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maybege · 3 years ago

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... Stays In Quantico - FBI Part 2

Summary: Back in Quantico, you are reminded just how difficult your situation is. (Part 2 of the FBI Series)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.1k | Rating: T

Warnings: descriptions of an anxiety attack

Here we are! I am so excited to finally start sharing this story with you. Having binged through all 15 seasons, I just want to say now that (1) this story will be canon-divergent and (2) it will be a slow burn. It is my first longer story about Hotch and I hope I will do his character justice. As always, you can find the posting schedule linked in my masterlist.

Have fun reading and let me know what you think.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

“I don’t know what to think.”

“This is not the kind of job where you don’t know what to think.”

“I know.”

“Hard to believe from someone who just told me she doesn’t know what to think.”

You shifted in your seat. The office you were in was colder than the bullpen of the BAU and you wished you had remembered to bring your cardigan with you. Now all you were wearing was your short-sleeved dress and heels.

To be fair, you had presumed this would just be a standard meeting with the in-house therapist. After the incident in Kansas City, it seemed like standard procedure and you were glad to have been offered this opportunity.

Now though, sitting in the way too soft armchair with the brunette older woman looking at you over her glasses, this felt more like an evaluation than anything else. And you absolutely hated it.

You looked at the still-life of a fruit bowl on the right wall, right next to a bookshelf full of framed certificates. A woman who was proud of her accomplishments.

The first and last time you had had an evaluation was when you had first started working at the FBI and back then you had been sure that you had failed it. You had been sure you had failed all of it.

Your grandmother always used to say that if you looked for flaws long enough you would find them.

Dr Johnson looked like she spent her life looking for flaws.

“Tell me again why you chose to work for the FBI – and the BAU specifically.”

You would not make it anyway. Fuck it.

“There is so much hurt in the world,” you started, watching her eyebrows rise over the frames of her glasses, “I would feel better knowing I am trying to do something against it. And as for the BAU,” you shrugged, “Chief Sector Strauss approached me about it and I thought I would be stupid not to take the opportunity.”

She hummed, looking down at her file. “You don’t have any official FBI training.”

“No.”

“Any formal police training?”

“No.”

“Gun training?”

You hid your smile at the thought of the recent debacle for the gun qualification.

“I took down an UnSub in Kansas City last week,” you reminded her, “That is why I am here.”

She did not react to it. “In fact,” she leafed through the papers in her hand, “You only recently finished college. How did that go for you?”

“Good,” you nodded, trying to keep your knee from bouncing, “It was good.”

“What did you major in?”

“English,” you replied and when you saw her raised eyebrow, tried to elaborate, “Um, English literature to be exact and I have a minor in law as well.”

“Why only a minor?”

“Pardon me?”

“Why did you only minor in law? Were you not good enough?”

To cover the unease from her question, you crossed your legs. “I had no interest in law,” you answered truthfully, “My passion was and is with literature.”

The full truth was, you simply did not like law students. That and the pressure they were under was, you were convinced, what brought many lawyers to an early grave. But she did not need to know that about you.

Ironic that you had ended up in the BAU after all this.

Totally not stressful.

She said your name, then, slowly, and leant forward. You tensed, knowing that look too well. Was this the moment she would tell you that you had failed the valuation? The moment Hotch would come into the office and hand you your resignation with that disappointed look in his eyes.

Maybe the way Kansas City had ended was just a way to disguise the true going-ons of your work here in Quantico?

“You have been here, what, seven months now, Agent?”

“Yes, eight months, coming February,” you replied, meeting her gaze and swallowing the dryness of your throat.

“Would you say you have adjusted to your life here in Virginia?”

You frowned, “What do you mean?”

Dr Johnson made a vague gesture as if encompassing everything and anything, “Do you have friends here? Family? How do you get on with your colleagues?”

Well, you certainly had not been expecting this kind of question.

“I live together with a friend,” you answered slowly, “My family lives in Idaho.”

“Idaho,” Johnson smiled, “A long way from home, no?”

“Yes.”

“Look, Agent, I am not going to lie,” she sighed, putting her pen down on the notepad, “I am not sure if you are the right fit for the FBI.”

You’re not the only one, you thought with a grimace.

“I am sure you are a good person, that your motivations for working here are true,” she elaborated, “But your lack of training? Your lack of … experience,” she gave you a pitiful look, “I am simply not convinced you are cut out for the work we need here.”

You had always thought it but hearing someone else say it to your face hit deeper than you ever could have thought. Your fingers started to tremble and you clasped your hands together, squeezing them to somehow force yourself to remain with as much dignity as you could.

“Okay,” you nodded, taking a deep breath in the hopes that it would keep your tears at bay, “What – what does that mean?”

“As there are no reasons for a suspension based on your mental health, the next step would be that I get in contact with your supervisor,” she threw a look on her paper, “SSA Aaron Hotchner, is that correct?” you nodded and she continued, “A written evaluation of your role at the BAU will be requested and then we will go from there. Best case scenario is you won’t leave at all, worst case scenario …”, she trailed off.

Of course, she did not need to finish the sentence for you to know what she was saying.

Worst case scenario: You would leave the FBI.

Realization washed over you and you smiled tightly at her. “Thank you, Dr Johnson,” you stood up, reaching a polite hand out to her which she took, “If you will excuse me, I should get back to my desk while I still can.”

Dr Johnson smiled kindly at you which only made it worse. She was pitying you. She felt sorry for you. Sorry for your incompetence, sorry for you not belonging in this place.

You felt like you would throw up any minute.

“Of course, Agent,” she said softly, “I will inform your supervisor of my recommendation. You will receive a copy of the protocol within the next week.”

You nodded, not meeting her eyes as you hurried out of her office.

The staff washroom on the third floor was always empty.

You knew that from the fact that you had often used it as a refuge after nearly dissolving into tears in the bullpen. That and the fact that the third floor was far away enough for anyone of the BAU to search for you here made it the perfect place to come after your talk with Dr Johnson.

You threw a look on your watch.

Six minutes. You would give yourself six minutes and then you would go to your desk and work on those reports and show Dr Johnson that you loved your job and that you were capable of doing it. You would show her that you were not the anxious, incompetent student she saw in you but someone who could be an asset to the team.

I am not sure if you are the right fit for the FBI.

Tears shot into your eyes and you locked the little cabin behind you, sitting on the edge of the toilet as you rushed to grab a few pieces of toilet paper.

The first sob echoed in the tiled room and you pressed the tissues to your mouth, hoping it would muffle the sounds somewhat. Your skin felt too hot and too tight and you could already see how your makeup would be ruined by the tears no matter how hard you tried.

And you had left your backup mascara in your bag at your desk.

Great. Just great.

Anxiety filled you at the thought of having to prove yourself even more than before. After Kansas City and Hotch’s encouraging words, you had somehow hoped that the hard part was over now. That you could focus on delivering good work instead of questioning if everyone doubted your belonging in the unit.

But maybe they were and they were just too polite to mention it? Maybe Dr Johnson was finally saying what they all wanted to spare you from?

Tears were rolling freely over your cheeks now, dropping onto your dress and you cursed, trying to wipe it away and somehow keep your face dry. There were still quite a few hours left in the workday and although you hoped there would not be a case coming in today, you were working along with a team of profilers.

You were like an open book to them even if there was the agreement to not profile each other.

A look on your watch told you it was nearly time to go and you took a moment to listen if anybody was there before stepping out of the little cubicle. It was completely abandoned.

Much like you had expected, you looked an absolute mess and just seeing yourself in the mirror brought fresh tears into your eyes.

“Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity,” you echoed the motto, gripping the edge of the counter and taking deep breaths, “Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity.”

“Hey, kid, how did it go?”

You entered the chaotic bullpen, just barely avoiding crashing into Anderson before making your way to your desk. Reid was seated across from you which meant that no matter how much of a mess you left at the end of a day, it still looked comparably neat.

Now though, it was nearly empty.

“Hi Derek,” you smiled tightly, your eyes still irritated from your impromptu cry session as you sat down at your desk.

You had splashed cold water on your face in hopes of somehow feeling and looking better. Still, you immediately went for your bag, scrambling to find your emergency mascara and lipstick to sneak back into the washroom before anyone noticed.

Especially –

“Agent,” Hotch’s voice boomed through the office and you winced, feeling the heat of tears collecting in your eyes again. You stayed ducked over your bag, hoping that maybe he did not mean you. Maybe he wanted to talk to Derek or Emily or Reid or –

Cleanly polished shoes appeared in your field of vision and you swallowed.

“In my office. Now.”

“Yes, Sir,” you mumbled, hastily wiping your cheek of a stray tear before straightening and following him up the stairs. You ignored Derek’s worried look, instead choosing to straighten your shoulders and stoically look ahead.

This was but an extension of the interview with Dr Johnson. You could do this even if the man terrified and intrigued you more than he should.

You had barely stepped foot in his office when he sat down. “Close the door. Sit down.”

You did, feeling much smaller than you had in Dr Johnson’s office. His lips were tight and he looked incredibly displeased, even for Hotch’s standards. You must have majorly messed up.

His hands were clasped in front of him and your eyes fell to his fingers. You swallowed heavily, hands wringing in your lap as you waited for him to start talking.

“Dr Johnson just informed me that a written evaluation of your performance on this team is being requested.”

“Sir, I can explain, I –“

He raised a hand, effectively silencing you and your mouth snapped shut.

“You do not need to explain anything,” he said calmly, “Dr Johnson is only doing her job and after what happened last week, it might not be such a bad idea.”

You nodded, trying to not seem as nervous as you were.

“Do not worry yourself over it. I meant what I said in Kansas,” he stated, facial expression unreadable, “You are a valuable addition to this team and I look forward to seeing your contributions in the future.”

“Yes, Sir,” you looked down on your hands, trying to hide your nervousness, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Call me Hotch.”

“Yes, Si- Hotch,” you corrected yourself with a sheepish smile. He was sitting at his desk, hands folded on top of it as he looked at you. And fuck, it should be forbidden to look this good. You froze, licking your lips and hoping you would be able to blame it on the dryness of your lips instead of you imagining what it would be like to feel his mouth on yours.

Not the time, a rational part of your brain reminded you, So not the fucking time.

Shuffling through the crowded metro you pressed your phone to your ear.

“I promise, it is all right, mom,” you assured her, letting yourself fall into one of the free seats, keeping your bag pressed against your chest. An elderly woman threw you an offended look and shuffled away from you as if you had any interest in stealing her dog off her hands.

“I am just worried, honey,” your mom said on the other side of the phone, “We are all worried. It is a hard job, isn’t it? And why do they keep putting you up for evaluations? You haven’t even been there for a full year!”

“Mom –“

“Are you okay?” she interrupted you in that voice that only your mom had, “Truly okay?

Your head fell against the window of the wagon, the heaviness of the day washing over you. You took a shuddering breath, “No, Mom, I – I don’t think I am.”

There was a sigh on the other side of the line. She was disappointed and worried, you could hear it already and it did not help to calm the anxiety raging in your stomach. You could almost see her in front of you, the pity in her eyes and the little furrow between her brows.

“You can always come home, hon, you know that, right?” she asked carefully and you cringed at how quiet she was being, “We can still find somewhere else for you to work. A nice option. You can come back home and dad and I will help you. I know it can take some time to find a good position. But you had so much fun doing literature, why not go back to it? You don’t have to stick there if it doesn’t make you happy.”

“But it does make me happy, mom,” you protested, wincing at how desperate you sounded, before adding quietly, “Saving people is what I want to do. And I can do it.”

“I am not saying you can’t, sweetie,” she assured you, “But maybe it is not what you should do with your life, hm?”

You could see that the light was on in the living room when you entered the small hallway. The sounds of the TV washed over your ears and you smiled.

“I’m home!”

A non-committal grunt answered you and you grinned, knowing that he was probably too entranced in whatever crime show he was currently watching. You let your keys fall onto the little side table and made sure to lock the deadbolt before making your way to Josh.

Your heels made clicking sounds on the floor and you took care to be as quiet as possible. “Hi,” you grinned, waving at him.

Josh was tall and lanky. And despite being offended if you ever told him that – looked exactly like one would imagine a law student to look. He was always well dressed and took great care when it came to all things cultural. He drank the best wine, read all the important books, watched all the niche movies to impress people.

Sometimes you joked that of the two of you, he was the one who could be expected to work for a government institution.

“It’s late,” he commented, nodding to the screen, “You’re usually here by the second episode.”

“I wanted to get some reports done,” you explained, shrugging out of your coat, “Had a chat with my boss today again. I thought it might be better to not give any more opportunities to criticize me. How was your day?”

“Boring,” he replied, “Attended that one event about intellectual property and want to lunch with a few friends from uni. You should come with us sometime, you will like them.”

You nodded, already thinking ahead of a day when you would have enough free time to join him and his friends. Dr Jones’ words about having a strong social life to fall back to echoed in your mind and you decided to make more of an effort to make friends.

It would be all right.

There was some Chinese takeout in Josh’s lap and you spotted a few grocery bags in the small hallway to your room and the kitchen.

“Did you get me the bananas like I asked?” you asked, slipping out of your heels.

Josh kept munching on his noddle, making a vague gesture that led you into the kitchen. And there, on the tiny dining table were two green bananas.

“They are not even ripe yet,” you called into the living room, “And I asked for four bananas, not two.”

“What do you need them for anyway?”

“I wanted to bake banana bread,” you said, turning to get out some flour and chocolate chips, “It’s an easy breakfast to have in the metro.”

Josh sighed, walking into the kitchen and throwing himself onto the black dining chair. “You barely eat at home anyway, that’ll just go to waste.”

“Which is exactly why it is nice to have something ready to eat on the go,” you explained, wondering if he had overheard your words.

Cracking two eggs into a bowl, you hummed. “I could bring it into the office,” you mused, starting to mush up the bananas, “I think JJ mentioned she liked it once.”

“To the colleagues that despise you?”

You frowned, “They don’t despise me. They are very nice to me, Josh.”

Josh took the last bite of his noodles, setting down the little container “By the way, Greg is coming over tonight.

“But it’s almost midnight,” you stated, throwing a confused look towards the clock, just to make sure, “Didn’t you say you will leave for that Seattle trip tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if it gets too late he will just stay on the couch,” Josh replied, shrugging. You nodded, not saying anything but knowing deep down that George would occupy the bathroom that morning so you would have to get up even earlier than normal.

That would be a stressful day.

#maybege writes #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader

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paterson-blue · 3 years ago

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Shadow of the Sea: Chapter 1

Summary: Kylo is used to being alone. It's how he's survived this long, in the cold ocean depths. He can take care of himself. Other creatures--other merfolk--are dangerous; he has the scars to prove it. Humans, however, are the worst of all. But one day, Kylo finds he has no other choice but to turn to one for help. The human he meets is nothing like he expects, and all he knows is he wants more. Is he willing to pay the price?

Word Count: 4,394

Warnings: fem!AFAB!reader, plot set up, kylo ren needs a hug confirmed, non-graphic descriptions of violence & bodily harm, brief mentions of blood & wounds, very vague medical descriptions lol, minor character death (happens off screen), oh but there's also one that happens on screen but it's brief, big time ocean nostalgia from your dear author— let me know if I need to add anything else!

A/N: Thank you @paper-n-ashes for beta reading! Icon behavior tbh.

Prefer AO3? I gotcha!

Kylo prided himself on his independence—his ferocity, his ability to fight his way out of every corner. His body was scarred and battle-hardened, but that didn’t matter. It was proof he was a survivor, and it’s not like he had anyone around him to care about his appearance. Most creatures he saw took one look at his massive form and ran.

He was intimidating, all muscle, his fins torn from previous fights. While his skin was pale, his scales were an onyx color; it made blending into the ocean depths easier. He couldn’t understand why merfolk’s standard of beauty was a brightly colored tail; didn’t it make camouflaging more difficult?

He guessed most merfolk didn’t care about that. They lived in large groups, colorful and cheerful and busy amongst other plant and animal life. Not many delved into the cold, murky areas Kylo had made his home. But he’d been there as long as he could remember, and there was no sense in changing things. He wouldn’t be welcome in the warmer waters anyway. They didn’t want him, and he didn’t want them.

So he kept away, and no one dared bother him. Those that did quickly learned not to. He had killed many creatures, and while it was all in defense, his reputation still preceded him. After all, he’d once fought one of the most dangerous predators the ocean knew, and he’d won.

He’d killed a human, after they’d captured him in their net. He’d overpowered them easily, yanked them from their boat into the water; he hadn’t even flinched when their little fishing knife plunged into his side. He’d watched with a furious gaze as the air left their lungs, their pathetic struggling eventually ceasing. Then he’d calmly cut himself loose from the netting. The knife wound had scarred over, but it was just one more to add to his collection.

Yes, Kylo prided himself on his abilities. He had no fear, no weakness; he never ran from a fight.

He was running now.

He’d been foolish. He should have realized why his normal hunting grounds had been so devoid of fish for the past few days—he should have seen the signs, should have been more careful. But hunger makes you desperate; makes you stupid. He hadn’t been paying attention, too focused on the singular fish he’d found.

It seemed to happen all at once. A sudden blow to his head that left him reeling, pain shooting through his skull as he whips himself around in attempts to find his attacker. A searing burn in his side the exact moment he feels a sharp pinch at the back of his neck. His head starts to spin with confusion, the scent of his own blood in the water.

He spots a figure out of the corner of his eye, and his heart leaps into his throat. It was a human, and they had some sort of weapon pointed right at him.

Kylo doesn’t think—he just bolts. They don’t seem to follow him at first, and he doesn’t understand why until he starts to feel the first symptoms of whatever they’ve injected him with. It makes him dizzy, makes his vision start to blur as a sickening metallic taste fills his mouth.

No, he thinks. I won’t let them do this.

He pulls strength from deep within and pushes himself to swim faster, farther. He hears a muffled shout from behind, and oh, they’re pursuing him now.

He swims frantically, skirting around rocks and through kelp forests, desperately trying to lose them even though he thinks he might hear the dull thrum of a boat motor over the thudding of blood in his ears. Kriff, he was so tired. It would be so easy to let the human magic overtake him, to sink to the ocean floor.

Was this death? A dreamless sleep that crept over your senses until you had no choice but to succumb to it? Kylo doesn’t want to die, not like this. Not where they can get to him, at least.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, doesn’t even know where he is until he catches a quick glimpse of a familiar rock formation. His mind is in shambles, drugged and panicked, lacking oxygen as his gills burn with the strain of his labored breathing.

A cove. Not too far from here. Too shallow for a boat, too rocky for humans. A cave to shelter in. Go, swim, fast, now, now, go.

The voice in his head doesn’t feel like his own—it’s frantic, urgent, thoughtless. Usually he was so composed, controlled. The threat of death had turned him into nothing more than an animal; he’s never felt so small.

He ducks and weaves as he swims towards the hidden cove, trying to convince himself he’s doing it on purpose and not just fading in and out of consciousness. If he can just stay awake a little longer, if he can just make it to that kriffing cave, he can die with dignity. Alone and cold, drugged and bleeding, but away from the humans trying to hurt him.

Kylo nearly loses his speed when he breeches the shallow waters of the cove, his mind wanting to shut down now that he’s made it. He forces himself to keep going despite his nausea and lightheadedness. His lungs are screaming, muscles aching; he scrapes his tail against the rocky outcroppings as he searches frantically for the mouth of the underwater cave.

It’s here, it’s here. I know it’s here, I’ve seen it, I mapped it. Where is it?!

His hands snag against an opening, just barely big enough for him to squeeze through, and he darts into it. It’s a tight fit, and for a brief second Kylo is terrified he’ll get stuck and pass out from whatever the humans hit him with—he’ll die, trapped, never to be found.

But then, quick as a flash, he’s through to the other side. The small tunnel opens up into a larger cavern, protected from the elements and decorated with several pools of varying depths. He’d explored it once, curious, thinking it would be a nice place to hide. It was a little too close to humanity for his comfort, but then again he’d never seen this area very populated. He’d figured he’d keep it in the back of his mind for later.

Turns out later was now.

Kylo pulls himself to the edge of the main and deepest pool, looking around urgently through spotty vision. There was a pool in the corner, half hidden by rocks—it looked shallow, but just deep enough to be submerged. Exhaling fast, he hauls himself up and out of the water, coughing and choking as his body tries to adjust from using his gills to his mouth and nose to breathe. It was never an easy transition, and he hated doing it, but right now it was what he needed.

He growls to himself as he pulls his heavy body along the rough stone cave floor, his normally nimble tail a dead weight. If he wasn’t about to faint, he thinks he’d be a bit more graceful. By the time he rolls unceremoniously into the shallow pool, his palms are all scraped up and bleeding. He doesn’t care; barely feels the sting. He’s not really feeling much of anything at this point, head spinning out of control.

Laying like this on his back, head propped up against the ledge of the pool, Kylo gazes up at the jagged rock ceiling. His lungs crackle as he heaves in breaths, heart still pounding loudly. It’s hard to hear anything else, and he wonders again if his attackers are closing in on him. Does it even matter? His dying mind questions. He doesn’t have an opportunity to think of a retort before his body finally breaks, and he succumbs to the drug induced sleep.

—————————————————————

You wake to the familiar sounds of distant crashing waves, whistling wind, and calls of seagulls. After years on the island, the noise was a comfort.

You’d grown up here, in this same cottage by the sea--been raised fishing, hunting for mussels, searching through tide pools. You and your siblings would bike into town to sell your wares at the local market before heading down to the pier to watch the boats come and go. It was a simple life, sometimes a little isolated, but it was good nonetheless. You loved the island and the ocean, and held great respect for them both. If you honor them, they will honor you--at least, that’s what your mother always said.

Your siblings grew up and moved to the mainland, but still you stayed. Got yourself a little apartment in town above the local grocery, worked at the marina as a clerk, and visited your parents on the weekends. When your mother passed, your father followed just weeks later—a broken heart, everyone said. Suddenly, your beloved little slice of heaven—of home—belonged to you.

So you moved back into the cottage you grew up in, a place haunted by the ghosts of memories and the sounds of the sea. If you’re being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t trade it for the world, no matter how many times you pretend to entertain your siblings’ urging to rent the place out. Think of all the money you’d make. It’s the perfect vacation spot.

Maybe so, but you don’t care. You don’t want strangers in your home—not those tourists who come to fawn over the village, who eat up the landscape with cameras without really seeing it, who gawk at the fishermen, who laugh at the prices at the market. They would probably call your cottage quaint and cute. You could picture them tittering over your family photos on the mantle, over the door frame where heights had been marked over the years.

Tourists, who both long for and pity an isolated life on the ocean. Oh, they have it so easy here, away from the stress of the city. Oh, could you imagine living this way, barely scraping by?

No, you didn’t want them in your home, a place so sacred. You didn’t care what money you were missing out on—you got by fine with your pay from the marina, and picking up shifts at the local cafe. You loved your cottage—savored every creaky floorboard, every leaky windowsill. The drip of the bathroom faucet, the howl of the sea wind through the chimney—these were the sounds of familiarity, of safety. No one would appreciate them like you did.

Twisting around in bed, you turn your gaze towards the open window that was letting in a fresh, salty breeze. It was early, the light still dim and grey, the air a little chilly. It makes you want to curl back up under your covers, catch a couple more hours of shut-eye. It was your day off, after all; you could afford to sleep in.

Except.

You sigh, scrubbing your hands over your face as you remember what your yesterday brain had planned. You’d told yourself you’d get up in order to gather mussels at low tide. There were plenty of tide pools around, especially in the caved area of the cove. It was your family’s little secret—the hidden grotto was all but invisible from the outside. The only reason you even knew about it was because your brother had been too adventurous for his own good as a child, always getting into places he shouldn’t.

Mussels, clams, seaweed, probably fish in the deeper tide pools—maybe some sea urchin you could sell at the market. Your stomach growls.

Well, that’s that.

Groaning, you haul yourself up and out of bed, wincing at the cold hardwood on your bare feet. You bounce on your toes, shivering, goosebumps appearing on your skin as you pad over to close the window. Despite growing up here, you were always surprised at the temperature. You stubbornly let in the breeze at night, all bundled up under your covers, pretending when you woke it would be nice and warm.

But nope, not here; even in the dead of summer the mornings were chilly. Sometimes you dreamed that you lived on one of those big, luxurious, heated beaches—hot sun and white sand as far as the eye could see, no craggy cliffs or rocky shores. Eh. You probably wouldn’t like it much anyway, too used to your own environment.

Glancing at the clock, you quickly throw on some warm clothes, half-assing your regular morning routine before grabbing your tide-pool hunting essentials: a flashlight, knee-high waders, a large bucket, and your trusty fishing knife. You take a deep breath at the front door, bracing yourself for the chill. Just think of the feast you’ll have later. And you can reward yourself with a hot bath and long nap.

It’s not too long a distance from the cottage to the rocky shoreline, and while the low tide has revealed the tempting sand leading towards the rolling waves, you head towards the jagged outcropping to the left. Years of following the same path means it doesn’t take you long at all to find the hidden entrance and carefully make your way into the cavern.

In the middle of a sunny day, light shone in through various cracks in the ceiling, glinting off the water and creating flickering reflections against the stone walls. Sometimes you came here just to think, or to take a dip in the largest pool. The water was always warmer here, protected from the full power of the currents by the rock face.

Now, however, it was dark—only the dimmest bit of grey morning light trickled in. You flick on the flashlight, humming softly to yourself. The melody echoes off the stone walls, and you set your bucket down at the closest tide pool, readying yourself to hunker down and get to work. The beam of the light scans the various pools as you turn to get your knife from its holder, and something catches your eye. It’s not much, and honestly if you weren’t so familiar with the cave you probably wouldn’t have noticed the dark shape in the far corner pool.

At first, you do a double take, eyes sweeping over the little red-tinged puddles on the floor. Blood. You grip your knife, mind racing with possibilities. Was there someone in here with you? Surely not. No one ever came out here. Swallowing hard, you take a couple steps towards the corner, torch in one hand and knife in the other. As you get closer, your gaze tracks the diluted blood trail into the pool, and at first all you notice is the black scales and fins of a fish. The grip on your knife loosens just a little, the fear of a possible threat fading.

It's a big animal, you can tell that even as you make your way over, and you wonder idly how it got in. You knew, logically, that the cave connected to the ocean somehow, but you can't imagine the tide being so high for a fish as large as this one to find its way into the back corner. You’re focused on this conundrum as you round the ledge that’s been shielding the animal from your full view--so much so that it takes you more than a couple moments for your mind to compute just what it's seeing.

The tail is thick and muscular, decorated in obsidian scales that lead to delicate looking fins at the bottom. There were smaller, fan looking fins on the sides of the tail--they were all ripped up, as if they had been torn in previous fights. Your brain clocks all of this in seconds but doesn’t dwell, because it’s focused on the top half of the animal--creature--merman.

Merman. A fucking merman.

The ebony scales at the waist fade seamlessly into pale skin and lean muscle, revealing a long, firm torso. If you weren’t so aware of the tail, you might--might--think he could pass for human. Well, except for the webbed fingers and razor-sharp nails adorning each of his hands. He’s half submerged in the water of the pool, dark hair covering part of his face so you can’t see it.

You stand there, frozen, staring, not quite knowing what to do. You weren’t… scared; weren’t even very surprised aside from the initial shock of seeing him. You’d grown up hearing stories, traditions, tales—it was more than folklore here on the island. Some of the elders believed in merfolk more than ghosts, more than aliens, more than god.

Mr. Mackenzie told tales of mermaids luring in his shipmates as prey, drowning them. You always thought they were just stories designed to scare children away from dangerous tides—and maybe they were. But other accounts, you weren’t so sure of.

It was the wonder on Ms. Fraser’s face when she recounted the long-ago memory of swimming along sandbars with a girl who could breathe underwater. It was the quiet reverence of Mr. McDougall’s voice when he whispered about removing an old fish hook from a merman’s tail. It was the tears in Mrs. Buchanan’s eyes when she insisted merfolk rescued her husband from a fishing boat wreck.

You believed them. You always had, even if you’d done it silently, bashfully. You knew those who still made offerings to the ocean and to the beings that dwelled within the depths. Your island community believed in things not seen, but passed down through generations of storytelling. It was your history, kept alive despite first hand encounters becoming few and far between.

Except, here it was—your own little slice of history, right in front of you. If you took a couple more steps, you could reach out and touch it.

Is he breathing?

The little voice in your head brings you back down to your body, and a sudden fear overtakes you. You can’t let him die—if he was even still alive to begin with. You glance nervously at the pinkish trail of blood leading to the pool; the sight makes you reach some sort of resolve.

Hyper-aware of the claws on his hands, you kneel down beside him, hesitating only briefly before you settle your hand on his large bicep. He doesn’t stir, and your stomach twists unpleasantly. Your hand slides down to his wrist, and while you can admit you aren’t an expert on merfolk anatomy, surely you’ll be able to feel a pulse from the spidery blue veins under his pale skin.

Relief washes over you in a wave when you do, indeed, find a pulse—slow, but strong. Okay, not dead then. Still, he doesn’t move, so you take it upon yourself to move his damp hair out of his face, curling it behind his prominent ears.

He’s handsome.

You feel yourself flush, immediately chastising yourself for the thought. This was—best case scenario—a complete stranger who was wounded and in possible danger. Worst case scenario… you didn’t want to think about. Needless to say, it was no time to be thinking about his level of attractiveness.

You force yourself back into action, cupping his head as you hold your hand under his nose. His breathing is steady, and you gently lay his head back where it rested on the rock ledge. Your fingertips brush against something, and you frown as you realize he has a lump on the back of his skull—as if he’s been hit. You can only hope it hasn’t done too serious damage; it wasn’t like you could really take him to the hospital.

Your attention moves down his body, and you make yourself bypass the gills in his neck in order to properly gauge his wounds. Minor cuts and scrapes littered his skin; from the number of scars decorating his form, you figure these aren’t a big deal, no matter how nasty they look. Not compared to the gash on his side, at least.

You wince when you see it, the delicate flesh torn open and ragged. The cut makes you think it’s from some man-made weapon, and you shake your head in disbelief. Who would want to harm a merman? Around here, it would be blasphemous to do such a thing.

Blood no longer seeps from the wound; you hope that’s a good sign—and that the salt water has somewhat cleaned the area. You think it may have needed stitches, but you’re no doctor with the ability to do such a procedure. If you're being honest with yourself, it’s probably far too late for stitches anyway. The wound would be another nasty scar, likely similar to the one marring his face, but the area isn’t red with infection. That’s a good sign, right?

You sigh, feeling helpless. You want to do something for the creature. There’s only one thing you can really think of. Chewing on your bottom lip, you study his face again. He still seems unresponsive, and you can only hope he stays that way a little longer.

The short trek back up to your home feels the longest it’s ever been, and your legs and lungs are burning by the time you rush through the front door, having run the entire way. You heave in breaths as you pack some supplies into a bag. It wasn’t much, but you should be able to use the waterproof gauze and antibiotic ointment to dress the nasty-looking scrapes on his hands and chest.

You hesitate for a moment before going into your bathroom and grabbing the waterproof pillow you had in the tub. Maybe it was silly, but you hated thinking about him lying on the hard ground for fuck knows how long. You almost grab some food for him—maybe the fish currently thawing in your fridge—but you decide not to. You weren’t sure what he ate, and there was no telling when he’d wake up anyway.

Your breathing has just settled back to normal by the time you’re jogging back to the cave, careful not to slip on any of the wet grass and rocks. The sun starts to peak out of the morning clouds, letting pale beams of light warm the grey morning. The cavern is illuminated slightly better when you enter; you find you can lay the flashlight at a distance and see just fine.

The merman is still asleep, and you feel a little relieved. You aren’t exactly sure what will happen when he wakes up—for all you know, you’ll return later in the day to find him gone. As it is, you plop down next to the pool he was in and get to work patching him up the best you can.

Taking the towel you brought with you, you dab at his scrapes, trying to dry them a little before applying the ointment and then carefully using the gauze to cover the wounds. His palms are so torn up that you wrap them completely, your brows knitted the entire time. It must hurt, but still, he doesn’t stir.

Finally, you’re left with the gash in his side. You debate with yourself as to whether you should cover it or not—if you even can. The front of his torso was out of the water with the way he was laying, but that could change at any second, and any real pressure on his body would cause him to sink into the pool.

Your urge to help him wins out in the end, and you decide you’ll try to bandage it to protect it from any further irritation, despite knowing water would seep in regardless. You lean forward, extra careful not to lose your balance as you pat at his pale skin with the towel once more. It’s an awkward angle and slow work, you trying your best to be gentle with him.

You add as much ointment as you dare to the bandaging, not wanting to put too much onto an open wound, before fixing the gauze to his torso with some waterproof medical tape. There. Sure, it wasn’t going to work a miracle but at this point you weren’t sure what else to do.

He’ll be okay, you tell yourself. He’ll be okay.

You take a moment to watch the rise and fall of his chest, reassured by the movement. Your gaze again drifts to his tail in fascination—you hope that, maybe, you’ll come back later and he’ll be awake. Maybe he’ll be friendly, maybe the two of you can talk. It’s illogical, you know. This wasn’t some fairytale, this was real life. You honestly just hoped he didn’t try to rip you to shreds on sight.

It’s with this thought in mind that you shift away from him, telling yourself you can’t sit and watch him all day. You have several other pools to collect mussels from, breakfast to cook, chores to do. You’ve done enough, and you have to trust that his body will do the rest—you refuse to entertain the idea that he might not make it.

Sighing, you pull yourself further away, but then remember the pillow you’d brought along. You grab it quickly before shuffling back towards him. He’s got a large lump of seaweed shoved haphazardly under his head in what you assume was a desperate attempt to soften the rock face underneath.

His damp hair is surprisingly soft when you gently lift his head to clear the ground of debris. You can’t help but run your fingers through it gently, brushing it behind his ears, almost trying to soothe his subconscious. You settle the small foam pillow in place, and slowly let his head and neck rest against it. You hope it makes some sort of difference, though you know it might be a childish thought.

Your task finished, you force yourself away from him once more, even though you suddenly ache to continue touching him. Picking up your things, you continue on your mission of prying mussels from each tidepool. You move slower and quieter than you normally would, shooting the merman furtive glances every few seconds.

By the time you’re finished with the last pool, you can’t find an excuse to linger any longer. He was as safe as he was going to be. The only thing left to do now was wait. You spare your new charge one last lingering look, then grab your things and head back to the house.

______________________________________________________________

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@leatherboundbirate @fathersonandhouseofgucci @paper-n-ashes @direnightshade @jynzandtonic @glassbxttless @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @hopeamarsu @mariesackler @millenialcatlady @sacklerscumrag @peachyproserpina @cornmousequeen @eagerforhoney @icarusinthesea @heartofjakku

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x fem!reader #kylo ren x afab!reader #kylo ren #kylo ren fic #merman!kylo #merman au #multi chapter #tori writes #feedback always welcome & appreciated!

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lynnpaper · 3 years ago

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idk if you’re still taking prompts but if you are: can you do “there’s something on your shirt. you—that’s blood!” and/or “let’s get you cleaned up and in bed” with anakin and ahsoka?? 💖💖💖💖 love your hurt/comfort with these two

from these prompts

i can, i hope, do that. 💕

read it on AO3

The gunship jolts and Ahsoka stumbles, her knuckles whitening as she grips the handhold tighter. She is nowhere as tall as the clones or her master—her arm aches where she has to stretch to reach it.

Too long—they’ve been here too long. Haven’t slept for too long. Haven’t eaten for too long.

“Careful,” Anakin says. He places a hand on her shoulder, as if it will steady her at all. If he looks hard enough, he can almost see her adrenaline crashing, see the exhaustion sinking into her bones with every passing second.

Hold on, he thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud, because of course Ahsoka doesn’t want the rest of the 501st to hear the admission that she’s only barely holding it together right now. The last thing she needs is a group of overprotective vod’e fawning over their little commander, or having to witness Anakin literally tear her out of their overprotective arms.

Not that she wouldn’t appreciate it, but—

The gunship jolts again. Ahsoka winces, staggering in place. Before she can lose her grip on the handhold, an arm slides its way around her waist, tugging her against a solid, warm body, still smelling of scored carbon and engine grease and ozone.

Anakin keeps his eyes trained on the wall opposite, but Ahsoka looks at him gratefully, leaning into his side.

Then the brightness of the hangar sparks a new headache behind her eyes, and she’s walking down the ramp on shaky legs, and one of her sabers is bumping against a bruise on her thigh which isn’t as painful as it should be. She stands beside Anakin with her hands clasped behind her back (to hide the way they tremble, of course) as he debriefs his men and gives the final orders for ship maintenance and repairs, but nothing truly sticks.

She counts to four-hundred-and-twenty-seven before Anakin turns to look at her at last.

“Ahsoka?” he presses. He raises a hand and snaps it a couple times in front of her face.

Ahsoka sways a little, blinking dazedly, and Anakin wraps his hands around each of her arms before she can topple.

He slowly leads her back to his quarters, a palm pressed between her shoulder blades. It must be a little uncomfortable; cold durasteel under a glove. But when Anakin takes his hand away in the middle of a crowded corridor, she stops and looks up at him with a puzzled expression, and it is only when he replaces it and gently nudges her forward again that she gathers enough thought to move her legs once more.

The realisation hits him far too slowly—that he overlooked this, that she’s so tired that she’s conserving her strength just to walk, and he’d gone ahead and yelled at her to keep up while blaster bolts rained down on them from all different directions.

Anakin leaves her halfway to unconsciousness on the couch in his quarters. He finds clothes for her in her room, padawan tunics and robes she never wears, in a drawer she never touches. Ahsoka would never ask for him to take the trouble, or to go out of his way to coddle her, except he’s not—it’s not coddling. And it’s no trouble at all.

When he returns, she hasn’t moved at all, save for her head slumped against the armrest.

It must be a violation of multiple galactic laws to wake her.

Anakin taps her shoulder once, twice. Ahsoka scrunches her face in displeasure before turning her head away and sluggishly blinking awake again. Her gaze lands on the bundle of clothes under his arm, and Anakin can almost feel the needle of guilt worming its way into her chest.

Anakin searches her vacant expression for any sign of his words registering at all, and finds none.

He hopes she doesn’t hear him sigh inwardly. “Lets clean you up and get you to bed, okay?”

Ahsoka nods faintly.

Maybe he should be concerned that she does not protest when he all but drags her to his room, retrieves a damp washcloth from the fresher, and sits on the edge of the bed so he’s level with her before wiping the dirt and grime from her face. Ahsoka keeps her eyes trained on the far wall, closing them when the cloth brushes too close to her eyelids, flinching when it rubs against the cut on her brow—which he’d missed previously, because it had been obscured by more dirt.

Anakin sighs.

Ahsoka shies away, pushing at his hand weakly. Force, if he doesn’t want to waste his time doing this then he shouldn’t. She can manage herself—

“Hey,” Anakin says sternly, catching her wrist.

She risks a glance up at him, tracking the bits of dirt staining the cloth in his hand, and a more vibrant spot of almost-dry blood. The last thing she wants is for Anakin to be acting out of a… misguided sense of duty, or something.

“Stop that,” Anakin says.

Ahsoka huffs.

“You’re thinking very loudly.” Anakin gently turns her head with a finger against her jaw, rubbing at a spot on her lek, and she shivers. “Okay?” he asks, gentler this time.

Ahsoka nods. The washcloth touches her face once more.

Anakin loses track of how long his padawan stands there, dead on her feet. At some point her fingers close around his arm as her legs threaten to give out again, and he pulls her forward as gently as he can, trying to remember how they got here in the first place.

The clasp on her belt is easy to undo, but he knows she would probably fumble with it in her state. Anakin debates helping her peel off the rest of her clothes altogether, stained with the red dust from the ground of the planet they’d come from.

But—yes. No. Yes. Her dignity can wait, he thinks. Sleep cannot, and neither can his nerves. It’s not selfish, he tries to convince himself, that he wants her to be clean and comfortable before she sleeps— and she doesn’t have to be clean to be comfortable, but it certainly helps—

Anakin reaches for the fabric bunched at her waist before his mind can go to battle with itself. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen it all already—there is no dignity in war, or in makeshift medbays on desolate planets, or in transparent bacta tanks. Still, he turns her around before pulling her tunic over her shoulders—if he can preserve a little bit of what they will all lose inevitably then he will—and looks away to take a clean tunic from the pile, keeping his hands far from her body as he hands it to her and she slips her arms through the sleeves.

Still, Ahsoka doesn’t complain or even try to cover herself—Anakin wonders if she even cares, and if it should worry him if she doesn’t. She’s a teenager, and teenagers are supposed to care about things like this.

But she will never really have a chance to be a teenager. She does not act like one at all, sometimes—a soldier, perhaps, but not a child.

It’s difficult to tamp down on the dread in his gut when he wraps a hand around her upper arm and his fingers very nearly overlap. Military rations will never be enough.

He turns her around again and she follows without thinking, and then there’s the warm numbness of bacta on the cut on her forehead and the soft familiarity of a palm on her cheek, and the resounding rush of warmth comes with a rush of momentary coherence.

Ahsoka blinks again, almost as if she’s blinking tears away, as if she is only now realising that the firm pressure on her back had been his palm, and the gentle nudges had been his hand, and the fleeting loneliness of Anakin leaving her in his quarters had only been an excuse for him to retrieve her kriffing clothes. “Master. I apologise, I—”

Oh, this again.

“Shh,” Anakin whispers.

“You don’t need to—”

“Quiet, Ahsoka.” I apologise is the first thing she’s said since they returned, and his chest tightens because it is, of course, an apology. Ahsoka only apologises when she has nothing else to say, or when she feels that she’s done something wrong—which she hasn’t—so really he should be the one apologising for taking forever to get to her in the first place—

“I’m sorry,” she says again, and a flicker of surprise flits across her face, as if she cannot believe the betrayal of her own voice against her.

“Boots,” Anakin replies, instead of it’s alright; don’t apologise; you’ve nothing to be sorry for.

Ahsoka tugs them off and dumps them unceremoniously at the foot of the bed. With the realisation of what she’s just done—as well as its implications—comes a confused frown, furrowing its way onto her brow. “Am I—” she glances around the room, like she hasn’t seen it a hundred and one times already. The weariness is back, ebbing from the curl of her fingers beside her aching thighs, slipping from the effort it takes to keep her eyes open.

“Yes,” Anakin says.

Her shoulders slump in relief.

It’s times like this that Anakin wishes he’d never lost his hand—pulling the blanket over her thighs, where he knows she very cleverly managed to hide a couple of bruises, as his palm lingers on her too-small shoulder. He wishes he could feel more than her pulse under the sensors of his durasteel fingers.

“Don’t need to fuss,” Ahsoka says distantly, more to herself than Anakin, who pulls the blanket over her shoulders just as she tucks her chin closer to her chest.

Tired, her mind supplies unhelpfully.

Anakin folds the blanket under her lek. “You did very well today,” he whispers.

It is one thing to understand she has done well. An undeniable claim, if the remnants of those droids littering the ground had anything to prove. But to hear it from him—

“Thank you,” Ahsoka says.

A heavy hand settles on her shoulder, over the blanket. The weight grounds her, the pillow a fraction softer under her mildly spinning head.

Ahsoka hums softly, lashes fluttering. You did very well.

I know, she thinks. I know.

#lynn writes #my writing #post-trauma sentence starters #snips and skyguy #hurt/comfort #writing prompts

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kasienda · 3 years ago

Text

The Five Minute Adventures of Snake Noir: Ch 6 - Miraculous Abuse

Chapter 1: I Want It To Be You

Chapter 2: Best Friends

Chapter 3: Best Laid Plans

Chapter 4: A Thank You

Chapter 5: Unwanted Revelations

Chapter 6: Miraculous Abuse

If Adrien had avoided using the snake before, he now was operating on the other extreme. Ladybug had told him to abuse it, and he’s not sure she would have meant it quite so literally, but well… he and Nino had come up with a list.

It had started with his homework. If he could finish his homework in far less time, he’d have more time to visit Nino and Marinette. Not that it took a lot of time to visit Marinette as it was usually a loop, so even if he spent hours with her, it never took longer than ten minutes as far as the rest of the world was concerned.

He unfortunately couldn’t do all of his homework in a time loop because that would leave whatever he had completed in the last five minutes erased. But he could do all the reading, researching, planning, and studying in a loop. Anything that didn’t require him to write anything down.

Nathalie had only walked on him transformed once.

“Yes, Nathalie?” he had asked, without looking up from his textbook. He hadn’t even thought about it.

She stood stock still and was dead silent. He glanced towards her with a frown - her eyes were comically wide, but that was the only sign that she was shocked. He glanced down, and remembered he was transformed at Aspik.

Read on Ao3

“Oh shit!”

But it had been easy enough to fix. He just reset, destranformed, waited for Nathalie to come in and deliver his schedule changes for the week and leave, and then he transformed again.

And then Nino had realized if he could pack all of his studying into the space of five minutes, Adrien could surely squeeze in some well deserved leisure time as well.

It only took 71 loops to read a hundred thousand words, and Adrien had long ago discovered the joys of fanfiction, but he had never really had time to read more than a bit here or there. Now? With unlimited time and an entire endless library of things to read based on his favorite games and anime? Let’s just say his current power set brought a whole new meaning to the phrase, “Just One More Chapter.”

And a season of anime was only 119 loops. Hell, he had gotten through all 981 episodes of One Piece in 4532 loops, which was still nothing compared to his time as Aspik, and honestly, far less traumatizing.

He had felt slightly guilty about it. He was literally using the powers of time travel to watch anime.

But when he mentioned it to Nino, his friend had just rolled his eyes. “Dude! You’re thinking about this all wrong. You’re a hero and we need you to be okay. This is about avoiding burnout as much as it is about having a good time. It’s so you get enough of a break and enough sleep to be a competent hero that we all need!”

But eventually the stories and shows hadn’t been enough to hold his attention. And he took another of Nino’s ideas and started paying visits to several of his friends.

He had gone to Kagami first. He had no expectations of healing things with her, but he had always wanted to be able to explain so that his apologies might mean something.

“Chat Noir? Is there an akuma?” she asked by way of greeting.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Ah, no. I wanted to talk to you about something, but I also have to erase your memory after the fact to protect identities. Are you okay with that?”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “You have piqued my curiosity. You may proceed.”

He nodded. He had already activated his power before he had landed in her bedroom that was definitely as lavish as his own if not quite as spacious.

“So… more than anything I wanted to apologize to you?”

She frowned. “I’m unaware of anything that you have done that would require an apology.”

“Kagami, I’m Adrien.”

Her eyes went wide for a second. “Ah, I see.” Then, she nodded.

“That’s it?”

“No, it makes a lot of sense.” And then she did something he never would have expected. She smiled. And most of his tension released.

“I just wanted to explain now that I had the ability to. That I wasn’t ever lying to you or running from our dates because I wanted to.”

“You had to sacrifice your own desires for a higher calling.”

“Yeah, that’s it exactly.”

She smiled at him again. “I appreciate you coming to explain and I understand completely why I can’t remember. May I ask you a question?”

“Of course!”

“Were you never in love with Marinette?”

“Well, I… uh… it was hard to see Marinette when I was completely enamored with Ladybug, but…”

She shook her head. “Are you in love with both of them now?”

“I mean, sortve?” He knew Kagami hated when he ended every sentence as if it was a question. “They’re the same person.”

Kagami sighed. “How disappointing.”

“Disappointing?! She’s amazing!”

“I know, but if she’s Ladybug and you’re Chat Noir, I have never had a chance with either of you.”

He felt like he had been thrown off a cliff. “What? You had feelings for Marinette?”

She grinned. “Well, she is amazing, as you always say. At least I know that I have really good taste.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have ruined all your prospects.”

“I will survive. Neither of you define me as a person.”

“You’re pretty amazing, too, you know,” he told her sincerely.

She nodded. “You honor me.”

He laughed. “Kagami, please don’t get all formal on me. I’m still just me.”

“Well, I hope you know that I appreciate all that you and Ladybug do for the city,” Kagami told him, ignoring his request.

“Thank you, Kagami. That means a lot coming from you.”

She nodded in acknowledgment and he knew he was being dismissed, and then he slid the switch on his bracelet and he was on the roof of her family’s manor once again his heart a little lighter.

He had gone to Alya after that. He had been nervous since she was the one who tended to push him aside as Chat Noir. But his fears proved to be completely unfounded as for the most part she could never stop laughing whenever he revealed himself.

“Wait! You’re Adrien?!”

She burst into cackles immediately.

“Why is that so funny?!” He has demanded the first time.

She had just grinned, shaking her head and still chuckling. “I wish I could explain it to you, sunshine.”

“I already know Marinette is Ladybug,” he said.

“Oh good! Then I don’t have to be panicked about accidentally slipping!” And she went back to rolling on the floor laughing.

“You wouldn’t happen to already know Marinette’s other secret would you?” she asked.

His eyebrows scrunched together under his mask. “Umm… that she’s in love with me as Adrien?”

Her face lit up. “Oh see!! You do get it!”

He shook his head. “I do not get it.”

“The two of you managed to get yourself in a love square. You’ve been chasing each other around like two cute little hamsters in hamster balls.”

He sighed, far less amused than Alya at the current state of his Marinette’s relationship. “I’m really glad someone is getting some joy out of this.”

“Hey!” she objected. “I’m only going to know this for another three minutes! Let me have my fun!”

He held up his hands in surrender, and he was smiling in spite of himself. Maybe some time in the future, after he and Marinette could be together, it would be funny to him, too.

“God! This is why it feels like I’m third-wheeling during akuma fights,” she exclaimed.

“You feel like a third wheel?!” he repeated in disbelief. “Have you seen the chaotic energy that is you and Marinette coming up with a plan together? I am definitely the third wheel in that situation.”

And then she was cackling again. “I’m sorry,” she wheezed. “Nino says I can be a bit of a bulldozer when I’m trying to find a solution to something.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he said dryly.

All the mirth fled her face and she looked at him in concern. “Hey, you okay?”

He nodded. “It’s not like I’m allowed to be anything else.”

“No, don’t say that! You’re allowed to be upset with me! I deserve it sometimes.”

He shook his head. “I’m never going to hold your ability to defeat an akuma against you. I just… have felt a little unneeded lately,” he admitted.

She stared at him for a second and then she burst into laughter again.

And despite still not getting it, he found himself chuckling, too. Her laughter was just that infectious. “Why do you find this so funny?” he asked.

“Because you’re a literal superhero and a model with more money than god, and a heart of absolute gold. You work with her as Ladybug so well I have to deal with crazy conspiracy theorists on the Ladyblog who think the two of you must be telepathic aliens!”

“What? People don’t think that.”

“They do! And it’s annoying. But my point is you’re the real deal, Agreste, and she’s crazy about you, and you know it, and yet you still manage to doubt yourself.”

“I’m glad my struggles and hang ups are so amusing to you,” he said with a pout.

She sat up and fist bumped his shoulder. “Aww! Sunshine! I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, your insecurity makes you seem sweeter and cuter. And it makes you seem more human. I don’t mean to mock you in any way.”

He searched her face and only found open sincerity.

“Thanks, Alya.”

“So, does she know that you know?”

“I mean, she doesn’t right now. But I’ve told her. Many many times, but it was just like this and she doesn’t remember.”

She softened. “That sounds difficult.”

“It’s apparently better than the alternative,” he said, going for nonchalance, but he didn’t fool her if her scooching to sit right next to him was anything to go by.

“I wish we could all fix it for you, Adrien.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“How are you?”

He shrugged. “I’m okay at the moment. Some days are worse than others. Nino… Nino has been a godsend.”

She smiled. “He is pretty amazing. He knows outside of a loop?”

“He does.”

“I’m glad you have that, Adrien. Marinette was falling apart at the seams before she told me.”

“Does he know about Marinette?” Adrien asked. Sometimes, it seemed like Nino knew more than he was letting on. But maybe his friend was just really respectful of secrets and didn’t ask questions.

“Not from me! And he hasn’t told me about you being Chat Noir either.”

Adrien glanced toward the window.

“Does it bother you that there are secrets between the two of you?” he finally asked.

“No, not these ones. They’re not our secrets. They’re yours, and they’re Marinette’s, so they’re not ours to share.”

“I'm jealous,” he admitted.

She offered him a sympathetic smile. “Someday, you won’t have to be anymore.”

The Snake beeped it’s first warning. “Time’s just about up.”

She offered him a fist bump and then a hug. He reciprocated both. “I’m glad you stopped by, Sunshine. You’re always welcome any time you think my particular brand of company is something that would help you.”

He grinned. “Thank you, Alya.”

“I look forward to the day when all four of us can just be open about everything,” she said.

He snorted. “You and me both.”

His went to his bodyguard next.

“I just wanted to apologize to you for always running off. I don’t mean to make your job harder or get you into trouble. I am literally running away to save the city.”

His bodyguard didn’t say anything. He never said anything. He had just let out a resigned sigh and then patted Adrien’s shoulder.

Adrien took that as forgiveness and reset the loop. There was no sense in sitting there in awkward silence for another four and a half minutes.

When he had told Nathalie one afternoon at her desk outside her office, she looked horrified - frozen as still as a statue trapped in Medusa’s gaze.

“Nathalie?”

“I… all this time?” she whispered.

“Yeah. I know it’s a lot. I know it causes you a bit of grief when I disappear.”

She waved away his concern. “Right now, we’re in some kind of time loop and I won’t remember?”

“But you will,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” he confirmed anyway.

“Adrien, I need you to listen to me.”

He nodded.

“I can never find out. Your father can’t either. If you need something because you’re hurt or cornered, or…” she trailed off.

Was she crying?

She cleared her throat.

“Go to your friends. Their parents. Just… not your father, okay? Or me, because I’d have to inform him.”

His brows furrowed together in confusion. “Okay?” It wasn’t hard to to agree despite how weird she was being. He knew Paris needed him and he also knew that his father would never let him continue. Especially if he was seeking help due to an injury or something.

That’s what Nathalie was referring to, right?

She patted him on the shoulder. It was even more awkward than when his bodyguard had done it.

“Adrien, you’re quite impressive as a hero.”

“Thank you,” he said with a smile.

And then there was Marinette. He had learned that it was impossible to tell her he was Adrien without making her cry, which was frustrating because she was also so much more open and affectionate once she knew.

“How do I get you to not breakdown when I tell you this?” he asked her seriously.

She laughed through her tears. “I’m sorry, kitty. I have no idea. It’s just… it’s not fair.”

He smiled. “That’s what Ladybug always says,” he told her casually. She didn’t know that he knew this go around.

“She’s right! You deserve so much, and life… it’s not fair!”

He turned to her seriously. “I don’t need life to be fair, Mari. I just… don’t want to have to wear a mask all the time.” And then he smiled. “I’m glad that you’re okay with me doing this.”

She nodded tearfully. “Anytime, Kitty. Anytime.”

Then during a regular patrol at one point. He had just realized he wanted to make her laugh. So he spent another few hundred loops figuring out which jokes made her laugh the hardest and which ones were absolute duds. Then, on a day when she was having a hard time, he showed up on her balcony and gave her the best one hour comedy of her life.

Her unrestrained laughter was so explosive she had literally fallen out of her chair. Totally worth it.

“Thank you, kitty,” she said wiping the tears induced by her laughter. “You have no idea how much I needed this.”

He hadn’t argued. “Of course, princess. I am always at your service!”

Then, he started working on the perfect confession. He was trying to see if he could get her to kiss him as Chat Noir without revealing his identity because, you know, that always made her cry.

“Can I use the snake to ask you a very important question?” He has asked Ladybug on patrol.

She nodded, and he activated it.

“What do you think it would take to get you to kiss me?”

She laughed. “Are you serious right now? That is your very important question?”

“It is,” he nodded, but offered her a huge grin so she could take it as a joke if she wanted.

“Why? You haven’t been able to be successful yet?” she teased.

“Oh no! I’ve been super successful. All I really have to do is tell you my name.”

She scoffed.

“No, I’m serious!” he boasted with a huge grin splitting his face knowing she only half believed him.

“So, why don’t you just do that?” she asked seriously.

“Because you always cry! And I don’t want to kiss away your tears. I want to make you smile.”

She got quiet. “You know, we can’t be together right?”

“Yeah Marinette,” he whispered. “I know that really well.”

It was silent.

“How long have you known?” she asked softly.

He had no idea how to answer that question. Because time was now very weird for him. In one sense he had only known for a few weeks, on the other he had literally spent so much time in loops that it had to have been at least twice that at this point. Maybe more.

“A while,” he said. “But we’ve already talked about that to death. I’d much rather figure out how to get you to fall desperately in love with this half of me.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You want me to fall desperately in love with you in five minutes?”

He shrugged. “We have a solid foundation of trust and friendship. I’m not starting from nothing. Plus, I’ve fallen in love in less than five minutes before.” With her. He didn’t think he needed to say that though.

She actually smiled. “Yeah, I’ve fallen in love pretty fast before, too.”

And it occurred to him that he had no idea what had made her fall in love with Adrien. He probably could ask her, but that was one more memory that he wanted her to remember having told him.

He could probably just show up on her balcony as regular old Chat Noir and just say something like, “So, Adrien Agreste, huh?” She’d probably tell him, and she’d even remember it. But she wouldn’t know that it was him she was telling.

How the hell had his life gotten so complicated?

“There’s no way I would start crying just from knowing your name though,” she said. “You have to be making that up.”

He just turned to her and raised his eyebrows.

The expression probably didn’t work as well with his transformation covering them.

But she still hesitated. “There’s no way!” she exclaimed, but then she got a thoughtful look in her eyes. “Unless…”

And then her eyes started welling with tears.

And he almost laughed. But he managed to hold it back.

“Oh, come here, bug,” he said instead, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her to him. And he just held her as she shook silently.

“It’s not fair,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said, and then kissed the top of her head. “I know.”

“Do you see my problem now?” he said after another pause.

And she laughed through her tears, which had been his intention, and he smiled.

She pulled away. “I’ve thought about it before, you know.”

“Thought about what?”

“Letting myself fall for Chat Noir?”

He hugged her tighter. “Yeah?”

“It never seemed like it would be that hard. I think if it hadn’t been for Chat Blanc, it would have happened after New York.”

He laughed. “Really? New York was when I thought maybe I should ask out Marinette.”

She looked up at him in horror. “Oh my god! We’re just perpetually screwed, aren’t we? We’re just going to keep missing each other over and over!”

He kissed her hand. “No m’lady,” he assured. “That can’t happen because now I know, and I can’t forget.”

And then she was crying again, harder. “I don’t want to forget either.”

“I know,” he told her, kissing her hand again. “I promise it won’t be forever.”

“I love you, Adrien.”

“I love you, too.”

And that time, of the two of them, it was he who was stronger and able to slide his fingers across the reset.

And he might have stayed in that loop far longer than he should have trying to figure out the way to the heart he had apparently already won.

He learned that she did enjoy his flirting whatever she said to the contrary, but the moments where he was vulnerable and genuine were the ones that seemed to move her the most.

But none of it was quite enough. If he wanted a kiss, he always had to tell her his name.

But despite his failure, pulling himself out of that loop was the hardest thing he had ever done.

And that’s how he knew he was in trouble.

…

“Nino, you have to take this away from me,” Adrien said, holding out the snake miraculous. He had just arrived and released both his transformations.

Nino took it, his eyebrows pinched together. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m scared I’m going to go into a loop and I’m never going to come out of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look! Being here with you, with you knowing everything, is amazing. It’s the only time I feel like myself, unless,” he held up the bracelet, “I’m using this and… it’s getting harder to pull myself out of the loops.”

“Your visits to Ladybug?”

“Yeah,” Adrien admitted. “She told me to go every single day so I would remember what it was like to be loved,” he paused for a second, trying to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. “The problem is I really really like being loved.”

And then he couldn’t hold the tears back anymore.

Nino pulled him by the arm down to the ground and sat right next to him shoulder to shoulder.

Adrien buried his face in his hands.

“For the record, dude,” Nino whispered. “You are loved even outside a loop with Ladybug.”

Adrien threw his arms around Nino. “I honestly don’t know why you put up with me at this point. I feel like you have to put up with a lot.”

Nino grinned. “Hey! I happen to like hanging out with you! This shift has been awesome because I get to see you way more often.”

“And I’m not like messing up date night with Alya or anything, am I?”

“Nah!” Nino waves away his concern. “Alya and I hangout in the mornings and during lunch. Lately Marinette has monopolized her evenings.”

Adrien managed to keep a straight face at that. “If you and her ever do need a day away from the children, I’m sure Marinette and I can figure out a way to take care of ourselves for a day.”

Nino burst out laughing.

“What?! I’m a big boy and Marientte’s a big girl. We can take care of ourselves.”

Nino just shook his head, still snickering.

“Maybe all four of us could do something some time,” Nino suggested, his eyes sparkling.

Adrien narrowed his eyes. Did Nino know? He knew he couldn’t ask without giving it away, and he had just handed over the snake.

“That sounds really nice,” Adrien said, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle going on a double date that he had to pretend wasn’t a double date. But someday.

He wanted to cry again, but his eyes remained dry.

“So, you just want me to keep it?” Nino asked, holding up the bracelet. “Should I hide it here in the room? Or wear it?”

“Wear it,” Adrien said. That was the only way Nino would know where it was at all times. “But don’t use it. Not even for an akuma.”

He didn’t want Nino to ever experience a loop on the battlefield. Not if he could help it.

“I reserve the right to come save your ass if necessary,” Nino said as he slipped the miraculous around his wrist.

Adrien laughed. “Okay, but please don’t unless you absolutely have to. I don’t need Ladybug pissed at me for giving away a miraculous.”

Nino frowned at him then. “Why are you giving this to me, instead of back to her?”

Adrien’s answer to that was complicated. Partly because he didn’t want Marinette to know that his loops with her were hurting him even as they gave him hope, and he definitely didn’t want her to know that he had fallen to the point of being borderline addicted.

But there was also a strategic element to his choice. He could approach Nino in either form, and Nino would know to trust him.

“You know who I am,” Adrien finally said.

“Will you be okay without it?” Nino asked.

Adrien shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m definitely not okay with it right now.” He paused, then looked at Nino. “I might be texting and calling you a lot over the next few days.”

Nino laughed. “I can’t promise to answer right away all the time, but you can always do that, man. Always.”

Adrien let his head fall onto Nino’s shoulder. “Have I ever told you that you’re the absolute best?”

“I could stand to hear it a few more times,” Nino said.

Adrien grinned. “Noted.”

…

Chapter 7: The Five Minute Adventures of Ananta

#miraculous ladybug fan fiction #marichat #platonic adrino #trigger warning: addiction #hurt comfort #coping #identity reveal #time loops #The five minute adventures of snake noir #a miraculous reveal #ml spoilers #ml s4 #my own content #this fic writes itself #I'm just the channel #happy reading

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mymelodyheart · 4 years ago

Text

Miles Between Us Chapter 13 ~The Reunion~

WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in Obstacle Course ...

"Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp! Don't ye dare leave me!" He shouted. "We love each other, remember? I was a prick for leaving ye on yer own when ye came to Scotland to be with me. I promise ye this will never happen again. And whatever problem we have together, we can fix this. Ye understand me?" He fell on his knees, grateful for the pain shooting up his thighs because his heart was breaking into thousand pieces. "I ken I could be a selfless arse, but I'm working on being a better person for ye ...for us. I love ye with all my heart, Sassenach, and I cannae imagine life without ye."

"What do I need to do to make ye, believe me, Sassenach? Ye ken, I'll do anything to prove to ye how much I love ye. Does he ken the things I do? Like ...like what song makes ye smile? I can sing it for ye if that's what it would take." When the silence lingered, Jamie puffed out a silent curse. "Christ ... I'll do it. I'll sing that damn song. Just so ye ken, I meant every word I said."

Then he stood up from his kneeling position and gave Rick Astley a run for his money.

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

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The full moon illuminated Jamie's and Claire's path as they made their way to the cottage into the cold night. It seemed they were the only two people in the world, walking in comfortable silence, lost in their own respective thoughts, and the only sounds to be heard were their footfalls and the dance of the trees. Inhaling deeply, Jamie pulled Claire into the warmth of his body, gently kissing the crown of her head, and in turn, her arm slid familiarly under his jacket to settle around his waist. For the first time in five days, every cell in his body was alive and buzzing, and it felt amazing to hold and have her close again.

Earlier, after the excitement and stramash outside Christie's apartment building had settled, they'd gone back in search of Quentin. It hadn't taken them long to spot him where he'd leaned on the wall outside the pub working his phone, most probably trying to call Claire. Though Quentin had looked like he could go for a few more round of drinks, to his relief, he hadn't put up much of an argument when Claire had firmly suggested it was time to call it a day. They'd escorted him back to his lodgings, making sure he had everything before heading for home.

It had been a surreal day, and Jamie knew it was far from over. He'd sensed Claire wanted to talk, and who could blame her? They had a lot of things to discuss, but his depraved mind had other ideas. His alcohol-fueled bravado from earlier had long waned to be replaced with an urgency that pulsed heat below his belly. But he swiftly reminded himself to be an attentive boyfriend first and clear the air between them.

After what he'd put himself and Claire through the last few days, he was done being a prisoner of the past and mistrusting the future. Here, at this moment with her, he was whole, and just having her beside him was healing invisible wounds all over his body. He needed her, but her needs came first even though her sweet scent and the sound of her soft sighs were piercing holes in his self-restraint. At nearly midnight, the air was icy cold, and yet, there was a fine layer of perspiration on his skin brought about by the anticipation of being finally alone with her.

When they eventually reached the cottage, Jamie had a hard time giving up her body's warmth to retrieve his keys, so he turned her to face him and locked her in an embrace. Savouring the feel of her, he wondered how the hell he'd managed to keep his distance; moreover, allow her to go to Inverness with Tom.

"Home sweet home," Claire murmured, breaking his thoughts. She made a move to pull away, but he grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to her icy fingers instead. "I think I need a drink," she said, shivering, "It's been quite an eventful night, don't you think?"

Jamie shook himself and nodded. "Aye. It's been a riot." He finally let go of her, quickly fishing for his keys in his pocket and unlocking the door, letting her pass first. They were welcomed by two happy, hyper animals who circumvented him to get to Claire. Ah, wee traitors!

He shut the door and watched with amusement as Claire immediately fell on her knees, her arm going around Rollo's neck while her free hand scratched Adso's back ear. Jamie grinned when both nudged closer and let out chesty whimpering sounds as they were treated to Claire's lovefest.

His eyes landed on her unpacked bags on the floor. She must have left the cottage as soon as she'd arrived. "How'd ye know where to find me earlier? Ye never called," he remarked, divesting his jacket and dropping it onto the chair.

She looked up at him and smiled. "I didn't. When Tom dropped me here, I realised I forgot to hand in some documents for Mary. I kind of figured you might be out with uncle Lamb. So I thought before calling you I'd walk over to Tom's to drop the papers for Mary and well, ..." she shrugged, her eyes twinkling. "I was about to phone you, and who did I find outside Tom's apartment building? My boyfriend serenading Mary Hawkins, no less."

Almost completely sober by now, his head dropped to hide his embarrassment, his pained groan barely subdued in his throat at the reminder of the recent event. "Oh, Christ!"

She stood up, walked over to him and encircled her arms around his neck, forcing him to glance at her smiling face. "I thought you were adorable." She kissed his chin. "And I think Mary was chuffed to bits hearing your love declarations. She'll never leave the Highlands now, what with Tom as her new love interest and you serenading her in front of an audience. She probably thinks she's heaven's gift to Broch Mordha and vice versa."

Her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck made it difficult to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ye should be righteously pissed at me for thinking ye were with Tom. And even if ye were in his apartment, I shouldnae have jumped to conclusions."

She contemplated his words. "We all get our jealous moments," she said quietly. "Well, I certainly do ...at least."

"Ye? Jealous? I only have eyes for ye, Sassenach. Ye have nothing to be jealous about." Then the image of Geneva's kiss came to mind, and his throat tightened. With everything that had happened today, he'd already forgotten about it ...until now. He knew only too well how the truth had its way of coming out, and he couldn't just dismiss it as an afterthought even though it didn't mean a thing. He needed to tell her before she finds out from someone else.

"Geneva," she whispered as if reading his mind. "I heard ..."

"Ye heard what?" She's already heard about the kiss? There was no stopping the weight of dread from settling in his belly. "Whatever stories ye heard about her and me, there's a perfect explanation for it, Sassenach. I can assure ye."

She didn't seem to notice his sudden discomfort nor heard the words he'd just said, her gaze too busy following the movements of her hands as they travelled down to his shoulders and over his chest. "While you were in Lallybroch, Willie came to check up on me once in a while to see how I was fairing. I thought it was rather sweet of him to do that." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, he mentioned something about Geneva fancying you, and that didn't sit well because I know she's your therapist, and Jenny preferred her for you." Her eyes suddenly dimmed. "Oh, God! Why am I even telling you this? It's so primary school."

"Sassenach ..." He brushed his lips to her forehead. "It's not ..."

She visibly shook herself. "No, let me finish. I know it's silly, but I couldn't help feeling the way I did. It was torturous knowing you were suffering, and I could do nought about it. I feared that night when you left, I may have made things worse by pushing you to talk about the past." True to her words, her expression was troubled as she chewed her bottom lip. "You see ...I want to be the one who can make things better for you, but I also recognise there are things about your condition that are beyond my understanding no matter how much I try to help or learn about it." She took a deep breath. "Geneva's your therapist, and she knows what she's doing. Sooo ...I have to put aside my petty jealousy and let Geneva do her work. But it doesn't mean I have to like her or the whole situation. So for the sake of ..."

"No, Sassenach. Stop right there." He dropped his mouth to prevent her from saying more, punctuating his words with a kiss. Their breaths collided, his fingers gripping her shoulders hard and digging into her skin. "Ye have every right not to like the situation. Because I dinnnae like it either." He searched her face, but her eyelids were at half-mast, and her gaze seemingly focused on his lips. He tipped her chin up. "I willnae be returning to therapy. So ye dinnae have to worry about her."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Wot? But why?" She stopped and looked at him suspiciously. "Wait. If this is your way of making me stop seeing Tom, sorry mate, not going to happen. This is work. And I'm not stopping you from going to therapy just because it's Geneva either."

"Woman, will ye let me finish?" He took a few cleansing breaths. "I'll wager ye a pound to a penny that ye willnae allow me to attend the therapy when ye hear what she did."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Why? What did she do?"

"She kissed me."

She stiffened and took a step back. "Wot?" Her expression of softness she had just moments ago made way for disbelief.

He tried to rid the sudden tangle in his throat. "She stopped by today. She said something about wanting to talk about my progress. I told her I was busy. Then she threw herself at me and kissed me. It's nae biggie."

"Nae biggie?!" Her eyes flashed, and her mouth open and closed. And then opened again. "Where did she kiss you? Lips or cheek?"

Her question caught him like a surprise right hook. On any other occasion, he would have probably been amused with her display of jealousy, but the way she was looking at him now, was causing his heart to pound painfully against his ribs. "O-on the lips, but I ...ah ...immediately pushed her away. I swear to God, I did nothing to inspire it."

She rolled her head as if preparing for a fight, and when her eyes landed on the bottle of tequila he and her uncle had been drinking earlier, she made a beeline for it. "On the lips, huh? Did you like it?" She poured herself a healthy measure in one of the used glasses without offering him one and downed it in one go.

Christ! "No!"

"Any tongue involved?"

"Of course not!"

"You sure?" She slammed the glass down on the table, making him flinch.

What the bloody hell? The questions she was throwing at him was making him squirm on his feet, and for the first time, Jamie realised how similar Claire and Quentin were when trying to extract an answer. Both would undoubtedly make great interrogators if ever they'd decided on a career change. "What kind of question is that? The kiss happened so fast, taking me by surprise. I didnae have time to think. She might have tried to put her tongue down my throat, but I stopped her."

"And where did this happen?"

"What do ye mean? I already told ye she stopped by. I was here ...at home."

"I mean, did it happen inside or outside the cottage?"

Jesus! "Outside."

"Outside," she repeated, more to herself.

"Aye, outside. She wanted to come in, but I told her I had things to do and was expecting a visitor ...yer uncle, that is. Anyway, that aside, I didnae think it was a good idea to allow her to come inside, knowing that she's my therapist and fancied her chances with me."

"Hmmm ...so when she threw herself at you, you pushed her away, is that right?"

"Aye."

"Where did her hands go?"

Confusion seeped into his already muddled head. Is this some kind of trick question to catch me of any wrongdoing? "What do ye mean?"

"Geneva's hands. Did it go around your waist, neck or what?"

"Oh, um ...around my neck."

"And what about your hands?"

Huh? "What about them?"

"Where were your hands when she kissed you?"

"They were by my side. The only time I touched her was to push her away from me. Ask yer uncle. He saw the whole thing. I didnae even know he was there."

"And he didn't sock you?"

"Why would he?" he almost shouted. "I didnae do a thing. It was Geneva who initiated it!"

"Fine."

"Fine?" he gasped in confusion.

She didn't answer. Instead, she turned around and took off her jacket. That's it? What the hell just happened? I gave her the truth, and that's supposed to be good, right? Or am I missing something? He followed her strained movement, and he helplessly watched her grabbed her laptop bag and rummaged through it, the silence pulsing around them bordering on awkwardness. This was definitely not how he'd envisioned their reunion, he thought miserably.

"Sassenach," he began, choosing his words carefully. "I can tell ye're upset about the kiss. Ye ken ye've no reason to be, aye?"

She shook her head, refusing to look at him. "No," she agreed, relief washing over him. "I've no reason to." She pulled out sheets of paper from her bag, looked at them and haphazardly stuffed them back in again, seemingly going through the motion of keeping her hands busy.

"Then why are ye cranky all of a sudden?"

She let go of her bag and grabbed the bottle of tequila, sloshing over the rim of the glass as she poured another shot. "I'm not." She grimaced as she threw back the liquid.

"Ye are." When she poured another drink, he frowned at her. "Go easy on that tequila, Sassenach."

Her head spun halfway round in his direction, reminding him of that wee girl in the film, The Exorcist. Her mouth dropped open, and she glared at him.

He forced himself to remain patient. Claire was visibly upset about something, and now he wasn't sure anymore if it had to do with Geneva's kiss. "Sometimes, I associate alcohol with bad judgments and choices," he began calmly. "My own, especially. But ye've helped me make a lot of good ones in the past, and ...I just want to do the same for ye. Talk to me, Sassenach. What's really bothering ye?"

She huffed and balled her fingers into tight fists. "Fine! Do you want to know the truth? I want to start a fight."

"A fight?" He reined in his frustration of not being able to understand and took a step closer to her. "Why would ye wanna do that?"

A deep scarlet soared from her neck to her cheeks as she threw her hands in the air. "The last few days were trying, alright? It wasn't only you who was having a rough time with it. God, I've been worried sick about you. I've been trying to keep it together ever since you left, wondering if I'll ever get to see you before I return to London. And then ...and then," she hiccupped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a sob. "One bloody thing led to another. First, I got into a fight with your sister because of some stupid newspaper clipping she had in her possession. Then, not long after that, in the middle of what was supposed to be an important meeting with Tom, my boss dumps the responsibility of babysitting Mary onto my lap, and I had no idea how I was going to manage that with my uncle on his way. Then I got to Inverness, hoping to get at least some work done with Mary to finish her book so I could finally leave London for good and start a new life here with you. And you know what?"

Jamie stood immobile. He longed to soothe her, but he wasn't sure if she wanted to be touched yet, so he waited even though he was slowly dying inside to hold her in his arms.

Her inhale became stuttered, and her eyes darkened with defeat. "I was grasping at straws to keep Mary to sit still long enough to extract a measly one thousand seven hundred words worth of work when I know she could do more in a day. But that's all I got for my efforts because she was too busy galavanting in Inverness with Tom. And speaking of Tom, I still haven't managed to make him sign the contract for his book and when my boss asked me why I couldn't even give him an answer and gave him some lame excuse. The only good thing that came out of Tom is, he convinced Mary to come here. If Tom hadn't been with me, I'd still be in Inverness with Mary. And now ...now I find out Geneva tried to kiss you while I was away. God, I want to scratch her eyes out. But I can't do that, can I? Because she isn't here. So I asked you those dumb questions to find a fault and start a fight because I wanted to vent after the last few days I've had. But even that, I can't do because you've done nothing wrong." She let out a groan of exasperation. "How sad is that?"

Suddenly, it all made sense to Jamie. Claire always put others' needs before hers with no thought for herself. He had to take better care of her. It had been easy to rest all his hopes and fears on her shoulders, and because of it, she was a massive part of his motivation to want more out of his future and be a better man for them. But if they were going to be together, his condition shouldn't always be her fight, and her burdens should be lighter with him by her side and not more. This lass had given him hope, and he's not going to rest until he gave her the same. Until she, too, knew her needs were just as important as everyone else's.

The boyfriend in him wanted to wipe the look of upset in her eyes. Confront the people that pushed her to act out in a way so unlike her usual self. Demand answers to find out what else was troubling her. He sensed, however, that questioning was the last thing she needed. So doing his best to be the protector this time, he opened his arms, relieved when she quietly walked into them. She laid her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist, and he held her, resting his chin on her crown.

After a few minutes of silence, she spoke haltingly. "I'm so sorry, Jamie. I didn't mean to pick a fight. It's just that ...." Her fingers tugged at the edge of his jeans, and he shut his eyes. He could hear the slight slur in her words, making him realise she'd drank tequila on an empty stomach. "The last few days have been mad, and I -I ...oh, hell, never mind. I'm just acting pathetic."

Jamie frowned against her head. "Sassenach, look at me." He drew slightly away and held the sides of her face in her hands, the unshed tears in her eyes crushing him to the core of his being. "First of all, ye have nothing to be sorry about. If anything, Tom, Mary, yer boss, my sister, including myself, owe ye an apology. And ye're no' pathetic and dinnae ever say that about yersel', ever again. Ye do far too much for others, including me, and it's about time ye did something for ye. The rest of the world can wait, and other people getting their act together is no' yer responsibility."

She blew out a breath, bright amber eyes holding his steady.

"As for Geneva, ye have nothing to worry about her. There was never anything between us. I'll talk to my sister and let her know what her friend has done. If Jenny refuses to do anything about it, I will make a formal complaint about Geneva's behaviour to the clinic's head myself. And perhaps, propose a new or my old therapist be reinstated."

"Jamie, I can't be responsible ..."

"Ssshh, Sassenach. Ye're no' responsible for Geneva. She overstepped the boundaries, so it's only right she takes responsibility for her own actions." He pressed their foreheads together and looked her in the eyes. "I chose to be with ye as ye did with me, and I cannae have anyone disrespecting that, no' even Jenny. We're together, and we're supposed to be stronger as a unit. I need to step up my game and be there for ye as ye've been for me. For so long, I was so fixated on my own condition, I ceased seeing other people's difficulties." He pulled back and caressed her cheek with his thumb. "Then I met ye, my feisty wee, Sassenach ...for the second time as a grown-up ...and ye taught me all about selflessness and courage. I want ye to know ye're important ...more important than what I want or what Mary Hawkins wants or what yer boss wants. And the things that hurt ye, they're no less painful than what I go through. Things are gonnae change from now on, and it can't be just all about me. I'm so sorry for abandoning ye and for not being there when ye needed me most."

The worst of the troubled look in her expression faded and was replaced by a wobbly smile. "There's nothing to forgive. We were both trying our best to deal with circumstances that were beyond our control."

He smoothed her hair back, picking up the locks and twining his fingers through them. "No, ye were doing all the heavy lifting. Every moment ye spent with me was a trial of fortitude ye were too stubborn not to meet. It would have been easy for ye to give up on me, but ye didnae. Ye always thought I was enough despite my shortcomings. Ye taught me second chances, and because of that, I dinnae want to believe anymore I deserve no' to have ye." He took a deep breath. "I thought my realisation came too late when I thought ye were with Tom, and I was willing to go at any lengths to win ye back and make ye see what we have is worth fighting for. After what I did out there tonight, I ken I'll be teased for the rest of my life for singing like a fool at the village square, but it's all worth it because I get another chance with ye."

"Another chance with me? I never left you, Jamie. I may have been miffed and hurt, but I've always been yours."

He shook his head, more at the error of his ways. "Deep down, I ken that but the mere thought of Tom with ye, all reason and logic seem to fly out the window. In the future, I promise to keep those thoughts at bay. It's no' good for my sanity." He smiled at her. "Shall we kiss and make up?"

Laughing, tears spilt from her eyes. "I thought you'd never ask."

The urgency that had been building up inside him went off like a gunshot. He drew her in closer. "Christ, I love you, Sassenach and always will." His mouth descended over hers, impressing his vow with a thorough tasting of her lips, savouring the earthy, semi-sweet taste of tequila on her tongue. His thumbs traced her cheekbones and jawline, and when she swayed closer, and the softness of her breasts flattened against his chest, he let out an animalistic groan.

His heart started to pound, every muscle south of his belt tightening. It was as though he'd been in a dry spell for five years instead of five days. His mouth went dry, his palms itched with the need to touch her naked skin, and his body was on fire as the pent-up desire from the past few days burst in a torrent of heat. He was ravenous for her taste and for her hand to encircle his hardness, and he indulged in her eager response that was opposite her usual shyness during lovemaking.

Restless fingers tangled into his hair, clasping his head in place as she kissed him back and met his demand with urgency. When her hips impatiently pressed against him, her scent invading his senses, his cock grew uncomfortably heavy.

He dragged his mouth from hers, twisting her hair in his fist. "Jesus, if ye dinnae take it down a notch, I'll burst in my pants like a schoolboy."

She blinked as if coming from a long sleep, her lips wet and puffy from his kisses and cheeks bright pink. She gave him a slow smile that promised unspoken pleasures, sending his heart up to his mouth. "Not my fault," she hummed, going up on her toes to teasingly brush her mouth over his. "You made me wait this long." Maintaining eye contact, she took a step back and stripped off her clothes, revealing her matching red bra and panty. "So enough talk, Jamie. I can't wait much more. I want you now," she whispered huskily.

Her words did it. His lust-filled brain only gave him a split second to process what she'd just said before the need to be inside her dismissed everything else. That urge he'd felt to make up for lost time raced out of control. He could only see Claire with her dazed eyes, parted lips and loads of naked skin.

He seized her hips, walking her backwards and crowding her against the dining table, pushing the chairs aside to make space. Her breath rose and fell in a choppy rhythm as his mouth dipped for a desperate kiss.

Her mouth moved in perfect unison with his, wee sounds vibrating up her throat, ending where their lips frantically worked together. Lust pumping in his veins, he roughly settled her sweet bottom on the table and gingerly hooked his fingers into the lacey band of her knickers, shoving it down her legs. When she began tugging at the waistband of his jeans, he groaned into her mouth, knowing she needed him just as bad.

"I planned to make slow love to ye tonight. But now I cannae ...because I cannae wait to have ye." His hand slipped between their bodies, and he palmed her between her thighs. Ah, sweet Jesus! Sliding a finger deep into the wet heat of her entrance, he tested and teased, revelling the way her fingernails dug onto the skin of his shoulders in response, his head spinning at the feel of her moistness. "Christ, ye look so needy, ye're giving me nae choice but to take ye right here ...like a wild beast."

"Oh, shoosh, Jamie. Quit talking about it now. You want it just as bad." She began to undo his belt buckle, nipping at his neck as she yanked and shoved. When he was finally freed, he nearly fainted at the relief of no longer being restrained to his jeans. The relief was fleeting, though, when her smooth hands encircled his throbbing cock, her tight grip moving up and down, twisting at the base, preparing him when the only thing he needed was to be inside her. Ah, Christ, but it feels so good. Far too good ...

He couldn't take it anymore. He knew he wouldn't last long. "Enough!" he gritted.

She gave him a look like he'd just taken her favourite toy. She unhooked her bra in retaliation and pushed her breasts up like an offering. His breath caught in his throat, stunned by the vision, her eyes, a translucent gold gleaming with arousal, beckoning him to take his fill.

He parted her legs and fisted his cock before rubbing its tip at her entrance. "I've missed ye so much. I might not last long, but I want this to be good for ye," he whispered hoarsely. "I may be a bit rough," He dipped his head, forcing her back to arch like a bow as he bestowed kisses on her breasts. "Are ye alright with that?"

She nodded, feeling her shudder with anticipation and need.

"Is that what ye want?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Take me however you want."

He whipped off his top and lowered his hand to her buttock, coasting his palm over the firm, rounded flesh and squeezing it tight. "Wrap yer legs around me."

Claire's legs wrapped around his middle and her arms around his neck. Her thighs glid around his waist with such exquisite perfection that he had to bite the tender flesh on the side of her neck to stop from shouting. The friction of his cock sliding between her legs where he'd touched with his fingers was too much. Almost propelling him past his breaking point. Too impatient to take the time to savour, he gripped himself and pushed deep into her entrance.

Watching her teeth bite onto her bottom lip as if to stop a scream from escaping, he groaned out loud as he pushed inch by inch, his focus whittling down to Claire and the heat enveloping his cock. Everything ceased to exist. He pulled out slightly before thrusting again, their mutual moans resounding on the walls of the cottage.

He shifted closer, needing to feel and touch all of her as possible. Keeping their lips locked, he seized her hips and started to move to the ancient dance of mating. There were no words to express the rough, grinding pace of what he did to her. It only bloomed more intense when she began matching his moves, widening her thighs and rolling her hips like she couldn't get enough.

"Oh sweet Lord, ye feel too good," he muttered against her mouth, hips pounding furiously. "How did I stay away from this?"

She gripped the back of his neck. "I missed this too," she gasped. "Please don't stop."

"I'm not hurting ye, am I? Tell me if I'm too rough."

"No ...no, don't be gentle. I need you to take me hard."

A tide surged inside him, mounting and building like a storm. Jamie roughly raised her hips to reposition her, dragging her arse to the edge of the table, her sweet moans telling him she'd like that. Unable to think past how she wanted it harder, there was no easing down now. He could only yank her leg higher and demand she keep up, ramming into her rough and fast. Her sighs and breath came out like hot rushes of air, thighs squeezing around him and starting to tremble. When her internal walls clenched around his cock, it warned him of her imminent climax, making his balls drew up so tight they ached. He dragged her flush to his body and buried his face in her neck, grunting with every deep thrust and muttering her name while his own release clamoured in his belly.

"Jamie!" she screamed, convulsing against him. He immediately silenced her cries with a deep kiss, but she flung her head back and squirmed, tightening up where their bodies joined, pulsing and throbbing. "Oh my God."

He couldn't wait any longer. Hooking his arms under her legs, he pumped his hardness in jerky hauls, faster and faster until his visions blurred. The whimpering noises she made launched him higher, signalling his own peak, and he soared towards it, his climax made more intense from the knowledge that it was Claire who got him there. He thrust into her one final time and thrust deep, growling her name into her hair and squashing her to his chest as he'd borne the full force of what they'd done.

"Oh, Christ, Sassenach."

Her hands ran up and down his back as she continued to take huge gulps of air. He knew he was crushing her, but he wasn't ready to let go. He wanted to remain buried inside her, holding her like this. With her heels digging into his arse and her arms around his neck. They fitted perfectly, her softness cradling his boneless heap, making him hard as steel again. Some part of his brain must have still been functioning because he jerked and reached out for her bra to cover her when his doorbell rang. Christ! Forcing his body to move with marginal success, he yanked her up and pulled up his jeans.

Claire slid off the table and grabbed her clothes. "Who could that be?"

"That better not be yer uncle or ..." Jamie trailed off, muttering curses under his breath, annoyed at the disturbance as he was just revving up for part two of their lovemaking. When he opened the door, a sense of deja vu hit him when he saw Mrs Fitz standing there with what seemed like a plate of a lemon meringue pie. What the fuck?

"Mrs Fitz!"

The older woman didn't bother to hide her curiosity this time as her eyes tried to peer past his shoulders. "Heard ye have company, lad, and I havenae seen Miss Claire the last couple of days."

He was about to say "none of her business" when Claire came up behind him, dressed back in her jeans and top. "Mrs Fitz, how are you? Is everything alright?"

Jamie stepped back and observed how Mrs Fitz's eyes widened in pleasant surprise. He figured instantly, his neighbour must have seen that kiss from Geneva earlier and that she'd probably thought the worse of him after hearing Claire's passionate screams. Right there and then, he decided, this time, he definitely needed to soundproof his home from eavesdropping neighbours.

"Ach, I saw light in yer windows," Mrs Fitz beamed, ignoring Jamie's glare. "Ye see, I've made too many pies and thought ye might like one. I remember ye enjoying this when ye stayed with yer friend over at my place this past Christmas."

"Oh, how lovely," Claire gushed, taking the plate from Mrs Fitz. "Thank you so much. Just what Jamie and I need right now ..." She blushed profusely, contemplating her words. "...after a long day."

Mrs Fitz clapped her hands. "I thought that!"

Seeing how thrilled Claire was looking at the desert, Jamie tamped down the urge to say something sarcastic and just scowled at her.

Mrs Fitz must have read his thoughts as this time it was her turn to crimson, a probable sign of her guilt for being nosey. Suddenly at a loss for words, she rubbed her palms at her sides. "Weel, ye both enjoy it. I must get going as it's rather late. Good night, both of ye." With that, she whirled around and disappeared into the night.

He shut the door and sighed, and followed Claire to the kitchen.

"Lovely lady," Claire remarked, sniffing the pie before placing it on the counter.

He turned her around and kissed her slowly, groaning when she opened her mouth for him without hesitation. "Ye're lovelier," he said against her lips. "But I'm not done with ye yet."

She grinned. "Pie first?"

Realising he'd never be able to compete with Mrs Fitz's homemade pie, he laughed out loud. "Absolutely ...why not?"

Dear Readers,

Well, here you go, their reunion! I hope you've enjoyed this lust-filled chapter. I must admit, though, when I was editing the sex part, I deliberately drank Bloody Mary to lose a bit of inhibition and make the scene a bit grittier. I hope it worked, but if it's too dirty for you, I say tough! 😆 Just kidding!

Anyway, thank you for commenting and showing your appreciation for my writing and your well wishes. I don't always reply back but be assured, your feedback is very much appreciated and anticipated.

And before I forget, it's not long now before this arc finishes. There will be an arc three, and I will let you know more on my next update.

Signing off now and wishing you a fabulous weekend. Stay safe and always take care! X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #claire beauchamp/jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

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seventhstrife · 3 years ago

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SubScorp 2021 Day 1: First Kiss

These Grandmasters have ruined my life and I am SO GRATEFUL to the wonderful, brilliant minds at @subscorp-week for making this event!!!

I don’t really post my stuff on tumblr, ever, but I wanted to shamelessly pad the subscorp tag with new content lololol

If you want to read it on AO3, the link is here.

Fic under the cut!

The sudden weight against his upper arm and shoulder startled Kuai Liang and made his hand jerk, dangerously close to dropping the tablet he held.

He glanced sharply to his side and stilled, eyes wide, to see Hanzo slumped against him.

For a brief moment, he thought the worst—that Hanzo was injured somehow, or poisoned, no matter the fact that they had been sitting in companionable silence for the better part of two hours. But he noticed the deep, slow breaths that swelled Hanzo's chest, the smooth, calm set of his features at rest, and knew the truth was far less sinister:

Hanzo had fallen asleep against him.

The realization drew Kuai Liang up short, made deep affection and gratitude swell fit to burst in his chest before he mastered himself and pushed back the sudden, fierce tide of emotion.

Carefully, Kuai Liang set aside his device and reached over to pluck Hanzo's from his limp grasp in his lap to place it on the table before them. They had been going over reports from their clans, compiling the information so that they could compare it against those from General Blade, and they often met to do this; it was dull and mind-numbing at times, but easier to accomplish with company, they'd found, and they were both less likely to procrastinate the work if they did it together.

It wasn't uncommon that such tedious work would stretch into the long hours of the night, and this night was no exception. But this was the first time Hanzo had succumbed to his exhaustion.

And he'd done so in Kuai Liang's presence, no less. The swell of pride could not be wrangled, nor the way he relished this simple, profound display of unthinking trust. It spoke to a level of peace and contentment Kuai Liang had never thought to gain from him, a man who had once been his enemy, a man who had once wished him dead. The ink had dried on their treaty long ago, but it felt as if only now it had cemented.

Kuai Liang cherished every new facet of Hanzo he saw in the days since their alliance, and this proved to be no different. He'd seen Hanzo meditate many times, had even joined him, but he'd never seen him truly in repose.

He knew he should wake Hanzo, call their meeting to a close and encourage him home, but Kuai Liang never claimed not to be a selfish man. It was wrong, undoubtedly, to knowingly linger in a moment of Hanzo's vulnerability, but the warmth of his body pressed close, the soft brush of his hair against his shoulder—he was too compelling.

He had half-expected Hanzo to stir when he'd plucked the tablet from his grasp, but he truly seemed dead to the world. Kuai Liang, hesitant and curious, carefully brought up his arm, gently brushed a lock of hair from across Hanzo's face back over his shoulder where it had come loose from the bun—and still, Hanzo peacefully slumbered on, undisturbed.

A smile twitched on Kuai Liang's lips, a private one of unbearably plain affection. He would never be caught with such an expression, but here, alone in the small hours of the night, he allowed himself this moment.

Hanzo's hands, open and limp in his lap, were another temptation altogether—but he did not dare. He had been lucky, thus far, but he would not be foolhardy.

Only this, Kuai Liang told himself. Such a rare moment of reliance from the normally so disciplined Grandmaster—only extreme overwork and exhaustion had pushed Hanzo this far, and once he woke, Kuai Liang knew this incident would be the only one of its kind.

His heart ached in his chest, bruised and bittersweet, but Hanzo's friendship was something he would not give up for the world.

But the knowledge this moment may very well be the only one that he would ever experience Hanzo's closeness—outside of, perhaps, a spar—gave him courage. Enough that he pressed his lips—just the slightest bit of pressure—to the top of Hanzo's head; his first and last confession.

He regretted the motion the instant it was over. Immediately, he felt the change in the air, the sudden tension in Hanzo's body as he stiffened. It made Kuai Liang respond in kind, utterly still, face drained of blood.

For a moment, they both lingered in that horrible stillness, the silence screaming with panic and dread.

Then, very, very slowly, Hanzo raised his head from Kuai Liang's shoulder. His dark eyes were difficult to meet, but Kuai Liang would not balk, not even from this.

Aside from lifting his head, Hanzo did not move, did not burst into flame or send Kuai Liang crashing through the wall as he half-expected. Yet it was almost worse, somehow, the way he stirred, brows furrowed, expression dark and wary.

Slowly, voice still sleep-roughened, Hanzo spoke.

"...Did you just kiss me."

There was no question, only a flat, emotionless statement that filled Kuai Liang with dread and made him wish dearly for the blow he'd expected.

Mouth dry, already seeing their friendship dissolve before his eyes, Kuai Liang said, just as quietly, "Yes."

Hanzo's eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn't expected the confirmation despite knowing the truth.

He blinked. He searched Kuai Liang's face, but if he was seeking doubt or teasing, or even a lie, Kuai Liang had nothing of the sort to show him, only brutal, unvarnished honesty.

Hanzo glanced away and Kuai Liang braced himself for anything—a gentle rejection, a reprimand. Perhaps only a burst of flame and scorch marks left behind in the spot Hanzo sat.

A quiet breath, and Hanzo met his eyes, the set of his features determined and impassioned.

"Do it again," he commanded.

Kuai Liang was like a mountain, so absolute was his stillness. It was his turn to search Hanzo's face for deception, but there was none to be found, only fire, only a dark smolder—familiar and foreign at once, a dare, a challenge, a promise.

Kuai Liang did not dare try Hanzo's patience with indecision. He forced himself from the tight draw of his body, reached out, fingertips whisper-soft against the short hairs of Hanzo's beard.

"Yes, Grandmaster," Kuai Liang murmured.

For all that he'd longed for a moment such as this, Kuai Liang was unwilling to rush, eager as he was. He pressed his forehead to Hanzo's, soaked in the brush of their noses, of Hanzo's warm breath on his lips, the exquisite expectation that hung in the air, that made his heart slam against his ribs and his hands tremble with the repressed urge to snatch Hanzo close and never let him go—before he came to his senses and realized what he had asked for in his surely sleep-addled state.

But the anticipation compromised years of disciplined training and impatience won out. Kuai Liang tilted his head, just slightly, and kissed Hanzo.

One touch, and Kuai Liang understood why the Lin Kuei had once forbidden attachment. The swell of desire, of aching, near-obsessive addiction, was swift and all-encompassing. Hanzo's lips were warm and dry, just as tentative as his own as they met and parted and met again. And when Hanzo's touch came, one strong fist grasping at the fabric across his chest, Kuai Liang could not stop the tide of fierce, craving want.

Hanzo sucked in a sharp breath when Kuai Liang suddenly surged forward and pushed him back, but he did not resist being pressed to the floor. His arms wrapped around Kuai Liang's shoulders, helped erase even the illusion of distance as their chests met and they sank into one another. Their lips grew bolder, the kiss grew deeper, and it was as if the only air to be had was only what could be found in the other.

Kuai Liang could conceive of nothing more entrancing than the slight hitch of Hanzo's breath when their tongues touched, no sound more seductive than his quiet moans, coaxed out by Kuai Liang's own hands, by his own touch. Nothing had ever enthralled him like the sensation of Hanzo's body, strong and pliant and laid out, willingly, beneath his, nor the silky caress of Hanzo's long hair when he dragged his fingers through it.

Kuai Liang did not regret the reformation of his clan, but for the first time since he'd become Grandmaster, he reflected on the old ways with new understanding. Because this? This bottomless desire, that coaxed all reason from his mind and consumed him absolutely? It felt too good not to be forbidden.

At long last, the annoying, persistent need to breathe pulled their lips away, although they barely strayed more than a few inches as they panted.

Kuai Liang could not drag his eyes away from the rosy flush of Hanzo's skin, the soft flutter of his eyelashes when he opened them, so swept in their passion and only now brought back to reality.

They watched one another a moment, the only sounds to be heard their harsh breaths and the mad thunder of Kuai Liang's heart.

Then, slowly, Hanzo smiled. Pleasure warmed his face into an expression of quiet, almost shy happiness Kuai Liang had never seen before—a smile Kuai Liang had caused.

And when he pressed his lips to Hanzo's again, amidst his low chuckles of happiness, Kuai Liang was smiling, too.

#my stuff #my fics #subscorp week #subscorp week 2021 #@subscorp-week #@summertrapped #@maagspies #subscorp #fluff #first kiss #gen #subscorpweek

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akaashisupremacy · 4 years ago

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Job Wanted: Boyfriend

Summary: Makki is callous w/ his words. After a big fight, he knows he needs to make changes. Can he make things work before it’s too late?

Notes: Right on time for Hanamki’s birthday!! In the fic it’s his actual bday too lol!! Inspired by hcs about Hanamaki’s toxic traits that lives in my mind rent free!

January Fic List || Masterlist || Read it on Ao3

Hanamaki x reader

genre: ANGST, lovers to exes to ??, pining, tw: toxic-ish relationship (wc: 1.9 k)

“It’s not my job to be your boyfriend.” Takahiro Hanamaki mutters with his arms crossed, “Stop trying to police what I have to say!”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. You knew it was over between you two then and there.

You met Makki while working in a soba restaurant. He was charismatic, smart and efficient. Whenever you two were on the same shift, he tried to make the work fun. You both started hanging out after work—indie films in the university theatre, library study sessions, walks home after work. Makki even traded shifts just to see you more often.

All you were asking from him was to be more sensitive. Enough was enough. Sure he liked you and you liked him, but compatibility was a separate thing altogether. He knew you were touchy about comments on your art, your looks and your confidence, but he just didn’t know when to shut up.

“You’re wearing that sweater really?”

“This piece looks okay, like subpar on a good day.”

If he doesn’t want to have to be careful with his words, then you don’t want to have to be around him. You swiftly grab your things and walk out the door. When it finally sinks into him two seconds later, he stumbles onto the door apologizing. You refuse to hear any of it.

“I didn’t mean it-- ”

But fun hang outs and serious dating are two different things, and the end of your relationship proved just that.

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

Makki tries to apologize to you when he sees you, but nothing seems to work. Eventually he gives in and allows you both to drift apart—he stops catching you in the library and trading shifts, which was fine by you.

After a few months, Makki finds himself staring at his phone one fateful afternoon. He’s still debating whether to make the call or not. In the end, he shrugs his shoulders. There’s really nothing to lose.

When you see his name, you pick up because of your curiosity more than anything.

“To what do I owe this occasion?” you snort. You hear him repress a chuckle.

“Damn, I haven’t said anything yet and you’re hostile already.” he laughs. You threaten to put the phone down.

“Hey, on my last birthday you said that may all your wishes come true, right? Well, my next birthday is coming up and my wish is to spend the day with you.”

“I’m in Kyoto right now. You’re in Tokyo.” you point out. You are both on semestral break. Has he already forgotten that you spend your breaks with your grandmother in Kyoto?

“I’ll take the day off and I’ll come down to see you.” he holds his breath as he waits to hear your answer, “We haven’t hung out in a while.” he adds casually.

“Can’t you just spend it with someone else?” you sigh somewhat resigned, “The not hanging out part is on you. Don’t put that on me.”

You could hear him thoughtfully inhale on the phone before he replies, “No, I want to spend it with you. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see Kyoto.”

“I’m ending the call now.” you roll your eyes, unnerved by the whole conversation. The audacity of this man!

“I promise I won’t do anything or say anything dumb!” you hear him yell over the phone as you get ready to end the conversation.

“Sure.” You click the end call button.

———————————————————————

On his birthday, you do go out with him. You find yourself waiting at the Kyoto Central Station, wading through the crowds to find his light brown head searching intently for you. He smiles when he sees you. You feel a mixture of sadness and nerves. You’d never thought he’d be so callous with you when he first smiled at you like this.

If anything, today is little more than a break from work. You’re also determined to be so quiet to the point of cold to make the experience so awkward he’ll never want to come to you again.

“I really want to change.” is the first thing he says to you over doughnuts and coffee.

Makki can easily tell that you are still not back to your old self. Despite the strong smell of brewed coffee that pervades the Kyoto Central Station, you sit quietly on your seat distractedly eating a sandwich.

You almost pretend to not hear him. Instead you turn to him with a blank expression in your face and look away.

“I’m serious. I know I have a problem. You’re not the first person to leave me for the things I’ve said.” he adds.

“I’m sure the next person you date will appreciate that.” you mumble diplomatically.

“Don’t give up on me.” you hear his voice pleading, his eyes sincere and not their usual sleepy nonchalance.

You put down the donut and cross your arms, “I don’t owe you a second chance. You know that, right?”

“I’m really sorry—“

“Makki, I hate so many things about myself. I don’t need you to taunt or repeat them to me. You’re an above average friend at best, but you’re a terrible person to date. I can’t even call you my boyfriend because you you said it wasn’t your ‘job.’” you sigh deeply with your hand on your forehead, “Can you see why I’m not enthusiastic about you?”

Announcements left and right and the ceaseless shuffling of the busy station fill the voids of your conversation.

“So why spend the day with me?” he pauses, eyes wide with curiosity looking straight into yours.

“To prove a point to you. Even when you’ve made the effort to come down here, you’re finding it difficult to watch what you say. Do you find that sustainable?” you tilt your head inquiringly.

He nods, less confident than usual “I want it to be sustainable.” There was some uncertainty in his eyes.

“I can already see it, Makki. Two weeks of this and you’ll be ready to blow your top because you’ll be tired from having to be on edge all the time.”

“I’ve got to start somewhere, right? It’s a change of mindset I’m realizing, but it’s not impossible. I’ve been trying to be more careful and it’s been easier. I’m just a little tense because I’m around you today.” he says quietly, “I’m really trying. I promise.”

“Feels nice to be the one that’s not tense,” you let slip a smirk.

———————————————————————————————

At the end of the day, you’re back at the train station with Makki beside you. You’ve taken him to see the Golden Pavilion and its surrounding touristy streets. You stop by a bookstore and a shop for sweets. You buy a book, he buys mochi. Despite your coldness, Makki was intent on catching up with you. He wants to know what you’ve been up to, what movies you’ve been catching, what your grandmother’s inn is like. It’s difficult not to warm up to him.

“Can I kiss you goodbye?” he abruptly asks before heading to his platform. You’ve made your way back down to the center of the train station where all the schedule is displayed.

The first time Makki held your hand was in a train station in Tokyo. You were on your way back from a concert when he slipped his hand into yours in the busy platforms. You don’t pull away, instead you hold on tight. You remember pressing your head against his chest on the ride home, his chin resting on the top of your head. Neither of you said much. The companionship was more than enough. That moment seems so long ago.

“No.” you swiftly reply.

“Not even a forehead kiss?”

You firmly shook your head. You half expect him to insist and push, to say something about you being a prude and playing hard to get, but instead he just nods.

“Can I hold your hands? I want to hold you before I go.” Makki doesn’t murmur nor is he reticient. He speaks in his regular tone, extending his hands to meet your midway.

You hesitate at first then grudgingly agree. You reach out to hold him, your fingers lingering on each other’s barely interlaced.

“Let me know when you’re coming back to Tokyo. I can meet you at the train station and help you with your luggage.” he waves before turning his back. You watch him get lost in the crowd of the station.

After Makki leaves, you head back to the inn to help with the dinner service which is more crowded than usual. Your Obasan is grateful that you made it back.

Towards the end of dinner service, your phone rings incessantly. You curse and head outside of the kitchen to quickly answer the call. Of course, it’s from Hanamaki.

“You could’ve just texted.”

“I miss you already. I just wanted to hear your voice.” he says. His usual flirtatious tone is absent.

“Now that you’ve heard it, can you put it down? I need to go. Obasan needs my help.” you whisper hurriedly, “Now is a terrible time to call.”

“If you want to stop talking, you don’t need to drag your grandma into this.”

“I’m serious, she needs help washing the dishes. You can call later when we’re done with tonight’s service.” you chastise him, “We’re a little short staffed in the kitchen. You should know what it’s like.”

You rush back in to help wash the dishes as your Obasan brings more dirty trays of dishes. Momentarily you put Makki out of your mind. But when the inn becomes quiet again, you pull out your phone and stare at it.

Do you make the call again? After ten minutes of indecision, you give in and make the call.

Makki sounds slightly surprised on the other end of the line, “Done with dinner service?” He probably expected you to not follow through.

“Yeah, done for today.”

He clears his throat, “I slipped something into the book you bought. Did you see it yet?”

You put the phone down to reach for your bag. A thin white envelope is sandwiched between the first page and the cover. You open it up. He hears you unfolding the letter.

“Care to explain?” you ask with an eyebrow raised as you read through the lines. Hanamaki Takahiro sent you a resume…?

“It’s my application—“

“We don’t need another dishwasher here. Besides, you live too far away.” you cut him off.

“To date you.” he finishes. You’re too stunned to reply. You feel your heart skip a beat as you fumble at your phone.

“Don’t pass your judgement just yet.” he adds, “I know I have a lot to prove. I want it to be my job to love you and make you happy. Just know that.”

“...I’m not sure I want to give you a second chance.” you whisper, your voice inevitably cracking. You clutch the envelope a little too tightly, accidentally crumpling it.

Makki pauses before answering, “That’s up to you, but I-I’ll be here in case you do. Anyways, thanks for spending the day with me. I missed you a lot and I’d like to come back someday…if you can let me come over.”

You listen to him breathe in the other end of the line. You imagine him twiddling with a pen with one hand and his phone on the other.

“Goodnight, Makki.” you nod. You missed him too and you want him to come back. You don’t say yes or no, nor will you make promises. For now you let things hang in the balance.

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

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messrmoonyy · 3 years ago

Note

35 for sylki on that touching list. Please

Ah, another prompt I tell myself I’ll keep short then go off on a tangent for that is you squintttt you’ll see the prompt lmao. Anywho. Enjoy my sweet anon.

I’m gonna start posting these requests to my AO3 too if you prefer to read there!

Prompt from this list

Prompt: kissing their bruises and scars

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Sylvie Laufeydottir

Warnings: mentions of injury, mild language

Check my masterlist for all my other writing, requests are always open for prompts from lists or not!

Finding Sylvie again had been just as difficult as Loki had imagined. She’d spent her entire life hiding from people and only letting them find her when she needed them for something. And amongst the madness of new timelines popping up by the second…. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. But Loki had been determined. In fact it had been his one and only point of negotiation when Stephen Strange had caught up to him, agreeing to work with him and fix the mess… only if they could locate Sylvie first.

He wasn’t sure she’d even want to see him. She’d cast him through a time door after all. But he believed he understood her reasons, her motives. She had spent her entire life looking for the man behind the mask, the person in charge of the TVA, the reason she’d been plucked out of Asgard all those years ago. And she’d finally found him. There was no way she was going to simply walk away from that. So he kept looking for her, determined to find her and hoping his thoughts were correct.

Though she didn’t seem to want to be found. Every trail they found ran cold, but there was always a little something that made Loki know she’d been there. So maybe, just maybe, she was waiting for him after all. Leaving him clues but needing to keep moving. Situations on some timelines were getting rough and he found his fear peak everytime he found a trace of her, wondering if she was hurt. She had survived in apocalypses, he knew she could take care of herself. But this was something else.

Loki felt himself almost waiting for Stephen to tell him they weren’t going to look any longer, that clearly she had fled and wasn’t planning on coming back. But he held up his end of the bargain and Loki helped him regain order on some of the timelines they came across, looking for Sylvie in the process.

Though as time went on and Loki lost track of the amount of timelines they had crossed, he could feel his hope beginning to slip. Only still going forward on pure stubbornness alone. Stubbornness to not want to lose someone he loved again. He’d lost everyone he loved up until this point. Frigga was dead. Thor believed him to be dead. Mobius didn’t even know who he was anymore. He had no friends. No family. Just her. Just Sylvie. His Sylvie. So he would remain stubborn and keep searching for her.

And stubbornness clearly payed out.

“ as far as I can tell there’s no Kang variant here. We should be safe for now. But don’t get too comfortable “ Loki looked around the planet they had arrived on. He got the strangest sense of de Ja vu as he looked at the small village in front of him “ this planet seems peaceful enough but nothings usually peaceful for long anymore “

“ where are we may I ask? “

“ planet called… Lamentis-1. It’s completely wiped from existence in a few hundred years time. That’s probably why Kang had no use for it and left it alone “ Loki wanted to laugh to himself, of all the planets. All the timelines. They had to end up there.

“ she won’t be here “ he was still balancing on the knifes edge of wondering if whether or not she hated him or not. And if she did, she wouldn’t go back to Lamentis. The place their connection was established. The place he felt that shift in his chest by the lake. Had she felt that too? Had her heart dropped deep into the pit of her stomach as she sat there holding his hand, looking at him as if he were put on the earth solely for her? had she felt that too?

Or had he simply over reacted about the entire thing, his purely desperate need for affection simply clawing it’s way out in the fear of his impending demise?

“ well we’re here. So. Let’s look around I’m not wasting my time “ Loki gave a nod and followed him through the village. He remembered passing through there with her, but it had been deserted before. The neon sign he had ‘foolishly’ suggested she tried to charge the tempad with, was glowing brightly by the side of the road. It made his head hurt and he turned away, suddenly feeling too bright for his eyes, instead looking at the people that didn’t know their planet would be nonexistent in a few hundred years. At least those on it now would be long dead by then.

“ why did you think she wouldn’t be here? “ Stephen asked as he dodged a man carrying a large stack of boxes of some exotic looking fruit. Loki hesitated for a moment and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“ I er- we. We have been here before. Myself and Sylvie “ Stephen glanced over at him as if silently probing for more information “ when I first met her… we escaped the TVA and I accidentally brought us here. Right on the day the aforementioned ‘wiping from existence’ happened to be in full swing. We were very nearly wiped out with it “ if he thought hard enough he could remember every moment of that day. Right down to the smell of the ash that filled his nose, the feel of the soft seats on the train, Sylvies fingers on his neck in her attempt to enchant him.

He shook his head slightly to free himself from the thoughts.

“ our… ‘ connection’ was first established here. It created a rapid branch on the timeline. The TVA showed up right before a chunk of rock could take us down “ Stephen hummed slightly in understanding and then came to a stop.

“ then you might have an idea of where she would go if she were here? “ the lake. His head told him immediately though he knew it was stupid. She might still hate him, why would she go back to such a place? But… he guessed it was worth a try.

After telling Stephen his hunch they stepped through one of his portals, much more simple than the previous trek he and Sylvie had made across the planet.

He stepped out of the glowing ring, coming to an immediate halt. Partially because the lake looked a lot more beautiful when it wasn’t being destroyed by parts of a planet. But mainly because there was a woman stood there at the edge of the water. He knew it was her simply by her hair and the same black leather outfit she’d had when he last saw her. Even if it was a little more ragged looking now.

“ Sylvie “ he practically gasped her name, shock and relief washing over him at the thought he’d finally found her. The woman froze stiff for a moment before turning around quickly, arm outstretched with a sword pointed towards him. Her face was bruised, her lip split in one corner, blood dried around her nose and a gash through her eyebrow. She looked a mess quite frankly.

But it was her. It was her. Sylvie. No mistaking. Even under the purple of her bruises. He’d not forget a face like hers, he’d been dreaming of it for.. how long had it even been since he’d last seen her? He wasn’t sure.

“ Sylvie “ he tried again, more confident and strong than before “ I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay “ her eyes were wild, filled with confusion and fear and she didn’t drop her sword “ Sylvie “

“ How do you know my name? “ her voice was the same, If a little hoarse. Exhausted. How long had it been since she’d slept properly? Drank? Ate? He wanted to scoop her into his arms and take her back to the sanctum sanctorum, protect her from what ever had caused her harm.

“ you told me it yourself. Right here on this planet, granted it was a few hundred years ahead of now. It’s me, truly “ he racked his brains for a few moments to think of some way to prove it to her then remembered what was in his pocket. He carried it around with him everywhere just in case he finally found her. His TVA tie. She’d only ever known him in his increasingly grubby TVA uniform. So he assumed it was a good place to jog her memory of him.

He raised his hands in a surrender, the tie in his hand, before taking a few more steps closer.

“ close enough “ she grumbled when he was close enough to be only a few centimetres from the end of her outstretched sword.

“ alright. I understand “ he lowered his hand slowly and draped the tie over her sword. She took a sharp in take of breath at the sight of it, holding it in her hand and looking as if she might cry “ I’ve been looking for you. For a long. Long time “

“ why “

“ because I- “ he cut himself off with a short sigh, deciding now was not the time for him to be making deep proclamations of his love for her. Not when she had a sword pointed at him “ I wanted to make sure you were okay “ he opted for instead.

“ I sent you away “ she said, her eyes darting up to meet his. Clearly she didn’t believe him.

“ to the TVA. A place you believed me to me safe, back to my friend “ he wasn’t sure if he was totally believing that himself as he said it, more so using it as a way to see if that was truly what she’d done. Or if she had just pushed him across space and time to get him out of her way. Kissed him as a mere distraction.

“ but you’re not safe. You’re here “ he nodded again and chanced another tentative step towards her.

“ things are a little… complicated. But we have a safe place. So just come with me, you’ll be safe now Sylvie. Stephen- “ he nodded backwards to where he was still stood observing the two of them “ - is helping us fix our mess “

“ our? “ she croaked, her eyes welling up. It was breaking his heart to look at her in such a distraught manner.

“ yes. Our “ she dropped her sword then and fell into his arms, clutching at him as if he were a lifeline. And he guessed, from the looks of her, he probably was. He held her back just as tightly, trying his best to voice to her that she was safe now. She was home now.

“ we should get back “ Stephens voice attempted to break their moment but Loki refused to let her out of his grasp. He placed a kiss to the top of her head and then shuffled around her slightly so that his arm was tightly around her back, never letting any points of contact drop. To his mild surprise she let him help her walk through the portal, leaning into him slightly and trying and failing to hide a limp in her leg. He’d almost expected her to bark her orders that she could very much walk on her own. But she didn’t.

If fact she was quite quiet after that. Not speaking a word as Loki explained where they were now and that it was safe, talking to her like one would talk to a scared child. He felt as if that was what she’d needed. He didn’t expect she’d had much comfort in her life and he was more than happy to offer it to her now. She didn’t protest when he suggested they get her cleaned up, or when they did just that and she fumbled with the buckles of her leathers and he silently went over to help her. She looked even smaller and afraid without her armour, just the torn undershirt and her trousers.

She was still uncharacteristically quiet as he went to work cleaning her wounds. Sitting her down on the edge of his bed and wiping away the dust and debris of wherever it was she had been. She was Asgardian after all and had her own magic flowing through her veins, so most of her smaller wounds had already began to heal themselves. Though he found a few that were a little worse and silently patched her up.

“ I’m sorry “ she said as Loki finished up, so quietly he wasn’t even sure he’d heard her correctly at first “ I’m so. So sorry Loki “ he looked up at her to see her eyes already on him, tears spilling down her cheeks. Loki reached out for her, his hand cusping her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears.

“ what happened to you “ was all he said, still shocked by how much weaker she seemed. So vulnerable. So afraid “ Darling, tell me “ the name fell past his lips before he could stop it, but she simply leaned into his touch more at the name. She was simply as starved for affection as himself.

“ a lot “ she said with a sniffle, closing her eyes and letting out a shaky sigh “ a whole lot of shit” Loki waited for her to continue, getting her to open up wasn’t a particularly easy thing he’d learnt. So he wasn’t about to try and push and break what he’d seemed to be building on now with her “ after I killed him. I thought. I thought I’d feel brilliant. I’d have some magical awakening and feel like I’d finally accomplished what I had to. Some relief. And I did. For the briefest second then I just…. Nothing. Just pure regret and remorse, hit me so hard I felt sick with it “

Her hand came up over his in her cheek, pulling it down into her lap and holding it tightly. He’d noticed she had thing for holding his hand. He wasn’t exactly against it himself, he wanted to contact as much as she did. Needed the contact as much as she did. If he focussed enough he could sense the magic thrumming below her fingertips, he’d always been able to sense magic. But it felt stronger with her.

“ I ran then “ she continued after a few more moments of silence “ only thing I’m good at. I wanted to look for you. Kinda missed having you being a total arse by my side “ he smiled at that, knowing she had missed him too. It hadn’t just been him pining for her after all “ but the timelines…. It’s mental out there now. People trying to take over and growing more powerful everyday…. Plenty of you out there you know. Right evil bastards some of them “

“ they did this to you? “ he questioned. She shrugged. That was a yes then.

“ some of them. Not all as smart as you’d think. Ran rings round them “ she looked up at him then instead of their intertwined hands “ I didn’t think you’d want to find me again… or if you did you’d just want to kill me. Get me back for what I did “

“ I could never. You had your reasons. I understand “ she seemed to hesitate for a moment before her free hand reached up, her fingers gently grazing over his cheek and his jaw.

“ I missed you, you know “ she said softly “ you absolute arse “ he chuckled slightly and his smile grew when one tugged at her own lips.

He couldnt help but think how beautiful she looked, even with the bruises and scrapes littering her skin.

“ you’re staring “ she commented quietly, her fingers creeping closer towards the nape of his neck and toying with the curls of his hair.

“ I am “

“ narcissist “ she teased, clearly returning back to herself again. He preferred it.

“ maybe “ just looking at her was making his chest tighten. He wondered if his past self would have been quite annoyed at him turning to mush about a woman, found the whole thing funny. But he found that he didn’t even care now. Because hisself that lived on the sacred timeline had a different purpose. A different glorious purpose. But his? It was her

“ what are you thinking about? “ she asked quietly and he struggled to find the words to tell her. He’d never been the best at voicing his emotions. Especially something like this.

“ I- Sylvie- “ he cut himself off with a frustrated sigh and she raised an eyebrow at him before pressing gently to the back of his neck, the faint prickle of magic on his skin. He looked at her and understand what she was asking. And for the first time he didn’t block her as she dipped into his mind, let down the walls he used to keep her out and let her swim around through his thoughts. She closed her eyes, focussing on the clearly difficult task of scrambling around inside of his mind. He tried to keep his mind as clear as possible, the one and only simple thought of I love you floating around on the top. And a minute or so later her eyes snapped open again.

She looked at him as if trying to figure out if he was joking or not. There was a moment of silence between them before her fingers at the back of his neck applied pressure again, this time tugging him into her just as suddenly as she had done the first time. All that time ago back in the Citadel.

He’d wanted to be the one to kiss her the second time though he wasn’t complaining. But when she began to pull away he pulled her right back in again, revelling in the way she almost melted against him. She was still tugging at his hair in a way that was almost painful, but it was all very… Sylvie. So he didn’t even mind. His hands were cautious on her, in the way they always had been. Always careful not to touch her unless she wanted him to.

He pulled back from her lips slowly, trying to savour every last millisecond. Then found his lips moving to brush over the purple bruises that were littered across her face, the cut that sliced her brow, following the landscape of injury over her pale features and down her neck. He finished with a lingering kiss to a fresh scar on her shoulder, having touched every mark of hurt and hatred he could see with love. Every angry moment replaced with a tender one, shifting slightly then so his forehead rest against her shoulder.

She turned her head to the side, nuzzling her nose into his hair, her hand sliding up to cusp the back of his neck again and hold him in place. Neither of them spoke for a few moments longer, not really needing to. Just holding each other, being thankful to finally be back by the others side.

He lifted his head after a few minutes pressing his forehead to hers instead, his thumb brushing across her tear stained cheek.

“ I promise you, with all my heart, that I won’t let anyone hurt you again “

#messrmoonyy writes #I wasn’t going to post today because I was in suu a down mood bc of Helen. but writing makes me happy so. yeah #Loki tv #Loki #loki laufeyson #sylvie laufeydottir #sylki #sylki fanfic #loki x sylvie #marvel #mcu #one shot #pro sylki

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beeexx · 4 years ago

Text

The missing Tarlos scenes from 2x06

Word count: 4.8 Read on ao3

.......

“You know you need to tell him this, right?”

“No, no, I really don’t.” TK protests loudly, by banging the frozen bag of chickens into the counter, hoping they will shake loose with the excess force he is using. Carlos lifts an eyebrow from where he is standing in boxers and an old tank top, too much skin on display for it to be good for TK’s health, cutting onions into small, stupidly neat pieces on the chopping board.

“TK….” Carlos begins, in that voice of his and TK turns around, eyes flashing.

“Carlos.”

Carlos huffs.

“Babe, this is clearly bothering you, and taking it out on our poor dinner isn’t ideal.” He points out.

“Oh, sure Carlos, I’ll just tell my dad that him having another kid is a terrible idea because I’m a prime example of how they messed up with the first one.”

“TK…”

“Oh and while I’m at it I might as well bring up how I am feeling about it and make it all about myself like I always do, that ought to go down really well.” He snaps and Carlos sighs.

“You don’t make everything about yourself.” TK lifts an eyebrow and Carlos snorts. “Okay, sometimes you do, but often not without a legit reason and this is definitely a situation I feel you’re entitled to feel whatever it is that you’re really feeling and express that.”

“Okay, well if we’re on the subject of telling parents what we really think then why don’t you take a page out of your own book and tell your parents that you have a boyfriend, oh, or better yet, the way you’ve been feeling for years about them refusing to acknowledge that you’re gay.” As soon as the words leave his mouth TK regrets them and he winces at the wounded look Carlos sends his way at his harsh words.

Fuck.

“That’s not the same thing.” Carlos mutters, he sounds bitter about it and were it not for the deeply thoughtful look also making its way across his features TK would take the words back immediately.

“I could have gone about that differently, sorry…. But, but isn’t that exactly the same thing as this is though.”

“We were talking about you.” Carlos points out in an attempt to deflect and TK just chooses to let it go because he doesn’t have the energy to have an argument about two different things at the moment. His head is enough of a mess as it is.

“My point still stands, talking to your parents about all the ways they have hurt you is fucking hard, okay?”

“Yes, okay I will agree with you on that.”

“And if you really want to make this all about me this time then fine. Try telling my dad, Owen Strand, Captain of the 126, adored by his crew, envied by even more, hero, cancer survivor, the list could go on for a long time Carlos, yes try telling that person that oh yeah by the way dad you neglected me as a child and now I have both abandonment issues, self esteem issues and a constant fear that no one is ever going to love me because I am not worthy of it, that will go down real well.”

He hits the bag three more times against the counter and lets out a triumphant sound as the frozen chickens finally rattle loose inside and he turns to hold it up to Carlos, a sly little smile at the corner of his lip, because his tactic did work even though Carlos had doubted it would. Carlos isn’t smiling though, he’s frowning, concern written all over his face, eyebrows pinched together and TK drops the bag in confusion.

“What?”

Carlos puts the knife down and takes the bag from TK, throwing it lazily, without looking in the direction of the kitchen sink before he steps up close, wrapping his arms around TK and pulling him close. TK lets out a huff of air, taken aback by the fierceness of the action.

“I hate it when you do this to yourself…” Carlos starts and TK sighs, wraps his arms around him back and nods against Carlos’ neck, can’t help but breathe him in, feeling the calming effect of it already working through his system.

“Sorry.”

“No, no don’t apologise.” Carlos leans back and TK looks up to meet his stormy eyes. He opens his mouth but he isn’t sure what to say.

“I love you, okay? So much and I wish I could hit that into your thick skull sometimes but I can’t, so I’m just going to have to spend every day in this relationship proving that you are indeed worthy of love and no past damage or mistakes will change that, okay?” TK can only nod, his throat suddenly thick with emotions he doesn’t know how to express.

“With that said, you’re not very good at keeping things bottled up, especially not for a long time and especially not something this big, so you should probably really think about what you actually feel about this whole situation before you choose to do that.”

“Judd said I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah, something about me wanting to push the baby down a well or something because I couldn’t handle not being the only child anymore.”

“He said what now?” TK chuckles at Carlos’ incredulous look and he shrugs.

“It was some biblical reference I don’t know. Prodigal son?”

“Oh, like Cain and Abel, like a lesser known older brother and the jealousy that stems from it because it’s natural to resent the baby because you’re scared it’s going to take your place.” Realisation dawns on Carlos’ face and his eyes light up like they always do when he gets to talk about things he knows, which at times is a surprisingly big amount of random shit.

“Yeah, yeah, exactly that.” TK says sarcastically, gives Carlos a curious look.

“What? I read.” He shrugs and smirks proudly. TK hums. ”Well Judd is good at a lot of things, maybe giving advice isn’t his forte.”

“And yours is?” TK lifts a challenging eyebrow.

“I am an excellent advice giver, I’ll have you know. The issue isn’t me, the issue is everyone else and no one listening to what I’m saying.”

“Oh, so you have a lot of experience then, giving advice?” TK bites down his smile as Carlos glares without heat.

“I chased Michelle around for years when she was getting in trouble searching for her sister. I definitely have a lot of experience.” TK chuckles and leans up to kiss his nose. It wrinkles adorably and TK’s heart tugs in his chest. He loves Carlos so much.

“I love you too, so much. And I’m sorry for bringing up your parents again, that wasn’t nice of me.” TK apologizes and Carlos nods and watches back with quiet brown intense eyes.

“It’s okay, you were right though.” He grudgingly admits.

“Maybe, but there is no pressure, as I’ve said you can take all the time in the world that you need to figure it out and I’ll support you either way.” He promises and Carlos gives him a soft beautiful smile.

“Thanks.” Carlos whispers, grateful and TK nods, and gently starts scraping his knuckles against Carlos’ scalp, pulling at his curls in a way that makes his face soften immediately, eyes falling shut in contentment and his arms tighten around TK, breathing heavily. His reaction tells TK that Carlos feels really comforted by the way he is touching him and that he needed it more than he let on.

TK has always responded well to touch, Carlos picked up on that a lot quicker than most, but it’s also not uncommon for Carlos to like it as well. He just doesn’t always express it, so TK’s taken to doing it when he senses it’s something Carlos needs, while not always being aware of it himself. It’s these small gestures TK’s learnt, that you do for the other person and that they do for you that love really is.

Carlos’ eyes are closed and he’s letting out soft sounds of pleasure, it’s distracting as hell, and it’s making it even more difficult being this close to him and not kissing him, so TK does because he feels he can’t not do it, and angles Carlos’ head down and captures his lips in a searing hot kiss. As always when they kiss like this, starting out soft, but then growing with intention and heat, the slowburn of arousal starts to make its way through his veins, electric energy flooding his system. Only Carlos has this effect on him.

When Carlos reaches to grab at his hair and then bites at his lip it makes TK whine and chase after him when he moves back.

“Dinner, remember?” Carlos reminds him, but with his curls standing up unruly and his pupils dark with want, it’s very hard for TK to remember the reason why he can’t skip dinner all together and eat Carlos out instead. Carlos huffs and his hands tighten around his sides like he can read TK’s mind.

“After dinner.”

“Is that a promise?” TK asks slyly.

“Yes.” Carlos reassures and the slow self satisfied grin tugging at his lips is fucking obscene and TK cheekily grabs his ass in retaliation. Carlos knows the effect he has on him.

“You know cooking in boxers can be a fire hazard.” He points out.

“Good thing I know an excellent firefighter then.” He says and kisses TK hard on the lips before he steps away, walking back to his mostly finished chopped up onions, giving TK a very nice view of his ass in the black tight boxers he’s wearing. God, his boyfriend is hot as fuck.

The rest of the evening is so nice in fact that for a moment he doesn’t think about his parents or the baby, or anything other than how much he loves Carlos and how lucky he is to really have him in his life.

…….

TK unlocks the door to Carlos’ place, throws the bag towards what he hopes is the direction of the shoes, and puts his keys down in the bowl by the door, where Carlo’s are already lying. He steps inside and almost jumps out of skin when he sees his boyfriend sitting on the stairs, frowning and very clearly waiting for him. Most of the lights are off and it casts his features into stunning relief, even when angry, Carlos is too good looking for his own good.

“So, you heard?” TK gulps and Carlos nods.

“Yes, yes I did hear, from the group chat, but not just that, every goddamn news station in the state is covering how two firefighters jumped through a minefield to save two boys that were hurt.”

“Well, only one of them was hurt.” TK shuts his mouth when Carlos levels him with a deeply unimpressed look and he takes a slow step forward and tries again.

“In my defense, I am certified and I was qualified to do it.” TK stops, draws in a sharp breath, backtracks. “Are you mad?”

Carlos lets out a deep breath, and his features soften slightly before he shakes his head, scrubs a hand through his face and when he looks up his eyes are wide and sad.

“No, no, of course I’m not mad. Just extremely worried.”

“Oh?” TK asks, feels confused, scrambling to catch up with the change, having been expecting that Carlos would be upset with him. Carlos huffs and opens his arms and it’s all TK needs for him to take a few steps forward before he sits down between Carlos’ legs, wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him close. Carlos plants a kiss in his hair, and tightens his grip around TK, almost unconsciously starts stroking his hands down his back and TK lets him, can’t push away the guilt that’s come on so strong, mixing badly with the elevation he’s also feeling after the day he’s had. But when his boyfriend reacts like this it can’t help but leave an acid taste in his mouth too.

“I’m not sure whether I want to never let you leave my arms ever again or brag to everyone that I am for sure dating a hero.” Carlos says and were it not for the slight tremor of his voice that he tries to conceal, TK would laugh.

“I wouldn’t mind never leaving your arms.” He admits because it sounds appealing, especially now, when adrenaline is starting to make way to exhaustion instead.

Carlos huffs.

“You’d get bored after a day or two.” He points out and TK shakes his head.

“You underestimate the excellent sex we do have, I’m sure I could be convinced for three days or so.” Carlos laughs, but then one of his hands wrap around TK’s wrist, feeling out his pulse, comforted by the steady thumping of it. TK lets him, allowing himself after the hectic day he’s had to tuck his face into the crook of Carlos’ shoulder and neck to breathe him in. They both have different ways of calming themselves down when the other one is near and on certain days they need it a little more than on others.

“Your pulse is beating insanely quick.” Carlos points out after a while and TK hums against Carlos’ neck, gives himself a moment before he detaches himself slightly so he can look at him.

“Adrenaline.” He shows Carlos his hand that’s still trembling slightly and Carlos’ eyebrow pinch in concern.

“I’m sorry -” TK begins because he really does hate it when Carlos is sad but Carlos shakes his head and interrupts.

“No, no, this is on me. I know you have a dangerous job that sometimes requires that you take risks, I just wish they didn't have to be this big, a minefield, that’s just insane.” TK nods, he understands.

“But also really cool.” He can’t help but let slip out, eyes alive in excitement and smirking. Carlos snorts and pokes his nose, a little hard maybe, but only a little.

“Yes and designed to give me a goddamn heart attack, you know I’m not even 30, by this rate I’ll be going grey before I hit 35.” He points out, gives TK a look that speaks volumes about how offended Carlos seems to be over that. He laughs and reaches for Carlos’ hair, tugging gently on it.

“I think you’d suit grey really well to be fair.” Carlos wrinkles his nose in distaste and it’s so adorable that he can’t help but laugh again and Carlos distaste slowly melts into something much softer and he sticks his tongue out instead like a mature 26 year old that he is. “And if we’re pointing fingers, remember that hostage situation a while back where an office was shot and I thought it was you because you wouldn’t answer your phone?” Carlos winces and he looks momentarily guilty about that because TK had been so fucking worried he could barely even do his job that day and when Carlos hadn’t answered by the time they were both off shift TK had lost it a little bit.

“Not my finest moment.” Carlos admits.

“No, so don’t go pointing fingers.” But he’s mostly joking even though that day had been scary as fuck, he so very much understands Carlos’ worry today, he really does. Carlos hums.

“How was it then?” He asks and TK bites at his lip, trying to figure out how to word everything. He turns towards Carlos and sits up on his knees, bringing him eyelevel with him and wraps his arms around his neck. Immediately Carlos’ hands come to rest on his waist, his fingers slipping underneath TK’s jumper to trace skin.

“It was incredible, well the minefield aside which was scary for sure, but after that I’ve been feeling like I’ve been on this incredibly long lasting high ever since.” Carlos lifts an eyebrow at the metaphor and TK shrugs sheepishly.

“Yeah, but it’s an apt metaphor for the feeling. I guess I haven’t felt good like that in a while.”

“No?” Carlos asks and there is no trace of judgement or anything in his voice, just kind and curious eyes looking at him. TK nods.

“The only other times I’ve felt this kind of high is you know actually getting high and when I’m with you, I guess the job’s been missing that spark for a while.” Carlos smiles and leans forward to plant a kiss on his nose.

“I’m not totally sure about comparing this relationship to a high.” He points out and TK snorts.

“I’m not, I’m comparing the feeling. Being with you is like pure happiness you know? I feel, just, like I’ve never felt before and even when it’s tough it’s worth it because I love you so much and I know deep down that you love me too and I never don’t want to spend my time with you, so yeah, the feeling is addictive for sure. I really just love you.” He goes quiet and Carlos' eyes have softened and he’s met by a look of pure love and a breathtakingly beautiful smile breaks across Carlos’ face before he pulls TK close and kisses him softly and slowly, making TK’s toes curl inside of his shoes.

“Fuck.” Carlos whispers against his lips. “I love you too, so much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Carlos says with adoring eyes and voice full of love before he runs his hand through TK’s hair and gently pulls him close, kissing him hard on his lips again. It’s TK who pulls back though making Carlos lift an eyebrow in surprise because it’s unexpected for TK to be the one to do this, so before TK can chicken out he blurts out the words.

“But I might have done something stupid…”

“Oh?” Carlos asks, amusement dancing in his eyes like he’s totally expecting it.

“Yeah, I might have handed in my resume to Vega for the position to become a paramedic.” He rushes the words out, hates the silence between them and can’t help but feel ridiculously nervous all of a sudden waiting for Carlos' reaction. Carlos opens and closes his mouth a few times then shakes his head.

“Okay, wait, I think you need to back up a few steps here so I can follow.” He says, confusion evident in his eyes. But he’s giving TK an encouraging look at TK takes in a deep breath.

“The minefield was not fun and the thought of what could have happened to me and my dad while out there was really scary. I’m not trying to take massive risks anymore, not when I have you to come home to.” Carlos smiles, lovingly, and gives him an encouraging look spurring TK on. “But I knew someone had to get to the kid and with the help of my dad and Vega that I could do something about it, so I volunteered. And the elevation afterwards, that all came from saving the kid. It just… it felt really good to save someone, to be the one to actually do it.” TK confesses loudly for the first time since his shift ended and he in the spur of the moment added his name to the pile in Vega’s office, and saying it makes him feel a little calmer than he has ever since walking off the field.

“Oh, okay.” Carlos says, not fully understanding yet what TK is trying to say, and yet being so patient with him, waiting for TK to figure it out.

“I don’t know, I sometimes feel like I’m not doing enough in the field, like I could do more... and while I also know that’s not the case because every day we all go out in the field doing our best together. But I think I’ve been carrying this with me for a while now, it’s just that this year has been a lot, and even when there is a pandemic going on people still forget to turn their stove off, and they get into car accidents or have their cats escape up in trees unable to come down. The world hasn’t stopped, it’s been moving and I’ve been moving with it without having the time to reflect a lot on myself and the job. But today, I don’t know, I felt like something just clicked while out there and when I could really help him...I guess, I really liked doing it.” TK blushes because he’s been ranting and he’s averted his eyes but they move back to Carlos by their own accord and Carlos’ eyes have cleared from all earlier confusion, instead understanding has taken over and he nods his head thoughtfully.

“And that’s why you handed in your resume? Because you want to continue doing it?” Carlos fills in and TK nods biting his lip.

“D-do you… Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“It’s not up to me to tell you what to do babe, but you know what?”

“What?” TK asks, hanging onto every word he’s saying.

“I think you’d be good at it.”

“Yeah?” He asks, hopeful, and Carlos smiles.

“Of course, you’d be amazing at it, if it’s what you want.”

“It is yes, it’s what I want.” TK says with certainty. It’s just clicked, like all that has been shaking loose and upended recently inside of him finally settle a little more.

“Then yes, it’s an amazing idea. You’re going to be so good.” Carlos grins and TK melts because while he doesn’t depend on Carlos’ approval for this it’s so nice to see him be actually happy for him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Carlos promises and TK releases the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding and his own face breaks into a relieved smile.

“I think I could be good at it too.” He confesses a little shyly and Carlos beams and pulls TK slightly forward, his forehead resting on his and everything just settles for TK because nothing beats this, nothing beats Carlos.

“I’m proud of you.” Carlos says and TK can’t bite down the smile. But it falls off his face after a moment and he moves back, looks a little unsure again.

“I might have done something else that wasn’t very smart.” Carlos huffs, lifts an eyebrow, so ever patient with him.

“What did you do now?”

“I didn’t tell my dad…” He trails off and Carlos grimaces but then a look of determination takes over and he shrugs before he gently grasps TK’s face between his hands, stroking a thumb lovingly along his cheek.

“Well, you know what I think?” TK shakes his head. “I think it’s not any of his business really.”

That surprises TK to be honest and he lifts an eyebrow.

“W-what? I mean really?”

“Yeah, I mean maybe you should have told him before you just went and did it, but it’s your life and not his. And as long as you’re not doing it for someone else then it’s not really his choice to make.”

“I’m doing it for me, it’s what I want.” Carlos’ lip lifts in a proud smile and he nods.

“Good.”

“But, what if he’s not happy?”

“I don’t think he will be unhappy, maybe a little surprised and maybe give him a moment. But if he knows you like I do, then he will realise it’s a good thing.”

“Okay, I hope so.” TK musters up a wane smile, still can’t push away the spikes of anxiety about the conversation he’s going to have to have with his dad. But it can wait, for a little while at least.

“You know Vega is going to bust your ass right?” Carlos jokes, eyes full of mirth, smirking and TK snorts.

“Yeah, yeah I know.”

“I remember when Michelle started training under her, the stories she would tell me, Vega is badass and she taught Michelle who is also a badass, I’m expecting she’s going to do the same to you.”

“I’m already a badass.” TK reminds him and Carlos chuckles.

“True, I think she will do you some good though. Challenge you and allow you to really thrive under her, she has that effect on people.” TK nods.

“It’s a tough job…”

“Yeah, but as you said, you’re already a badass, you’re going to do great.”

“It will be nice to be the paramedic, rather than calling one.” TK says and it grows a little more serious between them.

“I mean -” TK clears his throat at Carlos’ silence. “I have experience of being on the other end and I know what it’s like being helped. I guess a part of me is looking forward to doing the helping.”

“I see, well you care so much about people and if you get a chance to show that, to show them this.” Carlos' hands move to cover TK’s heart and it flutters in his chest, warmth spreading to every cell of his body and he smiles shyly. “Then, well, you’re going to be very good at it.” TK bites his lip and nods.

“It feels… I don’t know, just right.”

“Good, that’s amazing.” TK doesn’t know what to say but he’s grateful, more than how he knows to express at the moment but in the way Carlo’s face softens, maybe he can read between the lines.

“Have you talked to Owen about the baby yet?” TK groans, can’t help but glare, the moment between them broken suddenly, like a bucket of ice cold water has been thrown at him, and he moves his head away, hiding in the crook of Carlos’ shoulder and neck and nibbles at his skin making Carlos chuckle, twitching in his arms.

“No, not yet…” He says though, voice muffled by Carlos’ skin.

“Well, do you want to talk about it?” TK sighs but takes his head away and meets Carlos’ eyes.

“I feel… I mean I am happy for them of course but...” He bites at his lip, hard and Carlos reaches forward with his thumb to gently stroke it over the swollen redness making TK stop the action. He takes in a deep breath instead.

“But they always do this, and I don’t even think they are realising it, but they get so single-minded and focused on themselves that they forget everything else. The fighting isn’t fun, I’ve been in the middle of it and I know how lonely and unwanted you can feel when it happens. What they’re doing, it feels like they are just falling into the same patterns as before without even realising that they are, and it’s not going to last if they do it that way.”

Carlos looks thoughtful and TK feels annoyed and frustrated because he can’t help but think it makes his parents feel so irresponsible and it’s hard to come to terms with that because his parents in their own right are extremely competent people, it’s just when together, they aren’t always.

“I support you, I always will and your feelings here are valid and to be worried is honestly a sign of growth.” Carlos begins.

“Oh, you're calling me mature, that’s unusual.” TK jokes, changing the subject.

“I mean you’re definitely a hot mess, a terrible terrible driver for sure.” Carlos easily fires back.

“God, did Judd text you?”

“And filmed some of it. This is why I’m never letting you drive my baby.”

“Hold on, I thought I was your baby, and here I find out you have someone else on the side?” Carlos’ arms tighten around him, biting his lip, the smile threatening to take over.

“What can I say, I really like that car and I paid a lot of money for it.”

“It’s a terrible car for making out in.” TK reminds him and Carlos smirks, reminded of the few times they’ve gotten frisky in it.

“True, still not letting you drive it.” He teases and TK glares.

“Rude.”

“Maybe, but I care too much about the possibility of my greying hairs to get here sooner than I’d like to, to get into a car where you are driving us.”

“Well I might be a paramedic soon, so at least you'd be with someone where your odds are fractionally better if you were to get in an accident.”

“Still not letting you drive it Strand.”

“Worth a shot.” TK laughs and Carlos smiles.

“So, do you want dinner or?”

TK shakes his head.

“No, I’m good, but I’m getting too old to sit on my knees like this.” He grumbles and shifts to get the blood running again. Carlos chuckles and makes it all the easier by just scooping him up in his arms. TK yelps and Carlos grins, delighted by the sound. TK wraps his legs around Carlos’ waist, tightens his arms around his neck.

“Please don’t drop me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it baby.” Carlos reassures grinningly. “So, bed?”

“Bed.” TK agrees.

He lets Carlos carry him up the stairs and into the bedroom, feeling so safe in his arms, that whatever conversation that’s waiting for him tomorrow with his dad, doesn’t matter as much anymore.

#911 lone star #9-1-1 lone star #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk x carlos #911 lone star fanfiction #911 lone star fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #tarlos fanfiction

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mittensmorgul · 4 years ago

Note

Incoming sad rant about the spn ending. Don't read if you're not interested in reading something like that, but I literally don't know anyone in real life I can talk about this with, and I really need an outlet:

Sometimes I can put the way SPN ended out of my head and think "it's just a stupid show. I don't have to accept the finale, and the writers/network are wrong." But other times I just get gripped with really intense sadness at the disrespect that was done to my favorite characters. To the point where I'll sit still for hours a day, just wallowing in it. It ruins my whole day and mood. And then I think to myself "I'll just find some other stories that end better!" but then I get sad again, cuz I don't think I will ever love other characters as much as I love Dean and Cas, and then I spiral again thinking about all the potential this unique beautiful love story had, and how we're never going to get the closure we deserve.

I really hate that after all this time, I'm a grown ass adult getting sad over fictional characters. I know it's not that trivial, but I sometimes wish it was so I could get over it 😞

Hi hi, and first of all *socially distanced internet hugs* I’m sorry you don’t have an outlet, but you’re always welcome to chat with me (if you come off anon we can talk privately if you want. My DM’s are always open, even when it takes me a bit to reply. no one should have to feel alone in this.)

I’m actually gonna start at the bottom of your message and work my way up, because I also, as a grown-ass adult, get sad over fictional characters. And I need to emphasize that this is the *point* of fiction. A well-written and developed fictional character is *indistinguishable in our minds from an actual real human being.* The way we react to them *feels exactly the same to our brains and bodies* as how we react to real people, and that’s a testament to just how well developed Dean and Cas were in canon.

I am not a young person. I have engaged with a lot of media over my life, and have *never* felt this strongly about fictional characters before, so I understand what you mean when you struggle to think about finding another story that ended better, or struggle to think about finding other characters you might become this attached to or experience this sort of emotional investment in. And I think there is another factor you didn’t consider there: The vast majority of other media I have engaged with, I was able to relate to on a level of “oh that’s nice for them” or “wow that sucks for them.” I have never, and possibly never will again, feel so utterly invested in fictional characters, to the point where it affects my real life as much as Supernatural has. Period.

I will likely never experience *literal physical lovesickness* over two fictional characters ever again. I hadn’t ever experienced it *in my own real life* before, and yet 15.18 triggered all those symptoms in me. As an aromantic person, this was pretty shocking to me. It also says a lot about just how real these characters feel to us, and how important they have become to us. They make us feel this! This is not an accident. It’s *incredibly difficult* to create fictional characters with this range and depth of emotional connection, and yet here we are.

I think that’s the biggest evidence possibly to present in defense of the statement that THIS IS NOT JUST SOME STUPID SHOW.

Other evidence: this fandom, still going strong after 15 years. Look at every SPN convention for proof. Look at AO3, where there are more posted stories about Dean and Cas than literally any other pairing on the planet (by a not-small margin, too). If that isn’t enough evidence, we have fanart to look at as well. Look through @theroadsofararchive where at the time of this posting there are over 40,000 artworks catalogued, and more being added all the time. Same with @canonspngifs where you can search through through nearly 75,000 gifsets organized by an excellent tagging system and made by dedicated fans out of love for the thing. This is all proof that you are not alone, that so many of us care just as deeply about them as you do. Not even mentioning the people who have written hundreds of millions of words of meta, articles, and even masters theses and doctoral dissertations on Supernatural and the fandom. This is a unique thing, even within the larger fandom culture. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that your feelings for it are stupid or irrelevant or wrong.

But also don’t let anyone try to convince you that you must accept the finale as part of the story if you don’t want to. Don’t even let *yourself* believe that if you don’t want to. This show has done more to play with the themes of “what is reality” and “who gives a story meaning” and alternate universes and curses and djinn dreams to easily account for whatever the heck the finale was.

my current go-to theory: everything after Chuck’s defeat takes place in the Mockumentary Alternate Universe... it fits way too uncomfortably well... and then I just apply the fic I received in a cosmic transmission from the actual supernatural universe wrote detailing the events of what *I* hoped would transpire afterward. I know this doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for me, mostly because it *has* to. It means far too much to me not to.

You are not alone in having invested yourself into this story, and these characters. Your feelings about them are not wrong or stupid or frivolous. And the proof is everyone else who feels the same exact way, who connected to this story (and to each other through this story), and whose lives have been forever altered through this journey together. The fact that Dabb turned out to have been Chuck Junior and couldn’t see (or was prevented from showing us) what Team Free Will would’ve chosen to do with that after defeating their original creator just stands to prove to me that the finale can’t possibly be The Truth, you know?

I don’t know if any of this will help you, or provide you some small comfort right now, but maybe it will eventually. We’re all processing the loss of the show and the abject failure of story that was the finale in different ways, and I’m sure our emotional reactions will shift over time. It was just A Lot to process all in the span of a few incredibly emotional weeks-- not even mentioning how all of that emotional response was compounded by the american elections and surrounding nonsense, the general stress of enduring a global pandemic and all that entails, and *waves hands around broadly at everything else contributing to the trauma occurring in the collective of humankind right now.* We’ve all been emotionally compromised, so be kind to yourself in how you feel you’re coping with it all.

And know that no matter what, you are not alone in how you’re feeling. The grief is real, and our brains don’t care if it’s felt for fictional characters or real people. This was honestly a once in a lifetime experience for a lot of us, and not even the wtf of the finale can kill it for us if we don’t let it. I reject that particular piece of rusty rebar and choose to believe in a just and narratively coherent resolution. To do anything less feels like dishonoring the story and characters who have drawn me in and made me feel so much for them over the years. If the story itself couldn’t honor them properly, then I can choose to do so myself.

#spn 15.20 #finale what finale #seriously though none of us are alone in this #Anonymous

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kylorengarbagedump · 5 years ago

Text

Not a Scratch (NSFW)

Read on AO3.

Summary: You knew he would come back. You knew. So you kept the crystal around your neck. A pendant. A reminder. It was why you weren’t surprised when the call came in over the transceiver--garbled and urgent, but intelligible:

“This is Rey. I have Ben. We’re on our way back--need medics on ready!”

It hadn’t mattered, the 8 years of distance, of longing, of memory. Ben Solo was back.

Words: 6800 (fucking... why)

Warnings: Just a lot of feelings.

Characters: Ben Solo/Kylo RenxReader

A/N: A long overdue gift for one of my closest, enduring friends, @faestae. There are few words I can say that illustrate what our friendship has meant to me, so I hope that this, a try-hard attempt at a love letter, says enough.

That being said, I desperately needed to save Ben Solo, as I've needed to do since 2015. So, here's the actual canon ending to TROS--isn't it weird how that works?

I hope that y'all enjoyed this. I really enjoyed writing Ben's conflict and confusion. I love him, no matter his name. And I love y'all, too. Thank you! <3

“Promise me.”

Ben Solo’s hands cover the kyber crystal in yours as a plea, his eyes clouded with restrained terror. His bottom lip, pillowy and pink, quivers, and he shakes his head, anxiety rolling from him in waves. Weaving your fingers through his own, you tug him close, seeking out his gaze. He avoids you, jaw straining.

“It’s going to be okay, Ben.”

“How do you know that?” he replies. “You don’t understand. I’ve heard what they say.” Tension builds again in his shoulders, and like a dog, he wags it away. “Promise me you won’t wait for me.”

“Your family loves you,” you say, and he stands, ripping his grip from yours. You follow, reaching for his arm. “Nothing is going to happen. It’s going to be okay!”

“Stop saying that!” he snaps, fire flickering in his pupils. He’s heaving, his sight glossy. You always forget how massive he is. He holds you in his stare, chest filling with air. There’s a pause--you think he might apologize--but he turns away, releasing a sigh. “Go. Go home. Forget about me.”

Heart cracking, you fold your arms. Your throat is tight. “You know I could never do that.”

“Well,” he says, “start trying.” He stands there a moment, mind churning with something you’re not sure you want to know. “Go.”

“Ben--”

Ben murmurs your name. It’s disarming. “Please.”

Chewing your lip to keep it from trembling, you leave, gripping the crystal. You don’t look back.

The memory was worn from use, now, muddled in places, exact details blurred to approximations, sentences rounded to paraphrases. Sleepless nights, you would caress its frayed edges, holding it like gauze over the wound in your heart, waiting for the ache to cease--yet each morning, like stitches popping, the wound would bleed anew, redder with each reminder of his presence.

If you had been smart, you would have made that promise and kept it. If you had been smart, you would have stayed away from the Resistance and Leia Organa. If you had been smart, you would have done as he had asked--banished his existence to a corner of your brain where recollections went to rot, let it wither into decay.

But you’d done none of those things. Desperate to keep a connection, you’d maintained a relationship with his mother, in the hopes that one day, he’d come back to you, that you’d prove to him that you hadn’t been foolish to wait for him as he’d believed.

Then came the news of the Jedi Academy.

Then came the news of Kylo Ren.

You followed Leia Organa into war. You became a part of the Resistance. You were one of the few breathing members left. And even as you witnessed him crumble the movement to its knees, you shielded that memory from bitterness, clutching at its most poignant wrinkles, coiled around the strongest, clearest tether to that night.

The kyber crystal.

No matter how desperate with hatred Ben had become, that tether grounded you to what you knew of Ben Solo--a boy on the precipice of his manhood, a boy consumed with expectations and swallowed like sunlight by the black, wretched shadow of fear. It had chased him, you knew, for years. Even after it had snagged him with its claws, drawn him deep into the mire of resignation, you nurtured a seedling of hope, sustained almost entirely on the nourishment of the feeling of the crystal in your hands.

You knew he would come back. You knew. So you kept the crystal around your neck. A pendant. A reminder.

It was why you weren’t surprised when the call came in over the transceiver--garbled and urgent, but intelligible:

“This is Rey. I have Ben. We’re on our way back--need medics on ready!”

Scrambling, you charged into action, shouting out to your comrades, “Hey! Rey’s coming back! Injured parties on board!” You careened through the base, calling out to whoever would listen, leaping over supplies, tripping over wires, tumbling into groups trying to sneak a meal. “Injured parties en route! All medics on deck! Rey’s coming!”

Your blood flew through your veins at lightspeed, the possibilities spinning like roulette in your mind. Ben was coming back--Ben. Not Kylo Ren, but Ben Solo, your Ben, and you would be able to see him, touch him, hold him again after 8 long, awful years. Your hidden memory burbled to life with renewed color--you could see the line of his nose, the waves of his hair, the breadth of his shoulders as if they were in front of you, now.

The excitement was tempered by the realization of Rey’s request--medics. Fear and joy fought for dominance when you pictured his body torn with wounds, soaked with blood, heavy with pain. Breath shuddering in your lungs, you searched for a place to sit, to wait. Your desire was to be the first to see him off the ship, to leap into his arms, to grasp at his face and smother it with your affection. But you knew that this was his mother’s place, not yours. If Ben was gravely injured, then to try to be with him would only complicate the issue. This was to say nothing about the impact of his choices--what everyone else on the base might think.

An interesting man you’d chosen to love.

Despite your resolve to sequester yourself in your tent during his arrival, the noise of Rey’s ship landing was too difficult to resist. You poked out your head, watching a swarm of Resistance fighters surround the vessel. The reality of his arrival sent your heart into your throat, hands fidgeting as you scanned every new movement for evidence of his presence, willing your eyes to believe what they were about to see. The hatch opened, and out stepped Rey--bloody, dirty, but still bearing a gleaming grin. She fell into the arms of her cheering friends, and you grew more impatient, craning your neck to see him appear behind her.

Silence cast over the celebratory din before you saw him, as if his presence destroyed the idea of joy on base--his hair was long and dark, curls blown out from sweat. He looked even larger than you had remembered, his wide frame padded with the muscle of an experienced warrior, and his face… It was just as beautiful as you remembered--full lips under hazel eyes, a long nose--but so tired. And nervous.

The urge rose to call out to him.

“Ben…”

You clamped your hand over your mouth, horrified--until you realized it hadn’t been you who had spoken.

The crowd parted for Leia Organa as she strode to the front, meeting her son at the threshold, where he stood transfixed, an effigy crafted from terror. Your tongue dried when you observed Ben take one step forward, and another, before crumbling to his knees, face buried in his fists, shoulders swelling with emotion you were too far to hear. Leia crossed to her son, pressing his head to her chest, stroking his hair. Quiet words passed her lips, and his body wracked, trembling in her embrace.

Pulse pounding, you retreated to your tent. Quakes rumbled through you, your palms slick with perspiration, breath rattling as if your ribs had come loose. Thoughts raced through your mind faster than you could identify them, tears welling and slipping over your cheeks. You laughed, despite yourself, grinding the heels of your palms into your eyes. The moment you’d spent the past 8 years preparing for had arrived--and you couldn’t even bring yourself to see him. Being a spectator to his icy reception, his collapse into his mother’s arms, had been more sobering than you’d anticipated. You realized that after all he’d been through, who was to say he’d even still care about you?

Who was to say he even remembered your name?

The mask you’d so carefully carved over the past near-decade shattered, and you sobbed, a long, broken gasp of air pulled into your lungs. It was cold in your throat, pins poking you from the inside as you wept, years of denial wilting, parting for torrents of doubt. Your last conversation with Ben had ended with him begging for you to forget him--he’d gone on to renounce his name, become Supreme Leader of the First Order. He’d murdered his own father. How, after any of this, could you think his mind hadn’t oh-so-ceremoniously murdered you, too?

Whining, you fell into your bed and tugged a blanket over your shoulders, concealing your necklace with a fist, as if you could will it to disappear. You’d been stupid, so stupid. You’d loved Ben, but the man that exited that ship was not the same Ben you’d loved. And he might not ever be. A chill settled over your stomach while you pulled the cover tighter, like it was a barrier protecting you from reality, like you could stave off falling into a canyon of despair.

You remained there, the crushing awakening of foolishness ceding to an empty rot, eyes boring through the far flap of your tent. Outside, restless chattering bloomed as time moved forward, groups of your relieved comrades downing spirits for the first time in what seemed like millenia. Raucous peals of laughter erupted from positions near and far, a group in the distance taking to singing after a few hours of drinks had passed. You heard it all, trapped in your fetal position, cursing yourself for your ignorance.

At least you had the manners not to invite anyone to your pity party.

Daylight dimmed, and your legs grew restless, your chest bubbling with anxiety. You sighed, rolling out of your bed, dragging your fingers over your face. It felt swollen, tight, your cheeks sticky with the remnants of your tears. As much as you wanted it, to remain like a statue in the tent, an observer to the victory of the Resistance, would be impossible. You’d fought for this, too--to hide out of, what, embarrassment? Shame? It didn’t seem right. At some point, you would have to face him. Might as well get it over with now.

It was likely Ben had been taken to the medic tent, but you couldn’t imagine where he’d gone after that, if he had been all right. Maybe he’d gone to stay with his mother. Quelling the tremor in your lungs with a deep breath, you trudged out into the camp, wandering along to Leia Organa’s tent. Gaggles of Resistance members cheered with raised spirits when you passed, but your brain was numb to their joy, still shackled to the memory of Ben Solo. Freedom hadn’t been awarded to you, yet.

Celebration on base had reached a loud, rolling plateau, and as you moved deeper into base, you spotted unfamiliar ships littered across the landscape, the doors open, the lights on. News was spreading, apparently, and everyone was invited to the party. Another claw of anxiety tugged at your heart--perhaps Leia and Ben would be too flocked with visitors to entertain you. Perhaps you’d arrive and appear even more foolish than you’d felt when you’d seen him walk off the ship. Perhaps there were dozens of people he’d wanted to see, names foreign and unknown to you, and perhaps you should’ve just stayed in your tent like you’d had the inclination to do instead of getting up and walking through this fucking crowd to get to another fucking crowd and--

Leia’s tent was marked by two lanterns outside the entrance--but not a soul in sight outside its boundaries. In fact, it looked as if there’d been a deliberate effort to leave a radius of empty space around her encampment, like an invisible barricade of solitude had been erected. In the cacophony, Leia Organa’s space was unblemished refuge, an oasis of peace that you desperately craved. Yet it stalled you--to break this unofficial blessing seemed wrong. You didn’t want to be the weird girl hanging outside the General’s tent. But the crystal was heavy around your neck. Weirdness be damned.

You crept through the encroaching shadows, hoping to avoid curious eyes while you drew closer to the entrance flap. Before you could push it open, your ears caught the rumbled hush of speech, and your pulse quickened. It was wrong to eavesdrop. And yet…

“It will take time. You knew that when you stepped off that ship.”

That was Leia’s voice--soft, warm. A long pause hung in the air.

“I don’t know why I did. They’re right to hate me.” The next words were pushed between teeth. “I am a monster.”

Your stomach constricted, a punch to your gut. Ben. Hearing him speak had you doubled over, sweat staining your neck, muscles locked in shock. Now, even if you’d wanted to move, you couldn’t.

“I know my son,” Leia said. “And he is no monster.”

“Your son murdered his own father.”

“I know.”

“Your husband.”

“I know.”

“Then how can you…” A hitch of breath, a crackle of noise, like a cry caught in his throat. “How can I…”

Rustling inside the tent, the sound of stifled sobs. Shushing. “This won’t be easy, Ben. It won’t. But you’ve made it this far.” More rustling. “And you’re not alone.”

A snort of dismissal. “Aren’t I?”

“You’re not,” Leia said. “And I won’t let you think you are. You have me. Rey.” She didn’t say your name. Your heart thumped. “The first steps of any journey are the most difficult.”

There was a long, resigned sigh. A stuttered breath. Another pause. “Yes,” Ben croaked. “You’re right.” He sniffed, clearing his throat. “You’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?” said Leia. “Now come on. I haven’t seen you eat a thing.”

Shuffling inside the tent, and you choked on your own spit as your insides flipped. Leia hadn’t mentioned you. Maybe she already knew he didn’t remember you. Relief and horror flooded you at once, your fingers twisting around your necklace. More than anything, you wanted to rush into the tent, throw your arms around him, show him he truly wasn’t alone--but instead you stood there, a shell, paralyzed by what you’d heard.

It was true that he was not the same man you had loved. Before, when Ben had spoken, you’d felt his dread, his unease, it had gripped you with its claws. Now, even through his pain, you sensed resolve, a tide of confidence splashing in his mind.

“Do you…” It was Ben again, voice like a quiet ocean. “There was a girl. Before I left.” He sniffled again, and your lids widened. A girl. “I gave her a kyber crystal. Do you...” He sighed. Your breathing stopped, fist sheathing the crystal. “Do you know what happened to her?”

Leia spat out your name, incredulous. “Of course I know what happened to her. She’s here.”

Heat flashed through you. Your neck was drenched, for sure. You hoped against hope your armpits had been spared. Ben remembered you. He remembered.

“Here?”

“On base,” she said. “She joined the Resistance.”

You could hear the smile in her voice. Meanwhile, your throat was drier than the sands of Jakku. Given a few more minutes of this, your body might turn to sand, too--just disintegrate right there, a pile of dust at the perimeter of Leia’s tent. Silence settled for a moment.

“She’s here.” It was a statement of disbelief.

She chuckled. “Did you really think she would just forget you?”

“Mom…” Noise inside the tent again. “I…”

The tent flap opened, and you yelped, leaping back. There, light shimmering like an aura around his massive silhouette, stood Ben Solo.

Up close, he was even more beautiful. His dark, amber eyes were still wet, already full mouth swollen from weeping. He met your stare, jaw dropped. Air had been stolen from both of you, if the lack of breathing on either side was an indicator. Inside your ribs, something fluttered, and you hoped it wasn’t an oncoming heart attack--but if it was, you’d die happy. Ben’s gaze searched you, drawing over every centimeter of your figure, mapping you to the image in his memory, that, seeing him now, you’d known he’d kept. Just like you’d kept yours.

“Uhm…” Finally, you inhaled. “Hey.”

A long, slow breath spread in Ben’s chest. His eyes refused to leave yours. “Tell me where you’re staying.”

You swallowed. “What?”

He blinked, clearing his throat. “I--... No, sorry.” Looking over his shoulder, he shrugged, gesturing to you. “I’m going to--”

“Just get out of here, already!” Leia chided. You could hear the mirth in her tone.

Ben nodded, and you turned, leading him with quick strides to your own tent. He stayed on your heels, perhaps hoping that his attachment to you would serve as camouflage. It worked, mostly--between the waxing excitement in the camp, the setting of the sun, and the effort to hide your faces, only few lingering stares caught you escaping through the crowds with the former Kylo Ren.

It hadn’t mattered, the 8 years of distance, of longing, of memory. You felt Ben behind you now as if he’d never left, his presence fitting into the ache you’d dug your fingers into, wrenched open, kept gaping. In this moment of rediscovery, wordlessness filled the space between you, not out of emptiness, but out of fullness--too much, too many words; they coalesced into a fog that surrounded you, dizzied you, excited you. Ben Solo was back.

Ben Solo was back.

Lips pinched together, you peeled back the entrance to your tent, and he ducked in. Heat branded you, like he was fire, scorching you when you drew too near. Ben sat on your bed--afraid to burn, you took the chair across from him, feeling ten times tinier when you sank into the seat, shoulders curling over your torso, hands hiding between your knees. Both of you stared in silence.

His gaze was more intense than you remembered--there was an urgency within the depths of his irises, like a panther, crouched in the darkness, ready to pounce. His body was wound with that same urgency, coiled within him, even as he sat on your bed, looking entirely familiar. It was as if Ben was trapped beyond water’s surface, the death throes of Kylo Ren echoing across his skin, shattering his image with each ripple. Fingers biting your knees, you remembered to breathe.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said. “You…” His lips twitched. “It’s good. To see you.”

A sniffle escaped, the tears already welling. Internally, you cursed. Shouldn’t you be a little harder to impress? “I just…” You smiled, despite yourself. “I’m so glad you’re back, Ben.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s…” He met your stare, glanced away. “Yeah.”

You watched his attention wander across the floor of your room, drawn to the ceiling by the hosts of doodles, notes, Resistance memorabilia you’d pinned in artistic menageries, a feeble attempt to make it feel like home. You’d never been successful in that venture. No matter how many trinkets you’d collected over the years, nothing had done the trick to make your bed feel more familiar. Ben’s eyes rested on you again.

Nothing until now, anyway.

“You came to the Resistance.” His head tilted. “When?”

“Well…” Your expression tightened. “Not long after you, uh, told me to go home and forget about you.”

Ben huffed. “You were never very good at listening to me.”

You offered him a little shrug. “Isn’t that what you liked about me, Solo?”

He peered at you, a hint of intrigue at the corners of his eyes. “It is.” A pause while he considered you. “What do you know about what I’ve--”

“Everything,” you replied quickly. You knew it all, and wanted to discuss none of it. Not now. He was here, he was within your reach. You wanted to relish this moment. “I know all of it.”

A sigh left him. “All right,” he said. “You know all of it.”

“I do.” You raised your hands in submission. “And none of it scares me.”

“None of it.”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

His brow twitched. He looked to his feet, quiet.

For years, you’d imagined his return, pictured this moment in varied shades. In your daydreams, you’d always wrapped him up in an embrace, pulled him into a deep kiss, ran your fingers through his hair, like years hadn’t elapsed between the last time you’d even linked hands. That seemed wrong, now--but you didn’t want it to be. How bold you could be in your mind. You nearly slapped yourself in frustration. Almost a decade of pretending, and you were just going to sit and watch him guess how to talk to you? No. Hell no.

“Ben,” you said, “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so, so much.”

He tensed, then relaxed in another long sigh. He whispered your name. “You’ve… To see you here…” A tiny smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “I’ve missed you, too.”

You smiled, wiping away more unbidden tears. Warmth glowed between you, now, cutting through like shears to the well-worn path that time had overgrown. Shifting, you inched forward in your chair.

“Are you okay?” You gestured toward him, waving your hand around. “I know they called for medics when you arrived.”

He cocked his head again, and sat up, wagging his shirt, as if to demonstrate he was free of serious injury. “I seem to be in one piece.”

You spied a hole in his shirt, and you frowned. “What’s that?”

Ben glanced at you, thoughtful. Then he dropped the shirt, and it fell against his body, framing a peep of his naked torso. “You’ve never seen a lightsaber wound before?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Rey stabbed me,” he said matter-of-factly, like this was what you’d expected him to blurt out. “It’s fine, though. She healed it.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry…” You shook your head. “What?”

“It still burns. It’s eating me from the inside.” A pause, Ben’s gaze leveling you with violent severity, your stomach sinking into your gut--and then he grinned. “I’m kidding.” He poked himself through the hole. “You never know what the Force is truly capable of until your own lightsaber is sticking out of your stomach.”

“Stars, Ben!” You smirked against your will, fighting the laugh that wanted to burst through. “You’re such an ass.”

He shrugged, a sly look still pulling at his face. “Really, it’s fine,” he said. “See for yourself.”

Raising a brow, you went to stand, anxiety strapping your limbs to the seat. “Oh, um, I don’t know,” you replied. “I mean, I don’t want to be rude.”

“It’s fine.” His voice was lower, harsher. “You could never be rude to me.”

Blush eked over your cheeks. “If you say so, Solo.”

You stood and crossed to him, breath shallow, and sat gingerly next to him, scanning his figure. Never had you imagined Ben could be even bigger than he’d been in your memories--yet here he was, looming over you without standing, crowding your bed and your clarity with equal effectiveness. You looked between his face and the hole in his top, and he nodded. Jaw clenched, you reached out and poked it.

Two thoughts flashed through your mind when your flesh connected. The first was surprise--he was right, the alleged wound was completely healed; there wasn’t even a scar. The second, almost immediately after, came paired with a rabid streak of desire. Holy--he’s… firm. Swallowing, you met his eyes. They were dark.

“Ben,” you breathed. “That’s… incredible.”

Your finger hadn’t left his torso. Staying linked to his stare, you shifted closer, pressing your entire hand against his abdomen, palm splaying over the wall of tight muscle, skimming it like water over rocks. When you met the hem of his top, your digits crept underneath, brushing across his skin. His stomach twitched, but his eyes remained trained on yours--breathing now optional. Electricity sparked at your fingertips, stealing your rationality, and you caressed him, tumbling into the warmth, the solid strength of his body, your blood racing, urging you to discover more. Your hand snaked up to his chest, grazing the smooth expanse of flesh, catching the hammering of his heart beneath his sternum, his hardened nipples, and back down, resting on his lean belly. He stiffened when your digits kissed the trail of hair that led lower. He was hot. Or you were hot. You couldn’t tell, anymore.

Ben’s chin quivered. “Not a scratch on me.”

“No…” You couldn’t stop staring at his fucking mouth. “Not a single one…”

Trapped in hesitation, both of your eyes locked again--and you saw it there, misty in his gaze, his ache, his desire, his agony--and you both snapped, crashing like gravity into the other.

Ben seized your face, his plush lips working over yours, forcing a groan from you when his fingers threaded through your hair. He cradled you, binding you to him, tugging your closer as his tongue slipped into your mouth, a moan following. You melted like wax in his grip, molding to him as if you’d been carved from his memory, one hand traveling along the lines of his abdomen, the other plunging into his own hair. The waves whispered like silk over your skin, and you shivered, mewling into him, your tongue swirling around his. Bolder, now, your hand skated across his frame to feel his powerful shoulders, and he tensed again, another moan leaving him.

Scraping your nails over his scalp, you eased closer, until your thighs touched, and in the motion, your palm drifted low, sweeping over the insistent, hard bulge in his pants. Ben gasped, folding over, lids wide with shock, cheeks flushed. You blinked, frozen, and he glanced at his erection, then at you. The knot in his throat bobbed.

“Ben...”

Exhaling, he nodded.

You reached down, working at his pants, monitoring the anticipation rising in his face. After a moment of rustling, it sprang free--long, thick, and heavy, just as you’d remembered. Lust flooded you, your thighs pressing together, your cunt throbbing while you stared. It had been years since you’d done this, and judging by his anxious lip-bite, it had been just as long for Ben, too. Throat tight, you held his gaze, ghosting the tips of your digits along his shaft.

He choked, cock bobbing with yearning--his lid twitched while he observed you observing him, his hands curling in and out of fists. A shaky breath exited your lungs, and you teased him again, toying your fingers along the head, smearing drops of his pre-cum, and back down, memorizing the tiny veins. Ben’s own breath quaked, lids fluttering, and your core thrummed again. You wrapped your hand around his dick, feeling how hard, how needy he was, and stroked him.

Like molasses, he collapsed, sinking into his seat, body yielding to the pleasure pulsating through his nerves. He watched you, jaw slack, as you pumped his cock, thumb collecting pre-cum and glazing his length with it. Breath rolled through him, steady, his legs spreading, fists finally unwinding, hands resting at his sides. Ben was hot--his heat ached in your fist, his pulse jumped through your digits, the heartbeat of his cock echoing to your pussy.

You jerked him faster, squeezing his shaft, and he shuddered with a moan, hips bucking to fuck into your grip. More pre-cum leaked from his tip, coating your hand, and you worked it along his dick, earning another moan, another tremble of pleasure. His eyes fought to stay on you. You twisted your wrist, changing pace, heart leaping when his head fell back, hair tumbling onto his brow.

“Fuck,” he murmured, “fuck…”

He was throbbing hard, now, writhing, breath coming faster, sweat glistening on his cheeks. Despite how badly you wanted to fuck him, you just as badly wanted to watch him cum, wanted to see him cover himself with his seed, wanted to watch him lose himself in the ecstasy only you could provide him.

Your name spilled from his mouth in a gasp, and he spasmed, snatching your wrist. His cock twitched in fury, ripped like thread from its release, and he sucked in a deep breath, pushing up on his palms and pulling you into another kiss. Humming in delight, you kissed him back, returning your hands to his hair--but he pulled them away, pinning them to your sides, growling as he dragged his teeth along your jaw.

Ben then busied himself with your clothes, nibbling lower, to your neck, while he peeled your jacket from your shoulders and tore your shirt toward your head. His touch was a match, embers exploding over your skin, stoking your appetite to strip for him. You wriggled free of your top, and Ben went to kiss you again, pausing when he saw the pendant around your neck, exposed now. Wonder glittered in his gaze, large fingers tilting it in fascination.

“You still have this.” He studied it, appraising each facet.

You nodded. “It’s never left my neck.”

He said nothing, rotating it between his thumb and forefinger. His level of focus brought fresh blood to your cheeks; you thought to move, but didn’t, suspended under his scrutiny. Longing, need, fervor, all paused as Ben wrestled with the concept of your devotion.

“I…” His stare fell, over your breasts, to your stomach, raking over your legs, and back up, greed growling behind his pupils. “I want you.”

You grinned. “You have me.” Your hand covered his as it fiddled with your crystal. “I... I want to keep this on.”

“Of course you do,” he replied, smirking. “No reason to break your streak, now.”

Giggling, you kissed him again--his hands slid behind your back, fussing with your bra before tossing it aside. He pawed at your exposed breasts, kneading the soft flesh, mouth falling to suckle at your throat. When you whimpered in pleasure, he groaned, easing you onto your back, thumbs flicking at your nipples before smoothing over your stomach and grappling with your bottoms. His hair tickled your jaw while he nipped at your neck, and you wrestled with his top, hands gliding over the strong planes of his back as you yanked it toward you. Ben grumbled, reluctant to release you, but seemed to agree that his clothing was impeding your mutual goal. His shirt came free, tossed aside, followed by your shoes and panties. The vulnerability made you squirm--not just yours, but his, too.

Ben’s body was even more perfect than you’d pictured when you’d traced it with your fingers. Every part of him was weaponized, down to the bits of exposed thigh you caught from his half-shucked pants. You swallowed, realizing the extent, the breadth of his power--how easily he could crush you, how effortlessly he’d done it to others--the vestiges of Kylo Ren evident in the taut landscape of his torso, the veins in his forearms, the cobwebs of white scars on his flesh.

But in his eyes, you saw only Ben Solo, a man possessed by your naked figure flushed with passion for him. Your pussy clenched--you became aware of how wet you were, and your face burned.

Silent, he guided a large hand up the side of your hip, his tender touch earning another throb of your cunt. Digits sketched around your nipples before he squeezed your tits again, reveling in your gratified response.

“You like that,” he murmured.

Nodding, your thighs ground together, the longing between your legs becoming too furious to silence. Ben smirked. Without a word, five fingers skimmed over your belly, brushing over your mound, and you cracked, moaning. In response, his dick pulsed, almost hitting his stomach with its demand. As if to invite him, you spread your legs, allowing him a full view of your wet, swollen pussy--and Ben’s breath hitched, hand gripping his length and jerking it slowly.

Being so close to him again was simultaneously familiar and bizarre, like you were getting intimate with a stranger who just happened to know all the quirks and triggers of your body, like a person you’d known only from your dreams had rolled into your bed, ready to enact your fantasies. But Ben Solo was not only real, he wasn’t a stranger. He was yours.

“Ben,” you breathed. “Please…”

Shushing you, he lowered himself on top of you, skin swathing skin, warmth encompassing you, and he guided his cock between your folds, slicking it on your juices before positioning himself at your core. You circled your arms around him, holding back tears when he pushed in, breaking you open with slow, gentle thrusts, his face falling into the crook of your neck, air sucking through his teeth. Muscles from your toes to your head vibrated with ecstasy, nerves singing with joy.

Ben groaned into you when he slipped fully into you, then pulling back out, relishing the drag of your walls on his throbbing length. Grunting, he wrapped you in an embrace, tugging you against him while he slid in again, a choked moan of disbelief caught in his throat. He kissed your neck once, then twice, hips pumping out and in, his pace powerful and gradual, as if he couldn’t help basking in the tight heat of your cunt. Tremors still quaked in your bones, and you wrapped your legs around him, needing him nearer, your lids closing, allowing the tears to slide down your hot cheeks.

He whispered your name in your ear, kissing your throat again, plunging steadily into you. “You feel so good,” he said, “so wet for me…”

If he was intent on liquifying you, it was working. Your limbs were gelatin, without motion, no purpose except to stay curled around this man. Ben’s cock fucked you open, sank deep into your pussy, his tempo quickening. You sniffled, nuzzling against him, content to stay like this forever, maybe die like this, if need be--you couldn’t ever remember feeling this whole, this safe. And as you thought it, another sniffle. But not from you. From Ben.

Whimpering, he rammed into you, speed erratic, like he was trying to drive his entire body into yours, pulling you into his chest, the kyber crystal cutting into your sternum. Your nails rasped across his back, clinging to him when he slid out. Another frantic thrust, and you squeaked, cunt clamping down on his dick, more tears spilling. He echoed you, silencing a sob in your neck, shuddering as he fucked you harder, faster.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned, “I’m so sorry…”

You hushed him, hands diving into his hair, fruitlessly trying to turn his face toward you. He was unyielding, wound around you like wire.

“I’m sorry I left,” he said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for all of it--”

“Ben, it’s okay--”

“It’s not!” He gasped, catching his breath, littering your throat and cheek with kisses. “I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve this--”

You squealed when he speared a spot deep inside you. “I forgive you,” you said, “it’s okay--”

“Stop saying that…” he mumbled. “You don’t--you don’t understand…”

“Shh…”

He had slowed by this point, long, languid thrusts pushing into you. “You don’t understand what I want,” he whispered. “I’m a monster.”

Your heart skipped. “You can tell me, Ben…”

Ben hid his nose in the crook of your neck, face wet, breath like smoke. He hadn’t stopped fucking you through his cries, only clutched you tighter, keeping you real in his hands.

“I want...” He sniffled. And then, into your ear, barely escaping his throat: “Let me choke you.”

It was so abrupt, you laughed. “What?” you said, more as a statement than a question. “Is that all?”

He trembled in your arms. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing his temple. “I know that, Ben,” you said. “I know you would never hurt me.”

He paused, seated inside of you, and pried himself from your shoulder, examining you in doubt. His chin still quivered.

“I mean it,” you said, pushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “I want all of you. Then, and now.” You kissed his nose. “I know Ben Solo. He is not a monster.”

The doubt fell from his face, followed by the anguish, the shame--and filtering in its place was pure, voracious hunger.

“You mean it.”

“I do,” you said. “I want it.”

He pushed up on his palms, hovering over you like a predator. Heart thrashing, you bit your lip, resisting the urge to clench around him. Before his fall, Ben had been passionate, desperate, even rough--but never like this. Never feral. Never animalistic. Never…

Leaning forward, he brushed his mouth over your ear.

“We’ll see how you feel when I’m done with you, princess.”

Never so hot.

Fire flooded your veins, and you whined, the noise cut by his hand pressing down on your throat, squeezing with enough pressure to make you gasp. He smirked, rocking his hips to remind you of the thick length still inside you.

“I’m going to make you cum hard on this cock,” he purred. “Is that what you want?”

You nodded, grasping at his wrist.

“Good…”

Ben growled, and slammed into you, forcing a wail from your lungs, silenced by the grip on your neck. He rammed you with his dick again, and again, jolting your bones, until he was pounding you, hips smacking into yours, a snarl of pleasure escaping him.

“You feel incredible,” he said. “There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought about fucking your little pussy…” He moved faster, throwing his head back in bliss. “Fuck, I’ve dreamed about cumming inside you…”

“Ben,” you wheezed, overwhelmed with lust. “Ben, please…”

He returned to your ear, nipping it. “You need to cum, princess?”

A deluge of lust, now, drenching you, drowning you. “Yes,” you squeaked out, “yes, please!”

Both hands crushed your throat, Ben’s eyes wild, his hair mussed, and he kept his pace, pumping deep into your slick, hot cunt with ease. His digits twitched--there it was, whirling around your clit, the Force, how you’d missed it--and you were flying, euphoria engulfing you, so fucking close, limbs jerking with pleasure, ready to cinch around his cock.

“Ben…” The pressure on your neck was snug. “Ben, fuck--”

“Fuck yes,” he hissed, spitting out your name, “fuck, yes--” He growled, the Force spinning like a buzzer around your nub, and you snapped, falling apart under him. “That’s right, cum--cum for me, princess…”

White rapture blinded you when you came, straining against the choke, pulsing and milking his cock. Ben squeezed your throat with his climax, keening as his orgasm ravaged him, his hips stuttering, dick spilling jets of cum inside your cunt. He fucked you through it, frenzied in his release, until it slowed, the only sounds left the sloppy noise of his final thrusts.

A low, long groan left him, and he released you, toppling at your side, chasing his breath. You rolled over, staring at him, trying to catch up with your lungs, too. A sheen of sweat encased you both, sticking your skin together, grazing like raw nerves--but you cared little. Next to you was the man you’d loved for almost a decade, the man for whom you’d waited through war, the man who had held your heart and kept it safe, even in the depths of his darkness.

“I love you, Ben,” you said, cupping his cheek. “All of you.”

Ben stared at the ceiling of your tent, chest still heaving. He said nothing, then glanced at your kyber crystal, fogged with sex. “I know.”

You chuckled, snuggling closer to him, and he wrapped an arm around you, pressing you flush against his frame. Lethargy hung on your lids, and you struggled to stay conscious, the murky noises of the Resistance’s victory celebration leaking into your tent. Seconds lingered into minutes, his eyes still fixed on the crystal, memorizing its reflections of your flesh. A wriggle of his fingers, and it rose from your neck, twisting in the air.

He laid there with your head nestled into his shoulder, twirling it with the Force. Back and forth, back and forth, a twinkling lullaby. Back and forth, back and forth, until, finally, you fell asleep.

#kylo ren smut #ben solo smut #kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #kylo ren imagine #ben solo imagine #kylo ren #ben solo #not a scratch #nerd whinings #fanfiction problems #another fix-it fic #because I'll never stop salting #EVER

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thedumpsterqueen · 4 years ago

Text

Standards of Performance

Here it is!!!!! First chapter of my first fic on my new AO3! This is a multi-chapter, slow burn work. Please let me know what you think, I welcome screaming and incoherent asks about our fave special agent in my inbox. Full text under the cut, or you can find it through the AO3 link below.

AO3 link

Summary: You're the BAU's newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 1, Coffee Stains and Neckties

Words: 2388

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

Warnings: Not much for this chapter specifically, but let’s just assume general gore and murder stuff, explicit language, and sexual content are fair game form here on out.

Enjoy! I’ll try to update weekly, if not more often. I’ll let you know when I have a more defined schedule!

“Fucking SHIT!”

You cursed as you felt the (very, very) hot coffee soak your new skirt. Grabbing as many paper towels as you could with one hand, you tried to sop up the mess on the floor. The stain on your outfit? A shame, but nothing compared to marring the assuredly expensive cream color of the BAU’s breakroom carpet.

A low chuckle sounded off behind you, and you froze.

For the love of god, please don’t be…

“Morgan! Please tell me you have carpet cleaner, oh my god. I don’t even know how that happened.”

Morgan grinned, as he typically did, sauntering into the breakroom with his hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, the janitor's got it later. I was looking for you, team meeting in five. You all good? You look a little - ” he paused, probably searching for a descriptor that wouldn’t sting too bad, “ - rushed.”

You stood up, sighing. He was right, after all. You had stayed up late last night poring over psychology textbooks and only just woken up in time to leave your apartment. As the BAU’s newest profiling intern - whatever the hell that actually meant - the pressure of performing to seasoned profilers’ standards manifested in spending practically all your free time buried in research. Hence why your hair was coated in unbelievable amounts of dry shampoo, you were wearing your unflatteringly oversized glasses instead of your usual contacts, and why your frantic attempt at pouring yourself a cup of coffee when you got into work had resulted in the giant wet spot currently soaking your skirt.

At least the skirt was black.

“You’re right. Late night,” you said, rolling your eyes at Morgan’s suggestive eyebrow waggle.

“Not like that, I wish. Just trying to catch up. Don’t really want to repeat last week’s disaster,” you mumbled, referring to the first time you actually got to question a suspect, which had ended up with a wad of saliva hawked in your face. It was only your third week in the position, but damn, if that hadn’t let the wind out of your sails a bit.

“Hey, what did I tell you then?” Morgan asked, as you walked out of the breakroom together. “You’re not a true profiler until you get assaulted by a serial killer!”

“I’m not a true profiler until I finish the year long training program,” you pointed out, “so I think I could do without the spit in the meantime.”

Morgan laughed, opening the door of the team’s briefing room for you. “Well if we’d known you were gonna be so picky, we might have gone with someone else.”

“Who’s picky?” asked Emily, looking up from her seat.

While Morgan laughed and launched into a dramatic retelling of the event as if the entire team hadn’t already fucking seen it in real time, you took your seat at the table. Reid nodded in acknowledgment, and you returned it with a small smile. Damn if he wasn’t handsome, and ridiculously smart to boot, but you were pretty sure your chances with him withered and died when you asked him what he was doing after work last Friday and he answered with, “Reading.” Point taken.

Hotch swiveled in his chair to face the table and you suddenly became acutely aware of how much of a mess you probably looked. It’s not that you cared about his opinion regarding your general appearance beyond the basic standard of professional attire, but his always-intense gaze and stony expression had a way of making you second guess even your most confidently held opinions.

“Sit,” he said, his voice cutting through the rest of the team’s animated chatter.

It would have been hard not to notice how quickly they obliged, not out of fear, but rather a respect and deference so deeply ingrained that it almost gave you goosebumps. You’d never thought of yourself as a follower, per say, but if Hotch was what a leader looked like, you certainly didn’t fit into that category either.

He scanned the table, stopping on you. “New glasses?” he asked, with a single, slightly raised eyebrow.

“I, um, not really, just didn’t have time to put my contacts in,” you stammered.

“Hm,” Hotch said, “They look nice.”

Your cheeks suddenly felt hot, and you thanked him quickly, looking down at your shoes to conceal the pink that was probably spreading across your face. Hotch had a way of speaking that made everything he said sound like the absolute truth, which was probably why such an innocuous little compliment had disarmed you so much.

Still though, jesus christ. Get it the fuck together. You’re not Reid; you’re not smart enough to be this awkward.

Hotch, blessedly ignoring how painful you just made that interaction, addressed the team while JJ passed out files. “We have a new case. Three bodies, all found completely drained of blood in various woods, off hiking trails. Cause of death appears to be blood loss from severed carotid arteries, meaning they were likely strung up and drained before being moved to where they were discovered.”

Reid spoke up first. “Erm, what exactly do you mean by various woods?”

“That’s the unusual thing,” Hotch said, pulling up a map of the southwestern United States on the screen behind him. "Each body was found in a different state, one here, one here, and one here,” pointing to spots in California, Arizona, and Nevada. “However, local police discovered the bodies within hours of each other due to anonymous tip offs, and medical examiners estimate approximately the same time of death for all three.”

Morgan whistled lowly. “So what you’re saying is, this guy kills three victims around the same time and takes a road trip to hide their bodies in places he knows won't be discovered until he calls in.”

“That’s how it appears, yes,” Hotch confirmed.

Rossi shook his head, twirling a pen that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. “So, how are we splitting this up?”

You whipped your head in his direction. Splitting up? Of course, you should have known it’d only make sense considering the ground to be covered, but your quick mental calculations told you that there were six of them, evenly split into three groups of two, and one odd man out, both in skill and number - you.

“So, who’s getting stuck with me?” you asked, trying to beat everyone to the punch. Not that any of them would voice it, but if you couldn’t project confidence, you figured self-awareness would do.

When you entered the internship as a recent college grad around a month ago, you knew you’d be in way over your head. Everyone else on the team was a seasoned expert, and you were a 20-something with a degree in psychology who somehow managed to charm her way through the interviews of the BAU’s flagship internship program. It’s not that you weren’t smart, you were, of course, but comparatively? You were pretty sure this was shaping up to be a glorified babysitting program, and you were the baby.

“Oh, hush,” JJ said, smiling and shaking her head. You smiled back. JJ had gone out of her way to make you feel welcome, which you were unspeakably grateful for. Between her and Morgan, you sometimes felt like maybe when this year was done, you could actually belong on this team.

Hotch interrupted your pity party. “Rossi, you’re with Reid in Phoenix. JJ and Emily, you’re going to Vegas. Morgan, you and I are going to San Diego.”

He turned to you. “You’re coming with me.”

Your stomach flipped at his words. You knew he had the most to teach you, and you could observe him coordinating the entire investigation from San Diego, but the idea of your performance being directly scrutinized by your boss in such a small group made you more nauseous than excited.

“Please be aware,” he continued, “Garcia is going to have to deal with three times the inquiries as normal. I recommend you only contact her if the information you’re searching for is genuinely too difficult to find yourself.” He gave Morgan a pointed look, to which Morgan raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning.

“We’ll drop teams off as we go,” Hotch said. “Wheels up in thirty.”

____________

As you settled into your seat on the plane, your mind spun, trying to review every piece of psychology knowledge you’d ever encountered. This wasn’t your first case, but it was the first one you got to travel for, which made it feel much more real.

The hours ticked by as the team reviewed the case. You contributed - not much, and nothing they wouldn’t have thought of without you - but it was something. Narcissist, craves attention and spotlight, physically confident enough to detain and murder three women at the same time. The method was throwing the team for a loop, however. Bleeding the victims out was clinical, relatively painless - uncharacteristic of the sexual injuries found on the corpses and the bravado with which the killer executed the rest of the crime.

When you, Hotch, and Morgan trudged off the plane in San Diego, you had been going at the potential profile for hours and even Morgan’s patience was wearing thin.

“Look, Hotch, let’s hold off on speculation until we see the crime scene in person, alright?”

Hotch nodded, and took that as a cue to head straight to the crime scene. You groaned internally - having barely showered this morning and spent half the day on a plane, your greasy hair and coffee-stained skirt would have greatly benefited from a stop at the hotel to freshen up.

It’s not like you have to look good to go stare at a patch of dirt where a dead body used to to be though, right?

____________

Turns out the aforementioned patch of dirt was actually a wooded grove off a hiking trail leading to a nude beach, much to Morgan’s delight. The site itself was uninteresting except for the way the body had been buried - covered up very securely, implying remorse, another characteristic that didn’t make sense with the initial profile.

This commonality between all three crime scenes was hotly debated on the video conference between the entire team when you got back to the hotel. Cross legged on the bed in Hotch’s hotel room, you listened to Reid and Rossi snipe back and forth on the laptop about what the burial method could mean for ten-plus minutes (“It’s clearly just a functional tool to properly hide the body, Reid.” “But you don’t know that, the significance of burial practices can tell us so much more beyond function, it can even tell us about his religious upbringing…”) before Hotch put a stop to it.

“What do you think?” Hotch asked you, turning and looking directly into your gaze. You were suddenly hyperware of the proximity between you two - sitting close enough on the edge of the bed that your thighs were almost touching. Morgan had abandoned his position on the other side of you to stretch out in the armchair by the window halfway through Rossi and Reid’s debate. Hotch’s eyes boring into yours from only a few feet away and the expectant silence of the other team members on the video call spiked your heart rate, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

“I… agree with Dr. Reid. I think it means something. The position of the hands, they were crossed across the chest, right? He didn’t need to do that. I don’t know if it means he was remorseful, but it was on purpose. I think.”

Hotch nodded, not breaking eye contact. “Good. Let's move forward with that theory.” He turned back to the laptop. “Let me know how interviews with the loved ones go tomorrow. Let’s find the connection between the victims. Call me if you need anything.” After shutting the laptop, he turned to you and Morgan. “Let’s call it for tonight. Meet me in the lobby at 7 tomorrow.”

Having been excused, you and Morgan made your way to your hotel rooms next to Hotch’s. Morgan wished you goodnight, and you unlocked your door and practically sprinted into your shower.

After you got out, you looked around the room, towel drying your hair. It was nice, much nicer than anywhere you’d ever stayed. The abstract art on the walls and the modern, clean white lines of the furniture were lit by the soft glow of the sunset filtering through the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony overlooking the ocean. You poured yourself a glass of wine from the minibar (a reimbursable travel expense, right?) and stepped onto the balcony, breathing in the ocean air.

“Nice night, hm?”

You jumped, nearly spilling your drink down your front for the second time in less than 24 hours. Hotch was sitting in a chair on his balcony to the left of yours, reclining with his hands behind his head. Despite wearing nothing but your thin hotel robe, you felt the urge to avert your eyes from him. His suit jacket was shucked, tie undone and hanging around his neck, and the top two buttons of his white, collared shirt were unbuttoned. You felt like you were seeing something you shouldn’t have, like the cold stoniness of his exterior had shifted just slightly and allowed you a glimpse underneath.

It’s just a couple buttons, calm down. You’re the one who’s barely clothed in front of your fucking boss.

“It is. Shame we can’t go to the beach,” you replied, keeping your eyes forward.

Oh my god, three women were murdered and I just complained to my boss about not being able to go to the beach.

“You’re welcome to get up early and go tomorrow; might be a bit cold,” Hotch replied. You could tell from his voice he was smiling.

You mumbled in affirmation, continuing to avoid glancing in his direction. “Well, I just wanted to see the view, um, I’m gonna get to bed. Goodnight, Agent Hotchner!” You ducked back into your room, and you could have sworn you heard him chuckle before you slid the door shut.

After getting ready, beating yourself up mentally for your complete social incompetence, and tucking in under the plush, white duvet, you drifted off to sleep.

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hiccstrxd · 3 years ago

Text

My dearest one

A short drabble for reconciliation! Read it on ao3.

Summary: She had spent these last few years convincing herself that her leaving what she loved most behind was a small price she had to pay. And it had worked pretty well until now. Because looking at him brought back concealed sentiments, a warmth she didn’t know that was still there, a love that still very much burned.

She was furious.

She was absolutely fuming.

“I had everything under control.” Rayla grumbled under her breath a few paces behind him, her injuries becoming a detriment to her physical prowess, and keeping up with his fast stride was proving to be a struggle.

His shoulders squared. The corners of his mouth curved in disbelief. “Sure.”

There was nonchalance in his tone and neutrality in his face, his posture getting even stiffer with each step but that didn’t deter Rayla in the slightest. In fact, it only encouraged her further, and summoning what energy she had left, she managed to match his tempo — if with a bit of extra effort.

She brought a hand up to his shoulder, a hiss deliberately escaping past her lips as the dull ache of her injured hand shot up her arm, the searing pain feeling like that of a dozen needles being pressed through her skin all at once. It left her dazed, the sensation too familiar. She had totally disregarded the frail condition of her right hand.

She took a deep breath as she waited for the pain to mitigate.

When the ache became bearable, Rayla curled her fingers in his shirt, her grip tight enough that when mustering all of her strength, she made him turn towards her rather forcibly. He lost his footing for a short second but gained back his composure soon after.

She pinned him with a glare.

“I don’t need anybody’s help. This is my fight.”

His eyes hardened and his eyebrows furrowed.

“You had no right—“she started to say — everything she wanted to say on the tip of her tongue, everything she wanted to hush confined in her heart. Because he could not just appear as if two years of anguish haven’t gone by, materializing all of a sudden straight out of her dearest memories. She had spent these last few years convincing herself that her leaving what she loved most behind was a small price she had to pay for everyone’s protection. And it had worked pretty well until now that’s it.

Because looking at him brought back concealed sentiments, a warmth she didn’t know that was still there, a love that still very much burned.

“No,” There was hurt in his voice, and for the first time since they found themselves again in the company of one another, his impassive expression vanished giving way to one full of sorrow and heartache. “you had no right. Whatever happened to the promise of facing it together?” He said, and a sudden pang of sadness and deep regret struck her at the remembrance of the late-night promise muttered in what seemed to be a long time ago.

Her eyes searched his, the rich emerald green that was ever so captivating, that broadcasted the curiosity, intelligence and affection of the gentlest of souls. That once looked at her with an adoration that filled her whole heart.

“Don’t you see I was trying to protect you?” Rayla whispered, feeling a lump in her throat difficult to swallow, and it’s easier to pretend that is because of the echo of a past that was worthwhile than a future falling to pieces in front of her eyes. She inhaled sharply as she saw him getting closer, their breaths mingling in their shared proximity, her stomach fluttering as this very same act brought back memories of relatively simpler times.

“Funny,” He said in a low voice, barely audible, in a tone that clearly showed he found it anything but, before adding softly, “I was doing the same thing.”

Rayla doesn’t think it’s fair the way his eyes all sincere stare at her through his lashes, the way his demeanor radiates hopefulness and longing, the way he patiently waits for a reaction, the way he waits for her. She saw him swallow hard, but his voice still broke when he next spoke. “Rayla,” His hands came to cradle her face, grazing his thumbs back and forth soothingly on her cheeks. She leaned into his touch.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall and maybe her resolve was breaking after denying herself the right to feel happy for quite some time, or perhaps the exhaustion was catching up to her body and her mental state. Either way, she didn’t protest when his arms came to encircle her waist, engulfing her in a tight hug and taking solace in the knowledge that maybe not everything was lost.

She laced her own arms around his neck, hiding her face in the crook of his neck and breathing in deeply, the scent familiar and comforting. “Callum.”

Rayla heard him take a ragged breath as she murmured his name, his arms hugging her even tighter as if she’d disappear any second. She won’t.

It’s safe, it’s healing, it’s heartening.

And as they soaked in the warmth and love and the strength it provided, she concluded that this right here is where she had always wanted to be.

#rayllum #rayllum fic #my writing #just for context #this takes place two years after ttm #rayllummonth2021 #this took a day #but i enjoyed it #my take on reconciliation because why not #the dragon prince

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night-fallz · 4 years ago

Text

I'll do anything for you

(A female Jason Todd fanfic)

Jayla knew what the other vigilantes thought of her. In their eyes, she was nothing but a reckless, impulsive, murderer who they only kept around because she was a valuable ally.

A valuable soldier.

And even though it hurts her to know that her family will never love her unless she quits her current lifestyle, she’ll do anything for them. No matter the price.

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

Ao3 // Wattpad

The Price You Have To Pay

Lex Luthor was a man with many enemies. And because of that, his private office was a highly secured facility.

You’d have to pass dozens of security protocols before you could even step foot in the building.

But considering the fact that his security team caught a little bird with his wannabe team of superheroes sneaking around, he suspected that he would be getting a visitor soon.

A hot vigilante with dark hair that also contained a stubborn streak of white, perhaps.

He could hear small footsteps getting louder.

Lex leaned forward just as the door swung open. Red Hood walked in like she owned the place.

He eyed her up and down, trying to hide the smirk that was beginning to form as he felt the tension between them steadily rise.

“You know that ignoring the dress code isn’t really a good way to start our negotiations.” Lex drawled, impatiently tapping his fingers against his desk.

Red removed her helmet before raising a perfectly arched eyebrow, “I wasn’t about to walk into your building half-naked.”

“Good thing that no one’s here to see you then.”

Red’s plump lips formed a pretty scowl, “Lex.”

“Hood.”

Lex didn’t know how long they stared at each other before Red gave in, shutting her eyes as she allowed a seductive smile to grace upon her face.

This time, Lex couldn’t hold back his grin. “You know what to do.”

She didn’t protest as she slowly took off her clothes, leaving her with only a pair of matching dark red lingerie.

No matter how many times he saw her like this, Lex still felt like he forgot how to breathe.

The heroes might hate her, but even they won’t be able to deny the fact that her beauty is unmatched. One could even go as far and say that her looks pass Wonder Woman's.

She was absolutely breathtaking.

“Are you done staring at me?” The amusement laced in her voice brought him out of his trance.

A predatory glint appeared in his eyes, “For now.”

Red leaned forward. “What do you want, Lex?” Her voice was soft as her lip curled upwards.

Without even thinking, he grabbed her hips. Dragging her entire body towards the older man so that she was straddling him. “Now we can talk.”

Even though her domino mask was still on, Lex knew her well enough to know that she was rolling her eyes. “Perv,” she couldn’t help but laugh out as she shifted to a more comfortable position.

“I’m more of an opportunist than a pervert, darling. I mean, no one with a brain could ever resist this sight?” He slapped her ass before giving her a mocking smile. “One day, I’m going to wreck your body with all the other suitors you have until the only thing you’ll remember is how good it feels to be under our control.”

The vigilante let out a surprised breath of air, “As fun as that sounds, it probably won’t happen.” He felt her calloused, yet still, somehow soft fingers trail over his chest, “Considering my expertise, you should know how expensive I can be.”

He squeezed her ass, “Then I guess it’s a good thing that we’re some of the richest people in the world.”

She ignored his last remark, “What do you want, Lex.”

“Come on, Red.” he groaned in annoyance, “It was just starting to become fun.”

She shot him an irritated look, “Sorry,” she said, not sounding apologetic at all, “But I’m in a bit of a time crunch right now.”

Lex sighed, for once letting it go. He knows how much of a rough time she’s been having with her other coworkers.

He swears that superheroes are never satisfied.

“What do you want,” she repeated. This time, he could hear a bit of impatience leaking in her voice.

“This one shouldn’t be as difficult as the other agreements we’ve had over the past few months,”

“Just say it,” Red interrupted.

“In a few weeks, there’s going to be a convention in Dubai. And we all know how dangerous these meetings can be sometimes.”

“If by dangerous, do you mean boring?” Red’s voice cut in as rested her head on his shoulder. “You just need someone to entertain you.” she teasingly accused.

“You caught me.” he said dryly, “This convention is going to last at least a week, so prepare your excuse or something.”

Red leaned away from him, “Excuse for what? No one will even notice that I’m gone.” she waved off, “Unless there’s a mission that the bats can’t solve, of course. But even then, it barely ever happens, so I’ll be fine.”

For some reason, hearing those words come out of her mouth made his jaw clench. “Yet every time a hero is in a situation where they won’t be able to win, you still try your hardest to bargain for their life.” He scoffed, “Even though they can’t even bother to treat you decently.”

Red refused to meet his eyes as she clenched her fists. “It’s not their fault. You know that they can’t trust me after what I’ve done.”

“But you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I tried to kill-“

Lex let out a harsh laugh, “If you wanted to kill them, you would’ve.”

Red flushed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He raised an eyebrow as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Really? Cause I know about all the training you went through with the League of Assassins. You were holding back. You tried to keep the madness of the pit at bay.” she still refused to meet his gaze, her eyes stubbornly staying on the floor. “And because they’re all well- alive, you succeeded.”

Red shifted, her ass grinding against his cock. She leaned forward and he felt her lips brush against his neck, “Stop talking.” she softly muttered.

Lex gently pushed her away, he was not done talking about this subject. “Do they know?” he questioned. “Do they know that if you wanted them dead, they would be? Do they know-“

She gripped his shirt, “Stop.”

He ignored her, she needed to hear this. “With how badly they treat you, one would wonder why you go to such extreme lengths to help them. They don’t even care about you. They’re only-“

“Please.” Red’s voice wavered, filled with insecurity. Her hands were still tightly clenching onto his shirt. “Just- just stop.” she pleaded.

Lex froze, finally realizing just how much his words affected her. His face immediately softened. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He just wanted to show her that they weren’t worth her time.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. He carefully lifted her chin so that his eyes would meet hers. “What I said was uncalled for. I should’ve phrased it better.”

She gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “It’s fine.” Lex didn’t know who she was trying to convince, him or her. “You aren’t exactly wrong.”

“No, it isn’t fine. I really am sorry, my little agnar.” He ignored how her whole face seemed to turn red at the nickname, “I shouldn’t have been so-“ he searched his head for the right word. “-inconsiderate about your feelings.”

Red only nodded, “Is there anything else you need for the release of my brother and his team?”

“I’ll also need you to pay for all the damage they caused,” he admitted.

“Again?” When he nodded, she only sighed and got off his lap. “Okay, I’ll send you the money soon.”

“Do try and get these heroes in line, Red. Some people have plans, and it’ll be so much easier to complete them when a group of teenagers playing superheroes aren’t around to mess it up.”

Red only gave him a smirk, her small breakdown already forgotten. “You know that I can’t do that. If you have any complaints, you can always report it to the Justice League.”

“As if they’d actually do something about it.”

Red laughed, “You aren’t wrong. They preach about saving the world, yet they ignore all the damages they’ve inflicted when they do just that.”

“Since you’re in a bit of a time crunch, I think I might just let you go now.” He licked his lips as he gave her body another attentive glance, “Just a warning though, our next meeting will probably be more intense than this one.”

She gave him a mischievous look, “Is that a promise?”

“You know it.”

She gave him a final smile before bending down to grab her clothes, then walking away as her hips slowly swayed from side to side.

She didn’t even bother to put them on.

Even though he could no longer see her face, he knew that she was smirking. The vigilante was aware of his body’s reaction towards hers.

Lex dropped onto his chair, moving to try and hide his erection before his eyes started drifting towards the office camera.

He couldn’t hold back a grin as a plan started to form in his head.

If there was one thing that Lex was sure of- it was that the bats were naturally suspicious. If the little bird and his team were suddenly free and were able to escape his building without much trouble, they would start to become skeptical.

He wasn’t known for being intelligent for nothing.

Lex would prove to Red that she deserved better.

She doesn’t owe those heroes anything.

Despite everything that she’s done for them, they still tore out the feathers of her damaged wings until she could no longer fly.

Lex could forget Superman for a while. This was a more crucial matter.

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

Translation: agnar - warrior

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

So what do you guys think? Should I continue this or should I just leave it here? Feel free to comment your thoughts, along with any criticism or suggestions you have. I love to read them!

#batfam #jason todd #female jason todd #fem jason todd #lex luthor #jason todd is now names Jayla todd #Teen Titans #jason todd fanfiction #red hood #jason todd is red hood #jason todd deserves better #jason todd needs a hug #jason todd angst #tim drake #dc #batman #the superheroes don't like jason #jason todd needs love

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