two minutes when your saw his face all season but the acting in this was fabulous. Messed up hair, trembling lips, shiny eyes – you were able to see how afraid of dying he was, even though it was something he had been confronted with every day of his life since he was a child. You were over the moon to be able to work with him.

Din met the fiance of Aurine in a dubious bar. He asked him to return his soon-to-be wife to him after she had ran away. Din, in need of a job after breaking with the guild, accepted and met her. But soon he found out that she was running from him, not because she was afraid to commit to a life with him, but because he was mistreating her, cheating on her and even threatening to physically hurt her. So Din took her with him instead of bringing her back to the fiance and she stayed. They grew closer and closer and he started trusting her more than anyone.

The scene you were the most nervous for was kissing him. Of course acting with someone who wore a helmet all the time wasn't easy but the kissing scene was way harder. It was set to be at night-time, The Child sleeping in the ship while Din and Aurine sat outside by a small campfire in the middle of nowhere. You had to close your eyes and he placed his hand above them just to be sure you wouldn't be able to look. You remember his hands being cold, contrasting the warm breath in your skin. His lips ghosted over yours, before he kissed you. He was so gentle and shy about it, while you moved a hand into his hair and pulled him closer. Soft lips on yours while his fingers painted feather-light touches on your cheek. Watching the scene back was sending shivers down your spine. Kissing Pedro Pascal wasn't something you ever thought you would. He was such a talented actor that you were almost sure he wasn't acting in that scene, that he had really been nervous to kiss you. Maybe you were hoping for it. But obviously that wasn't the case. He was a brilliant actor.

And now you were here. Back at playing musicals, what you had started with, and you never felt so insecure in your whole life. Confidence was the key to a good stage presence and you had lost it all. So when you got a text from Pedro you basically lost it. All he sent was “How are you doing? Haven't heard from you all day.” but it made you tear up immediately. Without sparing a second thought you asked him, if he wanted to come over because you were about to freak out. “Be there in 15.”

Pedro had a talent for calming your nerves – he had proven that a few times during your time together at press-tour for The Mandalorian. Interviews made you nervous especially if they were live or in front of a huge audience. You were always afraid you might say something the fans wouldn't be pleased with or even accidentally spoiling the show. He made sure you drank enough throughout the day, got enough rest, and always had some sweets for you before an interview to push your blood sugar and stop your hands from shaking. His touch was calming and comforting but made your heart race at the same time. In a good way. Saying, you didn't like being close to him, would be lying. He held your hand at crowded places, had an arm over the backrest of your seat during interviews and sometimes even cuddled with you in cold planes. You have had a few movie nights over the weeks you have been touring, because the hype for the second season was enormous, and they always ended the same: Watching maybe half of the movie before one of you fell asleep. You have been falling asleep on his shoulder and woken up to the beat of his heart.

So it was no surprise to you, that he showed up at your door with a bar of chocolate and two beer. “Do you think alcohol is the thing I need right now?”

“Alcohol calms one's nerves,” he answered with a smile, handing you the beer and the chocolate, after you had let him inside. “You said you were freaking out and I guessed it was because of the premiere, so I brought you something to help you calm a bit.”

“But alcohol is not the best thing for your voice.”

“It is not?”

“Not for your singing voice,” you confirmed, dropping onto the sofa. You put your head back and closed your eyes. You shouldn't be bitching around – you had asked him to come over. “Sorry, I am just stressed. I keep forgetting that one line I have right before the break and the thought that that might happen on stage, in front of the audience, scares me.”

Pedro sat down beside you, gaze wandering over you. “I get that but you are gonna be okay. You are a great actress and do musicals just as well.”

“You have never seen me perform a musical.”

“Internet,” he admitted, causing you to open your eyes and tilting your head into his direction. “Don't look at me like that, you have watched my former projects too. You have basically seen me naked.”

“Well, that's because your projects were big and highly advertised – unlike the small musicals I took part in. You can only watch them because of illegal uploads on YouTube.” Oh, some of those YouTube videos had the potential to drive him mad.

The musical you had gotten a leading role in was about girl power and women realizing, that they should work together and hype each other instead of comparing one another. He loved that message, really, but what he loved more was you. And that little of a costume you were wearing. You were basically in nothing more than tights, a bodysuit and a see-through skirt on stage. Maybe it was fate that no videos of your solo song were online – the song was rather sexy and Pedro didn't know if he would have been able to handle seeing you in that costume, singing about men wanting you.

“I like to do my research on the people I work with.”

You couldn't fight the smile forming on your lips. “I should have done a deep dive into my brain before I accepted the role. Seriously, I don't think I can do it. I might just pass out right before the curtain opens.”

“You will do great,” he assured you.

“I won't.” You got up to get a bottle opener from your kitchen. “I can't even remember that one line.”

“Let me help.” You sat back down, handed Pedro the opener after you had opened you own beer and took a sip. “Which scene are we talking about?” He had the script in his hands already. Oscar and you had him over for practise a few times, so he knew most of the scenes you shared.

“The one where Molly first tells Karl that Sam had been murdered. I know that Sam says something like “Jesus, Molly, what are you gonna tell them?” and then I am suppose to say something but I can't remember it at all. I have been going through the scene a million times now – talking it through, acting through it, but nothing helps.”

“No wonder you don't remember what you are suppose to say.” He laughed quietly and you really didn't know what on earth was funny about that. “You are singing.”

“I am-” All of a sudden the line was back in your head as if it had never been gone. Of course! “Suspend my disbelieves.” Pedro nodded. “Oh, thank god, I am not going crazy!”

“You are gonna have the music on stage that will remind you, that you have to sing – don't worry.”

“That is the problem, you know? I used to not be this worried when it came to musicals. I used to be so confident in what I am doing but it is all gone now. When did that happen?”

“You just haven't performed in front of an audience for a long time. That happens to me too when I go back from cinema and TV to theatre.” You had almost forgotten about that. On one hand you would love to see him in a play, but that would mean he would stay in his home in New York, while you were Los Angeles based right now. You didn't even think about the possibility about him moving back to the opposite side of the country once all deals and meetings for his next projects were done. He had stayed in his LA apartment ever since you met him, except for the time between Christmas and the new year. How were you suppose to survive here without him? “Do you want to sing one of the songs? Music always seems to calms you.”

The question hit you out of the blue but he was right. You had a playlist full of songs that soothed you and you had used it more than once since the rehearsals had started. “Y-yeahr,” you answered, nodded, and moved over to your piano. “Can I sing a sad song?”

“You mean Without You? I haven't heard you sing that one yet.” Of course he had listened to the original cast record. Why haven't you thought about that? Yes, he had heard some songs of the production you were working on, but mainly the ones you shared with Oscar. And there wouldn't be an album for your cast.

“Okay, I will try to do that.”

“You will be great.” His words made your heart skip a beat. How was he able to smooth you with such a simple sentence?

“But you gotta stay behind me – I don't like seeing people stare at me when I sing.”

“Says you, the musical actress?” He had to hold back a laugh.

“Performing on stage in front of an audience of hundreds is something else than performing for one person in my living room.”

“Okay, I'll give you that. Go ahead.” Pedro moved to stand behind you, the beer still in his hand. You sat everything up and took a deep breath before you started the song. It was probably the most emotional moment of the whole show, besides the final. Molly was mourning Sam with that song, expressing the pain of losing him and how she tried to deal with it. Performing it in the play was hard, because you were on the edge of crying for real most of the times. Of course you had lost people close to you in your young life already, but part of the song also reminded you of Pedro and how hopeless your love for him was. He probably saw himself as a mentor of your, I not even a father figure. But you couldn't stop seeing him in front of your inner eyes among the line “Every place I wanna be, I wanna see you there.” You wanted him by your side. You wanted him to be your date for the premiere and the after show party. You didn't want him to go back to New York, you wanted him to stay with you in LA. You wanted him to hold you when times were as stressful as they were right now. You wanted him to kiss you, to wrap his arms around you and to tell you, that no matter what happened, he would be by your side. And you wanted him to mean it. To feel the same. To love you. God, you wished he would love you.

By the end of the song your heart was aching. It was hurting and you were glad, that he didn't say a word for a minute. You could just pretend that you were in your role and he would understand that the song made you sad, because it made Molly sad. But just as you were about to crack a lame joke about it, you heard a sniff. And it didn't come from you. “Are you-” You turned around to see Pedro having his back turned to you, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Are you crying?”

“No.” His voice was shaking. Slowly he turned back facing you, lips curled to a small smile. “Absolutely not.” His eyes were a little red and shiny. He was crying.

“Oh god, I am sorry.” You stood up and went to hug him.

“Just proves what a great actress you are.” He returned it. You closed your eyes, leaned your head against him and took a quiet but deep breath. Was it selfish? Maybe. But perhaps you needed the comfort just as much as he did. Just in a different way. Feeling his warm body against your own. His hair tickled your ear. God, he smelled good. Something you had always liked about him. You couldn't define it, but it was good. Everything about him was good. And you regretted nothing more, than that you had never asked him out, never had made a move on him.

Taglist: @longitud-de-onda

#Ronja writes #Ghost #Pedro Pascal x reader #pedro pascal #Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal #narcos #The mandalorian #triple frontier #game of thrones #star wars the clone wars #I still don't know how to tag

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greenninjagal-blog · 5 years ago

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Roman Prince, Psychic pt1

Hello, I’m back with another au!

Summary: Roman reads minds, loses his job and makes it his mission to get his brother a boyfriend.

Pairings: Anxceit, (future) Logince, and brotherly Prinxiety

Word Count: 6014

Quick Taglist: @chelsvans @faithfulcat111 @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @treasureofpriam

Read on AO3 || My General Writing List

Roman has lost twenty two jobs in the past three years, which is offensive on many levels. First of all, twenty two was a number that could only be divided by two and eleven, which is much worse than twenty eight minutes ago when he had lost only a total of twenty one jobs in the past three years.

Twenty two only ever brought bad luck.

Additionally, he had been fired from all of his previous jobs so that meant that he had technically failed twenty two times before. Roman was not a fan of failure, not a fan of other people (Virgil) knowing about said failure and lording it over him.

And, of course, there was also the fact that Roman was a grown adult and suddenly money was an issue when he wanted to not be evicted from his apartment. Or, you know, eat.

So when his brother picks up on the third ring, Roman knows that Virgil already is aware what he’s gonna ask.

“Again?” Virgil says instead of the usual “hello”. He sounds tired, worn out, but Roman gets the feeling its not really directed at him.

“It was an accident,” Roman whines, slumped over steering wheel of his car. “I swear!”

“That’s the second this month.”

“I can’t help it, Emo Undertaker.”

Which is a lie, because he definitely can help it and has helped it before. Roman is just bad at helping it. He thought he was doing well! He was really trying this time! He had managed to snag an editing job for a newspaper that required barely any talking to other people! He could make it through the day without actually talking to people and then there would be no issues other than his crippling desire to hold a conversation which was easily overlooked in the grand scheme of things--

But really, he should have guessed. No one, not even his absolute idiot of a(n ex) boss said “I’m gonna schedule you because you’re the only one stupid enough to say yes” to someone’s face.

Perhaps on his next resume he should title it Roman Prince, Psychic.

On the other side of the phone, Virgil huffs distantly, “No its my brother, Pat. He got fired again.”

“Patton is there?” Roman asks.

He can almost see Virgil cringe on the other end of the phone, “Uh yeah.”

Roman’s lips twist downward on his already not-great mood. “Virge, it’s been months--”

“I know!” Virgil says, “I know! There’s just some stuff we have to do first.”

“We?” The word is short on his tongue, bitter, leaving Roman’s tongue chasing down syllables for the empty space.

“Hey weren’t we talking about your lack of a job?” Virgil says suddenly.

“I do not want that creeper using you, Virgil.”

“Hey, Pat’s not a creeper.” Virgil says sounding more annoyed than Roman’s sure he has a right to be. “New rule, I don’t tell you to stop reading minds, and you don’t tell me to stop seeing dead people.”

“There’s a difference between seeing dead people, and seeing dead people Virgil.”

“Hey have you considered shutting up?”

“Look, he may be cute, but he’s been dead for twenty years--”

“Roman.”

“I’m just saying! He is old enough to be our dad, dude!”

“I’m hanging up.”

He does before Roman can say anything else. Roman flips his phone in his hand three times (a good number, Roman’s favorite) and senses the on coming text before it arrives. He twists his keys in the ignition of his car and listens as it rumbles to life with a story of the previous owner (Harold Johnston, who purchased it new, drove it for a while, hit two deer, and got four speeding tickets on before passing it on to his son who crashed it once in a drowsy driving accident that resulted in it being sent in a reused car dealership where Molly Keller bought it----).

By the time Roman makes it through the seven stop lights (three of which he squeezes through because Carl Smith is out jogging and pressed the crosswalk button at just the right time), there’s a message from Virgil in his inbox with a list of new places that were hiring.

It wasn’t that Roman has never thought about starting his own business, because he has. Many times, all the time. Every time he fell asleep. He imagined a cute little office off mainstreet: A psychic shop with charms in the windows that glowed at all hours, colorful draperies and scented candles that would make the shop float on mystery and otherworldness. He’d emerge from the back of the store in elegant clothes, like an ethereal being to startle any customers who dropped in, and he’d whip up a facade of a crystal ball, hide fans around the shop, and electrify the table in the middle of the room to sell the bit.

Roman has thought about starting his own psychic business before. But unfortunately, no one wants to be told things they already knew.

Which of course was the only psychic thing Roman can do. Read minds and see inner dreams with absolutely no ability to confirm them happening and-or not happening.

(And you only tell a person once that they’re getting a puppy for Christmas before you learn your lesson.)

To be perfectly honest, which Roman tries to be as he flicks on the lights to his apartment three times, Virgil would have much more luck maintaining a psychic shop. They’re almost opposites, if true opposites were a thing that exists.

Instead of reading thoughts, Roman’s younger brother hears murder stories. Instead of seeing dreams, Virgil sees dead people wandering the streets.

It made growing up and having friends a real challenge. If Roman had a nickel for every time Virgil had grabbed his arm with his cold fingers and looked him in the eye before asking if Roman could see the person in front of them, he’d have three nickels. Which wasn’t a lot, but there was something upsetting about hearing the complete terror in his little brother’s voice when he couldn’t tell the living from the dead.

The dead also like to talk to Virgil, like to hover around him because he gives off a shadowy aura that works like a drug on ghosts. It makes them feel a bit more alive, makes them more corporal, makes them more dangerous. And once they’ve had a taste, they come back for more, and more, and more.

Ghosts are good for getting information, but rarely good for anything else.

(Roman does not trust Patton. Not since Virgil told him the ghost had shown up, not since the last guy had whispered all the things he would do to Virgil if Virgil tried to leave or cut him off, not since Roman had put a hole in the hospital waiting room wall because that was his brother and he should have been there.)

Roman calls Virgil back just before dinner time after he had gone over the list (seven places, another good number) and it rings only twice before his brother picked up.

“Hey Ro, I’m kinda busy right now--”

“Busy?” Roman asks, “On Tuesday?”

“Yes!” Virgil hisses, “Very busy-- ow! Don’t touch that!-- I’ll call you later, Ro.”

“Are you raising the dead again?”

“What? No! I’m, uh,” There was a shuffling, a swear word, and a distant, “at the movies?”

“Right, I’ll pretend I believe that.” Roman says, “I was just checking the list. Your coffee shop is on here.”

“Yes, it is.” Virgil shifts the phone, “Remy fired a guy last week for purposely giving people regular coffee instead of decaf. I thought Remy was gonna kill the guy.”

“Are you sure you want me to apply there?”

There is a swatch and the telltale sound of a match lighting, and the phone shifts again, “I had an idea.”

Roman traces his fingers over the edge of his counter top, absently counting the corners, and grating his skin when it comes up even numbered. “Oh?”

(wrong wrong wrong. Its too short)

“Yeah, maybe you’ve been going about this all wrong. Instead of cutting yourself off from people, maybe you should embrace them-- ow!” Virgil makes a hiss and Roman guesses plops his fingers in his mouth quickly, “Fucking candles. I hate lighting matches.”

“Stop trying to raise the dead for a second and help your dearest brother understand,” Roman says. “What do you mean “embrace them”?”

His fingers slice the edge of the counter, four four four isn’t enough, is too much, its wrong.

“A customer came up to me yesterday and demanded a refund because I didn’t put whip cream her latte.” Virgil explains. “I was angry because she didn’t tell me that she wanted whip cream and its not like I can read minds-- and then I remembered my brother can read minds.” The phone shifts again, “Besides you love talking to people and don’t even try to deny it. That editing job was slowly killing you.”

Roman is quiet for a moment, because, really what is he supposed to say to that? Reading minds isn’t all that great, the same way as seeing their childhood cat that died seven years ago wasn’t all that great. But Virgil was also right: Roman missed talking to people, missed the days when he could show up without having to study for the “pop” quizzes and when he could do little magic tricks to wow his friends in between the classes.

And even if everyone thought his psychic abilities were just parlor tricks, Roman still misses the attention.

“I’ve gotta go, Ro,” Virgil says, “McDonalds nuggets get cold fast, and the dead don’t like cold food.”

“Picky, are they?”

“Very much so.” Virgil agrees, “Just send in an application. I’ll put in a good word to Remy, and if it doesn’t work out, we’ll figure something else out.”

Roman’s fingers hit the corner of the counter again, for the seventh time and he flings them back like they were burning. “Right, yeah. Sure.”

“Bye, Ro.”

“Yeah, thanks, Casper.” Roman says and means it deeply.

Virgil ends the call.

Roman twists the phone in his hand three times as the call screen closes. The puzzle game on his phone is about two minutes 120 seconds from reminding him his game hasn’t been played yet today and wouldn’t play at all today if he ended up in the hospital waiting room because something his brother got food poisoning from McDonald’s--

Roman fingers tap the call button again.

First ring, “Ro?”

“Sorry,” Roman blurts out, “I-- am? Damnit! I really am sorry, Virge.”

Virgil’s quiet for a moment, but then he says softly, “I get it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Roman’s mouth snaps close. He ends the call and lets his brother go back to raising the dead on his Tuesday night where he is not going to get food poisoning. He leaves his phone on the counter and flicks the switch three times before leaving the room to go find his computer and fill out the online application.

***

Roman enjoys his twenty third job interview much less than Remy Dormire does. It lasts slightly less than twelve minutes, and by the end of it Roman is ushered behind the counter and given a brown apron (with a single hole at the bottom) and a nametag with his name on it.

(First name only, and it makes the back of his mouth taste like bitter oranges.)

Virgil gives him a rare smile on his way back out, and finishes making two drinks at once, and ships them off to the customers waiting patiently at the end of the counter.

It wasn’t quite the calm Roman was used too, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Thoughts flowed over Roman like a river, dangerous but exciting. He felt a type of connection to everyone in the store, a type of connection that came from understanding the blurbs and fragments that made up a consciousness.

It was strange to think that no one else felt like this, felt like they were touching and being touched in a way that was closer than physical contact. How could anyone not want to feel like this?

But how could anyone know what they were missing when they had never had such a feeling before in their lives?

He had tried explaining it to Virgil once, twice, thrice before. He wishes he could send thoughts the way he read them.

Roman leans over the other side of the counter watching Virgil pour coffee into a styrofoam cup, “You’re off in a minute right?” He taps the the dividing wall, “Wanna grab lunch?”

Virgil hums, his eyes flicking to the side just enough for Roman to guess who might be standing in the empty space.

Roman taps again, “Unless you and Ghost McGee already have fun plans.”

“They can be changed.” Virgil says, and slides the drink over the counter, “Logan!”

Roman shuffles to the side so a guy with glasses and a plaid button up can get his drink. “I don’t want to get in the way of your ghost time. And I definitely don’t want you bringing undead dilemmas to our lunch.”

“I don’t have--” Virgil huffs, “Patton has things to do this afternoon anyway.”

Roman frowned. “Things to do? The guy’s dead.”

Virgil scowls darker than usual. Actually now that Roman is looking, he notices that Virgil’s eyeshadow is a shade lighter than normal: as if he’s trying to make his skin look less pale by comparison. His fingers tap the dividing wall again as Roman narrows his eyes at his brother and tries to remember if he’s ever looked his drained after a night of summoning the dead for a ghost party.

“Five minutes,” Virgil says abruptly, “I’ll see you then.” He wipes the counter with a purple rag and then uses it to slide right away from Roman entirely.

Its a cheap tactic. Roman’s almost offended. The buzz of the cafe hums around him, through him, and causing goosebumps right down his spine. Its exciting, being close to people, almost exciting enough to distract Roman from the predicament of Virgil being cagey-er than before (which he hadn’t thought was possible). His knuckles tap the wall three times and he turns on his heel to settle into a chair for the next five minutes.

(Five was an okay number, Roman supposed. Seven was better, and Three was the best. But Five wasn’t an even number so it was something. At least, no one ever got cancer when he counted to five.)

Roman’s never been good at singling out thoughts in a busy location: too little practice, not enough reason to need to. The process itself required a lot of focus and will power and it felt a lot like pulling out teeth (something he had done when he was seven and Virgil was five and he had lost two teeth in a row and it was wrong, and he couldn’t figure out how to explain it to his parents when they came to figure out why the doors kept slamming). Cutting out the thoughts that weren’t even in order, had no logical reasoning: in the span of a minute a person could go from thinking about a TV show, to thinking about the color of the tile floor, to the scent in the air, to a birthday present for a friend, to, to, to. And with multiple people? In a small space like this coffee shop? It was easier to stop a mountain slide than cut off one person from himself.

Roman’s never been good at singling out thoughts in a busy location, but just this once he’s makes an attempt.

Roman’s never been good at singling out thoughts in a busy location--

Virgil is his brother, and so that means that Roman is obligated to figure out why he’s being cagey. Especially if he’s going to bring the moping to their lunch. And Roman’s absolutely not patient enough to wait five minutes to figure out what is causing him distress.

Virgil's thoughts feel exactly like him, Roman thinks. He's a little cold, a little clammy, a little crafty. His presence is like a cat evading capture by any means and when Roman was particularly bored as a child he used to chase after them, chase the feelings, and the scraps of emotions and impressions that sped by like he was actively running out of time to think them.

Virgil is thinking about coffee. He’s thinking about how to punch buttons into the computer they use for the register and how the person currently ordering is an actual idiot because they don’t serve a “Vanilla Chai Tea Latte” because this store is not a freaking Starbucks, its either a “Vanilla Chai Tea” or a “Vanilla Latte” and fuck, Roman get out of my head before I send a Zombie after you.

So Roman blinks back seeing his brother at the counter, using that customer service smile to please the middle aged woman digging through her purse, but his eyes are dark when he shoots Roman his patented don’t-mess-with-me glare.

I said five minutes, fucking wait will you.

And Roman debates for a moment, less than a minute, just 21 seconds staying there in Virgil's mind that feels a lot like a sweater in the middle of the winter. But in the end Virgil’s mind moves on to the ingredients in a Vanilla Chai Tea and someone else and the girl in the corner has the top third song of the week stuck in her head on a loop and Roman is ever so easily distracted by the repetition of the three lines--

He falls out of his brother’s mind and back into the connective conscious of humans as a whole. There's nothing jarring about it. It's just simple acceptance, like the course of a river gently rolling over him.

If he closes his eyes it feels like safety and warmth and calmness.

The next thing he knows there's a shove as his shoulder that nearly nearly knocks him off the chair. Virgil's standing there, his hair sticking up from where he yanked off his visor and his mysterious purple eyes glowing with annoyance and irritation and a bit of worry.

"I've been calling you," He says, "Are you alright?"

Roman offers him a blinding smile, that most likely comes across dopey, "Absolutely, Graveyard ghoul!”

Virgil stares at him for a moment longer, mouth curled downwards. “Holy shit, just how socially starved are you? You look like you’re on drugs.”

Roman’s vision is a little blurry. He rubs his eye to clear it, and is surprised when it comes back with tears. Was he crying? “I’m perfectly fine!” He flicks away the tears, because honestly they’re happy tears, and they mean so much and absolutely nothing at the same time.

He gathers his stuff and stands up, (tall enough that he can count the three inch difference between him and Virgil), “Are we going to lunch now?”

Virgil keeps staring at him for a moment, and Roman can only glimpse fractions of impressions from him before his eyes narrow with suspicion.

“Fine. Yeah.” Virgil says, “I know just the place.”

****

“Really, this place?” Roman asks and almost can’t quite believe it.

Virgil, in all his brother loving glory, does not give him a response. Since he was the one driving he puts the car in park (“not this spot! Use that one!” “Is this necessary?” “Do you like your current car insurance number, Virge?”) and then kicks the door open with more force than necessary. In the car is a lot quieter than in the cafe, but Virgil spends the entire drive thinking of musical numbers rather than what is bothering him.

The only things that Roman learns from the twenty minute drive to a sandwich shop in the middle of the city is that, Virgil is really into The Guy Who Doesn’t Like Musicals for someone who doesn’t like musicals, and that he’s three times a better driver than Roman can ever hope to be.

“Why here, Virge?” Roman asks getting out of the car and stumbling around the edge of the trunk. His brother is already across the parking lot by that time. “We passed nine other shops on the way here!”

Virgil’s hand goes flying up and snaps close in a silencing motion. Roman thinks that its way more effective on ghosts than on living being that he can’t control, but he goes quiet anyway. Virgil huddles by the storefront glass doors turning his around with his hand to his ear-- is he seriously pretending to be on the phone right now?-- and is peering into the shop as inconspicuously as he can.

Roman is beyond confused.

Virgil takes a deep breath, and nods to himself apparently seeing whatever he was looking for. He grabs the door and then waves Roman inside quickly like he’s embarrassed to be seen with him.

“What is happening?” Roman asks.

“Just shut up and follow my lead.” Virgil says.

And proceeds to go up to the counter and order a sandwich like a normal person. Roman frowns at the implication that he doesn’t know how to order a sandwich from a shop. His fingers knock the counter (Ew the last customer did not wash their hands after using the restroom, ew, ew!) and he gives the tired sandwich maker a dazzling smile.

He looks a little old to be working in food retail in honesty. Much more Virgil and Roman’s age than the high school teenagers that are manning the cash register a few feet over. His eyes are gold and brown and very interesting to look at, along with with the dusting of concealer that is all over his cheek covering up something. His name tag is strategically missing in the moment but Roman doesn’t think it matters too much in the grand scheme of things.

The guys name is Dante Ethan Ekans. He’s tired. Overworked. Not paid enough.

He got a nice voice though. He keeps glancing between Virgil and Roman and Virgil, Virgil, Virgil. So much so that he puts way too much mayo on Roman’s sandwich.

Roman grabs a thing of chips and throws them on the counter at the same time as Dante the sandwich maker puts his carefully wrapped flatbread sandwich next to the register to be rung up. Instead of sliding to the back, Dante leans on the counter next to the sandwiches ignoring the high schooler ringing them up and grins at (a blushing????) Virgil.

“Back again, Raccoon?” Dante the sandwich maker says flicking his tongue out just enough to show off a tongue piercing. Its not something Roman thought could be attractive, but somehow he makes it attractive.

And if Roman can tell that from two feet away, Virgil’s hopeless as the target of such an action.

“Yeah,” Virgil says, “I mean- I just-- I wanted lunch.”

“I can see,” Dante says with a smile. “You’ve made a habit out of coming here for lunch. A guy has to wonder if thats the only reason you keep coming back.”

Roman looks at him, and then Dante the sandwich maker, and thinks he almost understands what is going on.

“Virgil, quick question….”

“I’ll buy you a cookie if you can hold your fucking tongue for three more seconds.” Virgil snaps out loud and then thinks so horrifically loud in his head that Roman resists the urge grimace.

Say it out loud. I dare you.

Virgil is glaring at him again. Dante is staring at him like he’s just now noticing that Virgil came with someone, despite the fact that the man made his sandwich. He pushes off the counter suddenly, with his eyes darting between Virgil and Roman and his thoughts becoming clouded with a sudden flurry of unhappy impressions then he clears his throat and hums a self dismissal.

“And Ice cream from the parlor on First Street.” Roman whispers quickly.

“Roman!” Virgil snaps.

“Deal or no?”

“I hate you.”

“What type of brother would I be if you didn’t hate me?” Roman says loudly without even looking at Virgil. Dante stumbles his steps towards the back. Roman thinks he glances back, but its so quick that Roman really only has the unraveling of the sandwich makers shoulders to take as assurance he was heard.

Roman leans towards his brother in a much, much lower voice, “is this why you’ve been distracted? Because boy troubles?”

“Shut up!” Virgil hisses back and elbows him.

“That will be $23.36.” The cashier says effectively keeping them from breaking into a brawl at the counter.

Roman taps his foot in a series of three while Virgil pays with a debt card and takes their sandwiches and drink cups to a table.

“He’s flipping amazing,” Roman says once they’re sitting and Virgil’s stopped blushing through his concealer. “What’s the problem?”

“Can you read his thoughts right now?” Virgil hisses back. He does a great job of flicking a piece of lettuce off his sandwich.

“Can I-- YES!” Roman presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I am insulted you had to ask at all--”

“Just do it.” Virgil snaps and then folds his arms on the table and burrows his head into them without even attempting to eat his sandwich at all.

Roman imagines that Patton is floating over Virgil’s shoulder even if he can’t see the ghost. He hopes the ghost is as confused as he is, but he seriously doubts it.

“It shouldn’t be that hard.” Virgil mumbles, “He’s probably always thinking about him.”

Roman’s stomach drops for his brother, “A boy friend?” (He frowns at the needless separation of the words)

Virgil moans, “Worse.”

“He’s not straight,” Roman mumbles, because at least that much is obvious.

Virgil doesn’t give him a response, so Roman goes deeper. Dante’s thoughts are at odds with his actions, which throws Roman off when he goes to single them out from Virgil’s and the other workers and the small family that was eating across the dining area. Where he comes off as smooth and suave and absolutely sure of himself….

HOLY FUCK BROTHER DOES HOT RUN IN THE FAMILY WHAT THE FUCK--

...His thoughts are not. Roman chases the screaming through the astral plane with mild amusement. Even when the man is cleaning dishes in the back or checking bread or pacing the back, his thoughts are shouting with panic and he keeps coming back to the snapshot of Virgil at the counter. There’s fragments of emotions with it too, amusement, happiness, self embarrassment, as if he can’t believe he really called Virgil a Raccoon and Virgil let him.

Honestly with how much Virgil comes up in his mind, Roman can’t see why his brother isn't launching himself over the counter and dragging the sandwich maker to the freezer for an impromptu make out session.

Or at least he couldn’t.

Then Dante’s thoughts take a leap to the cook time on the last batch of bread, and then the clock, and then the current time and then--

“Dad!”

Roman’s head jerks as he lets go of the isolated thought process and comes back to reality. Virgil does not look up but half his sandwich is gone. Its looks very much like Virgil is throwing himself a pity party while Dante rounds the counter to catch a small child in a hug.

Its undeniably adorable. Roman’s own heart is melting at the sight. The kid can only be four at max, and he’s wearing a backpack almost as big as he is, with a spiderman theme. When the kid talks, he prattles on, and Dante listens to each word with adoration in his eyes.

“So he has got a kid,” Roman comments. He taps Virgil’s foot under the table, “Don’t tell me a kid is a turn off.”

“Roman, you know how I am with kids,” Virgil says. “I’m worse with kids than I am with adults! Which is saying something! The last living person I talked casually to called me a freak and threw a kickball at my face.”

“That was middle school, Miserable Mortuary.” Roman points out, and taps Virgil's foot again, “And if you remember, I beat the snot out of Alfred Hitchcockopolous for saying that. Not to mention, we are talking right this second.”

Virgil grunts sullenly, “Whatever. I’m still bad with kids. I give off that dark energy aura, remember? Give it an hour and Thomas will be running for the hills! There’s no way I could court his dad if he hates me. I’m not gonna drive that wedge between them.”

“You don’t know that yet! Have you talked to this Thomas?”

“And get labeled as a pedophile? No way, not happening.”

“Virgil,” Roman says pointedly (and taps Virgil's foot again), “I’m not saying approach the kid and offer him a joy ride in your crappy used silver Scion. You don’t have to even wait until Dante is out of earshot. Ask him about his favorite color.”

Virgil makes a rather pathetic noise in response. “It’s Dee. He hates being called Dante.”

Roman glances back at Dante the sandwich maker and Thomas the kid. Dante was getting him set up at a table by the counter where he could color in a cheap Star Wars coloring book. He hadn’t come in with anyone. Which was odd. It wasn’t like anyone would let a four year old ride the buses around town either. But surely if there was another parent in the mix they would have at least come in to see that Dante had received the kid, right?

Roman chews on his sandwich for a moment. His eyes are narrowed at his brother as the melody of thoughts roll over him. He’s seeing, feeling glimpses of something else from his brother something that’s making him even more upset than the whole Dad issue.

“What is it?” Roman says, because he’s terribly impatient for his brothers cryptic dance around thoughts.

“You know how I was busy last night?”

“Summoning the dead on a Tuesday?” Roman nods three times.

“Yeah,” Virgil says and drops his head again like a moody teenager. “Yeah that.”

Roman gets flashes of flash night from Virgil’s point of view: Patton kneeling beside him, McDonalds kids meals, too many melted candles, too many slight variations to the chalk circle, a long night. There’s an unsatisfied tinged to them, an unhappiness, a frustration and a nervousness.

It takes Roman a moment to work out what it means.

“Oh,” Roman says, “oh no.”

“Yeah,” Virgil bounces his head on his arms staring into his lap, “Thomas’s mother, Dee’s girlfriend, died in childbirth.”

The sandwich tastes foul in Romans mouth. Too much mayo and bad feelings from it. Virgil stuffs a chip in his mouth and crunches on it sadly.

Overall, it's not how Roman was expecting the lunch out to go.

"It's been four years though, right?" Roman tries, because even if Virgil and him give each other grief all the time, he never wants to see his brother unhappy. "He's definitely in to you, Vee. I have proof. He's moved on."

"That's not the issue," Virgil whines. His eyes flick over Romans shoulder where there's absolutely nothing there, which means that Patton the ghost is witnessing this exchange at least. "Ghosts are tricky businesses. For all I know, me dating Dee will cause a tremor in the afterlife and will bring a vengeful ghost down on the three of us."

"Isn't that an extremely rare occurrence?" Roman says.

Virgil huffs glaring to the side, "Not helping, Pat. And to answer your question, Ro, it is a rare occurrence. But I'm also a magical fucking beacon of dark energy that draws ghosts to myself. Do you really think that the odds are in my favor for this one?"

Roman squints at his brother, "Yes, I do? That is why I'm telling you to go talk to the kid?"

"I'm not going to talk to the kid," Virgil says stubbornly, "Not until I know I'm not gonna endanger him or Dee or… myself." He rubs the insides of his arms, and Roman gets flashes of an emergency room and his own fist in the walls. Neither of them say anything for a moment, and from the glassy look in Virgil's eyes, Patton chooses to be quiet too.

Then Virgil shakes his head and wards off the thoughts. "It's fine. Or whatever. Patton and I are going to do some deep research and I'll find a way to contact Marissa. If she gives me permission, I'll go ahead and talk to Dee again."

He wraps up the rest of his sandwich neatly and leans back in his chair facing the counter where Dante is replacing the produce selection. As if sensing him watching Dante's head tilts up and he winks towards Virgil with another snake like flick of his tongue piercing.

Virgil goes red in the face and stands up. "You know what, I'll be outside!"

Roman catches a glimpse of a dopey, stupid, lovesick smile on his brothers face and cant believe that hes not in a Hallmark movie. Really it's insulting now. This is drama gold and no ones even writing it down.

Dante frowns as Virgil flees the scene, and head to the back again with the clear intention to mope in his thoughts. Roman is left alone at a table, with half a sandwich. Which is fine! All fine!

Roman packs up their combined trash and saves the second half of Virgil's sandwich before he gets up and strolls across the restaurant to the trashcan near where Thomas is sitting. Once he throws his stuff away he stops by the table where the kid is sitting.

"Oh my lord!" Roman says, "Look at this magnificent art work! The colors, the lines, the texture! How very bold! Tell me artist, are you the one who crafted such intricate works?"

Thomas grins up at him bursting with joviality. "I am, mister! Who are you?"

"My name's Roman Prince, young artist!" Roman says, "I am trying to solve a problem that I think you can help me with."

"Me?" Thomas says, "What is it?"

Roman thinks that this kid would be very easy to kidnap.

"Well you see, my brother comes here quite often and he thinks your dad is very super nice." Roman explains the best he can, "He wants to be your dad's friend but my brother is very shy around people."

Thomas taps a red crayon to his lip, "He's that scary man that was over there, right? Dad talks about him a lot."

Roman smiles, "My brother talks about your dad a lot, too!" It's a lie, but really it's for a good cause. "I want them to be friends because they seem very happy together. How about I write down my brothers phone number and you give it to your dad for me?"

Thomas nods easily at the words, and then excitedly, "Then they can set up a playdate! Even if Mr. Purple is really scary, I think he makes dad laugh a lot. And Uncle Emile says laughing is good!"

Roman laughs at that. He scribbles out the numbers for Virgil's personal phone in red crayon on a napkin and gives Thomas a fist bump for teamwork. By the time Dante appears in the front again (with a cloud of suspicion and terror that a stranger is near his son) Roman gives him a cheery wave goodbye and is out the door.

(Virgil is lying in the middle of the parking lot just behind his car and asks Roman to run him over and put him out of his misery.)

(Roman does not run him over.)

(It does take twelve minutes to convince his hopeless brother to get off the asphalt and into the car for the ride back to Virgil's apartment.)

#psychic au #thomas sanders #sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #symapthetic deceit #deceit sanders #dadceit #patton sanders #Psychic!Roman #Necromancer!Virgil #kid!Thomas #coffee shops #anxceit #future logince #brotherly prinxiety #Number counting OCD #ghost!patton #sorry pat

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girl-montag · 4 years ago

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killjoys’ origin stories (part 4)

part 1 - jet-star // part 2 - cherri cola // part 3 - kobra kid and party poison

fun ghoul

this one’s even longer than part 3, but this is the story i first came up with and am immensely proud of, so stick with me!

some nights in the desert are worse than others, for everyone. there isn’t a killjoy not tormented by nightmares, usually about their past lives. but for ghoul, for almost three whole years after leaving the city behind, every night was horror.

sometimes there were just flashes. black and white masks all around, fire licking up the walls, screams in the distance. most of the time though it played on and on in his mind, a broken record he couldn’t get rid of.

he thought about it a lot and realised he had no idea just how pleasant his life in the city was. he’d even say he was lucky, but that’s up for debate. he wasn’t an orphan, his dad wasn’t an alcoholic (he never met him, but he trusted his mother’s taste) and took the pills only on occasion, to help him fall asleep. but there was more than that. he had a nice house in a nice part of town. he could afford a decent school, never had to worry about not having what to wear or eat. the classes weren’t a rough time, even though he was pretty shy, and he still remembers how safe and joyful he felt in the comfort of his home. and he had all that because of his mother’s job. news presenters in bli weren't particularly valued, but the job had its perks, obviously. also, she was allowed to have a family and was spared of all the dirty work the crows lived off of. her job was to look pretty and say exactly what they told her to say.

she didn't have the habit of bringing her work home. she talked about it only when her son asked. and the response was always honest. “listen carefully, frankie. these people are no heroes. they say they keep the city in order, whatever that means”, she’d say mockingly, doing this weird thing with her shoulders that would make frank laugh, “but in reality they just put us in a mould so we behave. there are a lot of things wrong with this city... but you don’t need to worry about all of them right now. you keep listening to your heart, to your own voice, and you’ll be just fine, okay?”.

he vividly remembers the way she’d look at the crows behind the black-out curtains of the living room, disgusted and a little sad. only years later did he realise she did it all anyway for him. but everyone breaks at some point. everyone has that moment where they decide they can’t just stand by anymore, and for his mother, the drop that spilled the glass was the murder of a sixteen-year-old boy, just a year older than frank, who tried and failed to cross the city line. he was just unlucky enough to get caught by a crow whose trigger finger got a bit itchy. no one knew what the reason was, if they even needed a reason. and no one outside of bli knew that it had even happened.

the news found its way to his mother by accident. someone said more than they should have to someone not to be trusted and although it didn’t happen often, this time it spread like a wildfire through the building, reaching her. so that morning, instead of the regular times and volumes they were expecting, citizens of bat city found out about the night’s shooting and found themselves confused upon hearing the backlash and accusations towards bli, coming from one of their own. if she was a scarecrow, ghoul thought later, they would’ve just executed her without anyone knowing. but this was more than just treason. she was a public figure, planting the seeds of doubt in the heads of their obedient citizens. and a message needed to be sent.

she came home that day, more nervous than frank had ever seen her before. locked the doors, shut the windows, pulled the curtains, ignored his panicked questions while doing so, then finally turned to him with tears in her eyes and kept saying how sorry she was. she hugged him, held him tight and told him about what she'd done. his heart was racing. he still had no idea what exactly was going to happen but something told him that was the end of the life he knew.

the consequences came sooner than he expected and were far more brutal than what he could ever imagine. he was in bed, not sleeping, trying to hear his mother’s breathing from the other room. what he did hear though was her scream. before he could say anything fire burst through the windows, licking up the walls, making him feel like he was about to suffocate. he thinks his mother carried him out of the room, but he couldn’t seem to remember anything that followed, besides his mother’s voice when she screamed at him to get to the garage and take the car and go and never look back, before one of the walls broke down and the flames swallowed her as he was running down the stairs, screaming out in horror. he was sure he was going to die. he didn’t know if he had a reason to live anymore, but as his mother’s voice rang in his head he took the keys and started the car, an old trans am, then hit the gas, breaking the garage door.

even if he knew how to drive, he was shaking too hard to control his own movements. he could barely see anything from the tears filling up his eyes and could barely breathe from the paralyzing pain taking over him. knocking over garbage cans and lamp posts, he still managed to move towards the city line, punching the gas as hard as he could, constantly looking back at the black and white cars behind him, chasing him. soon the concrete was replaced by sand, but the crows on his tail weren’t giving up. feeing he might just give up soon, he drove further, until he saw a light and hit the breaks as soon as he saw four (pretty confused and terrified, as he heard from them later) silhouettes, managing to stop just inches away from them. before they could take a proper look at each other though, one of them yelled crows!!! and they were already behind him with their ray guns out. frank stayed in the car, curled up in the leg space, feeling like he’s close to passing out, until he couldn’t hear the guns anymore and someone opened the door, pulling him out. his legs failed him and he fell to the ground, closing his eyes, waiting to be shot by a scarecrow. but he felt a hand on his shoulder instead and heard someone shout: “cola, get me some water over here, this kid’s not far from meeting the phoenix witch!”. he looked up and met kobra’s eyes for the first time before finally passing out.

(much much later, he got mad at kobra for calling him a kid even though they’re the same age.)

he woke up after what seemed like years, in d’s station, surrounded by concerned faces of the people who were now his family. he doesn’t remember it, but poison once told him that he didn't even talk that first week, except when he told them his name or hummed something that was supposed to sound affirmative when he was asked anything. but he does remember when... “i don’t want you to call me frank anymore”, he said and everyone looked up in surprise of hearing his voice. “you all buried your city names, i don’t want this one either.”. “so what’s it gonna be?”, asked poison, trying to sound as enthusiastic as he could. “ ‘s fun ghoul okay?”. the four of them smiled and jet said it was perfect. and just then ghoul thought about how he might find a way to put his pieces back together with the help of those boys.

this has been the fourth and final chapter of the killjoys’ origin stories! i will now concentrate on writing headcanons so be sure to send your requests!

send me an ask!

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turquoisephoenix · 4 years ago

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What’s A Little Galaxy-Wide Destruction Between Friends? - Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Five days after saving the galaxy from the Deplanetizer, Elaris is greeted by an old friend, who wishes to talk to her, vent a little, and give her life advice. Unfortunately for her, her old friend also happens to be a freshly transformed robot version of a dangerous criminal madman that everyone believed was dead. Elaris & Dr. Nefarious friendship Characters: Elaris, Dr. Nefarious, Lawrence, Qwark (mentioned) ————————————————

Author's Notes: I also mainly wrote this to write down a headcanon I had for why Dr. Nefarious wanted to blow up Umbris as his main plan in the movie, when a galaxy-wide explosion leading up to "just" city-wide takeovers and roboticization kinda seems like a downgrade on the evil scale. Plus at the end of the day, Nefarious kinda is a goofy idiot in addition to being an evil mastermind.

Also because Elaris is a gamer and we stan a gaming legend.

----------------

Three weeks had passed since the incident on Umbris and Elaris couldn't be happier.

The weapons technician was grinning from ear to ear as she entered her workplace, practically bouncing on her heels as the events of today's meeting still making her giddy. She set down a bunch of cardboard boxes she was holding down on an empty table and pumped her fists in the air. A scream of joy filled the air.

At last! She was moving out of the broom closet and getting a proper laboratory! They finally listened to her! No more bottles of cleanser and pails of dirty water! No more having to say "excuse me" and awkwardly shove past the janitor to get to her office! No more terrible smells!

At first the process was as slow as it always was - everyone kept pushing back her appeals because they kept saying they had more pressing matters to attend to, where would we find the space, surely this could wait when we just saved the galaxy, Qwark has another book signing today - but then she did something that they didn't expect from a passive nerd like her. Elaris dug in her heels and let herself get a little angry about this issue. She'd raise her voice a little bit, she demanded a little more respect, until finally the group listened.

In other words, she channeled a bit of her inner Dr. Nefarious.

But just a little bit. The part of him that didn't want to murder anybody.

Elaris looked at the corkboard in her office with Dr. Nefarious's photo still pinned to it, where the perfectly happy and organic Nefarious smiled with the blissful unawareness of what would happen to him after that picture was taken. She couldn't help but smile back, even though the person in the photograph tried to blow up the galaxy - with her in it - last month.

She really did have that weird dream meeting with Dr. Nefarious to thank. As the days went by, she started to see that one incident with the robot version of Dr. Nefarious sneaking on her spaceship and coaching her on her job as less of a thing that happened and more like a vision. A spiritual calling if you will.

Sure, it felt real. And for a while, she earnestly believed that it was real. But as the days went by and as her brain thought about it for a little while longer, Elaris began to rationalize to herself that no, it didn't happen and her patrol shift near Umbris was so boring that she fell asleep and had a strange nightmare of a screaming zombie robot telling her to quit her job.

Which is why she wasn't worried about the notification from a "DrN42" popping up on her account after she started an online session of Resistance: Fall of Blarg after her shift.

Apparently they were already friends and their last online activity was years ago, but it was an older game so she thought nothing of it. She accepted and settled into her chair, also thinking nothing of it when the voice chat booted on. She cracked open a can of Nanotech Gamer Fuel Cola ("the drink of true 133ts!" as it said on the side) and adjusted her headset.

"What's up, DrN42." she said into the microphone, in the tone of voice she used for livestreams.

"Testing...testing..."

Elaris made a tiny yell and jumped, her can of Cola flying out of her hand and crashing onto the floor.

Yes, there was no denying it. The voice on the other end of voice chat was Dr. Nefarious. The Dr. Nefarious that was supposed to be dead. The Dr. Nefarious that was supposed to be a figment of her imagination.

Immediately she remembered why the username was still on her friend's list - before he quit the Galactic Rangers, Elaris would try to get him to blow off a little steam by playing a couple online matches, usually after he got into another shouting match with Captain Qwark. She remembered days where both of them were standing side by side in the crowded broom closet, their shoulders touching as they were both in The Zone...

She shook that memory away before she dwelled too hard on it, her face flushing. She hated how much she missed the company of a criminal mad scientist.

That also meant she didn't just imagine that one meeting back on her spaceship. The weird robot in her dream that was yelling to a Lawrence over a cellphone and breathing like he still had a pair of lungs was real and now he was playing an online game with his old work username. Her mind reeled at the revelation.

"I heard a yelp so speakers seem to be working..." he said calmly, snapping her back into reality.

"How...." she stopped herself. "Okay, seriously, what are you even doing?" Her brain was still trying to play catch-up with what was going on. She fought to calm herself down - it's not like he could physically threaten her over an online game or anything after all - as a harsh metallic voice filtered through her speakers.

"I ran into a bit of inventor's block. Managed to get the wi-fi working from the crash site and worked my way there." he explained evenly. She couldn't see, but back on Umbris, he was currently sitting in a chair made out of stolen spaceship parts and twiddling a small wrench in-between two claws as he gently tweaked the sensitivity of his game controller, which was a Frankensteinian chimera of scrap metal and loose wires sitting in his lap.

Behind him, Lawrence was silently dusting. Lawrence didn't want to play, which was fine for Nefarious, because he didn't want to construct a second controller.

"You..." Elaris was still having a hard time making sentences work.

"If you must know, if you take about five repair droids and rip the wiring and chips out of their miserable carcasses, you can cobble together a working game controller out of them." his voice remained calm and at a normal speaking volume, but running underneath it was a seething undercurrent of hatred. "All you really need is some soldering materials and a small screwdriver."

"This is insane." she said, stating the obvious.

"I get that a lot, yes." he continued. Lawrence made a quiet amused noise under his breath but Nefarious wasn't paying attention. "It takes an additional two repair droids for the headset-"

"What if I tell the Galactic Rangers that you're still alive?" she blurted out suddenly, the words falling out of her mouth. She immediately clapped her hands over her mouth in an act of instant regret, but Nefarious didn't seem phased.

"Then you'd have to explain to them how you'd know this information, Elaris." he answered. Even though she could only hear his voice, she could just feel the smug smile crossing his metallic face. "And wouldn't that be an awkward conversation to your fellow galactic heroes?"

Crud, Elaris thought to herself. No wonder he was so calm.

"I'm also using a frequency jammer so don't try tracing my connection back to me. One of the first things I learned during my untimely stay in a prison cell was how to leech wi-fi and go completely undetected..!" he said with a sinister voice, his words taking on such an evil tone that didn't betray the fact that the main reason he learned how to leech wi-fi was because he didn't want to miss any seasonal events in League of Legendaries and wanted to keep his place in the top PVP DPS lists.

"Are you going to use this as blackmail?" she said in a tinier voice than she meant to.

"N-No?" he said incredulously, taken aback. The way he said it instantly defused most of the tension hanging in the air. He sounded almost hurt, of all things. "Calm down, Elaris. I just want to play Resistance and I just happened to see you online. What kind of person do you take me for?"

'Someone who's backstabbed everyone he's ever worked for?' flashed through her mind and while she didn't say it out loud, Nefarious could practically read her mind from the long silence that followed, which caused him to clear his cybernetic throat in embarrassment. There he goes doing the non-robot things again. At least he was consistent.

"I just want to play one online match. You know...for old time's sake. After that, I'll disappear. What do you say?"

She wasn't sure what made her say yes. Was it something in the tone of his voice? Was it curiosity? Or did she believe this was another weird dream, similar to the previous weird dream back when she was patrolling Umbris?

'Stupidity, probably' she thought to herself as DrN42's character loaded into the waiting room. She did the wave emote. In response, DrN42 shuddered a bit and then started walking into a wall. She heard grumbles of annoyance and the angry hammering of buttons as DrN42's attempt at emoting proved disastrous. He managed to get the dance emote working before he sank into the decorative pool that was in the training area map and drowned.

"Are you having any problems there, buddy?" she asked as he respawned and then proceeded to get his character wedged between two bushes. The hammering of buttons continued echoing into her ears.

"Ever had all of your fingers surgically removed and replaced with sharp, clumsy metal claws meant for rending organic flesh and not much beyond that?"

"No?"

"Well....that makes one of us...." he said glumly as his character lurched forward right into another wall. He controlled like someone who never played a video game in his life. He found the fire button and his character started shooting wildly into the air.

"Did you even practice beforehand?" she said in amusement, watching him figure out the controls.

"N-no...." he admitted sheepishly. His character fell into the pool again. "I'll say I have bad lag!"

"Well, too late for any regrets because our match is starting." She warned him, her eyes locked on the countdown clicking down on the HUD. A smile of amusement crossed her lips. This was going to be a virtual trainwreck and she was ready for it.

"Wh-what-"

Before Dr. Nefarious could finish his weak protest, they were both immediately loaded into bleak post apocalyptic ruins. Shades of brown and toppled skyscrapers surrounded them from all directions. Elaris adjusted her headset like a grizzled war veteran as the heavy metal soundtrack of Fall of Blarg flooded the broom closet.

To say that Nefarious "sucked" at this game was an understatement, and possibly an insult to creatures that sucked things for nutrients. Nefarious was so bad at this game that Elaris wondered if there was a correlation between his sudden drop in gaming skill and his unwanted transformation, and made sure to make a mental note to never turn into a robot. He played worse than someone who intentionally played bad for cheap clicks on YouTube, and that was saying something. Elaris was positive was one of his deaths was because he accidentally shot himself in the face with his own weapon, and she didn't even think that was possible in Fall of Blarg.

"Wow buddy, you're kinda bad at this game!" Elaris said as she killed the soldier that was camping on Dr. Nefarious's body and keeping him from respawning.

"SHUT UP, I'M REALLY RUSTY!" was his response.

Elaris couldn't help herself. She was on the battlefield of Resistance: Fall of Blarg - a game where she livestreamed with the Galaxy's greatest champions, a game where she ruled with an iron fist as Queen. He was in her domain now and not even his new robot form could protect him from her fury.

"Oh no, are you already getting rust?" she mocked playfully.

"NOT HELPING!"

"I could suggest some derusting agents, I know you're new to the whole robot thi-"

"WHAT WAS THAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU, MY HEADSET'S ACTING UP!"

Elaris broke out into a fit of laughter, which caused Nefarious to nervously chuckle on his end. She couldn't help it - as absurd as this situation was, she was having a lot of fun. Not even with the wild difference in skill level between her and her partner did her foes stand a chance. She was in Gamer Mode and nothing can stop her now.

One online match became three. Then five. Then nine. Every match, Elaris carried them to victory. While she did enjoy playing babysitter to a wildly flailing partner that drew enemy fire, Dr. Nefarious was a fast learner and actually figured out how to not suck and die on the battlefield. By the fifth match, some of his old Galactic Ranger skill began to come back and soon he was able to pick off one or two kills himself. Still not as good as Elaris, the Iron Queen of Resistance, but at least he wasn't so much of a dead weight anymore.

And honestly, she was having the best gaming session in months. She missed having a gaming partner. In this brief happy moment of leeching company wi-fi to keep her own Internet bill down, Elaris forgot she was playing video games with a scary robot monster that once pointed a giant space station sized weapon at Umbris and tried to blow up the entire galaxy.

'Umbris...'

The exhilarating rush of video games soon gave way to curiosity. Elaris checked the clock. She had been gaming with a bloodthirsty madman for a solid hour now. Normally she was out of Galactic Ranger Headquarters much earlier than this, even during days where she hung back to fix a few bugs on overtime. Now, she wanted to use the voice chat to its full advantage rather than blast enemy soldiers.

"Hey Nef." she said, setting their group to private and cancelling their next match.

"Hrm?"

Elaris looked around. She checked behind her to make sure there was no one walking down the hallway of HQ and then, after a brief hesitation, she lowered her voice and asked the question that was burning on the back of her head, even though she was dreading the actual answer.

"Why did you want to blow up Umbris and kill everyone?"

There was a quick cackle of disbelief - a sudden, pointed "HAH!" - over the other end.

"Where did everyone in the Solana Galaxy get this idea? How is blowing up Umbris going to kill everyone? Umbris is an uninhibited wasteland where Qwark has his stupid training base for squishy meatheads! I thought my motive would be crystal clear in me targeting that worthless mudball of a planet! No one would miss it!"

"W-what..." Elaris uttered in disbelief as her team partner suddenly broke into a rant befitting of a true gamer.

"Don't think I don't read the news! I've been seeing the propaganda from both Qwark's autobiography and that holovid that I was planning to "wipe out everything". Why would I wipe out everything? There's no one to gloat to when you wipe out everything! What did everyone think I was going to do - go to the Bogon Galaxy and march up to the doors of Megacorp like "guess who has six fingers and blew up billions of people"?"

He drew in a breath to calm himself; yelling at Elaris didn't feel nearly as good as yelling at Qwark or at some weird Lombax kid. "I swear you try to atomize one city in a fit of rage and everyone thinks you're a genocidal maniac." he added at last.

She thought back about the Deplanetizer and the holovid made in honor of the heroics of Ratchet and Captain Qwark. They added a couple scenes for Dr. Nefarious about how he was going to reduce the Solana Galaxy into space dust. The planets were perfectly aligning and Umbris has an unstable core - it just made sense that he would've planned this all out.

"Whoa whoa whoa, you mean to tell me that you set up the Deplanetizer to blow up a planet with an unstable core - a move that would've set off a chain reaction and wiped out everything in the galaxy including yourself - entirely by accident?"

"Yes!" he said instantly. There was then an awkward pause as his brain caught up to him. "...wait that would've actually destroyed the galaxy...?"

"Yes! Yes that would've destroyed all the other planets!" she barked back, a little louder than her normal speaking tone.

He went silent for a long period of time, a disconcerting period of time that made Elaris wonder if he lost connection.

Finally he spoke, and his voice was suddenly really quiet.

"I didn't know that..." he admitted.

"WHAAAAAT?!" she screamed.

She couldn't help herself. Anger was flooding her senses and clouding her thoughts. Maybe it was the heat of the online battlefield but she did not like the idea that Nefarious almost killed her - not because he wanted to! She accepted the idea that he had devolved into a bloodthirsty killer at this point! - but because he didn't know a goddamn thing about geology.

"Wait but that means you would've died too..." he added as his brain put the pieces together.

"YES! YES I WOULD'VE DIED, YOU IDIOT!"

He didn't answer, but his embarrassed silence really said it all.

"I swear do you actually spend longer than fifteen minutes thinking your plans through!?" Elaris said, her voice raising in volume until it became a harsh, almost Nefarious-like yell.

"Wow Elaris, you're getting really mad at that game! Is your teammate a total noob or something?" Ratchet called from the hallway. He had caught the last thing that Elaris had said as he was walking by, a doughnut still hovering near his mouth. Ratchet was usually one of the last people to leave Galactic Headquarters on account of all the extra-curricular training he liked doing.

"Yes! Yes, he's very much a total noob! He's normally much smarter than this but he nearly went and got everyone killed!" Elaris yelled back, gesturing vaguely at the screen where both her and DrN42's characters were staring at a poorly-textured wall.

There was a mild chuckle from the Lombax. "Okay Elaris, talk to you later!" and with a quick wave of a hand and a Lombax tail, he was gone.

Another awkward silence descended between them as Elaris fought to get her emotions back under control. It felt weird being the angry one. She was so used to being the calm, collected nerd next to the angry, raging nerd back when the two of them worked together as the Nerd Herd. She was used to being the one that would calm Nefarious down, not the other way around, and her gaming partner on the other end knew it from the way he hesitantly tried to help.

"Are you okay there, Ellie?"

Ellie. Like a needle puncturing a balloon, all of her fury drained out of her body when she heard that nickname. It had been years since she last heard anyone call her that pet name, the name she said her grandma used to call her one day while she and Nefarious were trying to fix the ammo capacity of the Bomb Glove, and just the tiniest act of him remembering it calmed her down. Her shoulders sagged.

"I swear you can be so stupid sometimes!" she said, but there was no fire behind her words anymore.

"Okay okay...so I made a rookie mistake!" he said with a chuckle. Was he humoring her? Was the killer robot actually trying to make her feel better? Why? "Next time I'll plan better! The best part about being a supervillain is that you can always try, try again until the heroes lose!"

"How did you make it all the way through med school and then build the blueprints for a giant space station armed with a planet-destroying laser without knowing a single thing about astrogeology?" Elaris said, her face resting in one of her palms.

"How was I to know planets had different cores?"

"That's something you learn in the fifth grade!"

"I never did really pay attention to geology in school..."

Despite that, Elaris felt better. Even though it still kinda stung that she almost died because Mr. Loose Cannon didn't think too hard on the consequences of his own actions, thinking about the previous game sessions brought her happy mood back. She found herself smiling again. He may have allied himself with Chairman Drek and nearly killed them all, but deep down he was the intelligent yet idiotic nerd that she shared a broom closet with, and that brightened her mood in a strange, confusing way.

"Sorry for yelling at you, Nef. I did have a great time!"

"I did too!" he shouted back, his mood immediately bouncing back now that Elaris was happy again. The Galactic Ranger decided not to think too hard on the fact that Nefarious seemed genuinely concerned for her. This situation was already weird enough as is.

"Well, I gotta go now, but thank you for talking to me back on Umbris. I wouldn't be moving out of the broom closet and into an actual laboratory if it wasn't for you!" When he didn't immediately reply back, only giving her a stunned silence in return, she didn't even wait for an answer when she turned off the game. Satisfied, Elaris finally removed the headset and ran a hand across her head. It really was time she got back to her apartment. Leftover ravioli didn't eat itself.

She got up from her chair, took one step, and immediately heard the sad, fizzy squish of her foot colliding with a cola puddle that had been laying there for a solid hour.

Elaris sighed in mild disappointment. She couldn't leave yet.

"I spent two bolts on that soda too..."

------------

"Did you have fun, sir?"

Dr. Nefarious looked up at Lawrence as he fiddled with his eldritch abomination of a gamer rig, his claws entangled in some loose hanging wires and a wide, childish grin on his skeletal face. His handcrafted gamer PC made from Deplanetizer guts and some repair bots was like a new pet to him, and he cherished it as such.

"Did you see us, Lawrence!? We won every match! We annihilated everyone that stood in our way! No one could get past our defenses!" he shouted with all the giddy excitement of a grade schooler. He was gesturing wildly, communicating as much with his arms and hand movements as his face, and from the way he was wrapped up in his PC wires, it was a miracle he didn't strangle himself or trip over.

"Masterful work. I can see why you're so popular with the ladies." Lawrence quipped, sounding about as excited as someone filing paperwork at the DMV.

"And then she told me she actually took my advice and then thanked me for it! She listened to me! You remember, back when I first became a robot! She listened!"

"I think she likes you, sir."

"I think she does! Isn't that wonderful, Lawrence!?" he practically screamed.

This would've been a happy moment, and indeed the mad scientist could feel a warm, fuzzy feeling spread through the circuits in his chest as his mechanical heart fluttered, thinking about his old science partner, if Lawrence didn't immediately chime in with a curt "So why didn't you ask for any of Captain Qwark's patrol schedules or passwords from her again?", ruining the moment instantly.

The warm happy feeling went cold. The excitement bled out of him.

Oh right. The real reason why he logged onto Resistance: Fall of Blarg around the exact same time as Elaris. The reason that Elaris had almost guessed before they ended up just fooling around in an online video game. His diabolical revenge scheme that he had cooked up after he realized that he and Elaris still had each other friended. His fullproof plan that would lead to Qwark's demise.

Dr. Nefarious sucked in a breath and dragged a hand slowly across his face, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Oh..."

#ratchet and clank #Elaris #Dr Nefarious #Ratchet and Clank movie #ratchet and clank 2016 #turquoisephoenix tells a story #Dr. Nefarious #Lawrence #Fanfic #this takes place in the reboot universe so this may not even be canon anymore once the new PS5 rolls around #but I like Elaris so

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imaginethathaikyuu · 5 years ago

Note

au: 9 | prompt: 40 and 13 | and the other thing: 7 | thank you so much! This can be either for bokuto or nishinoya! It’s your choice

i couldn’t resist writing a camp counselor au :’)

Changing your yellow camp t-shirt for a green sweatshirt with the same logo was probably a waste of time, because after heading out the backdoor of the cabin, you realized the summer nights were way too warm for long sleeves. It’d be silly to go back in now, though; your loud footsteps caused by your clunky combat boots made it difficult to sneak out. You only hoped you didn’t wake any of the campers on the way out.

“Where you going?” Kiyoko, sitting on the back porch with a book in her lap, asked you, nearly scaring you to death. You had no idea she was out here, and she looked pretty creepy sitting out here on the porch swing by herself.

“It’s after curfew, I don’t have any counseling duties after 11, do I?”

She gave you a knowing stare, pearing at you over her glasses.

“No,” she answered, a smirk growing on her lips. “But someone has to make sure no one sneaks out. Preferably someone with the experience.”

“Sneaking out of these cabins was much easier ten years ago,” you replied. “They’re all knocked out from a busy first day, anyway. You can hold down the fort while I’m gone, can’t you?”

She gave you a comforting smile, one that was as encouraging as it was sweet. “Go,” she said. “Bokuto is waiting for you, I’m sure.”

You were already down the porch steps before you called back a quick “Thank you! I owe you one!” and were down the grassy hill in seconds.

The boy’s cabins were on the other side of the camp, which meant you always had to meet Koutarou in the middle. Instead of changing your plans now that you were adults, you just followed the routine you had started when you were kids: meeting at the camp’s lake. While it was closer to the girl’s dorms, it was more or less smacked in the middle of the campgrounds if you both walked along the camp’s perimeter.

You jogged there because you were already a few minutes late - a young girl had refused to go to bed without you staying in the room, so you had to watch as she fell asleep. You were sure Koutarou was getting bored waiting on you.

But when you showed up to the lake, he wasn’t there. No more than a minute later, though, he came running, wearing the same yellow camp t-shirt you had changed out of before leaving.

“Sorry,” he said. “I had to get some kids to bed.”

You shook your head, “It’s okay, I just got here, too.”

“Good,” he nodded, “I would’ve hated making you wait here in the dark, the lake monster might’ve gotten you!”

“The lake monster?” you asked with a laugh.

“That’s what the kids have come up with this year,” he said as he led the way toward the dock. “What was it last year?”

“Chainsaw murderer,” you replied, jogging passed him to get to the end of the dock first. You expected him to chase after you, but you were already sitting down by the time he caught up.

“You alright?” you asked him as he sat down. You were kicking your legs back and forth above the rippling water, just like you did as a kid. The dock was just high enough so your feet couldn’t reach the water, so you didn’t have to worry about getting your shoes wet.

“I’m alright,” he replied with a nod, kicking your booted foot with his much bigger one. “Was a busy day. I always forget how wild the first day of camp is.”

He sounded exhausted; you felt bad for getting him out so late after the day he’s had. He had literally been balancing campers on his back all day.

“You’re right,” you agreed, watching the side of his face. “We didn’t have to come out tonight -”

“Yes, we did,” he said before letting out a yawn. “Of course we did. It’s tradition. Akaashi took some convincing, but, other than that, I had no problem getting here.”

Again, he was right. And it felt nice hearing him talk about it that way. This wasn’t really required, but to you, it was; you were glad to know he felt the same. “So did Kiyoko,” you said. “Said she needed someone with experience sneaking out to watch the kids.”

“Takes a criminal to know a criminal,” Koutarou said.

“You’re one to talk!” you laughed. “Sneaking out was your idea in the first place.”

“No way!” he argued. “You’re the one who wanted to sneak into the stables after lights out to become friends with the horses.”

You laughed even louder, “That was you, Koutarou!”

His only rebuttal was, “...Well, I guess we have differing opinions,” before he started laughing at himself.

You laid back onto the wooden dock, your joint laughter seeming to echo throughout the woods surrounding the lake. “We haven’t done this in so long.”

“Since last year,” he replied, laying down with you. He propped his head up on his hand so he could look down at you. It was dark, but the moon lit your face well enough for him to see.

“That’s a long time, Kou.”

He smiled as he watched your eyes darting across the night sky; the reflection of the stars shined in them, and he couldn’t look away.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re right. It has been too long.”

It really had been a long time. But not since the two of you had snuck out of your respective cabins to meet each other at the lake - while that was true, it’s not what he meant. It’s been too long since he’s seen you. Since he’s gotten to look into your eyes, hear your voice, be with you. It’s been far too long, even though just a year had passed since the last time.

“I can’t believe we actually got away with doing this when we were kids,” you said, laughing at the memory. “How were we not get caught sooner?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, laughing with you. “It was what, two years before anyone found us?”

You nodded. “I think so. And we tried everything that third year to get away with it,” you remembered. “I almost got sent home for sneaking out so much.”

“Oh, I cried to my dad,” Koutarou laughed, “I begged him to let you stay.”

His stomach hurt as he laughed harder and harder at the memory of his 12 year old self, begging his dad to let you stay at camp. And it worked - those were the perks of being the kid of the guy who runs the summer camp.

“I probably should’ve been banned from the camp with all the trouble I caused.”

“Me too!” he said, which made you laugh even more at the idea of the camp owner banning his own son from attending his camp.

“I hope we don’t have to deal with any kids as troubling as we were,” you said after the giggles died down. “I’d be a hypocrite for punishing a kid for sneaking out, wouldn’t I?”

“You would be,” he said. “But that’s your job. I mean... for the next six weeks it is.”

Somehow, Koutarou always managed to forget that you were only a temporary staff member here. He only had you for six weeks out of the year, then you’d be gone again. You’d go back to your normal life, and he’d have to get used to missing you until next year.

It was the one thing he hated about working at the camp.

It was a family business, so of course Koutarou was a permanent staff member. So were many of the other counselors: Akaashi, Kiyoko, Yukie, and a lot of the others. You were somewhat of an odd one out as a temporary member.

He cleared his throat, “We haven’t had many sneak outs, though, uh… so don’t worry about it.”

It was only your second year counseling; Koutarou had become a counselor at 18, while you waited until you were 21 to come back. Now, you were both 22, and Koutarou had three years of counseling under his belt - he was experienced enough to be like a mentor for you.

He looked down at the big, clunky, nerdy watch that Akaashi always made him wear to see that it was nearing midnight. And as much as he loved spending time with you out here, he had kitchen cleaning duty at 5 AM - meaning he needed all the sleep he could get.

You two couldn’t stay out until 3 AM like you used to, but he really wished you could.

“We should get back,” he told you, standing up. “Campers could be sneaking out as we speak.”

He took your hand and helped you up, and he didn’t drop it as he walked you back to your cabin.

The walk was quiet until Koutarou spoke up. “So, uh… you haven’t thought about, like… coming to work year round, have you?” he asked. “You know… There are a lot of jobs here, not just during summer camp. We could… use the help.”

“Of course I’ve thought about it,” you said. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I’m happiest when I’m here, Kou, you know that. But…”

You looked down at the ground as you tried to find your words, kicking a rock down the road as you swung your joined hands back and forth between you two.

“But?” he pressed.

You wondered if anyone here would even want you as a permanent staff member. If Koutarou would even want you to be around that often. A lot of the time, you were convinced that the reason your friendship was so strong was because it relied on only seeing each other once a year. You were afraid of what might happen if you were around each other more.

The insecure side of yourself said that he probably wouldn’t care if you were here or not. That the only thing that really mattered was being here for these six weeks - and after that, he didn’t care where you went.

But your hopeful side was telling you that maybe he did want you here to work with him. And that - this was an even bigger maybe - you might have a chance with him. He gave your hand a squeeze, and because of that gesture, that voice seemed to get louder.

“It’d be a long commute every day,” you said. “And I’d have to leave my job…”

“I know, I know,” he said. Your cabin was in sight now, and he knew he’d have to wrap the conversation up soon. “Look, I’m not telling you that you should do it - I know it’d be a big change, and… you can’t make a decision like that on the fly, right? But… just… maybe think about it? For me?”

“I’ll think about it for you,” you replied, and he smiled as he watched you smile. And he couldn’t help what he did next - he had to wrap his arms around your shoulders and pull you into a bone crushing hug.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” you managed to say. “I missed you more.”

“Whatever you decide to do, I’ll support, alright?” he said as you pulled away. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.” He wanted to say more - much more, if he was honest - but he left it at that.

He gave you his award winning smile and a wink to match as you started walking up the hill.

“Oh, hey!” he called, not caring how loud his voice was. “Be in the kitchen at 5, alright? Don’t be late!”

It was going to be a good summer. Apart from the kitchen duty.

#haikyuu imagines #Bokuto Koutarou #bokuto koutarou x reader

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superthiccthighssavelives · 5 years ago

Text

Oceans

anonymous asked:

could you do one where taron & his wife haven’t been intimate in a while because of their newborn and their getting kind of stressed, so one night he plans a super romantic night with just the 2 of them and it’s sweet and passionate? xx

Ok so, this was now my 2nd fanfic, and usually the kind of topic I am not good at writing, I wanted a challenge, and it took me all day, but I present this to you, anon, I hope this is what you wanted and that you love it! Please let me know. Thank you so much for giving me an opportunity to branch out and expand my story palette.

So again, music played a giant part in the overall emotion and tone of this story, I suggest listening to these couple of songs to set the mood:

Oceans - Seafret

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpdXBjwXbMg

Angel - Massive Attack

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiK2JlBpzvI

I have a whole playlist, if anyone is interested, anyway, enough babbling! Here we go...Oh, obviously there is sex involved, some sweet nothings and a bit, very small bit of depression and insecurity. Onwards!

I stumbled sleepily down the hall, rubbing the remains of sleep from my eyes. I'm on autopilot now, no thinking or questioning it anymore. If you asked what I've done this month since (baby) was born, I could not tell you. Other than the obvious. I don't know when I've last spoken to my friends, or even my mom. It's been exhausting. Tiredness was now just 75% of my personality. The nightly tasks were routine; change, feed, burp, rock. Like clockwork. Sometimes I fell asleep in the rocking chair to be woken by Taron in the early morning hours. He'd take over and I'd collapse back in our bed. I don't think we've spent too much time together in months. I can't lie and say it's been easy. If we talk, which is rare, it's about the baby. He's just returned from a movie shoot, and while I'm thankful he's home, it doesn't fix the distance between us at the moment. I don't even feel like a person right now. I'm just...here.

I never imagined my life going this way. Don't get me wrong, I was happy, I had a beautiful new baby, a lovely home and an amazing husband, but something was definitely missing lately. We hadn't been out just the two of us in over a year, I don't even remember when the last time we were intimate. Not that I've thought about it much recently, who has the time? I lived in leggings and tops covered in baby spit-up. I didn't bother to do my hair or makeup, I was permanently and officially a mom. I didn't want to complain, nothing was actually wrong. I was, for the most part, as previously mentioned, happy. When Taron was away, we'd facetime or he'd give a quick call before a shoot that day. But it was a bit few and far between. The last trimester of pregnancy made me tired all of the time. I'd go to work in the morning, and come home crashing to bed at 7pm. I missed him, he's here, and I miss him. I wouldn't blame him if he wasn't attracted to me anymore. Look at me. Permanent eye bags, messy hair and post-baby body. I've lost most of the baby weight with all the running around I do, but getting to the gym was out of the question. I barely have time to shower. My insecurities were becoming more prominent.

It was a rare afternoon where the baby was asleep, the house was quiet and we were both home. I sipped my coffee, staring out the window. I'd say I was lost in thought but my mind was blank. I wanted to stop thinking and enjoy a moment to myself. I was startled by Taron's arms encasing me from behind. He kissed the top of my head stating he was going to run some errands. I wanted to be mad, why does he get to go off and do whatever he wants and I have to sit at home alone, taking care of everything? I knew my emotions have been a little, well a lot, heightened lately. I tried to keep them in check, but my mouth tends to run before I think. "Oh, great, yeah go ahead, I'll just sit here and do everything" I felt my face getting hot, and a million awful words running through my head ready to spit out of my mouth. I don't remember the last time we had a fight, it definitely was not a regular occurrence, if it all. I was stressed out, tired and I wanted to feel human again. I was ready for a battle. He stood there looking a bit stunned. "I won't be gone long, I promise" I could tell he was trying to keep the peace. He had this look in his eyes, I couldn't tell if it was pity or guilt. Either way it wasn't making me feel any better. I was starting to see red. My heart began thumping loud, and hard, so hard I could feel it pulsing in my ears. "Well go on then." "Go...do whatever it is that's so important" I felt my eyes begin to water, but I refused to cry. I knew this was coming. He wanted to get away from me. I've failed. His mouth was open, words trying to escape. "Y/N ...I..." "GO!" I was a bit louder than I intended to be and pulled myself back, I was going to wake up the baby. I got up and headed up the stairs.

I broke down a bit, tears flowed a little more now. I somehow ended up in the bathroom on the floor. What was happening? How did everything change so drastically? What could I do to fix this? I stood up, taking a long look in the mirror, which made me want to cry more. I didn't recognize this person. There was a gentle knock on the door, Taron's voice calling my name. "Are you alright love?" I squeezed my eyes shut tight, trying to stop the salty flow of pain coming down. "Y/N?" I opened the door, slowly. I almost couldn't bear to look at him. "I'm fine" I said rather coldly as I walked past him. I didn't want to keep this argument going but my mouth wouldn't shut the fuck up. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" I still couldn't look at him, I knew if I did, I'd melt, and I did not want him to see me looking like this. "I promise, It will be quick, I'll be back before you know and we can have a nice night together later yeah?" "Taron! God, go already, just fucking leave" I knew I was being irrational and probably seemingly insane, but that control to stop didn't exist.

I felt him behind me, rubbing my arm, he placed another kiss on the top of my head. "I'll be quick" He turned and walked out, leaving me a mess.

I let out a heavy sigh and sat on the bed, I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my Gerber banana encrusted sweatshirt. God, I felt awful, why am I like this? I gave myself a minute to get it together before I checked on (baby). She was still fast asleep looking like a tiny angel. She was beautiful and carried so many of Taron's features. I pulled her blanket up to cover her and crept out back downstairs.

I dumped my cold coffee into the sink and just stood there. I didn't know what to do with myself. I was startled by a knock at the door.

Taron's mum was cheerfully grinning, hugging me right away. "Hello dear, I am here for the baby, it's time to share her with the world." I was confused. "What?" "(Baby) needs time with the grandparents, not to worry sweetheart, she will be in good hands, we've been dying to take her for a night" I was still confused, and a bit reluctant. (Baby) was only a few weeks old and I haven't let her out of my sight since we brought her home. She gave me a gentle pat on the arm and a sympathetic smile. "I will collect her things, go have a seat dear" I plopped myself on the sofa, I couldn't tell her no, and as much as I hate to admit it, it would be nice to take a long bubble bath and relax. She appeared again, diaper bag in hand, fully stocked. "I'm going to put her things in the car, I'll be right back for the baby"

It's been an hour since she's left with (baby) and I think I may have fell asleep sitting here. Has it been an hour? Two? I checked the clock, it's been three. I don't know how I fell asleep sitting up, but my neck was aching.

I slowly made my way upstairs to the bathroom to draw myself a bath. I felt so relaxed I thought I might fall asleep again. I could certainly use this time to catch up on a bit of sleep. It was still early in the day, and I was at a loss of what to do.

It's been ages since I was alone. My phone caused me to slightly jump as it went off. There was a text from Taron simply stated "Tonight" "What?" I watched for the 3 dots to appear, but nothing did. "What are you talking about?" Still nothing. I resigned myself and dressed in something the baby hadn't been near, which didn't give me a lot of options. The sound of my phone rattled through the room once more "Get ready" "Taron, what the hell are you on about, get ready for what?" I am once again, confused. "Us" This was frustrating. He stopped responding after my numerous "WTF are you talking about?" texts. I had no idea what I was supposed to "get ready" for. Are we going out? Are we staying in? Is he going to drive me out in the middle of nowhere and murder me? Who knows!

After mulling it over for much too long, I styled my hair, once I remembered how to. I threw on some makeup, giving me some color back in my cheeks and dressed myself in a cute floral sundress, I almost felt like 'me' again.

I sat at the table again, looking out to the perfectly blue sky, feeling a small sense of excitement for the first time in quite awhile. "Come outside" I grabbed my denim jacket and wondered what awaited me when I got there. Taron was in the car motioning for me to get in. I climbed in and felt a twinge of nervousness, we hadn't been alone together in so long. "You look lovely" He smiled so heartily, it made my heart flutter. I was struck with butterflies dancing around my belly. He encased my hand in his and brought it to his lips, giving it a sweet kiss. "Where are we going?" He smiled again, not answering. I rolled my eyes, knowing at this point, he wasn't going to tell me anything. It was really cute though. He looked so happy and excited. I couldn't help but smile, and feel a hard lump of guilt inside of me.

Honestly, it didn't matter where we went, as long as we got this time together. He was my favorite person in the entire world and I had almost forgotten that. Time tends to rip you apart in places if you let it.

We ended up somewhere in the countryside. It was absolutely breathtaking. Taron led me out of the car and held my hand as we walked. He carried a basket in his other. It was quiet for a moment, I was unsure of what to say. I felt terrible for how I was behaving earlier but I didn't want to bring it up and potentially ruin what we were about to have. We made our way up a large lush hill, resting at the peak for a moment before heading down to a secluded beach. Taron laid out a blanket and unpacked a picnic lunch. It was still rather quiet between us

"This is amazing" I felt overwhelmed with guilt and sadness. He had left earlier to put this together and all I did was give him a hard time. I felt a bit emotional again and tried my hardest not to let my tears push through. He took my hand again, gently tugging me toward him where he placed the sweetest kiss on my lips. My head was swimming, the smallest touch of his lips gave me life. I'd forgotten what this felt like. It took me a moment to open my eyes to see his gorgeous face smiling back at me. "I miss you, Taron, I am so..." He cut me off. "Let's have some food then, shall we" I wanted to apologize and tell him how much he and all of this meant to me, how much I loved and appreciated him, but instead I shoved a triangle shaped sandwich slice into my mouth. The waves were crashing causing gentle chaos around us. There was a slight warm breeze blowing through our hair, it was so perfect. We sat finishing our food, just taking in the beauty around us. Taron stood up, reaching down for my hand. "Let's take a walk"

We strolled down the beach, the sky glowing golden and spectacularly changing to pink and orange and purple as the sun was setting. We remained quiet, just enjoying being by each other's side. "Can we stop please?" I looked at Taron, I needed to say something, it was eating away at me. He quietly nodded, looking at me with a bit of worry on his face. "Thank you, this has been wonderful, I know things have been...off, but I wanted to tell you how sorry..." He put his finger to my lips. "I know" "Let's not worry about that, let's enjoy our time"

I agreed, but still feeling somewhat melancholy. We were frozen, staring out into the vast ocean. I wanted to hold on to him forever. He was my home. I leaned into him, my head falling to his shoulder, our hands still entwined. He squeezed my hand tightly and tugged me back towards our picnic. He quickly packed up and we began our trek back to the car.

I was hoping this night wasn't over yet, and we'd get more time together. Taron had a new movie shoot coming up and he was leaving in a week. The night was looming, the sky fading into greys and navy blue darkness. Taron drove for a bit, and finally reaching a destination that lead us to a car park downtown. He lead me to an elevator, I had no idea where we were but I trusted it would be wonderful. The doors opened up to a hotel lobby, with marble floors and extravagant furnishings. He checked us in and again, back into an elevator, making our way to a room. The room was small but cozy, the bed took up a good portion of it, which was easily the most comfortable bed I had ever been in, in my life. I sank right in, the mattress curving to encase my body in pillowy contentment. I felt sleep creeping up and quickly sat upright, I was not wasting this night with my eyes closed, at least, not in that way. Taron excused himself for a moment and I took to the window to check out the view, it was a dazzling display of lights making the city look like it was shimmering.

A moment later he was back at my side, with another gentle kiss on my cheek. "You don't have to do all this, I am just so happy to be with you, alone" He turned me to face him. "Sweetheart, I know it's been difficult these past few months, but I want to have this, I want you to have this" "It's been increasingly harder to be without you and now with (baby) I can't bear to be away so much" His eyes bored into mine, searching, his hands reaching up to rest on either side of my face. "Look how beautiful you are, I can't believe how lucky I am to have you" "Are you kidding? I think you have that backwards, I'm the lucky one...and I'm sorry, I know you haven't been attracted to me lately, and I don't..." "Stop, Y/N, you are just as beautiful to me as ever, you're incredible, how can you think that?" "I...we haven't...I mean, look at..." I gestured vaguely at myself He shook his head, "You are absolutely mad!" "You. You are gorgeous, everything about you makes me wild, please believe that, I am completely enamored by you." I watched his lips as he spoke, craving them on my own. "Look at me Y/N" "You, are, everything" He took small pauses between words to emphasize their meaning.

My eyes were glued to his, the intensity in his stare giving me goosebumps. "Taron" I don't even know if it came out of my mouth loud enough for him to hear, my voice was cracking. I said it once more, whispering.

His lips were on mine in an instant, I felt the crave in his kisses. I wanted it just as much. Our mouths moved in a sweet rhythym, never getting enough. Our breaths became heavier, with want and intention. I pulled back, just long enough for him to miss my lips near his, making him lunge toward them again. I made this a game, the tension growing stronger. His mouth hastily found its way to my neck, languidly moving to the most the spot near my ear where he knew it drove me crazy. His tongue peeked out, licking the soft, sensitive skin there. His breath was hot and full of need whispering in my ear, drawing out my name.

I let out a small moan, my head falling back to give him full access. His hands moved up my body reaching my waist, squeezing me tight. I tore off my jacket and wrapped my arms around to caress the back of his neck, my fingers kneading up and through his hair. It's been so long since we've touched like this, it felt new but so familiar. He released his lips from my skin, leaving me desperate for his contact again.

In an instant my legs were around his waist as he picked me up. I felt the cool wall on my back and Taron's hands holding me up under my dress. His body pressed into me firmly, once again his eyes searching mine. "Y/N" was all he could say before his lips came back to mine. My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest, the feeling was so much more intense than I had imagined. It was like the first time.

I slid slowly down as he let me go. He reached for the zipper in the back of my dress and watched as it fell to the floor. I felt a bit exposed, as I had not felt confident about my body since the baby, but that feeling was quickly forgotten when he dropped to knees to kiss my stomach. I ran my fingers through his hair once again, pulling him closer. His hands caressed my hips, reaching further back, running his palms over my ass. He looked up at me, his eyes so full of lust and passion, it made me shake.

"You are absolutely fucking amazing"

I wanted to freeze this moment, and live in it forever. I had never felt such intense love like this before. I couldn't believe I had it now, with him.

He watched his hands move over my body with incredible attention, slowly, taking in everything. My head fell back against the wall, never wanting this feeling to end. I felt his lips on my thigh and fingers so so slowly and softly tracing the lace detail of my panties. I shivered when his tongue moved from my thigh to my most sensitive spot, eliciting a quiet, breathy show of pleasure. The feeling was so heightened I thought I might explode. His mouth felt like heaven as it licked, nibbled and sucked until I was ready to fall apart.

He sensed I was close and was quickly up again to place me on the bed. He undressed, his eyes never leaving mine. He crawled slowly toward me, a look in his eyes I can't explain. His eyes trailed my body, his hands following, removing what was left clinging to my body. I heard him whisper "Gorgeous" before his lips met my breasts. His body was pushing me down, his mouth giving me the sweetest bliss. I felt his hand grip my thigh, bringing it up to meet his waist and hook around his back, his fingertips gracefully moved up it, leaving goosebumps.

I was most definitely ready to bust. I grabbed him to bring his face back to mine and allow me to show my gratitude. I nudged him to roll over so I could reciprocate and show him how good he made me feel. I wanted him to experience it too. I kissed his lips, then moved them to his forehead, gently placing the most softest quiet kisses on his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. I drank him in, this perfection below me. His hands never left me, his breath hitching when my lips met his neck. I couldn't help but let out another moan, enjoying the feel of him against me.

My tongue was eager, ready to please. I left a trail of wet kisses down his chest and stomach and finally to where I know he wanted it the most. I took all of him in, hoping I was giving him as much gratification as he had given me. I was drunk with want, enjoying every moan and staggered breath that was released from his lips. I moved back up, placing myself close to where we were about to join. His hand reached up, caressing my cheek, with that look in his eyes again. I felt his hand move down between us to feel what he had done to me. I was ready.

We both let out an exclamation of intense pleasure as I felt him slide slowly inside me. My head rolled back, wanting more. He gripped my hips, moving me how he wanted me but not letting me go as fast as I had craved. It was excruciating, I wanted to cry. It felt amazing, and dizzying, I just wanted him. He quickly flipped us and covered me with his firm and heavy warm body. HIs lips made their way back to me, his tongue tasting mine and then moving down again to my neck. I felt his teeth grip the delicate skin as he moved in and out of me. The tempo picked up slightly, the air getting heavier. To hear my name coming from his sweet soft lips in an all-consuming display of revelry made me even more turned on than I've ever been.

It was even hotter when he whispered "Fuck, baby, you feel so fucking incredible" while bringing his hips farther down to meet mine. I couldn't control myself any longer, I dug my nails into back while my head flung back, thrusting upwards to feel the increasing momentum. I couldn't stop saying his name, over and over, until my voice turned into quiet whimpers begging him not to stop. Watching him over me, his face dressed in ecstacy, was the most beautiful and amazing thing I would ever see.

Our pace slowed, neither of us wanting it to end. Our lips met again, a slow cadence of breaths expelled into one another. The pressure was rising, I could feel the heat creeping, my body tingling like I was being set on fire in the most delectible way. "Y/N, look at me" I could hardly open my eyes, the feeling was so amazingly intense. His eyes gazed down at me, feeling like he was staring into my soul, I trembled. Our bodies were in perfect rhythym, our eyes only fixed on one anothers, the burning grew, and I was ready to come undone.

It felt like time stood still, all I saw was him, his eyes, his lips saying "I love you", the pressure became too much, I shattered. I let out a gutteral whimper as I reached the apex of this moment. Taron gripped my hips and gave one last fervent thrust. I had never heard such sweet music from his lips as when he let himself go and gave into the moment. He fell to my side, out of breath, smiling. "I've missed you" I couldn't help but smile back, turning to him to caress his face. "I love you, I'm sorry" "Shush, come here" He enveloped me into his arms, planting tiny sticky kisses on my lips. "I feel like I could sleep forever now" my words trailing lazily as I drifted off. Taron settled into my side, giving me one last squeeze before sleep took him over.

#taron egerton imagine #taron x reader #taron egerton x reader #taron egerton oneshot #taron x you #fanfic #for anon #smut

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littlelovelyspiderling · 6 years ago

Text

Doc Oc

This has been stuck in my brain so I had to write it...sorry for not answering a lot of requests, I promise to get to them soon!! (also if you want to be tagged on my writing stuff just let me know!)

Peter is captured by Doctor Octopus. While trying to get the young hero to talk, the evil scientists learns a few interesting facts about New York’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

word count: 4,100

Peter had faced Doc Oc plenty of times before, but never four nights in a row. He was in the middle of a much-needed nap when the psycho eight-limbed scientist suddenly popped up on the news again, terrorizing the citizens of downtown Queens again, and demanding an audience with Spider-Man—again. This guy would not give him a break. Peter had bested him four times, but four times he had slipped from his and the police’s grasp. On top of early school days, mounds of homework, and a slew of new Avengers missions, it was really wearing him down. Peter groaned, threw on his spandex suit, and begrudgingly swung out to the scene, blinking the sleepiness from his eyes.

Doctor Octopus chucked a car down the street, narrowly missing a group of terrified bystanders. His metal arms spit sparks across the pavement with every massive step.

“Bring me Spider-Man!” he cried, laughing maniacally. Spider-Man flipped off a building and on to a streetlamp, stifling a yawn.

“Alright, alright, I’m here, freak show.” Doc Oc turned on him, grinning fiendishly. Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. “Seriously man, how many times are we gonna do this? Can’t you just go to jail already? Or take a day off? Start a new Netflix series maybe? I’ve heard Nailed It is stellar. Or, I don’t know, do something more constructive with your time besides dragging a very grumpy superhero out of bed every night to whoop your ass for the millionth time this week?”

“Do not fret, arachnid,” Octavius assured him, rising high on his mechanical limbs. “This ends tonight.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you said yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, so don’t mind me as I continue to fret most ardent—ah!”

A tentacle swung at him, whooshing beneath his feet as he leapt over it. Spider-Man whipped around the light post and dropped to the ground, landing low to the asphalt. Not even a second later, another arm came flying for his face. He rolled this time, the clawed hand barely nicking his shoulder as it whipped overhead. The sharp sting made him hiss. He sprung on to the side of a building and fired a glob of webbing mid-leap, but it missed the evil doctor by a mile. His movements felt sluggish, uncoordinated. Oh crap. The consequences of three nights without proper sleep were really starting to take their toll—and it was not cheap.

He shook his head, fighting to clear the fog from his brain, but it refused to dissipate. His muscles, too, felt tired and limp. Spider-Man ran along the side of the building and threw himself at Octavius, fist wound back, teeth gritted, only to get knocked sideways and thrown into a wall. His head hit first, sending a jolt rattling through his skull. He slumped to the ground, jarred and dazed, the fog creeping into the edges of his vision. A shadow loomed over him, smiling like the grim reaper coming to claim his soul.

“My, my, Spider-Man. One hit, and you’re already out for the count? I expected better from you.”

“You…planned this,” Peter realized, staggering to his feet. “Drawing me out late every night…never letting me rest.” His eyes felt heavy in his head. All he wanted was to sleep. The world was spinning like a carousel. “Y-you…son of a—”

A tentacle whacked him on the temple. Spider-Man was out before he hit the ground.

Light was what finally woke him. Harsh, white, aimed directly in his eyes. He blinked and squinted, groaning in protest, scrunching up his nose and furrowing his brow.

“Took you long enough,” a familiar voiced groused. “I was almost worried I had rendered you comatose.”

The light moved away. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes, letting himself take in the room. Doc Oc was standing in front of him, looking irritated. Gradually, his brain switched back on, and the situation dawned on him. Oh no. Oh god. He…he had been kidnapped. By Doctor frickin' Octopus. That was red flag number one.

Next, Peter gazed around, noting the boring gray walls and strange equipment lining the tables. It seemed he was in some sort of lab, the dark and clammy and evil secret lair type. Red flag number two.

Red flag number three came when he tried to move. Because, well, he couldn’t. Peter looked down and discovered he was suspended upright on a large metal board in the shape of an ‘X’. His arms and legs were pinned to the board by thick metal clasps, thicker than the width of his wrists. The realization launched his heart into his throat. Spider-Man was captured and restrained. By his absolute worst nemesis. A man who spent more time plotting to murder him than most normal people spent working a day job. Terror welled like lava in his stomach. Peter couldn’t stop himself from immediately trying to wrench free. He knew he looked pathetic, weak, desperate, but he hated the feeling of being trapped. And he was dead if he didn't escape.

Yet try as he might, the bonds were too strong. Doctor Octopus chuckled.

“Valiant efforts, arachnid. But I’m afraid you’ve been caught. Not even the Hulk could break those restraints. No use wasting your energy on so hopeless a feat.”

Eventually, Peter stopped struggling, gasping in frustration. “L-let me go,” he growled. He cursed the tremble in his voice.

“I’ve spent this entire week orchestrating your capture, and then I’ve had to sit here waiting for you to wake up for the past twelve hours. I’ll pass, thanks.”

Spider-Man swallowed. I’ve been asleep for twelve hours? At least he’d gained back some of the rest he’d lost. His newfound alertness and the lack of pain in his skull seemed to confirm Doc’s claim. Still, what good did that do for him now? He lowered his head, fear throbbing through his system in sync with his rapid heartbeat. Peter Parker was totally and utterly screwed.

“What do you want? Why haven’t you just killed me?”

“Curious how all your childish quips dry up so quickly once you find yourself beat,” Octavius sneered, approaching him. Peter pressed as close to the metal ‘X’ as he could, unable to back away. “I like seeing this side of you. Helpless, trapped, too terrified to even crack your pathetic little jokes. Completely at my will and mercy. Why, I could slice open your gut and let your entrails spill across the floor, and all you could is watch. Isn’t this exciting?”

His breaths came out in choppy huffs. He pulled ferociously at his bonds. They didn’t budge.

Peter Parker was on his deathbed. That was certain. But Spider-Man couldn't let him win. Not yet.

“Very exciting,” Peter eventually agreed, slumping against the boards, forcing his voice to level out. “I’ve, uh—I’ve always wanted to know if my third grade science teacher has been right all these years—that I’m perfect both inside and out.”

The side of Doc Oc’s mouth twitched. “Hm. The comedian returns. Amusing.” He rose up on two of his metal limbs to stand eye-level with Spider-Man. “But trust me, arachnid: he won’t last long.”

Peter waited for him to stab him, strike him, skewer him like a shish kabob. Instead, the evil scientist turned away, meandering up to a table across the room. Peter breathed a slow sigh of relief.

“And to answer your earlier questions, I was paid a handsome sum of cash to capture you from a person I’d best not name. Quite a handsome sum, enough to fund my research for years. Half up front, and the next half once I hand you over to him.” He sifted through the tools on the table, examining each one with delicate and ominous interest. Peter watched, fear shivering across his skin. “But this person is not expecting your presence until tomorrow morning, which gives me plenty of time to ask you some of my burning questions, and to pull the truth out of you using a few…persuasion methods.”

Mr. Stark had warned him that this might happen some day. The more he tried to protect the world, the more powerful the enemies that would rise against him. Nearly all of the Avengers had been in this position at some point in their career. Now it was his turn to be strong. Spider-Man summoned all the courage he could muster up from within his little body.

“Sorry, but your bedside manners suck, Doc. I’m not telling you anything.”

Doctor Octopus lifted a drill-like contraption from the table, a sinister grin on his lips. “We shall see how stubborn your resolve is after I tear the muscle from your bones fiber by individual fi—”

The ring of a cell phone interrupted him, causing both Peter and Otto to jump. Octavius grumbled to himself, yanking the phone from his pocket, and frowned at the screen before answering.

“Hello?” he snapped, then immediately sobered up. “Oh, um, hello sir. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. Yes, yesterday evening. The plan worked marvelously.”

“Who’s that?” Peter asked. Doctor Octopus ignored him.

“Yes, of course. I’ll have him to you tomorrow. Where’s he now? Here, in my lab, preparing to face the interrogation of a lifetime.”

Doc Oc shot a smug glare in his direction, making Peter stiffen, then turned back towards the wall.

“Harm him? Well, obviously, sir. How else am I to get him to talk?”

A voice warbled back at him from the phone. Otto’s expression immediately fell, replaced by anger and confusion.

“What? But sir, you never said…ugh.” He dumped the drill on the table, pouting like a child. “Alright. Yes, I understand. Not a scratch. See you tomorrow.”

Octavius slipped the phone back into his coat, then slowly turned to face him. He flexed his hands at him sides and held his shoulders tight.

“It seems you’ve had a stroke of luck, arachnid. The man who wants you needs you fully intact. While you are in my custody, I can’t harm you.”

Peter lit up. “Wait, really? Ha! Suck it, Doc!” Then he frowned, tilting his head to the side. “Wait, why?”

“He didn’t say. But I wouldn’t celebrate so hastily, Spider-Man.” He lifted closer to him. His eyes were cold and dark. “There are plenty of means of torture that don’t require bodily harm.”

This was his chance to think his way out of here. He had to buy himself some time. Peter cleared his throat.

“Well, you better hurry and come up with one, Doc. You know, before the Avengers show up here and kick your ass.”

Otto rolled his eyes. “The Avengers will never find this place, you idiot.”

“Yes they will. They’ll track my phone.”

“I destroyed your phone as soon as I caught you.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. “What? Doc! Not cool, man. I know it was a piece of crap, but it was my piece of crap!”

“Shut it, you blabbering moron!”

Peter grinned. Now he was back in the game.

“My suit has a tracker too, genius. They’re going to find me, and I promise they won’t go easy on you, even if you are a fat, ugly loser living in a garbage can.”

The doctor scoffed. “You’re lying. I disabled your suit. And if there was, my sensors would have picked it up.”

“Not this one. Tony Stark made it. It’s teeny-tiny and puts out a signal only he can track.”

Peter was lying, of course. Tony hadn’t made any tracker of the kind, at least not to his knowledge. If his suit was offline, which seemed to be the case, the tracker that was in it was offline too. Still, Doc Oc didn’t need to know that. Slowly, the color drained from the scientist’s face.

“Where is it?” he hissed. His metal arms flew at Spider-Man, searching for the hidden device. “Tell me where it is, now!”

The two mechanical claws started grabbing at Peter’s legs and midsection in their hunt for tracker, causing him to cringe. The sensation was not what he was expecting, and before he knew it, a massive wave of laughter was building behind his lips. He managed to stay quiet for a few more seconds, clenching his jaw, coiling his muscles, until one of the tentacles squeezed his side. Spider-Man flinched and yelped, making Octavius start.

“What was that? Is the tracker there?” His metal claw tweaked the same spot. Peter squeaked.

“Quihit it! It’s too small to find!”

“Then why are you so jumpy all of a sudden?”

Spider-Man didn’t answer, his face heating up beneath his mask. Doc Oc narrowed his eyes. To Peter’s dismay, the prongs returned to his ribs and began kneading at them experimentally. Despite his attempts to fight it, high-pitched giggles slipped through his defenses — and once the seal was broken, he couldn’t make them stop. Doc blinked in surprise as Peter jerked away from the contact.

“Ahaha hey! Stohop it, you psycho!” He giggled and squirmed until Octavius withdrew his arm, leaving him panting and flushed pink.

“Ah, I see now. You’re not worried about me finding any device. You’re just ticklish.”

The redness in his cheeks bled through the rest of his body. After having Tony Stark discover how unbearably sensitive he was, Peter thought the worst of the embarrassment was behind him. What could possibly be more humiliating than having your biggest idol find out that one poke to the tummy rendered Spider-Man a giggly, useless blob?

Your biggest nemesis, that’s what.

Peter suddenly felt hyperaware of how vulnerable he was. Doctor Octopus could sense his discomfort, which mirrored how he’d been acting earlier: twitchy, anxious, devoid of chatter or childish jokes. An evilly knowing glint entered the scientist’s eyes.

“You seem tense, Spider-Man. I told you I’m not allowed to harm you, so why are on edge again?”

The young hero swallowed, shifting against the ‘X’. “W-well, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m imprisoned by a maniac and strapped to a freezing cold board like a dead carcass about to get an autopsy. You try getting comfortable on this thing. Not exactly the spa day I’ve been meaning to treat myself with, Doc.”

“You were acting perfectly at ease until I brushed you here.” He pointed towards the spot with one of his mechanical claws, causing Spider-Man to flinch sharply. “Are you really that sensitive?”

Peter stared sideways with a nervous cough. “Uh…no…?”

“So you don’t mind if I do this?”

Before he could squeak out a protest, the metal prongs zipped to his side. It was comical how violently the contact made him jump, and how quickly laughter succeeded it.

“Ack! Oho c-crahap! Nohoho!” Good god, he was in trouble. Now that he was tickling him on purpose, it was so much worse. The robotic fingers were stiff and icy, kneading his ticklish torso with machine-like precision and cruelty. Different than how hands felt, but no less maddening—perhaps even more so. As they moved up his side, pinching each individual rib, Peter’s laughter climbed.

“Now that I think about it, this works out marvelously. Although the method is rather…unconventional, I can still get you to talk without having to physically harm you.” He dropped the claw back down to his belly, making Spider-Man wince and squeal. “Now tell me, arachnid: where does Stark keep his research on nano-technology, and how can I get ahold of it?”

Uh-oh. Peter had been hoping he’d ask him something he had no clue about, like where Hawkeye had been for the last two years or what size underwear the Hulk wore. Unfortunately, he knew the exact location of the hard drive Mr. Stark kept all of his nano-tech information on, because he’d been letting Peter work on it with him in the lab.

But he couldn’t let Doc Oc know that.

“W-whahat? I dohohon’t know! I have noho idea!” He angled his body as far from mechanical fingers as he could manage, giggling hysterically. “This ihis rihidiculous! Let me gohoho!”

Octavius smiled at the helpless hero. “Not until you tell me what I want to know.”

To Peter’s horror, a second metal hand pounced on his defenseless torso, squeezing his other side and tickling his tummy. Now there was absolutely no escaping the tickle torture, and it was twice as unbearable. Poor Spider-Man shrieked and laughed, thrashing and jerking and throwing his head back.

“Nohohohaha! Ahahahahasshole!” He hated how much Doc’s evil plan was working. He was already desperate to make the cruel tickling stop. The metal prongs continued to knead and claw at the teen’s sensitive midsection, increasing their speed and intensity with every passing second. Peter’s sides ached as he giggled wildly, endlessly.

“Cursing?” Octavius teased. “That’s awfully out-of-character for our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” He moved both arms to his ribs, drilling them with tickles and sending the superhero into a twitchy frenzy. He had to admit, it was odd to see the renowned wall-crawler reduced to such a pathetically helpless position. It was even odder to see how effective tickle torture was on someone with such a high pain tolerance. In all of their brawls and battles, he had never considered utilizing so frivolous a tactic. There was something strangely…endearing about it. Spider-Man could take four nights of beat-downs, but hardly two minutes of tickling? His laughter was so high-pitched and childlike; it made the doctor begin to wonder how old he actually was.

Meanwhile, Peter was hanging on by fraying threads. He bucked and squirmed and shook his head, giggles pouring from his lips. “Dohoc plehehehehehease!” he cried. He wasn’t sure if begging for mercy would increase or dampen Doc Oc’s thirst for brutality, but at this point, it was his only option. “I d-dohon’t know ahanythihing! Mihister Stahahark hasn’t shohohown me! I dohohon’t—I cahan’t—oho gahahaEEEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAA!”

Mid-sentence, Doc’s sinister claws crept up to his armpits and started scribbling experimentally against the hollows. Spider-Man all but lost it, wrenching with every ounce of his strength and peeling into loud, hiccup-filled bouts of uncontrollable laughter. Octavius couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Oh dear, have I found your weak spot?” he asked. The deadly prongs burrowed deeper into his underarms, eliciting yelps and squeaks from the poor hero. “Maybe I’ll just hang around here until you start talking.”

Peter was certain he would die if the tickling didn’t stop. Maybe he could survive a few more minutes of it in other places — belly, sides, ribs — but his armpits? Nope. They were too damn sensitive for him to bear. Where the hell were the Avengers? A part of him hoped they didn’t come, because this would be very embarrassing to have to explain. The rest of him was too worn down to care.

He had to tell him. He had to. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t!

“STAHAPSTAHAHAPSTAHAHAHAP!” he pleaded through tears. “I SWEHEHEHEAR! I DOHOHON’T KNOHOHOHOW! AHAHAHAHAHADOHOHOCSHIHIHIHIHITPLEHEHEHEHEASE!” His words were swallowed by painful hiccups that racked his entire frame. At this point, he could hardly even make a sound, he was laughing so hard. Octavius shook his head amusedly.

“I’m not an idiot, arachnid,” he said. The tentacles suddenly withdrew from his underarms, leaving Peter dazed and reeling with incredible relief. “I know you know where they are.”

Weak giggles spilled continuously from his mouth as he fought to catch his breath. “Ehehe…ahehehe…oho my god.” He hung limply from the metal ‘X’. “Noho, I…no I dohon’t…”

“You do,” Doc insisted. “It’s funny how effective this is on you. It’s almost cute.”

Peter wanted to punch his smug face in so bad right now. If he could just get out of these stupid restraints…

Before he had a chance to try, one of Octavius’ metal arms reached up and grabbed hold of his mask.

“I nearly forgot; I can see who you are now. Why wasn’t that the first thing I did? Silly me.”

Panic flooded Peter’s system. “No—Doc—wait—!”

It was no use. In an instant, Octavius ripped the mask from his head. Just like that, his cover was blown. Slowly, he met Doc’s gaze, eyes wide and afraid.

After soaking in the true face of his archenemy, Doc felt a sick twist in his stomach. “You’re…a child,” he finally said. The Spider-Man mask fell from his claw.

Peter’s face was still red from laughing; his eyes still shone with tears. He was at a loss for words.

“You’re telling me I’ve been fighting a child all this time? Spider-Man is just some kid? I was planning to break every bone in your body, for crap’s sake. I was going to sell you to be experimented on.”

Peter swallowed and stared at the floor. “I’m not…a child…”

“How old are you?” he asked. When Spider-Man didn’t answer, his metal hands jumped back to his torso. Peter shrieked.

“AHAHAHEHAHAHAHA!” His laughter was even more adorable when his face was visible, and you could see the giant smile that overtook his features. “NOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHEHEHEHACAHAHAHAHAN’T!”

“If you tell me, I’ll release you,” Doc said. Peter didn't care that he was probably lying. He immediately crumbled.

“FIHIHEFIFTEHEHEHEEN! I’M FIHIHIFTEHEHEHEHEEHEEN!” He realized too late he could’ve just lied. But Doctor Octopus had seen his face; by now he could probably look him up and easily find the answer.

Slowly, the mechanical tentacles relinquished their tickle attack. Peter melted with relief, giggling breathlessly.

“You’re fifteen?” Doc Oc gawked. Spider-Man didn’t understand why it was so shocking. An eight-year-old was a child, not him! Huffing in frustration, Octavius slammed one of his arms against the panel of buttons in front of him.

With a click, the clasps on his wrists and ankles suddenly opened. Peter dropped to the ground, landing on his hands and knees.

“A teenager has no business being involved with superheroes or criminals or anything like this. Even I know that. Go home, and never interfere with my operations again.”

Peter fought to shake the remaining laughter from his voice. “Y-you, heh, can’t really expect me to listen to you, can you Doc? I’m not gonna stop fighting you just cuz you suddenly decided to develop some weird, skewed morality.”

Octavius hinted a smile. “Are you sure about that, Spidey?” he asked, feigning innocence. Before Peter could react in time, four metal limbs lunged at him, pinning him to the ground and tickling his tummy and underarms with merciless cruelty. Spider-Man exploded into hysterical laughter, kicking and squirming but unable to escape the evil scientist’s hold. No matter how much he tickled him, the young hero’s tolerance for it never grew.

“Because if you don’t listen, then perhaps I’ll just have to do this every time you show up to try and stop me. Not a very heroic look on you, is it?”

Not even Spider-Man’s greatest nemesis was immune to the web-slinger’s endearing aura. Like everyone else that knew him, Doc couldn’t get over how adorable the kid was when he was reduced to a puddle of helpless laughter.

As Spider-Man giggled and squealed and struggled vainly to break free, a crash sounded from the room next door. Octavius fled the evil lair as quick as a flash; Peter didn’t even see which way he went. He laid flat on the floor, trying to catch his breath, hugging his aching sides.

The back door burst from its hinges and careened across the floor. Peter jolted upright as Iron Man, Black Widow, War Machine, and Cap came rushing into the room.

“Peter?” Tony cried, the helmet dissolving off his face. He landed beside him and laid a hand on his back. “Kid, are you alright?”

“Is he hurt?” Cap asked, jogging up to join the group. Tony gave Peter’s shoulders a shake.

“Kid, answer me. Are you okay?”

He was having trouble processing everything that had just transpired. When he opened his mouth, his ears reddened.

“I, uh, yeah. I’m fine.” He blinked, rubbing unconsciously at his giggle-filled belly. “How’d you find me? Doc disabled my suit.”

“You think I left your suit with just one tracker? After that stunt you pulled with the ferry?” He helped him to his feet, wrapping an arm around his back.

“Where is it?” Peter asked.

“Lucky for you, it’s too small to find.” Tony poked him playfully in the tummy, as he’d started doing now that he knew how well it worked in cheering the kid up. Peter yelped with laughter and buried himself into Stark’s side.

“Plehease please plehehease don’t,” he wheezed listlessly. Once the giggling started up again, he couldn’t make it stop. “I cahan’t—you don’t—eheheh.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tony chuckled. Peter was giggling too much to reply.

547 notes · View notes

imaginejamesandsirius · 6 years ago

Note

James is angry with sirius over the willow incident and breaks up with him. Can you write an account sort of the days(or weeks) that they spend with talking to each other? With them getting back together eventually. Sirius hurting and not eating and taking care of himself maybe? Thanks a lot.

Sirius’s apology to Remus is so honest, so sincere that his voice breaks half way through and James almost forgives him on that alone. His boyfriend looks worse, if that’s even possible, than Remus, dark circles under his eyes and his hair up in a messy half-arsed bun. James wants to touch it, because he is weak for Sirius’s hair and always has been, but restrains himself as Remus forgives Sirius as easily as he would’ve done if he’d accidentally turned his nose blue - which has happened before. What Sirius has done this time is a lot worse. So much worse.

While they all might want Snivellus dead, Sirius has actually tried to make it happen, using Remus as his murder weapon, and James isn’t sure he deserves the easy forgiveness he always gets from them this time. James is, more than the other boys, always open to listening to Sirius’s reasoning, and more often than not, ready to defend him before he’s even heard it, but getting their already self-loathing werewolf friend to kill someone isn’t something he can defend at all. Rage fills him as Sirius says something he hasn’t been listening to, and the other two laugh like the whole thing is joke.

When Sirius had turned up at his parents house, battered and sobbing and bruised, James had finally learned that there was a line, in life, and what it meant to cross it. Since then, even though it was only a few months ago, James has been trying to be more mature, to see that there’s a line there, in the first instance, and to stop himself before he gets close to crossing it, because a woman who’d never realised there was a line not to be crossed had almost killed his favourite person in the whole world, and he had no idea how he’d have survived if she had. It had taken Sirius a little while longer, but he’d seemed to get it too, and James, seeing that they were finally on the same page, had taken all his Gryffindor courage and asked him out.

He’d never seen Sirius so happy in his entire life and it’d made every doubt he ever could have had about it vanish in an instant to see his favourite face glowing with pure joy. Having to save Severus Snape’s life because of Sirius’s lack of ability to see the line had brought every single one of them back, tenfold.

The doubts aren’t that he and Sirius shouldn’t be together; they are made for each other, and James is so in love with him, even if he hasn’t said so yet, that the idea of them not being together when all is said and done is enough to make him breathless, and not in a good way; the doubts are that they’ve moved a little too fast, that he should’ve waited until they were truly in sync, that they aren’t ready for this yet.

James watches the other three interact, silently seething at Sirius for doing this, and nearly as much at the other two for just forgiving him, just like that. When they’re thrown out of the hospital wing because it is well past visiting hours, nearly past curfew, James trails behind Peter and Sirius all the way up to the common room.

“Leave us for a minute,” he tells Peter just as he starts to walk up the stairs after Sirius. Peter spins to turn and stare at him, wide eyed at the anger simmering in his voice and goes to sit down on one of the armchairs without a word. Sirius doesn’t even turn, just carries on his merry way.

Sirius is talking about something, keeps talking when James shuts the door behind him and leans against it, his arms across his chest. James has no idea what he’s saying, can’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears. Eventually Sirius notices James’s glower from the corner of the room and swaggers over to him, his arms automatically going around James’s neck and leaning in for a kiss. James’s anger wavers for a second, he always softens at Sirius’s affection so freely given, but he stops himself and grips Sirius by the elbow when his lips are just a breath away.

“What the fuck was that?” he asks. Sirius stops, leans back just enough to look in James’s eyes and whatever he sees there is enough for him to take a step back.

“Snivellus wasn’t meant to actually find Remus, Prongs. And he’s fine, and Remus is fine. It was stupid, I know, but no harm done right?” James can’t believe he’s trying to brush it all off like this, like its nothing, a non-entity.

“Except Remus could have gotten to him before I did, Sirius, and your stupid decision could’ve made Remus a murderer.”

Sirius knows he’s in trouble when James calls him by his full name and draws away to sit on James’s bed. He seems to crumple, his arrogance from earlier stripped away to something more real, something James can forgive, if Sirius will let him.

“I know, I fucked up. I’m sorry. What else can I say? I’m sorry, Jamie.” His eyes meet James’s, all open and soft and sorry, and James just needs to understand why he did it, and he’ll forgive him like he always does. He goes and kneels at Sirius’s feet, wrapping a hand around each of his ankles.

“Why, Si? I thought we were done with Snape.”

Unexpectedly, Sirius’s vulnerability is gone as soon as the words leave James’s mouth, the mask James hasn’t seen just between the two of them in years back in place. He’s hiding something, and James can’t tell what, for the first time in many years, if not ever.

“Does it even matter? What’s done is done. I did it because I wanted to.” The lie sounds angry, like Sirius has any right to be, and James stands so he’s towering above him from where he’s still sitting on the bed.

“You gonna tell me the truth, or are you actually doing this?” All the softness Sirius had inspired on him burns away as his anger returns tenfold. Its bad enough that he’s fucked up this badly, but to lie to James about it? He’s not having it, not for a second.

Sirius stands. They’re almost the same height; if James were to lean forward exactly to kiss him, he’d just miss his bottom lip - right now it’s the last thing from his mind. If it’s been anyone else, he might have hit them, or hexed them, but not Sirius. He still has nightmares of Sirius bloody and bruised from his mother’s spells, the idea of doing anything like that to him makes him feel physically sick, and even if that wasn’t the case, he loves him, painfully so, sometimes.

“I’m not lying to you. I wanted to scare him, I made it happen, that’s it.” Sirius’s eyes are daring him to contradict the words, and James knows they’re a lie, but he has no proof of it.

After a moments silence, Sirius brushes past him and heads for the bathroom.

“Tell me what it really was now, or we’re done.”

Sirius stops dead, doesn’t turn towards him but he can see the shift in the way he’d holding his shoulders. James won’t stand being lied to, especially when he just wants to help, and he knows Sirius won’t risk losing him, not over this.

“I told you, there’s nothing else to it.”

“Guess we’re done then,” James is saying, his whole brain screaming at him to be silent, his heart constricting. The words are out, and he can’t take them back now.

“Guess we are,” Sirius says, voice tight and sharp as a knife, and he’s gone, disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him.

- - - -

James cries himself to sleep, an ache in his chest ripping him open in a way he can’t seem to close. This is, without any plausible doubt, the worst possible outcome for their fight. What should’ve happened is this: Sirius should have admitted his reasoning as soon as they were alone together, James should have told him how awful it was, but that he understood, and that he forgave him, and then they should’ve stayed up most of the night kissing. Instead he wakes up with raw, sticky eyes, red from sobbing even in his sleep, and gets up to find Sirius already gone, even though its not seven o’clock yet, his bed only slightly crumpled, not enough to indicate he’d slept there at all.

He dresses and heads down to breakfast, ignoring the dread starting to settle like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He scans the Great Hall four times for Sirius’s silky black hair, and his heart leaps hopefully at the sight of it, over at the Slytherin table, before he realises it’s just Regulus. He eats slowly, trying to wait it out, to see if Sirius will turn up and only leaves when Peter tells him for the fourth time they’re late for class already.

When Sirius is upset, he forgets to look after himself. He’s always been the same, and up until fairly recently he’d done it occasionally even when no one had hurt him. For as long as he’d known him, James has been there to look after him instead, reading to him until he fell asleep, cajoling him into showering, eating and otherwise curling up in bed with him when he needed it. He doesn’t think Sirius would let him do that now if he tried. He wants to, even though they’re not together anymore, not even friends anymore and the anger is still there, bubbling under his skin.

Thankfully, Sirius is at classes, though he looks like death warmed up, which is more than has happened in the past. He ignores James completely, moving into Remus’s normal seat when he sits down beside him, but he speaks to Peter a little, who normally irritates Sirius to no end when he’s not in the best mood. With the knowledge that the situation isn’t as bad as he’d dreaded, James reaches for his anger again, lets it wash over him in a hot, prickly wave.

He can’t believe Sirius would let it come to this, not speaking, not eating, not sleeping, over telling him what’s really going on. Its either awful, so awful that he doesn’t trust James knowing what it is, which is ridiculous, since James knows everything about him, or that he honestly, genuinely has no reason for nearly getting Snape killed, and leaving James to save him. He’s not sure which option is worse.

- - - -

That night, Sirius doesn’t go to dinner, and he doesn’t come up to bed at all, he just disappears off to detention after their last class. James dreams of Sirius holding a dagger to his throat.

“Why?” Dream-James asks.

“No reason,” Dream-Sirius replies, and kills him.

He wakes, tears streaming down his face, hand at his own neck. It’s a lie, in the way that many dreams are, because Sirius, even when they’re fighting, would never hurt him, ever, but it still leaves him feeling raw and wounded. Despite himself, he goes to snuggle into Sirius’s bed with him, because being with Sirius always clears his bad dreams. Not wholly unsurprisingly, he’s not there, the bed cold and in the same state as it was the morning before. He nicks Sirius pillow instead, as the next best thing. Sleep still evades him.

“How can you forgive him so easily,” he asks Remus when he goes to visit him in the hospital wing. Sirius has just left, and Remus doesn’t look annoyed or even particularly tired, like he sometimes does when Sirius is being deliberately taxing.

“Because we don’t expect better from him,” Remus replies, his expression exasperated, like it’s such a simple answer James should’ve known. “We don’t expect him to act like an adult all the time. You’ve decided he needs to be all responsible and caring, but that’s not Sirius. He’s too selfish for that.”

James is quiet after that. He’d figured out that Sirius hadn’t been ready for a real relationship, that he still needed to grow up a bit more, but Remus was saying it’d never happen; Sirius didn’t have the capacity to be who James was waiting for. The thought makes James’s heart ache, and he isn’t so sure growing up is worth having to give up Sirius.

- - - -

The days continue on in much the same manner; James rises to find Sirius hasn’t slept, goes to eat and searches for him in the Great Hall to no avail, and then finds him looking thinner and more exhausted by the day, if not the hour, in their classes. He hates him again once he knows he’s there during the day, and cries for him each night, great gasping sobs that threaten to shake him apart entirely, though the hatred is starting to ebb away, faced with the thought of never getting his Sirius back.

When Remus returns to classes, their group seems to resettle onto different sides, James and Peter and Remus on one side and Sirius alone on the other. James knows at least Remus still speaks to him, but he doesn’t miss the hurt look on Sirius’s face when Peter brushes past him on the corridor between Transfiguration and Potions one day, his attention all on James. He looks awful, unshaven, unwashed perhaps, his uniform a crumpled mess, and his eyes are so sad James wants to cry just from looking at them.

The three of them are walking towards Charms one day after lunch, and James finds he can’t hate Sirius any longer, knowing they’re both miserable apart. He reacts the only way he knows how.

“I’ve had enough of fucking taking care of him!” he complains fervently to Remus, who says nothing, but looks extremely dubious. “It’s like having a baby! He’s a grown man, he knows he has to fucking eat.”

A little noise, so quiet he wouldn’t have heard it had Peter not been shocked into silence by his outburst, sounded behind them. James turned to see what it was, only to find Sirius walking in the opposite direction, his shoulders looking painfully tight. He doesn’t even show up to classes for the rest of the day, or the day after, and James thinks he’d kill Snape himself for Sirius not to have heard those lies.

- - - -

He’s sitting at breakfast beside Peter on the third day of not seeing Sirius at all, barely picking at his porridge, when Remus comes running up to him, having stayed behind in their dorm to write up a first draft of their essay due in before the next full moon.

“I know you said you’ve had enough of him,” he whispers into his ear, breathing heavily as if he’d ran all the way from their dorm to the Great Hall. He doesn’t need to specify who he’s talking about. “But there’s blood in the bathroom.”

Remus keeps talking, but James doesn’t hear it, his blood rushing in his ears. He pushes away his porridge, stands, and runs directly to their dormitory, using every shortcut he knows, uncaring of whether other students, or even the Professors, see him in his haste to get to Sirius. Sirius had promised on James’s life he would do this again, no matter what happened, but they’ve taken it too far.

His lungs are burning by the time he bursts in through their dormitory door, silent sobs taking the remainder of his breath away. Sirius is there, stalk still, eyes wide with – Merlin, James would rather die than see that expression on his face because of him – fear, looking positively dreadful as he turns to stare at James. Without thinking, James strides straight up to him and takes his face in his hands.

“Please,” he begs, uncaring of how desperate he sounds as his voice breaks, “please tell me you’re not hurting yourself again.”

Anger flashes across Sirius’s face and the fear and, behind that, hope, that had been in his eyes moments ago is gone, replaced by a familiar indignant fury and Sirius draws away.

“I haven’t! I promised you I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

James wishes he believed him, he really does, but if Remus saw blood, enough blood to worry him, then he can’t risk it.

“Stop lying to me!” he shouts and reaches for Sirius’s elbow. He dares not grab for his wrists.

“Fuck you, James,” Sirius snarls, and pushes back the sleeves of his robes to show his wrists, silver scars crisscrossing the veins there. There are no new cuts, only older ones James knows too well, has felt a thousand times when he’s reached for Sirius’s wrists, his hands, little raised lines under his searching fingertips.

Relief should overwhelm James, but it doesn’t. Instead, he finds his panic only rising, threatening to cut off his breath entirely.

“I don’t believe you,” he says, and Sirius looks so livid he would’ve been scared, except Sirius would never hurt him, and he’s always more scared for Sirius then himself. “Strip. C’mon, I know you’ve done it other places before.”

This is insane, and he wants to be sick. He’s actually going to be sick, he thinks, as Sirius rips his robes off with a furious flourish and starts unbuttoning his shirt. It shouldn’t be like this, his first time seeing Sirius nearly naked this close up shouldn’t be when Sirius is so angry James can’t look at his face and he’s so scared of losing him he’s going to push him away entirely, yet Sirius unbuttons his shirt and throws it onto the floor, and James says nothing, saying nothing at all until Sirius is there in just his boxers, chest heaving, looking to all the world like he’d on the verge of tears. He probably is, James’s vision in blurring with his own unshed ones.

“I’m sorry,” he cries, letting the tears split from his eyes unchecked, and closes them as if it will help things. The scars are, as the ones on his wrists, old and silver, littered over his thighs and stomach, a strangely beautiful ode to all the times Sirius heart has broken before, but not this one. “I’m sorry,” James begs again, and knows it might not be enough. His hands tingle with his longing to touch him; he doesn’t dare reach out, knowing Sirius will flinch away from him now, and that he can’t watch that.

“I was shaving, and I cut my cheek, you mad fucking wanker!” Sirius shouts at him, stepping back and pulling all his clothes back on. Now that he’d said it, James can see the tiny nicks on his favourite face, accompanied now by tears as Sirius loses the battle with his own emotions. “My magic gets uncontrollable when I’m upset, you know that, I can’t use a magical razor.”

James does know that, had watched as his dad had taught Sirius how to shave like a muggle when Sirius had almost sliced his own ear off shaving normally in the summer after he left Grimmauld Place. He runs both his hands through his hair to stop them from reaching for Sirius and looks into the shattered grey eyes he loves so much. He says nothing.

“You said – I heard you tell Peter and Remus you didn’t want to look after me anymore, so I went and looked after myself, so you wouldn’t have to, since I’m such a burden,” Sirius snarls, voice cracking on every other word, and James can’t help himself when he takes Sirius’s hand. Surprisingly, Sirius allows it, but doesn’t return James’s iron grip.

“I was lying,” James admits, just as broken as Sirius. “I would look after you every day until I day, if it meant you were still here.”

He doesn’t mean here at Hogwarts, or here in Scotland, or even here with me, he means alive, and they both know it.

Sirius softens as he looks at James face, though he lets go of his hand. “But you don’t want to.”

“I do,” James insists, and means it. He is happy to take care of Sirius when he needs it, and he loves it when Sirius just wants it, loves getting to brush his hair and cuddle up with him in bed in fresh sheets he’s just changed, loves cooking his favourite food for him at home and watching Sirius’s whole face light up. “I always do.”

Sirius has redressed entirely now, and draws away, turning his back to James.

“Go back and finish your dinner,” he orders.

He wants to touch him, wants to touch him so badly his fingers jerk, his hands itch, but he knows he ruined it; he’s not sure Sirius will ever let him touch him again.

He leaves without a word, holding back his tears until he’d out of the common room, out of the castle itself and into the grounds, snow falling in great fluffy flakes around him. Outside with the cold biting at every inch of his bare skin, he let himself cry, collapsing to his knees and sobbing into the frigid air.

- - - -

He awakes that night to the dipping of his bed and Sirius sliding into it. They lie face to face for a few moments in silence, not even their knees touching. Its closer than James thought he’d ever get to Sirius again, and he revels in it.

“Snape found out we were together,” Sirius says suddenly.

James opens his mouth to say something, but Sirius gives him a stern look and he lets him continue without interruption. “He said he was going to tell my mother what a disgusting son she had, in love with another boy, a-and James, she would’ve killed me. I honestly think she would’ve killed me. I was terrified, and I couldn’t tell you because you’d be so angry, and you would’ve gone and attacked him, and you’ve been so good at not letting things get to you. I just wanted to scare him, let him know I wasn’t to be messed with.”

Sirius takes a deep breath to steady himself and doesn’t push James’s hand away when he strokes down his cheek. He knew there was something wrong, had known Snape had done something to him, and Sirius had been so scared of James breaking his own rule he’d lied to him.

“I didn’t mean him to get that close, to even get close enough to see it was Remus. And then he did, and he said he would still tell mother, and I told him it didn’t matter anyway, because you hated me.” He sucks in a great, shuddering breath, and James watches, heart breaking, as tears spill from his eyes. “You hate me,” he says again, so quietly had there been any other noise, it would have drowned him out.

James can’t help himself, can’t let Sirius think he hates him even for a single second. He leans forward and kisses him, cupping his face gently, like Sirius is the most precious, most important thing in the world, because he is.

“I love you,” he says fervently. “I love you so much Sirius. I just hate that you lied to me.”

“I miss you,” Sirius says, and turns his head to kiss James’s palm. “I miss you all the time.”

“I miss you,” James can’t help but repeat back. “Stay.”

He won’t though, and James knows it. Having said all he means to say, he slips out the bed and goes back into his own. James can only hope he’ll finally sleep, knowing his brain has too much information to process now to sleep himself.

- - - -

They don’t go back to normal, but it gets better. Sirius starts going to classes again, and then to meals, and then starts sleeping, fitfully, but at least he’s trying. James feels like he can breathe again for the first time in weeks, like air has been returned to the world along with Sirius’s presence in his life. After a few days he’s back talking to Remus and Peter, and within the week he and James are friends again, and a week after that, they’re best friends, inseparable.

Sirius saw James’s line, understood it, and had tried to save him from breaking it, even if it meant breaking it himself. He understands what James is trying to do, how he’s trying to change, and that, James decides, is enough, more than enough. But he’d broken a different line when he’d disbelieved Sirius, and he’s not sure he can ever fix that one.

They’re curled up on the sofa one afternoon, half asleep from the warmth of the fire, and James is so in love his heart feels like it might burst from his chest. The sadness comes with it, the same sadness he’s felt ever since the day he saved Snape and lost Sirius.

“Be my boyfriend,” he breathes, not really expecting a reply. He doesn’t deserve Sirius’s forgiveness, not after what he’s done, but he needs Sirius to know he wants him.

“Yes.” James must have misheard, or maybe Sirius did, because there is no way Sirius has agreed. He turns Sirius’s face to him and its brightened by a tiny, warm small, so full of hope that it takes James’s breath away.

“I want to be with you,” Sirius says. “I want to be with you always.”

James crashes their mouths together, kisses him until they’re both wet-eyed and breathless.

#prongsfoot #marauders #james potter #sirius black #fanfic #hogwarts time #established relationship #no voldemort au #andromedablacc #self harm cw #Anonymous

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marcholasmoth · 3 years ago

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OSRR: 2565

today i stayed in bed for a while, contemplating death because it was 91 degrees outside and felt like 99. so i stayed inside and texted lisa and freeda that i wasn't going to be at stained glass tonight, because besides the godawful temperatures and my propensity to overheat and sweat to the point where i can't fuckin use my hands, my transmission still hasn't been fixed. james is ordering the part it needs so he can fix it for me.

but also, a listing i found last night (for a potential place to move for me and the eggs) was having an open house today, and james asked if i wanted to go, so i said sure. i was maybe twenty minutes out and james said he wouldn't be able to make it because he was still working at the garage on stuff (probably my car tbh) and i said no worries, i will. so i went and toured the house and looked at stuff and on the way back i called the eggs and gave them my honest opinion of the place. an iffy 6/10. past water damage, the oil tank and furnace and water heater are in weird places. small bathrooms. the kitchen was nice, and the deck was cool and the downstairs would've been a perfect game room, but the rest of it, the little details, the things that matter? no. so we decided to pass. but they still offered to get me ice cream, so i headed over to their apartment to see them.

chelsea and i went and got ice cream. at this point, all i had eaten was two chocolate frosted donuts with rainbow sprinkles. and then i had four scoops of ice cream, also with sprinkles, but they were jimmies this time. joel texted and asked me what was happening and i told him i was hanging out with the eggs. i hope to see him at some point this week. i miss my joel when i don't get to see him. so hopefully, when my transmission gets fixed, i'll be able to go over and stay over for a while. actually get to hang out with joel since my paper is now finished. i do have those few matlab assignments to do, but in comparison it's like going to the dentist instead of performing a frontal lobotomy on yourself. i would much rather go to the dentist.

-> flashback/ADHD brain,

also, before the open house, i got to talk to FF today again! today was their birthday, and they had the day off from work. they were able to do fun things and have a relaxing day and hang out with the dogs, and it makes me happy that they had a good day.

we also talked about chocolate again, so i have more things to try, but i need to try the ones i already have first. i may do that this weekend. but yeah. i like getting to talk to them. ☺️

-> and then, back at the egg's,

i ended up wanting bad burgers so i said "hey i'm gonna go get myself some shitty burgers" and they said "where" and i said "mcnaldos" and they said "get me some" and "i'll pay if you get us some" so i said "ok" because i'm not gonna say no to free food, yknow?? it took a few minutes to determine what i was gonna get for us all and then i grabbed the card and left. made it back with food that wound up being pretty good, actually - the chickie nuggies were hot and fresh and delicious. unfortunately i only got one sweet and sour sauce, and that only goes so far, and chelsea had been chickennapping nuggies from james, so i gave him the last two i had to replenish his nuggie supplies. the burgies were mcnaldos burgies, so i can't really complain. the fries were really good too, they had the right salt content, and as those were passed to me first, i crouched in a goblin position and consumed the fries like the absolute gremlin i am and james got a kick out of it.

shitty burgies and good nuggies later, i came home and watched the last touchdown of the first football game of the season, and then we finished the episode or whatever was on hallmark movies and mysteries, and then it was murder she wrote. i've been on a major kick of it, because there's four episodes back to back of it on HM&M every night, and me being awake to work on my paper late at night has allowed me to watch many episodes of it. sometimes i'll watch the first episode of magnum PI that comes on after, but i usually watch the first five minutes to see the mustache and the bad attitude before heading up to bed.

but not tonight.

tonight is the peak of the perseids, and i was tired anyway, so after the second episode of murder she wrote i turned off the tv and went outside. i saw four meteors! i think, actually, that three were meteors from the perseids, and the other was low-orbit space junk, because it (1) fell from a different direction, (2) was much dimmer, and (3) lasted longer than the others i saw.

it was the first time i'd seen any of the perseids.

also? i was standing in the back yard, and because of the extension between the house and what used to be the garage, the streetlight out front is blocked. i can actually see the sky. you can see the milky way. so many stars. i checked the weather before going outside. it said it was partly cloudy, but i didn't want to risk it, so i checked myself. i was very surprised to see a crystal clear sky. so i was out there for a bit.

it was truly beautiful.

yknow, sometimes i think about what i do and what i'm studying and i feel like it's not what i should be doing, yknow? because i don't feel like i'm smart enough or good enough or that anyone will take me seriously, and other things like that that wear you down and exhaust you with the "what if"s that make your head spin.

but looking up at the sky tonight reminded me why i'm studying to be an astrophysicist. it's because i love the stars. the night sky. the cosmos. all of it. it was my first love, and i don't know if i'll ever love anything as much as i love the stars. it's kind of romantic, honestly; looking at the stars with wonder and awe, seeing things you normally can't, feeling how small you truly are in the scale of the universe. it's amazing. it's terrifying. but i find it's a lot like falling in love.

-> adhd brain strikes again

while i was in line at mcnaldos i got a snapchat from andrew and he said that his wife came up with an idea for a book that we could write. like. and internal monologue for the day. adhd brain: the book. and i'm so on board with that. narrating what pops in my head all day?? fuck yeah.

-> anyway.

looking at the stars tonight and finding myself thinking about the stars like i have reminds me of that one quote:

"i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night."

(that's sarah williams, but i don't know who she is but attribution is important)

and it reminds me of me. because it's true. behind my house is a lot of woods. it's dark and there's animals that live there. when i was outside, i wasn't afraid of the dark or of the animals. i just wanted to see the stars. and that was all i needed.

anyway it's almost 2am and i am going to bed so i can get up earlier. and then go to bed earlier. so i can get up earlier. i'm trying to adjust my schedule so i sleep for ten hours and wake up for 7. so i'll need to be asleep by 9. so i'll need to be in bed by 8. shit. i don't like that. but that's so i can get to class on time, because not only does it take 80 minutes to get there, i have traffic to deal with, and then i gotta park and walk to my class. so i'm tryina adjust it. sad i'll miss when FF wakes up their time, but i'll be awake earlier so i can talk to them more during the day.

it's a trade-off. but i need that sleep.

i have a few weeks to get there. it's fine.

#molly rambles #operation srr #osrr #2000s #2500s #sunshine boy #ffs ff love me pls

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itsthebats · 7 years ago

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stalking is bad

AO3

Stephanie had known who Jason Todd was since day one.

Well, maybe not since day one, because apparently everyone wanted her safe and sound in her house—though safe and sound weren’t precisely the first words that appeared in her mind when she thought of house, anyway—and out of her Spoiler suit and of the streets as well, so it took Tim and the rest a bit to open up to her about the second Robin, but anyway.

It was Dick the one who told her about Jason the first time, and they’d been talking about him for hours. It was not only that Dick wanted to talk, but it was also Stephanie’s curiosity; she asked a thousand questions about him because she actually remembered Jason. She remembered noticing the change of Robins—when she was about nine or ten years old, she had Dick as Robin, remembered his acrobatics movements, his amazing jumps. But then it changed, and now it was a less acrobatic Robin, one that talked harsher and beat criminals harder. Stephanie once jumped from the kitchen table of her house because she wanted to fly like these Robins, and she ended up with a broken arm.

She told this to Dick, and Dick told her a lot of things about Jason. It was cute, hearing him talking about his little brother, and all the memories he kept of him, and Stephanie wished she’d met him when he was alive.

Tim told her about the suit in the cave and the way he was killed. Dick hadn’t talked about this, only about happy and warm memories, whereas Tim told her the sad details. Jason’s origins. His family. The Joker hitting him with a crowbar, the explosion. He told her that the suit was put in the cave to remind Bruce what happened, to keep it from happening to anyone else—such a good job it had done, though.

Then she became Robin, then she died, and then Jason Todd was back in the city.

Stephanie hadn’t known it was him—she’d just heard of a new criminal that went chopping heads around town, and tried to avoid him because, duh. He sliced heads, and she liked hers very much, thank you. So she patrolled with Tim, patrolled alone, always going to places she knew the Red Hood wouldn’t be in, until one day they crossed paths. More or less.

It’d been almost a year since he chopped any heads, so she didn’t fear him as much as she’d had. Stephanie was waiting for Tim on a rooftop when she heard shouting under her—she took a peak and kind of freaked out when she saw the Red Hood punching some guys. He didn’t scare her as much, yeah, but he still did. A little. Whatever. So she just looked until Tim arrived and peaked with her. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“That’s the Red Hood,” she whispered too. “Should we stop him?”

And Tim. He just laughed. “Jason? Leave him be.”

That’s how she was notified that Jason Todd had come back to life, and Stephanie was just… perplexed. Too excited, maybe, because now that she knew he was back in Gotham she really wanted to talk to him, to say something, even though he had decapitated some people, even though he still killed people. Stephanie knew that she was supposed to be more afraid, more aware of the situation, the fact that this man who’d been Robin had become a killer, but she still couldn’t help her excitement.

So she started going on patrol alone, and kind of… followed him. Well, maybe follow wasn’t the right word. Stephanie just happened to be in the same neighbourhood he dealt with criminals—she started picking the same cases he worked in and followed the trails, always finding him at the end. Stephanie didn’t interact with him, only got into a building close to his work zone and watched him as he punched the bad guys or shot his way out of an ambush or both.

She wasn’t Cass, so Stephanie didn’t actually know how to read body language. She knew, however, that this guy was angry. She’d got Damian to tell her the story of Jason’s comeback to life and the reason he killed all those people at first, and Stephanie… she would never say this in front of Bruce, but she understood. This man who had died at the hands of one of the worst criminals in the world and hadn’t been avenged by his father—she tried to put herself in his place, feel the pain he must have been feeling when he came back, and it sent shivers down her spine. Not that Stephanie approved of his methods, but at least she understood why he did what he did.

Once, after having been spying—stalking—looking at him fighting for three weeks, Stephanie was writing a paper for university on the rooftop of a two-stories building—she preferred the cold air and loneliness of the city rather than the library, always so full of people—when she heard shouting below her. She looked down only to see a guy in black running with a gun in his hand. Stephanie grunted only thinking that she would have to leave her homework on the rooftop to go after him when the Red Hood came into the scene.

He was carrying a gun too, but the man in black looked back and shot Jason a couple of times. “Ooh, you just did that,” she muttered to herself, smirking. She didn’t know what he’d done—something bad, she guessed, if Jason was running after him—but she enjoyed seeing this. Jason ended up catching him, punched the man unconscious, and… Stephanie couldn’t help but bark a laugh, because the guy took the criminal’s gun and put it in one of the pockets of his jacket. She guessed he was low on guns.

It was all good, because he hadn’t caught her looking at him not one time in these three weeks and she was somehow learning new fight techniques. And it all would have continued to be good if only one of her papers wouldn’t have gone flying straight into his fucking face.

“Fuck.” She tried to hide, but was pretty sure he’d already seen her. “Shit, shit, shit.” Now he was going to go to her and murder her, Stephanie was sure. Oh god, this had been such a shitty life, she deserved at least a few years more.

She didn’t know what upset her more, the fact that Jason freaking Todd, the undead Robin, had caught her sneaking up on him or the fact that she’d lost one of her papers. She would have to rewrite the whole thing, and it was due in three hours. Goddammit. She should have gone to the library.

Jason didn’t come, so Stephanie thought it would be as good a moment as any to run to her house and start again with her homework. Maybe the Red Hood would pity her and let her live.

At some point after having finished writing the essay, Stephanie fell asleep—she didn’t even bother to go to bed.

She’d had a dream in which the Red Hood wrapped a blanket around her shoulders before she fell asleep and then jumped into her bed. In the dream he said, “You’re so not like the bats,” and Stephanie could’ve sworn that his voice was the most realistic voice one of the boys she dreamed about had ever had. His voice had been muffled because of the helmet, but it’d also sounded boyish, and Stephanie had to remember herself that he wasn’t even twenty. She’d thought profoundly about the muscles she couldn’t see under his clothes but noticed anyway.

“Hmm,” she muttered when she felt a blanket over her shoulders. Weird, she thought, a little freaked out, before realizing that her mother must’ve put it there—she must’ve seen her sleeping on her desk, all cold and tired, and decided to put a blanket over her. Totally normal. It happened all the time.

“Jesus fucking Christ you sleep like the dead.”

It was morning. Morning. The bats didn’t go out in the morning. Stephanie closed her eyes and tried not to scream, because she was really, completely sure that she wasn’t, couldn’t be, hearing Jason Todd’s voice right now because he of course wasn’t in her bedroom. It was a hallucination. It had to be a hallucination. Her mom had put the blanket around her shoulders.

“Y’know, it’s not polite to ignore guests,” the hallucination added, and Stephanie covered her face with her hands and groaned. Loudly.

“Oh my god.”

Jason chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what girls usually say when I’m around.”

He was so going to kill her.

She slowly turned the chair she was sat in around and saw the guy lying on her bed, the red helmet put aside. He grinned mischievously and Stephanie’s first thought was, annoyingly, how handsome he was. Because, come on, he was lying there without a care in the world, hair messy and blue eyes shining, lips turned upwards; for a second, she forgot that he was probably going to kill her for having spied on him three weeks in a row and thought that this was her Robin, the one she’d gaped at her entire childhood. He totally looked like the bad guys from bad rom-coms.

“You dropped this,” he said, waving a paper in the air. Stephanie couldn’t see what was written in it, but she was pretty sure it was the lost part of her essay. “I thought to myself, hey, Todd, this girl has been stalking you for weeks, it wouldn’t be nice if you didn’t return this. So.”

This was without a doubt the most embarrassing moment of her life. And she’d had a couple of those.

“What, cat got your tongue?” he teased. He crossed his ankles and Stephanie was tempted to tell him to put his feet off her bed. “Spoiler alert,” he said, “you’re a weirdo.”

She didn’t know what impressed her more, the fact that he’d made a whole conversation without her saying a word or that he knew she was the Spoiler. Oh, this was uncomfortable. Like. Stephanie was tempted to jump from the window.

“Listen, I love to talk, I really do, but this is kinda boring.” He got to his feet, and he was—fuck, he had a gun in his hand. She hadn’t talked, and now he was going to kill her? This was totally fucked up.

“I thought you only, like, got out at night,” she blurted out, and Jason smirked.

“You’ve been stalking me, you should know,” he shot back.

“I wasn’t!” Okay, maybe that wasn’t the most intelligent thing to say right now. “I was just curious.”

“Curious.”

“Well, duh. You came back from the dead and chopped off heads as a hobby, who wouldn’t be curious?”

She just had to go there.

Tim had told her a million times that she talked too much, but she’d never thought that it would be a problem until now. Stephanie didn’t think she was actually bothering him or something, because even though Jason was holding a motherfreaking gun he looked like he was enjoying himself. Well. Some animals played with the prey before eating it. Jason wasn’t going to eat her, but the point was the same.

Jason raised a brow, and Stephanie’s lips quirked upwards. “How did you know I was there? I was very careful.”

He snorted. “Yeah, and I’m a weasel.” Okay, no need to be rude. “I saw you all the time. And last night? You laugh very loudly.”

She had to admit that laughing while watching him catch some guy wasn’t her smoothest move, but he had to give her a little credit—Stephanie was sure that he was bluffing. She’d been sneaky as hell, and he couldn’t possibly have heard her before last night; she liked to talk, but not while spying on someone. She was a very good spy.

Stephanie was about to ask what was he doing in her house when Jason scratched the back of his head with the barrel of the gun which was, honestly, the most idiotic thing she’d seen someone do ever. “Show-off,” she mumbled.

“What?” he asked, and he looked troubled, like if she had just insulted him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in return.

Jason sighed and sat on the bed, left the pistol at his side. Stephanie wondered if she could get to it before him and came to the conclusion that no. She probably couldn’t, though she was starting to think that he wasn’t going to kill her, because if he was, he would have killed her already—he was crazy, but Stephanie didn’t think he would leave the gun away if he wanted to shoot her.

He opened his mouth to talk, but Stephanie had just thought about something and had to spit it out. “Wait, did you cover me with the blanket?”

When he blushed slightly Stephanie grinned real big, because mission accomplished, dumbass. Now she could die happily, having made the undead Robin that went around slicing heads blush. He brushed his hair with a hand, and Stephanie noticed for the first—which proved that she could never be a detective as great a Bruce—time that Jason had a white streak very noticeable. She was pretty sure that it hadn’t been there in the pictures of him at Wayne Manor.

“You looked cold,” he muttered under his breath, and Stephanie barked a laugh. This couldn’t be the murderer she’d been told about so many times.

“Creepy,” she muttered, though she was smiling. Jason rolled his eyes and sighed, like if he were really appalled. “Being soft isn’t bad,” Stephanie added just because a grumpy Jason Todd was fun to watch.

He looked ready to jump from the window. “Listen,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tomorrow, this man I’ve been following for a couple of months—”

“The Italian guy?”

“… no. He’s supposed to meet this girl I, like, was partners with. But yesterday she said she doesn’t want to get involved, and I—”

“You need a bait,” she deadpanned, kind of disappointed.

“More or less, yes. You’ll help me corner him so—”

“You can kill him?”

His face was red, but she could tell it wasn’t embarrassment causing it exactly. “Yes.”

“Yeah, well, no.” What did he think, that just because she’d been following him around for the past three weeks she was going to become his partner in crime? One thing was leaping from buildings dressed in purple, but another thing completely was participating in a murder. Stephanie admired this man when he was a boy following a bat, but that didn’t mean she would help him kill someone. No way. “I’m not a killer.”

He snorted. “Whatever.” Oh wow, now she wanted to punch him. “We’ll send him to the cops if you want. Are you going to help me or not?”

Had he just… given up? So easily? It wasn’t likely, but okay. She’d have to keep an eye on him.

“And what am I supposed to do? Just stand there and look pretty? Because, you know,” she paused, and whispered, “I’m not an object.”

She could tell Jason was starting to consider murdering her instead of this guy. He said, “No, you’re going to pretend to be the girl he’s supposed to be meeting, and when he enters the alleyway—”

“Oh my god, so it’s that kind of smuggling.”

“—I jump in from wherever I’m going to be and we both take him down.”

It sounded like a plan, but… “Don’t you think he’s going to notice something is wrong when he sees me wearing my suit?”

“You call that a suit?” Stephanie glared at him, and Jason continued. “You’re not going to be wearing your costume.” Son of a… “You can wear, I don’t know, whatever you want. But not your Spoiler costume.”

Stephanie had the feeling that it was all a bad idea, but she nodded nonetheless; she’d imagined Jason to be a Bad Guy, someone who chopped heads out of spite, but he didn’t look so bad—if you weren’t counting the gun. Maybe she was proved wrong again tomorrow night when he didn’t kill this guy, and if he changed his mind… Stephanie was sure—like, eighty-eight percent sure—that she could stop him from doing so. At least that’s what she hoped, because if Bruce heard that she’d been hanging around with the Red Hood and he’d killed someone while they were together, she was sure Batman was going to put a batarang between her eyes.

“I’ll be here tomorrow at eleven p.m.”

She flashed him a smile. “So it’s a date.”

Jason got up, picked up his gun from her bed and walked to the window. Before he jumped from it, he turned to her and said, “Fuck you,” and Stephanie couldn’t help thinking how weird this guy was.

“He what?”

That was it, Barbara was the one who was going to murder her. Or him. Stephanie didn’t really know who she was more pissed at. Maybe she killed both of them. Maybe she killed herself.

“He seemed nice?” Stephanie offered, even though the first ten minutes she’d been talking to Jason she’d thought he was going to murder her. Why did she think everyone was going to murder her? “I mean, he was carrying a gun and all that shit, but he was completely harmless to me.”

Babs pinched the bridge of her nose, and Stephanie threw a chip at her. “Don’t be mad, it’s not like I followed him or something to catch his attention.”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best argument she could have used. Babs sighed. “That’s why we never introduced you two to each other. Because disaster was going to come next.”

“Hey!” she complained, though she was probably right. “Dead Robins have to stick together.”

“You weren’t dead,” Babs reminded her.

“But everyone thought I was,” Stephanie remembered her.

“You don’t know him?” Babs tried.

“Come on, I’m just going to help him solve a case.”

“That’s the thing with Jason, his way of solving cases is killing the one who’s committing the crime.”

“He told me he wouldn’t,” she muttered, but even to her ears, it sounded lame.

Part of her knew Babs was right—this was Jason Todd they were talking about, the infamous dead Robin. All of the members of the bat-clan had told her how awesome he’d been, how intelligent and funny and good-hearted, but all of them had also told her that he’d come different from the Pit, that he wasn’t anything he’d been before. Bruce especially had told her to keep herself away from him. Tim once told her what happened between father and son when son came back, pistols blazing, heads chopped, and Stephanie understood why he didn't want her near him, but she wasn't Robin, not since a long time, and she wasn't going to follow everything he told her. Plus, Stephanie working with Jason would definitely make him mad, so... it was an easy decision, really.

And even though she’d seen Jason grabbing a gun this morning, Stephanie had also seen him scratching the back of his head with said gun, which was more of an idiot move than a murderer move. She’d seen him shooting at criminals, putting bullets in heads, but she could understand him. He’d been Robin, followed the no-killing-rule for years, and it’d got him killed. The method hadn’t worked, and now he was trying a new one. It was… understandable, if not a little fucked up.

“What are you thinking?” asked Babs, taking a sip of her coffee.

“I’m going to help him,” Stephanie declared, and she could picture Babs screaming inside her head. “Just to see how it goes. If he kills him, then I’m out. Pinkie promise.”

Barbara sighed profoundly, so Stephanie threw her another chip that Babs caught with her mouth. Legends only, really. When she was finished eating it, she mumbled, “I’m going to regret this.”

Stephanie was glad that she didn’t have to wear her Spoiler cost—suit, because her mom was at home.

She was supposed to be working, but she said that she’d taken the night off. To stay with Stephanie. She said she’d prepared hot chocolate and popcorns so they could see together this movie on TV, and when Stephanie got out of her room dressed with something that wasn’t her pajamas, her mom’s face saddened. “Where are you going?”

“Um. I’m, you know, mom, I’m—”

“Are you going on a date?”

“No, mom, I’m—”

“You should’ve told me!” Okay, she was going on a date, at least that made her mom happy. “Sweetheart, why don’t you put on some makeup? Ooh, I have this beautiful skirt that’s going to fit you so well. And I think I still have a lipstick your aunt gave me that’s really beautiful.”

So before her mom got her hands dirty, Stephanie was wearing jeans, a top and a jacket. That simple. But after her mom got her hands dirty, Stephanie was wearing a motherfreaking skirt—how in hell was she supposed to fight with a skirt?—a white top, boots and, she had to admit, a super cool denim jacket with a flower printed on it. Her mom had tied up her hair into a ponytail and Stephanie had borrowed some loop earrings she didn’t intend to give back.

The only thing she really, really hated about what her mom had done to her was the makeup. She had her eyes painted and her cheeks flushed and her lips were glossed with the brightest red ever. It wasn’t that she didn’t like makeup; she loved makeup. It was that she didn’t like makeup when it was on her face.

“You look beautiful,” her mom said, and Stephanie was afraid she would start crying, so she suggested seeing the movie until Jason arrived. It was only 10:20p.m., so they sat on the sofa, drank hot chocolate and ate some popcorns. Her mom said, “Remember to brush your teeth before you go out,” and Stephanie rolled her eyes because of course she would brush her teeth before leaving.

It was a good film, and Stephanie was all kinds of annoyed when the doorbell rang—she’d thought Jason would come in by the window like before, and was also dismayed when she realized that he would have to say hi to her mom, who thought he was her date. Oh boy. What if he was wearing his helmet?

She pretended not to hear the bell and kept drinking from the mug, but her mom turned to her with a puzzling look on her face. “Didn’t you hear the doorbell?”

Stephanie waved her hand in the air. “Shh, mom, this is the best part of the movie.” It wasn’t. The main character was talking about his crush to a friend, and it was the most boring dialogue Stephanie had ever heard.

“Come on!” Her mom jumped from the sofa and ran to the door. “I really want to meet him!”

“Mom, no.” But it was too late, she’d already opened the door. She ran to the door and thanked god because Jason wasn’t wearing his helmet. He was wearing his shirt. The one with a bat symbol in it—he crossed his arms over his chest as soon as he saw it wasn’t Stephanie the one that had opened the door, but she was sure her mom had noticed. Stephanie cleared her throat and said, somewhat nervous, “Mom, this is… uh, Jacob.”

“Um,” was all he said.

“You know what,” her mom muttered, “I’m not even going to ask about that shirt.” She held up her hand for him to shake; Jason looked like he had been hit by a train, and Stephanie had to admit that it was funny seeing him so confused. “I’m very pleased to meet you, I’m Crystal.”

“I’m Jacob, apparently,” he said, amused.

“Be good with my daughter,” her mom added.

After kissing her mom Stephanie hurried to get out of there, though she didn’t know what was worse: her mom chastising her for going out—not really, but—with a guy with the bat symbol stamped in his chest or Jason asking her what the hell was going on and why his name wasn’t Jason anymore. She didn’t want to be in either of those situations, and wondered if she could escape from her doom.

As soon as they were out, Jason sputtered, “What the fuck was that?”

“My mom got a free night,” she explained, shrugging. “I thought you would come in by the window, like last night.”

Jason shook his head. “I thought your mother was away,” he said, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “You didn’t tell me anything.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Just—” he grunted, and Stephanie’s lips turned upwards. “Let’s go.”

“Whatever you say, grumpy.”

He looked at her like murder, and Stephanie was looking for it, really. “What are we doing now?”

“I’m walking you to the alleyway,” he said, “and then I’ll hide. The man’s supposed to be there by midnight.”

Now she was confused. “It’s like, eleven o’clock.”

“I like to be prepared,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I could’ve finished the movie,” she muttered.

Jason snorted. He sniffed the air like a dog, which was fucking weird, and said, “Were you eating chocolate?”

Damn it, she’d forgotten to brush her teeth. God, if you’re up there, what have I done to displease you? “No.”

“Hmm,” was all he said.

They spend the rest of the walk in complete silence; Stephanie didn’t know him much, but she’d thought that he was chatty like Dick—because, Jesus Christ, Damian and Tim were quiet enough, always focused in the mission. But Jason didn’t speak any more words until they arrived to the alleyway, which left her time to think. She thought about how hungry she was even though she’d drunk a lot of hot chocolate and ate popcorns until her lips hurt because of the salt and then, when she thought about the salt, she realized that she was also thirsty—she considered asking Jason to stop somewhere and buy a bottle of water, but Stephanie didn’t think he would stop for that, so she kept walking. Her feet hurt, and Stephanie now knew why Jason had wanted to meet so soon—the alleyway was far, far away.

“I’m cold,” Stephanie muttered at some point just to see if that started a conversation, but Jason just chuckled to himself.

She really was cold, though—the denim jacket didn’t keep her warm at all. And she wouldn’t admit it out loud, but she was kind of tired; she knew she was supposed to be a creature of the night, a vigilante, but this morning she’d woken up real soon to finish some homework and study and was actually struggling right now to keep her eyes open.

“We’re here,” he finally said, and Stephanie was tempted to hug him.

“Where is your costume?”

Jason glared at her, and Stephanie lifted her chin, proud of herself. “Rooftop.” He checked his watch. “It’s almost time. I’m going to hide, and then when the time comes, I jump.”

“You are so dramatic, you know that, right?”

Jason blushed, and Stephanie was going to explode from happiness tonight. She annoyed him so much it was funny. “Shut up and enter the alley, would you?”

She pouted. “That’s it? I was hoping you’d give me a kiss at least.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason showed her his middle finger—so mature—and went away, leaving Stephanie alone in a creepy, dark alleyway, which wasn’t anything new, really. The worst came when she started to hear the thing she feared the most: rats, cockroaches walking in the shadows—she didn’t mind being the bait to catch a killer or a drug seller or whatever this guy Jason wanted to bad was, but Stephanie couldn’t deal with cockroaches on her own. Not now, not never.

A cat she couldn’t see hissed, and Stephanie moaned. She tried leaning on the wall, but jerked back when she felt something sticky. Oh my god, where had Jason got her into? She just stood there, awkwardly, with her arms crossed over her chest; Stephanie looked upwards, trying to spot Jason on the rooftops, but he was nowhere to be seen. Babs’ words came to her head, and Stephanie realized that maybe this was a trap—maybe he wanted to blackmail Bruce or something and was going to kidnap her… it was a stupid plan, but it could be that.

Stephanie opened her mouth to call Jason and ask him a few things when someone entered the alleyway, and…

He was beautiful.

Stephanie had been expecting this short, old man with balding hair and wrinkles, but it was a tall, young man with long, auburn hair and a beard she was sure she would dream about. He had black skin and a dazzling smile that meant trouble was approaching. Clearing his throat, he took off his glasses to reveal cold, black eyes. Why did bad guys have to be so handsome? Why couldn’t the guys at university look like this?

“Hello,” he purred, and Stephanie smiled against her will.

“Hi,” she purred too, trying to sound mature, because even though he was young, he wasn’t that young.

“They get younger every time,” he said and, okay, that was creepy. “Well, do you have the money?”

“Of course.” She didn’t even have money of her own, but he didn’t have to know that.

He chuckled. “Where?” He was looking at her boobs, and Stephanie was tempted to tell him that she wasn’t even wearing a bra to keep the money, so eyes up, buddy. He took a step towards her, and Stephanie smiled—nervously.

She was starting to realize that this was a badly planned plan. If Jason didn’t appear right now, Stephanie was sure that the guy would start to get touchy or notice that there was something wrong. Stephanie knew how to take care of herself, but come on, she was wearing a skirt. She was supposed to be the bait, and Jason was supposed to do the hard work.

“So?”

Goddammit. “Um, I want to see it first.”

What was ‘it’? She had no idea, but whatever gave her more time.

“Really?” He was looking at her like if she was a freaking piece of bacon, oh my god.

Stephanie opened her mouth to say… something, she didn’t know very well what, but the guy was faster. “You know where those lips would look better? Around—”

“For fuck’s sake,” exclaimed Jason, who appeared in that exact same second, thank god. He walked into the alleyway, hands in pockets, and Stephanie just knew he was grinning like a madman under the helmet.

The guy looked at her confused, and when Stephanie shrugged, he threw a punch at her. He was angry, impulsive, so she could dodge it easily. When the man was behind her, Stephanie kicked him, slamming his head against the sticky wall. Jason whistled, and Stephanie’s brows furrowed when he saw him there, standing as if he’d planned all of this.

“I hate you,” she sputtered, the guy moaning behind her. “You didn’t even need me for this.”

“I wanted to see how you worked.” He picked a gun from his belt, and Stephanie’s stomach turned.

“He’s down already,” she said, as if that alone could change his mind.

“Yeah, some of the kids he sold drugs are down too.” His voice was grim and dark, and wow, it was like hearing another person completely. He took a step forward, and Stephanie put herself between the guy, who was still half-conscious on the floor and Jason, who had his free hand curled into a fist. “Brown,” he said, and he sounded really mad.

“You told me you wouldn’t kill him,” she said, though she knew it was futile.

“Well I lied.”

Babs was right, this was going to end badly. “Listen, if you kill him now, he won’t be punished, you’d be freeing him or whatever.” She would give anything for seeing his face right now, fucking stupid helmet. “Let’s call the police, I can speak with them, tell them he was trying to sell me something.”

Jason shook his head. “You don’t understand.” He laughed, but it was sour and didn’t have any humor. “If the police take him, then what? He would be in prison for how long? Three years? Four? And then he’s out and selling shit again. Don’t you see?”

He was kinda right, but Stephanie wasn’t there to let him murder anyone. “You told me you wouldn’t kill him tonight. I don’t care if you kill him tomorrow or in a week, but tonight you don’t. You promised,” she tried.

“I didn’t,” he said.

“Jason, please.”

He grunted, and Stephanie could tell that she’d made it, that she’d convinced him not to kill this bastard tonight—she honestly didn’t care if he killed him tomorrow—and she was so, so sure she’d done it. But then, as if in slow-motion, he looked down to the guy, and she followed his gaze just in time to see him stab a knife into her leg.

Stephanie screamed her lungs out and instinctively kicked his face with her un-stabbed leg before falling to the ground. Jason shot him in the shin—at least he didn’t kill him, though now Stephanie was tempted to borrow his gun and commit murder herself. Jason cursed, they guy cried out in pain, and Stephanie was afraid to even think of what the hell was on the floor that was so goddamn wet.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just let me kill him,” Jason said, helping her get up.

“Shut up,” she said, trying not to cry. “This is all your fault. Oh my god, I’m going to catch at least a thousand infections for just standing here. My mom’s not going to like you as her son-in-law after this.”

Jason actually laughed. “Does it hurt too much?”

He was absolutely enjoying this. “No,” she answered, gritting her teeth.

“I’m taking you to the manor.” Before she could say something like, ‘we can go to the hospital I’m wearing normal clothes’ or ‘Bruce is going to stick a batarang in out faces’ Jason picked her up in bridal style, and Stephanie had never been more pleased in her whole life than when they got out of the alleyway and a man saw them and immediately ran away screaming his head off.

“You could take your helmet off,” she said.

“Where would be the fun in that?”

Stephanie sighed, though she was actually smiling. “Show-off.”

#stephanie brown #jason todd #batfamily #dc #jaysteph #whatever #they arent like a couple here but #noah writes

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crispychrissy · 7 years ago

Text

Fall Memories

Summary: Once the Fall arrives, you find yourself lost in the memory of a family member you lost and have to get away to grieve in your own way, even though it’s been years since it happened. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester, Matty (OMC, mentioned) Word Count: 2729 Warnings: Angst, worried!Dean, discussion of character death, fluff A/N: This is for the November with Dean Quickie Challenge by @thing-you-do-with-that-thing, and the aesthetic was made by her as well! This was one of those stories that I just couldn’t stop writing and I hope you all enjoy. Beta’d by the ever so lovely @saxxxology :)

It fell on a Wednesday this year.

Ever since your brother Matty was killed by a werewolf, three years previously, you tried to honor his memory. First, you went after and eventually killed the wolf that murdered him. After that, you continued working with Eric, a tall, heavyset hunter that helped you get revenge, but he retired less than a year after you met him. He gave you the names and numbers of a few hunters in the area, telling you to network and see who might be looking for some help.

That’s when you met the Winchesters. Eric led you to Garth, and Garth led you to the formidable, legendary brothers. You were a loner, never really able to settle in once place, but the Winchesters opened up their bunker for you after you assisted them on a few hunts, saying that their home was your home. You were smart, discreet… they could trust you.

Once you moved in, you instantly began to feel drawn to the older Winchester. There was just something about him. Those piercing green eyes over a dusting of freckles, his downright sinful lips, all the way down to his delicious thighs and bowlegs… the man was dripping with sex appeal.

You were never shy about your needs; you were happy to find a man in the local bar to satisfy you, but something about Dean made you want to wait. Something about how he carried himself told you that this wasn’t a man you could just have sex with… this was a man you could love.

You’d been living with the Winchesters for almost eight months, yet you rarely opened up about your history. Yeah, they knew that a werewolf killed someone you cared about and that’s how you started hunting, but they didn’t know the full details about how much he meant to you. He wasn’t just a brother. He was your twin.

Matty had died in November, and every year since he died, you vowed to honor his memory by doing things the two of you used to do in the fall. Ever since you were kids, you loved the fall season. When Matty went to college, you would spend the entire week of Thanksgiving together, just the two of you, and enjoy the time you got to spend together. You spent the entire week going apple picking, camping, hiking, or just lounged by the fire in your parents’ cabin and drank hot chocolate.

Now that he was gone, the warm comfort of his memory surrounded you and, in a way, you felt like he was with you with every activity you did.

You were sitting in the library with Sam when you noticed it was the Friday before the week of the anniversary of his death. You hadn’t explained to Sam or Dean your yearly retreat, and had no idea how to even begin to explain why you spent a week doing typical fall activities by yourself. You chewed on your bottom lip, looking up at Sam as he typed away on his laptop looking for a case.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked, glancing up at you from behind his computer.

“I- yeah. I’m okay. Just got lost in some memories.” You smiled slightly and got up from the table.

Sam cocked his head in confusion but didn’t press any further, offering you a soft smile as you walked past him and down the hallway to your room.

You strode into your room, shut the door behind you, and sat down on the edge of your bed. Your eyes fell on the picture of you and Matty that was on your desk. It was the two of you buried almost neck deep in a pile of leaves, giggling like two children. Matty had his head thrown back in a full-body laugh, and you had your tongue sticking out with a smile on your face.

Tears began to well in your eyes at the last memory you had with your brother, and you quickly stood up and ran to your closet for your suitcase. You were packed within ten minutes with everything you’d need for the week, and you left a note for Sam and Dean on your desk. Dean was out on a supply run, and you couldn’t face Sam with tears streaming down your face because he would start asking questions - questions you didn’t want to answer.

You were in your car and on the road in a matter of minutes, leaving Kansas behind in your rearview mirror.

Dean’s heavy footsteps thudding down the metal stairs in the bunker made Sam look up from the article he was reading on his laptop. Dean nodded at his brother and walked into the kitchen, dropping the two fistfuls of grocery bags on the counter. Sam joined him a few moments later, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge and taking a few gulps.

“Where’s Y/N? I thought she would be all over me the second I got back. I got her the weird sack of apples she kept pestering me for.” Dean began to put the groceries away.

“It’s called a tote, Dean, and I don’t know.” Sam looked at toward the doorway. “Y/N!”

When you didn’t respond or stroll into the kitchen, Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother as concern began to twitch at the muscles in his face. They both exchanged a look and took off down the hallway toward your room, calling your name every few seconds as they walked. Sam knocked on your door, thinking you might be asleep, while Dean just turned the knob and pushed the door open, not waiting for a response.

“Dude,” Sam huffed, “what if she was asleep or getting changed?”

“And she didn’t hear us yelling her name for the last five minutes? Doubt it.” Dean looked around your room, eyeing your half open dresser drawers and disheveled closet, before he finally spotted a folded note on your desk that had ‘S & D’ scribbled on it. “Yahtzee.”

Sam followed his brother as he walked over, picked up the note, and began reading it.

Hey guys,

I really don’t want to go into a lot of detail, but I’m going to be gone for about a week. I don’t really know if I can do this anymore, but I’m going to have to at least one last time.

See you when I get back,

Y/N

Dean reread it to himself a few more times and he furrowed his brow and looked up at Sam.

“What the hell does that mean? ‘I don’t know if I can do this anymore’? You don’t think she would…” Dean trailed off, his mind filling with the worst possible situations.

“I don’t know. She was pretty anxious about something earlier when she was sitting with me in the library. She kept chewing on her lip and staring at the calendar on her phone,” Sam chimed in. “She told me she got lost in a memory.”

“You think she might be having a breakdown? What if she’s upset and is going to do something? We need to find her, Sammy, now.” Dean stormed out of your room headed toward the library.

“What do you want to do, Dean? She’s never really opened up about her past or where she used to live. We don’t know where she would go.” Sam was practically sprinting to keep up with Dean as he stormed through the hallways.

“Track her phone. I need to know she’s safe.” Dean looked up at Sam the second he sat down at the table in the library. “Please.”

Sam saw the desperation and fear on Dean’s face and he just nodded in response and sat down, loading up the cell phone company’s website to track the GPS signal.

You were gone from the bunker for three days when you found yourself pulling into an old campsite you and Matty visited every time he was back from school on Thanksgiving break. It had a small cabin that you inherited when your parents passed away along with a nice camping area that looked out over the lake. You had a lot of happy memories here growing up, and it was a good of a place as any to spend the anniversary of his death.

You had left your phone in the car for the majority of the trip, not bothering to check messages or missed calls. You left the Winchesters a note, so you assumed they wouldn’t be calling. You had already gone apple picking, played in the leaves, and gone on a hike, so the last few days of the week were going to be spent relaxing and reminiscing at the cabin before you made the trip back to the bunker.

The sun was just going down, and you walked out on the back porch of the cabin with a fresh cup of hot chocolate warming your hands. You were in a nice oversized sweater, knitted leggings, and thick socks to keep out the autumn chill. You plopped down in the wooden chair and brought your legs up to your chest, reclining back and watching the sun go down as you sipped on your hot chocolate. You glanced over at the empty chair next to you and heaved a heavy sigh.

“I miss you, Matty. I met some really nice brothers who have been letting me stay with them. I’m still hunting, as much as I know you wouldn’t want me to because of how dangerous it is.” You laughed quietly and brushed a tear away from your cheek. “You would really like Sam. He’s super smart and could probably out do you in Star Wars trivia. He was going to school to be a lawyer, just like you were.”

Your voice broke and you squeezed your eyes shut, allowing the tears to fall freely as you remembered how excited he would get whenever he would talk about his law classes or about how much he was enjoying school. You set your hot chocolate down on the table next to you and wrapped your arms around your knees, letting the sobs shake through your body as you remembered a variety of happy memories about Matty.

You lifted your head and wiped the tears away from your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “And then there’s Dean, Matty. He’s a sarcastic and flirty sweetheart. He’s gorgeous and smart and funny and I-I think I might have feelings for him. He has no idea how I feel and I think it’s because I’m scared. The Winchesters have been the closest thing I’ve had to family since you’ve been gone, and I don’t know if I can risk messing that up by telling him how I feel.”

You sighed and watched the sunset reflect off the surface of the water before you continued.

“He’s got the most brilliant eyes I’ve ever seen. They remind me of that necklace mom used to wear, the one with the huge emerald in the middle. He’s such an amazing man. He’s kind, adorable, and has even shared his pie with me a few times. He’s gone through so much in his life and he’s still here, fighting each and every day. Just like I am. Dean gives me the strength to keep going and I can’t imagine my life without him.” You took a deep breath. “I think I might be falling in love with him, Matty.”

“Y/N?” A gruff voice from behind you made you jump and turn around in your chair to look through the back window behind you.

Dean stood a few feet away from the back door, staring at you as you stood up from your chair. His eyes were red-rimmed and he had bags under his eyes from what looked like lack of sleep.

“Dean?” You sniffled. “What are you doing here?”

“Your note… the way it was worded, I didn’t know what was going on. I thought you were upset and I couldn’t stand the thought of you possibly doing something serious.” Dean took a hesitant step toward you as you walked inside the back door, shutting it behind you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, avoiding eye contact, “I didn’t mean to make you worry. This time of year brings back some old memories and I needed to get away for a bit to clear my head.”

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. I was so worried about you that I had Sammy track the GPS on your phone. I just wanted to make sure you were safe.” He offered a small smile.

“I appreciate it, Dean. I’m fine, really. Thanks.”

A few moments passed before Dean spoke up, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Who’s Matty?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach and you closed your eyes. You didn’t want to lie to Dean and he deserved to know the truth. “He… he was my brother. My twin, actually. He died three years ago tomorrow.” You walked over to the shelf near the fireplace, picked up a photo of the two of you, and handed it to Dean. It was taken by your dad years ago right on the back porch of the cabin.

“Was he what introduced you to hunting?” Dean asked, studying the photograph.

“Yeah. He was killed by a werewolf while we were hiking not too far from here. I carry bear mace with me whenever I hike and managed to spray the werewolf… but I was too late to save Matty. He had his heart torn out before I could do anything. It happened so fast.” You could feel yourself tearing up again.

Dean handed the photo back to you and you took it, holding it tightly in your arms close to your chest. He looked at you for a few seconds before he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. He wrapped his arms around you and held on tight as you cried. You couldn’t hold it in anymore and you let heavy sobs escape your lips as you soaked Dean’s flannel in tears.

Every memory of Matty flooded your head and made your heart ache to be able to hug him one last time. You knew you needed to move on, and coming to the cabin wasn’t allowing you to do that. You were clinging on to his memory a little too tightly and not allowing anything or anyone in. After what felt like an eternity, your tears stopped and you were about to pull away when you heard Dean’s rumbling voice vibrate against your head.

“Did you mean it?”

You stepped back out of his embrace and dried your cheeks, looking up at him. “Mean what?”

“Are you falling in love with me?”

Your eyes went wide and you instantly felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Dean had heard you talking outloud to Matty. He heard your confession and is probably going to tell you that he views you as a sister and crush your heart. You managed to nod in confirmation even though your entire body was pretty much frozen in fear.

“Good,” Dean sighed in relief and immediately leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours. You were startled at first by the sudden feeling, but closed your eyes once the warmth of Dean’s soft lips spread over your own, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Dean broke apart and leaned back, eyeing you with a loving twinkle in his eye. He smiled at you, his tongue poking between his teeth and the crinkles around his eyes appearing, as he pulled you into another hug.

“Sammy has been teasing me for months about my crush on you. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way and I didn’t want to possibly ruin our friendship by telling you I had feelings for you,” he laughed, “seems like we were both afraid.”

You nodded and relaxed into his embrace. “I guess so, but I’m not afraid anymore.”

“Me neither.” He kissed the top of your head. “And I will always share my pie with you, Y/N.”

You laughed and pulled him with you out to the back porch. You will always have the memories of Matty to remind you of good times, but you were ready to make new memories with Dean.

Tags: @katymacsupernatural @queen-of-deans-booty @your-modern-shakespeare @wh1sp3r1ng-impala @wheresthekillswitch @holyfuckloueh @just-another-busy-fangirl @growningupgeek @ididntasktogetmadedidi @trashimaginezblog @jensen-gal @spnbaby-67 @feelmyroarrrr @donnaintx @potterhead1265 @mizzezm @there-must-be-a-lock

Dean/Jensen tags: @akshi8278

#dean x reader #Kari’s November with Dean #reader insert #angst #fluff #Sam Winchester #dean winchester #dean x y/n #sad reader #character death #one shot #twin!reader #sadness

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