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lipstickstainz · 4 years ago

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true lies - s. r. (1/15)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison.

Chapter Summary: Spencer and you have your first encounter, after you left him a year ago. Spoiler: it doesn’t go well.

Warnings: angst, secrets, swearing I think, typical criminal minds stuff

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: tadaaaaa. it’s finally here! my first series! tell me if you liked it! love you! gif not mine.

Series Masterlist

The first thing you notice is the complete silence that takes over the room. The last time you had been here, it had been crowded and so noisy that you could hardly understand your own words. People had been everywhere, talking or exchanging theories, but your gaze was fixed on the desk overflowing with books. Now there are only files, carefully sorted and stacked on top of each other.The office is empty, no agents, no witnesses. No one. You take a deep breath.

It's been some time since you've been here. Almost a year, but everything in this building is all too familiar to you. The coffee maker just waiting to be used in the kitchen. The law books gathering dust on a shelf. It feels like you've never been away.

"Y/N," a woman's voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You have to tear your gaze away from the desk in front of you, and your eyes find a tired, yet incredibly good-looking Emily Prentiss standing outside her office door, smiling at you like you just saw each other yesterday.

"It's good to see you," you say, and she wraps you in her arms after she closes the office door behind you. It feels good to finally have her by your side again; after all, you had been best friends before you left. You hug her one last time before carefully pulling away from her and sitting down in the chair in front of her desk.

"It's good to see you, too," she replies, dropping into her chair. She places her hands on the desk and interlaces her fingers. "Of course, I'd love to know how you've been this past year, but I'm afraid that will have to wait." She opens a drawer to her right and reaches for a file-your personnel file, you realize-and lays it open in front of her. "I've been informed that my request has been approved and you'll be rejoining our team," she says, smiling briefly at you. "It took a favor, but you're well worth it to me."

Your stomach tightens at the thought of Emily owing someone. You swallow the sour feeling spreading down your throat and nod at her. "Thank you, Emily."

She tilts her head and her gaze slides from your face to your kneading hands. "You're not happy with this, it seems. What's wrong?" Emily doesn't need to profile you to know something is bothering you. She knows you too well to miss the change in your behavior.

"I don't know if this is a good idea," you confess.

"And why is that?" asks Emily, but she already knows the answer. She knows what happened a year ago, and she certainly knows more than you do, because she had been here for the last year, after all. Before you can answer her, the door opens and a colorful person comes in.

"Good morning, my beautiful and strong boss," the one and only Penelope Garcia speaks without looking up from her iPad. "We have a new case that I would like to discuss with you before the whole team arrives. It's about -" When Emily doesn't answer her, she looks up and her gaze immediately lingers on you. You're surprised she doesn't drop the tablet on the floor as she rushes toward you to yank you out of the chair and into her arms. "Y/N! What a relief for my tired brain to see your beautiful face! Am I dreaming?" She breaks away from you and gives Emily a look. "Please tell me I'm not dreaming. I couldn't take it."

A smile spreads across Emily's face. "You're not dreaming, Pen. Y/N is actually back."

"Oh, how wonderful!" she squeals, pushing her glasses back up with her index finger. While she says something else to Emily, you look at her. She really hasn't changed in the last year. She's still the colorful bird of the BAU, and that's a good thing.

You notice yourself starting to smile, but then she utters the thing that erases the smile from your lips. "How's Reid doing? Have you guys talked yet?"

Emily makes a hand gesture for Penelope to drop the subject, but your expression has instantly changed when she said his name. It stabs you in the heart and cold shivers run down your spine, and only with difficulty can you suppress the tremors that want to overtake your body.

"I'm afraid the team is already here," Emily interrupts the silence and casts a glance out the window into the open-plan office. Even if you want to follow her gaze, you don't dare and your body is still in rigidity. She gets up from her chair and walks towards the door, but before she opens it, she turns to you once more. "If you need more time, that's fine. Take all the time you need. But your place is here with us, Y/N. We're your family." And with that, she and Penelope leave the office.

She's right. The BAU is your family - even if you hadn't seen or spoken to any of the family members in the last year - and walking out now wouldn't change the situation. The circumstances under which you left - had to leave - were anything but normal, and you hope that your decisions would be met with understanding, but you can't count on that. So you tighten your shoulders, push through your back, and follow them into the conference room. Your heart beats up to your neck and your hands sweat as you stop on the doorstep.

Your gaze fixes on the youngest team member, except for you. His brown curls are a little shorter than they were a year ago, and it doesn't take you ten seconds to notice that it's not the Spencer Reid you know sitting at the table. The year had changed him. Your absence had changed him.

Rossi is the first to notice you, which is because he glances over his shoulder. "Who do we have here?" he asks playfully, before rising from his chair and taking you in his arms. But you're only peripherally aware of that. Your concentration is on Spencer, who stares at you unblinkingly before jumping up and storming out of the room. JJ, sitting next to him, reaches for him, but he wriggles out of her grip and he runs past you so fast that it's easy to call it an escape. JJ smiles weakly at you before putting her hand on your arm. She doesn't need to say anything, her look tells you that she's glad you're back, but you're also aware that she wants to take care of Spencer, so you nod at her and wordlessly she follows the genius of the team.

The rest greet you with great joy, Rossi presses a kiss on your cheek and Alvez puts his arm around your shoulders, but you look out the window and see Spencer and JJ talking. His face is red and even though you can't hear his words or read his lips, you know exactly what it's about. The blonde tries to calm him down, wanting to put her hands on his shoulders to make him stop shaking, but he avoids her and takes a step back. The gesture is enough, as she drops her arms and doesn't follow him either when Spencer leaves the bullpen. You know he won't be back in the next few minutes.

Garcia tells you about the case and you try to focus on her words as best you can, but again and again your mind wanders to Spencer. His reaction to your return is understandable and you don't judge him for it. You have no right to do so; after all, you are responsible for his condition. You hope that soon there would be a quiet moment when you could talk about the past, but you are not optimistic. He pushed JJ away from him a few minutes ago, which is definitely not a good sign. You try to push the thoughts of him to the back of your mind; after all, there's a case to solve, and although the current situation isn't ideal, you're looking forward to it. It's been a long time since you've worked properly.

"All right," Emily says, snapping you out of your thoughts. "Wheels up in thirty."

"Hey," JJ addresses you as you freshen up in the ladies' room. You glance at her in the mirror and she smiles at you. "Are you okay?" You both know this question is purely rhetorical. She is, after all, Spencer's best friend. Aside from the two of you, she probably knows best what's been going on, but still not everything.

You turn around and lean against the edge of the sink. "I'm trying to get used to everything," you reply, pursing your lips into a thin line. "It's changed quite a bit while I was gone."

She nods. "Yeah, it did." She takes another step toward you. "Look, you have to give him some time, all right? This year hasn't been very nice to him. I hope you can understand that." She sounds sincere and, above all, concerned, which is why you don't resent her little speech. Of course, you're already aware of all this, but hearing it from her confirms your suspicions.

You are to blame for Spencer's condition. And there's no way you can straighten things out anytime soon.

Spencer rejoins the team only on the plane, but he avoids your proximity or your glances at all costs. He takes the seat next to Alvez, which is almost at the other end of the plane, and he is completely silent. The others, of course, notice the tension that has spread through the group since your arrival, but they all have the decency not to bring it up. But by their manner they let you know that they don't stand between you. You had been gone a long time, and they know halfway what had been going on, but they didn't take sides, and for that you are infinitely grateful.

"Alvez, JJ, Simmons. You guys talk to the families. Find out if the victims share any common traits that might connect them," Emily says, dividing the team into focus groups as usual. She glances around the group. "Rossi, Reid, Y/L/N, you go to the coroner's office while -"

"No." It's the first word Spencer has uttered since you boarded the plane. You expected his voice to be weak or to reveal any other signs of uncertainty, but the word came from his lips in a firm tone, leaving no room for discussion. Spencer looks up from the paper file and before he looks at Emily, his gaze brushes yours and at the coldness in his eyes, your blood freezes in your veins.

"All right," Emily says without elaborating. "Alvez, you switch places with Reid. Tara and I will go to the local police department and talk to the detectives. Let's catch the killer."

To say the mood on the plane hit rock bottom would be an understatement.

Forensics helps you out a bit. The victims were drugged before they died, causing hallucinations, which is probably why they self-inflicted injuries. Also, both victims have the same cut wounds in the same place. Definitely not a coincidence. Alvez has Garcia dig up some information on the way to the police station, which is why you could briefly organize your thoughts, but Rossi tells you about a new dish he'd like to cook for you sometime, and you'd been gone too long to block out your work dad. Besides, your mind would only be on Spencer and that's not moving you forward either.

"According to the relatives, none of the victims were unpopular, loners, or even depressed," JJ begins as the team gathers. You take a seat in the chair facing Spencer. When he notices, he gets up and sits somewhere else. The main thing is to get out of your sight. You sigh imperceptibly, but Luke turns in your direction and raises an eyebrow. You shake your head.

It hurts that Spencer doesn't want to be near you. In fact, it almost breaks your heart, but you can get used to that. He should go ahead and hate you. You could handle that.

The day flies by and when the team checks into the hotel in the evening, Spencer grabs one of the keys and leaves without another word. Sadly, you watch him go and Emily puts a hand on your shoulder reassuringly. Eventually, it would get better. Later on, you sit on the bed with her and tell her about the year you've been away, the people you've met, things you've experienced, but each anecdote brings you back to the one topic that makes your heart skip a beat.

"You have to tell him, Y/N," Emily suddenly says seriously, and you shake your head.

"No." It sounds almost as harsh as Spencer on the plane, but there's still some pain hovering in the air with you. "I'm not going to tell him, Emily."

"He thinks you left him because he went to prison. In his mind, you basically left him at the altar," she tries to change your mind, but to no avail. She would not succeed. You had sworn to yourself that this matter would remain a secret, something you would both take to your graves. And you have no intention of breaking that vow. "You were engaged, for gods sake" Emily's tone sharpens. "Don't you think he deserves the truth?"

"I'm not going to tell him. It's for the best."

Emily looks at you incredulously, but also knows she can't change your mind. "Best for whom?"

That night, you lie awake, tossing from side to side but unable to find sleep. You don't feel guilty about what happened. You don't question your decisions you did back then. It was the right thing to do. It bothers you because of Spencer, because of his reaction to your return, because of his hostility. JJ had asked for your understanding and you would do anything to mend fences, but you're not sure that's Spencer's intention either.

After two hours, you get up and slip into sweatpants and a sweater before leaving your room. As if of their own accord, your feet carry you down the hallway, to a destination you shouldn't be going to. As you turn into the hallway where Spencer's room is, you stop, rooted to the spot.

JJ is standing on the doorstep to his room, saying something to him before he leans down and pulls her tightly into his arms. His hair is messy, and even from this distance you can tell Spencer is leaning on JJ with all his weight. You have to swallow. How much you want a hug from him.

JJ is the first to disengage, saying goodbye to him and disappearing in the opposite direction, while Spencer stops and watches her go. There is a small smile on his face and he looks more relaxed than he did earlier in the day. As he turns to go back to his room, his gaze lingers on you. The smile disappears and his body is tense to the breaking point.

Time seems to stand still. It feels like an eternity that you stare at each other without speaking a word, but there is so much coldness in Spencer's eyes, so much pain, that you can hardly stand it and want to look away. But you're transfixed. Your hand raises of its own accord, as if in greeting, and your mouth opens, but before you can say anything, Spencer takes a step back and slams the door behind him. Only then do you realize that you've been holding your breath.

next part

- tags -

@obsssedwithjustaboutanything // @ashwarren32 // @slytherinbth // @rexorangecouny // @candlemouse // @cloudybau

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid angst #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x reader smut #derek morgan #Emily prentiss #Jennifer jareau #david rossi #Penelope garcia

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donald4spiderman · 3 years ago

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Ok hear me out. Spencer is dating Reader and she’s always hated that she’s been more chubby/curvy. And one night in the middle of a case she calls him crying and Spencer just gets really soft and calms her down after a bad nightmare. And his heart breaks cause his loving girlfriend hates her body. So Spencer plans this elaborate date and proposes maybe? You can decide if the team have met her or not. I’d like it to be the original team but if you wanna combine the original and new teams together that’s cool too!

no bc my body image issues have been rampant lately so this is personal as hell to me. I work out a lot and i’m fit but i’ve never been SKINNY like i have thick legs and muscular arms andnnfnfjndjnffn so this is personal.

I modified this a bit but it’s still the same premises hope you like it! ***BTW IN THIS UNIVERSE THE S3-7 CAST EXISTS FOR THE ENTIRE SHOW— SO THE LATER SEASONS HAVE MORGAN AND HOTCH.

also sorry this is a long

TW: body image issues, discussions of food & weight, insecurity, crying, kissing

WC: 1.5k

You know, pragmatically, that you have nothing to worry about. Spencer chose you. And for the past four years, Spencer has worshipped you every day— again and again. He is the most loving, considerate, and tender partner you could ever wish for. He is near perfection.

You’ve met Spencer's friends many times. You’re not close with either of your parents, so the team of profilers welcomed you into their arms with grace and care. Each and every one of them is beautifully amazing and exceptionally brilliant.

Spencer‘s friends are not only badass, but they’re also gorgeous. JJ, Emily, and Garcia are national treasures— so visually stunning it’s almost sickening.

You knew he used to have a crush on JJ way before he met you. You’ve also heard the tale of Lila Archer, the celebrity actress who made out with your boyfriend in a pool. Spencer’s had an eventful life, full of beautiful, sweet, magnificent women— so why does he choose you?

You view yourself as bland in comparison. What do you have to offer Spencer that he can’t find elsewhere? You don’t have toned abs, slim hips, and slender arms. You’re not striking in any way.

Spencer calls you every night when he’s away on a case. He’s never missed a call, even when he got shot in the neck and kidnapped by a murderous cult. He’s reliable and consistent, and that eases your worries a little bit.

It’s eleven pm in D.C. and your phone rings right as your getting in bed.

“Hi, my love,” Spencer says breathily, his voice slightly muffled by the phone. He’s away in Ohio for a case.

“Hey.” You reply, the sweetness in his voice soured by your mood. “How’s the case going?”

“Good. JJ and I are about to pass out in our beds— we’re so tired.”

You can’t help the way your face drops. “Oh. Well, get rest.”

Your about to hang up before he interjects. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why?” You know better than to lie to your boyfriend, who happens to be an expert on human behavior.

“Okay, I know a lie when I hear one. (Y/N), baby, what’s wrong?” He pleads.

You can’t help the tear that rolls down your cheek. “God, I’m sorry. I just miss you so much. You always know what to do when I’m feeling like shit.”

Spencer knows how much you struggle with self and bodily acceptance. He hates the world for making you feel anything less than incredible, both inside and out.

“I miss you too, so much, (Y/N).” His voice is thick as if he’s going to start crying too. “I love you so much, so fucking much. You have no idea how beautiful and amazing you are.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He laughs through a sob that wrecks his body. “You deserve everything in this world. I promise to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. You are the love of my life.”

You wipe the tears from underneath your eyes. “Sorry for keeping you up. You must be tired.”

“Never, if it means I get to talk to you.”

“I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you too, (Y/N). More than you’ll ever know.”

Spencer wakes up the next day with a newfound determination. The team solves the case as fast as possible, and by the end of the night, they’ve boarded the jet back home.

Spencer has more than enough hours to think about you and how much you mean to him. Hotch is seated directly across from him, rereading the case files.

“Hotch?” The wiser man looks up from his files, raising an eyebrow.

Spencer pauses for a moment. Maybe he’d be better asking Morgan or JJ for advice, considering Hotch’s tragic circumstances regarding Haley.

But no one loves like Hotch does-- sincerely, passionately-- stronger than anything else in the world. Spencer decides there’s no one better to ask.

“How uh did you know that Haley was the one?”

Hotch’s eyes soften for a bit. He clears his throat. “I knew since the day I met her that I would love her for the rest of my life unconditionally. She makes me complete. Do you feel that (Y/N) makes you complete?”

He already knows why Spencer is asking for his advice, steering the conversation in that direction.

“Yes. She’s my world.” Spencer whispers.

“Then it’s simple, really. Love doesn’t need to be complicated and precise. It’s what you do with it that matters.”

“I want to marry her, Hotch. I want to be with her for the rest of my life.”

Hotch smiles, “Then do it.”

Spencer feels the rush of excitement as he gathers everyone on the jet, including the prior sleeping passengers, filling them in on his big plans.

“I need all of your guys’ help.”

There’s a firm knock on your door at four in the morning. You know it isn’t Spencer because he has a key, but who could it be?

You take a cautious look out of your peephole to find Penelope, Emily, and JJ outside.

“What are you guys doing here?” You yawn. “For god's sake, it’s four am.”

“We know, and we’re sorry.” Penelope smiles.

“Is Spencer alright?” You ask, wondering if things suddenly went wrong during the case.

But by the joyous look on their face, you know nothing somber occurred.

“Spencer’s completely fine. But, we need to you to get changed and come with us. FBI’s orders.” JJ chuckles.

You change into warmer clothes in minutes, and the BAU ladies usher you into Emily’s car as fast as possible.

“So, no ones gonna tell me what’s going on?”

They shake their heads, “We’re just... running a quick errand.”

After a few more minutes of driving, Emily parks on the side of a dimly lit street.

“I need you to put this on.” She says, holding up a blindfold.

“Are you guys gonna murder me?” You joke, slipping the fabric over your eyes with little resistance.

“Quite the opposite, actually.” You don’t have time to think about what Penelope means before you’re being yanked out of the car.

You walk, guided by JJ, for four minutes. The grass beneath you crushes below your boots, and the hushed whispers of Emily and Penelope behind you do nothing to calm your nerves.

“Okay,” JJ says, halting to a stop. “You can take off your blindfold now.”

You hesitantly slip the blindfold off, revealing a brightly lit table in the middle of a secluded field. Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi are standing off to the sides.

Suddenly, Spencer emerges from behind a tree, dusting the leaves and dirt off his adorable sweater.

“Hi?” You laugh, utterly confused by this situation. “What’s going on?”

His hands are shaking, and he has to swallow a few times before he can speak. “I-I uh got y-you apple pie— uh your favorite.”

Spencer walks you towards the table, where a small slice of warm pie sits lonely on the table.

“Y-you should um... eat it.” He urges, pointing at the knife and fork next to it.

You glance around, trying to gauge the emotions of everyone around you, but fail. Stupid profilers and their poker faces.

Your fork cuts into the heavenly smelling pie, and you scoop up a bite into your mouth.

“It’s... good? I’ll pretty much eat any pie you give me, Spencer.”

He smiles, “I know that. But t-this is a special pie.”

“Okay...”

“You should t-take a closer look— at the pie.”

You inspect the dessert, completely puzzled until a glinting piece of silver catches your eye. Spencer notices the shock in your face and catches the plate that almost falls out of your hand.

Morgan hands him a napkin, and when Spencer pulls an apple-covered ring from the slice of pie, you almost faint.

“No way.” You gasp; tears spring to your eyes as Spencer wipes the ring clean.

He holds it tightly between two fingers, bending to kneel on one knee.

“(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N), I knew from the moment I met you that you were the most special woman I’d have the pleasure of meeting. A month later, you asked me out for our first date, and I couldn’t believe that someone as gorgeous and amazing as you would settle for someone like me.” You scoff at his humility.

“I spend every moment loving every part of you, (Y/N). None of my love will ever stop— ever. I promise to share my heart with you until the very end. There is absolutely no one I would rather be bonded to for the rest of my life. You are better than my dream girl because you’re real. You’re here, and you chose to love me every day— the good, the bad, and the ugly. (Y/N), will you do me the honor and great privilege of allowing me to become your husband?” You silently sob.

“Please say yes.” Spencer smiles.

“Yes!” You exclaim, pulling him up to hug him. “How could I say anything but!”

The dam breaks, and the entire team begins to cry as you and Spencer share a passionate kiss, almost collapsing down onto the grass from the sheer force of your love. He slips the ring onto your finger; it belongs there.

“I choose you, (Y/N).” He repeats.

“I choose you, Spencer, always.” You whisper into the crook of his neck.

Nothing’s ever felt so right.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #sub!spencer #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #dr reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #spence #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic

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zombieheroine · 3 years ago

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Domestic Enemy

Pairing: MegOp Rating: G Word count: 2486

MegOP week prompt: Domestic * Optimus came to slowly. He had a vague recollection that he had been hit by something heavy, and as he regained consciousness he realized he was lying under some support beams in a half collapsed hallway. Little by little, it came back to him. A battle in a nebula, an old Cybertronian outpost in an asteroid field. Energon storages and a race for them against the Decepticons, who had the disadvantage of not having and up-to-date map but the advantage of natural scouts and experienced miners.

Structures built inside asteroids, metal merged into rock, and a network of bridges and flight paths between asteroids. Megatron. Optimus blinked and stared up to the half-collapsed ceiling. He wasn’t sure which one of them had made the mistake, but they had focused on each other and engaged in their own private battle so deeply they had gotten separated from the others. It had been Megatron’s fusion cannon that had brought the eons old tunnel down on them, but privately Optimus cursed his own foolishness just as much. It seemed that no matter how many times he repeated to himself that he shouldn’t lose focus in combat and be lured to Megatron alone, it still happened again and again. It had happened again, and now he was stuck alone in an ancient tunnel, laying over some rusted railway tracks that had once been used to transport minerals from the asteroid mines, and so far removed from his troops that he couldn’t even hear them anymore. But mulling over his past mistakes never helped, especially not when he had more pressing matters in the present. Optimus regarded the position he was in. There were some rocks on him and around him, but mostly he was pressed down by a large support beam that had been half torn, half melted off the ceiling. He cycled air through his vents for a few moments before wrestling his arms underneath the beam, then decisively pressed it up and off his chassis. It took him a serious, concentrated effort, but eventually the metal groaned and gave way, bending off his chassis, and letting him out of the trap. But as he rolled away, Optimus realized he was far from freedom. The tunnel around him was still unstable and he was technically buried in there, but getting to move was a good first step. Very carefully he pushed his way past piles of rocks and tried his best not to make his situation worse, and so he crawled through the tunnel towards the way he had been going for. The Autobots had had a few old maps about the mining colony, so Optimus knew the tunnel would eventually lead into a larger hall where freshly mined energon would be loaded for transport, but just knowing where he was going didn’t solve all of his problems. Megatron was still somewhere close by. There was a possibility that he could have died when the tunnel collapsed, but Optimus knew he wasn’t that lucky. After what felt like eternity crawling under rocks and boulders and dust filling his vents, Optimus finally made it into a room. It was a mid-sized loading station, the tracks ending at stoppers and large loading patches. There wasn’t that much in the room otherwise, simply loading stations, repair stations and a small break area, and – “Well look who made it after all,” Megatron grunted with a roll of his optics. “I expected nothing less of my luck.” For a moment Optimus was ready to fight, but Megatron didn’t seem to want to. He was seated against the wall at the break area, and just like Optimus covered in dust and dents, but also clutching his arm to his side. He didn’t seem too interested in continuing their rumble, so Optimus didn’t fire up his blasters, simply pulled himself back up to his pedes. “I could say the same to you,” he said, puffing air through his vents in an attempt to clear them. It felt like there was a persistent layer caked on the metal, and it didn’t come loose no matter how he puffed. He didn’t try too hard. It was dangerous to show any weakness in front of Megatron, even though right now he didn’t want to fight. It might change if he re-evaluated the situation and decided for example to use Optimus’ compromised cooling system against him. Optimus stayed well away from Megatron, sticking to the other side of the room. He took a look around in the room, searching for a way out while subtly using his comm system to call out to his troops. “Go ahead and call your pitiful little followers,” Megatron called from his spot. “No reason to be shy about it. I already called mine.” “I’m not shy,” Optimus scoffed, but he let his arm hang more freely by his side as he

clicked the cover plate over the comm system shut as if he had never tried to hide it in the first place. “Sure,” Megaton replied with a roll of his optics. “Whatever you say.” “What happened to you anyway?” Optimus demanded while measuring the Decepticon leader with his optics. With all his heavy armour and weaponry he was now sitting down on the floor, a position Optimus wasn’t sure he had ever seen him before, covered in a heavy layer of dust and dirt and splattered energon, his arm limp in his lap. Megatron’s expression didn’t even twitch when he replied through his sharp dentae: “Nothing. I’m fine.” His spinal strut was straight where he sat as he was there out of pure will of his own. To Optimus’ curious gaze he looked like a miner fresh out of a disastrous accident, and he wondered if this was more like Megatron’s original form he had only ever talked about and never shown. “No, you’re not. I can see that you’re hurt. Do you need help?” Optimus insisted, his gaze focused on the way Megatron’s powerful arm hung limp in his hold, the blaster cannon dark, and dust and dirt caked on it in dark clumps that must have been due to spilled energon. “No. Mind your own business!” Megatron snarled with bared dentae, but clutched his arms tighter, the limp movement highlighting how it couldn’t move on its own. The image of a wounded miner crouched on a floor made Optimus feel a pang of guilt over his previous failure over reforming Cybertron, partially in ways Megatron had held him up to, but the snarl and the personal wound from stellar cycles ago kept his mind cleared and irritation as the most seminal emotion he felt. “You started it!” he snapped back, perhaps giving away more personal investment that was proper for them, and Megatron responded with a disgruntled frown. “Don’t nag me,” he said in a put-upon huff once again rolling his helm like it was all a big, unimportant bother to him. “I am not nagging!” Optimus snapped, more slighted than he ought to be and more out of control than he usually allowed himself to come across. A moment of silence followed with Megatron seated where he was, gaze focused well past Optimus, and Optimus defiantly refusing any care or worry for his enemy, yet venting heavily and leaned forward in focused concern. It took a moment for Optimus to gather himself. He was a Prime now, there was no individual and no personal agenda, only principle, and that was what he focused on. He calmed himself, took a step back and lowered him voice. “Do you need help?” he offered in a voice full of his newly found confidence. Megatron barely spared him a glance of his narrowed optics, the red glow of them mean and uncaring. “No.” Optimus rolled his optics. It had been a formal question with the positive answer clearly within reach, and Megatron must have well known it, yet he still lied and refused. Optimus couldn’t care for the game anymore, so he cut simply to the core of the matter: “You need help. Let me.” Finally Megatron turned his gaze back to him, now baring his dentae at him in an open snarl and angrily demanded: “Why would you even do that? We are enemies, get that through your thick helm already, Optimus Prime!” All the anger and bitterness flew past Optimus. He had come to expect that, and now that he got more of that sour anger he felt barely anything. He simply sighed and stepped closer: “Just show me your arm already.” It was that push that was all that it took. Optimus stepped closer across the floor, and Megatron didn’t say anything more, simply watched him approach without mocking. He didn’t cover or dodge, and Optimus expected nothing like that of him, but he was still glad he was allowed to approach. It was a slow dance. Even though Megatron was wounded, he was still extremely dangerous as Optimus had witnessed multiple times himself, and just because he had his own stubborn idea about helping him didn’t mean he was ignoring everything he knew about his enemy and just barging in on danger. But nothing happened. Optimus approached, Megatron stayed

where he was, and finally Optimus managed to crouch down next to him on the floor. Just taking a look that close up made it clear that there was nothing seriously wrong with Megatron’s arm, it was simply dislocated, and Optimus knew how to hep him. It was reaching out and touching a wounded gladiator that was the problem, and Optimus bided his time well. “I’m going to set it back into its socket,” he declared, servos hovering over the wounded warlord’s limp arm. “It will probably hurt, but I’ll be quick.” Megatron didn’t reply and opted to look the other way, and Optimus took that as a sign to go ahead and do his thing. He grabbed a firm hold of Megatron’s forearm and with his other servo on the shoulder guard, then in one powerful move yanked them both in different direction while keeping them in firmly same level. Megaron didn’t even make a sound, just clenched his dentae and offlined his optics, until the mechanism locked down in its proper place. When there was a sharp snap of a joint in its socket, and he released the air he had been holding in a controlled exvent. With the joint in place, Megatron flexed and moved his arm. First the digits clutched together, then the whole arm rose from its delicate cradle, and he stretched it out and rolled the joint over a few times in gentle movement. Optimus saw his enemy regaining his senses and power, so he took a few careful steps back from him, even when Megatron remained seated. After a few stretches, Megaton gave him a hostile yet dry look, and muttered: “I hate when you do that.” Optimus quirked his optic ridges in disbelief and crossed his arms. He might have been disapproving, but he wasn’t surprised. “What, help you? I though you would be glad to take advantage whenever you could.” “Not when you act like you care about me like you used to,” Megatron growled, the earlier bitterness gaining more and more foothold in his tone. He didn’t sound smooth and aloof like when he taunted him, or enraged like he often did on battlefield. This bitter tone was mostly foreign on him, but also more close to the way Optimus thought about Megatron inside the privacy of his own mind. He tightened the lock of his arms in front of him. Optimus gave Megatron a flat stare and considered the words. It was yet another cruelly clear window to the way Megatron viewed the world: it was full of deceit and pretence, a world where no one did anything out of pure kindness or care but simply in order to take advantage. In his world there was nothing more expect abusers and victims, those stronger and cleverer than others and those left trampled under their pedes. Every time they had a chance to discuss anything personal, Optimus was bitterly remained that to Megatron he had always been only something to fool and use, not anything to appreciate or open up to. He scoffed, once again detaching himself and raising above all worldly grievances and burdens. “Think of this whatever you will. It has become very clear of late to me that you wouldn’t understand it.” Megatron was silent. He was silent for a long while in that thoughtful, genuine way that he often had been in a way Optimus had never heard from anyone mighty or powerful. Megatron’s silence was the type that opened up to the other and considered them seriously. Ironically it was on moments that he was silent that Optimus was transferred back to times when he had desperately voiced an opinion or a view of his own, something vulnerable and new and deeply personal, and then had it faced with this silence. It had always felt like he had gotten through to Megatron, like he was really listening and letting his voice in. Shockingly, it was like that now, in this foreign, long since abandoned mining colony at the end of a collapsed mining tunnel that Optimus felt it again. For a split of a klik he was hopeful. He felt heard and seen, his sentiment sinking into his counterpart, opening up something new and beyond imagining. Hope soared and got the better of him, just for a klik. Then Megatron closed off again, his

expression souring and helm tilting back against the wall behind him, his healthy servo absentmindedly rubbing over his set arm. His gaze slipped past Optimus again, indifferent and cold, and his upper lipplate revealed a part of his dentae as it drew back. “Our troops will come for us soon. This will be over then,” he remarked in a deep, dark voice without looking at Optimus. Hope slipped and shattered for the hundredth time in Optimus. “I am aware, and I accept it,” he replied, quietly doubting his earlier sentiment. He never knew what to make of these passing moments of connection and understanding. They were too sudden to be deception or imagined, but consistently they shattered and vanished, so they weren’t too real either. Glimpses of what once where, he supposed. Glimpses of something overdue and impossible. Optimus walked back across the room and wondered if Megatron even knew what his most devastating weapon against him in this war even was. He might have not, since after all he didn’t seem to appreciate finer things or matters of the spark that much at all. It was all the same to him, and he let them slip by him as if he was certain there was plenty of more of them to come. Optimus couldn't say for certain that he was wrong.

#megop #megop week 2021 #maccadam #tfp #transformers #kapteenin raapustus

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spartanguard · 4 years ago

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partners

summary: SVU detective Emma Swan's new partner is not what she expected. Thankfully, that's a good thing.

A/n: So I've been watching a LOT of Law & Order: SVU lately and when I got to the episodes where Stabler was partnered with Dani Beck, it just smacked with CS feels. This is just a bit of exploration of that, in honor of @optomisticgirl ‘s birthday!!

B—HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! Thank you for being the most amazing friend, and the best person to bounce crazy fic ideas off of (like this). I hope you have the most amazing day and I love you!!!!

Note: While there isn't any actual sexual violence in this story, it is an SVU AU, so it's mentioned.

rated T | 2.3k words | AO3

She met him while he was trying to arrest a perp who’d just walked.

“Are you Detective Swan?” he’d asked, and she immediately noticed his accent—the way it wrapped around her last name in a way that sent a shiver down her spine, but it was hard to tell if it was in a good way or not.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she tossed back.

“I’m your new partner. Killian Jones.”

She shook his offered hand (only later noticing he only had the one) and wondered—just what the hell were they about to get into?

[He was her second new partner in as many weeks. Graham, who she’d worked with since she joined the unit, had enough with special victims—with Boston in general—and had taken up some smalltown sheriff gig in Maine. Emma knew he’d be happier there, but it kind of left her in the lurch. They’d sent someone new over the week before, but her style didn’t gel with Mulan’s quite well enough—the woman was a damn fine detective but just...too different.]

Jones was new to special victims, transferring in on the recommendation of the captain at his previous precinct, where he’d worked in homicide. The dead victims, he was used to; the live ones—not so much.

It was pretty obvious on their first case together, when they were interviewing the young girl in the hospital. Emma—she’d seen enough of the world’s shitty side that little phazed her any more; growing up in the foster system made her uniquely suited to this line of work.

But Killian? He was visibly upset; she had to physically restrain him from running out of the hospital to start tracking down the culprit, holding him back by the sleeve of his leather jacket. They hardly had a lead on this. Something could be said for enthusiasm, but that didn’t excuse jumping ahead of themselves. That’s how you got into trouble—that was how criminals got away with murder (literally); she’d done that enough for the both of them, and had a feeling he had, too.

She felt they had a lot in common, actually; there was an obvious affinity for leather coats, but past that, there was something familiar in his eyes. Not that she’d met him before, or anything—just something in the determined set of his gaze when interviewing a suspect, in the empathetic way he handled the victim.

She still wasn’t sure if that was good or not, especially when he almost forgot protocol—almost lost them evidence—by rushing in too soon.

And she was half ready to walk into Captain Mills’ office to request a new partner (again) when she found him asleep at his desk with what could only be described as a murderboard spread out behind him. He looked younger and softer in his sleep, impossibly gorgeous with the way his long lashes rested on his cheekbones and gentle breaths from his full lips—and none of that was really pertinent, because the man had just researched his way to a solved case.

“Just who are you, Killian Jones?” she asked when she later woke him up with coffee and a bear claw (biting back a comment on the rumpled state of his usually pristine waistcoat-and-dress shirt combo).

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he drawled, holding her gaze intently before taking a long pull from his cup.

She knew she shouldn’t, but damn, did she.

It wasn’t until a couple cases later that she began to put together the pieces of him. It had been a doozy of a kidnapping, and he’d been on edge the whole time—right until they finally tracked down the little boy who’d been abducted. Emma slapped the cuffs on the miserable excuse for a father who’d taken him and Killian pulled the boy into his arms, visibly deflating once he knew he was safe.

She dragged him to their unit’s favorite bar that night and slid a glass of rum in front of him, along with the directive to “Talk.”

He downed it in one shot, then worried his bottom lip (much to Emma’s distraction) before saying, “Have I mentioned I have a daughter?”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, but she let him explain without interruption. Her name was Alice; she was 8. He had sole custody, and with good reason: her mother, his ex-girlfriend, had kidnapped her from his apartment when she was only a few years old. “It’s the most scared I’ve ever been,” he confessed. “And today...it’s like I was right back in that moment.”

“I don’t blame you,” she replied, then finished her own whiskey. This was probably where she should drop some of her own tragic backstory, right? Like the scumbag who left her pregnant at 17, and the baby boy she put up for adoption? “Props to you for doing it on your own. I obviously couldn't.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, love; you gave him his best chance.” He gently set his hand over hers on the bar and she froze; not because he was cold—quite the opposite, actually—but between that tiny gesture of support and the understanding in those too-blue eyes, she felt more seen than she had by anyone in ages, even Graham.

It was suddenly too much, too intimate, and she yanked her hand away and ordered another drink. “Is your ex the name on your tattoo?” she asked, trying to put some space in between them (physically and emotionally).

It worked. He sat back up and tugged his right sleeve down with his prosthesis, hiding the ink, and she could almost see the walls go back up between them. “No. That’s...another story. For another time.” He stood and tossed some cash on the counter. “Alice is with my neighbor; I better go get her. See you ‘round.” And he left hastily.

It was what she wanted to happen. He’d suddenly gotten too close. So why did she feel like such an ass about it?

She was going to apologize at their next shift, but they got thrown into another case. And then another after it. It was a different kind of intense—a different kind of intimate—than that moment in the bar; very quickly, she had to trust him, and vice versa. That was something neither were predisposed to, but were managing to do...honestly, better than she had with anyone.

After putting another rapist behind bars, Killian said with a smirk, “I don’t mean to upset you, Swan, but I think we make quite the team.” And he winked (well, tried to), and she just blushed back, like she was a teenager in love all over again. That fact that would normally send her running but, for the first time in years, she wasn’t opposed to it—except for, y’know, the fact that he was her partner and they were coworkers and HR generally looked down on that kind of thing.

She doubted he was interested, anyway. They hadn’t really done anything outside of work since that night; he was always quick to get home to Alice, and she didn’t fault him that—especially when she finally met the kid, who was clearly her father’s daughter in all the best ways.

They got a call for a case late one weeknight; Emma easily beat him to the scene, since he had to make sure his neighbor could watch Alice at such an ungodly hour. She handed him a coffee when he got there and they made their way to the ME, to get the rundown on the vic.

Emma had been paying attention, but it shifted from the examiner to Killian pretty quickly; he stiffened at the description of what had been done to the victim, then when white as the sheet covering her when it was pulled back.

“Eloise,” he whispered, like he’d seen a ghost.

“Wait—as in…?”

He nodded. “Aye. Alice’s mum.”

“Shit.”

They got what little information they could from the scene and then started to head for the precinct, but he was shaking so much, she insisted on driving.

“Are you gonna be alright?” she asked.

He let out a hollow chuckle. “No, probably not.” Then, one long breath later, “It was Gold.”

She nearly missed their turn at that. “Gold? As in, the mysterious Mr. Gold, owner of the pawn store chain?”

“One and the same,” Killian said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It’s the same as with Milah.”

She would have asked who that was, but he was resting his prosthesis over the spot on his arm where she knew the tattoo was. And she got a sinking feeling in her stomach that this was going to be a rough case.

Once they got to the office (and she got some more coffee in him), Killian explained: Milah was his ex, his first love—but also Gold’s wife. And while Gold was well-known for being a shady individual, no one had ever been able to pin anything on him.

But Gold did find out about their affair, and Killian came home one day to find Milah—dead, attacked and killed in the same way Eloise had been hours ago. He wasn’t sure what their connection was—and he didn’t think Gold knew about his to Eloise, especially since she’d only been released from jail last week—“But I know it’s him. And I’m going to prove it this time.”

(Apparently, last time had ended with him getting into an altercation with one of Gold’s lackeys. He escaped with his life, but not with his left hand.)

Milah’s case had gone cold, but given the similarities, they were able to pull the files. It took a few weeks—several late nights, more than a few breakdowns, many tears (mostly Killian’s, but Emma’s and Alice’s as well) before they finally—finally—had the evidence to pin both murders on Gold.

Tracking him down was another thing altogether, but they finally caught up with him in his penthouse apartment. To no one’s surprise, he didn’t go willingly; a fistfight broke out between he and Killian.

She was scared she’d have to intervene, knowing how personal it was. By the end of it, Killian had a black eye and a bloody lip, but Gold was in handcuffs, tossed unceremoniously in the back of a squad car.

Killian watched the vehicle pull away, then turned to Emma, and wrapped his arms around her in a bruising hug.

In any other situation, she would have gone stiff with shock, but she didn’t hesitate to lean right into him. Her desire to comfort him after that was just as strong as his need for comfort.

But then he pulled back, cupped her cheek, and pressed his lips to hers.

That did take her by surprise.

But she was equally quick to reciprocate.

Just as fast, it was over and he was walking away, leaving her utterly confused. Logically, she knew it was probably just an emotional reaction—a one-time thing.

However: he kissed her like he meant it. She was familiar with empty kisses and single-night flings—and that...was a whole lot more.

And she couldn’t deny it any longer: she wanted that more.

She arrived at the precinct early the next morning, hoping to beat him there so they could talk about whatever that had been. She’d even gotten up an hour before she usually did so she could get them good coffee. But he was already there, filling out forms at his desk.

“Hey,” she said, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward as she put the cup on his desk. “You taking care of the reports?”

“Um, yeah,” he stammered, pointedly focusing on the paperwork and not her.

She glanced down at the desk, and that wasn’t a report—that was a transfer form. “You want to leave?” she whispered, the familiar pain of betrayal washing over her. He didn’t want to be her partner anymore?

“Emma, I can’t stay here,” he said, only somewhat apologetic. (Also, though she didn’t realize it at the moment, it was the first time he’d used her given name.) “After this last case...it just wouldn’t be good form.”

“Fuck your good form, Jones!” she cried. “How can you say that, after everything these past few months? After last night?”

Calmly, he stood up and moved into her space. “I can’t be your partner any more, Emma,” he said, reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear. “Because I want to be more than that. And last I checked, Captain Mills frowned upon inter-unit relations.”

That was true; she really did, more than most. But then the reality of what Killian was saying hit: “You...you’d give up your position for me?”

“Aye,” he answered, simply, like it wasn’t the heaviest thing anyone had ever told her.

What else was she supposed to do after a confession like that but kiss him? She rose up on her toes, gripped the lapels of his waistcoat, and found his lips with hers. He didn’t hesitate to pull her close and she was exceedingly glad no one else was in the squad room, because she’d never quite been kissed so closely to within an inch of her life as she’d been then.

(Also, it was a good thing no one was around when he pushed her onto his desk to deepen it further. If Captain Mills later noticed the forms were a bit crumpled, she didn’t say anything.)

Killian ended up transferring back to his old precinct, old job. It turned out they missed him. Emma knew exactly why; her next partner, David, was great, but no match.

Good thing she got to go home to Killian—and Alice—every night.

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thanks for reading, and send B all the birthday love! tagging some others:

@kat2609 @thesschesthair @xpumpkindumplingx t @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs detective au #happy birthday #optomisticgirl #my ff

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fandom-imagination-ss · 3 years ago

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Imagine: having a encounter with your best friend Clark Kent one night.

Author note: I couldn’t help myself I had too write a Clark Kent imagine, the Superman and Lois version Not Henry Carvills version. This imagine has mention of being shirtless. No Smut.!! If you haven’t watched the CW show Superman and Lois. Go do it! It’s great and I’m obsessed with the show and Tyler lol

Charters: Clark Kent, Lois lane , Jordan Kent, and Jon Kent

Warnings: Shirtless scene But not descriptive

Fandom ; Superman and Lois

You known Clark Since basically birth. You been friends since Kindergarten, He was the first boy you ever Kissed, the First boy you ever confessed your feelings too, which Clark happily accepted and it was wonderful relationship for two weeks. Your family’s were very surprised you both lasted that long.. you were eight at the time. Then at Sixteen Clark confessed too his best friend that he was a Alien. Your first thoughts were if he could read your mind. And he said he couldn’t which was a load off your mind because your crush on the boy returned and it was stronger then ever. But then he said he could shoot rays out of his eyes and your thoughts went from your crush too random questions about THAT!

As the years went on your crush on Clark vanished when he met and fell madly in love with Lois Lane. You were the best gal at his wedding. You were the god mother too his twins. You instantly became friends with Lois. the motto in your life if. clark was happy you were happy. after seeing him with Lois. it was clear that boy was in love.

Knowing he was superman and knowing that Lois abused her powers of being with him. Using it too jump start her career was slightly hard too adjust too but Clark didn’t seem too mind so you kept your opinion about that too yourself.

You didn’t move out of Smallville you loved it. You loved waking up and knowing everyone the town felt safe. Then Clarks mom died and the Kent family moved back home. You loved visiting with your God sons especially when Jordan started developing his powers. But you noticed the stein in the relationship between Clark and Lois. The boys noticed also. Jon asked for advice about what too do or how he could help and you suggested too watch the boys for the weekend and Let your best friend have a romantic getaway with his bride…. When they returned they announced they were getting divorced. It shocked Everyone Lois instantly moved back too the the city. Jon naturally went so he could return too his friends and back on track too the football team. Jordan didn’t want too leave he was Happy in Smallville it probably Also had too do with the crush he had on a girl here. Clark was struggling you spent nights helping him drinking and wishing he could get drunk but He can’t. Knowing that drinking wouldn’t solve his problems you wished him some relief but. Downside too being a Alien. He can’t get drunk.

A few months passed you were over at the Kent farm drinking on the front porch Clark invited you over too have dinner since Jordan was In the city with his mom and Jon was also. It was a Rare night the house was quite. Clark was staring out at The field as you tossed your popcorn you were snacking on at him. One kernel and nothing. He didn’t flinched. He didn’t look over until the fifth kernel hit him. Right on the cheek that he turned too look at you.

He had a small smile on his face as you smiled back, ‘what you thinking there superman?’

He chuckled taking a long sip of his beer looking off, “why we break up?”

Chuckling you took a sip of your drink rolling your shoulder, the warm air made for a perfect night outside. Clark was relaxed. “The relationship we had when we were eight?”

He nodded his head, “yea. Ive been thinking about it. Lately I don’t remember why we broke up”

The only thing you could do was laugh a putting your drink down getting comfy on the chair. This wasn’t the conversation you expected too be having with Clark tonight. You were Hoping too maybe talk about convincing him too fix your boiler this weekend. Not about your Childhood relationship.

‘we were Eight.. I think- we broke up because you wanted me too move into your house and I wanted you too move into mine and we couldn’t decided.” He laughed loudly at that as you shook your head ‘why you thinking about that?”

“you never married.”

Staring at him you chuckled, “i’ve been close! Twice!” Clark shifted looking at you, ‘you were far too good for them but seriously you haven’t been out on a date since I returned home. No one special?”

“your talking like my mom Clark. Next you’ll be asking me when I will be giving you a godchild.’ He chuckled as he spoke, “I’m serious those. How is it possible? Your beautiful, brilliant unbelievably kind. How are you still single? I use too have too pull guys off you in school.”

“Oh please! No one wanted me in school.” Clark smiled as you looked at him.

“Why you so curious about my love life?”

“honestly I don’t know. I just.. kept thinking about it.”

Smiling weakly as you reached over poking him. “Aww is Clarkie getting a crush on me?”

He reached up catching your hand as he caught sight of you “what?. What if I do?”

‘Me?’

He looked at you confused at you. You shifted up too your feet as you paced “I mean.. I’m me.. Clark I’m boring. I’m So boring and ordinary.. I’m- I’m Me!”

Shifting too his feet. Clark grabbed your shoulders stopping your pacing as he spoke, “extraordinary, beautiful, amazing, stunning, I- can you stop me? I’m blabbering.”

Covering your mouth you looked. At Clark as you spoke, “Do I have too?”

Clark stared at you for a second before moving your hand and pulled you closer as he grasped your face and kissed you deeply. Your stomach had a knot in it. As it tighten as you felt your hand instantly grasp his head cuddling his closer too you. You only pushed back too breath as he pressed his forehead too yours as you breathed deeply as you spoke, “Holly Toast Clark.” You both broke into a soft laugh as you kissed him back.

Feeling him grip onto you as he lifted you up as your legs wrapped around his torso as he turned and pressed you against the side of the house as he held you respectfully on your sides. His hand held onto your hips. Your body felt like it was on fire. He reached up tracing his hand over your collarbone softly as he pulled back looking at you, “should we stop?’

Your head was foggy as you pressed your head against the side of the wall looking at him. You reached up touching his shoulders softly, “No.” he didn’t hesitate too kiss you again.

You didn’t realize you were sitting down in the kitchen until Clark pulled back too lift his shirt off. He went too kiss again but you reached your hand up too marvel at his chiseled pecks. “God Clark is it a alien thing too give you god like looks?” He chuckled at your comment telling you too shut up . You laughed as he kissed you again.

Your shirt was yanked off. Ripping as you gasped as he said sorry till he heard a engine he recognized the sound it was Lois’s Car he cursed out before grabbing you and your torn shirt and grabbed his shirt and you were in his bedroom.

You were stunned till you heard the front door open.

“Hey DAD!”

Hearing Jordan your eyes grew large quickly putting your shirt back on. Too only see it was ripped. You gasped quickly grabbing a plaid shirt as you went too talk until Clark Reached up covering your mouth singling too stay quite. He pointed too his ears as you remembered.. Jordan has super hearing. Which made you more terrified that he would Hear you! Clark walked out calling out too Jordan “Jordan? Hey. What you doing home/“

You looked around stunned NOW what? You have sneaked out of this house Hundreds of times But when you were sneaking out you were mainly just trying too hide from Clarks parents. He’s human parents who didn’t have super hearing Or any super abilities. Not Clarks teenage son!

“Hey Is Auntie Y/N here?” Hearing Jordan you fixed the shirt as you found Clarks coffee cup from this morning as you quietly spilt it over your torn shirt as you put it on under the plaid shirt as you walked downstairs as you spoke, “Hey Jor.”

They both looked at you stunned as you spoke up, “Jor life lesson! NEVER drink liquor- can you get drunk?” You stopped your statement with the realization Jordan may Never experience a hang over ever. Clark said he probably couldn’t as you groaned, “Damn I’m so jealous.”

“wait what?!" Jor stated as Clark coughed tol stop this conversation but you added.

“Oh. Now you got no excuses for stupid experiences in life.” Jordan chuckled as Clark said he was trying too limit those stupid experiences. You laughed ignoring the fact that your best friend just had you sitting on the counter that Jordan was leaning against now.

“what you doing in Dad’s shirt?”

Lois walked in with Jon as you spoke, “I spilt coffee all over my shirt and your dad let me borrow a shirt.”

“pretty late for a coffee” Lois stated as you rolled your shoulders, “It is Never too late for a ice coffee plus what is sleep?” She chuckled weakly as Clark asked what happened too cause everyone home as Jon spoke up, “Mom has a assignment in Spain.”

“Oh lucky!” You gasped as Lois shook her head, “Not really- Sorry clark for –“ “no it’s alright I’m. happy too hang with the boys this weekend.”

“Hey Aunt Y/N you want too watch wolf man?”

You gasped as you touched your heart, “your Movie tastes are Perfection! I taught you well grass hopper.” Jon chuckled as Jordan said he would make the popcorn as I spoke, “I probably need too sober up a bit before I drive home. You. Mind?” Asking Clark like he had a choice.

He shook his head saying it was fine. As Lois spoke, “rough night?” Turning too her you rolled your shoulders, “just had too many.. I forget clark can’t get drunk. I was keeping up with him.” She chuckled as Clark spoke, “why did’ you call?”

“I didn’t think you would mind.”

You slipped passed as they talked as you got into the living room sitting with the boys as they started the movie.

sitting on the sofa your mind burst with what Just happened!! you just made out with your Best friend!! What the heck!!

#fandom imagine #imagine #fandom #superman and lois imagine #superman and lois #superman imagine #superman #dc comics imagine #dc comics

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scuttling · 3 years ago

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Silent Treatment

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Word Count: 3,160 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Anger, Fights, Dom/Sub, Vaginal fingering, Unprotected sex, Daddy kink, Established relationship Summary: The biggest, ugliest fight of Aaron and Sophie’s relationship actually begins at work, in the field—go figure. Note: This is a previously published, reformatted work. Link to A03 or read below! The biggest, ugliest fight of Aaron and Sophie’s relationship actually begins at work, in the field—go figure.

They are back at the local precinct after apprehending one of two unsubs when the shouting match portion of the fight occurs; in order to apprehend that unsub, Sophie went against a direct order to vacate an active shooter scene, could have gotten herself killed, and Aaron has been fuming about it since they got in the car.

“Morgan and Rossi are canvassing the neighborhood to see if we can get any new information on the second unsub. You two,” he gestures to Prentiss and Reid, “can interview Daniels. JJ and I will go to the store where the guns were purchased, see if we can get surveillance footage, any information they might have about Daniels and his partner.”

“What about me?” Sophie asks, her body tense, like she already knows what his answer will be.

“You’re staying here. You disobeyed me,” he says, low, because he really doesn’t want to get into it in the conference room, with their peers. It seems she doesn’t quite share the sentiment.

“You can’t bench me because I did something you didn’t like, Hotch,” she protests, crossing her arms, and Prentiss looks awkwardly around the room like she would rather be anywhere else at the moment. Aaron can’t help but agree, can feel his blood boiling, wants to make fists of his hands and punch something.

“I am in charge here, I can do whatever I want.”

“Oh, grow up,” Sophie replies, eyes hard on his. “What I did was smart. Who knows how many more people Daniels would have killed if I hadn’t stopped him. You would have done the same if you were me.”

“What you did was insubordination. You’re lucky I’m not suspending you.” She huffs a harsh laugh and steps toward him with fire in her eyes.

“You can’t suspend me, and you know it,” she grits out, finger pointed in his direction, and he sees red; he reaches up and grabs her wrist, hard, leans in close so there’s no mistaking the order this time.

“Find a ride back to the hotel. You’re done.”

“But I—”

“This is not up for debate.” He doesn’t yell, but he raises his voice enough that Sophie exhales in surprise, swallows hard. He instantly feels bad, feels his face soften, but she just yanks her arm out of this grasp and walks out of the room. Reid shoots him an uncertain look and goes after her.

They wrap up the case that evening, without her help, and the ride home on the jet is tense, silent. Sophie hasn’t spoken a word to him since she stalked out of the conference room to find a cop to drive her back to the hotel, and he’s at the point where he’s starting to wallow a little.

Maybe he was too hard on her. She did apprehend the first unsub, who was vital in locating the second unsub, and people would almost certainly have died if she hadn’t done that. She made a decision in the moment, using the tactical training that was part of the reason he hired her in the first place. And most importantly, she was right: he’d have done the exact same thing in her shoes.

When the plane lands, he reaches overhead and takes down her bag first; he turns to pass it to her, something of a peace offering, but she grabs it out of his hands and heads for the parking lot without a word to anyone.

“Good luck,” Prentiss says with a sad smile when she passes him, and he closes his eyes with a sigh.

He’s definitely going to need it.

About halfway to their apartment, Sophie surprises him by looking over at him with a softer gaze than he’s seen all day. He keeps his eyes on the road, but peeks at her out of the corner, doesn’t want to speak too soon and cause her to retreat back into that angry, hurt state of mind.

He’ll give her time. He knows he owes her that.

He parks the car outside their building, and he can tell she wants to make a run for it, so he covers the buckle of her seat belt with his hand—gently, nothing she couldn’t brush aside if she truly didn’t want to stay there with him. It’s not his intention to hold her against her will.

“We need to talk,” he says matter-of-factly, making eye contact with her for the first time since they got off the plane. She sits rigid in her seat, arms folded in her lap.

“I don’t want to talk right now.” Her voice is raspy from disuse, and he brings a tentative hand to her cheek, brushes it with his fingers.

“Are you still angry? I’m willing to give you time to sort out what you want to say, but you can’t shut down on me.” She grits her teeth, exhales through her nose.

“Of course I’m angry, Aaron. You took me off the case for something Reid or Morgan would have gotten away with. That’s bias.”

“Reid or Morgan never would have ignored my order to get back to safety. What you did was smart, but it was also incredibly reckless.” She throws up her hands, as much as she can in the confined space of the car.

“Sometimes we have to do reckless things to get the job done. We’ve all been there.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, because it feels like they’re going in circles, like he’s beating his head off a brick wall.

“The fact of the matter is, I told you no, and you didn’t listen.”

“And if I had listened, and more people died? Do you think that’s going to affect your conscience, or mine?”

His phone rings—Rossi’s name lights up the screen—and he sighs, presses the button on her seat belt, releasing the latch. “Go inside, get undressed, and wait on the bed for me. I’ll be right up.” She studies him a moment, with uncertain eyes, climbs out of the car and slams her door behind her.

When the call is over and he steps into the kitchen, Sophie has the refrigerator door open and she’s rifling through the vegetable drawer, pulling out things that are in her way and throwing them down on the counter behind her. He closes his eyes, exhales long, and reaches out a hand to slam the door shut, startling her.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice calm as he looks down at her. She swallows under his gaze, sets down the bag of broccoli in her hand.

“Making dinner.” She looks over his shoulder, won’t make eye contact, and he sighs deeply. It’s starting to become a thing.

“I told you to get undressed and wait on the bed for me.” She doesn’t reply, and he catches her chin hard between his thumb and forefinger, tips it so she’s looking up into his eyes. Their chests are both heaving, and he knows that his face is a stony, impassive mask he’s never used at home before. “Do as I say.”

“But—”

“You know what words to say if this is truly not something you want. Right?” She grits her teeth, and her eyes are fiery, jaw clenched.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to say those words?” He wants to hold his breath, because there’s a part of him that believes she might say yes, take the out that he’s always given her, that she’s never used. She strings him along, takes a full thirty seconds to say one word.

“No.” He tries not to look as relieved as he feels, just squeezes her chin a bit tighter between his fingers and leans down, so he’s only inches from her face.

“Then do as I say.” She stares him down for a moment, looking like she wants to fight him on it, but she just jerks her head to the side, making him lose his grip, and stalks toward the bedroom.

She is, thankfully, sitting naked on the bed by the time he puts everything she took out of the fridge away. He’s not sure what he would have done if she hadn’t been.

She looks tightly wound, but not nervous, and that almost makes him smile; even after this fucking awful day, this stupid fight, she knows he will take care of her, never make her do something uncomfortable or that would hurt in a way she doesn’t want. He takes off his jacket, his shirt and tie, his pants, but stays in his undershirt and boxers so she knows he’s not planning to get off for a while.

“On your stomach,” he instructs, and she turns without argument, stretches out with her ass up, legs spread a little. It’s so inviting, makes him want to just shove his cock in and take her, but that won’t solve their problem, so he holds himself back.

He crawls over her and presses his lips to her ear, her shoulder, trails them down her back, and she’s breathing heavy, eyes closed, face turned to the side. It’s a good sign. He kisses her butt, her thighs, her calves and ankles, and then gets off the bed and walks around to his bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lube. Drizzling it over her pussy makes her shiver, but she says nothing, does nothing but pant when he rubs her with his fingers.

He’s surprised to feel that she’s already wet, would have thought it would take some time to warm her up when she’s been so angry with him all day, but then, he’s been hard for some time now, so it makes sense. It just moves up the timeline of his plan, a little, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

He reaches down around her belly to place a finger on her clit, slowly teasing it, massaging it, and he can see her struggling to contain a moan.

If that’s how she wants to be, that’s fine with him.

His other hand rubs the lube against her opening, two fingers pressing in slow and steady. She is tight, maybe not as soaked and ready as she usually is, but turned on enough that she clenches around him when he’s in as far as he can go, when she can feel his other knuckles against her ass. He fingers her slowly, quietly, rubbing her clit with a wet fingertip, and he sighs contentedly, because it’s Friday night and he’s got all the time in the world to coax his girl back to him.

Five minutes pass by, then ten, before she finally makes a sound, and it’s gorgeous, a whimper of need that goes straight to his dick. He responds by fucking his fingers in faster, leaning down to press his lips to her back in a loving kiss.

“There you are. Do you want to come with my fingers in you?” She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even register that she heard him, but he knows she’s not asleep. “Can you reach back and touch me, please, if you want to come?” It takes a moment, but she lifts her arm and reaches for him, grabs a bit of his shirt in her hands. “Good girl. Thank you, baby.” He presses in quick and deep, glides two fingers over her clit in time with his thrusts, and the combination has her clenching around him, coming, nearly silently, and he kind of hates it. When he pulls his fingers out, they’re pruny from working on her for so long, and that, he kind of likes.

He kisses up and down the length of her body again, gets as close as her cheek, can feel her warm breath, but she’s still tense and angry, that much is clear. He gets up, goes to the bathroom, and washes his hands; when he returns, she hasn’t moved, except to make her arms more comfortable.

“My turn,” he murmurs in her ear, and he takes off his clothes, gets behind her on the bed on his knees; her pussy is shiny with lube and her own juices, and he hums at the sight of it, achingly hard.

His legs are spread, and he puts his hands on her hips and pulls her body toward him, opens her legs so they’re spread as well, her knees hooked around his. She is soft, willing, pliant, and it’s easy to line the head of his dick up at her entrance and pull her back onto it; the moan he gets in return for the little bit of manhandling puts the ghost of a smile on his face.

“Baby girl, it’s time for you to do as I say. Are you ready to behave?” She says nothing, but reaches a hand back to touch his thigh. He supposes he’ll take it. “I want you to fuck me, make me come in you. I’m not going to move at all, so you have to do it for me, okay?” She groans a little, but squeezes his thigh, and he covers the hand with his; she lets him, for a moment, before pulling away.

She takes his order seriously, fists her fingers into the sheets and rocks back and forth on him, her whole body working, her gorgeous ass bouncing against him. She is so beautiful as she moves, the muscles of her back visible, and her thighs, all that golden skin on display, and he has to exert so much control to not just put his hands on her shoulders and pound her until she’s senseless.

“There you go. Such a good girl for daddy,” he coos, and he does palm her ass, squeeze it, just because he wants to. “My good girl, smart girl. So well behaved. Keep fucking me, baby.” He can see that she works harder at his words, and it sounds so good—she’s so drenched in lube and slick that soft, wet noises echo in their bedroom—but she won’t speak, barely makes a sound, and he hates it and he’s just so fucking done with the day.

Then, like the sweet little miracle she is, Sophie starts moaning, loudly, pure, desperate, eager moaning, like music to his goddamn ears. She’s changed the angle of her hips, and he bets her clit is rubbing against the bedding, maybe her nipples too, and all that sensation has her too blissed out to stay angry—which, with the help of a little blatant domination, is maybe what he was looking for all along. He hums, rubs his hands over her hips, and she breathes a sigh.

“I’m fucking you, daddy. I’m… behaving,” she gasps, slamming her ass hard against him. “Are you gonna come, daddy? Please come, daddy, I promise I’ll listen. I promise I’ll be good.”

God, he missed that mouth.

“I’ll come if you make me, sweet girl. Are you going to make me?”

“Yeah,” she pants, rubbing against the sheets, humping back against him furiously, and he is close, but he likes the frenzy she’s worked herself into. “Yeah, you can come in me, daddy, you can trust me. Promise. I can do it.”

“Oh, I know you can, baby.” Giving in, he plants his hands hard on her hips, squeezing tight, and he comes, feels wrung dry by her frantic, unrelenting thrusts. “Your turn, sweetheart,” he groans, a little sensitive, but no way he pulls out until she’s finished, not now. “Let go, let go for me.” He can see a light sheen of sweat on her back, her neck, and she arches, shudders, and whines, bites the sheets when she comes.

He doesn’t slip out of her until she’s panting, trembling, and even then he just turns her around and kisses her for so long he gets dizzy from it. She clings to his arms, nuzzles against his throat, and he sighs in relief for the first time that day.

They cuddle and kiss for a while after that, probably too long, considering they’d gotten home around ten and still hadn’t eaten dinner or done anything but fight. Still, he can’t find it in him to be anywhere but in her arms after everything that happened. She rubs her nose against his, sweet, presses her lips there.

“I’m sorry. You were right. Whether or not I thought I was doing the right thing—I don’t make the calls on this team. You do. I have to trust that you weigh all the consequences before you give an order, and I didn’t do that today. I really am sorry.” He brushes her hair back behind her ear, kisses her mouth, gazes softly down at her. His heart aches with love.

“You were right, too. When I knew there was a guy out there with a semiautomatic looking for cops, my first thought wasn’t about Morgan or Reid or anyone but you. I was a little biased, and I was harder on you because of my own shortcomings. Not yours. I’m sorry.” He kisses her again, slower, kisses her nose so she’ll smile, so he can tease her a bit. “Not sure I deserved the silent treatment, though...” To her credit, she does look a little sheepish, and she pulls him close for another kiss.

“It was childish, I know. But then once you got me on the bed, it wasn’t a choice anymore. It became real, and I couldn’t figure out how to get back to you. You were so patient,” she praises, brushing fingers over his forehead, his hair out of his face.

“Because I love you,” he replies, resting his head on her chest; she scratches at the nape of his neck, and it feels so good he lets his eyes drift shut. “Don’t jab your finger at me again, though, you brat,” he teases after a moment; she looks down at him, and he opens one eye and laughs.

“I was pissed,” she explains, laughing with him, and she shoves at his shoulder. “And you get grabby, which you know only makes me more angry.” They settle back against the pillows, even though they both know they need to get up, get showered, get food. “You are hot when you’re mad, I’ll give you that.”

“Well you’re fucking impossible.” She rolls her eyes playfully and pushes him off of her, climbs off the bed.

“Yeah, well you love me, so. Deal with it.” He watches her as she heads for the bathroom, all perfect body and lovely hair and goodness, and she throws a look over her shoulder that makes it look like she thinks he’s an idiot. He really missed that look. “You coming?”

“I’m coming—wait, we should order dinner first. Indian?”

“Thai,” her voice echoes from the bathroom, and he sighs.

At least she’s not silent, anymore.

#aaron hotchner x original female character #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader

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razorblade180 · 3 years ago

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Shackles 9: I’m sorry

[Warning: Blood and Extreme harm] [part 8]

“Let her go!” The cries of a young boy echoed, struggling against his captors as he and his sister were dragged through sickening white halls. All attempts to reach out for her failed as he watched Jasmine get tossed into a room. Sobek continued walking his way however, guiding the men to a separate correctional room. Rajah did his best to struggle but his weak body was thrown harshly into a cold metal chair; the exit door shut tightly with him and Sobek inside. Rajah didn’t even have a chance to move before the feel of mangled fingers pressed against his neck as he was strapped down.

“I told you to keep her under control. Now look at what you’re making me do? Should’ve known better. A beast can’t control another beast.”

“Don’t…hurt her.” He gasped. Sobek finally released his hold. Rajah gasped and coughed for air while the man walked away to a tray of various tools. The light in the room went out except for the wall in front of him, which acted like a screen.

“ Oh I’m not going to hurt her. Not physically with my hands anyways. The guards she hurt might have a thing to say to her but we both know that’ll solve nothing.” Sobek drew up a syringe. “You and I, however, we’re gonna fix you right up and then see how sister dearest acts. Hopefully she’ll become more agreeable. If not…well, it’s a big siblings job to look after the little one.”

Rajah began to panic. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake his restraints as the scientist approached, injecting him in the neck.

“Let’s make you a model big brother…”

xxxx

Across the world, helping hands were reaching out. Blake ran across rooftops to the port in a desperate attempt to get on a leaving ship before it was too late. Out of practice, she took a misstep and nearly lost her balance. Fortunately friends followed closely behind her. Blake felt two hands rebalance her as she continued forward. “Thank you.”

Ilia nodded, “Don’t mention it.”

Blake looked left. Yang didn’t say anything. All she gave was a small nod. It wasn’t much but it made Blake happy. “I’ll make it up to both of you later.”

“Oh that’s a given. Let’s focus on what’s important right now. That ship is already leaving port and that Jacquelyn lady already has a head start. Missing this ship could be bad.”

“So we won’t miss it.” Yang said with conviction. Her gauntlets propelled herself forward and launched herself in the air ahead of others. Yang turned around midair and reached out. “Well!?”

She didn’t even have to say it. Blake grabbed Ilia’s hand then threw Gamble Shroud. Yang grabbed the gun and yanked them so hard they flew by her. Still holding on, Yang felt Blake pull her. She timed a shotgun blast with the tension of the pull to soar ahead as far as possible; yanking both girls again. This rendition of their favorite move cut out a lot of time. It only took a few minutes before all three reached the point of free falling over the boat. Yang lets go of the gun so Blake can anchor to the boat. Ilia took the first opportunity to escape that jarring movement she got, running down the taut ribbon to the ship and pulling it to bring Blake down from air.

Yang realized she might be in a bit of a situation and so did Blake. Tucking and rolling might be pushing her luck when it comes to movement options while she’s expecting. “Uhh Blake?”

“I got you.” Blake didn’t want to jossle her anymore than necessary. She jumped up and caught Yang safely before the blonde could fall any faster. “You okay?”

“Put me down the moment we land!”

Blake didn’t bother arguing. She let go as soon as she touched the floor and watched Yang speed over to the side of the boat to lean over. Thankfully Yang held back whatever tried to come up and everyone was spared the sounds of her puking.

“Yang?”

“Jaune was right. Motion sickness is a big deal. Ugh…”

“Don’t you mean, Vomit Boy?”

“I’ll never call him that again. Too cruel.” Yang walked back over to Ilia and Blake to sit against a wall. “Please tell me this was the right boat? I don’t wanna do that again.”

“Of course it is. It’s the one always going back and forth to Vacou. Sun and I might as well live on this ship.” Ilia pulled out her scroll. “We’ll see port a little after daybreak, so we should all rest and be prepared. I’m going to speak to the captain so nobody thinks we’re a bunch of stowaways.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” A voice called from the front of the boat. The trio looked and gasped to see Jacquelyn walking towards them. “Gunshots aren’t the quietest thing in the world. Also one of you literally lights up, so there’s that. I thought you would’ve tagged out by now.

“And I thought you would’ve been long gone by now.”

Jacquelyn rested on the railings to watch the waves. “If it were up to me I’d be there already, but I don’t control boat schedules now do I? Good thing. Not entirely sure what I’m walking into. So yeah, thanks.” Jacquelyn turned to Ilia. “Hey. You’re the chameleon right? Ilia, was it?”

Eyes widened instantly. “Adam spoke of me?”

“When it was relevant, but yeah. Said that you’re pretty capable at what you do. Glad you’re tagging along.”

“Wish I could say the same. I have lots of questions and I have a feeling the answers are with you.” Ilia crossed her arms. Being out of the loop was a pain in the ass she couldn’t stand.

“As much as I love stories, now isn’t the best time. However…” her attention turned to Blake. “I think the two of us might need one. A brief, but important one. Alone.”

Blake looked around. “It will just be a moment you two.”

“Sigh…fine.”

“Take your time.” Yang added.

Jacquelyn took Blake by the hand to lead her to the front. “I could tell from a glance that you’re troubled. Spit it out.”

“…I’ve learned about what we’re dealing with. Ilia told me what we might face and why. Back in the desert I told you my beliefs run to my core.”

“Don’t tell me that’s changed?”

“I’m telling you sorry. Apparently my efforts as High Leader haven't even scratched the surface. I thought things were progressing steadily but we’re heading to a place that’s about to prove everything is still the same. Spite is alive and thriving.”

“Hehe, and? We both know you were aware of that. So why don’t you come out and just ask-”

“How?” Blake said, balling her fist. “If what you claim is true, then how do you do it? How are you changing someone who’s that spiteful when I can’t reach people like him at all? I’m not sure if I’m reaching anyone right now. I feel…”

“Stupid? You’re not. Naive? I’d say more optimistic.” Jacquelyn put her hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Impatience, that’s what’s got you. Don’t look at me for guidelines because frankly I’m selfish and never bothered looking at the bigger picture when it comes to humanity. You’re different. You know what path you want to take but hesitate to get pushy with it, compromising without realizing it. A flexible leader is good but if you are certain about the way you want things then Blake Belladonna, don’t you dare compromise.”

Blake felt Jacquelyn’s grip tighten. The woman’s eyes went cold and Blake knew her next words would be the most important.

“We’re heading to a place that can only be hell. Blake, you’ll find the real answer to all your questions soon enough. Don’t run from it.”

The meaning to those words reached her, yet Blake knew she’d only truly grasp it in the moment. “Understood.”

“Good. I have a bad feeling about tomorrow. I should probably rest but I’m sure it’s in my best interest to give your friend at least a little bit of info.”

“I can handle that.”

“No, worry about Yang instead. I want all of us at least a little bit at peace.” Ilia walked back over to the other two. “Changed my mind. Story time, squirt.” She took Ilia’s hand.

“Hey!”

“Don’t fight it. I’m too tired for resistance. Yang?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good. Uhh thanks, I guess.”

Yang watched them leave and Blake came back seconds later to sit next to her. The two sat quietly, the sound of waves crashing on one another. “I won’t pretend I’m suddenly okay with all of this. But…I want us to be okay. So I’ll put in the leg work.”

“Heh. Yang, you’re always okay with me. Leg work or not, following me is your choice. Don’t think you owe me anything.”

“Stop being a dummy. I swear you’ve always been like this. How many people gotta say it? You don’t choose what your friends do.”

“Then you should choose to be okay with me.”

Blake looked at Yang’s unblinking face with a smile. Deep down, the bruiser's heart felt as if a weight was lifted. A sense of overwhelming joy couldn’t be contained. “So, we’re okay then.” Yang lifted her fist. “Partners forever.”

Blake bumped her fist. “Forever.”

Frayed bonds may be fragile, but as long as strings remain linked, mending was an outcome. Blake and Yang were living proof, and with a little luck…so would Adam. Life wasn’t always a fairytale unfortunately. One bond may have strengthened tonight, but it wasn’t the only one being tested. There was another, fraying from unseen eyes; until it snapped.

xxxxx

Hours passed underground. Jasmine couldn’t tell when the beatings stopped or started anymore. Every single nerve had been screaming, her ears ringing. The sensitivity drug she had been injected with during her first round of correction never wore off, so the second dose they gave only fueled the anguish. The lights of the labs have prevented her from seeing. Not that she wanted to look at anyone or herself for that matter. All she could tell was she was moving. What was bright became dark rhythmically. Jasmine’s vision, as blurry as it was, made fuzzy images that could only be people. One blob was raised higher than the rest. Had to be Adam. Strange, it wasn’t moving like the rest. It didn’t move at all. However, Jasmine could faintly make out yelling. “Get up!” She didn’t know if it was for her but it chilled her all the same. Loud creaking accompanied moments after. Jasmine suddenly felt weightless until a pulse of pain shot through her back; followed by more creaking and a loud metal thunk.

Jasmine did her best to move. It took time, a lot of it, but she eventually got to her knees. The lack of light helped her vision sort itself out; as well as slightly dwindled her senses. Enough to think without too much pain. “Why hurt me just throw me behind bars?” An attempt to stand only led back to her face deep in dirt. “O...ow”

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this tired.”

Jasmine’s body stiffened. She turned her head towards the inside of the cell with all her strength. Deep in the shadows reeked blood, but beyond that… “Rajah? Rajah is that you?” There was no mistaking that scent. “Rajah! You’re here. I’m so hap-h..happ…” her heart nearly stopped. Every fiber of her felt cold. Jasmine’s very soul trembled while her eyes remained fixed on Rajah as he got closer. His eyes looked glassed over. And his ears…they weren’t on his head, but mangled tightly in his fist.

“Need help? I can sit you up.” He approached closer.

“Ra..Ra…”

“What’s wrong? Throat dry? Oh…this?” He dropped his ears on the floor, ignoring them and the fresh blood that still leaked down his face and soaked his hair. “No big deal.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Not as much as you. Honestly I feel a lot better. Hehe, weird right?” He smiled, chuckling ever so slightly. “He won’t hurt me anymore. Sobek won’t hurt you either. I promise.”

She wanted to run. Jasmine didn’t know where but she wanted to run as fast as possible, but all her legs did was shake as Rajah kept getting closer with his smile on full display. Tears welled up, her ears folding down. “Pl..Stop it.” What did Sobek do to her brother? “Rajah you’re scaring me. You’re- ah!” His hands reached her throat faster than she could blink. Jasmine gasped as her brother pinned her onto her back and began to squeeze. His vacant eyes stared deep into her own terror filled and weeping ones, kicking frantically underneath him the whole time.

“Aww it’s okay. Sobek’s not gonna hurt us anymore! You see I figured it out! The pain stops when there’s nothing to look at. Hahaha! Sobek wasn’t mad at me. Just my ears! Once I ripped them,he wasn’t angry anymore Jasmine! He said he’d never be angry at me again.” Though vacant and laughing, Rajah’s own tears started falling. “He finally stopped hurting me…! And when you stop kicking, you won’t hurt me either. You’ll wake up like me and be left alone, so listen to your big brother okay? Okay!?” Clenched teeth gritted against one another, drooling with spit and blood. Rajah wasn’t smiling anymore. “Why couldn’t you listen to me?” His bloodied hands dug in.

Jasmine’s nails broke the skin of his wrists. Her lungs burned and vision became blurry again, but she could hear him perfectly. The laughter, the ragged breathing as hearts raced. Her head spun but all her mind could think of was his words. Why didn’t she listen? The thought turned into wondering why this happened? The beatings, torture, seclusion; it wasn’t his fault. Rajah didn’t deserve this. It was all her. Why couldn’t it just be her? The caring eyes she loved, they weren’t staring back. Only her reflection looked back, and Jasmine couldn’t stomach the sight. Narrowed eyes and clenched jaw, Jasmine shut her eyes and let a guttural noise of pain and immense rage while the world as she knew it faded into dark.

“I’m sorry…”

#rwby #rwby au #adam taurus #jacquelyn frost #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #ilia amitola #rwby shackles

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solynaceawrites · 4 years ago

Text

Subhuman

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, fem!Reader Tags: Smut, PWP, Porn No Plot, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Masturbation, Monster Sex Rating: Explicit Summary: The first time you have sex with Dante after he returns from the underworld, you learn just what it means to be his mate. Note: This came about after an interesting conversation in a server about Dante’s dick when he’s using SDT. Specifically, how it’s shaped. It’s also my first true foray into what I would call monster-fucking fics, so, uh . . . I hope you enjoy?

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The first time you’d seen Dante’s Sin Devil Trigger, you’d been trying to haul Nero’s dumb ass out of Urizen’s throne room. Your first thought had been, what the fuck, followed quite quickly by, that’s a nice ass, and you’d done your best to shove both of those to the side, as being stuck in the middle of a demonic tree was not the best time to be ogling your lover. The second had been a glimpse from the distance as he dove into the underworld, just a streak of burning orange across the sky and into the ground. You’d been more than pissed that he’d left, especially without so much as a good-bye, and you’d made that known to Morrison when he gave you the deed to the Devil May Cry. “He better not come back,” you’d said irritably, “unless he wants me to shoot him.”

But Dante’s disappearance, particularly after seeing that new form of his, left you with a rather particular problem. You’d told him once that you loved all of him; that love had extended into your sex life, and it’d been becoming more frequent for the dick he fucked you with to be scaled instead of flesh, for the hands that dug into your hips to be tipped with claws fit to tear through steel. You didn’t have much of an interest in finding someone else to date—Dante had truly been one of a kind—and there were times when the nice, normal dildo you kept tucked away in your bedside table just didn’t cut the trick.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like them. They’d always worked fine whenever Dante had to take an overnight job. It was the fact that thinking about Dante led to you remembering his easy grin and the way he felt curled around you at night, making the pain of his being gone much more apparent. The easiest option was to think about his other form; that one hadn’t made you coffee, or kissed the top of your head in passing, or told you how much it loved you. The problem with that was it was a bit disorienting thinking about a demonic dick while using a human one. So, you’d found a website that hosted an . . . unusual assortment, and selected one you thought was probably the closest match to a cock you’d never gotten to see.

You’d gotten one you could actually use, since some of the sizes they offered were a bit much.

The day it arrived, you’d closed the shop and gone to the room you used to share with Dante. The dildo, a model with a name you forgot almost as soon as you read it, was mouthwatering. Thick and ribbed and the size of your forearm, with a girth you couldn’t fully fit your fingers around, and you’d been careful as you used it for the first time. A lot of lubrication and plenty of time to let your body adjust around each inch, and you’d been so full that you’d come as soon as the base brushed your mound.

It was a particular favorite after that. You had a rather extensive collection of toys, from vibrators to dildos to other assorted odds and ends, and any time you’d been missing Dante’s demon cock, you’d pulled it out. Sometimes, if you were particularly riled up, you’d use a vibrator against your clit, and those were the times when you were so shaky-legged afterwards that you needed a day to recover fully.

That’s not to say you didn’t just miss Dante, because you did. The best you slept was with one of his shirts clutched to your chest, and you’d always leave a few slices of pizza untouched whenever you ordered in case he showed up and was hungry. Of course, leave it to him to pick the worst timing to come back home: you, taking a well-deserved shower that you weren’t expecting to be interrupted by the devil hunter, and if he’d gotten smacked between the eyes with a shampoo bottle, he more than deserved it.

Two weeks short of a year since he’d left, Dante had been back. You’d yelled at him, cried more than you ever had before, and he absorbed it all, his grin turning to a sheepish smile and then outright guilt the longer you laid into him. Part of you felt bad for it. He’d probably been expecting something out of the movies, where you ran into his arms and kissed him senseless, like you had when you’d been reunited in the tree. But he hadn’t chosen to leave you behind then, and the hurt you felt not only at his leaving but at his sauntering back in had quashed that little protest. And when he’d tried to make it up to you the way he always did, you told him he could either keep his hands to himself or sleep on the couch.

Life hadn’t exactly gone back to normal in the following month—there was a lot to talk about, and you did, and he listened—but just having him back was a good enough start as far as you were concerned.

“Dante,” you call. When he doesn’t answer, you pull your head from the fridge, frowning at the empty seat behind his desk. You need his help deciding what to do for dinner and, unless he wants an anchovy-pickle-mayonnaise sandwich, the two of you are going to have to get something delivered. “Dante!”

“Bedroom!” he shouts back.

You take the climb the stairs and head into the bedroom, intending to ask him if he wants lo mein or pizza, only to freeze when you see him sitting on the bed, cradling that damned dildo in his palms. “Uh . . .?”

Dante grins at you, and you try not to flush under his heavy gaze. Sex has been off the table while the two of you work through the hurt his leaving caused, and, with him around, you’d taken to carrying the dildo into the bathroom with you whenever you needed some relief. You must have tossed it onto the bed after your afternoon shower, probably intending to put it up after you got dressed only to forget, and while you don’t think he’s angry, he certainly seems bemused. “Nice toy,” is all he says.

“Uh.”

“Color’s especially interesting. In fact, I’d say it looks pretty damn similar to mine.” He taps the rubber before dragging his finger along a prominent ridge. “Even this. I’d known you missed me this badly, I’d have bent you over the desk as soon as I walked in the door.”

“What do you mean, if you’d known?” Your voice is harsher than you intend from your mortification, and Dante blinks as you stalk forward to yank it from his hands. “Did you think I was having parties while you were in the underworld?” It’s not fair to say, and you know it’s not, but there’s a vicious satisfaction when he frowns. You toss the dildo onto the bed and fold your arms. “I missed you like hell. I’ve told you how hard those months without you were. So, if I wanted to buy a dildo that reminded me of your dick to help with that, it’s none of your business, and you can forget bending me over anything while you’re at it!”

He doesn’t argue, which helps your irritation a little. “Sorry, doll. It just caught me off guard. Though . . .” The way he tilts his head reminds you so much of a big dog that it’s ridiculous, especially with his shaggy hair. “You know you can have the real thing, right?”

“Maybe I like it better,” you retort.

You know the challenge you’re laying at his feet, and a thrill goes up your spine when his smile takes on a predatory edge as he stands. “Is that right? Maybe we should test it, just to be sure.” Dante peels his shirt over his head and your mouth goes dry at the sight of his chest, broad and covered with fine silver hairs. This was why you’d wanted to wait on sex for a while. The moment he lays on the charm, your anger goes right out of the window, which isn’t always the best thing when there’s an issue to solve. For now, though, you decide that it’s fine, and you lean against the wall and cock a brow. Come and get me.

There’s a flash of heat that has you wincing. When you open your eyes, it’s to see the horns and claws and fangs you’ve dreamed of since the first sighting in the tree, and you hold your breath as Dante prowls towards you, his claws ticking against the hardwood floor. He crowds you against the wall and peers down at you. Dante’s already a good head taller than you when he’s human; now, you have to crane your head back to look at his chin, and he kneels to be eye-level with you, his maw parting so his tongue can slide over your cheek. The rough surface of it has goosebumps breaking out along your arms as you think of what it’s going to feel like rubbing over your clit, and when it slides over your lips you part them to suck it into your mouth.

Dante growls, his breath fire-hot where it fans along your cheek. You almost don’t notice him cutting through your clothing until cold air caresses your skin; with a gasp, you draw back, and his hand grips your waist to pull you up so his face is level with your chest. “Pretty,” he rumbles, the sound thick and foreign and full of gravel, and you grasp at his horns when he curls that ridged tongue around your breast. The tip flicks your nipple, making you squirm from the prickles of pleasure it causes, and, with a laugh that’s ash and smoke, he rubs over it firmly.

And, gods above, you’re probably going to finish from that alone.

It’s heaven: rough and slick and warm, his saliva thick as it coats your flesh, making the friction so much silkier. You tug at his horns a futile attempt for more, though what more is, you don’t know. Not like he can do much else with his teeth the size of daggers, but his touch has awoken something greedy within you that clamors urgently for attention. When he shifts to give the same attention to your other breast, you nearly sob, and your nipples are peaked and stiff and tender by the time he’s through.

His hands cup your rear and lift you, yelping, so that your sex is in front of his mouth. The claws on his wings hook your wrists to pull your arms above your head as he braces your knees over his shoulders, and you can’t stop the whimper you let out when those teeth graze your mound. There’s a low rumbling from his chest as he breathes you in, and then you watch as his fangs part as his tongue slides between your folds.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine. “Dante . . .”

He licks you exactly how you like—his tongue thick and flat and rubbing firmly from your ass to your clit—but the texture is something else entirely, and you’d be rocking desperately against him if he weren’t holding you still. He slips it within your weeping sex, and you nearly scream when it folds on itself so he can lash the tip against your quivering pearl; it hadn’t seem so long at first, but now you understand why he’s got difficulty talking in this form. Not that you care if he speaks or not. As long as he keeps fucking you like he is, he can stay quiet. Every time his tongue flexes within you, you keen, and his answering pants send heated air along your labia and thighs, only heightening the pleasure that you’re already drowning in. You come in no time at all, but he doesn’t stop. Dante keeps right on working your body until a second orgasm follows hard and fast on the heels of the first, leaving your back bowing as you cry out his name.

Your legs are too weak by the time it fades for you to stand. Dante carries you easily over to the bed, lowering you back down so your head doesn’t smack into the fan, nuzzling your stomach and crooning sweetly against your skin. You don’t know what he’s doing, but something about the sound relaxes you so you’re limp when he deposits you on the mattress. Then you catch sight of his cock, and you lift yourself into a sitting position, your eyes wide.

The damn thing is huge. Dante already is, but this form of his adds length and girth, and it glows the same fiery orange as his eyes and the cracks in his armor. The top of it is covered with darker plates that taper off as they wrap around the vibrant underside, and those plates are covered with tiny, ridged bumps; the shaft of it flares twice, thickening in the middle, and the flared tip that you remember has some sort of swirl that narrows it at the slit and has it widening into protrusions where it meets the shaft. At the base you can see what you assume are his balls, held tight to the shaft, and there’s a small part where it meets his pelvis that looks perfect for stimulating your clit. You think, is that even going to fit? Then, I’ll make it fit.

There’s fluid dripping from the tip that you have the most insane urge to taste. It’s thick, a bit darker than normal, and you lean forward to drag your tongue over the slit. Dante hisses a warped version of your name as you lap at the head, gathering as much of the precum as you can before swallowing. It tastes sharp and rich, with a faintly spiced undertone, and it leaves a tingling trail from your lips down to your stomach. You’re not entirely sure, but you’re pretty certain that it’s an aphrodisiac of some kind, maybe meant to either get his partner in the mood or make it easier for him to get that monster between his legs inside of them. Or both.

Either way, you’re going to combust if he doesn’t fuck you soon.

But how to make it work? Humming, you shift onto your hands and knees, but it still doesn’t quite line up right. “Dante, I think—hey!”

The bed creaks warningly as he settles between your legs. His thighs press you nearly wider than is comfortable, and the heat of his body blasts against your back when he leans over you, one of his clawed hands bracing next to your own. You study the armor plating at his wrist for a moment, but the feeling of his head nudging insistently at your opening has you digging your fingers into the quilt, a breathless, “Please,” falling from your lips.

Slowly, he pushes it within your opening. Your mouth hangs open in a groan as it stretches you; there’s no pain, just the same tingling you’d felt when you swallowed his precum, and you realize that your assumption was right. Still, as he carefully thrusts deeper, you’re not sure how much of it you’re going to be able to take, a thought that’s reinforced when the head of him is fully inside and your walls squeeze around it. He’s barely gotten started and you feel fuller than you ever had in your life, and when he presses forward so your lips open around the first flare of his shaft, you cry out, your legs trembling. The second flare sliding leisurely into your sex has you coming for the third time, all of this little ridges you’d noticed and the ribbing along the sides more than enough to have your head spinning. By the time his hips are flush to your rear and his sac is nestled snugly against your clit, you’re boneless in his grasp, and you understand, through the haze, one very clear fact.

Dante is going to ruin you.

He moves slowly, carefully, letting you adjust to his size as he pants hotly against your shoulder, and you mewl every time he rocks his hips. You’re honestly not certain how much more you can handle; each tentative thrust has those flares and ridges stretching your cunt, presses the head of him against something within you that adds a faint dash of pain to the overwhelming pleasure. His teeth prick your skin and you gasp, scrabbling for purchase against the sheets as his hips pick up the pace until you’re rocking over the mattress, rocked forward by every powerful roll of his hips. The sound of his body driving into yours fills the room along with your desperate cries, and all of it only seems to spur him on. The heat radiating from him ramps up as his claws tear through the quilt, and his fangs become better acquainted with your shoulders and the back of your neck, each mark he leaves drawing a moan from your throat.

Dante reaches beneath you to cup your stomach, keeping you lifted as he fucks you senseless. He growls something that sounds like, “Mine,” when he presses you up, and you nearly scream at the new angle, the new depth. Forget tomorrow or the next day, you’re going to need at least a week before you can go out in the field again.

“Dante,” you whimper, “Dante, baby, please—”

He grunts and draws out, leaving you breathless. Then he takes hold of your hips and flips you onto your back before sheathing himself within you again, and this time you do scream as that protrusion you’d noticed earlier bears down on your clit as he fills you. Every time he moves, it presses and grinds against your pearl, lending a desperate edge to the coil tightening in your stomach. Dimly you’re aware of his face drawing closer, and you don’t hesitate to open your mouth when his tongue nudges at your lips, sucking on his flesh eagerly. You’re close, so close, and when he thrusts roughly enough to nearly knock you into the headboard as his tongue grazes the back of your throat, you fall apart, consumed by him.

Wave upon wave of bliss wracks your body, which bows under and squeezes around his. And he doesn’t let up, rutting into you with growls and rasping groans that have your blood on fire until you’re dizzy and light-headed and your ears ring from the force of it all. You don’t know how much longer he works his body within yours, teetering on the brink of blackness, but you feel his tongue leave your mouth so he can sink his teeth into the flesh where your shoulder meets your neck, and the pain of that is blurred and diluted by the pleasure that comes when the first scorching wave of his seed fills you. On and on he comes, so that it smears along your thighs and pools on the sheets beneath you, so that you wonder if it’s ever going to end.

But end it does. With a lick over the wound he’s left, he draws out, and there’s a faint noise as he does so. More of his seed flows out, still hot enough to nearly be scalding, and you whine at the sensation of being so full and yet so empty at the same time. The sound of his footfalls shifts as he crosses the room from talons to bare feet; when he returns, he’s human again, and he kisses you gently as he lifts you from the bed. “Sorry, darlin’,” he murmurs. “It’s been so long, and I . . . Well. Guess I made a mess, huh?”

“A good one,” you mumble.

Dante chuckles and sets you down in the bathroom, and you watch sleepily as he fills a tub with warm water and your favorite bath foam. “You relax. I’m gonna go change the sheets.”

You nod, and he helps you into the bath, where you sink into the warmth with a groan. There’s a dull ache already forming between your thighs, and your shoulder is going to hurt like hell tomorrow if you don’t do something about it, but you’re far too tired right now to work even the simplest of healing spells. Besides, you think, he’d left that there as a reminder of his love for you, so you’re not exactly complaining. Dante comes back right as the water is getting cool enough that you want to get out, and he dries you off with a fluffy towel before once more picking you up and carrying you back into the bedroom.

You’re half-asleep by the time your head hits the pillows, though you manage to hold on long enough for him to turn off the lights and join you, his weight warm and familiar at your back. “Dante?”

“Hm?”

“Welcome home.”

He pauses, his arm tightening around your waist as he buries his face in your hair. “I’m back, sweetheart. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #dante/reader #dante x reader #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #writing #oneshot #myfic #subhuman

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qlala · 4 years ago

Photo

I’ve had a couple requests to see the unfinished Leonard and Lisa fic I mentioned yesterday, so I’m going to try posting it here! It’s the first ~2k words, so please let me know if the “read more” doesn’t work.

The basic idea involves a meta who can link up two people’s memories, similar to the concept of “the drift” in Pacific Rim. Barry and Leonard get whammied by her during a fight, and they’re both pretty much incapacitated by it, because there’s a lot to deal with there on both sides. There’d be a coldflash endgame if I ever finish it, but that’s not overt in this section. If it’s not clear, italics indicate a memory not Barry’s own.

Trigger warnings: Please be aware that for obvious reasons, this deals a lot with Leonard and Lisa’s abusive childhood. The abuse doesn’t appear “on screen,” so to speak, but the fallout from it and the strong emotions surrounding it do. There’s also a brief allusion to transactional sex. Please keep yourselves safe and don’t read if you’re in a headspace where those things could be harmful to you. ❤️

By the time Barry stopped screaming, Leonard had filled the team in on what had happened to them.

Barry came back to himself with heaving, raw breaths. He tried to focus on the marble flooring beneath his cheek, and he twisted off his side to press his forehead to it, cool and grounding.

He could hear Leonard talking—familiar voice, terse sentences, clipped like he was speaking between gritted teeth—but it took Barry a second to locate him in the room. He was pressed back into the corner of the room opposite from him, kneeling, his arms wrapped tight around his middle. His hands were knotted white-knuckled in the material of the parka, an apparent attempt to stop the shaking that was visible even from twenty feet away.

He wondered when Leonard had moved, then wondered how much time had passed. The last thing he remembered was trying to push Leonard out of the way as the meta lashed out at them with… whatever it had been, a streak of white light, fragmented like a chain, a leash.

The memory was hard to pin down. It kept appearing to him from two different angles, and there was a headache pressing behind his eyes that grew sharper every time he tried to focus on one or the other.

“Barry? Barry, can you—?”

Barry didn’t even think when the hand reached for him and a barrage of memories hit him broadside: other hands, one other hand. He jerked backwards, his powers the last thing from his mind, and whoever it was yanked their hand away as if he’d just bitten them.

“Stop.” It was odd to hear Leonard’s voice without the drawl, sharp with anger, clear and ringing.

“He can’t help it.”

Cisco’s voice—that was even better than the floor. The memories that floated up were Barry’s own: movie nights, STAR Labs, a Lady Gaga song playing on repeat.

“Not him,” Leonard said. When he looked up, his eyes were so blood-stained that it was hard to see the blue of his irises. That explained Barry’s headache, at least. “You. All of you. Stop touching him.”

“He needs help.”

Iris’s tone was steady, careful; it was the voice she used on stray cats and nervous sources. Barry was glad to find her just off to his right, but he still flinched as soon as she lifted her hand.

In the corner, Leonard made an aborted movement as if to stop her. “Last thing I’d want right now is someone grabbing me.” It was taking him obvious effort to speak; he shut his eyes, and his brow was furrowed in what could’ve been pain, and could’ve been concentration. “Given the circumstances, I suspect that’s… operative. At the moment.”

There was a silence in which all Barry could hear was the sound of his own breathing. Then Iris knelt a careful foot away and placed her hand on the ground, palm up.

Barry nodded once—it was all he could manage—and reached out to clasp her wrist.

“Barry?”

He nodded again, and her shoulders dropped in relief.

“Okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. Do you know where you are?”

He risked a glance around, only to wince at the double memories: sitting on his dad’s shoulders as he explained how he’d consulted on the new exhibit about the human body, showed him his name on a sign by the door; Lisa dragging him through the Jewels of the World exhibit, her hand impossibly small in his own, declaring the Hope Diamond hideous with the flippant confidence only a child could have.

Barry’s head throbbed, and when he rubbed his free hand under his nose, it came away streaked with blood.

In his peripherals, Leonard mirrored the gesture, then wiped his wrist on his coat.

“The natural history museum,” Barry rasped. “Central.”

“Why is it affecting him more than you?” Caitlin’s voice, unexpected, behind him. “You’re getting his memories, too, aren’t you?”

Barry groaned as guilt panged in his chest; his whole team had been dragged out because he couldn’t take down one meta.

Leonard finally looked at him again, then met Caitlin’s gaze with a hard glare. “Karaoke,” he said, surprising her into a blink. “Grease. You’re a terrible singer.”

She looked offended, but when Leonard pushed himself to his feet, her doctor’s instincts seemed to take over, and she took a step toward him.

He held out a hand to stop her. “Your voice is the third-worst thing Barry’s past has to throw at me. Not all of us have lived such charmed lives.”

Barry’s lip curled even as his mind latched onto Leonard’s taunt, grateful for the distraction. “My parents were killed in front of me,” he said. “And my father’s doppelganger broke my back on national television.”

Leonard glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “I ranked that last one lower than Snow’s Olivia Newton-John.”

Iris tensed beside him, but it shocked a snort of laughter out of Barry. “I’m—” He let go of Iris’s wrist, used the hand to push himself up to sitting. “I’m fine. Can we go back to the lab?”

He was about to offer to run them there, but a glance toward the glass doors brought a fresh wave of memories, decades of them tied to the museum steps, the restaurant across the street, a stop sign stolen from the intersection before he’d even been born.

“Best to keep your eyes closed,” Leonard said.

“Yeah,” Barry agreed. He wouldn’t have gotten down the block. “Cisco, can you—?”

Cisco powered up his Vibe gloves, a ripple already opening up in the space in front of them. “Yeah, man. Come on. Let’s get you home.”

* * * * * *

“I said not to call her.”

Leonard sounded on the edge of homicide, and Barry risked opening his eyes to glance over at him. He didn’t need the sensors taped to Leonard’s wrists and temple (he’d steadfastly refused to take off his shirt, had pulled a knife when Caitlin had tried to insist) to guess at his spiked blood pressure, though the monitor next to him confirmed it with a beep of alarm.

They were in the medical bay at STAR Labs, had been for over six hours. Leonard was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, apparently above anything as vulnerable as lying down (or, apparently, painkillers, which Barry hadn’t even had the option of taking) and Cisco was doing an impressive job of standing his ground in the doorway.

“She called me, alright, Cold? I couldn’t lie to her, not when she’s got a tracker showing her you’re sitting in my lab—”

“She lied to you.”

“It’s in the tip of one of your shoelaces, if it’s in the same place as mine,” Cisco offered, not unkindly.

They were interrupted by the sharp, carrying click of high heels coming down the hallway.

The monitor next to Leonard’s bed beeped again, and Barry glanced at it. His blood pressure wasn’t the only thing elevated now; his heart rate was spiking, more than anything that could be blamed on anger. He was afraid. Barry had half a second to wonder why, then Leonard bit out, “Close your eyes,” and Lisa shoved past Cisco into the room in a whirlwind of righteous fury.

Barry’s own memories almost didn’t recognize her. He hadn’t seen her in over a year, and her hair was dramatically shorter than when they’d last met. It was short, boyishly so, and a dark brown he suspected was her natural color.

But his memories weren’t the only ones living in his head anymore, and his mouth opened without his permission. “Lis,” he said. “I haven’t seen your hair like that since—”

Nothing, not even that first blast of memories at the museum, could’ve prepared for the strength of the fear that slammed into him.

Lisa, barely ten, eating mac and cheese in front of the television. Lewis stumbling in the front door, reeking of beer. Every muscle tensing. A slurred name from Lewis when he saw Lisa, a name that made Len’s blood turn to ice, that made Lisa smile hopefully and ask, “Mom?” Lewis’s squint, his quiet, “Huh.” And then Lewis dropping on the couch, already halfway to passing out, and saying, “Gonna be a looker just like her.”

Len had pleaded with Lisa for hours that night, one hand on the kitchen scissors, one eye on the living room. The toy store, the candy store, fuck it, the pet store, anything she wanted, he’d buy it, just let him cut her hair, just this once, just til Dad went away again—

Barry remembered his powers just in time. He barely made it to the bathroom before his stomach heaved, and his hands were still shaking by the time he was able to take a full breath without retching again. He pushed up from the cracked floor—his knees had hit the ground hard enough to shatter the tile—and flushed the toilet, then limped out to the sink.

His reflection in the mirror was a mess; on top of everything else, his nose was bleeding again, too. He splashed cold water on his face, then changed his mind and stuck his whole head under the tap. He tried to focus on the sound of the water rushing over his ears; he needed a distraction, any distraction, to keep his mind from getting dragged back into the memory. The terror, the rage, the thousand better ways he could use those kitchen scissors to solve their problem instead of cutting off Lisa’s fucking baby curls—

Someone shut off the water, and Barry pulled back from the sink with a wet gasp. He pushed the soaking hair out of his eyes, flinched when it dripped onto his shoulders.

Getting too long, he thought, with a morbid hiccup of laughter. Then he threw up again.

When he recovered, Leonard was leaning against the sink next to him, holding out a paper towel.

“She doesn’t remember that,” he said, not looking at him. It was a warning, not a statement, and Barry nodded weakly.

“Our dad was back in prison by the end of the week.”

Because you planted a gun on him, Barry didn’t say. He remembered the weight of it in his hand, two rounds in the wall next to the gas station attendant’s head; had to leave something for ballistics. Wiping his prints off on his t-shirt, curling Lewis’s hand around the grip, the trigger, dead to the world; another shot into their floor to get the gunpowder on his hand and the neighbors on the phone with the cops.

Grabbing Lisa out of her bed, Winnie the Pooh blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders, thirty degrees outside. She was asleep on his chest by the time he got her to Mick’s. He dropped her off and went back to join the onlookers to make sure his dad got arrested, felt a vicious, bone-deep pleasure at seeing him dragged out of the hands in cuffs. He mentally added an extra year to their fortunes when the drunk old man elbowed a cop in the face, and black blood joined the blue and red lights in staining the front lawn.

Whatever else Leonard had been saying, Barry had missed it. The few fragments he heard—six to eight year sentence, legal guardianship—jarred another memory loose: a pro bono attorney who let his hand rest a little too long on Len’s arm; Len, broke, desperate, not shaking it off.

The feeling the memories carried was overwhelming, threatened to bring Barry to his knees. He was too frazzled to do the math, but Leonard couldn’t have been much older than he was now. Barry had no idea how he could’ve managed it, the absolute certainty that he would’ve killed for the child in his arms, the knowledge that one day, he probably would.

When Barry looked at Leonard, he found him gazing steadily back at him, and the full weight of his focus was so unexpected that Barry almost flinched again. He took the paper towel instead.

“When Lisa said you raised her. I didn’t realize…” He had no idea how to put it into words; maybe it was something that only someone who’d been a parent could really understand.

“My sister’s prone to exaggeration.”

His tone was flat, clipped, and Barry let the conversation lapse. He ran the sink again, then risked another glance in Leonard’s direction. He was still watching him.

“What did you give her?” he asked. “For her to let you cut her hair.”

Leonard was quiet for so long that Barry thought he wasn’t going to answer him. Then, finally, he lifted one shoulder in an unconvincing shrug. “Took her out of school for a week.” He crossed his arms and looked away again. “Told ‘em she had chicken pox. Brought her to work with me. Boss let her sit in the corner booth and color.”

It was enough; Barry remembered it. The bar—closed now—with its sticky floor, the regulars still passed out on the bar from the night before; he’d serve them coffee and peanuts and get to work cleaning, have the bar restocked with sliced lemons before the bartenders arrived and call the repair guy if the ice machine was broken again. The regulars put endless Shirley temples on their tabs for Lisa, syrupy sweet sodas for a buck apiece that stained her teeth red, until Len cut her off and they ordered nachos for her instead, pretzels with beer cheese, doing a better job of feeding her than Len did most nights.

There were tears stinging Barry’s eyes; Leonard ignored them other than handing him another paper towel, this one accompanied by an eye roll.

#leonard snart #lisa snart #// tw abuse #the sniblings #my fics #barry allen #the flash

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supernaturalfreewill · 4 years ago

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Sam x Reader Warnings: none! A/N: Short update. This is part of a series! Find the other parts (and more!) on the Master List.

Your name: submit What is this?

Finally, you couldn’t stand to stay in bed a moment longer. You threw the covers off, having hardly slept at all, and limped into the bathroom, quickly washing your face and brushing your teeth. You couldn’t help but smile as you looked at your reflection in the mirror and smoothed the flyaways in your hair. You wandered down the long hallway, one hand sliding on the cool wall as you leaned on it to take some weight off your stitched-up leg, and turned into the kitchen. It was empty but for once didn’t feel lonely. You set about brewing some coffee and hummed happily while you measured the grounds. Everything felt new. There was (for once) a feeling of happy expectation in the air and you breathed it in with deep, relaxed breaths. You felt as if you had arrived at the top of a hill you’d been climbing for years and were looking out over a road stretched before your feet, smooth and unbroken as it meandered over verdant pastures and through cheerful woods.

You settled in to a fresh cup of coffee, cupping the warm ceramic in your hands and taking a deep breath in of the roasty steam, your eyes closed in a blissful smile.

The sound of soft footsteps caught your attention and you looked over to see Sam leaning on the doorframe, smiling at you. The grin that spread on your face was reflexive. Sam loved how your eyes crinkled at the corners. “Hey,” you said.

You felt your cheeks color with a blush and grinned at him again, tilting your head a little. “I was thinking about you doing that all night, too,” you said. Sam grinned again.

“That’s good to hear.” He grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee before sinking down onto the stool beside you at the kitchen island. Neither of you could keep a smile off your lips. “How’s your leg feeling?”

“You know, it’s weird, but I hardly notice it today. It’s like my mind is… completely elsewhere,” you replied, raising your eyebrows at him and biting your bottom lip. “How’s your hand doing?”

Sam looked down at his cast. “Hardly remember it’s even in a cast.” You smirked at him again. “So,” he sighed, giving you a conspiratorial look, “apparently we both had the same idea this morning,” he said.

You cocked your head in a question.

“I went in to tell Dean that uhh… well, that I finally kissed you and he said you had already been in there.” Sam pressed his lips into a thin, amused smile. His eyebrows lifted toward the ceiling.

You let out a bashful laugh. “Oh, no. On a scale of 1 to 10 how pissed was he to be woken up again?”

Sam waved it off. “I’d say a begrudged four… He didn’t even pull a weapon on me, so that’s something. It was fine. He was just—he’s happy for us.”

“So… wait… you went in to tell Dean… Does that mean that he knew that you—?”

Sam ran a hand back through his hair again, a little anxiously. “Yeah… well… it kind of burst out of me a while ago that I was—” Sam had almost spilled the “L” word but he quickly rerouted, not sure you were ready to hear that yet, despite it being the truth, “—that I had feelings for you.”

You stared at him. “How long is ‘a while ago’?”

Sam blew an exhale out through his lips and tried to hide behind his mug. “I mean… maybe like, uhh, a month. Err, maybe more…”

“A month?” you repeated, your jaw hanging slightly open. Sam looked suddenly anxious. “While you were still with my sister,” you thought aloud.

Sam gulped. “Yeah, I… Yeah.” He tried to read your expression. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Can I ask… how long you—?”

Sam gulped again. He looked down at his coffee and sighed. “To be honest, I don’t even think I really know… it’s almost like I always have had feelings for you and I was just too stupid to realize it.” His eyes lifted to meet yours again. His expression was sincere. “I wasted so much time…”

“But Dean knew for over a month,” you repeated again, shaking your head.

Sam was running a finger around the lip of his mug. “Yeah, I just was scared—I—”

But you suddenly laughed and rested your hand on his arm, soothing his fears and sending a jolt of electricity through him. “No, Sam. It’s not that… I’m just amazed that Dean didn’t spill it. And maybe also a little annoyed.”

Sam’s hand came to rest over the top of yours and his thumb smoothed over the back of your hand, sparking with electricity and sending both of your hearts leaping. “Wait… so Dean knew that you--about me?” Sam asked.

“Oh, yeah,” you laughed.

“Huh…” Sam said thoughtfully. So, Dean knew that you both had feelings for the other through basically the entire, torturous process. “I really can’t believe he didn’t yell it out in frustration. That must have been driving him—”

“Completely insane?” came Dean’s deep voice from the doorway. He was leaning against one side of the frame, just the way Sam had been, with a crooked smile on his face. “It was. It was driving me insane. Do you know how hard it is to listen to someone pine and wring their hands over something for months and months all while you have a piece of information that would probably solve everything, make everything better, and you can’t share that? It sucks. It’s terrible. I hated it. It worse than sucks. I never want anyone to tell me anything ever again!” he finished dramatically.

You and Sam exchanged tight smiles before shooting him an apologetic look. “But you kept your promises. Both of them,” you said, giving him an impressed look.

“You’re goddamn right I did,” he said, straightening up. His green eyes drifted down to your hand on Sam’s arm, and Sam’s hand on top of it and his smile widened. “And now look at you. A couple of gimpy cripples in love,” he said.

You and Sam’s eyes both shot open wide and you looked over at Sam briefly before staring back at Dean, your mouth now hanging open. “…What did you just say?” you asked him.

“Oh—” Dean seemed to realize what he had just let slip. “Uhh… Dammit. I—umm…” he shrugged and gestured vaguely, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Dean—what did you just say?” you asked again. You really thought maybe you had imagined it. Had Dean really just said “in love”?

You now looked at Sam and though his eyes were wide like yours you didn’t see any turmoil in them. He cleared his throat and looked down again at your hand in his before meeting your eyes steadily. “He said ‘in love’,” Sam said. “And I’m not going to try and correct him because that’s the truth. I’m insanely in love with you. And I don’t even know how long I have been.” He nervously licked his lips but his eyes didn’t stray from yours. “And if you’re not ready to say that—if that’s just too fast, or too much right now then, that’s fine but—"

Sam was interrupted by three loud, echoing bangs coming from the direction of the front of the bunker.

“Was that just someone knocking?” Dean asked. His answer was another series of bangs.

“Someone is knocking,” you said. “Who the hell would be knocking here?” Your heart started to race, your mind immediately jumping to worse case scenarios.

Sam looked at Dean and the two of them were immediately a blur of action. Dean suddenly produced his pistol, which he apparently always had on him, and pointed vehemently at you. “Y/N, you stay here! You’ve got a messed-up leg!”

“Dean, I can—”

“No!” Dean roared. You looked at Sam for help and he only gave you a sympathetic look, shaking his head, and gently grabbed your shoulders.

“He’s right. Just wait here. We’ll check it out,” he said.

“You’ve got a fucked-up hand!” you called after Sam, sliding down off your stool and landing hard on your feet which sent a jolt of pain through your injured leg. “Goddammit…” you swore under your breath. The Winchester brothers had already disappeared into the front room, and you hobbled toward the doorway.

The brothers clattered up the stairs to the heavy metal door which served as the front entrance to the bunker. Dean got ready with his pistol aimed at the entrance and Sam was waiting to heave it open.

Dean nodded and Sam quickly unlatched the lock and yanked the heavy door open as hard as he could.

“Oh.” Dean immediately lowered his gun when he saw who had been knocking. “Uhh…” his eyes found Sam who stepped around the door to look outside.

Sam’s mouth dropped open when he saw the figure. It was your sister. She was standing there, looking out of place and wringing her hands.

“Hi,” she said, quietly. “Umm… Sam, can we—could we talk?”

Dean awkwardly cleared his throat and glanced at his little brother’s face, which was still just frozen in that same stunned expression. “Well, I definitely don’t need to be here.” He thumped Sam on the back and rushed down the stairs as fast as he could, but not before shooting a seriously unhappy glare at your sister.

Sam still hadn’t said anything and was just staring, wide-eyed at her.

She stepped over the threshold through the open door toward him. “I really need to talk to you. I’m sorry to just show up here but it’s—it’s important.”

You were waiting anxiously in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and chewing on your thumb nail. You straightened up when Dean burst back into the room. He was scruffing a hand through his hair and his face was muddled with confusion.

“Who the hell was it? Where’s Sam?” you asked urgently.

Dean’s eyes snapped up to your face. How should he say this? “Uhhh… it’s your sister…” Probably best to just get it out.

You stared at Dean blankly.

Dean stared back.

You forced in a deep breath and let it out, doing your best to stay calm. “Sam just kissed me last night. You just spilled that Sam is in love with me and I didn’t even get a chance to tell him that I’m in love with him too and now you’re telling me that my sister, the one who CHEATED on him, just showed up at the front door of the bunker?”

“…Yeah, I think that about covers it,” Dean said wincing.

“And did she say anything?” you urged.

“She just said she needed to talk to Sam…”

You crossed your arms over your chest and stared daggers at Dean. “And you didn’t tell her to go to hell?”

Dean mouthed wordlessly for a moment. “I don’t think—That’s not—I’m not getting in the middle of this again!” He pointed emphatically at you again. “No! I will not be in the middle!”

You pressed a hand to your forehead. “Shit…” you muttered under your breath.

#sam winchester #sammy fanfics #sam x reader #sammy the moose #sam fanfiction #reader insert fics #supernatural #spn

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aetherwytch · 3 years ago

Text

Drop Down (1.9k, destiel, rated M)

He could be anyone, anywhere, having a good ol’ fashioned fuck in the backseat of their car the way God intended. Why sweat the details?

Yes, I wrote almost 2k specifically to facilitate a Star Trek themed dick joke. In my defense, I think the joke is very funny. Also featuring: unfortunate sexual situations, Dean being repressed, and The Gay Angel (long may he reign). AO3 link in the notes.

The suspension in the Impala is creaking a little under their weight. It’s the only thing he can hear aside from their own unsteady breathing—the only thing that exists, maybe, ‘cause Dean’s got his eyes squeezed shut. It’s just sensation this way: nails scraping at his cropped hair, a hand clutching possessively at the base of his spine, skin on sweat on skin. His jacket’s in the front seat somewhere, and both his shirts got shed onto the floor at some point, but he never quite managed to lose his pants, so they’re just sorta bunched around his knees. It’s making it hard to move, and it’s not even remotely sexy, but the little breathy noise he gets rewarded with when he twists his wrist just right is enough to reassure him that, hey, it probably doesn’t really matter. He presses his nose more firmly into the join between neck and shoulder, presses his lips against the jut of a collarbone and gets nails scraping helplessly against his back in return. It’s just bodies, that’s all it is. Bodies doing the things that bodies do. A ribcage compresses, a whine of pleasure hiccuping in and then stuttering its way out again. A thump as a work-booted foot slips and thuds into the closed door. There’s not quite enough space back here, but it’s his baby—leather and gun oil and the persistent smell of coffee from where a cup got spilled under the front seat and never got cleaned up right—and it’s… it’s…

He doesn’t have to look to know whose warm breath is fluttering against his ear, whose long fingered hand is pressed against his waist, thumb stroking the ridge of his lowest rib. Whose hips are lined up with his own, whose legs are tangled with his. Every so often, one of them will rock forward, and their chests will brush. And every time, the brief warm slide of skin is a shock that makes his heart try and crawl up the back of his throat. So no, he doesn’t have to look, but he can see it anyway, because it’s Cas spread out underneath him, that stupid trenchcoat flaring out like limp khaki wings. Doesn’t have to open his eyes to see the scene, it’s burned into his mind like a movie frame left paused on a tv screen just a bit too long. One of Dean’s hands is trapped between them, busy, but the other is braced on the seat to keep him from falling off the bench and onto the floor. Cas presses his head back against the leather, a few strands of his hair now tickling Dean’s wrist, and breathes out something that sounds suspiciously like Dean’s name. His face might be doing something too, like making expressions, but Dean isn’t—He’s not gonna—His eyes are shut. He shifts, drops down a little so he’s resting on his elbow instead of his spread palm, and then buries his hand in Cas’s hair. The tips of his fingers tease at the scalp. It gets a low groan out of the other man, the kind that echoes through Dean’s chest like a hit on a bass drum, and Cas arches up into him, a perfect angle, and—

“Dean, we need to—Ah. Hm.”

Dean’s eyes snap open. The body underneath him is no longer pressed up against him, tip to toe, and has stiffened in a very different way. Readiness. Wariness. Discomfort? Fuck. He peels his face away from where it had been pressed into Cas’s shoulder. He’s practically nose to nose with the angel this way, and Cas goes slightly cross eyed trying to meet his eyes. There’s still a flush of color high on his cheeks, and his hair is, honestly, fucked, just an absolute disaster. And oh, good, Dean’s still got one hand tangled in it, the strands soft between his fingers.

“Um,” Dean manages articulately.

Cas squints up at him, head cocked slightly to the side, but he doesn’t seem to be trying to get out from underneath Dean. Doesn’t seem particularly concerned that Dean’s got his hand on Cas’s dick either, and oh shit, he’s got his hand on Cas’s dick. It had seemed like a great idea 30 seconds ago, but that was before Cas had started looking at him like he was a particularly perplexing mathematical proof that Cas has been tasked with solving.

“Oh,” Cas says, expression suddenly clearing as some vision of clarity reveals itself to him and bypasses Dean entirely on the way. “I see. This is a fantasy.”

Dream. It’s a goddamned dream, Dean can see it now in the way everything that isn’t Cas fuzzes out around the edges. Or it was a dream (not the first one, not since he saw Cas all rumpled at that brothel and his brain had extrapolated, shit happens, it doesn’t mean anything) but now it’s Angel Waiting Room. And that’s really Cas. And he’s really touching Cas’s dick. He jerks his hand away so fast that it smacks against the back of the front seat, and then he fumbles his way backwards, yanking his jeans up and then overbalancing and cracking his head hard against the window. Somehow it still hurts, but that’s probably just his brain punishing itself. Cas watches the entire thing with mild interest, going so far as to prop himself up on his elbows. His hair’s still going every which way, and his shirt is mostly unbuttoned, gaping open across a muscular chest, and he still hasn’t made any effort to, you know, cover himself up at all, so his dick’s out too, still semi-erect like it’s as confused as Dean is about who’s supposed to be doing what in this particular scene.

“Cas,” he starts, desperate to regain control of the situation. “Buddy.” Oh, God. “Uh. What’s—?”

“I’ve… I believe I’ve found a lead on the Colt,” Cas says, blessedly interrupting him before some other dumbfuck thing comes out of his mouth. “But I had a question regarding warding that Bobby might have some insight on—”

“So why didn’t you ask Bobby?”

Cas blinks at him. “Your mind was more receptive.”

“My mind…” Oh, if he thinks about that too long, he’s gonna lose it. “Look, never mind, could you…?”

To his own utter humiliation, he follows that up with a vague gesture towards Cas’s crotch, and Cas glances down at his lap as well, brows ratcheting up, as if mildly surprised to find it attached to him. He looks back at Dean, a strangely assessing look in his eye.

“You’re sitting on my legs.”

Dean is, isn’t he. He’s not wearing a shirt either, but that seems like a lost cause at this point. Apparently this is just a conversation he’s gonna have to have shirtless. But he plants a hand on the backrest of the front seat and uses it to lever his hips up so that Cas can pull his legs in and swing around so that he’s sitting normally. And then, finally, Cas tucks himself away, although not without a fair amount of fumbling, like he’s never touched his own dick before. Except, shit, maybe he hasn’t. Vessels, right? It’s not like he’s ever seen Cas drink anything, and even if he did, maybe he can just magic the pee away. Seems like someone who can glory, glory, hallelujah shattered bones back together shouldn’t have to use his own hallowed hands to make sure the piss gets in the urinal. Plus, the whole brothel deal derailed long before the pants came off, so for all he knows, this is the first time Cas has had any dealings whatsoever with his dick. Maybe Dean really has just facilitated some kind of dick first contact like he’s the… the Zefram Cochrane of, well, cock.

“Warding?” He asks, normally, in a normal tone. Does he sound normal? Or can Cas tell, like he’s got the equivalent of a big sign over his head that just says I’m Thinking About Your Dick on it in big neon letters.

“Yes,” Cas says simply. And then, because God forbid any part of this situation goes Dean’s way, “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“Nah.” It comes out a few octaves too high to be convincing. “I mean. It’s. No, it’s fine.” Cas frowns at him, unconvinced. “Ok, I mean, it’s a little weird. Right?”

“What is?”

Dean gapes at him, but Cas is just doing that cocked-head-blueyed routine that’s so goddamned earnest. Like he can’t even fathom what might be awkward about walking smack into the middle of one of Dean’s—what did he call it?—oh, actually, that’s another thing—

“This isn’t a fantasy.” He’s very certain about that. “It’s… I was just having a stupid dream.”

Cas stiffens, shoulders pushing back, and his hands, which had previously been resting loosely on his thighs, twitch up to straighten his shirt.

“I’m not sure I understand the differentiation you’re making,” he says, long fingers threading buttons back through buttonholes. “Humans often dream about sexual scenarios, and you are—” A pause that Dean can’t even begin to interpret. “Well, it’s perfectly natural to fantasize about objects of desire, and you find this… vessel attractive.”

“It’s not! I mean—” What the fuck does he mean. “You’re… It’s… fine. You look good.” Fuck. “For a guy.” Nailed it. “But I don’t— fantasize. I mean, c’mon, I don’t—I don’t. And it’s not like—I mean, I’ve got chicks practically lining up for me any time I roll up to a bar.”

When was the last time someone touched him any way that wasn't a friendly slap on the arm or a punch in the mouth? Bobby, when he was fresh out of hell? Anna, in this very back seat, her little hand splayed across the tender skin of the scar on his arm? He can't remember. It makes his palms itch, and he presses them shakily against his thighs. Maybe Cas knows it, too, ‘cause he’s giving Dean that look he gets sometimes. It’s not soft—he doesn’t think Cas can do soft—but it’s a lessening of intensity, like Cas has pushed the dimmer down on that fiery angelic aura of his, the thing that raises the hair on the backs of people’s necks even when he looks, for all intents and purposes, human. It’s the sort of look that makes Dean think that even if he were staring into a mirror right now, he wouldn’t see whatever it is that Cas does when the angel looks at him. It’s the sort of look that comes before things like, You don’t think you deserve to be saved. But all Cas does is drop his eyes to finish with his buttons, and when he speaks, it’s directed vaguely towards them.

“Of course, Dean.” The last button squared away, he folds his hands in his lap. “Companionship is a great kindness in a world not overly given to them. I will ask Bobby about the warding.”

And then Dean’s blinking awake, staring dazedly up at the water-damaged ceiling above his bed. He flops his head to the side. Across from him, the other bed is a tangle of abandoned sheets. On the highway, a semi leans on its horn, and the sound echoes hollowly off the walls of his shitty, deserted motel room.

#destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #fic #supernatural #spn #my fic

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starryknight09 · 4 years ago

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To save a life - Part 1

Febuwhump Day 17: field surgery

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

“Karen is reporting Peter has taken heavy damage to his left leg.” FRIDAY’s alert distracted him just enough that one of the alien assholes got a hit in and he jerked off course for a moment.

“Shit.” He swore both from the news about Peter and the armor’s damage alert flashing across his display. He twisted in midair and shot off two successive blasts, taking out the alien that had gotten him.

“Where is he FRI?” Tony asked. His eyes swept the ground, but he didn’t see the kid’s characteristic red suit.

“He’s currently at your two o’clock, thirty feet below ground.” FRIDAY answered.

“What?” He asked automatically because how the hell could Peter be underground? And then he saw it. The large crater in the earth. Oh. That’s how. “Nevermind.” He muttered before FRIDAY could answer and took off in the direction of the crater. He found the splash of red he’d been looking for at the bottom and landed next to Peter seconds later.

“Hey kid.” He kept his tone light even as he tensed at the sight of the mess Peter had gotten himself into.

“Hey Tony.” Peter greeted him, actually using his first name for once, which was something they’d been working on ever since the snap had been reversed. “I’m fine. Really. Just a little…”

“Trapped?” He supplied because that’s exactly what Peter was. His foot to midway to his knee was buried under a pile of rubble.

Peter shifted and tried to pull free but gave up after a few seconds with a growl. “Yeah, I’m stuck.”

“Don’t worry kid. I’ll get you out.” Tony said and maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut and not jinxed it. The moment words were out, a loud blast echoed from above them, close enough that the ground shook. Tony looked up with wide eyes as the wall of the crater crumbled and started sliding down toward them.

“Oh shit!” Peter yelled, unknowingly echoing Tony’s earlier curse.

Tony threw himself over the kid, bracing for the impact. It came seconds later. Large chunks of rock and dirt rained down around and over them, but the suit protected them. When it finally stopped, Tony carefully moved off Peter, the rocks that had landed on his back, falling to the ground.

“You ok?” He asked, not seeing any further damage to the kid.

Peter nodded and then Tony noticed the kid’s lenses widen. He followed Peter’s gaze behind him to see that even though the rockslide hadn’t buried them it’d piled up precariously on the pile already covering Peter’s leg. That was going to make it even more complicated to get Peter out.

“Uh Tony? Is it getting wet in here?” Peter asked and Tony could hear the panic in his voice. He looked back down at Peter and swore silently. Peter sat in an inch of water that was slowly rising. Tony looked around and found the culprit. The blast had ripped open an underground water main and now water was pouring out into the pit. Not good. Not good at all.

“Um don’t worry about it kid. We’ll get you out of this before it’s a problem.” He tried to reassure Peter even as his own heart started racing. “FRI be a dear and show me how I can move some of this rubble around to get the kid out.”

FRIDAY was silent for a long handful of seconds, which was never a good sign given how much computing power she had.

“I’m sorry boss but there’s no way to dislodge any rubble without bringing the entire thing down on yourselves.” FRIDAY answered in his ear. That was definitely not what he wanted to hear.

The water had risen from one inch to two in that short amount of time.

“Need some help?” Rhodey asked as he landed at Peter’s other side.

Tony nodded, relieved at seeing his friend even though they were in quite a predicament. “Yeah. Got any bright ideas for how to get the kid out?”

Rhodey knelt down to closely study the rock pile where Peter’s leg disappeared.

“What if we vaporize this rock?” His friend suggested, pointing to the rock right above Peter’s leg.

“No. FRIDAY says dislodging any of these rocks will bring the whole thing down on us.”

“Like bad tetris.” Rhodey huffed and then grabbed Peter’s leg and tugged.

Peter let out a surprised cry of pain.

“Sorry.” Rhodey apologized. “Yeah, he’s stuck.”

“I could’ve told you that.” Peter complained, pulling his mask off so he could glare at Rhodey.

While Tony had FRIDAY run a more detailed analysis of the rocks on the pile just in case she’d missed something, Rhodey examined every angle around the rocks covering Peter’s leg.

“It’s too bad we can’t pull him out this way.” Rhodey mumbled. “There’s a gap here.”

“Hm?” Tony came closer.

Rhodey pointed to what he was talking about and frowned. There was a hole out the other side of the rubble that you could see straight through to Peter’s foot. Rhodey reached his arm in and grabbed Peter’s foot.

“Can you feel that Pete?” Rhodey asked.

“Yeah, you’re touching my foot.” Peter answered.

“Circulation’s intact.”

“Ok great, but this doesn’t help us.” Tony shook his head, trying to get his friend back on track. “The hole’s not big enough to drag him through.”

Rhodey nodded and let go of Peter’s foot as he said softly, “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Um hey guys? I don’t mean to rush you or anything, but uh, can you hurry it up?” Peter interrupted and Tony glanced overn at him to see the water was up to his waist. Shit that had happened fast.

“Any way you can get the water to stop? Buy us some more time?” Tony asked and Rhodey took off with a nod to go check. Tony didn’t want to go himself because it’d mean leaving the kid and he could tell Peter was trying his hardest not to panic.

“It’s all right Pete. We’re going to figure this out.” He gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“In depth analysis completed boss.” FRIDAY announced.

“Yeah. And?” He asked, expecting FRIDAY to have a workable answer. There was no way they couldn’t move a single rock to get the kid out.

“No viable solution exists.” She answered in his ear.

“Well that can’t be possible.” He mumbled. The very odds of that were ridiculous. Laughable even.

“What?” Peter asked, sounding actually scared now.

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Don’t worry. Just a screw loose with FRIDAY.”

“What did she say?”

Tony went back to studying the wall of rubble in front of him as if he could solve a problem his AI said was impossible, but then again, he’d done a lot of impossible things in his life, so maybe he wasn’t in denial.

“Tony! What did she say?” Peter demanded.

Tony sighed. “We can’t move any of the rocks or this will all come down on top of us.”

Peter’s eyes widened and he stared at the rocks pinning him down like someone facing their executioner.

“Oh my god.” He whispered before he tried yanking his leg out again with renewed fervor.

“Kid. Kid. Stop! You’re going to hurt yourself.” Tony said.

“This is bad. This is so bad.” Peter said, but he gave up after a few tries.

Tony kneeled down next to him and lifted his helmet. “Hey. Look at me.”

Peter listened, staring at him with unfettered fear in his eyes.

“I’m going to get you out, ok?” He said calmly.

Peter just blinked at him.

“Ok?” He repeated.

Peter nodded.

Rhodey landed behind him with a clang.

“Any luck?” Tony asked.

Rhodey’s helmet retracted and Tony could see in his eyes that it hadn’t worked. His friend shook his head somberly. “It’s no good. The way it’s busted open, there’s no way to patch it or divert it. At least not in the time we have.”

They both looked down at Peter, the water had risen to his chest.

“We’re running out of time.” Rhodey mumbled unnecessarily.

“You think I don’t know that?” He snapped, the stress of the situation starting to eat away at him. He grit his teeth and took a breath. He hadn’t meant to lose it in front of the kid.

Rhodey jerked his hide to the side and they walked a fair distance from Peter before Rhodey said, “We need to talk about our options.”

Tony glanced over at the kid who was clearly listening but pretending not to listen at the same time. He subtly shook his head before signaling for FRIDAY to put his helmet back in place. Rhodey’s brow furrowed but he followed suit with his own helmet.

Tony opened a private channel with Rhodey as he explained, “We’ll have to talk this way unless we want him to hear us.”

“Right. I forgot. Super hearing.”

“Ok, so…you were talking options.”

“I think we’re running out of them.” Rhodey said. The exact thing Tony had been thinking but had been afraid to voice.

“No no. There has to be something.” He looked back at the enormous pile of rubble, trying to think. What good was a genius IQ if he couldn’t get his kid out of this puzzle?

“I tried calling Strange but he didn’t answer.” Rhodey said.

Damn. He hadn’t even thought of Strange. And the man might’ve been able to help with his weird voodoo powers. The fact that it was Peter who was trapped and in mortal peril was obviously messing with his ability to think more than he thought.

“Ok so that’s out. Why are you even bringing it up?” His patience was wearing thin.

“Because I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it, and every other possibility has to be ruled out before even considering it.” Rhodey sighed. “So, before I tell you, can you think of any other way? Any other ideas?”

Tony toyed with his bottom lip between his teeth and tried with every ounce of brain power to figure out the answer to Peter’s impossible situation. But he came up blank. He shook his head. “No. I don’t know. I guess as a last resort I was thinking I’d blow the rocks and try to drag him out in time.”

“That’ll never work.” Rhodey shut him down. “All of FRIDAY’s models have that pile coming down on top of both of you before you can get free.”

Tony didn’t say anything. He knew Rhodey was right. But he also knew there was no way he wouldn’t try it if it came down to it.

“Ok so I’ve got nothing.” He admitted, glancing back at Peter where the water had risen another couple inches in the short time they’d been talking.

“Is Cho at the compound?” Rhodey asked and Tony instantly didn’t love the direction this was going.

“Yes. Why?” He said shortly.

“How fast can you get there?” Rhodey ignored his question in favor of another one of his own.

FRIDAY calculated the answer and had it up on his screen within a second. “Twelve minutes. Why?”

“It’s a good thing we’re so close.” Rhodey muttered.

Tony narrowed his eyes. Yeah, the psycho alien attack happening so close to their home base had been a real streak of luck. None of this made any sense, but these questions sure weren’t sounding good. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like Rhodey’s idea, whatever it was. “I’m failing to see how any of this matters. Or how it’s going to help my kid.”

He could just imagine Rhodey’s face at those last two words. The man teased him mercilessly about how he’d taken on the father figure role for Peter, and he’d just given him the perfect ammunition. He waited for the jab, but Rhodey didn’t take the obvious opening. That, more than anything before, set off alarm bells for him.

“Tony,” Rhodey, more serious than he’d heard his best friend sound in a long time, “you know what we need to do.”

He frowned at the statement because he had no idea. “No I don’t.”

“Yes you do. You just don’t want to see it. Because it’s Peter.”

He shook his head.

“You can’t admit it to yourself.” Rhodey continued. “But it’s the only way.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He denied even as it all started to make a perfect kind of horrifying sense.

“Yes you do.” Rhodey insisted. “And I know it sucks. It’s terrible.”

Tony felt his breath start speeding up as Rhodey continued, “But we’re out of time.”

“No. There’s got to be some other way. Something I’m not seeing.” He protested desperately, Rhodey’s unvoiced plan too insane to even consider.

“There isn’t. You know if there was, you would’ve thought about it by now.” Rhodey insisted. And he hated that his friend was right.

“I don’t— I can’t—” His hands started to shake at the very idea of it. There was no way he could actually do it. Thinking of having to do that to his kid made him want to throw up. Or die. He’d rather die than hurt Peter.

“Tony, we have to cut him free.” Rhodey said with a forced calm. “Or he’s going to die.”

And that was the crux of the matter. Rhodey was right. There was no other option. If they didn’t do this, his kid was going to die.

“Um I don’t mean to interrupt, but uh, things are getting a little um not so good over here. Do we have a plan yet?” Peter called out to them.

They both looked back over at Peter. The water had reached the bottom of his neck. At the rate it was rising they probably had less than five minutes before his head would be submerged.

“Yeah kid. We have a plan.” He said, surprised he was able to keep the tremble out of his voice. Saying it felt like a death sentence.

“Oh good.” Peter let out a relieved sigh and noticeably relaxed, and Tony had never hated himself more than in that moment.

When they didn’t elaborate and made no move to come toward him, Peter asked, “So…what is it?”

“Uh we’re still ironing out the details kid.” Tony said. “Just give us one more minute.”

“Ok…” Peter eyed them dubiously, clearly doubting there was a solid plan, but not wanting to call Tony out on it.

Tony toggled his private comm to Rhodey back on and asked nervously, “Ok so what do we do?”

“I had FRIDAY call Cho so the team should be ready and waiting. She gave FRIDAY the exact place to cut to give him the highest chance of a successful reattachment.”

“Jesus.” He felt like he was going to be sick.

“It’s the only way man.” Rhodey said, trying to keep him calm and Tony shook his head. He didn’t know how his friend could face this so steadily. Maybe it was some special military training.

“I can’t do it. You’re going to have to be the one.” He said, breaths coming out in little pants again. He didn’t even care that he was chickening out. Peter wasn’t Rhodey’s kid.

“I can’t. I don’t have the lasers like you do in your suit. And Cho says that’s the best way.”

No. No. No no no no no. He didn’t realize he was shaking his head and saying the words out loud until Rhodey’s hands clanged down on his shoulders.

“Tony! Stop! You need to pull it together. We need to do this. Now. All right?”

Sure, that was easy enough to say. Following through on it was a whole other thing.

“I’m going to be sick.” He admitted and got his helmet out of the way just in time to jerk away and lose his lunch all over the ground.

“Uh…Tony? Are you ok?” Peter asked.

“We’ll be with you in one minute Pete.” Rhodey told Peter and then patted him on the back. “Come on Tones. We don’t have much time.”

“Ok. Ok. I know.” He muttered, spitting to clear some of the sick taste from his mouth before taking a few deep breaths. He had to do this. He straightened up and shrugged off Rhodey’s support. The water had almost reached Peter’s chin.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, fear filling his eyes when he saw whatever look was on Tony’s face.

Tony glanced at Rhodey as his friend looked at him, communicating silently. Tony didn’t want to be the one to tell the kid, but he knew it had to be him. He gave his friend a short nod and they both walked over to Peter.

Tony knelt down so he was eye to eye with him. “We have a way to get you out but it’s not good.” He tried not to sugar coat it.

Peter’s eyes widened and he glanced over at Rhodey before looking back at him. He licked his lips nervously and asked, “What is it?”

“We have to cut you free.” Tony explained.

Peter’s brow furrowed for a second trying to understand what he meant before the obvious conclusion hit him and shock lit up his face. He was already shaking his head.

“You’re kidding. This is a joke, right?” Peter asked but the way his voice shook Tony knew he understood the truth.

“I’m sorry kid.”

“No. You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking!”

“I’m not joking.” He said it like an apology.

“No! You can’t!” Peter protested.

“We don’t have any other choice.”

“No.”

“Buddy. Peter.” He held Peter’s face in his hands. “You know I would never do this if there was any other way.”

“I’d rather die.”

“No.”

“It’s my choice!” The water had passed his chin.

“It’s not. I’m sorry.”

“No!”

“I’ll go as fast as I can.”

“No.” Peter’s face crumpled, understanding that this was happening with or without his consent.

“Once it’s done I’m going to take you straight to Cho and she’s going to work her magic and put everything back together. It’s not forever.” He hoped he wasn’t lying. “It’s just to get you out.”

“I don’t want to. Please. Please don’t.” Tears ran down Peter’s cheeks, falling to mix with the water trying to overtake him.

“Tony.” Rhodey warned, the water starting to lap at Peter’s lower lip. Pretty soon he wouldn’t be able to talk.

Tony swiped Peter’s tears away with his thumbs. “I’m sorry.” He apologized again, leaning forward to kiss his kid’s forehead before pulling away.

“No!” Peter cried. “No! Nnn—” The water cut him off as it reached his mouth but even as Tony moved to where Peter’s leg was trapped he heard Peter sputtering as he kept crying around the water.

“Breathe through your nose Pete. Here, hold my hand.” He heard Rhodey trying to comfort his kid before addressing him, “Hurry up Tony.”

Right. He had to hurry up and cut his kid’s leg off. The helmet reformed over his head and he dove underwater, FRIDAY automatically highlighting Peter’s leg on his viewscreen along with the exact place he needed to slice through. Oh god. To keep the panic at bay he tried to take slow breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth. He needed to keep it together. The nanotech formed the laser he’d need in his hand. He lined it up in the exact position he needed to cut. And froze.

Oh god. Oh god. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. But he had to. He had to or Peter was going to die.

“Ok ok ok ok.” He whispered to himself. As soon as he activated the laser it almost became an out of body experience, like he was watching someone else about to slice through his kid’s leg.

The line of the laser hovered an inch above where he needed to cut, small bubbles rising up from it as it heated the water around it. He clenched his teeth together so hard he worried they might crack as he cursed the universe for putting him in this situation. For having to hurt his kid to save him. He didn’t want to do it. Every ounce of his being railed against it, but he had to do it. He had to. Or Peter was going to die. He had to do this to save the kid. The kid that he considered a son in every way but blood. His kid.

“Tony!” Rhodey yelled in alarm. With a commanding flick of his eyes Rhodey’s viewscreen came up in the corner of Tony’s screen. Water covered Peter’s face up to his nose. Shit. Time was up.

Between one breath to the next time seemed to slow down as Tony brought the laser down and through Peter’s leg. He didn’t know whether to be grateful for or feel even worse about the fact that couldn’t even hear Peter’s scream muffled as it was by the water, but he had no time to dwell on it. The second his kid was free he surfaced and grabbed Peter under the arms. Peter’s head lolled back against his chest, thankfully unconscious as Tony lifted him into the air so Rhodey could quickly tie a tourniquet around what was left at the end of Peter’s leg. Tony couldn’t look. He didn’t want to see it.

“Go.” Rhodey ordered. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Tony blasted off into the air with Peter cradled in his arms, barely registering Rhodey diving under the water to salvage the other part of Peter’s limb now that he could pull it through the hole to the other side.

Tony cursed silently over and over like a mantra as he flew as fast as he could toward the compound, hating how ashen Peter’s complexion had become. He had Peter’s vital signs up in the corner of his display and he watched as his heart rate kept increasing as he bled even with the tourniquet on. And he was the reason. He’d done this to him. If anything happened to Peter, he’d never forgive himself. He wouldn’t be able to live with it. Bile rose up in his throat again but he forced it down. There’d be plenty of time to freak out. For now he needed to keep it together for his kid.

A moment later, Peter groaned.

“No no no. Stay asleep. Stay asleep. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up.” He whispered, pleading to a deity he wasn’t even sure he believed in.

Peter settled, falling silent again and Tony let out a short sigh of relief. He didn’t want Peter awake and in pain. Pain that he’d caused. He didn’t want the kid to have to deal with that and he didn’t think he could handle it either.

The rest of the trip passed in a blur. Distantly he recognized he was in shock, a different kind than Peter, and that he was dissociating, but he embraced it instead of making any effort to fight it, finding the numbness preferable to anything else.

The compound came into view, and as soon as he landed, Cho and her team took Peter from him, rushing him off to the OR. Rhodey landed less than a minute later and the two medical personnel that had stayed behind took the leg Rhodey gave them and hurried off after the rest of the team.

Tony didn’t notice he was standing there staring into the space they’d disappeared until Rhodey moved to stand right in front of him.

“Tony.” Rhodey said and Tony just blinked at him as he wondered when his friend had gotten out of the suit.

“Tony.” Rhodey repeated.

“What?” He responded but he didn’t even feel his mouth move as it formed the word.

“Come on. Out of the suit.”

Oh. Right. The nanobots retracted into their housing but the second the armor was no longer there to hold him up he fell forward.

“Ok.” Rhodey said as he caught him and started guiding him down the hall into an empty room to deposit him on the couch.

“Breathe Tony.” Rhodey reminded him, sitting down next to him.

The instruction didn’t help. He realized he was gasping like he couldn’t get enough oxygen. A bout of dizziness hit him, so he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, trying to ground himself somehow, but not succeeding.

“It’s all right. You’re all right. Peter’s going to be all right.” Rhodey wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “But you go ahead and freak out if you need to. You kept it together man and that’s hard to do. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to.”

Tony scoffed. There was no doubt in his mind Rhodey would’ve handled it better than him. But latching onto his friend’s words finally helped him break out of his panic, and he finally managed to slow his breathing down.

“There you go.” Rhodey encouraged.

The door clicked open and Tony’s head shot up, not wanting anyone to see him in such a vulnerable position. But the tension evaporated from his body the second he saw it was Pepper. For a moment he just stared at her, thinking he had to be hallucinating because there was no way she could’ve gotten there so quickly.

“I called her.” Rhodey explained softly and it seemed to break the spell.

“Oh my god, Tony.” Pepper exclaimed and she hurried over, dropping down in front of him to pull him into a hug. And that did it. He collapsed into her, forehead resting on her shoulder and let himself cry.

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhump #irondad

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baepop · 4 years ago

Text

Sacrifice 2

You return home, hoping to find the answers you desperately search for.

Word Count: 9.7k

Pairing: You x BTS Members

Genre: Thriller, Smut, Angst

Warnings: OC is fucked in the head basically (disturbing thoughts, actions); gore, graphic descriptions and self-harm

Part 1 | Part 2

He’s trying his hardest, but those pesky crimson marks just won’t come out. He’s tried everything he could think of, even followed a few stain removal tutorials on YouTube, but the unsightly blood stains have seeped deep into the fabric of his upholstery. He regrets neglecting the condition of the interior of his car for so long.

Even still, as he looks down at his soiled car seat, he can’t help but smile while imagining the satisfaction you might’ve felt to know he couldn’t completely erase you from his life. You had always managed to find a way to cling onto him, it seems, even now in the afterlife.

Namjoon carefully backed away from the entrance of the passenger side of his car to take a breather. He wiped the sweat off his brow and rubbed his hand on his shorts, huffing at the sight of his failure. He pursed his lips, mulling over what cleaning agents he might have left in his terribly stocked apartment that could do the trick. Suddenly, he slammed his fist on the hood of the car, overcome with emotions of regret. He allowed himself to feel for just a minute before taking a deep breath and hunching over the seat again to begin scrubbing more forcefully.

But just as he began abusing the seat once more, a tiny hand clutched at the tail of his sweater and yanked lightly a few times to get his attention. He whipped his head around only to find the neighbor’s daughter staring up at him, a bit of fear in her eyes. She was only 5, and she must’ve seen Namjoon lose his cool for a second just now, given the slight quiver in her bottom lip.

Namjoon stared at the child for a moment before backing out of the car again and picking her up. He nestled her into his side, giving her a big smile and wiggling her hand about while greeting her in a silly voice. She giggled shyly, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.

“Mommy said to come get you.” She stated her mission matter-of-factly before burying her head in the crook of his neck as she’d done countless times before.

“Okay, then let’s go see what Mommy needs this time, shall we?” The little girl nodded as they crossed the lawn into her mother’s property. Namjoon knocked a few times before letting himself into the door ajar. The smell of overcooked chicken filled his nostrils at once.

“Um, hello?” He called out to no one in particular. He was greeted by an empty living room.

“In here!” The voice came from the kitchen where his neighbor was busy preparing an early dinner. Namjoon put the little girl down but she grabbed two of his fingers and led him into the kitchen.

“Oh, hi ma’am. Did you need something?”

The woman rolled her eyes as she blew on a piece of steaming chicken before popping it into her mouth to taste. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Yong?! Ma’am is my mother.” Namjoon blushed and hung his head in embarrassment, smiling at the ground and nodding. “You know, we’re not that different in age, only a few years apart. But I get it though, turning 30 still seems like a huge change to people in their 20’s.”

“Oh, I uh, no that’s not— I’m sorry, Yong.” Namjoon clears his throat while the older woman chuckled.

“I hope you weren’t busy, Namjoon.”

“No, no not at all!”

“It’s just that my bathroom sink is leaking, and I have no idea what’s going on! My husband won’t be home for a couple more days and—”

“Oh, it’s no issue! I’ll take a look at it, probably just a simple fix.” Namjoon smiled at her brightly and motioned towards the bathroom for permission. She beamed as he let himself further into her house.

Namjoon entered her small bathroom, immediately turning on the sink to see what the issue was. As the water trickled from the base, he opened the bottom cabinets and crouched down, sticking his head into the confined space to get a better look. He ran his fingers over the tubing, nodding to himself as he turned off the water and joined Yong and her child in the kitchen once again.

“There’s hardly a problem. Your plumbers’ putty ran dry, and it was especially thin to begin with, but it’s nothing more putty won’t fix! I actually have some to spare in my apartment, I’ll go grab it really quick.”

“No no no, sit! Dinner’s ready, you can do that after!” Namjoon parted his lips to protest but his stomach growled extra loudly. The small child giggled, pulling on his fingers to lead him to his place set at the dinner table.

Although Namjoon wanted to be polite and refuse the meal, the truth was that he wasn’t eating too well these days. You had always been over his house making him food, so his meals as of late consisted of microwaved noodles and handfuls of goldfish crackers.

Namjoon thanked the woman for the hot meal, wasting no time on stuffing his face.

“No, thank you. You’ve been such a big help around here for so long! It’s been rough this year with my husband’s enlistment,” Namjoon nodded along, making eye contact as he shoved spoonfuls of rice into his already full mouth, “and especially so this past month.”

Namjoon perked up at the ambiguous statement, “How so?”

“Well—”

“I’m getting a littwe bwother!” The small child exclaimed joyously from across the dinner table. Namjoon froze with his unchewed food on display, looking over at Yong who was embarrassed by the outburst.

“Well, it’s still too early to know the sex but, she’s really hoping for a boy.” The woman smiled at her daughter who was picking up pieces of food with her tiny fingers and attempting to feed it to her stuffed animal who also had a place at the dinner table beside her. Yong looked over at Namjoon who had not taken his eyes off her once, nor closed his mouth for that matter. She blushed, looking down and speaking in a low tone so that her child wouldn’t understand, “Don’t worry, it’s not yours.”

Namjoon’s eyes lacked emotion. What she mistook for fear and anger was simply calculation on his part. “Are you positive?”

The woman sighed then smiled again, putting a hand on his shoulder and maintaining eye contact. “Yes, I’m sure. Now, finish your dinner.”

The boy nodded, bringing his attention back to his now unappetizing plate of food. He had already done the math; the child was definitely his.

The conversation lulled, so they both hurried through eating. Once his plate was empty enough, Namjoon sprang up to his feet and announced that he’d return with some putty in just a moment.

As he let himself out into the evening air, he noticed it was finally starting to become cooler. He walked across the lawn and over to his place with his hands in his pockets, whistling his favorite tune.

The next day, he went to work as normal, driving his car across town to the grocery store he managed and parking it in a residential street since the parking lot looked full when he passed by. On his trek up the block, he noticed a bright white flier stapled to the telephone pole at the corner. As he got closer, he recognized a picture of Jin plastered front and center with the words reward if found written underneath it. Seokjin came from money, so Namjoon wasn’t surprised about the lengths his parents were going to to get their son back. Besides, he already knew they would do this since he’s the one that sent them that picture of Jin.

Namjoon ripped the flier that had threatened to bring forth his turbulent emotions to the surface once more from its staples, crumpling it up and shoving it into his pocket. Luckily, this wasn’t enough to ruin his good mood today.

“Good morning.” Namjoon nodded towards his staff members as he entered into the cool facility. Everyone greeted him back, relieved to have him in the building as there were already issues that needed solving even this early in the morning. But before they could begin hounding him for directions, one of his assistant managers pulled him to the side.

“Someone’s here to see you. I told them you wouldn’t be in until later on today, but they insisted on waiting. They’re in your office, I hope that’s okay.” Namjoon smiled at the girl and assured her everything was fine. He watched her walk away before turning down the hallway towards his office. As soon as he opened the door, a very worried Jungkook shot up from the small couch that lined the wall. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his eyes were panicked. He gripped the flyer of Seokjin in one hand and his phone in the other.

Now this, this was enough to put Namjoon in a bad mood. He sighed and closed the door behind him.

Your eyes opened and were immediately flooded with bright white light from all directions. You shut them quickly, then reopened them little by little, trying to adjust to the setting. The first thing you noticed were curtains billowing at the foot of your bed. They were white, just like everything else in the room.

Wait, a bed?

You craned your neck to get a better look at what you were laying on, but your body was stiff, so you plopped back down and took a deep breath, letting your eyes wander instead.

The sun was shining brightly and illuminating the dreary room you’d been left in. You were definitely in a hospital, you realized, as you noticed multiple beds with curtains drawn around them.

Why am I here?

You laid there, trying to remember something, anything, but you only drew incomplete memories. You closed your eyes, trying to make sense of everything. It was all a painful haze, reels of jumping into a river, and blinding car lights at the forefront. Suddenly you recalled being shaken and yelled at, the voice sounding as if through a tunnel full of water, and the face more ambiguous still. But his grip was strong on you, bruising your shoulders with his vehemence to get you to understand.

Get it together kid!

You gasp as your eyes burst open. “Jin!” You yell out and a nurse who was most definitely not Jin rushed in.

“Ah, you’re awake!” The older woman came to your side to check how you were doing. She doesn’t know anyone by the name of Jin, much to your disappointment. “Do you remember anything about what happened to you?” She pulled up a chair by your bed with your chart in her hands. You shake your head in denial. It’s not a lie, but the little that you do remember, you want to hold onto for a bit longer in order to piece together this puzzle on your own. “What’s your name?” You hesitated, then shook your head once more. She nodded in understanding, flipping a page up before turning back to you and speaking in a soothing tone. “Miss, you were found on the side of the road a couple miles from here in critical condition. You underwent a septic miscarriage, but your body showed signs of extreme stress and battery as well. It appears you were unconscious for a couple of days before you were found and, luckily, we were able to bring your fever down and get your blood pressure back to a normal state which halted the beginnings of organ failure evident in your body.” You nodded along to everything she said, but none of it was making any sense. You just couldn’t believe she was talking about you. She had to have been looking at someone else’s chart. “You’ve been administered antibiotics to treat the infection. I have to say, though, you’re one hell of a fighter! We weren’t sure you’d wake up after the medically induced coma you were under, but here you are!” The woman smiled brightly then paused before continuing, giving you a stern look. “You were in pretty bad condition hun. So,” she reached out and placed her withered hand over your own, “the minute you remember anything, you let us know. Okay?” You nodded sullenly, just wanting to be left alone. “Now…this Jin person…”

“He wouldn’t.” You looked at her sharply, not letting her even think that he could be capable of doing something like this to you. The woman nodded and stood up.

“I’ll give you a minute to be alone.”

You watched her retreat back into the hustle and bustle of the hospital hallway as you plopped your head against the pillow. Considering the kinds of questions she was asking you and the kind of room you had woken up in, you surmised that you had been counted as another Jane Doe, placed into a room full of other unidentified people who had been dying.

Whenever you went out, you always made sure to have your ID and your phone on you, so you wondered if you had been robbed and attacked. But why was I alone and so far from home? Suddenly the face of the person you missed most popped into your head.

Namjoon.

The thought of something so awful happening to you without the love of your life by your side to comfort you was too much to bear.

You rolled over on your side and let hot tears spill from the corners of your eyes, moistening the crisp linen sheets. As the evening went on, your silent crying became more audible, your body shaking with both physical and emotional pain. You hugged yourself tightly, processing the realization that you had lost Namjoon’s baby, and you were now all alone again.

By the time night came, you had rolled over to cry while staring up at the ceiling, letting your sobs be heard now that the hospital was quiet. It always felt better to let loose while crying instead of doing it in secret, besides, everyone in your room was in a coma anyway, or so you thought.

In the middle of the night, you heard a groaning that morphed into a cry of frustration. Suddenly the curtains around the bed diagonal from yours were yanked open violently and piercing angry eyes drilled holes into your watery ones.

“I stayed quiet all day, pretending not to be awake so that you could have some privacy, but now you’ve been crying for 8 fucking hours and I’m trying to sleep. So could you please, for the love of Christ—”

“JIN!” You bolted upright then winced, mildly regretting your excitement for a second. The boy paused, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched you carefully climb out of bed and slowly hobble over to him in your billowing night gown.

Once you got to his bedside, your eyes watered again seeing him all bandaged up and staring up at you dumbfoundedly.

“What the hell happened to us…” You began crying again, leaning into him for a hug and sobbing on his chest. He groaned again, rolling his eyes and patting your back.

“Listen lady, I don’t know why you keep calling me Jin but—” You froze, backing off of him and wiping your eyes as you realized the bandages around his head must’ve been more severe than you thought.

You limped over to the foot of his bed and picked up his medical chart, reading over it quickly. You winced at the extensive list of procedures they had to operate on him once he was found. But thankfully, it was still possible for him to regain his memory one day.

Days, upwards of a year with daily physical therapy. You read the words before closing his chart with a sigh, looking back over at your friend who was regarding you warily. You couldn’t help but feel like this was all somehow his fault. Still, even if it was, you wouldn’t know for sure since neither of you remembered what happened.

“Um, that’s… I don’t think you’re supposed to look at other people’s charts…” You smiled and retook your place by his side.

“It’s okay for me to look.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I’m your fiancé!” The boy cocked his head back, stunned into silence. He gave you a once over with his eyes, lifting up your left hand for inspection.

“Oh yeah? Then where’s the engagement ring?”

You pulled your hand out of his grasp. “You proposed without one…because we decided we’d go buy one together.”

Jin scoffed, “Yeah well, proposing without a ring doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”

You rolled your eyes. Yeah well, proposing isn’t something you’d ever do either.

“Okay fine, I’ll prove it by telling you something only your fiancé would know.” Jin sat up, watching you curiously as you sat pensive at the edge of his bed.

“Your dick hangs a little bit to the right when it’s hard.” Jin smiled, scratching his cheek in embarrassment.

“Well, I mean…technically, a lot of girls would know that.” You rolled your eyes again, trying to think about something intimate he might’ve shared with you during your years of friendship.

“You started smoking cigarettes when you were 12 because that’s when your dad left, and the smell of smoke always made you feel close to him.” Jin dropped his hand as he looked at you with renewed curiosity. He didn’t remember saying that to anyone ever, probably because he was piss drunk when he said it to you during one of your many smoke breaks together, or because he’d lost his memory. Still, he couldn’t deny that you must’ve been someone important to him if you knew something like that about him.

“So…you’re…my fiancé?” You nodded, taking his hand and rubbing circles onto his knuckles for added effect. You watched him as he visibly processed the news. You weren’t sure what the last thing he remembered was, but it had to be from years ago since he didn’t even know who you were. “Then…what exactly happened? I heard the nurse say something about a miscarriage…”

You nodded at Jin sullenly, clutching at your abdomen as your head hung low. Tears welled in your eyes, but you quickly dabbed at any that fell. “I’m sorry.”

Jin was stricken with sadness. He didn’t feel connected to you or the situation, but the thought of him and you losing a baby, he could understand to be awful. He made space for you on his bed and pulled you onto him, hesitantly rubbing your head as you curled into his side. You two slept together side by side for the night, but you awoke at the crashing sound of thunder and lightning close by only a few hours later.

Your eyes burst open at the sound, immediately checking to see if Jin was awake too. The room was still dark even though it was very early in the morning. The rain clouds blocked much light from coming into the room as it was.

You searched Jin’s face, but he still laid peacefully asleep, so you laid back down and nestled into his side. It’d been forever since you’d cuddled someone, or even made love to anyone. Knowing there wasn’t much fabric standing in the way of your naked bodies wasn’t helping the dull ache in between your legs.

You rubbed your thighs together, letting your eyes trail his features. You’d always thought Jin was attractive, but anytime his mouth would open the illusion would crumble.

But now that his memory was gone, he was different, nice even.

You brought your hand up to his chest, hesitating before placing your palm gently over his heart. You felt it beating strong and steadily.

Your hand trailed downwards, ever so lightly over the fabric of his medical gown. You ran your fingertips over the expanse of his abs, making your way towards his pubic area until his hand clamped around your wrist, halting it from moving further down. Your heart stopped for a second, since you had been sure he was unconscious.

Suddenly you heard his groggy morning voice speaking deeply just above your head.

“Don’t start something you’re not going to be able to finish.” You looked up at Seokjin who was suddenly wide awake and regarding you curiously, a challenging glint in his eyes.

“Since you lost your memory, allow me to remind you how I always finish.” You challenged him back, smiling when he let go of your hand. You cupped his member, squeezing just a bit to earn a hiss from the handsome brunette.

It was just early enough so that the medical staff wouldn’t barge in and bother you just yet, so you decided not to waste any time. You quickly exposed his bottom half, licking your lips at the sight of the hard on that already awaited you. But as you lowered your head onto his length, you noticed all of the bruises that littered his body, and the bandages wrapped around his torso. You frowned, looking up at him with pity in your eyes.

“Jin…” You sat up fully, remembering the list of injuries from his medical chart.

He sighed and met your eyes, “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“No, I do. I’ll be gentle, just let me know if anything hurts, okay?” He nodded, watching you as you climbed over his midsection and nestled your legs on either side of him.

You sat on his dick gingerly, your lack of clothing under your gown earning you direct skin to skin contact. You supported most of your weight but applied enough pressure to tease him in between your folds. He hissed as you looked up, wondering if you had hurt him already, but seeing his lustful eyes trained on your core told you otherwise. You swirled your hips sensually, moving the head of his dick vertically in between your legs to get it wet with your arousal. It wasn’t long before he was moving his hips to the rhythm of yours, eager to enter you already.

You obliged, sighing contentedly as you held his dick up to your entrance and sank down onto him until he bottomed out. Jin crinkled his eyes shut focusing on the feeling of you around him. He struggled to keep his breath even, not wanting to alert the staff about what was going on, but god damn you felt so good that it was proving difficult already.

You noticed how fucked out he was already and knew he wouldn’t last long at all, which was perfect for you because you were really only looking for one thing.

You began swaying your hips carefully, testing the waters to see what was enjoyable for him and what was painful. Soon you were bouncing on him up and down, determined to get him to cum. Jin gave up on being quiet, letting himself moan and grunt the more you humped him. Your hand held up the fabric of your gown above your belly, letting him get a full view of you fucking him. You smirked, thinking about how mad Jin will be when he regains his memory only to realize you finally gave him a round two, but only when he had amnesia.

Suddenly, the boy took hold of your hips and held them still, a burning look in his eyes.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorr—”

“No, just. Stop, for a second. You’re…going to be my wife. But this feels like our first time for me so, I don’t want to rush through it.” Your heart stuttered and a lump formed in your throat, not that you wanted to say anything anyway. You’d never seen him so vulnerable and tender before. Suddenly you felt guilty for lying to him, but nonetheless you let him pull you into his chest for a kiss.

It was sweet and slow. You hesitated at first, letting him part your lips and press them into yours. You closed your eyes, your heart thrumming a mile a minute as you kissed him back. He held you by the waist as his fingers rubbed at your sides. They snuck underneath your gown and began exploring your body, first feeling the curves of your waist then sliding up towards your breasts. You looked away from him, blushing furiously as his tiny touches sent shivers down your spine. To be this intimate and romantic with Seokjin was proving to be too much for you. Yet as his hands traveled around your back and downwards, giving your ass a healthy squeeze, your walls couldn’t help closing in around him. He moaned at the motion, looking up at you in time to receive your hungry lips on his once more. He brought his hands up to your face, holding it close to his own as you two made out passionately.

Your mind raced as your tongues swirled around in each other’s mouths. Kissing him felt foreign, but in a good way. Although you already knew what his dick felt like inside of you, you’d never known what his mouth on yours felt like until now. It was weird to think about who exactly was kissing you, yet not too weird, since you’d been around each other for so long now that his scent filling your nostrils was comforting instead of revolting. It was like learning something you had forgotten about. You were surprised to find how much you had actually liked it.

It wasn’t long before Jin began groaning into the kiss, feeling how wet you suddenly were and how easily he was moving inside of you without fully moving his hips. You bit your lip, feeling needier than ever with the lack of movement.

Suddenly you sat up a bit to begin bouncing again, but he grabbed you by the neck, biting his own lip as he surveyed your body. You were driving him absolutely wild and we wanted nothing more than to fuck you into the bed. But he knew he couldn’t move much for now, so he settled for fucking up into you as best he could.

Jin’s hand moved into your hair, grabbing it like a ponytail and tugging on it roughly so that more of your neck was exposed. His other hand gripped at your waist, holding you up as he began bucking his hips up into you. The combination of his tight hold on your hair and his forceful thrusts had you feeling the beginnings of an orgasm.

Your hands found his arms and held on for dear life as your walls began contracting around his cock. Sinful sounds filled the room as you lost your ability to keep quiet. His impressive length was hitting your g spot in the most delicious way and it had you keeling over him when your orgasm hit like a ton of bricks. You tightened your legs on his sides, shutting your eyes yet still seeing stars. Jin was satisfied with seeing you cum since he was already so tired that he couldn’t hold back his own climax for much longer.

“Fuck, where should I cum?” Jin spoke through gritted teeth, letting go of your hair in favor of holding your waist with both hands.

You leaned over him and kissed him deeply, then leaned in further to whisper in his ear. “Cum inside.”

Jin’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and your wish was his command. He found it so incredibly hot that he was already spilling his seed into you after a few more strokes. He grunted loudly, bucking up into you a few more times before settling down in a sweat. You sat on top of him for a few moments more, catching your breaths in unison.

The boy was spent, barely having enough energy to cover himself back up. He ended up drifting to sleep when you climbed off of him, which was better for you, since you didn’t want to have to pretend to be in love with him.

You hummed as you slowly made your way over to your bed, fetching a magazine before you climbed onto the mattress and laid down on your back. You propped your feet up on the windowsill and began flipping through the glossy decorated pages, imagining that this position would definitely increase your odds of getting pregnant.

It wasn’t until the chill of October had set in that you found yourself in your hometown again.

You had missed Namjoon terribly while you were away recovering that visiting his house was the very first thing you wanted to do. You needed to see him desperately, to see if he missed you as much as you did him, and to see if he was worried sick that you had been missing for months. You’d never gotten a chance to tell him about the baby, so you were hoping he’d have a positive reaction when he saw you now. You knew he’d always wanted to be a dad, and you wanted to be the one to give him that joy, no matter what.

You walked the few blocks from your house to his, taking in the neighborhood as you did so. Even with the drastic change in temperature since you were last here, it was as if nothing had changed. Yet you couldn’t help but feel wholly changed on the inside. You’d realized just how precious life was while you laid in that hospital bed, and you didn’t want to waste another minute not being with the man you had pined over for years.

As his house came into view, you instantly knew he wasn’t home. His car wasn’t in the driveway and his lights were off. Nonetheless you knocked on the front door, waiting a few minutes before descending his front porch in disappointment. You wondered if he was at work, though you didn’t think so given the time and the day.

As you pondered on where to go next, a small red ball bounced against your foot. You bent down to pick it up, only to make eye contact with a small girl that had come running up to you. She had gorgeous tan skin and dimples with sparkling curious eyes.

“Sowwy…”

You smiled at the shy toddler, placing the ball into her tiny outstretched hands. “What’s your name?”

“My mommy says not to tawk to stwangers.”

Just then, a smiling blonde woman comes into view, rubbing the head of the toddler who hugged her leg and shielded her body from you. You looked up at her questioning eyes.

“Sorry! I always tell her not to play with her ball so close to the sidewalk!” You giggle, shaking your head to let her know the girl wasn’t bothering you. You can’t help but rake in her figure, lingering on her mid-section.

“How far along are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ah,” the woman rubs her belly absentmindedly, “just 3 months! It’s been so hectic, nothing like the easy pregnancy I had with this little one.” She pinched the cheek of her daughter, and you don’t miss the way the girl’s almond eyes turn into crescent moons when she smiles at the comment she undoubtedly doesn’t understand.

“No kidding, I’m actually 5 months along myself!” The woman’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh, congratulations! How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s not my first, but I absolutely love it. I feel like I’m glowing from the inside out.” The woman smiled, trying to contain her surprise given how young you looked. She followed your eyes as you glanced at Namjoon’s house for a second before turning back to her.

“Oh, you were looking for Namjoon? I think he went out to buy some supplies. Are you a friend of his or…” You furrowed your brow, a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach forming as you observed the slightly possessive tone in her voice. “I just, always used to see you around here, so I was wondering…”

You smiled brightly at the woman, watching her follow your hand on your stomach with her eyes. “Oh, it’s okay! He’s my boyfriend, but he’ll probably be a lot more than that now…” You smiled to yourself, looking down at your feet with satisfaction.

“Of course…” Yong tried her best to sound nonchalant, but you caught the way her voice sounded dejected, and she was suddenly looking everywhere else but at you. You looked down at her daughter, feeling a small seed of annoyance growing inside you.

“What’s your name, again?”

“Yongsun.”

“Yongsun,” You let the name hang in the air while you turned it over in your head. It left a bad taste in your mouth, “if it’s not too much trouble, can I bother you for a glass of water? The walk over here tired me out.” You both laughed half-heartedly, neither of you caring to feign friendship for much longer.

“Sure. C’mon, let’s get the nice lady something to drink!” Yong lifted her daughter onto her hip and began walking towards her home. You followed closely behind, hoping to find the answers you needed without having to engage in any more nauseating small talk.

You took in her quaint home with children’s toys strewn all about. The child ran to her play pen while the woman busied herself with finding a clean glass, leaving you with enough privacy to ogle at the pictures hanging on the wall.

You looked at a few of Yong and her daughter at the park before stopping at a family portrait that seemed to have been taken when the woman’s daughter was only a few months old. The man holding her, whom you presumed to be the woman’s husband, looked nothing like the kid.

Your mouth twisted in disgust, and you stomped out of her house before she could come back and shove her triumph over Namjoon in your face some more.

You hated her, and you hated him, and you hated their perfect little kid and their perfect little neighborly romance seeped in infidelity. You hated that you weren’t her, and you hated that he made you want to be someone other than yourself.

The annoyance you had felt when you had first laid eyes on the child had boiled into a violent rage that you couldn’t contain once you got home. You ran into your room and slammed the door, looking around for something to break. You started with the posters on the walls, tearing them down impatiently. The sounds of ripping paper made you feel better, but it still wasn’t enough, you needed more. Suddenly your hand flew across your dresser and knocked down all of your products. You shoved your lamp onto the floor too, panting and looking around wildly.

Your influx of emotions and memories brought on a headache that had you stumbling back onto your bed. You clutched at the sides of your face, balling your shaking fists as a haunting scene played inside your head like a movie. You saw her hair, flowing in the cold water, and her alabaster skin glowing in the dark. Her limbs were stiff, and her eyes were still open in the water, yet it seemed as if they still had enough life in them to stare at you accusingly. Her finger pointed in your direction as if to say you’re next.

Suddenly you saw yourself screaming silently, trekking up the side of the mountain in wet clothing, hiding in fear from your friends, walking aimlessly through the woods, trying to get home because you felt unsafe. You remembered desperately trying to put as much distance between yourself and them as possible because you needed you and your baby to live.

Now you hated them, too. They did this to you and Namjoon. They tried to drive a wedge in between you two. Maybe they were jealous. Maybe…

Maybe that’s why Namjoon was in love with someone who wasn’t you, because of them.

You punched your mattress repeatedly, feeling betrayed by the people you had called your friends for years. You tried to calm yourself down, knowing that negative emotions could negatively impact the fetus, but you suddenly felt anxious. You wanted to know why, why they would do something like this to you. You needed to see Namjoon. You needed to tell him everything and get answers from those bastards.

Suddenly, nearby giggling caught your attention for a brief moment. The sound came from outside your window. You lifted it up and peeked your head out only to find your block littered with costumed partygoers and children trick or treating.

You’d forgotten it was even a holiday today. Your favorite holiday, in fact, only because Hoseok would always throw great Halloween parties in which you’d all coordinate silly costumes.

You went into your closet and shoved hangers aside until you pulled out your old Snow White costume that would match the boys’ dwarves costumes. You tossed it aside, searching for your old go-to costume. After some rummaging in the very back, you pulled out the wrinkled black dress that you always used to wear every year. It was a nun costume, and it seemed oddly fitting for what you suddenly had planned for tonight.

You busied yourself with finding the mask that went along with it as well as a small blade you always kept handy, in case of emergencies.

The party was already out of hand by the time you arrived. More people than you’d ever seen at any of the boys’ parties were littered all throughout, crowding the hallways and even spilling out into the backyard. It was truly a sight to see, an army of goblins and ghouls and slutty princesses all congregated in a mundane family home.

You made your way through the crowds of people, shimmying and tip toeing along as you tried to spot anyone you recognized, which was already hard enough since everyone was in a costume.

But it didn’t take you long to spot the boys sitting around in the living room. Some had girls on their laps or beside them while others stood near them to listen to Yoongi’s story. They were all nursing almost-empty solo cups and their eyes were hazy with drunkenness. You shoved people aside and sat on the floor next to the man of the hour. He stopped to look at you for a second, no doubt measuring your suitability to be his next conquest for the night, before continuing his story.

You recognized his tall tale at once, because it was your story.

“So, I take my headphones out, to see if it was some creepy track playing on my phone, and the singing continues!” Nearly everyone in the room stared wide-eyed while Yoongi paused to sip on his drink. “It’s right in my ear, up close, and the woman starts crying, and I mean sobbing!”

“No fucken way! Oh my god that’s terrifying!” The young girl standing closest to Yoongi rubs the goosebumps on her arms. She’s dressed as a slutty crayon, as if you hadn’t already had enough reasons to roll your eyes into the back of your head.

You’re thankful that you’re wearing a mask, however, to hide the stabbing looks you’re sending at Yoongi and the rest of the boys who are pretending to be hearing this story for the very first time. You hated them, you hated them so much.

After everything you had went through with these guys, you had ended up being reduced to an ice breaker in the end.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your leg. It’s a soft yet determined touch, and your body instantly tenses up. You’re convinced it’s Jin, because you’d experienced this kind of thing with him so many times before, but you know it isn’t him. Still, you can’t help the way your head whips around to see who could possibly be hitting on the girl in the nun costume.

Your eyes meet a pair of disoriented doe eyes, and you realize a very drunk Jungkook is hitting on you. He shoots you a lazy crooked smile as his hand rides up on your thigh a bit. You withhold the urge to punch him as you let him feel you up a bit. You didn’t want to reveal yourself just yet. No, you wanted to exact your revenge in a way that would scar the same way you now were thanks to them.

You placed your hand over Jungkook’s and stood up, taking him with you. Without saying a word, you led him into one of the empty bedrooms in Hoseok’s house, all the while his friends whooped and hollered at the sight of their youngest friend finally getting laid at a party.

You shoved him into a room and walked in, closing the door behind you. He stumbled backwards and plopped down onto the bed, leaning back and spreading his legs while he watched you. You want so badly to wipe the cocky grin he’s wearing right off his face.

You stalk over to him, quickly climbing up on his lap. His smile grows impossibly wider, and he’s giddied at the feeling of your hands on his chest pushing him down onto the bed. He seems different, cockier and more experienced, yet he’s still slightly nervous, you note, so you can tell the Jungkook you’ve always known is still inside this douchebag of a person somewhere. His heartbeat quickened as your hands slid lower on his body, and he searched for something to say to relieve some of the tension.

“So, you’re supposed to be, what, a nun?” The boy gulped as your hands found the bottom of your dress.

“No, actually, I’m a ghost.” Jungkook looked up at you questioningly, taking in your costume again to see if there was a detail he’d missed. You decided to help him out by taking your mask off.

His body stiffened under you and he grew pale as you sat on top of him, smiling at the way his lip quivered in fear.

You reached under your dress and pulled the blade from the spandex of your underwear, turning the sharp object over in your hand and observing it in the light of the room. Jungkook cussed under his breath as he began to hyperventilate slightly. You revel in his powerlessness, wanting him to feel the way you felt because of him, so you slowly press the blade against his throat, causing him to turn his gaze up at the ceiling while muttering shit shit shit as he did so.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

“I I I I I d-don’t know he—he never showed up. H-he might be a Y-yong’s house I I I don’t know.” Jungkook shut his eyes, making sure to keep still so that you didn’t accidentally nick his throat.

You grimace, not liking what he said one bit. The way her name slipped so casually from his mouth, they all knew about her and never said anything to you. You must’ve looked like such an idiot. They probably pitied you, probably made fun of you behind your back.

Your hand at the boy’s throat began shaking, and you didn’t miss the way his fists ball up at his sides. Suddenly you turned your attention to him completely, knowing now what you had to do.

The boy was shaking underneath you, so you hummed soothingly, running your hand over his chest. You admired his body, taking note of the way his muscles protruded from the fabric. He had definitely filled out and bulked up when you weren’t paying attention to him. And he’d had such a crush on you, it was a shame he’d turned into a monster on the inside.

Your hand slid down his arm and picked up his wrist, slicing at his veins vertically for a few inches. He cried out in pain as blood began spurting everywhere. He moaned in agony, clutching at his wet arm and trying desperately to keep the wound covered with his hand.

“Kookie! Where the fuck is the beer we told you to go get an hour ago?” Hoseok’s voice chirped behind you, so you turned your head in time to see the boy bursting into the bedroom unannounced. He’d taken one quick look at you and averted his eyes. “Shit, sorry, didn’t think you were actually in here with someone.” He chuckled, stealing a look in your direction, and then another, until his eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. His eyes first caught the blood stains on the bed then flew up to meet your eyes. His breath caught in his throat when he finally saw who had stolen the attention of his friend.

“Y/N…w-what are you doing?” He stepped fully into the room, coming towards you slowly.

“Well, I was in the neighborhood so, I thought I’d stop by.” You regarded him warily, gripping the blade tighter the closer he got.

As soon as the boy took a few more steps, he finally caught view of the massive wound, and his expression crumpled painfully. “Jesus Christ Y/N. What did you do?! W-Why did you do this?”

The boy tried to swipe the weapon from your hand, but you moved it out of his reach then climbed off of Jungkook and held the blade up in front of you. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.”

“Okay, okay. Please, let’s just, talk.” His eyes were full of fear and concern, trained on you though they wandered towards Jungkook and the blade you were holding.

“Why should I talk to you? I have no reason to trust any of you. You all lied to me for so long. I SAID BACK UP!” You swung the knife as soon as Hoseok took a step towards you, causing him to stop and hold his palms up toward you warily.

“Listen, you have a right to be upset, but if there were things we never told you, it was only to protect you!”

You scoffed, “To protect me? So chasing me around the forest to the point of miscarriage was for protection? This is all your fault.” You drew in a shaky breath as the boy stared at your belly concealed by the dress.

“Y/N you’re…” Hoseok sighed, becoming antsier the longer the conversation dragged on. Nonetheless, he took a deep breath and spoke in a calm manner, “when did you stop taking your medication?”

“No…”

“Y/N, we can help you, just…” Hoseok lunged for the knife again but you quickly swung and caught his palm, slicing a line across the center. He yelped in pain, keeling forward and holding his injured hand to his chest.

You bolted out of the room and away from the house in a hurry to see Namjoon. No, no no no!

You just needed to see him, and then everything would be fine again.

You made your way to Yong’s house in a daze. You passed by countless witches and caped vigilantes who were all impressed with your commitment to scare as they took in your bloodied appearance and soiled blade in your hand. Someone even took a picture of you, but you didn’t have it in you to engage with them. You just needed to get to Namjoon and see for yourself if he had moved on from what you two had.

It didn’t take you long to reach his neighbor’s house, since Namjoon lived only a couple blocks from Hoseok.

You observed the house from the outside. It was dark, most likely to discourage trick or treaters, but not you. You circled the house, jiggling doors and pulling at windows until you finally found a way in through the kitchen. Sliding into the dimly lit household, you stood still and became part of the quiet that surrounded you, holding even your breath to see if everyone was truly asleep. You didn’t hear a peep, so you began stalking around the first floor, checking ever door.

You had stumbled upon the bathroom and two closets before you let yourself into a child’s bedroom. The walls were lavender and the shaggy rug that lined the small room was a pale pink in the night. A night light shone all kinds of aquatic figures across the walls as the child slept soundly at the center of her princess bed. You walked slowly over to her and leaned across the small bed to get a look at her tiny face burrowed into her pillow. She was adorable, and the fact that she was Namjoon’s was more than enough reason to love her, but she wasn’t yours, and you hated that. You just couldn’t get past it, no matter how cute she was. You frowned and sighed, exiting the room quietly then stopping in the middle of the living room.

You turned to look at the staircase that led upstairs when it occurred to you that they might be upstairs, sharing a bed as two parents might. Your nostrils flared and your breath quickened as you made haste to climb up one stair at a time as quietly as possible.

At the third stair, you finally heard it, a small moan, followed by another and another. Each step you climbed made the sounds more pronounced until it was undeniably the sound of Yong getting pleasured in her bedroom. You pictured Namjoon’s sweaty back, her pale hands clawing at it, her legs wrapped around his waist. Suddenly you heard a small giggle, and you pictured him peppering small kisses on her face that made her ticklish.

You clutched the blade tightly, your entire figure trembling as you reached the second floor. How dare he move on when we’re supposed to be starting a life together!?

You stormed into the bedroom, knocking the door into the adjacent wall with a bang.

“HEY DADDY!” You rubbed your belly as you stared at the lumps under the sheets.

The blonde peaked her head out and screamed as her lover pulled out and fell back onto the bed, regarding you with terrified eyes. He muttered a curse under his breath as he regarded your ghastly appearance while absentmindedly making sure the sheets were covering his genitals.

He wasn’t Namjoon.

“Who the fuck are you and why are you in my house!?” Yong’s husband yelled, looking at his wife and furrowing his eyebrows when he noticed the look of recognition in her eyes.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his outburst and focusing on her. Her hands shook as they covered her breasts, her gaze wavering.

“Where is he?”

“H-he’s p-probably at the park right now. P-Please just leave. Please.” There was a different kind of fear in her eyes, and as you looked in between her and her husband, you decided to let him be the one to deliver her punishment for getting involved with Namjoon.

You exited their house as quickly as you came, walking in the direction of the park. You were tired, your anger from earlier morphing into desperation to find Namjoon and tell him how you felt.

Part of you wanted to give up and give into your defeated emotions, but you convinced yourself to focus on one step at a time, and on what you would say to him once you finally laid eyes on him.

You only thought of a few things to say before you saw him, sitting alone by the swing set. He was staring down at his feet in deep thought, so much so that he had barely registered you walking towards him. He was sad, too sad to give you a proper greeting, yet somehow his lack of reaction to seeing you hadn’t surprised you.

You decided to sit in the empty swing that hung parallel to his, kicking your feet into the gravel as you swung yourself gently with the little strength you had left.

“I keep asking myself, why didn’t she pick me, but I keep coming up short.” He sighed and buried his head in his hands dejectedly.

When you speak, the sound is so gentle it surprises even you.

“Why does it have to be her? Namjoon, I’d pick you a thousand times over.” You threw your head back and laughed lightly, looking up at the stars above, “In every life, I’d pick you. If I lived as many lives as there are specs in the night sky, it wouldn’t matter. You would always be the one.”

He shot you a melancholic smile, turning to you to take in your appearance for the first time. His gaze wandered from your far off gaze to your hands, noticing the bloodied blade and the massive wound on your wrist that had painted your arm red by now. He frowned, looking into your fading eyes. “Y/N…did you do this for me?” His voice was dripping in pain as you slumped against the chain.

“Namjoon,” You took a moment to draw in a breath but found it harder to find the strength to get your last few words out, “I’d choose you every time, no matter what. So, choose me, just please choose me this one time.”

“I did. I did choose you.” He leaned over to pick you up from the swing and cradled you against his chest as he sat down on the dirt, brushing your hair out of your face with deep sadness painting his features.

You laid against him, giving into the tiredness as you took in your fading surroundings. You looked down at your bloodied arm, seeing the wound for the first time. You brought your hand to your stomach, unable to feel the belly you had been caressing for months. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, until you looked up into the eyes that were crying over you. Jin’s beautiful face was crumpled, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

You brought your hand up weakly to caress his wet cheek. He took your hand in his and squeezed it as you gave him a tired smile. With the peace that overtook you came the answers you had been searching for all along.

You’d had it wrong all along. It was you that hadn’t chosen the right one.

Seokjin held your lifeless body close to him as he wept. He had never felt like more of a child than he had now. He had failed you continuously because he was afraid. You made him want to be brave, but when it mattered the most, he still chose to let you save him instead. As he wiped the tears from his face, he was determined to hang onto the life preserver you had unknowingly offered him.

Jin only allowed himself a few moments to grieve you before he forced himself to put you down and walk away. He knew it was only a matter of time before Namjoon would show up.

Without a backwards glance, the disoriented boy made his way to Hoseok’s house in search of the people that would deem this all worth something.

He was covered in your blood, but everyone he had passed mistook his appearance to be a lazy last-minute costume.

As he crossed the street, his mind wandered back to that fateful night in the dead of summer. He recalled what his friends did to him when he confessed to having let you escape. He could still feel the relentless blows to his body as they took turns beating him nearly half to death. Some punches and kicks were softer than others, but they didn’t stop until he was within an inch of his life. They left him for dead by the lake before going to search for you. He knew they avoided killing him on purpose, which is why he called Jungkook as soon as his memory returned. It was something they did whenever they suspected a member of betraying them, as a form of re-initiation. If you somehow survived, then you deserved a second chance.

Jin wasn’t sure he wanted the second chance, but he felt as if he didn’t have a choice if he wanted to return to life as he knew it back home.

Jungkook had gone the easiest on him, so he felt safe calling him first. He had expected the relief that flooded the younger one’s tone when he heard Jin’s voice on the other end. But what he didn’t expect, were the conditions attached to his return. After Jungkook confided in Namjoon, they decided not to make things easy for him, since he’d deliberately backstabbed them all.

He was only allowed to return home if he finished what they had started that fateful night.

Jin let himself into Hoseok’s house, dragging his feet as he made his way to the living room. The party had thinned out, but the guys remained on the couches as they nursed their drinks and waited for his arrival.

He had expected them to be in their dwarves costumes as they always were every year, but he hadn’t expected someone else to be in your Snow White costume, at least not so soon.

The bubbly princess sat on Jungkook’s lap, staring at him in adoration while he checked his phone in pure boredom.

As Jin came into view, the maknae of the group looked up and smiled serenly, something shifting in his gaze. Jin simply stared back, resisting the shiver that threatened to rack his frame at his resemblance to Namjoon in that moment.

“Did you take care of it?” The boy put his phone away as the rest of his friends turned their attention to Jin, some looking impressed while others looked skeptical.

The tall brunette smiled back at Jungkook in pure irony. He realized the evil he had vowed to dismantle from the inside could never truly be abolished, it would simply take on a new form to survive.

He was a fool for thinking he’d ever be able to win. So, he vowed instead to honor your life by preserving his own.

“Yeah, it’s done.”

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shreddedleopard · 4 years ago

Text

A Christmas Wish & A Birthday Gift (Merry Birthday, Captain!)

Summary:

Historia intends to give the Orphans of Paradis a Christmas treat, and manages to convince Levi to assist her. In the process, the Captain ends up with a little treat of his own. Pure Christmas Fluff. Rivahisu, but not overbearingly so.

AO3

Fanfiction.net

Or read in full below.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, it’s Christmas Day tomorrow.”

Zackley’s rumbling tone cut through the meeting room in the military HQ of Mitras. He sat at one end of a long table, flanked either side by members of the government and higher military. At the other sat the Queen, with Levi at her side. The topic of discussion was the delivery of food and gift donations to the children of the underground. The scouts had worked their asses off gathering it all; now they just needed a little help from the other branches to get it down there. So far it was proving difficult to secure said help.

“Yes, correct, Premiere. I’m well aware of that. Which is why this proposal is so important.”

Levi was silent as he watched Historia speak beside him, eyes burning brightly. He crossed his arms, waiting for the protests from the brass to continue. He’d warned her this would happen, but she didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

Good. Neither was he.

“But how many children are there in the Underground? It would take a significant number of personnel to support the logistics of such an operation. You can’t really expect us to draft in that many MPs this late in the day? When they should be enjoying the festivities with their families tomorrow?”

Levi gnashed his teeth, uncrossing his arms to take a sip from the tea cup in front of him. Anything to stop himself biting out a response. Historia had asked him to let her handle things as much as possible. She wanted the opportunity to lead properly; he wanted to give it to her.

“We’re well aware of this fact, as you should have been a month ago when we first submitted the proposal for your review, Premiere. If you were familiar with it, you would also have seen that we have the support of the Special Operations squad and Captain Levi.” She gestured sideways to Levi, and he inclined his head. It was true, his squad had been more than willing to give up a few hours of their Christmas for her cause. Their cause. “As well as several other squads from the Survey Corps. They’re happy to assist with the deliveries tomorrow. The only support we need from the Military Police is the opening and manning of two stairways for a few hours. We’ve coordinated drop off points where children can collect the food and gifts that we’ve gathered, we simply need you to open up the Underground to the troops.”

Levi raised his brows as Zackley cleared his throat. He glanced sideways at Historia. Her cheeks were a little flushed, but she held that fierce look of determination she always got when she was dead set on something.

Nicely done.

She might not yet have the experience and wiliness of Erwin, but by nineteen, she had begun to mature into quite the negotiator.

Nile Dok ran a hand over his face, before frowning at the table. “Your Majesty. I understand why you want to do this, but surely one day won’t make too much difference? Why don’t we arrange it for the day after tomorrow? A large number of the MPs based in the districts of the entry points do have families. They’ll want to spend the day with their children. Are we really going to take that away from them?”

Levi couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“Must be nice, to have a table full of food, and a family you can sit around it with while you all enjoy the day. Unlike -”

He felt Historia’s boot meet his shin under the table. He grunted in surprise, and she seemed happy to take the opportunity to cut in.

“We understand. But it’s just a few hours; they won’t miss the whole day. We’ve coordinated everything to be as efficient as possible. Commander, we really need your help. The children need your help. Imagine a world where your own daughters couldn’t rely on the kindness of others should they ever be in a desperate situation. That is a world we wish to move away from.”

Well, shit. Perhaps she was more like Erwin than he gave her credit for.

Nile appeared to war with himself inwardly for a moment, his fingers stroking that pathetic wisp of hair on his chin. He sighed. “Alright. Fine. I’ll allocate the men. Providing the Premiere is happy, of course.”

Levi and Historia both looked over to Zackley, who was regarding them both shrewdly as he rested his bearded chin on clasped hands. “Well then. That’s settled. I think you both got what you came for.”

Levi felt Historia’s knee nudge his beneath the table, gently this time. He made to take another sip of his tea, hiding the way his lips twitched upwards behind the cup.

—

Historia practically skipped out onto the street as they headed for the carriage. “We did it!”

Levi climbed up into the cab after her, grumbling. “You’re the damn Queen. Shouldn’t have even needed to negotiate.”

She made a face at him as he settled into the seat at her side. “Stop being a grump. It’s Christmas Eve, and we’re going to make a lot of children a whole lot happier tomorrow!”

Huh. That was true, although it was going to take a whole lot more than a few turkey drumsticks and knitted scarves to solve the problems of the Underground. He didn’t voice this, though. He didn’t want to do anything to endanger the way she beamed in the moment.

—

Levi let her chatter on about the joys of Christmas as the carriage wheels clattered along the cobbled streets. For a kid that had been robbed of love in her youth, she sure seemed to have an abundance of it to pour out these days. One of the reasons he admired her so much. She told him animatedly how pretty the fir tree - the one his squad had felled - now looked, adorned with decorations in the playroom of the orphanage, and how the children had made Christmas cookies decorated with questionable looking snowmen, and how the holly she’d cut to lay across the banisters and mantlepieces had left her with several war-wounds.

Levi gave a small tch at that, taking her soft hands in his rough. He inspected the small cuts with an arched brow. “Barely even a scratch, brat. Call yourself a soldier?”

“Not any more,” she elbowed his side with a grin.

Levi grunted, releasing her hand. “Fair.”

—

They were less than ten minutes away from the Orphanage in Orvud when she sprung the request on him.

“Are you shitting me?”

“Go on, please!”

“Zero chance, Your Majesty.”

Historia pouted at him as she held up the red suit and hat she’d miraculously produced from one of the packages they were supposedly delivering to the orphans in her care that evening.

“The children will love it! I won’t tell anyone.”

“Absolutely not.”

Historia sighed wistfully. “Alright. I should have known you’d be the same as Commander Dok when it comes to these sort of things.”

He turned his head to look at her, eyebrows raised in disbelief. She batted her lashes at him, still wearing that ridiculously will-shattering pout.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Give it here.” He yanked the suit from her hands, doing his best to ignore her little whoops of glee.

—

The fake cotton-wool beard itched his face like hell. How in the name of the three walls did people willingly not shave? Facial hair was disgusting.

The door to the playroom slid open slowly.

“Surprise!” Historia exclaimed beside him, hands in the air.

The children stared, round eyed. She elbowed him.

“Ho ho ho,” Levi muttered.

That seemed to do it. Dozens of tiny feet pattered against the floorboards as the brats flew at him with cries of ‘Santa!’

Amidst the chaos of being accosted by the group of frenzied children, Levi felt Historia’s warm hand slip into his own. She lead him and his band of followers over to an armchair by the fireplace.

“Sit.”

He did as he was told, although he tutted quietly beneath the beard.

Historia turned to the children while gesturing to Levi’s lap. “Who’s first?”

—

And so it went. Kid after kid, they all perched their bony little asses on his thigh, told him what good little brats they’d been all year long (which, quite frankly, was a pack of lies from most of them) and they got a red and white striped candy cane for their trouble, which Historia surreptitiously slipped him. He spoke as little as he could help it, merely giving hums of agreement or nods of his head.

If Erwin and Mike could see him now, they’d piss their pants, the pair of bastards. Thank fuck Hange wasn’t around.

“Tell anyone about this, and I’ll kick your ass.” He muttered, leaning toward Historia.

“A promise is a promise.” She muttered back, pressing her hip into his arm.

The final kid, and the biggest pain in Levi’s ass, was a boy named Freddie. They went through almost the whole charade without problem, until it got to the part where he was supposed to slide off Levi’s knee. He didn’t. He turned his pink little face, framed with dark curls, up at Historia, and yelled, “your turn!”

That set them all off. A horde of banshees, all screeching about how Historia also needed to sit on Santa’s lap, because she had been the ‘goodest girl of all.’

Levi would strangle every last one of them. But not tonight. It was almost Christmas, after all.

He didn’t look at her, but he could still see from the corner of his eye that she was the colour of the shitty suit he was wearing. Huh. Served her right for coming up with such a ridiculous idea.

He patted his thigh, mirroring her earlier command. “Sit.”

Her ass was much less bony than the kids’, despite still being as petite as she was at fifteen. Her hand went to his shoulder to steady herself, and he felt the softness of her body as it sat flush to his.

Womanhood suited her.

He turned to meet her eye. The shared glance was momentary, before both had to look away. He could feel his own neck reddening now, too. He was finally grateful for the disgusting cotton-wool beard.

“What do you want?” He muttered.

She was staring resolutely out of the window. “What?”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Tch. For Christmas, brat. What do you want?”

“Oh.” She shifted in his lap, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from hissing at her to keep still. “Ah … well …”

“C’mon. Haven’t got all day - gifts to deliver, and shit.”

“Oi.” She jabbed him in the chest for his language. He grunted, poking her in the back to try to get her to hurry the hell up.

“Alright. For Christmas, what I’d really like … is for someone not to spend their birthday alone. I’d … like to celebrate my … friend’s birthday, with them.”

Well, that was unexpected. He cleared his throat in an attempt to hide his surprise. “Oh. I see.”

Suddenly, one of the brats near the back piped up. “Captain Levi! She means Captain Levi!”

How the fuck?

He peered up at her beneath his oversized hat. “Seems like someone couldn’t keep their mouth shut,” he mumbled. “Sure you’ve been the goodest girl?”

Finally, she looked at him properly. Her mouth curved into an apologetic smile, cheeks still glowing. “Sorry. But we really would like you here, with us?”

Her words made his chest go tight.

“Santa is coming to spend Christmas with us, too?” An excited voice chirped.

Historia fumbled. “Captain Levi. I mean, we would like Captain Levi here!”

Levi hated his birthday. Historia had only found out about it by accident. But now, it seemed, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place as dozens of little, expectant eyes stared up at him and the pretty Queen sat upon his lap.

To hell with it, then.

“Mmm. Sure the Captain could stop by. I’ll ask him to make time in his busy schedule. He’s got some presents to deliver himself, first.”

Historia seemed to get the joke. She squeezed his shoulder gently.

“Thank you.”

Levi nodded once. “Fine. Now shift, brat. You’re heavy,” he lied. “I’ve a dead leg.”

—

It was far later than it should have been by the time he made it to the front porch, after having one too many Christmas cookies and glasses of eggnog thrust his way. It wasn’t even damn Christmas yet. Not for a few hours, at least.

He felt a tug on the back of his red suit. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to get this scratchy shit off of him in the carriage that was waiting at the end of the path.

“Hey.” He turned to find Historia staring at him, her cheeks rosy, but this time likely due to too much eggnog rather than embarrassment. “You were wonderful.”

“Shut up.” Despite himself, he could feel his mouth twitching upwards beneath his beard. Damn him.

“You can take the beard off now, you know. They’re all in bed.”

Right.

Levi ripped it from his face, eternally grateful to feel the cold evening air against his clean shaven skin. “That shit was irritating as hell,” he grumbled, shoving it into his pocket. He looked up to find Historia laughing at him. “Oi. It’s not funny.”

She quietened, although she was still smiling when she asked, “you will come tomorrow, won’t you? Afterwards. Once we’ve delivered everything. I won’t make a fuss, promise. I haven’t even got you a gift.”

Levi shoved both his hands in his pockets. “Good. Alright. Not like I have much choice now, is there? Apparently Santa is going to have a word with me.”

She laughed again, this time softer. “I’ll look forward to it. Goodnight, Captain.”

Levi inclined his head. “Night.” He turned, but before he could take another step, her voice halted him again.

“Wait -“

He rolled his eyes, sighing loudly in exasperation. “What now?”

Before he had chance to process what was happening, Historia was on the porch beside him, leaning on her tiptoes as she kissed his cheek.

His eyes widened as she settled back to look at him. “Changed my mind; about the gift. Happy Birthday, Levi.”

Levi tried desperately to hang on to his trademark expression of boredom. He was well aware he failed miserably. “Huh. Not my birthday, yet.”

“Oh. Of course,” Historia gave him a shy grin. “True. I’ll have to give it you again, tomorrow, then.”

No longer sporting a cotton wool beard to hide his blush, Levi spun quickly around and marched down the path. He was sure Historia must know he was fighting a smile, though.

#happy birthday captain levi #rivahisu #santa levi #historia reiss #Levi ackerman #rivahisu fanfiction #levi x historia #snk christmas #queen historia

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