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yaomomvs · 4 years ago

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TAKE OUR HAND

seijoh x manager!reader

in which aoba johsai vbc just wants you to take their hand, just as the many times they have reached for yours when they needed it

pls i’m sorry i just wrote this for comfort, in having a terrible week and so, i just really need my seijoh boys to comfort me even if it’s just in my head and just so you know, and as i’ve been trying to convince myself, things always get better

tuesday, [15:56 pm]

“nice kill yahaba senpai!” kindaichi congratulates his upperclassman.

his voice makes you react, it scared you. still holding your pen and the notebook you always carry around even on normal practice days, your hand threatens you in the most scary way possible.

fuck no, just... breathe.

you are quick to leave aside the notes, and so, you look around to the boys, who just after the coach’s whistle sounds they are quick to approach your spot.

you take the water bottles as quickly as you can.

“oh y/n-san, i know we are irresistible but you can’t just slack off admiring us!” makki teases you laughing.

“if our dear manager is admiring someone is obviously me” oikawa says, before taking a sip of his bottle, slightly making you blush even more.

“i don’t think she likes idiots who still watch youtube conspiracy videos at 3am”

“iwa!”

“weren’t you the one with a secret obsession for romance manga, iwaizumi?” it’s mattsun time to expose his friend. iwai mi doesn’t hesitate and he runs directly to matsukawa, while kunimi brings out his phone to start recording the chaos in the gym.

you don’t listen.

your head hurts, and then, you once again feel this weird thing in you stomach. you have been feeling like this for the past week, and you try to ignore it . but sometimes, you just want the world to stop.

you can’-

“y/n senpai?” watari calls your name, and you notice his furrowed brows looking at you, worried. you blink and correct your posture. you had just zooned out. “is everything ok?”

“ah yes watari kun!” you force your self to sound relaxed because you feel the sudden gaze of the entire team “i was just thinking in a smart way to insult oikawa, but i’m worried he won’t understand tho”

“hey! you said i was your favorite”

you fake laugh once again assuring everyone that you were just fine. the day goes on, and somehow is becomes more difficult to just stay down not worrying about anything.

and they notice.

you don’t walk home with the guys today. instead you run to the bus not before excusing yourself with an ‘urgent family thing’

“just please don’t let makki eat so much ramen today!” you giggle as you run to the bus “i’m not in the mood to dealing with diarrea!”

“that was a secret between us darling!” the pink haired guy screams cheeks blushing.

and maybe you were just too distracted, but before you face them away some of them notice how quick your smile fades.

“you know guys” yahaba is quick to say “call me crazy but, why did she lie?”

—

wednesday, [10:22 am]

when was the last time you actually enjoyed school? not practice, but school itself. seeing numbers everyday in the board that you don’t understand is frustrating. your throat hurts, there’s has been a not there since the begging of the day.

swallow it, y/n, dammit

you decided to take this class, don’t blame the world, blame yourself. isn’t it supposed to be simple? why isn’t it being simple? is that...

"Square root of 57 is equal to Xo, miss"

"alright!"

it is not like it’s a race, you want to say. why was the teacher obsessed with speed?, it’s unfair. your time is not the same as that of others.

you drop the pencil and you recline in your chair, why couldn’t you do operations and analysis as fast as they could? you take a look around and the eyes of others look frightening. you see ambition, you see security, you see admiration.

the bell rings and you just want to run, and well in a way you end up doing it. leaving your homeroom, you tell your friends that for today you want to be alone, the halls of aoba johsai are big, for your fortune or misfortune. you go to the vending machine and when your drink falls, the minimum noise makes you startle, lately it’s like that, small noises or actions affect you way too much.

and iwaizumi notices it.

you don’t make a single move, it’s just the cold drink resting on your hands. and before iwaizumi could stop mattsun, he was already putting his hand on your shoulder.

“y/n!”

the orange juice spills and once again fear takes hold of you.

you see them both, you’re not stupid and you know hajime stares at you weirdly, and now mattsun, you hide your fear it a bit worse than yesterday, but you do anyways.

"someday, Matsukawa-san, YOU’RE GOING TO KILL ME! and what will you do without me?" you try to say cheerful, wanting to take away the suspicion, for a moment it works.

"flunk history, that leads me to..."

"no, sweeheart, i won’t give you my homework"

you walk and both guys follow you, one faster than another, very naive of the situation. "I begin to believe you hate me," says Mattsun, as the three sit on a bench near the school cafeteria casually encountering kunimi who quickly joins you, patting the folds of your skirt as you sit down, you rest on the table and admire his needy expression and as the tantrum of mattsun grows.

minutes go by, your chest pain grows, but somehow you know how to let it go.

with your hands supporting your face, lunch passes between you and kunimi, you try to talk, you really try.

but still, your eyes just glow, and kunimi notices how it’s not the glow you always have.

—

thursday [12:03]

your head is spinning, you can feel the cold sweat. will this be the time? why do you feel so small? why can’t you say it?

it’s familiar, you recognize this feeling, an ocean, you’re floating, you know you can swim, but, you’re in the middle of nowhere, you look down. Out of nowhere the intimidating depth of the ocean is beneath you. And then, you sink. You feel like you’re drowning, you feel like you’re fighting the tide, but you just can’t do it.

i just need...

no, it’s not time yet, it’s still training. the boys... you’re the one who should take care of them, you’re the one who has to be be fine. they had no time to lose, they had a goal and for the moment that was the most important thing.

On that bench, your gaze is absent, you know it is so.

and through the window that overlooks your classroom, oikawa notices it too

“y/n...” he mumbled.

of course he’d noticed. at first it was not so clear, but now he remembers.

when kindaichi pinned your dark circles to him, while admiring you by fitting volleyballs in a way not of your own.

makki watches oikawa from your side, you don’t even know the pink-haired guy is there, unaware that he’s sitting next to you. but he notices. he’s been noticing for days that your eyes are threatening to close in the middle of class.

hanamaki catches your attention and instantly that mask you’ve been wearing for weeks appears again.

"hanamaki, i’m fine"

it doesn’t convince them. they both look out the window and nod.

oikawa notices, and god, he wished he had no reason to.

—

friday [14:00 pm]

breathe.

please just... breathe.

you’re fed up. the feeling of guilt and discomfort is still there, can’t you be calm? people don’t need to know, but why do you want to shout it?

the dressing room is alone, the girls from the soccer team are out and it’s your only chance.

the team needs you, hold on a little.

your footsteps are heard in the hallway once again, a symphony you’re tired of listening to.

your chest hurts, your heart is aching, but you just need a little more. hands are shaking, the cold in your body, you need to stop.

you have to make them stop.

but when you walk into the gym, even with your eyes down, all you feel is warm. and it’s because, the boys were standing, aligned begging for you.

no, they beg for your sake.

and everything stops.

one hand from him on your neck, and one hand around your shoulders.

because oikawa, without warning, now has you in his arms.

and then, only then, you break.

tears don’t take long to come out, along with desperate sobs. your legs fail and out of nowhere, you and oikawa are on your knees.

with an alarmed look, the whole club runs towards both, surrounding you as sensibly as possible.

"i’m sorry, i’m sorry I’M SORRY" is heard from you, between hiccups.

“love, listen...” iwaizumi approaches you,somehow he managed to catch up with you, somehow he managed to hold your hand.

"i promise i didn’t want to, but i can’t, i can’t anymore, why can’t i? i try and i try and i keep trying but it’s never enough! IM TIRED OF SEEING SOMETHING AND NOT BEING ABLE TO PROCESS IT LIKE THE OTHERS. I’M TIREDD OF NEVER FULFILLING WHAT I SHOULD”

yahaba’s heart aches, and just as most of the team, is shocked.

your hands, oh your adorable hands, those hands that bandage his in the middle of an important game, he sees them shaking horribly between iwaizumi’s.

“AND I’M SCARED, WHAT IF I LOSE YOU BECAUSE OF THAT BECAUSE OF ME? BECAUSE OF HOW I AM I-“

watari is quick to place your hair gently behind your ear, a kunimi covers you with his jacket.

“I LOOK IN THE MIRROR AND I DONT RECOGNIZE MYSELF” you lower your voice, its cracked now “oikawa I don’t recognize myself, I want to be me again" you whisper, and a knot appears in the captain’s throat, and he puts a hand on your cheek "please... just let me be me again" your throat burns, your eyes get redder.

the gym goes silent, your words still echoing in everyone’s head.

“why didn’t you-“

“i just couldn’t” you blame yourself cutting oikawa off “look at us! we are waisting time on me when we should be- i’m the one who has to- im you support not-“

“hey hey, love...” iwaizumi whispers his voice is filled with sweetness, letting you sit correctly and softly rubbing his thumb in your hands “how many times have you been there for us? y/n your hand is always there”

“that’s true” kyotani says, finally saying something, emotions overwhelmed him a lot, but he genuinely wanted to help you.

“there’s something about you, there’s light” kindaichi follows up.

“no matter where, or how bad we are, somehow you always are helping us stand up” mattsun also tries to carefully approach you, he wants nothing more for you to feel safe.

and oikawa’s arms were still around you. he never stopped.

“we have reached your hand so many times, so now it’s time for you to please take ours” oikawa holds you face, and you see the sincerity and kindness behind his brown eyes, it feels like home.

mattsun does a sign asking the coach for a day off, both of them smile tenderly at you and give the green flag. iwa and makki are next to hold you carefully helping you stand up. they help you stop shaking but it’s mad dog the one who wipes your tears away with a tissue watari handled him. still not knowing if he did it the right way. you still feel kunimi’s scent. you still see kindaichi holding your school bag making sure nothing is missing. yahaba is the one bringing you water. and oikawa still refuses to let you go.

all of them feel like home.

“thank you”

and that’s how you know everything is going to feel fine.

because this club was yours and you were theirs.

this was home.

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cryonme · 4 years ago

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ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ

part one >< jj x reader

﹥ˏˋ♡̩͙♡̩̩̥͙♡̩̥̩ ⋆ ♡̩̥̩♡̩̩̥͙♡̩͙ˊˎ﹤

JJ and Y/n have a fuck hate relationship, well, JJ does. Y/n’s madly in love and JJ’s just mad. When Y/n finally decides enough is enough and confesses her feelings to JJ, she leaves the chateau in pieces.

word count- 1.4k

tw/ cursing, mentions of sex, jj is an ASSHOLE, drinking, shitty writing.

a/n- wowwie! my first outer banks imagine, how fun! I've been wanting to write for obx for a while now so I'm really excited about this, and I hope you all love it as much as I do!! there will be a part two, so don’t get too sad about the ending... yet. xo

“Wanna tell your best friend to stop glaring at me?” You spat as you grabbed a red solo cup while waiting in line for the keg.

John B just chuckled and shook his head, “I’m afraid it wouldn’t do any good, my friend.”

You rolled your eyes. JJ had been shooting daggers at you all night. Actually, scratch that. JJ had been shooting daggers at you for the past 2 and a half years. You were a pogue, just like him and his friends. You worked for everything you had, you wore the same 7 t shirts and the same 2 bikinis, and your parents weren't exactly star role models. So you weren’t sure where JJ’s hatred for you stemmed from, until you came to the realization that he couldn’t handle another person coming into the friend group, and did his best to try and drive you out of it.

And yet you were stupidly, uncontrollably, head over heels in love with him.

Yes, you heard that right.

Despite the blue eyed boy’s disdain for you, he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. The two of you had been drunk fucking for 6 months now. It all started when you were all getting drunk at the chateau and JJ had accidentally stumbled into the room you had been laying in, and things just escalated from there. Every time you fucked you saw a different JJ, probably just because he was drunk, which you tried not to think about. He would ask you if you were comfortable, cup your face when he kissed you, stroke your hair, like he was in love with you too. But as soon as you were done he wouldn’t look at you, like he was disgusted with himself for ever touching you.

You kept his secret, didn’t tell anyone about the nights JJ would drunkenly squeeze through your window and kiss you like it was the first time, everytime.

You were tempted, wanted to embarrass him for the way he treated you in public, but you soon came to realize that if you told anybody, JJ would never kiss you again. So, you kept your mouth shut. No matter how badly you wanted to open it.

John B nudged your arm, “Don’t let him bother you, he’s really not worth it. He’s just jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” You asked.

“That there’s other people in this world we can get along with.”

You scoffed, “He needs to grow up, he’s acting like a child.”

“I agree.” John B said before ruffling your hair and walking off to find Sarah.

You sighed and turned your head toward JJ, who unsurprisingly was glaring at you again.

You smirked and mouthed, “I know you’re obsessed with me.” Before raising your red solo cup to your lips and taking a sip.

JJ clenched his jaw and turned away from you, walking in the other direction.

If he was gonna be a dick to you, you were gonna be a dick back. It’s not fair that he gets to treat you like trash but the second you retaliate the world ends.

You decided right then, standing on the beach with a beer in your hand and your toes grazing the water, you were done. He can’t treat you like this and expect you to spread your legs in return. No matter how much it would hurt not being able to kiss or touch him again, it had to be done. You had to respect yourself more than that.

You turned your body towards the party and scanned your eyes over the crowd, finally landing them on him. He was talking to Kiara, smiling and sipping on his drink, and your heart sank. He would never be that way with you, which is why it was time to do what you had to do.

You took your time walking over to the pair, kicking your feet in the sand, stopping and talking to a couple familiar faces before finally landing next to Kiara. She smiled and wrapped an arm around you.

“Where’ve you been, babe?”

You shrugged and leaned into the girl, “Around.”

JJ stayed silent as the two you chit chatted, looking everywhere except at you.

Once your conversation with Kie hit a lull you turned to the blond, “We need to talk.”

He scoffed, “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.”

“JJ.” Kiara said in a harsh tone, looking at you apologetically. You dismissed her with a soft smile, assuring her it was fine. She looked between the two of you before backing off, giving your arm a quick squeeze. “Let me know if you need me.”

You nodded and watched the girl walk away, starting to dread what you had to do.

“I’m serious, JJ.”

“I’m not fucking talking to you.”

“Alright, fine.” You put your hands up in surrender and walked closer to the boy, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“I’m done fucking you.”

Before you could walk away JJ firmly grabbed your arm and stared down at you. You kept your head high and your face serious, letting him know you weren't kidding around.

“Let’s talk in private.”

You got to the chateau before JJ did since he insisted you don’t walk together, out of fear of your cover being blown. You stood awkwardly in John B’s spare room, the one JJ had declared as his own, waiting for him to make his appearance.

When he did, he slammed the door and you willed everything in you not to jump. He stood in silence in front of you for what felt like hours, staring at you like if you made one wrong move he’d strangle you right then and there.

“I’m done.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much. Care to explain?” He said in a voice so intimidating it took everything in you not to shrink down and crawl out the window. You took a deep breath. You were really gonna do this, after all these months of burying your feelings, you were really gonna do it. “I love you.” You said. Your voice shook, but dammit, you said it.

“No you don’t.”

You weren’t prepared for that response. You expected him to laugh in your face, yell at you, maybe even kiss you and confess his feelings, but not that.

“You don’t know me.” You spat. “How dare you tell me how I feel?”

“I do know you, Y/n. I know you’re desperate for any form of attention. I know you think you love me because I give you just a sliver of that attention you desperately crave.” JJ’s voice got lower as he began to slowly walk towards you, not stopping until he was inches from your face. His hand came up and gripped your jaw, turning your face to make you look up at him.

“You literally mean nothing to me.”

You pushed him off of you, “You asshole.”

“Maybe. But at least I wasn’t stupid enough to fall for someone who hates me.”

If you weren’t angry before, you were now. You could feel white hot anger rising up in your chest as your fists began to clench and your muscles began to shake.

“If you hate me so much why do you fuck me like you’re in love with me?!” You nearly screamed in his face, while he showed absolutely no emotion. He stared at you for a long time,saying absolutely nothing, just breathing heavily and running a hand through his hair every 10 seconds.

You waited. You waited for what felt like forever for him to say something, anything. You just wanted to know what he was thinking, if he told you to fuck off, fine. If he told you he was in love with you but just didn’t want to admit it, fine. You just needed something from him.

“I think you need to leave.” He said finally, his eyes still not moving from his heavy gaze on you.

You nodded and quickly wiped a tear from your eye. “Gladly. Have a shitty life, asshole.”

You made sure to clip his shoulder with yours on the way out, and slam the door just like he had earlier in the night.

When you exited the chateau, the sun hadn’t even set yet, and the young drunk teens were still dancing and laughing. Your eyes found your friends, Kiara, Pope and John B. Pope’s arm was extended, holding a phone and snapping a selfie of the trio, all of them with the goofiest grins on their faces. You felt a pang in your chest watching them.

You weren’t planning on coming around anymore.

ahhhh.... part two??

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj imagine #jj outer banks #outer banks imagine #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fic #outer banks blurb #outer banks one shot #Outer Banks #obx #jj maybank angst #john b obx #pope obx #kiara carrera

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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Begin Again (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Inspo: Begin Again by Adam Melchor

Summary: Dating apps never pair you with the right people. Until you come across the profile of a handsome, pancake loving FBI agent named Marcus.

W/C: 4.8k

Warnings: lots of talk of food, language, late night deep conversations, some sadness at the end but nothing intense? reader has a pet cat, is that worth a warning? idk

A/N: HI GUYS this is my first full length Marcus Pike fic! I really hope you like it!! thank you so much to @theteddylupinexperience and @sanchosammy for being my best editors and proofreaders and idea givers!!!

note: PLS listen to the song before/after/while reading! it’s one of my favs and it really goes along with the story

Over the course of your adult years, you’ve become convinced that dating apps are complete and utter bullshit. The algorithms never work right, never pair you or any of your friends with anyone worth seeing in person. Maybe that’s just the problem; maybe it’s not the apps but the people. Whatever the answer is, whatever reason you’ve never found success in the endless swiping, you’re through with it.

That was before last week. The rainy Tuesday night left you in your apartment, alone, to succumb to the cold spring dreariness. Over a cup of hot tea, you’d downloaded the app again. Might as well try, right? You have nothing to lose. If worst comes to worst, catfishing an annoying guy is always a blast. The good news is that this app requires you as the woman to make the first move. That’s kind of a downside- you never know how to start conversations- but at least you can’t get unsolicited dick pics right off the bats. Life is full of tradeoffs, you suppose.

You begin again. The app becomes your favorite pastime. Bored at work or home? Dating app it is. Left. Left. Left. Boring man after boring man. One labeled himself super-straight: absolutely fucking not. One holding a fish: nope. A man who describes himself as a gym rat: not your type. It’s a boring way to spend your lunch break, you’re aware, but the entertainment value is fun if nothing else. There are a lot of strange men out there.

After a few days, your luck seems to turn around as the photo of a man with brown hair and warm brown eyes pops up on your screen. He has a scruffy beard and wavy hair, and the way his smile tugs at the corner of his lips makes your heart flutter. He’s really cute, you have to admit. You read the bio next.

Marcus, 35

❗️ Washington, D.C.

Got forced into making this, but optimistic. Lover of art, dogs, and time to relax. Always down for breakfast for dinner and cuddling. Looking for someone with a sense of independence, love of travel, and a sleep schedule equally fucked up as mine. Must love pancakes.

Must love pancakes. That’s absolutely adorable. You immediately think of your cat, named Pancake, and you laugh and swipe right, hoping the man already thought the same of you. Your eyes widen with excitement and you almost laugh out loud from your giddy state when you see the little logo indicating it’s a match.

The first message you send him has to be perfect. You ponder your options for a minute, frowning and furrowing your brow as you think. You don’t want to come on too strong; you’re not trying to sound like you want a hookup. A simple one-word greeting wouldn’t be enough.

You could comment on something from his bio, you realize as you read it again and again. Maybe ask him about his dog? No, that’s too awkward. You want it to be about him, something that can draw him in. Talk about traveling? No, you don’t want to sound like you’re bragging about the places you’ve gone in your life.

Pancakes. Pancakes are good. You love pancakes. You think for a second more, debating what to say, before inspiration strikes and you send off the message before you can stop yourself.

Marcus Pike has essentially felt the same as you. He’s a somewhat charming man. He’s had his fair share of relationships, but they never quite work out. His ex-wife, now long gone and blocked from his phone, was an absolute failure of a relationship. He’d gotten close to what felt like true love with Teresa, another FBI agent, but she flaked at the last second.

Maybe the constant here was that he met them in person. When Marcus falls, he falls hard and fast, down an endless spiral of emotions with no escape. Maybe if he met someone online, it would be different. His best friends had all encouraged it, and on a night out not long after Teresa left him, Pike set up his own profile. He liked that the app didn’t require him to make the first move. It’s refreshing.

Marcus had seen your profile hours ago, on a mindless phone break from his work. He’d swiped right too, stunned by your smile and the lovelines you radiated even through the phone. He crossed his fingers for a good part of the day, hoping you’d swipe right on him too.

His day is busy, leaving him no time to fiddle with his phone and distract himself. He eats in the cafeteria, checking up on his phone. After lunch, he’s walking back to his office when his heart flutters as he sees the dating app indicates he’s had a match. He looks at it and swallows hard before stopping, moving to the side of the hallway to allow others to pass. He’s breathing hard, and his heart speeds up when he sees that you are the one that matched with him.

He knows how this app works. He has to wait now, to let you make the first move. He can’t even write a message until you send one. So he pockets his phone again and continues on his walk.

He’s determined on his walk, rushing back to his desk so he can sit and be thoroughly enthralled in waiting for or receiving your response. His phone buzzes several times with notifications, one of which he prays is you. When he finally sits, he opens the app ceremoniously and has to hold back a genuine laugh when he sees your first message.

Blueberry or chocolate chip?

Marcus shoots back a text nearly immediately. Sorry, what?

Your bio. “Must love pancakes”. Blueberry or chocolate chip?

Marcus is absolutely beaming as he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. Blueberry. Always. I hope that’s the right answer :)

Unfortunately, it’s not, but you’re cute so I’ll let it slide

You called him cute. It makes Marcus’s heart flutter. Come on. There’s nothing like the warm blueberry popping in your mouth.

There is. It’s when the chocolate chips are all melty and creamy.

God, Marcus is already painfully into you. You know what… at least you love pancakes. I’ll let it slide. You got a favorite place?

Anywhere I can get ‘em. You seem like quite the connoisseur, do you have one place in mind?

Jane slams down a stack of files on Marcus’s desk. “Paperwork overflow, Pike. Can you get these done tonight?”

Marcus is the fastest in the office with paperwork, which often leads to him being the one that flies through the files in the place of the people who actually filed it. He nods. What else is there to do? “Sure.”

Jane claps him on the shoulder and wanders off. Marcus watches him in slight annoyance. The best place in D.C. is definitely Sandy’s. Hey I gotta go, text ya later?

I’d love that :)

It didn’t take long for your texting to move from the dating app to actual texting. It happened within the same day, in fact.

Marcus messaged you some hours after the initial conversation. Your phone buzzed while you were doing yoga in your apartment, your cat curled into a ball beneath your stomach as you held a downward dog. You nearly collapsed on top of Pancake as you fumbled to sit cross-legged on the end of your yoga mat.

The message from Marcus is bright on the top of your screen. Hi. Sorry that took so long. Work stuff.

Smiling, you take a swig from your water bottle and lean back against your couch. Not a problem. Understandable. What do you do for a living? It’s a loaded question in D.C.; they could range anywhere from politicians to their rich sons to artists and athletes.

I work for the FBI, actually.

Your eyes light up in excitement. That’s the coolest shit I’ve heard. What do you do? Are you an agent?

The man’s responses don’t take long at all. He must be waiting in the chat to respond. The idea makes your heart flutter. Yep, I’m an agent. I work in international art crimes.

You certainly didn’t expect that for an answer. Wow, okay, that’s even cooler than I thought. I was about to call you Agent Pancake but I think my girl would be disheartened...

Snapping a photo of the way Pancake is nuzzling into your side, meowing for snuggles, you have to laugh as you send the photo his way. Funny you love pancakes so much. This little muppet is named Pancake.

Marcus responds with a barrage of heart-eyes emojis, which makes you laugh aloud and scoop Pancake into your lap, stroking her strawberry-blonde fluff. She’s an absolute angel. Like her mother, I’m presuming.

Your cheeks flood with warmth and you can feel the tips of your ears turning hot too. You’ve never even met me, Agent…? You trail off the text, asking for his last name.

Pike.

Agent Marcus Pike. What a nice sounding name. It sounds official and strong and you really like it. Cute last name. Might steal it from ya someday ;)

You don’t normally flirt this shamelessly, but he’s so goddamn cute and funny. You cross your fingers behind your back that this isn’t just a facade, that this is Marcus himself texting like he would to anyone else. You got a phone number?

As you laugh, Pancake paws at your chest to grab your attention, nails nearly digging into the stretchy fabric of your yoga tank top. “Watch it,” you scold her softly and remove her paw from your chest, picking her up and giving her a kiss on the head. Sure do. You want it?

Yes please.

You send your number his way and moments later, your phone pings with a text from an unlabeled number.

Maybe: Pike: hey, it’s Pike :)

You: hey… dammit, I really want to call you Agent Pancakes, but I think my fluffy little heathen would be offended. I don’t know what to save you in my phone as...

Agent Pancakes: Save me as whatever, I suppose. Not my problem, right?

The texts became more frequent. Over the course of three weeks, you’d stay up late talking like teenagers, knowing you need to go to bed but unable to bring yourself to do it.

You learned that his middle name was Mauricio, that his mother wanted him to have at least something a little more Latino in his name. You told him the story of how you’d adopted Pancake as a kitten from a shelter and she woke you up one morning with her claws entwined in a snarl of your hair. He told you about his ex-wife and ex-fiancée, Teresa, and you responded that he deserved something better than that. You can already tell that he’s a good man.

At the end of three weeks, you shot Marcus a text. Things seemed to be going pretty well.

You: Hey, you want to do a video call sometime soon?

Agent Pancakes: I’d love that! I’m free tonight if you are.

You: Always free. Shouldn’t you know that?? Doesn’t the FBI spy on us through our phones and whatever?

Agent Pancakes: well, I do work in art crimes. Even if we did, it would be a totally different thing

You: Good.

An hour later, you fidget with your hands as you sit on your couch, the laptop propped up across from you and ringing for a video chat. Marcus’s profile picture bobs on the screen as you wait for him to pick up.

Marcus’s face and apartment fills your screen, and you automatically grin. “Hi,” you giggle and wave, absolutely enraptured by how cute his real smile is, not the forced one in the photos.

“Hey. Nice to kind of-finally meet you,” he tells you and waves back. The wall of his apartment is nothing exciting, but his facial expressions already have you falling. Those big brown eyes compliment natural but ridiculously pink lips, and his brown hair is neatly done. It looks like he’s wearing a tie and a dress shirt; probably his work gear, you suppose.

“You too!” You tell him, unable to stop smiling. “You shaved.”

Marcus’s heart jumps out of his chest when he sees you ringing him. He barely has time to flop on the couch and turn it on, propping up the camera across from him.

God, you’re so gorgeous. Your giggle is infectious, making Marcus laugh softly at god knows what. Your grin is equally as contagious, making him smile back. He rubs his jaw in response. “Yeah, yeah. I tend to keep it clean there. Stubble takes too much maintenance, and I have this little patch where it never quite grows,” he tells you as he juts his chin to the camera, touching the spot where his beard can’t grow.

“I like it either way,” you assure him, shrugging a little. “How was your day, Agent Pancakes?” Your voice is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, even with the granulated audio over this shitty app. Agent Pancakes makes his heart flutter. “No, not you!” You groan as Pancake climbs onto your lap. “Hi. Your twin wants to say hi.”

Marcus’s smile widens. “Oh my god, hello cutie pie,” he chuckles, launching into baby talk. “What a pretty girl. You make a good Pancake.”

You smile and rub her fur, grinning. “She’s my baby,” you chuckle and set her aside. “Yeah. I’m busy. Leave me alone.” Pancake meows in protest. “Shut up, I’m on a date,” you whine.

Marcus’s ears perk up. “This is a date?”

Your eyes widen as you turn back to him. “I… yeah?” You ask, wincing a little.

He grins back at you. “I like it. And I’m really in love with the idea of seeing your face when you talk.”

“I like your voice,” you flirt back, but you mean it. “It’s so pretty. Do you sing?” You ask mindlessly, studying the way his brow furrows and his eyes convey exactly what he’s thinking.

He chuckles softly. “I used to. I haven’t in a long long time.”

“You’ll have to sing for me sometime.”

When he shakes his head, his neatly gelled hair tries to break free. A strand does, falling in his face. “You don’t wanna hear it, I promise.” He removes his tie, and you can’t help but watch the movement. It’s incredibly sexy.

A mischievous smile makes you bite the inside of your cheek. “No, I really do, I really think I do.”

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Only if you try the pancakes at Sandy’s sometime. I promise you, they’re the best pancakes in the District. I’ve never had the chocolate chip pancakes, but if they’re anywhere near as good as the blueberry, they’re fantastic. And they’re open 24 hours. I go there a lot for late night case work.”

You smile at that, getting cozy on your couch and hugging your blanket. “That does sound nice. I love a good all day breakfast,” you say with raised eyebrows, the teasing in your voice. “Okay, human Pancakes. How was your day?” You ask him again, intent on hearing his answer. Not only is his job fascinating, but he’s adorable when he explains things.

Marcus frowns, and that makes you instinctively frown too. “Well, it’s been good. We’re tracking a huge smuggling ring right now, but since we’ve pinpointed a stock house for them, I might have to travel for a while.”

You frown. You’d been hoping you could have a real date soon, at least. “How long is a while?” You ask him curiously, sipping from your water bottle that sits next to you.

“Couple weeks. No less than a month, probably. I’d… well, I might have to go undercover, which means we couldn’t talk for a while.” His eyes are apologetic, showing that he hates this news as much as you do. “And… I’d leave maybe tomorrow or the day after.”

Your heart sinks. “So soon,” you say with a sad smile, a desperate and lonely chuckle. “Well, if you want to come home to me, I’ll be here.”

Marcus’s smile perks up just slightly. “You would be the best thing in the world to come home to. And I’ll have the scruff back by then.”

“Yes!” You exclaim and laugh, pumping a fist in the air. “I think you’re really cute anyway, but I really love the scruff,” you shrug shyly.

“Maybe I’ll grow it out just for you.”

The adrenaline from his first technical-date with you prevents Marcus from sleeping. The call lasted hours, the two of you covering almost everything important in your lives. You talked about your favorite television programs and politics, your parents and your favorite pizza toppings. Talking with him was like nothing you’d ever experience, a connection you’d never thought a dating app could offer.

After several hours, during a lull in the conversation, Marcus suggested the two of you log off. It was around 11 P.M. now, and, even though Marcus has a sleep schedule like a raccoon, he figured you should sleep. He blew you a kiss through the camera, which you pretended to hold to your chest and grin at him.

But now it’s an hour later, just past midnight, and Marcus is antsy. He doesn’t sleep much anyway, but your face is running through his mind like it owns the place, and at this point, maybe you do. Marcus sits up in bed and sighs. He knows the proper remedy for this: Sandy’s. Throwing on a rare pair of jeans and a leather jacket over the white v-neck he wears, he slips on his shoes and makes his way to the tiny, 24-hour diner.

The adrenaline is coursing through your veins too. You text any of your friends that will listen, rambling about how beautiful Marcus’s face is and how wonderful it was to finally hear his voice. You pace your apartment, petting Pancake as you pass her perch on the arm of your couch. You try to do a little yoga to calm down but you can’t stop smiling. Marcus occupies too much room in your brain to try to think about anything else.

When it’s just after midnight, hunger strikes. You realize you never ate dinner, too preoccupied with talking to the handsome man to even consider microwaving something from your fridge. Talking with Marcus has instilled you with a love for pancakes, and you think to yourself that maybe Sandy’s would be worth a shot. It’s open late.

So you toss on a jacket and pick up your purse, slinging it over your shoulder and leaving your apartment. You toss the book you’ve been reading into your bag, planning to read it while you sit and eat. Pancake gives a sleepy meow of protest but you just smile and lock the door behind you.

The diner is just as small as Marcus described it to you: just a short line of booths along the windows and a smattering of tables in the middle. There’s a colorful, warm-toned tile floor that juxtaposes the warm green of the walls and the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes wafting through the air. Quiet classic swing music filling the atmosphere. You can see why he likes it: it automatically makes you smile.

You sit in one of the booths, facing away from the door, and the kind waitress takes your order: chocolate chip pancakes and an English breakfast tea. The air conditioning is blasting, making you chilly. You tighten your jacket around yourself and sip the tea when it arrives, adding cream and sugar.

Cracking open the book, you cross your legs and lose yourself in the book. The restaurant has a calming aura, and you can feel the tea warming you from the inside. It’s fitting that Marcus loves this place, you think to yourself.

When the pancakes come not long after, you take a bite and almost groan in happiness. It’s absolutely delicious: Marcus was most definitely right. Disappointingly, you have to go to the bathroom about three bites in.

Even the bathrooms are cute, you discover. When you return, someone else sits a booth away, another lone diner at this godforsaken hour of night, facing the door. You can see the back of what appears to be a man’s head, neatly trimmed brown hair and a brown leather jacket over their neck and shoulders. Sitting back down, your back to the other customer’s, you return to your book and continue to eat your chocolate chip pancakes.

The customer and waitress are talking, but you don’t pay much attention, too enraptured by your book. It’s quiet again after the man puts in his order, and you enjoy the soft jazz music that makes you tap your foot in time against the tile.

There’s a buzzing and the melodic sound of a phone’s ringtone; one of the defaults that a phone provides. Your heart skips a beat as you hear the man pick up. “Agent Pike.”

That can’t be your Agent Pike, can it? You turn and listen and realize it’s definitely him, from his voice and the way he holds himself and the stack of- of course, blueberry pancakes and a hot coffee set in front of him.

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Sounds good. Let me write that down.” Marcus types something into his phone. “See you then. At the office? Good. Alright, see you.” He hangs up.

Standing, you tuck your book back in your purse and put the bag over your shoulder. With one hand, you grab your plate of pancakes, and the other grabs your tea. You set them down across from him and slide into the booth, grinning. “Huh. Agent Pancakes, here, in the middle of the night. How unusual.”

Marcus’s tired face lights up in excitement. “What?” He laughs, his eyes scanning your face. “Why are you here?”

You shrug and take a bite of his pancakes, sighing. “Had to see if they were worth the hype. I couldn’t sleep, you got me so excited.” The blueberry pancakes are absolutely fantastic, just as good if not better than the chocolate chip ones on your plate. “Damn, you were right.”

“Hey,” he laughs and pulls his plate closer to his chest. “Don’t touch my pancakes.”

You make pleading pouty eyes, frowning a little. “Can’t we share?” You tease. It already feels like you’ve known him for years, even though this is your first time seeing him in person.

Marcus sighs. “I suppose,” he says and rolls his eyes in sarcasm, pushing his plate back out so you can access it.

Marcus is beyond stunned, absolutely enraptured in how beautiful you are in person. If he thought he fell on that video call earlier, he’s now reached the very bottom of that cliff, the impact of your everything stealing the air from his lungs. God, he wants nothing more than to kiss you right now, on those lips coated in blueberry juice and maple syrup.

The two of you spend quite some time so there, just talking and continuing the conversation where it left off before. The waitress refills Marcus’s coffee twice and your tea once. “So who called you when you were sitting alone?” You ask him as you bring the white porcelain mug to your lips, sipping at the creamy tea.

He sighs. “Guy I work with, his name’s Patrick. He’s a douchebag, I can’t lie,” he says with a chuckle, and his heart flutters at the way you give a soft laugh back. “Just telling me the details. I leave in about 6 hours. I’ll be in Singapore for a couple of weeks.”

“Singapore?” You exclaim, eyes wide as your fork clanks against your plate. “You better be able to contact me.”

He shakes his head. “I told you, I’m going undercover. I can’t.” He sighs, and he dares to reach out and touch you, to reassure you that he’s there and himself that you’re real, that you’re right there. “Will you wait for me?”

Your heart melts, from an already slush-covered river to a rushing rapids. “Of course, Marcus.” It makes his heart skip a beat. You’ve called him lots of nicknames, but never his real name. Something is painfully intimate about it. “I like you a lot; why wouldn’t I?” You ask, shrugging as if it’s the simplest thing. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

When you finish your meals, Marcus picks up both tabs, despite your protesting. “Can I walk you to your place?” He asks as you both stand and adjust your jackets.

You nod and take his hand. The lights of the city are seemingly extra dim tonight, leaving the street lights to illuminate your beautiful face as the two of you stroll along. You have all the time in the world, don’t you? It’s 1:30 in the morning. You’re both already evading sleep desperately. A little more time together can’t hurt.

His hand never leaves yours, his fingers lacing through your knuckles. You chat quietly, as if you could wake the sleeping city from the peaceful blue drone of a weeknight morning into its daily splendor of horns and hordes of speedy pedestrians.

Marcus bumps your shoulder with his, making you stumble a little to the side and laugh as you look up at his gorgeous face. His face reflects the love you’re both feeling, almost giving the city around you a pink glaze of warmth from the rose-colored glasses you must have placed over his eyes.

The walk draws to an end, as you stand at the entrance to your apartment building. Marcus’s body looks so soft and inviting, and you dare to wrap your arms around his neck and hug him to your chest. “I don’t want you to go, Agent Pancakes,” you murmur into the soft skin of his neck, which is starting to get a shadow of stubble.

Marcus kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t move either, prolonging this time you have together before he can’t see you. “I don’t want to go. I’ve never wanted to stay here more than I do now, but I have to.” His arms wrap around your waist, strong and safe.

Lifting your head, you look up at him, your noses practically touching from the proximity you share. The world feels like a bubble around you two, like some impenetrable one-way material that makes it so if Marcus leaves now, he can never come back. “Well, it’s gonna be a long time, a month or two,” you say with a sad smile. “We’ll have to begin again.”

Marcus shakes his head, his brown eyes almost welling with tears. “There’s no one else I’d want to begin again with.” With that, he looks in your eyes, the question hanging there. Wait for me?

Always, you respond silently by pressing your lips to his, kissing him slowly in the orange glow of your apartment building’s entrance. He kisses back, his lips tasting of coffee and maple and blueberry, yours tasting like chocolate and tea.

You squeeze your arms tighter around him, getting on your tiptoes to be as physically close as you can to him. He has one hand on either side of your rib cage, holding you there as he kisses back with all of the passion and love he has.

It can’t last too long or he’ll never leave. He won’t be able to. He breaks away after a few moments, his lips close to yours. He presses your foreheads together, arms encircling you again. “I have to go. I have to be at the office in an hour.”

You lift your head and your brow furrows in confusion. “Then why did you take so long to walk and eat with me?” You laugh quietly.

Marcus shrugs. “Didn’t want to leave you yet,” he admits, his eyes trained on yours. He gives you one last painfully gentle kiss. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you more,” you say with a sad smile. “You’ve been my distraction lately. Whenever I’m bored, I text you.”

He sighs, the confession increasing his frown. “I’ll be in an entirely new place, without you.”

“But I’ll be here, in my same old life without you in it.”

The words punch a hole through Marcus’s heart. It’s true; he’ll have new distractions, new things to do. You’ll be here with a Marcus Pike-shaped hole in your heart. He kisses your forehead, the wheels turning in his head. “If you get a call in the next few weeks from an unknown number, be sure to answer it, okay?”

You nod and smile softly. “You need to go. Go.”

He nods and his hand squeezes yours. “I can’t wait to begin again with you.” With that, Marcus Pike, Agent Pancakes, whatever you want to call him, the man you’re highly suspecting might be your soulmate, walks off into the slightly chilly D.C. night.

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike headcanons #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #begin again

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years ago

Text

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

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avenging-criminal-bones · 3 years ago

Text

After All This Time || Chapter Five

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 2,146

Chapter Summary: Anger. And harshness, maybe feelings. I haven't decided yet so I guess you'll have to just read to find out.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: angst?, asshat hotch again, sad feels

A/N: Guys, I'm like legitimately so sorry that this chapter took so long. It's not even that I've been all that busy. I definitely did go to California for two weeks, but after that I think I just got lazy? Had writer's block? I don't know. But New chapter is UP.

TAGLIST:

@kingofthetwats @wanniiieeee @uwu-sebastianstan @piggyinthesea @yoshigguk @thatisthemagic @errorcosplay67 @ivebeenthinkingboutu @big-galaxy-chaos @rynfoxsleeps @phoenixsnape1 @mojofun @pachiibatt @enjoymyloves @thenewnormalforensicator @word-scribbless @zezezena @chelseyjoyce @ellyhotchner @lora21 @flipperpenguins @illegal-brains @sunnysaysbookreviews @anti-zippy-snoot @kya-li

You come to eleven hours later, the first thing that you hear being the steady beep of a monitor.

The hospital.

It smells... white, the cleanness of it making you scrunch your nose. Still not having opened your eyes, you sense the brightness, almost making you not want to at all.

However, you knew how hospital visits work. When Reid was injured, the whole team was there waiting for him to wake up. With that push, that you had people waiting for you to wake up, you opened your eyes.

Everything was too bright at first. You felt your lips fall into a grimace and joked aloud, "You guys don't need to be so quiet, she lives."

There was no response, and as your vision cleared up, the wind was knocked out of you like a punch to the gut.

Empty.

The whole room was empty. Aside from you and the TV, there was no talking. There were no people.

For a moment you thought that you were dead. Or maybe dreaming, because who wakes up from a seemingly severe injury with no support system? With no friends.

You hear your heartbeat speed up before you feel it, but boy do you feel it when it hits.

The monitor must send an alert to the nurses' station or something because shortly after, a small, black-haired woman rushes into the room.

"Agent L/N? Are you alright, is there any-,"

"I just- where- did my- wh-where is my team?" The stutter surprised you and you sat up fast, not realizing how prominent the pain in your abdomen was until it was too late. You let out a soft gasp, but looked at the nurse to hear an answer.

"Oh, uh, honey... I asked as they left and the tall, broody one said that there was an emergency." She walked up to you and turned a dial on your IV machine, gently asking you to lay down again.

You complied, not fully paying attention. Your mind was somewhere else; thinking about the harshness of your team, but you had to assume that this was Hotchner's doing.

"You alright, sweetie," the kind nurse asks, her name is Monica.

You nod slowly, your head feeling a lot lighter than it had when you woke up. "Yeah. I'm okay. Um, before you go can you hand me my phone?"

She nods, looking at you for where, and you gesture to the bag that's slightly out of your reach. Monica hands you both the phone and its charger, pointing to an outlet on the wall behind your head.

Nodding in thanks, you plug the charger into the wall and watch the kind nurse leave before unlocking your phone. You see immediately that you have five missed calls from your mother, and after further searching, you notice messages from Emily, JJ, and Penelope. JJ's was the most recent, so you open hers first.

JJ (BAU) 43 minutes ago.

Hey Y/N, In case you wake up before we get back, Hotch called our debrief meeting, so we all went back to the precinct. Sorry, hon.

xoxo JJ and the Girls

You didn't register the tears until they were falling down your cheeks. You sighed a bit and replied to JJ's message with a short, 'got it'.

As soon as you pushed the 'send' button, the door to your room opened again and your entire team rushed in.

Well, most of the team.

Really, everyone except one person.

You were quick to wipe your eyes, trying to hide the fact that you had been crying. JJ walked to the chair beside your bed and sat down, giving you the most gentle hug as she did.

"Did you get my message? Are you feeling okay? Do you need a nurse, any water?"

"JJ, you're momming her," Derek joked as he bent to give you a hug. "For real though, you feelin' alright, lil mama?"

You nodded, sending him a tight-lipped smile as Emily walked over to the other side of your bed, bringing Penelope with her on a video call.

Spencer even came by, but he looked relatively uncomfortable and stayed by the door.

Waving at him a bit, you say, "You can come in you know. I won't bite."

"I know, Y/N. I was just worried. Statistically speaking, you survived on an off-chance. The ratio was close to 83:17, and the bullet entered your abdomen in-"

"I get it Spence. I should be dead," you pause slightly seeing everyone's wide-eyed look at your bluntness, "BUT I didn't die, so everyone can stop looking at my like I'm going to break and just settle." You chuckle a bit and sigh as you see the rest of the team besides Spencer nod their heads or visibly relax their shoulders.

"You're right, kiddo," Rossi says quietly, "You're okay, and we can celebrate that."

"Thanks, Rossi." Smiling, you lean into his hand, which was cradling the side of your face for a moment. "Can someone get Hotchner please? I had some words that I'd like to have him hear."

JJ places her hand on your arm then and says, "Y/N, maybe that's not the best idea right now."

"No," you shake your head and make eye contact with her, "That's exactly what I need right now."

"Y/N..."

"Spencer, can you go get him please? He's just sitting out in the lobby, correct?" You snap a little harsher than you meant to.

The boy stutters a bit, but eventually nods his head and walks out of the room. The rest of the team shares a look before also walking out, giving you space for when your boss comes in.

Sitting up straighter in the bed, you even your mouth into a thin line just as Hotchner walks in the room.

"Am I off the clock right now, sir?" You don't miss the way his eyes flash to your lips but you choose to ignore it.

He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, "Say what you need to say, agent."

"Who the hell do you think you are? Calling the debrief not only at a time where one of the team members can't make it, but when the team member is in the hospital with a GSW wound." Your voice rises steadily as you continue talking, but you have more to say. "Not only that, but you couldn't even be bothered to make sure I was okay when the debrief was over?" Subconsciously, you recognize the switch from a third-person mindset to a personal one, but you pay it no mind.

"Agent L/N, you-"

"No. You will call me Y/N, and I will be calling you Aaron. We aren't on the clock right now and you don't deserve my professionalism," the heart monitor spikes in tempo, and you throw the blanket off of your lap.

He quirks an eyebrow at you as you command him, but nods his head slightly, letting you be in control for the moment. "Go ahead, Y/N. You get whatever irrational anger you have towards me out in the open and we can deal with the consequences later."

"I left EVERYTHING for this job, Aaron. I left my mom, who never stopped grieving a lost son, I left my job there thinking this would be better, and I lost friends and people who actually cared about my well-being. People who wouldn't leave one of their own in an unknown hospital to wake up by themself, not sure if they were even actually alive since there wasn't anyone with them." You saw Aaron flinch with everything that you listed, but you didn't care. He needed to hear it. "So yeah, Aaron. I get to be angry, and you don't get to tell me it's irrational, because this is the most rational I think I've been this entire year."

"Y/N. You put not only yourself, but me, and the rest of the team in danger yesterday. Excuse me if I don't want to see you and be around you while you're in the hospital." Really, if burned Aaron to his core that he couldn't reach over and tuck the stray piece of hair behind your ear, because right now that's what he wanted to do. Except it's inappropriate and he's not sure you'd let him within three feet of you.

"NO! You see, that's not how it works. Are you telling me that if you saw a little boy with a gun trained on them, you wouldn't have done the exact same thing?" Hot tears fill your eyes, but you don't wipe them. You almost hope that him seeing you cry will make him feel bad, if even just a little.

Glancing at the way his jaw was set and how he clenched his fists in his lap, you knew he was struggling to keep his cool, so of course you pushed harder.

"What if it was Jack, Aaron."

"Dammit, L/N, it wasn't Jack. It was just some boy that we couldn't save. We shouldn't have been able to save him. You didn't use the training you had, and you didn't use the rational part of your brain. As terrible as that sounds, and trust me, I never want to lose a victim, if you had used the training from the bureau, we wouldn't have saved him. " Aaron stands up and paces the length of the bed then, feeling your eyes following him the whole time.

You shake your head as you let your gaze fall to your lap. "I wasn't going to let him die again... I wouldn't have been able to live with myself."

Aaron's eyebrows furrow a bit and he looks at you with angry curiosity in his eyes, "Again? What do you mean by that?" That's when Hotch remembered earlier when you mentioned her mother who lost a son. "Y/N, did your brother... No. Actually, I'm sorry, just forget I said anything,"

There was a dark anger in your eyes as you shook your head. "No, Aaron. Ask me. Ask me this one question, and then reassess your profiling of me."

His gaze turned steely as he squared his shoulders again, showing no emotion in his voice as he spoke. He almost felt like the best way to approach you right now was as if you were the unsub.

"Was your brother murdered, Y/N?"

Dropping your head, you feel the tears burning in your eyes again and you nod. "He was only five. He had his whole life ahead of him. You'd think a child would be safe with a group of nuns or a priest, but no. Not even them. He was branded with a cross before he was killed and it's just unfair."

Aaron starts to walk closer to your bed, seeing the devolving pattern of your breathing, "Y/n, I'm so sorry, I-"

"No. Aaron, just, please go. I'll catch a flight home when I'm allowed to fly again, so you guys just go home and I'll figure it out. I mean, that's what I did when I was waking up by myself, right? Go ahead and fire me if you need to, suspend me, I don't care anymore, but I'll come back when the hospital says it's safe." You take a deep breath and watch as he turns away.

He gets all the way to the door before he turns back around and says, "What was his name."

"Joey."

Hotch nods and walks out of the door, remembering that the final victim, the one that you saved, was named Joseph.

After the encounter with Hotch you fell asleep. The heavy medication and the anger in your head knocked you out easily. You were asleep for a few hours, but you woke up when your pain medication wore off.

You noticed that your work phone had a few notifications, so you sat up a bit and looked through them.

There were two that stood out to you. The first one was a notification that read "Hotchner (Asshat) has added you to the group 'BAU Team'". The second was his message in that group chat.

Hotchner (Asshat) 2 hours ago

Hey team, change in plans. We will be staying here until Y/N gets cleared to fly. It should only be a couple of days and I know we were planning on flying out tonight. Sorry, Thanks.

As soon as you liked his message, your texts were blowing up from Emily. She was saying stuff about how "he totally likes you", and about, "you had a rough time on this case".

Also, apparently Derek saved all of his sarcasm for when Hotch got back, and the thought made you smile.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds x reader #angst #sadness #talk of child death

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fullbusterfantasmic · 4 years ago

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Love Potion ♋️ Chapter 4.7

Rated M

It’s all NSFW (As it should be)

1,933 words

A/N: The first position mentioned is called the butterfly or some shit (maybe?) idfk but I like it, & the second is the reverse cowgirl. Formatting is wonky, I know please look past it.

🌬Gray’s POV

The shine her eyes had held has begun to rapidly be overtaken as the (e/c) darkens, while she beckons me closer.

Her mouth is right beside my ear as she says;

“Ravish me...lay your claim on me...let every touch from you send me reeling, and begging for more...show me everything you’ve imagined doing to me and lastly...share every feeling you’ve kept hidden from me”.

The intense requests she made ignites a fire somewhere within me. Flames are rapidly consuming the protective layers of ice I’d long ago placed over my heart. Barriers erected after Deliora’s first attack, reinforced following the death of Ur...gone in an instant. Her tongue runs along the outer shell of my ear, lips placing a kiss to my temple. Pulling away, she then collapses back onto the pillows behind her, now surveying me through darkened, heavily lidded eyes.

My teeth clench as the familiar darkness begins to surface and my internal struggle begins. She asked for it....so why not give it to her? I shouldn’t...I....I’m ready to...no I NEED to let her in that now open space within my heart, within my very barren soul.

You don’t know what you do to me...

✨Your Pov

Im nervous...

I may have asked too much, it was too soon for me to come on so strongly! He still has yet to look at me, and his long bangs obscure his eyes from view.

“Gray I-“

I began to try and retract my previous statement but he interupts me. “From the very first moment I laid eyes on you I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen....and the most dangerous...” he moves out from between my legs, motioning for me to lay on my side. “ I knew if I got close to you I’d end up falling for you and that would put you at risk...”. One of his legs now rest underneath mine and my other rests over the top of his.

“Try as I might, I couldn’t force myself to get or stay away from you; somehow we always end up spending time together” he pauses, pressing a kiss to my temple before continuing; “ -and now we’re here...”.

The room is growing colder once more, goosebumps cover my exposed flesh and I lightly begin to shiver. My entire body is shaking by the time his voice reaches my ear; “With all that being said...I’m done explaining myself, and I’m done talking”.

“Now I’m going to fuck you senseless, this entire town will know you’re mine by sunrise” The vow is whispered to me in such an intimate way, it has my internal walls fluttering, before clenching around nothing. That is soon remedied; A surprised turned pleasurable cry slips out from between my lips as Gray effortlessly slides into me.

This position is a first for me, and experiencing it with this god like man...Said position has quickly become a “10 out of 10, must do again”. He holds my body so closely against his, and somehow those skilled fingers are still roaming up and down my sides. Occasionally pausing their ministrations to ghost across my chest or rub tantalizing circles Into my clit. The angle in which he thrusts into me puts the head of his cock in the perfect position to hit my G-spot each and every time he bottoms out.

The whole “I’m finished talking now” line was absolute bullshit! As soon the smug Ice mage was balls deep inside me, did the sinful whispers begin. Dear God! That deep husky voice alternating between uttering the most endearing things, having my eyes growing wet with tears. Only to make a flawless transition into speaking the most obscene and sensual promises (or threats), have my face continuing to burn red.

I was an absolute wreck.

“You should see yourself right now...Completely fucked out of your mind, slobbering all over, and tear stains coating your cheeks...yet still so breathtaking”. My enthralled lover may no longer be whispering, but the chill of his breath on my neck is still ever present. I don’t speak, I knew my ability of coherent speech had vanished long ago.

Gray doesn’t need my words to go off of now, not when my breath hitches and my body jerks involuntarily. “This one will be....number four right?” He sounds so proud. That wasn’t really a question, and I wouldn’t of answered it even if I could have.

As much as I craved release, my pride urged me to deny it. A small voice inside my head is saying; “Ignore the relentless tingling of your clit, the tight wound knot in your stomach, the pressure from that magnificent cock sinking itself into your deepest depths...”.

Dammit ___________, get it together!

You are a proud Fairy Tail mage; A living embodiment of strength, determination, and destroyer of adversity! You’ve let this man turn you into putty within his hands, he thinks he owns you! Now it’s time for you to reclaim your pride and turn the tables on him!

Who am I kidding?

🌬Grays POV

“Holding back now are we?”

I can’t help but tease her when she’s trying so hard to hide the fact that I have her teetering on the edge of bliss. She lets out and annoyed huff and I poke one of her inflated cheeks, making sure my cock is buried inside of her as far as it can go.

“You take my cock so well baby, you’re already starting to shape to me on the inside...you’ll be my perfect little cock sleeve in no time” I murmured before giving her another nice dark love bite to match the one on the other side of her neck. “I know you want to drench my cock some more” my ice coated finger flicks against her clit before circling over it.

“Hah!” she shrieks at the frozen contact to her bundle of nerves, involuntarily jerking and in turn slamming her hips backwards, burying my dick inside her once more. The tip of my head just barely makes contact with her cervix, and then her walls suddenly contract, clamping down around me. I have to give every effort to not paint them white as not only her ecstatic wail reaches my ears, but I look down just in time to see her lightly spritz the hand id been using to play with her clit.

For a moment my brain begins to short circuit, and then it just shuts down completely.

✨ Your POV

That was....incredible.

Several minutes pass with my mind reeling from the intense orgasm I’d just experienced. It’s like I’m drunk, but not from the alcohol I’d consumed earlier. Drunk from the dopamine flooding my brain, and my heart swelling with overwhelming feelings of love. Love....love for the man currently sharing my bed. Before I can turn to Gray and embarrass myself with a bunch of post orgasm love drunk rambling, I remember something....oh my god.

I sober up and am slammed back into reality almost instantly. My face begins to burn and I Stifle a cry of humiliation as I realize; I’d just squirted all over his hand! That’s never happened to me before! Gray hasn’t said one word...he’s been silent since it happened! He probably has a look of disgust on his face, I can’t bring myself to look and see.

I try to move,, intent on getting away to take refuge on the other side of the bed. His arms immediately constrict around me, “Oh no you don’t, you aren’t going anywhere!”. Suddenly he’s flat on his back keeping a firm grip on my hips as I’m forced to straddle him. Glancing over my shoulder I see the proud smirk he’s wearing, then he speaks; “Never had a girl do that before...I like it” giving me a wink afterwards. “Sh-Shut u-up” I mumble as I return my gaze to the wall in front of me, breathing deeply in attempt to calm my palpitating heart.

“Y’know normally I’d give you a little break but... I can’t...not after seeing you do that” he pauses, and I can’t see his eyes roaming over my back side, but I feel his hands slide down from my hips. Then a sharp SMACK resounds around the room, followed by my startled gasp. “Ride me...now!” a fierce growl preludes another sharp smack to my other ass cheek.

I don’t even bother to stop the excited shake that over takes my body, the sudden change into this demanding demeanor is thrilling! Keeping my back to him, I’m quick to position myself over his length and begin to sink down on it. The soft mewl I emit is drowned out by a hiss as the tip of his dick slips between my lips. “That’s it...good girl” he praises as he begins to rub out the red marks on my ass.

Eager to please I get straight to work.

Albeit a bit awkward at first, but Im able to get a steady rhythm going in no time. “So much better than in my dreams...fuckin’ hell __________ your ass is perfect! Yeah that’s it babe, bounce it just like that” Gray mumbles appreciatively, completely enamored with the sight in front of him. “Dream about me often do you?” I tease, throwing him a smug glance over my shoulder. “More often than I’d ever care to admit, now turn around and face me would you?.

I do as he asked, rotating my body to face him. He gently pulls me down towards him and I stop short, my face now inches above his own. My stomach feels like it’s filled with butterflies at the sudden closeness. Unsure of what to do I quietly whisper an awkward sounding “Hi”. A wide grin appears on his face as he responds; “Hi” followed quickly by a chuckle at my sudden awkwardness.

Now we’re both smiling at each other like complete dorks, and I’m compelled to lean forward and kiss him. I resume my ride as his tongue curls around mine, quickly losing myself in the passion of this moment. Gray is quick to pick up the slack, thrusting his hips upward each time mine sink down. The atmosphere in the bedroom has changed, we both feel it. When I say his name again it comes out in a breathy whine.

His eyes reflect an emotion I’ve never seen in them before and his tone is gentle when he says “I know baby, hold on just a little longer for me”. Strong arms wind themselves tighter around me, drawing my body in as close as possible as he speeds up the pace of his thrusts. “I want to feel you gush all over my cock when I finally get to cum inside you” his lips are on mine again, kissing me passionately while bouncing me up and down on his cock.“That okay with you baby? Do you want me to fill up this tight little cunt?”

My confession comes out quick and shameless; “Yes! God there’s nothing I want more right now, I’ve wanted that for ages!”.

“Tell me, who do you belong to now snowflake?”

“YOU! I belong to you now Gray”

“Tell me you need me”

“I need you, I never want to be without you, so please just-“

“Tell me...” he pauses, placing a hand on my cheek and staring into my eyes.

“Tell me you love me”.

#gray fullbuster #fairy tail #fanfiction #anime boys #gray fullbuster x reader #gray fairy tail #fairytail x reader #reader insert #gray x reader

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forgottenpasta · 5 years ago

Text

Somnolent

Summary: After spending one night in bed with you, Jeongguk finds out he is unable to sleep unless you’re sleeping with him.

Pairing: Jeongguk x Reader

Genre: Fluff, roommate!au

Warnings: Swearing, some talk of nipples and whipped cream, a very emotional realisation

Word count: 3.5k

Jeongguk threw the pillow across the darkened room, a crash sounded as all his deodorants and sunscreens came tumbling down from his dresser onto the floor, plastic pings and clatters accompanying his soft cursing.

This was the third night in a row.

Third night of no sleep whatsoever, no matter how many cups of camomile tea he drank before bed, or how much he danced and worked out to tire himself out, or how much asmr he listened to, nothing was working. Tonight, he had even popped a sleeping pill. He was absolutely against using these kind of drugs unless absolutely necessary, but he was desperate. Everytime he was at the edge of blissful oblivion, something would snap him back to consciousness. Whether it was house noises, or the hum of the fan, an annoying itch or a wayward thought or just... the image of your heavenly arms wrapped around him as you cradled him to sleep.

He knew what he ought to do. He’d known you’d ruined good sleep for him for posterity the moment he’d woken up beside you three mornings prior. You’d been the little spoon, him the big. That’s not how Jeongguk liked his cuddles usually (he didn’t like cuddles period) but you had come to him seeking protection as part of the unsaid roommate loyalty and trust agreement and he had to oblige you.

***

Three days ago

“Kookie?”

Your voice was lowered and whiny, purposefully so. You appeared the picture of innocence. Jeongguk bolted up in his bed, immediately on alert. You never acted cute or small, hated the very concept. You would even scoff and smack him on the head whenever he tried his doe-eyed trick on you.

You really really wanted something.

“What is it?”, he asked slowly, eyeing your oversized shirt clad form cautiously. It didn’t appear like you were wearing anything beneath.

“Kookie, I saw the movie you suggested.” You stepped inside the room, kicking the door shut behind you. “The one you really wanted me to watch.”

He swallowed at your approaching self, very much distracted. “Wha-which movie?”

“Mirrors?”, you whispered questioningly, as if you weren’t sure what movie you’d watched. You planted a knee beside him on the bed, not climbing in yet, just looking pitifully helpless as you booped the tip of your index fingers together and looked at him from underneath your lashes.

It took a second for Jeongguk to realise what you’d said.

“Oh fuck no! I didn’t suggest shit. You were shit talking about me being a scaredy cat, so I told you I had watched mirrors alone in my room when I was in middle school.” He sat up properly, scowling at you. “Don’t tell me what I’m thinking, Y/n.”

You scowled back, all semblances of naïveté gone. “Shut up. You were acting all macho, trying to one up me. You were challenging me, don’t you try to deny it.”

“I was just stating facts, moron. Who told you to go watch it by yourself?”, Jeongguk barked, folding his arms across his chest, drawing your eyes to the flex of his biceps and his veiny forearms.

You huffed an annoyed breath, looking away as you replied in a snarky voice. “Your mom.”

“Very mature. What the fuck do you want now?”

“Sheesh. Way to be rude to your roommate.”

“Y/n.”

“I just wanna sleep in your room tonight. That’s it. No big deal.” You threw up your hands, looking at him as if he was making a mountain out of a molehill.

He smirked. “You scared? Did you piss your pants watching the movie?”

You rolled your eyes. “Now who’s being immature? It’s just that...there are a lot of...mirrors in my room.”

Jeongguk burst out laughing, doubling over on his bed.

“Fuck off!”, you bitched, shoving him so he rolled over onto his back, his body shaking with mirth. “Did I make fun of you when you told me you wet your bed till you were seven?”

“Y-you...d-did.”, he wheezed, tears escaping his eyes.

You straightened indignantly. “No I did not.”

Jeongguk caught his breath, still snickering a little. “Y/n you told the girl I was interested in that I wet my bed till I was ten. You even exaggerated the age, you little shit.”

You frowned, then shrugged, recalling the memory. “You should thank me, you dodged a bullet with that one, I can sniff out the bad apples.”

Jeongguk calmed down finally. “You’re not sleeping in my room.”

“Why not?!”, you whined.

“I can’t sleep with someone beside me. You know that. I send all my hook ups home after sex or I leave their place.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Except I’m not really sleeping with you, figuratively. I just wanna shut my eyes while I’m a few feet away from you, on the same bed. You got a king sized one, there can be an ocean of bed between us and even if I starfish we won’t touch.”

“Still. Just the idea of someone beside me while I sleep,”, he shuddered dramatically. “Is enough to give me the creeps.”

“It’s just one night, weirdo.” You climbed over him, ignoring his grumbles. “I’m sure you’ll live. Besides you made your bed when you suggested me that movie and now you have to lie in it.”

“I did not—”

“Shhh.”, you shushed him as you settled on his bed, draping his amazing comforter over yourself. “Switch off the light, will you?”

Jeongguk called you a surprising variety of colourful names while you smiled and snuggled in.

***

The next morning, he’d woken up with his head on your pillowy chest, one of his hands up your shirt and a leg over your thighs as you held him close.

And it had been one of the best nights of sleep he’d ever had. He woke up refreshed, well rested and with a literal goofy smile on his face (and an erection in his pants), ready to tackle a mountain. He’d never suffered from insomnia before, but after sleeping with you it felt like he’d never had a good night’s sleep in his life before and you’d shown him the literal gates of REM heaven.

And now he was suffering. You had shown him heaven, now his cold lonely bed was akin to sleeping on a grave, he felt an invisible force keeping him up all night.

With one last expletive, he forced himself up from the bed, switching the light on as he trudged up to stand before his mirror, ignoring the clutter and the pillow on the floor.

He rubbed his eyes, the dark circles underneath now easily discernible. He’d been working on zero sleep for three days and he wouldn’t be surprised if he started seeing hallucinations anytime now. He couldn’t go on like this. This morning, his contract law professor had almost thrown him out of his class because he was so tired and he had rested his head on the table. Ironically, even with the professor’s voice monotonously buzzing in the background he hadn’t been able to sleep.

What kind of a student is unable to sleep in class?! This was getting embarrassing.

“Fuck it.”

Jeongguk threw open his door, marching to your room with conviction in his step. You owed him. He’ll just say he saw a scary movie too and needed you like you had needed him. Or he could just crash on your bed, making an excuse that his was suddenly infested with bed bugs or something. He didn’t know, he just needed you in his arms, spooning him, even if he had to sleep on the cold hard floor. As long as he could snuggle in the crook of your neck, like he’d done that fateful morning, he’d be alright.

He pushed open your door rather forcefully. And found you sleeping peacefully atop your queen-sized bed, not a care in the world.

Was it too much to expect that you’d be suffering like he was? That you’d be just as needful.

Hell, it didn’t matter.

He got to work.

Making a beeline to the side of your bed, he looked down upon your sprawled form, like a sleep paralysis demon.

Ascertaining the best angle for what he had in mind, he bent down and in one fell swoop, scooped you up in his arms, turned and headed for his final destination.

Your blanket fell away as he clutched your body close to his chest, hurriedly leaving your room for his. He didn’t want to take any chances, he wanted a good night’s sleep in his own bed dammit.

With his loot in his arms, he dashed for the cover of his home turf.

You arose with a snort. “Whuft the fufk?”, you mumbled through sleep-intoxicated lips, still high on melatonin as you came to, slowly realising your position. Suspended in the air, in Jeongguk’s arms (with one of his hands almost palming your ass) with your face smushed against his hard pecs.

“What is happen—”

“Shh.”, he hushed you, much like you’d done three nights ago. Karma. “I’m just borrowing you for the night. Go back to sleep.”

“Wha?”, you mumbled, squirming as Jeongguk entered his bedroom, one lone lamp barely illuminating the surroundings. “Why?”

You were still half asleep, almost convincing yourself this was a dream, but then you felt Jeongguk’s very real, hard bulge against your hip as he settled you on the downy surface of his bed, making you startle with a yip, like a surprised small puppy.

“Jeongguk, what is wrong with you?”, you asked, making to sit up but he grabbed your shoulders and easily made you horizontal once again. “What the hell are you doing?”

Your eyes widened when he got in beside you, pulling the comforter over you both, not answering your question.

But the dam broke when he reached for you, hooking his arm around your middle, making you yelp, as he pressed himself flush against you. Then he threw a leg over both of yours, effectively pining you down as his head came to rest beside yours on the pillow, his mouth at your ear.

“I need you, okay!”, he mewled finally. Goosebumps broke out on your skin at the neediness in his voice. “I haven’t been able to get even a wink of sleep since that night you slept in my bed. I don’t know what the fuck kinda witchcraft you did, but I can’t sleep at all.”

You turned your head to look at him, your lips now a hairs breadth away, your eyes almost going cross trying to look at his. “And you thought having me back in your bed would solve that?”

“You were the catalyst for the last three harrowing nights, it has to be you. Besides, I’m at my wits end, I’m fucking tired and I want some goddamn sleep already. You have to be it.”

You swallowed at the desperation in his voice, but you couldn’t pass up the chance to tease. “One night in bed with me and look at you. Already coming back for more. Couldn’t resist, could you?”

He growled, squeezing you closer and hiding his face in your neck. “Shut up! It’s not about that. We didn’t even do anything. I just want some sleep.”

“Then why are you so hard?”

He froze. Slowly, his head poked out from his neck burrowing and he lifted himself up onto his elbow to look down at you. “My dick can’t differentiate between fuckable and out-of-bounds right now. Cut me some slack, my brain is fried from lack of sleep.”

You scowled. “Did you just call me unfuckable right now?”

“Ugh.” He went back to his burrowing, making your neck feel ticklish as he snuggled you up. “I didn’t say shit. Please let me sleep. We can do this in the morning when I’m not about to keel over any second.”

You blew a tired raspberry at his ceiling. “Knock yourself out.”

And he did.

Just ten seconds later, his soft, cute snores reached your ears. He was out like a light while hugging you like you were his favourite stuffed animal. You looked down at his face. His pouty pink lips were almost touching your skin, making you shiver. The movement made him stir a little and he closed the remaining gap, now kissing the side of your neck.

You almost groaned in frustration. He had no clue what he was doing to you. What he always did to you. It wasn’t his fault though, you hid your feelings for him under a mask of sarcasm and humour all the time, never having the courage to face them head on because you were deathly afraid.

Afraid of his rejection. You were cool because you were the no nonsense roommate who always had a quip on her tongue and never asked him for more than friendship. You were cool because you never went down the feelings route with him, unlike every other girl he met.

And you were aware how those girls ended up. Tossed to the curb after a night of sex because really, that was all he’d ever promised and how they could even entertain the notion of him changing his mind after being in bed with them once, as if they had a golden pussy, you didn’t know.

He never changed his mind or slept with the same girl twice. You would know. You’d heard female moans of every possible pitch and frequency possible. But you’d also seen the same scene of them running out of his room, with mascara tinged tears running down their cheeks and hickies covering their chest, as they screamed about him being the biggest asshole on the planet too many times to count. One too many times to ever end up as one among the line of them leaving his bed in tears even before it was morning. Because usually he told them to leave after they were done with their marathon sex, something about not being able to sleep beside someone. A few fleeting hours of bliss and a glimpse of what it feels like to have him in your arms before he shattered all those dreams with a, “Do you wanna take the guest room or can I call you a cab?”

Oh but what you wouldn’t give to always be in his bed like this. Night after night. Being close to him, in any way, shape or form, made your body sing with giddiness and your soul float with euphoria. It was the best kind of high.

He was a drug to you and maybe that’s why you had made up the story of watching a horror movie and being scared to sleep alone three nights ago. You had in fact watched the movie but you were far from scared.

You had just been craving him, your Jeongguk addiction rooting the idea of the movie as an excuse to be close to him for one night and not leave his room in tears shortly after.

One night of sleeping close to him was all you’d imagined you’d get. You never thought he’d come back and ask for more.

And hold you like a drowning man holds a buoy thrown to him.

Turning your face to gaze at him, you slowly brought your hand to card through his thick, long hair. His lashes fanned his cheeks adorably but you could also see the bags under his eyes. Apart from his steady breathing, he slept like the dead, his heavy weight on you comforting rather than suffocating.

A small smile graced your lips. You were hopelessly in love with this boy and he didn’t have a clue. Caressing the hair off his forehead, you leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead. A tender, loving gesture you wouldn’t be caught dead doing if he was awake.

Replete with such thoughts, you didn’t realise when you slipped into a peaceful sleep.

~•~•~

Jeongguk woke up before you as usual, you were never one to wake up on your own if there wasn’t an alarm blaring in your ear or him snatching away your blankets.

But this time he didn’t want to get up either. The clock on his wall showed it was 7 am. It was a Saturday. There’s something about waking up early on an off day and realising you can sleep in, that satisfies you to the core. Especially when you have your very own human-shaped body pillow beside you.

He chuckled, nuzzling into the skin at your clavicle, sometime during the night he’d decided your chest was the best place to rest his head again. He’d slept so soundly, he felt so well rested after so long that the there was no other conclusion but that he was right, you had ruined him for solo sleep forever. Whatever. He could get used to cozy mornings like these.

He opened his eyes and immediately went still, his heart starting to hammer in his chest.

What seemed like perfectly decent sleep attire on you last night, was anything but now. Your tank was barely covering your chest and you were not wearing a bra. Your boobs almost spilling out from the top in what was the sexiest display of cleavage he’d ever seen. Or maybe the morning wood in his pants was steering his brain.

He clenched his eyes closed. He wasn’t supposed to see you this way. You were strictly out of limits. As his roommate and friend, he couldn’t afford to club you in with all the other girls he had dalliances with. Because that’s all they were, one and done. And you deserved so much more.

Right. He needed to get control of himself and stop thinking with his dick. Your friendship was too important to fuck up.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to raise his head and peer down at you.

Far from being perfect, you looked like a squished dumpling in sleep. Your hair all over your face, lips slightly parted and puffy cheeks. And was that drool?

Yes, far from perfect.

But so fucking beautiful to him, he almost forgot to breathe for a moment.

Was anything more blissful in life than this? Waking up well rested and with you in his arms looking so damn cute he could eat you.

And he wanted to eat you. Both literally and figuratively, he imagined you’d taste almost divine between your legs but he was also feeling some type of way. The feeling that no matter how much you try, you want to get so close to a person that you forget where you end and they begin. It’s an all encompassing feeling of wanting to be in them and them being in you.

His chest constricted when you stirred a little, scrunching your nose, irritated with the hair on your face. With one hand he rubbed at the place where his heart was having trouble beating and with the other he softly brushed the errant strands behind your ear.

Was it so bad to want you as more than a friend? He wanted to fuck you, yes, but he also wanted to hold you so tight and listen to you complain about him not showering that day. He wanted to make some banana pancakes and have them in bed with you. With maybe a little whipped cream on your nipples for him to taste. He wanted to watch horror movies with you, then tease you about not letting you sleep with him.

But that would never happen. He never wanted to go back to sleeping in an empty bed again.

Slowly but surely his thoughts were leading him towards an epiphany.

When a ray of light fell over your face as he moved a little, he immediately moved his body to block it again. Carefully getting up so as not to wake you, he sealed his curtains closed, returning to sprawl beside you once more.

He had his head rested on his palm, his elbow propping him up as he stroked your soft cheek with the other.

It was a fact of the matter, he had long since realised, that he would not be able to sleep if you weren’t by his side anymore. And if the kind of way a night of sleep beside you left him feeling, he didn’t want to go back to the way things were before. Inevitably, his mind led him to how a night of love making would be with you. Love making because right at this moment, that’s what his body was buzzing to do to you. Slow, leisurely, sleepy morning sex.

The fact that he was imagining having any kind of morning sex was monumental for him, because usually his hook-ups consisted of fucking through the night and ducking away from wherever he was in the wee hours of the morning or offering his fuck-buddies the guest bed. Which, nine times out of ten, they took none too kindly.

What were you doing to him?

He didn’t know. But he had no choice but to find out.

That is why when you opened your eyes, you found him gazing down at you with the softest expression on his face.

And a question for you.

“Will you go out with me, Y/n?”

a/n: let me know what you thought!

#bts fic #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #bts imagines

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years ago

Text

Day 29: Prinxiety/Loceit (pt 4)

Aaaand, part 4, the finale!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 29: You have a telepathic link with your soulmate until the two of you meet.

Content warnings: discussion of conversion therapy/after effects, PTSD, food mentions, anxiety/panic attacks, internalized homophobia, mentions of the foster system/abuse (mental, emotional, neglect, past eating disorder), minor self harm/blood, mentions of dissociating.

Word count: 5.1k

Despite Roman’s claims that being around other people would only distract him, and he didn’t want to have to walk to the library every time he had homework, Patton’s constant pleading eventually broke him down. Now, much to his roommate’s delight, they spent every night in the middle of the study floor in the library, and Roman found that he actually looked forward to it. Sometimes someone he knew would walk by, and give him a valid reason to take a short break, and having other people around somehow motivated him to work harder. He was starting to understand the appeal of the place.

Now, Patton and him were spending their afternoon there between classes, both working on their own projects and sharing a bag of popcorn twists. It was the only oil soaked snack that didn’t leave much residue on their fingers. Roman was deep in thought, struggling to remember an especially flowery Shakespeare monologue for a mock audition next week, when Patton kicked his leg under the table.

“What, Pat?” He took another moment to finish the sentence before he tore his eyes away from the book, surprised at his roommate’s barely contained excitement.

“You’ve been humming for half an hour!”

He hadn’t even noticed. He tended to do it a lot without realizing; humming along to his soulmate’s music. Ever since he’d come back almost a year ago, an occurrence he’d never had explained but held onto with fondness, Roman’s heart jumped every time his music played. It was just like old times, their old system immediately reinstated, and more than once he’d found himself singing along to the melodies in his head. Patton knew this, and could probably tell by the genre whether Roman was listening to his soulmate’s songs, or just had his own earworm.

“No, no, no, I like your humming! That’s not the point!”

“Then what’s the-”

“The guy behind you has his earbuds loud enough to hear!”

Roman strained his ears, and yes, he could barely hear the music coming from behind him. He definitely hadn’t noticed before, too deep in thought to notice something so trivial. But Patton was always on high alert, never able to keep his mind on one thing at a time.

“Okay, but what does that ha-”

“You’ve been humming the same songs as he’s been listening to for half an hour, Ro! I think he’s your soulmate!”

Roman’s eyes widened and he spun around, effectively dropping his book onto the ground. Yeah, if he concentrated, he could tell that the song in his head was the same as the one just audible through the other’s earbuds.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive!”

That’s all the convincing Roman needed. He jumped to his feet and rounded the other table so he was face to face with the stranger and knocked on the table a couple times. When he made eye contact, he thought he saw fear in the other’s face, but that couldn’t be right. Roman was not intimidating. The man at the table reached up to pop out one of his earbuds.

“Hello lovely, I have a question for you,” Roman purred, dropping onto his elbows on the table.

“I- I don’t-”

Apparently that counted as a meeting, because in that moment, the music in Roman’s head faded into nothingness. And he could tell it wasn’t just the music being paused. He was left with a neutral emptiness he hadn’t felt in a long time, a silence that was rare, and an innate knowledge that it had happened: their link was no longer necessary and had dissipated. Roman grinned wide, barely concealing a squeal.

“You’re my soulmate!”

He didn’t know what reaction he was expecting, but he sure as hell hadn’t expected the man at the table to get up and sprint out of the building at full speed.

“Stay here, Ro,” Patton was suddenly at his side, laying a hand on his bicep, “I’ll go after him. I don’t know what just happened but I don’t want it to happen again.”

Patton scooped up the other man’s things from the table and jogged out the library door.

-----

Virgil didn’t know where he was going; he hadn’t planned on running out of the library. Dammit, he hadn’t planned to run into his soulmate. And he knew that was his soulmate, and not just some weird coincidence. Because the moment they’d locked eyes, it was as if something in his mind had snapped, like a rubber band that had always been there but the pressure was so constant he didn’t notice it there until it was gone. Their bond had snapped; it was no longer necessary, because he’d met his soulmate.

He recognized the guy, just barely. They were in the same first year math class, a course often taken by upperclassmen (probably like his soulmate) because they’d put off getting a math credit until their final years. Logan had warned Virgil of that when he was choosing his first year courses, and so he was safely getting it out of the way so he could focus on his major in the coming years.

His breathing was choppy and strained as he tried to calm down his panic attack, dropping onto the ground under a large tree. He couldn’t keep running lest he collapse and draw more attention to himself, and that was far worse than anything he could imagine. Fighting the urge to scratch at his skin, he buried his head in his hoodie clad arms, fumbling with one hand to free his phone from his pocket.

It’s actually a guy, it’s a guy, he’s gay, wrong wrong wrong-

No, not wrong. It’s not wrong.

Yes it is, it’s going to hurt, you’re going to hurt, wrong wrONG WRONG!

His hands were shaking far too hard to text but he tried anyways, begging Janus to come pick him up early. Logan wouldn’t be done work for another couple hours, and usually Virgil would be fine just doing homework until his dad was ready to drive them home, but he didn’t think he’d be able to handle being on campus much longer.

“Hey, kiddo?”

Virgil’s head jerked up just as he clicked send, fighting every urge in his body to bolt again. It wasn’t the guy… his soulmate… but someone else he hadn’t met before, panting.

“Heya, my name’s Patton! You ran out without your stuff, so I brought it!”

Oh, he was holding his backpack, and his folder under one arm. Virgil was just trying to encourage his legs to move, to stand so he could take his things, when the stranger dropped into the grass in front of him. He flinched.

“Here ya go,” He pushed it towards him like a child trying to coax out a scared cat, “I’m so sorry me and Ro scared you. He just gets over excited sometimes. I promise he’s actually very gentle.”

Virgil stared, pulling in a halting breath.

“The guy who ran up to you, that’s Roman. I’m his roommate, by the way. I’m Patton. Did I introduce myself? Doesn’t matter. I’m a third year psychology major. Roman’s in third year too, music and theatre major.”

He should probably introduce himself too, but his hands were frozen, clamped around his phone, and he found his voice wasn’t cooperating. That didn’t deter the other dude, though.

“Here, I wrote out both of our numbers. Roman feels super bad for scaring you, so you can take your time, if you want.” He delicately placed a ripped piece of notebook paper on the backpack between them, “His is the first one. But I put mine in there too, so you can text me if you want to talk. The more friends, the better.”

Virgil’s phone buzzed, alerting him of Janus’ response.

“I’ll let you be, okay? Remember to text!” With an exuberant wave, he dashed back to the library. Virgil read Janus’ panicked message, asking what had happened, in a bit of a daze. His dad agreed to come get him, so he stuffed the paper into his pocket and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

-----

Janus had asked him not to go into his room when he was so worked up, instead giving him free reign of the living room while the older restarted the dinner he’d abandoned in favor of picking his son up. He’d turned on the TV for Virgil, changing the channel to a nature documentary, given Virgil his favorite weighted blanket, and left him with strict orders to call him if he started spiraling or needed a hug.

The distraction had worked for a while, the soothing voice of the narrator almost lulling him to sleep, until his racing brain had come to the conclusion that this was the worst thing to ever happen in the history of ever and that he was going to die alone. He’d been a little hopeful that his soulmate would be a girl, to somewhat appease his trauma, but life was never that easy. A part of him had also been a little miffed about that hope, because as much as he liked to pretend, he had a preference for boys. A big preference. And his soulmate was cute.

“Everything okay, Virgil?” Janus called through the pass through window into the kitchen, taking his eyes off his food preparation to watch his son’s pacing.

“Yup!” He lied, picking and scratching at the skin of his hands out of his dad’s view. The pain settled him a little, giving him something he could control, but he knew he’d get a figurative slap on the wrist for it later. A concerned slap, not an angry one. Maybe more of ‘a cuddle on the couch and wrap the little patches of broken skin and an update with his counsellor’. So not really a slap. At all. As it usually went.

Everything was wrong. What kind of shit first impression had he given his soulmate? Getting up and running away like an actual child? And that was only part of it. He was damaged goods, a broken person, who needed more help and reassurance than any other person. How could he explain to his soulmate that he was the cause of his problems without making him feel guilty? That wasn’t the life the man had signed up for, wasn’t the soulmate burden he’d wanted. He would want someone easy, someone who wouldn’t have panic attacks when they got shocked by a door knob, who didn’t stop eating when they were scared, who pressed pause on life when he woke up in a dissociating headspace. He couldn’t say that to him. He’d lost everything, that vague musical connection to an invisible soulmate, that had given him a subtle hope. It had been a quiet illusion, a promise that he’d be fine if it were never fulfilled. Knowing there was someone out there, providing him music, had been enough. But now…

“Virgil, hold these for me.”

When had Logan gotten home? He put his hands out obediently, clenching the fingers over the ice cubes placed in each palm. The sensation startled him and sent a shiver up his spine.

“Four, seven, eight. Ready?”

He followed the breathing pattern eagerly, feeling the curls of anxiety in his stomach slowly settle into butterflies. When he was breathing normally, an overwhelming sense of dizziness almost knocked him over. Logan took his arm and led him to the couch.

The next moment, Janus was kneeling in front of him, rubbing disinfectant into his few bloody scratches, the melting water dripping through his fingers and onto the carpet.

“I should have noticed,” he murmured as he stuck a couple bandaids onto each hand, refusing to meet Virgil’s eyes.

“Don’t blame yourself, Janus. I don’t think it was happening for too long,” Logan assured, running a hand down Virgil’s spine. “Did this have to do with the reason you left school early today?”

Virgil nodded.

“Are you nonverbal?”

“No,” he choked, clearing his throat, “Just dry throat.”

“I got it,” Janus leapt to his feet and hurried to the kitchen.

With a heavy sigh, Virgil leaned into Logan’s side, the hand on his back traveling to wrap around his shoulder comfortingly. The last drops of the ice cube hit the carpet, and he dried his hands off on his jeans. “I met my soulmate today.”

“I see,” Logan said. For the umpteenth time, Virgil was beyond grateful that Logan was an expert at masking reactions. It made difficult conversations easier.

“It’s a guy.”

“How did that go?”

“I ran out of the library and had a panic attack. His roommate brought me my stuff and gave me their numbers. I made an idiot out of myself.”

Logan was quiet, giving Virgil a little squeeze. A water glass was pressed into his hands and Virgil downed the whole thing, passing it back to Janus, who placed it on the coffee table.

“I think… I think I’m magnifying. Maybe.” He described his thoughts that led to his spiral as quickly as possible, feeling slightly pleased when Logan agreed with his hypothesis.

“You are definitely magnifying. Good job for recognizing that, Virgil. You don’t even know him, much less what he thought of your interaction.”

“What’s our next step?” Janus spoke up, resting a hand on Virgil’s knee and rubbing it with his thumb.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Can you sleep on it, and message him tomorrow?”

Virgil thought about for a second before shaking his head even harder, “No. I have class with him tomorrow, and we’re getting a study guide for a test. I can not miss it. But what if he comes up to me, or wants to talk, and I embarrass myself again, and-”

His dads both hushed him at the same time and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes against Logan’s side. “What do I do?”

“You could message him tonight,” Janus drawled.

“Are you crazy?” He shrieked, “No! What would I even say? ‘Hey, you freaked me out today, sorry for running like a lunatic’?!”

“Why not explain the cause for your hasty escape?” Logan piped in.

“That’s way too much to load onto him as a first conversation.”

“Not all the gory details, just a vague explanation. That’s how I started talking to Logan,” Janus stated, adjusting his position on the floor. “If he’s your soulmate, Virge, he’ll be okay to deal with this. It’ll come out eventually, and if something else happens, it will be nice for him to have some context.”

Virgil groaned. “I hate when you make sense.”

“We can help you construct an adequate message.” Logan squeezed him again, meeting Janus’ eyes with a small smile.

“Fine.” Virgil snarled, pulling out his phone and the two numbers, typing the first one into his ‘new contact’ list. “Okay, what do I say?”

-----

V: Hey, I’m Virgil. We met earlier today. In a manner of speaking.

R: OMG, hi! I’m Roman. I am SO sorry for startling you!

V: It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.

R: I still feel bad DX

“He feels bad, what do I do?!”

“I would suggest explaining the reason you ran off to ease his concerns.”

“Me too. But ask first, and don’t give more details than you’re comfortable with.”

V: Can I be brutally honest for just a second?

R: Should I be nervous? Haha go ahead!

V: I was forced into conversion therapy about a year back, and I still carry a lot of the trauma with me. That’s why I ran. It was just gut instinct.

“He’s not responding, oh god, he’s going to block me, why isn’t he responding?!”

“I assume this news would take a moment to process. Focus on your breathing, Virgil. Don’t magnify.”

“You also sent it, like, ten seconds ago.”

R: Holy shit, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.

“...That’s not what I expected.”

“This is a regular reaction from a human being with even a lick of common sense, Virgil.”

“Seconded.”

V: It’s okay, I have a really great support system now.

R: That’s good. I’ve never experienced anything like that, so I can only imagine how hard that was.

R: I don’t expect you to answer if you don’t want to or don’t know, so please don’t feel pressured, but do you know what kind of soulbond we have? Is it platonic?

“Shit, fuck, who do I answer that?”

“With the truth, I’d imagine. Do you have an answer to his question?”

“Remember what I told you, kid. Your own pace.”

“Logan, if I explain it, can you put it into words? Please?”

V: I’m not averse to a possible romantic relationship in the future, but at the moment I am still learning to become comfortable with myself, as I have negative connections to that part of my identity that can become problematic if not properly worked through at my own pace.

R: Give me a couple seconds to decode that

V: My dad wrote it, he’s a prof. I have both of them helping me not freak out right now.

R: You might want to date one day, but you need to take it slow because of your trauma.

V: Uhm… yeah. I could have said it like that.

R: Is talking to me upsetting you? We can always talk another time.

V: No, I’m okay.

R: Okay, then as far as I’m concerned, we move at your pace. That’s not an issue for me at all.

“I… oh. He’s… wow.”

“I agree with your sentiment.”

“I like this boy already.”

“DAD!”

R: Your dad’s a prof?

V: One of them is. He teaches at our school, Prof Sanders. 4th year chemistry?

R: Oh shit. I’m in his class.

V: Lol he thinks he knows you

R: You have two dads?

V: Yep

R: That’s so cool. I’d really love to meet them.

V: Wow, we met today and you’re already wanting to meet my parents?

R: Heeey, I want to meet them as a FRIEND.

V: My dad says after the semester’s over, you’re free to come by

One at a time, Virgil’s dads left him on the couch with an ear to ear grin, Janus to reheat dinner and Logan following him just so he could cling to his husband's waist as he moved around the kitchen. Neither of them wanted to disturb the little bubble their son was in.

-----

In the weeks following, they’d started to sit together in the one class they shared. Virgil had begun to join him and Patton on their nightly library study sessions, and after some more gentle convincing, had given in to sitting with their whole friend group during meals at the cafeteria. He was growing more comfortable with Roman, no doubt about that.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting off an anxiety attack as he waited by the door to get picked up for their first outing alone.

He kept checking his phone and glancing out the peephole as Janus ran calming fingers through his hair. Virgil leaned into the touch instinctively, consciously slowing his breathing as Janus hummed. Logan was watching him from the entrance to the hall, leaning on the kitchen door frame. There wasn’t much he could do, but dammit if he wasn’t going to watch his son go off on the most anxiety inducing situation of all of their lives.

“You’ll be okay, kid,” Janus muttered, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “You’ve been friends with him for a while now, and he said there were no expectations. You’re in total control here.”

“What if I have a flashback, or a panic attack, or go nonverbal or something? He’s going to freak the fuck out and then all the work will be for noth-”

Logan spoke up. “You’re worried about things that may not even happen. And besides, haven’t you spoken to Roman about these things already?”

“A bit. Not in detail,” he whispered.

“I would suggest you do so, today if possible. It will make any possible situations that arise easier and less jarring to deal with.”

Virgil looked up at Janus, a pleading look in his eyes.

“He’s right, kid. The sooner you get it out of the way, the better.”

There was a knock at the door and Virgil nearly jumped out of his skin. To his disdain, Janus backed away until he was next to Logan, gesturing at the door with a small smile. Virgil growled out a curse and opened the door, the scowl on his face melting into a sickeningly authentic smile.

“How’s my favorite emo? Hi Mr. Sanders, hey Prof.”

“Hello.”

“Salutations.”

“Your favorite emo?” Virgil snarked, pulling on his jacket. It wasn’t cold, not in the slightest, but he’d rather have the extra layer.

“You’re the only emo I know, so the choice is easy.”

“By process of elimination, doesn’t that also imply I’m your least favorite emo too?”

“Don’t start this again, Mr. Son-of-a-professor.”

“I’ll start it if I want to!”

The door closed behind them with one final wave to his parents, and the house was quiet. Janus leaned into Logan’s waiting arms, resting his head on the other’s collar bone.

“He’s all grown up.”

“That he is, my love.”

-----

Virgil smirked as Roman set out a large cliche picnic blanket, gesturing for him to sit. He did, crossing his legs and leaning on his knees as the other began to unload the basket.

“Okay, so for sandwiches, I have turkey, peanut butter and jelly, and ham. Patton made me bring apple slices because he’s a dad, but I’m sure we can convince the ducks to eat them.”

To prove his point, a group of ducks paddled out from under a weeping willow half submerged in the creek.

“I like apples,” Virgil defended, grabbing a slice from the open container and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. “How many people were you intending to feed with that much food?”

Roman pouted from behind a container of potato salad. “I had to show off my food skills, duh.”

“You made that?” Virgil asked with raised eyebrows as Roman set out a tin of mini quiches and a smaller one stacked with brownies and cookies.

“The cookies were Patton’s, but he insisted I take some. And I would have bought more, but…” He tipped the basket towards Virgil, revealing the bottom absolutely filled with different canned drinks and water bottles. “I didn’t know what you wanted to drink.”

Virgil actually did laugh as he stretched forward to snag a Doctor Pepper, taking another apple slice as he sat back.

“Do you have a sandwich preference?” Roman asked, choosing a Sprite for himself.

“Turkey looks good.” Virgil said before his choice paralysis could come into play, breathing a sigh of relief as Roman handed one of the sandwiches to him. The less stress he added to his own life, the better.

Roman had been right to bring an assortment of food, because dammit, he was a really good chef. Virgil was nervous to try a quiche, since he’d never had them before and the texture was odd to him, but Roman assured that if he didn’t like it, he’d eat it instead. Apparently he wasn’t eeked out by germs. After a nibble though, Virgil ate almost half the tin. Who knew cold eggs could be good? Roman took the ham sandwich, and they split the PB&J. The ducks were more than pleased to be given Roman’s half of the apple slices but Virgil refused to share, since fresh fruits were still a treat after a life of preserves. The younger wasn’t a huge fan of the potato salad, so Roman eagerly finished it, seemingly more excited to move onto the desserts but not wanting to leave any leftovers.

They were just finishing up the frankly absurd amount of cookies and brownies when Roman broke their casual bickering, chasing a chocolate chip bite with a long swig of Sprite and tossing another apple to their swarm of awaiting ducks.

“So, tell me a bit about yourself, Virge.”

“What do you want to know?” Virgil replied, leaning back on his hands.

“Anything, really. Childhood, siblings, favorite color, darkest fear.”

“Quite a spectrum, there.” There was a lot he could talk about, but he felt it might be better to get the bigger things out of the way. Janus was sort of the leading expert on this kind of thing, so his advice had probably been sound. He brushed his hands together to get the crumbs off them as he spoke, “Okay, so I grew up in the foster system.”

Roman tried to hide his wince. “Ouch. I’ve heard a lot of bad things.”

“It’s fucked,” Virgil drawled, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn, “I spent most of my time in a group home, though, because I was called ‘difficult’. No one wanted to deal with my ass.”

“Why?”

“Mmm, ran away, didn’t listen, talked back, antagonized any biological kids.”

“So like, a normal teenager?” The last apple slice was sacrificed to the feathered hoard.

Virgil snorted, “Yeah, but I came with a receipt. And I kind of liked the group home more.”

“How many kids were in the home?”

“Never more than fifteen. It was a big home. But they circulated, and I was like a housecat. Never gone for more than a month.”

“Jeez,” Roman sighed, taking a sip of his soda.

“My foster homes weren’t better.”

“Oh?” It was a subtle encouragement to keep talking, but now it was getting into territory that Virgil liked to avoid.

“One of my foster houses was really neglectful, forgot to give us food, didn’t let us do laundry, that kind of stuff. Gave me a wicked ED. I was twelve.”

Roman grimaced.

“My next one was more emotionally and mentally manipulative. I was kind of made into a babysitter for their younger bio kids. I had to get them ready for school, make them dinner, just basically be a parent. After I ran away from them, they started having trouble placing me. I was older, had a shitty record, kind of a left over. I mean, I deserved it. I was a dick.”

“You were a kid, Virgil.”

“A kid who chose to make his own life harder.” He shrugged, “That’s why I was placed into… that home. They were a last resort place for other ‘trouble kids’.”

Virgil took a deep breath and, with Janus’ words in his mind, began to explain his attempted conversion; the slip of tongue that led to the placement, the verbal abuse, food deprivation, electroshock therapy, the snuck antipsychotics, forced isolation, ending with the day the wife had called the police behind her husband’s back out of guilt and he was rescued.

Roman was quiet for a long minute after he finished talking, staring entranced at the can in his hands. The ducks had dispersed during Virgil’s story, upset at the lack of food.

“I…”

Virgil waited for him to get up and leave, to say with false apologies that he didn’t think they would work out, that the connection was wrong. Because who would want to deal with him, his stupid trauma? But the man next to him didn’t move except to breathe, and Virgil took that as an invitation to continue, his tone quieter.

“I was super out of it for a while. Honestly, I don’t remember the rescue, or like a solid month after that, except for snippets here and there. The drugs were fucky. And then my social worker, god bless her heart, found Janus and Logan. Janus was in CT too for a while when he was younger, so they took me in. Took a long time, but I opened up to them, but by then I was eighteen. They still insisted on adopting me, though, and there’s absolutely no convincing Logan once he’s made his mind up, so… they did.” He waved his hands around a little.

“Three months,” Roman blurted out of nowhere, making Virgil flinch.

“What?”

“Were you in ther-... CT for three months?”

“Two and a bit, why?” The moment it was out of his mouth, he realized the implications, and his heart froze.

“You were gone for three months. I thought you died, or… I don’t even know.” Roman looked like he was about to cry, watching Virgil imploringly. Him going MIA must have affected his soulmate more than he’d thought.

“Two months of CT, and then another one before I got a new phone. I’m…” All the guilt he’d felt at the time came rushing back, the reminder of his soulmate’s music dwindling to almost nothing and him being helpless, “I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry. That must have been…”

“No, Virgil, you don’t get to apologize. That was not your fault.” He reached out a hand as if to grab Virgil’s and immediately pulled back, wringing his fingers instead. “Sorry, my choice of comforting is physical. But I won’t.”

“Thank you,” Virgil choked out, running his hands through his hair.

“Can you look at me?”

He did, taking a shuddering breath. He was moments away from a panic attack and he was not looking forward to that disaster.

“You were being- quite literally- tortured for months. You were abused in ways that shouldn’t be legal, and you came out the other side stronger. Frankly, I’m amazed at your perseverance. You’re amazing.”

Simultaneously, Virgil felt a hot blush rise to his ears, and a sharp jolt run through his arms into his chest. He jerked violently, tipping over his own soda onto the grass.

“Shit, did I say something wrong?” Roman gasped, reaching over to pluck up the can before it could spill more. It was already half empty, thank goodness.

“No, I just… do that. Sometimes. From… CT. Kind of like ghost shocks, I guess.” Why couldn’t the ground just open up and swallow him whole, he wondered. He hadn’t done that jerk thing in front of anyone in so long. The last time had been in front of his now-parents, and they’d quickly grown used to it. He’d grown used to their own contact very soon and his twitches had stopped after he was accustomed to it, but it had never been directed towards him, and he had a feeling he’d need time to stop his impulse reactions.

“And me calling you amazing…”

“Triggered them. It’s an exposure thing though, so I’ll just need to get used to it. Don’t blame yourself.” He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until bright white flashes of light burst into his vision. Suddenly, he was exhausted.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Roman asked, already packing up their picnic basket. Virgil nodded, his social meter drained, and all ability to be a civil person was quickly deteriorating. His therapist said that would also begin to heal after a while.

Roman was an absolute angel though, letting the silence linger so Virgil could cradle his slowly growing headache, even opening the door of his car like a perfect gentleman. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Virgil rested his head against the seat and let a tiny smile tug at his lips. It would be a long process to retrain his brain (in theory, he was okay with being in a relationship with a man, but actually doing it? Infinitely harder), but for once, he was actually looking forward to the process.

Would you guys like a collection of one shots surrounding Virgil’s gradual warming up to his new family, a decent mix of angst and fluff? I have some ideas.

Thanks for reading! Now, a taglist.

@sapphic-satan

@anxious-logic

@wigsnatchedhoteltrivago

@extraintrovertedalien

@punk-academian-witch

@ray-does-stuff

@chimneychimney

@i-cant-find-a-good-username

@falsemood

@wtf-casper

@cpmansion

@killjoyjay

@fandomfan315

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@espepspes

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@wyvern-tales

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@green-call

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #loceit #logan sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #sanderssides #sanderssidesau #sanderssidesfanfiction #sanders sides #sanders sides au #sanders sides fanfiction #ts soulmate au

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littledrummeraussie · 4 years ago

Text

summer nights.

Word count: 4000+

Warnings: casual drinking. tipsy flirting. first time having sex with each other. handjob. fingering. slight nipple kink. sex with protection. mentiones of possible future encounters. consent. because consent is sexy.

Author’s note: when Alice @babylonashton posted this freakin’ photoset of Ashton in that black tank top - I basically lost it and told my friend how I wanna feel his soft warm skin against mine. Cue to me writing a sweet summer fic where reader is lucky enough to feel that soft warm skin up close.

A big shoutout to @mymindwide for letting me use her again as my emotional punching bag. Love you more than you know.

Feedback is appreciated!

masterlist.

- - - - -

Luke has been bugging you for weeks about a game night/long weekend getaway vacation he has planned with his friends, saying that he thought you might have fun and it would finally give you the chance to meet his oh so famous band members. When you still weren’t sure about your answer he asked his girlfriend too, who practically begged you to join them for those few days, saying how they needed the girl power if they wanted to slay the boys in all the games they have planned. In the end you needed to agree, not being able to say no to both their puppy dog eyes and pouty lips.

You needed to give it to them that all their friends were amazing, and you did feel like one of the group from the moment you’ve stepped out of their car. They quickly started setting up a grill and the games they have brought with themselves, everyone settling into their rooms and the new environment for the next 4 days. Luke took some time to introduce you to his band members, and the ice was broken in seconds, all three of them acting like you’ve known each other for a long time now.

By the third night it didn’t surprise you anymore if Michael started eating from your plate, if Calum shared his beer with you while putting Duke in your lap for ear scratches, or if Ashton started snapping photos of the two of you while you pattered around the kitchen. Luke seemed absolutely happy with how everything turned out, and you thanked him and his girlfriend countless times for making you come with them.

To mix things up a little they’ve decided to put everyone’s name into a cup, pulling out two pieces of papers to make teams for an upcoming beer-pong challenge. Ashton gave you a pointed look when they’ve announced you as a team, saying how you are winning this thing, even if you end up drunk as a skunk. After your first failed attempt he stepped behind you, holding onto your wrist to help you aim the ball, which quickly landed in one of the cups, making Calum grimace as he drank his beer.

* * *

”No, no, don’t do it! Don’t! Doooon’t!” Michael yelled as Ashton aimed the ball again, throwing it into the last of the cups, sticking his tongue out at his friend. ”Dammit mate!”

”We won!” Ashton announced it with a laugh, quickly wrapping his arms around you as he picked you up. ”Drink up, Clifford!”

”Ash, no, don’t drop me!” you squealed as he was spinning you around, holding onto his shoulders as he finally put you down, his cheeks pink and a smile pulling at his lips.

”We make such a good team,” he gave you a high five before pulling you in for another hug.

And that was a moment. It felt like electricity ran through the both of you as he wrapped his strong arms around you, his skin warm and soft where it touched you. You wanted to pull away. You wanted to stay in his arms forever. His grip on you got stronger for a second, then he was letting you go, but his eyes were shining, lips parted as he quickly licked them, and you were sure he was trying to catch his breath the same way that you did.

”Are you done celebrating or can we finally have dinner?” Calum asked from his place by the fire, and you gave him a nod, pulling away from Ashton.

”We don’t want you to starve, Cal,” Ash huffed at him, rolling his eyes in a comical way. ”Could have started without us.”

”You would have stuck with the remaining salad, mate,” Luke laughed at him, and with that motioned for you two to join them.

* * *

The night went on with lots of talking, all of you feeling a little buzzed after your game of beer-pong and the drinks you had during dinner. Ashton sat on the other side of the fire, explaining something to his friends about this or that, but his eyes found you whenever there was a lull in the conversation, returning the smiles you’ve sent his way. It was about an hour later that he went inside the house, coming back with a blanket that he wrapped around your shoulders, sitting down and putting his arm around you to pull you to his side.

”Thanks,” you felt a blush colouring your cheeks as he made himself comfortable. ”Do you need the other half?”

”I’m fine, thank you,” he smiled at you, rubbing your arm. ”I’m never really cold, so this is nice for me.”

”Yeah, I’ve felt that,” you whispered, almost like an afterthought, gaze lingering on his arms and the black tank top pulling tightly over his chest.

”This way you don’t have to be cold either,” he gave you a wink, squeezing you to his side once again, and you let your head rest on his shoulder as you joined the conversation again.

* * *

The next thing you remembered was a chuckle against your ear and Ashton slightly shifting next to you, his hand still lightly rubbing your arm. Even in your half-asleep state you picked up on the quiet that surrounded you, the voices low and masculine around you, and you were sure the girls have already gone to bed, leaving the guys to have some time to themselves. You must have fallen asleep leaning against Ashton’s shoulder, and he was nice enough not to wake you while you napped and enjoyed the warmth radiating from his body.

”She’s out like a light,” you heard Calum say it from somewhere around the other side, a smile playing in his voice. ”You were upgraded to a pillow, mate.”

”Shh, don’t wake her,” Luke shushed Calum, and you felt Ashton trying to stifle his laugh, the sound vibrating against your cheek.

”Can’t blame her, though. We all know Ashton is a great pillow,” Michael made a comment too, and the others hummed in agreement.

”Guess this is my cue,” you felt Ashton turning towards you, his arms gently sliding around your back and under your knees, pulling you into his lap before standing up. ”I’ll take Y/N up to bed, then I’ll probably turn in too. Don’t stay up late.”

”Good night, Grandpa,” Calum snorted, and Ashton mumbled something colourful in response, making his way towards the house.

* * *

”You’re still nice and warm,” you hummed against Ashton’s neck as he took the last few steps to arrive to the first floor where all your bedrooms were.

”What, you’re not scared anymore that I’m gonna drop you?” he chuckled, tightening his arms around you as he turned the corner, looking for your room.

”You just want me to compliment you on how strong you are,” you giggled lightly, and he laughed against your hair, opening the door with his shoulder.

”Aren’t you just lucky to have your own personal walking-talking furnace pillow?” he put you down on the bed, hands sliding down to your feet. ”Alright, shoes.”

”I could just kick those off, you know,” you buried your face against the pillow, eyes barely open as you looked at Ashton fumbling with the laces on your shoes.

”It’s no trouble at all,” he smiled at you quickly, thumb brushing over your ankle before he tugged off the other one too. ”Guess you’re all set, love.”

”Thank you,” you mumbled, and Ash just nodded, fixing the blanket around your feet.

”I’ll see you in the morning,” he hesitated for a moment then stood up, stepping to the door. ”Good night, Y/N.”

”Good night… Ashton?”

”Yeah?” he turned back, leaning against the doorframe.

”Would you mind staying?” you bit your lip as you let the question hang between the two of you. ”I’m– still a little cold…”

”The blanket’s not enough?” a grin pulled at his lips as he closed the door behind himself.

”Definitely not as warm as you,” you confessed, lifting the sheets up as an invitation. ”What do you say?”

Ashton shook his head with a smile, already kicking off his shoes before climbing onto the bed and over you, his strong arms bracketing you as he leaned forward. He rested his forehead against yours, the tip of his nose tickling your skin as you relaxed against the pillow, arms slowly wrapping around his shoulders to keep him close. Ash sighed happily as you ran your fingers up his neck, stroking through his hair at the nape, and he gently pressed his lips against the corner of your mouth.

”Wanted to kiss you since the moment you’ve made me pancakes at one in the morning,” he lazily kissed your chin, running his lips down your throat and up to your ear, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes.

”What’s holding you back now?” you tilted your head up to lightly brush your lips against his bottom one and he hummed in response, leaning closer.

”I guess I don’t have a way out now,” he whispered on your lips, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he smiled. ”So I might as well just shut up and kiss you.”

You both chuckled at his words before Ashton cupped your face, pressing his lips against your forehead, the tip of your nose, and after a long look into each other’s eyes he finally kissed your lips. He lightly sucked on your bottom lip, tongue slowly slipping into your mouth as you relaxed into his touch, a quiet moan echoing around the room. Ashton faintly tasted like the ice cream you had a few hours ago, with a hint of the beer he must have drunk while you were sleeping on his shoulder. Your thumb brushed over the shell of his ear, fingers tangling into his dark locks just above it as you pulled him closer, all of your senses wanting more of his scent, his touch and taste. A low groan resonated against your chest where you were pressed together, his elbows and knees pushing into the mattress keeping him up above you.

”Want you closer,” you slid your hands down on his sides, fingers tangling into the hem of his tank top, slowly tugging it upwards to feel his skin against your palms. ”That’s okay?”

”More than okay, love,” Ash groaned, pushing back for another kiss as you worked the fabric up on his back, only letting go of you when you needed to pull it over his head.

Before you knew it he pulled away again, grabbing onto the blanket covering you and tossing it on the floor, just so he can take a good look at you. He was ready to climb back over you, but you were quick to kneel up in front of him, arms wrapped around his neck to kiss him again. Ashton’s arms circled your waist, pulling you to his chest as he tickled your skin, bunching the material of your shirt in his fists before pulling it off. A shiver ran through you as he massaged your back, his touch warm and curious as his fingers slid under the clasp of your bra, giving it the shortest of tugs.

”Still okay?” he rested his forehead against yours, eyes searching your eyes. ”Can I?”

”Please,” you nodded, voice just above a whisper, your own hands sliding down his chest and stomach, fingers tangling into the loops of his jeans.

”You can do that too,” he pressed a kiss on your temple, only working open the clasp when your fingers undid his button and slid the zipper down.

You pushed your head against his shoulder, looking down at his body as your hand slid inside his pants, palm curling around the hot flesh straining against his boxers, and Ashton moaned against your ear, slightly pushing forward to get more friction. His fingers grabbed your chin to tilt your head back up, pressing his lips against yours before pulling the straps of the bra down your arms, pulling back to quickly kick his jeans off, giving you the chance to get rid of your own shorts.

You took a moment to catch your breaths and admire each other’s bodies, his tan skin and tattoos on display to touch and taste, his cock hard and tenting his boxers. His eyes wandered down your neck, fingers following the path over your collarbones and breasts, thumbs rubbing your hard nipples while he kissed into your neck. Ashton’s arms were around you again, helping you lie back on the bed as he hovered above you, nose skimming down your skin as he searched for his prize, lips finally closing around your nipple, gently sucking it into his mouth.

Your fingers aimlessly stroked his hair as his teeth gave a light bite to the hard nub, his tongue massaging it to sooth the sting. He pressed his lips between your breasts, leaving short little pecks on your skin before moving to the other nipple, his mouth already back at work. You felt his thumbs hook into the sides of your panties, the rest of his fingers brushing against your thighs, asking if he can move forward, and you lifted your hips as an answer, making Ashton slip the fabric down your legs.

”You’re still wearing too much,” you laughed into his neck as he pushed himself up to you, hands sliding down his back to lightly squeeze his ass, and Ashton stifled his moan with a giggle.

”Wanna do something about it?” he pressed a quick kiss on your lips, wiggling his eyebrows.

You tugged on the waistband of his boxers, sliding it down on his thighs and Ashton kicked them off, hands gripping your legs as he turned to his side, pulling you with himself. His palm cupped your face, thumb brushing against your cheek as he kissed you long and deep, and you pressed against his chest, curling into his warm embrace. Your fingers skimmed down his arm, then up to brush against his nipple, making Ash hum against your lips and kiss you a little harder. You gave another light tweak to it, and his hips pressed forward, hard cock rubbing against your thigh as he looked for friction.

”How do you like it?” you pressed a kiss on the underside of his jaw as your fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking it up and down.

”That’s perfect,” he breathed against your hair, his noises filled with pleasure. ”You can go faster.”

”Like this?” you picked up the pace, thumb brushing over the tip to spread his precum down on his shaft, and Ashton moaned, a shiver running through him.

”Just like that, yeah.”

His hand wandered down your back, squeezing your ass before lightly caressing your thigh, fingers slowly sliding between your legs, palm cupping your wet sex. You buried your face and moans against his chest as a finger teased between your lips, giving light strokes to your clit before a second one joined, making you shift a little to give him more space.

”You’re absolutely gorgeous,” Ashton nudged his nose against yours, hazel eyes boring into yours as his thumb rubbed your clit, his digits lightly circling your entrance. ”Fingers?”

”Yeah, I like them,” you nodded while pecking his lips, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as he slowly pushed in. ”Fuck, and they feel really good.”

”Yeah, I like your hand on my cock too,” he giggled between moans, fingers slipping deeper, curling against the sweet spot inside you.

He slowly slipped his fingers in an out, stretching you as you still jerked his cock, both of you trying to stifle your noises against the other’s mouth. Then Ashton pulled away, pressing his lips against your cheek and squeezing your hips before reaching for his discarded jeans, pulling out a condom from one of his pockets.

”Did you plan on getting lucky?” you pushed your toe against his knee with a smile, and Ashton chuckled, swiping his fingers through his hair.

”It might have crossed my mind,” he confessed, already tearing the package open.

”How long have you been hiding it?” you let your eyes linger on his fingers as he expertly rolled the condom on his hard cock, giving it a few pumps as he sighed.

”On and off since our midnight kitchen date,” he lay back down beside you, pulling you to his side, squeezing your hips again. ”Definitely been hoping for it after tonight. Put them back into my pocket when I brought you that blanket. You– kinda had an effect on me while you slept.”

”Should I say sorry?” you bit your bottom lip as you reached for his cock, giving it a few strokes before guiding it between your legs, swiping the head between your folds.

”I would rather you make up for it,” a smile pulled at Ashton’s lips as his hand covered yours, pushing the tip against your entrance.

”Sounds good enough for me,” you sighed against his neck, grabbing onto his biceps as he slowly moved, sinking his cock into you.

Ashton pulled your hips closer, fully pushing his cock inside as he kissed your forehead, drawing small circles on your back as you adjusted to his size, your pussy already clenching around him, wanting to feel more of the delicious stretch. He cupped your face as he kissed you, only starting to move when you whimpered your pleas against his lips, urging him to finally make love to you. His thrusts were slow and deep, making your toes curl as the tip of his cock dragged against your sweet spot, and you couldn’t help but bite his bottom lip as he started picking up the pace.

Your nails lightly scratched his shoulder blades, leaving small crescent marks on his skin when he moved above you, pulling your legs around his waist to fuck you the way he liked it, burying his face in your neck when a loud moan escaped his lips. You didn’t want the night to end; feeling Ashton’s body against you was the sweetest thing you’ve experienced in a long time, his kisses making you dizzy and craving more and more. Your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging on his dark locks as he rested his forehead against your temple, nose pushed to your cheek, his breath hot and tickling your skin.

”Want you to cum for me,” he kissed the soft spot behind your ear, hips quickly snapping against yours. ”Wanna feel you around my cock. Can you do that, angel?”

”Ash– fuck, a little more, please,” you whimpered, already feeling the pleasure building in your lower belly, tickling your spine, making you needy for it. ”Just… your fingers…”

”I’ve got you, beautiful,” he pressed his lips to yours, teeth giving the lightest of nibbles to them as he slipped his hand between your bodies, stroking your clit in quick circles. ”Good?”

”Yeah, so good,” you choked on a moan as he hit a sensitive spot, making you squeeze your legs around his waist. ”Ash– Ash, please–”

”I’m here, love,” he pulled your face against his neck, his movements never stopping as he whispered in your ear. ”Cum for me, Y/N.”

His words triggered something in you, and you felt an orgasm run through your body, making you shake from head to toe. Ashton’s arms wrapped around you as he fucked you through your pleasure, his lips and teeth leaving gentle love bites on your neck as you clenched around his cock, and you felt him slightly tremble against you, his movements getting more erratic. You squeezed your walls around him, not caring how sensitive you were, and he groaned against your ear, hips stuttering.

”Y/N–” he swallowed around a moan, fingers digging into your ass. ”Fuck, that’s good.”

”I wanna feel you too,” you kissed into his ear, teeth lightly tugging on his earring. ”Gonna give it to me, Ash? Please, I wanna feel you cum too.”

”Wish I could fill you up,” he panted, lost in his own pleasure, and you moaned at his words, squeezing more tightly around him.

”Next time, baby,” you breathed into his ear, fingers caressing the back of his neck. ”Next time you can have me.”

Ashton’s body tensed above you, his moans muffled against your neck as he stilled, hips lazily trusting into you as his cock twitched and pulsed, filling the condom with his cum. He sighed heavily as the last of his pleasure tickled his senses, burrowing against your neck with a happy sound, resting his weight on you, his skin sweaty and warm against you. You brushed kisses against his cheek, fingers drawing patterns between his shoulder blades, and Ash lightly chuckled, pushing himself up to nuzzle his nose to yours.

”Give me a sec, love,” he pecked your lips and you nodded, letting go of him as he pulled out, both of you slightly groaning at the feeling.

He quickly discarded the condom in the trashcan before climbing back next to you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you against his body. He grabbed the blanket at the end of the bed, pulling it up over your shoulders, tucking it around you.

”So you’re okay with having the other half now?” you silently giggled, pulling the blanket a bit more around his back.

”I have your naked body against me now,” he lovingly tapped your nose with his finger, making you scrunch up your face. ”Of course I wanna share.”

”You know… I’m still a little bit cold…” you squeezed your arms around his waist, and Ashton chuckled, playing along as he pulled you closer.

”Where do you need warming up, love?” he brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, smiling as you tapped your own lips.

”Right here.”

Ashton leaned forward and kissed you gently, spending the next few minutes making out with each other, the soft touches and caresses helping both of you to come down from your highs. He slowly turned onto his back, pulling you as close as he could, tangling your legs together under the blankets. He let you rest your head against his chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat as his fingers played with your hair, both of you ready to fall asleep together.

”You do make a great pillow,” you mumbled against his skin, and you felt the now familiar rumble against your cheek as he chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

”Does this mean you’ll take me home with you?” he slipped his fingers against yours, interlocking them on his stomach, and you lightly squeezed them.

”I could use a body pillow like you at home, yeah. Comfy and warm. Perfect for cuddles.”

”Yeah,” he sighed happily, resting his fingers in your hair. ”I like cuddles too.”

* * *

The sound of the door slowly opening made you aware of the light in the room, and for a moment you were sure Ashton has woken up and left you, but then you felt his warm embrace around you, and you burrowed against his side again, ready to go back to sleep.

”They look cute,” you heard Luke whispering, quickly shushing the two others as they started giggling. ”Don’t, you’re gonna wake them!”

”Must have been a night,” Calum commented, clearly looking at the discarded clothes on the floor.

”Told you Ashton makes a great pillow,” Michael said again. ”And Y/N clearly agrees on that.”

”When you’ve stopped being weirdos… could you leave us alone?” you heard Ashton grumble, moving you both, his back to his friends. ”I don’t need an audience for what is about to happen.”

The door closed as quickly as it has opened, and you stifled your giggles against Ashton’s chest, pressing a kiss into his neck.

”Is that a promise?” you looked up at him, and he gave you a lazy smile, brushing a kiss against your temple.

”How about we have some fun now, and then I’ll make you pancakes?”

- - - - -

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#ashton irwin #ashton irwin x reader #ashton irwin fanfiction #ashton irwin smut #fiction time #.might explore the pancake scene too 👀#afic: summer nights

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 5 years ago

Text

Bogotá Kiss

Prologue: There Was a Boy

Summary/Author’s Note: Javier Peña had finally gotten his life together. He was a newlywed, back in the states with his bride, and starting his new life free of Escobar and the world of the cartels. That is until he found his wife in bed with another man. On a path of self destruction, he goes back to Bogota, reclaims his job with the DEA, his partner Steve Murphy, and throws himself into his work, cheap whiskey, and the company of his...informants.

You are a singer in the hottest burlesque club in Columbia. Pulling yourself out of poverty and into a world where men throw money at your feet, buy you diamonds, and pay untold amounts for your services. You don’t mind that the club’s biggest source of income is smuggling diamonds from the necks, wrists, and ears of its prostitutes and into the pockets of their buyers, until a handsome DEA agent gets too close and figures out the scheme.

**IMPORTANT: For those familiar with Moulin Rouge--The reader will NOT die at the end. Fuck that. Let Javi be happy god dammit.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (Moulin Rouge/French Kiss AU) Word Count: 1.6k (its just a prologue, the next chapter will be better) Warnings (for entire fic): NC-17/18+ - Language, sex, prostitution, mentions/implied R*pe (nothing will ever be described in detail or used as a plot device), typical canon violence for NARCOS, shooting, attempted murder, drug use, blackmail, hurt/comfort, lies and betrayal, happy ending

[MASTERLIST]

"It's not what it looks like."

People didn't actually say that line, did they? And worse yet, no one actually would possibly believe it. Right? The words fell from her lips and suddenly Javier Peña felt like he was watching a movie about someone else's life. A cliché of a film in which the idiot of a husband walked in on his wife bouncing on the dick of another man. He was that idiot, and as she scrambled off the lap of the stranger and called his name, he slammed the door behind him, not bothering to wait for an explanation. Queue the laugh track or cut to the scene of him walking in the rain to somber music.

Only this wasn't a movie. There would be no comedic relief, just a lot of heartache, wasted time and money. He had always had a bad habit of falling for the wrong girl. He would see himself mirrored in the eyes of the broken, the depressed, the ones who, much like him, just seemed unable to catch a break in life. But instead of getting a kindred spirit to share his world with, he usually just got a lot of baggage and a quick lay.

He packed a bag, not giving a shit about any of his worldly possessions, and found himself at the Dallas airport, sitting at the bar and waiting for his gate number to be called.

He raised two fingers, letting the bartender know he wanted a fucking double, as he held his cellphone to his ear and listened to it ring. The boxy phone didn't fit comfortably against his shoulder and he dropped it just as the other end picked up and Steve's voice came through.

"Murphy."

"Fuck. Shit." Javier fumbled the phone and held it back against his face.

"Javi?"

"Yeah, it's me." Javier sighed as he picked up his whiskey and tossed it back with a mild wince. "I'm on my way back."

"I heard." Steve paused. "Carolyn called. I told her I didn't know where you were."

"Thanks, 'appreciate it."

"I talked to Noonan. She said your job's still open. You can have it and the keys to your apartment."

They both paused for an extended period of time. Javier ordered another shot of whiskey and Steve breathed quietly on the other end of the phone. Neither one of them had to say out loud what they both already knew. Javier had fallen for the wrong girl, again. His heart was broken and he wanted to drown out the ache he was feeling in cheap booze, a carton of Marlboro, and expensive pussy.

"I'll pick you up from the airport. Safe trip, Jav."

"Thanks, Murph."

Javier pressed the button on the phone and rubbed his forehead with a heavy sigh. It was all smooth sailing from here. He was on his way back to normalcy, back to doing what he did best, hunting Narcos and not having any emotional ties to anything that mattered.

The car ride from the airport had been quiet for the most part but Javier could tell that Steve was just dying to ask. So, when they parked in front of the apartment and neither one of them moved, he dug his smokes out of his jacket pocket and rolled down the window. He flicked his silver lighter to life and inhaled deeply as Steve shut off the engine.

"Go ahead. Ask."

Steve sighed and looked at his friend. "What happened, man?"

"I let it go too far, like an idiot. And she couldn't even wait until the honeymoon was over before she tripped and landed on some other man's dick." He inhaled deeply and ran his thumb along his mustache.

"Shit. I'm sorry--"

"Don't," Javier cut him off and shook his head. "Okay? Don't."

"You file for divorce?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Lawyer is drawing everything up now so we can sign it."

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm sorry, Javi. You seemed happy." Steve looked at him and Javier flicked his cigarette out of the window.

"Yeah, I know." He took another long drag of his cigarette before tossing the butt out onto the sidewalk. “Tell Connie I said ‘hi’, okay?”

With a mumbled thanks for the ride and a couple of quick 'see you tomorrows', he opened the car door and grabbed his suitcase out of the back seat and walked up the stairs and into the apartment building. He went through the motions of coming back to this place that he knew quite well, as he went downstairs and stuck his keys in the door without needing to turn on a light.

He tossed his keys on the side table and kicked the door shut gently as he dropped his shoulder bag and looked around. The only furniture that the place had was the old embassy supplied leather couch, scuffed up coffee table, and bar stools against the kitchen counter. Fuck. That settled what he would be doing tomorrow, getting all his furniture out of storage and having the embassy replace what he didn’t have.

Before tossing his leather jacket on the back of the couch, he got out another cigarette and let it bob between his lips as he mumbled to himself. He inhaled deeply and tossed his lighter next to his keys before making his way to the kitchen. When he opened the fridge, he didn’t know if he wanted to run upstairs and kiss her, or if he wanted to clutch his chest and cry.

The entire appliance was completely bare and wiped out, the light making the white shelves look entirely too bright, but sitting in the middle of the top shelf was a covered casserole of some kind and a bottle of whiskey. A note was taped to the tin foil that read:

“Bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Please eat something while you drink this. -- love, Connie.”

At least Steve knew how to pick a woman, because that’s exactly what Connie was, one hell of a woman. Javier grabbed the bottle of liquor and mentally promised Connie that he would eat later. He wasn’t hungry. He really hadn’t been hungry for the last few days, and as he looked at the whiskey and cracked the seal on the lid, he didn’t mourn that the kitchen didn’t have any glasses. He was well beyond the need for a glass.

He took the bottle to the couch, kicked off his boots and plopped down heavily. The whiskey was a familiar burn down his throat and he felt it all the way to his belly. Warm, inviting, and just what he needed. Another drink was followed by a long drag of his cigarette before he kick backed and muttered, “Home, sweet, home,” to a cold, empty house.

The banging on the door permeated his skull in a way that he didn’t think was possible. But then again it had been a long time since he had been this hungover. He rolled over on the leather couch and shoved his face into the cushions and prayed that whoever wanted him would just go away. There was no one on this green earth that he wanted to speak to.

He must have fallen back asleep briefly because the next thing he knew, his partner had let himself into his apartment with his spare key and was nudging his leg that was hanging off the side of the couch.

“Javi,” Steve said as he plucked the empty liquor bottle from under his friend’s arm. “Javi!”

“Is too early,” Javier mumbled into the leather of the sofa.

“It’s 4 in the afternoon.” Steve said, setting the bottle on the coffee table. “I told Noonan you were taking the weekend to unpack--” Steve looked around the apartment and then back to the horizontal man. “Looks like you’re done.”

“Fuck you.”

Steve shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “Come on. You need a shower. I’d offer to buy you a drink but you smell like you’ve got that taken care of. So, how about a lap dance? There’s this new place on the other side of town--got your name written all over it.”

“Go away.”

Steve, rubbed his hand down his face and glared at the shell of the man that he had gotten to know over the last couple of years. The day Javier Peña turned down a lap dance, it would have been a cold day in hell and yet the evidence was right there in front of him. Someone needed to tell the devil to go check his thermostat.

“Mmkay.” Steve said sharply and took the empty bottle over to the sink and filled it about half way with tap water. When he dumped it on top of Javier’s head, the way the dark-haired man sputtered and sat straight up brought him more joy than it probably should have. “Good morning!”

“F-fucking hillbilly,” Javier cursed as he pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe his face.

“Get your ass in the shower and I won’t tell Con that you didn’t eat her food she left you.” When his friend paused long enough to lower his shirt and glare at him, Steve continued. “I’m not fuckin’ around, Javi.”

The two men stood at odds of one another, but the blond refused to relent. Javier shoved his now soaking wet hair back from where it was plastered to his face and nodded. He stood with a groan and gave Steve his middle finger as he trudged to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“Missed you, too, bud!” Steve cupped his hands around his mouth in a mock yell after the other man’s retreating form. It was going to be a long road to getting his partner back to his usual self, but the natural place to start was with some no-strings-attached pussy.

PERM TAG LIST:

@rae-gar-targaryen @zeldasayer @blondeeee-e @winters-buck @gooddaykate @jigglemiwa @seawhisperer @halefirewarrior @ripleyafterdark @phoenixhalliwell @thebakerstboyskeeper @honestlystop @lackofhonor @readsalot73 @cryptkeepersoul @skdubbs @cahooter @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @googiebeankat @dinohaze @saltywintersoldat @huliabitch @silver-lined-solitude @tainted-gay-ghost @roxypeanut @@hayley-the-comet @domino-oh-damn @manda-but-not-lorian @maybege @corvueros @thea-cartier @pettyprocrastination @qveenbvtch @hopplessdreamer @pocket-of-anxiety @marie-is-in-the-dark @agentpike @pascalplease @cosmicbug379 @your-pixels-are-showing @gamingaquarius @blushingwueen @crimsonandwhiteprincess @bluemoon-glen @river-soul @robbinholland @nerdypinupcrystal @fleetwoodmactshirt @jaime1110 @fioccodineveautunnale @fantasticcopeaglepasta @kid-from-new-zealand @theofficialwatchtower @roguereds @c4llm3jj @apples-of-february

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier pena #javier peña x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro character fic #moulin rogue #french kiss #javier peña au

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bchanslvr · 4 years ago

Text

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦

pairing - Draco Malfoy X Harry Potter

words - 1,650

warnings - angst, fluff, war, and our boys figuring out how to love.

written for - @drarrymicrofic , prompt: bloom

a/n -this is was originally supposed to be quite short but this is what happens when you procrastinate on your school work at 11 in the night bored out of your mind, nonetheless I hope you enjoy :)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I first saw you in Madam Malkin's Robes, with your unruly black hair, big bright-emerald eyes, full of wonder.

I thought of speaking to you, and so I did. You didn't like me I could tell. But it wasn't my fault I was raised like that and didn't know who you were.

The second time I saw you was at Hogwarts. You looked beautiful, standing there with that Weasley, your face sporting an adorable smile that even the toughest man in the world would melt against.

I knew you then. 'Famous Harry Potter'. It shocked me of course, my mind swimming with ideas to befriend you.

And when you didn't accept it, I was furious. You dare reject a Malfoy?

Since then I made it my life long goal till we graduate to make you pay.

Third year was a disaster. I wouldn't admit it but you've grown quite a bit. No longer where you the skinny, clumsy, awkward little git but something more.

Your hair was still the bird nest as ever, though I wouldn't say the same about the rest of you.

Your delicate face looked gorgeous. Those rosy lips of yours, glossy from you licking it, that crimson blush that appeared on your face every time you got embarrassed, your eyes. Damn your eyes.

I wouldn't say that every time I looked into them when we fight, I would get lost it them, mesmerized by their beauty. No, never!

And when I told myself way back in first year that I'll make you pay, how was I to keep that up, when you smile my whole world ignites?

Fourth year was nothing I expected it to be. That old man hosted this thing called 'The Triwizard Tournament'. It sounded dangerous in the least, and plus even if I wanted to join it, then I'd have to be at least seventeen.

So it left me wordless when your name was pulled from the cup-and I found myself worrying about you despite the hatred I treated you with.

Would something happen to you? Will you die? Will I never get the chance to confess my feelings towards you?

I realized soon enough that I never felt hatred toward you, more just jealousy.

My jealousy erupting more as I watched you dance the floor of the Yule Ball with that Patil girl, thinking it should have been me.

I had no idea what was happening in our fifth year. Everything a confusing puzzle piece.

I hadn't known what was happening at the seventh floor.

I hadn't known what the cruel lady had done to you.

I hadn't known that you've lost the one person that truly loved you with all his heart. That guilt, and absolute heartbreak that should have been visible in your pretty eyes instead masked with a fake facade of happiness that I could see right through because of all these years of watching you.

And I hadn't known- I hadn't know what was going to happen next.

Sixth year. Well... it did things to me. First I got the dark mark. The worst and most foolish decision of my life. All just to please my father.

I was given a mission, a mission from Vol- the dark lord himself. To kill Dumbledore.

I didn't want to do it. I really didn't. But I had to. Or else he'd kill me.

But Po-Harry on the other hand. God his sweet sweet smile. His gorgeous laugh. And dammit I'm in love with him. He could never hurt me-

-I was wrong.

Our fights were brutal yes, but not-not like this. I thought I was going to die. Right there. On the cold-bathroom floor.

Starring up at the man that I loved.

But I was wrong once again.

I looked into his forest green eyes, expecting to see anger, and victory for bringing me down like this. I deserved it honestly, after all that I've done to him, his friends. I really did.

But not this.

He wasn't smirking, wasn't even looking at me with any kind of emotion other then crying. Tears streaming down his face as I watched him panic not knowing what to do.

My ears were ringing, the only thing registering in them were Harry's small babbles of "I'm so sorry" "Oh I'm so sorry" "I- I swear I didn't-" "I didn't kno-"

Everything was starting to black out, his breathing slowing down. In the distance he heard a loud shout, and footsteps, cursing, and more shouting.

And when he woke up in the infirmary, he was disappointed. Harry wasn't there, nor was he for the rest of the year until that dread awful task.

Never in his life had he been more than thankful for his godfather. Severus had come in last minute and saved him, saved him from the life long of remorse he would serve if he had done the deed.

Seventh year, wasn't even seventh year anymore. It was war. Every single time of day he was pestered and worried. He hadn't seen Harry in months, almost a year. And he was terribly worried. He knew that he wasn't dead but that thought of where was he? is he safe? is he hurt?, kept him up at night regretting not telling Harry how he really felt.

The day he saw him at Malfoy Manor, covered in blisters and his gorgeous face turned into something like that made him almost retch.

But when his mom asked him if he was Harry Potter. He said he wasn't sure, looking at him directly trying to convey the message that he wasn't going to hurt him.

And when he fought for his wand, he let him because it was the only thing he could do.

The room of requirements was truing to ash by the second, the fire spreading closer and closer to him. And he thought for the second time that I really was going to die like this. Like a coward.

Never in his life tho had he thought that Harry Potter would come back for to save him. His wobbly hands holding onto the broom for dear life as they swerved through the fire back outside.

Harry had saved him. He couldn't be more thankful but before he could voice it Harry and his friends were gone.

He didn't protest really, they were in the middle of the war after all. So he let it go.

For next time.

And he thought that there will never be 'the next time' as Voldemort revealed that Harry was dead.

His heart shattering into million pieces as he took in the sight of the giant holding the love of his life in his arms.

The Weasley girl ran and screamed but he knew that she would never feel the same pain that I felt.

Relief and astonishment had never spread through my body faster than Longbottom had finished his bravery speech. I watched as his body fell down from the giants arm as he picked himself up.

I didn't know what took over me but my first instinct was to run to him. And so I did, I ran to him and threw him my wand. The split second of actual awe and love I saw in those green eyes giving me newfound strength.

I wanted to fight, oh so badly, but my parents. They would never understand me as I walked swollen with anger as they brought me away from where he was, fighting for the wizarding world.

Word that Harry had defeated Voldemort once and for all spread like wildfire. The whole of wizarding England rejoicing to the news.

But yet the thought of the most powerful dark wizard of all time had been defeated couldn't even bring him to smile.

Mum and I had a trial in 2 minutes. The nerves in my body on fire as my mind raced, thinking about how this last hour would describe the rest of our life.

My father had been put in Azkaban for a lifetime, my face forever sporting a small grin because that's exactly where he belonged. Tho my mum on the other hand. Not so much.

The clock seemed to go by faster than usual to where I found my mom and myself standing in the middle of the court as I basked in the few moments of silence.

My heart stuttered and tripled in size, my whole body beginning to sweat, my breathing becoming rapid.

Why? Because the man that I have loved for 7 years, the man that saved me and broke me, the man, the small-fragile boy I saw at the shop was here. There in the stands vouching for us. Even my mum breaking out in slight relief at seeing the man.

Our body finally relaxing a bit at the though of him winnings us our freedom because we knew that we didn't have that option in our hands.

I should have known from the beginning for what I was getting myself into. That I would have to face through so many trials and errors. Pain and relief. Pure torture to feeling like being on the edge of the world.

But I found myself never wanting to change a second of what my life had become as I closed my eyes in our bed. My arms holding onto the thing that had started all of this. My lips instinctively pressing softly against another.

And as we pulled apart and rested our heads on each other, our breaths and limbs tangled together, his soft emerald eyes holding the look of pure contentment and love. I find myself thinking of what new things will start to bloom into our lives like white lily's on a summer evening that Harry suggests to keep for good luck tucked into the corner in a sliver vase.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist -@dearseungie @hey-there-angels [just send an ask or a comment to be added or removed from my taglist]

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onlyhereforangst · 4 years ago

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WWR

Ok y’all if you thought 18x05 was long, you in for a trip. Get ready for lots of caps, lots of not PG-13, and lots of overanalysis. I hope this lives up to the hype since it took me forever and a day (literally almost every minute of the 20 minutes of scenes took practically an hour to breakdown, I have a problem I know). Anyways, let’s get sweaty under the cut because the day ain’t young no more 👇🏼

Their bickering in the car but Nick smiling the whole time is a huge married vibe but also he’s so happy she’s alive and will take any shit she gives him vibe and I’m here for it. Pluuuuus Ellie avoiding nicks question about the phone call 😭 he’s so freaking concerned for her (he’s been through his own version of PTSD), his voice drops all the teasing and he actually opens up a little bit - really wants to make sure she’s ok. He needs to be there for her and ugh poor Ellie, those walls are going back up after that hug- a momentary lapse in her usual self. She’s so far outside of her comfort zone talking about feelings and weaknesses and she immediately deflects. Nick respecting that deflection is also huge growth for him, knows it’s not ok to push through like a person like him would normally do and force her hand. He knows she needs space but also clearly ready to be that ear to listen or shoulder to cry on whenever she needs it.

His joke about notable mustaches only to be the butt of the joke about using the word notable later is hiiiiiilarious.

Her comment about Zillow 😂 um excuse me ellie you looking for houses and to settle down 👀 but then(!!) Nick pushes her down the stairs first when shots start, getting her out of harm’s way and putting himself in danger like he always does my heart 😩 like he’s still on the stairs by the time she’s in a cell “safe.” And side note damn they are good shots, oof.

The toilet bowl scene is easily one of my favorites. Nick freaking out over Ellie moving hers and him not being able to had me DYING. Like legit cackling over his worry she’s suddenly way stronger than him 🤣🤣 and then he gets SO pissed they took their car hahaha like so mad he hugs the damn wall in frustration. But then he claims he’ll rip out the bars of the window (you know, to make up for not being able to move his toilet and still prove he’s macho) and Ellie’s comment about superhuman strength & his agreement LOL. His anxiety level of being trapped and more so Ellie being trapped is getting to him already. He is reaching for any possible way to get them (read: her) out of there safely it doesn’t matter that the plan sounds outrageous. Cue him moving back to pissed and breaking the toilet with his damn foot like 🥵 we get you strong Nick but no need to show off. Hot damn. His “I really think we’re stuck in here” after that IDK why but had be laughing again. I’m pretty sure I said “no shit Sherlock” at my TV watching live because thank you Captain Obvious.

Aaaaaand then when she pauses and finds the bomb bricks but goes so quiet oooooof he’s on high alert. You can practically hear his heart pounding and then he goes and starts panicking slightly when she doesn’t respond with our first use of a first name, “Ellie we have a wall between us, what is it?” But his tone is so frantic and his eyes are darting around putting the whole picture together and my heart aches for him. He’s starting to realize just how helpless he is to save her. The exact thing he likely swore he’d set out to never let happen again (Ellie in danger) after last episode, is happening again. And this time, it’s not like he can go hunt the guys down, he’s quite literally stuck. Helpless with no way out. Aaand here’s where Nick starts to lose his patience. Pissed at himself for not saving her before, not being able to save her now. Pissed at everything. He cannot comprehend how she is in this situation AGAIN and he can do nothing. But oh lord, he doesn’t even realize it’s about to get worse...

Him brooding over this crappy situation in a corner and being the cautious one is so unlike him (but also so telling as to how unnerved he is by her being in danger once again and not wanting to do anything to make it worse) and Ellie calls him on being “so careful, cowboy” and hot damn again she really does like a man in uniform doesn’t she??? 👀🔥 and she not picky on the type of uniform either 😏 but Nick immediately deflects because he’s not *quite* ready to talk feelings so let’s get down to business about counting bullets BUT the second Ellie starts to worry again he goes into hyperdrive protective and caring boyfriend partner. Without hesitation he tells her they’re going to figure it out because goddamnit he HAS to figure this out for her. He can’t fail, again. And he’s so so SO worried about her & her mental health right now and I sincerely love it. I know Ellie doesn’t want to have that conversation but I stan (I can’t believe I’m using that word, I’m not hip enough for that word) an empathetic boyfriend who supports their significant other when facing mental health issues (like PTSD in Ellie’s case) ❤️❤️❤️ Nick breaks my heart, he wants to be there for her- wants to be the one she feels comfortable enough to open up to and he just gets so dejected when she rejects his probing again (but I don’t blame her, it’s *hard* to open up about these difficult topics), his body language slumped over the bars and tone is just so defeated even if he tries to snap back into his usual Torres self (newsflash it ain’t working bruv because she’s not totally wrong in calling you hovery). Yet naturally he gets annoyed because he JUST CARES ELLIE DAMMIT LET HIM CARE. Like you go through this entire list of him trying to protect you from everything that could go wrong because HE CARES. HE WAS TERRIFIED HE LOST YOU ELLIE. HE TRULY THOUGHT HE’D NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN. NEVER TOUCH YOU AGAIN. NEVER TELL YOU HE LOVES YOU. HE CARES. AND HE CANT LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO YOU AGAIN. HE LITERALLY WANTS TO SAVE YOU (his own words because god damn this show plays with my emotions 😭😭) FROM ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING BECAUSE HE COULDN’T SAVE YOU FROM GETTING KIDNAPPED AND HAVING TO FIGHT YOUR WAY OUT OF A PLANE RIGGED TO BLOW. Ok done with yelling for now but man this part gets me. The implications are so important even over trivial stuff. He felt helpless and Nick Torres cannot do helpless, so he tries do to everything else in his power to keep her away from any danger no matter how little it seems. Even hot coffee is too much for his precious babe and while he knows she’s not some delicate, fragile flower- he knows she can hold her own (& has called her a badass as proof), his heart can’t possibly take another explosion on an airstrip. Even if that airstrip is something like a burnt tongue. Ok I die now 😩😩😩

But let’s come back to living because this bullshit Nick “I always tell you what’s going on with me...you ask I tell you” exCUSE ME. Is this the same man who claimed he was being overprotective and that Ellie was like a sister to him?!???!! Yeah, I call bullSHIT that you tell Ellie what’s going on with you. (And Ellie calls BS too, btw buddy).

But when Ellie finally decides to open a little I love it. I think she finally understood at least just a bit that he just, simply cares about her & her well-being. So she gives him a tiny taste of what she’s going through. And god Nick’s face when he understands the gravity of what she’s having to face mentally. Like I know he knew but I don’t think he knew just how bad. And you can just see that hatred towards his perceived failure turning inward once again as the mood shifts in these cells to somber. Plus Ellies last comment here with them *needing* to find a way out of there- girrrrrrrl poor baby girl 😭 she’s struggling so hard right now and trying so hard to not let it show and not let it get to her but you know she’s terrified. You know she’s desperately triggered. UGH Ellie 💔💔

We cut to Ellie desperately trying to figure out a solution to getting the fuck outta there and once again my heart aches for her triggered self. Nick seems desolate and frustrated, shutting down slowly as it seems less and less likely they’ll get out. Buuuuut then the GUM. Ahahahahahah Ellieeeeeee how do you know about that last piece of gum for “breath emergencies”??? AHHHH this man’s jeans are so damn tight (& yes trust me I would know, I observe) but like also you staring at a spot on said tight jeans that’s only maybe five inches from a different outline 👀👀👀 GIRL I FEEL YOUUUU. GET. IT. Plus she knows exactly what he calls it and I freaking love that. His excuse for why he has to save it is also hilarious 🤣 his breath emergency later hmmm doubt you wanted to save it to MacGyver something Nick sooooo you got another thing in mind?? 😏 and then LMAO it’s mushy because his pants are sweaty I’m rolllllling. Your pants too tight Nick? (this is not humanly possible btw) ALSO is this why later Ellie says she expected Nick to be more sweaty??? If it is and now rewatching I kind of feel like it is, omg what a great callback on her part 🤣🤣

Nick trying to coach her on the proper way of opening the cell door is hilarious because bitch which one of you was able to move their toilet Nick 👀😂 but oh damn now it’s when shit goes downhill fast.

Nick not being able to see anything and his frantic questioning is amazing compared to Ellies absolute panic realizing she is once again facing down a bomb. I feel like her calming breaths are a coping technique Jack has been helping her with but man kill me now, Nick’s face?? When he realizes what he thought was helplessness earlier has just shot yo exponentially??? Oof with a capital O. This poor man needs a damn drink and yet all he can have is a club soda boy I *feel you* on that (side note #letsgetthisbabyoutmybellyasap). His woman has gone and gotten herself into another bomb encounter for the second time in a week. And he CANT DO A DAMN THING ABOUT IT. Can you imagine the absolute inner (and outer, give it a sec) freak out he’s having?? He wants to save her from hot coffee for Christ’s sake and now he can’t save her from a rigged bomb. Talk about a shitty situation.

I just love the Torres Teachable Moment little discussion. Like Nick’s smirk gets me. I really don’t think he knew she had a name for it or realized that she caught on to what he was doing (trying to help her grow as an agent without being obvious or “degrading”). And then we move on to comparing arm length and I crack up 😂 “my arms are longer than yours” and “no they’re disproportionately short for your body” HAHAHA like what the hell have you guys been doing to know this?? Do you stand *that* close together with your arms down to know their lengths comparatively and how much do you stare at Nick, Ellie? Daaaaaaamn. From his gum to his arms to his body I see you 👀 I’m not hating tho I would too 😏 I think what I loved most about this whole jail scene (aside the ending obvs) is the quick flipping back and forth from joking & teasing to dead serious & worried. Like they’re both trying so hard to keep it above board and light- trying desperately not to think of the implications of what’s happening but then (usually Nick) those intrusive thoughts sneak through and he can’t help but redirect them back to serious. It shows their inner warrings with themselves and just how hard this is for both of them. How much they want to appear strong and unflappable but they both know deep down the whole situation is eating away at them. And Nick bringing up her standing on a bomb only moments before he tells her he’s going to shoot the wall- OOF. Ellie’s genuine terror for him injuring himself and her then not being able to do a damn thing about it because she’s standing on a FREAKING BOMB is so painful to watch. Like she’s stuttering she can’t get it out fast enough, she needs to stop him, she can’t fathom him getting hurt while she’s helpless (uh, hello there theme of the episode how have you been). Nick’s facial expressions through this scene are also so telling. He goes from “this isn’t a big deal” to “oh shit she’s panicking” to “holy shit is she going to open up, is she really talking about this” to “fuck it’s my fault she had to go through that and it’s tearing me up inside every second” to “hooooooly fuck is she about to say what I think she’s about to say?? Is she about to confirm what I know deep inside but am too afraid to say aloud?? Is it true??” And ELLIE OH ELLIE. Reliving that *has* to be hard, has to. To finally bring it up after she’s been dodging it all damn day...you know the thought of him getting seriously injured had her more than rattled. And she cracks open those cement walls around her heart so briefly, the glimpse in it provides I think a turning point for Nick. Finally seeing that it’s not just him, she’s in deep too. Even if she can’t say it, can’t say she was fighting to see him again 😩💔 he knows. She says he only has one bullet left and to save it and they’ll figure some other way with tears in her eyes my HEART. But Nick gets it. Nick gets it because he’s been in the exact same situation. His eyes as they process the implication of her words and the fear for his life running through them 🥺 his simple “ok” is so unlike his normal self, you just know he’s once again doing anything and everything he can for. Even if that means standing down and not fighting for his way (the natural instinct for him). He knows what she needs is reassurance he won’t accidentally shoot himself. So he does it 😭 But him pacing (as a man of action suddenly faced with forced inaction) & Ellie begging for an inventory over and over (a woman of logics and data faced with PTSD) is so painful. You can tell they’re both struggling and neither wants to admit it but also they both need to do something - for Nick that becomes finally deciding to shoot a foothold in the wall and for Ellie that meant trying to go over their facts again and again but suddenly she’s once again terrified Nick is going to injure himself. The one man she fought to see again might hurt or even kill himself and she can’t do a damn thing because she’s standing on a bomb for fuck’s sake. Aaaaaaand cue the blow up. Cue Nick voicing his worst fears of Ellie accidentally triggering the bomb. Cue Ellie getting defensive because she’s so damn used to be babied and treated like she can’t take care of herself. Cue the “overprotective hovery man crap” line that had me rolling on the floor (tbt ROFL). Cue Ellie calling herself a girl but Nick calling her a woman like DAMN get me where it hurts Nick- that right there is a man who respects the living hell out of this fiiiiiiine representation of a woman in front of him 🔥. Cue Ellie saying because I’m “me” like um FUCK YES IT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE YOU AND HE’S TOO SCARED OF LOSING YOU ELLIE. Cue Nick finally losing his shit and getting reeeeeealllllllll like hallelujah do you hear the church bells?! Even Ellie knows to finally pause and listen. Nick never loses it on her, never. She knows this shift is serious and it’s happening. And omg his confession can I just have a moment of silence for the GROWTH.

Thank you, it needed commemorating. The same Nick who didn’t belong to a team is the Nick that is out here claiming he can’t sit idly by while the love of his life might get blown up again. He’s NOT OKAY WITH THAT AND NEITHER AM I. NOT AFTER THIS GODDAMN SCENE. His head bob accentuating just- how- important this is to him is so in character (thank you Wilmer) and theeeeeeen shoot me the way he has to fucking collect himself from almost crying. The emotion- there just aren’t words. Literally he has to look up to the sky and blink back those tears you know are threatening to fall at the thought of the woman who he still *technically* hasn’t told that he loves her could potentially die, again, for the second time in a week. So guess the hell what? He’s telling her (sort of). He’s telling her he would do anything, anything, put himself in danger’s way if it meant there was even the tiniest chance it would save her. Pardon the callback but- HE WOULD RISK HIS LIFE TO SAVE HERS. DON’T YOU REMEMBER ELLIE. YOU SAID I KNOW. DO YOU KNOW NOW. DO YOU. BECAUSE GOOD LORD CAN YOU MARRY THIS MAN ALREADY BEFORE I DIVORCE MY HUSBAND AND DO IT (jk love you honey 😘). But like damn, she knows it now. That look- she bites her lip and has tears in her own eyes at the realness she can feel even through a cement block wall. It’s a feeling she’s not used to. She isn’t used to being a person someone would literally risk death for. She doesn’t think she deserves it (sip on that like whiskey, mull it over, let it sink in & cry about it). Even if she knows she doesn’t need saving (and so does Nick), she finally realizes it isn’t about that. It isn’t about he feels like she can’t do it. It’s about the overwhelming pull that your life isn’t greater than the one you love. That love, real true love, is knowing you would do anything for that other person (and they the same) because the world would be worse off without them in it. And Nick will never be okay with a world without Ellie. Never. Their joint quiet after his confession is so powerful. There’s no claims of falsehood, there’s no trying to quip back at him, there’s no trying to stop him. It just settles into the room- into their hearts. They’ve crossed a line and it means so, so much. Nick can feel a weight lifted off his shoulders as he loads his gun and gets ready and Ellie can feel a weight settle on hers from the need to reciprocate. And not out of pity, it would be out of truth. But she knows it isn’t the right time. She knows she has to do it, and she will. She held back earlier when she couldn’t say she was fighting for Nick, but his outburst and confession gave her the courage in this scene. She finally has confirmation she means to him like he means to her. And she has to know, she has to know if he means it or if it was heat of the moment so when the dust settles she inquires, “what’s going on over there?” A pulse check. A way of asking without asking—did you mean that? And the shock of confirmation of her face as Nick, dead as a doornail serious says, “close calls make you live harder”….holy hell. That’s the moment it snaps for her, everything snaps into place—the agony he’s gone through not only this week, but the past couple years of close calls. He’s done beating around the bush, he’s living harder, he’s going all in, he’s getting what he wants. He refuses to let anything like a damn jail cell rigged to blow stand in his way. And she knows, she knows just how important she is to him. He might not have said those three words, but that phrase- that phrase was a direct window into Nick Torres’ soul. And by god I love it.

But Nick pulling a prank on Ellie like that is also so Nick- the little shit. The genuine concern in her voice when she yells his name 😭 like dude, her worst fear, something causing ongoing trauma in her head right now is the ONE THING you decide to tease her with??? I should expect nothing less but damn that’s low 😂 her checking on his status update with Gibbs though feels like such a role reversal from earlier and it cracks me up, side note.

When they’re getting ready to stand down the returning brother and Nick gets in position next to the wall but can’t even look ahead- he’s just staring at Ellie, oof. In that moment he’s brutally and painfully aware she can’t hide for cover. Not only can she not hide, he can’t cover her because he’s (locked in a cell but also) out of bullets. He’s once again near helpless and the woman he loves (and has now finally kind of told) is a sitting duck. Someone get this poor man a damn club soda, I repeat.

And the little talk between the two parties- I love that Ellie takes point. Love that Nick lets her. Like damn that’s a supportive partner right there and I 👏🏼 AM 👏🏼 HERE 👏🏼 FOR 👏🏼 IT. He knows she can handle this shit and he will willingly let her. But nooooooowwwww weee gettinggggg to the goooooood paaaaaaart.

Ok first, “good to see you” - this man has missed her face. Straight up dying to see her in the flesh. Just listening to her voice and not seeing the emotions written on her face is not enough. Seeing her alive, smiling at him, he needed it. But of course, let’s keep it light, act natural Nicholas.

“I thought you’d be sweatier” - excUUUUSE ME ELLIE. Not only did you just call out his reference to his sweaty jeans earlier, you also WANT TO SEE HIM SWEATY DON’T YOU. THAT SMIRK SAYS YES DON’T LIE. And honestly, I don’t blame you shhhhh.

“The day is young” - can I get another excUUUUSE ME NICK. Words- they don’t- function. Because that knowing smile of hers- SHE’S OKAY WITH IT. GET YOUR MIND OUT THE GUTTER YOU TWO THERE’S A HOMICIDAL MAN UPSTAIRS. YOU’VE GOT TIME TO GET SWEATY TOGETHER TONIGHT YOU HEAR ME. THAT DAY IS YOUNG AND SO ARE YOU SO GET THOSE BRICKS AND THEN YOU CAN GET TO BANGING LATER. I just fucking can’t with their smirks. I can’t. This isn’t the normal banter, this is the fuck me banter and I’m okay with it. Because right after the I-wanna-get-in-your-sweaty-jeans banter we have Ellie putting her HAND ON HIS GD HIP AS HE PASSES ONLY TO MOVE UP TO BOTH SHOULDERS. AND THEEEEEEEN HOLY HELL SOMEONE LIGHT A MATCH BECAUSE THIS BITCH ABOUT TO EXPLODE FROM SEXUAL TENSION. Is it possible to rewatch this scene a thousand times in slo-mo and still not have watched it enough? Because that is me. That will always be me. How are they so in tandem, so in sync as they look up mere inches from each other- directly into the other’s eyes knowing exactly how serious this situation is and yet pausing to freaking gaze longingly (read: have eye sex) at each other. And I’m sorry Nick looks down at her lips like three times??? For a good while too?? Sir nothing you said required you to look there. nothing. And also there’s no way his hands aren’t on her I thiiiiiiink they’re on her upper arms (based on the last shot as he’s walking to get the bricks) but like hold her tight Nick please. Also while Ellie doesn’t look at his lips (in this scene) holy shit those are some come-hither eyes if I’ve ever seen them. “I’m sure” ABOUT YOU. SHE’S SURE ABOUT YOU NICK. SHE’S SURE SHE’S READY TO GET SWEATY WITH YOU NICK. Like literally, this girl had been leaning up against the cement wall for a looooong time before he has to pass her and now, NOW that Nick has to pass her- SHE STANDS UP TALL. TO GIVE HIM NO SPACE. WHILE SHE’S STANDING ON A BOMB. BITCH YOU WANTED IT. That was a damn power move Ellie and I am not mad about it. She so easily could have leaned back, given him a ton of space to get around, but nooooooo she stands right there, middle of the tight opening and says yes Nick come get 1mm from my face, touch me here, touch me there, touch me everywhere don’t care 👀 while you pass. I’m sure I’m okay with it because you’ve just eye fucked me and it’s exactly what I wanted. And I mean come oooooooon just the underlying emotion behind both of their words. Nick isn’t just asking if she won’t move her foot- it’s his way of asking if she’s ok and she looks SO much better, more relaxed now that he’s with her. The tense, anxiety-ridden Ellie that was asking for inventory or snapping about him being overprotective, is now at ease despite still standing on said bomb- all because Nick is right there with her and if that doesn’t make you 🥺😭 I don’t know what will. Like she can’t even take her eyes off of him even after rude brother interrupts this gold moment of theirs until Nick has already completely turned his head towards the dude. She’s just so relieved to see him standing there, so close to her, feeling his warmth underneath her hands again.

Side note to prove my earlier point, when Nick casually reaches through to throw the bags of bricks through the door Ellie is leaning on the wall and THERE’S SO MUCH ROOM. HE COULD HAVE EASILY PASSED.

Nick looks like he literally wants to murder the guy, enraged that he’s the one who put Ellie in this situation again. We would’ve seen swan!Nick if it wasn’t for Ellie choosing this moment to finally share her feelings. Because remember- she’d decided she was going to reciprocate but knew it wouldn’t come off the right way before. Now’s the time. Now when the immediate threat to their lives is gone (excluding bomb of course). Now when they’re alone, they’re together, and she can look him in the eye so he knows she’s serious. He can read the truth in her eyes rather than doubt her words said across a jail cell wall.

“This isn’t about me, it’s about you” - well damn that got your attention didn’t it Nick??? So used to putting Ellie first, putting yourself second its weird to hear it come from someone else isn’t it? That someone is worried for your safety? That someone needs you living and breathing just as much as you need them doing the same? His eyes immediately change from Imma kill this man to did I just hear this woman right.

“I’m not okay with you getting blown up either” - first off, the parallelism is what makes this absolute *chef’s kiss* because Nick has literally zero chance of being blown up if he runs after this dude. Shot? Yes. But blown up? No. Ellie has chosen these words precisely to call back to what Nick said earlier. To make sure he’s aware she understood the weight of his earlier confession and is making the same one. They are on equal footing- their feelings are not only reciprocated but just as strong as the other. She could’ve said anything else but choosing his exact words was so poignant in the moment. It’s like the difference between saying “I love you” & “I love you too” compared to “I love you” & “I really care about you.” And the way she says it with such confidence, she isn’t playing around, she didn’t even *have* to bring up their previous conversation, she’s got determination etched across her face with a ghost of a smile on her lips. She means this, and it’s dying to bust out of her. And so the shock to Nick’s system is quite frankly understandable. This is Ellie - someone who hours ago didn’t even want to tell him who she was trying to make a phone call to. Ellie who has walls the size of Mt. Everest erected around her heart. Ellie who could have brushed off his earlier comments said from the safety of a cement wall between them. But no. This Ellie is all-in, she’s ready to own up to her side. She’s ready to lay it on the line just like him. Equal footing. If Nick is ready to jump, then so is she. And he’s just so taken aback- glancing at her lips, blinking through the shock as he processes. Processes the weight of her words on their relationship. He knows he could laugh it off, make a joke about his superhuman strength not allowing him to get blown up, or he could man up and take them both forward. Ellie doesn’t even flinch under his stare, if anything she becomes more confident, more resolute in her words and her stance. Her eyes searching his for what his reaction will be and for a brief moment I swear there’s a tiny bit of worry, a tiny bit of unease that he wasn’t ready for her to repeat his words back to him.

“Well, what are we gonna do about that?” Oh YOU HEARD. That smirrrrrrrrk Nicholas stop iiiiiit, Eleanor’s standing on a bomb you don’t need to light her on fire!! Because this is a challenge, a goddamn challenge. Staring straight into her soul saying, “oh you want me and I want you? How about we blow this popsicle stand and go get fucking sweaty ok? Because that’s what I want to do about that 👀🔥🔥🔥” and not only is the smirk sexy as hell but it’s also got this glint of elation. Like he could not be happier she said those words back to him. That he finally took Ziva’s advice, wasn’t a wuss and WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT IT PAID OFF. But his words also tell of a little nervousness. And not necessarily in a bad way, more as in a leaving it to her way. Putting her in the driver’s seat of this relationship knowing it’s where she’ll feel most comfortable. Given all she’s been through, like all of it not just the past week, he knows that she needs to be in control of how fast they move. And once again his chivalry and thoughtfulness of her is just- I cry. He doesn’t just assault her with what they should do next, he leaves it for her to decide. For her to weigh in on how far and how fast she wants to take them. And by the little shy smile Ellie gives him- she knows what he means. She knows her words have hit their mark and that he respects her enough to let her lead the way. And now she has to make her decision, a decision we DON’T GET TO SEE BUT I’M NOT BITTER IT’S FINE. But a decision nonetheless.

I honestly go two ways on this- the most obvious of hell yes they kissed right then and there and started *something* and then the bitter realistic one of they were probably interrupted by Gibbs (who was literally outside like right then based on timing) but also may have just continued to stare into each other’s eyes- still slightly taken aback by everything they just shared and what it means for them. Still unsure of how they “work” as people who *love* each other, not just partners. Having that reality sink in as they continue to face off and wait for a rescuer. That reality sinking in could lead to obviously very good things (that we better see on our screen or I will fucking riot) or a slight nervous closing-off. Like not quite closed off closed off, but a tiny retreat when the gravity of the day falls down on both of them. I don’t think either will believe they only said what they did because of the situation/moment they were in, but it’s still a lot to deal with after all is said and done. I sincerely hope they unpack this in the coming episodes and give us some direction of what happened after that jail cell scene.

I love the Torres told McGee about what happened today and I’m so curious about how much detail he told him lol but I also love that McGee has now received genuinely good advice from Torres twice now (the one about the reunion and now this). Just goes to show you the brotherly bond they have ❤️ but also that the advice was the same advice he literally lived out that day. Close calls make you live harder, almost as an affirmation to himself (Nick about what happened), but as something he knew McGee needed to hear too- they all do.

And then this bullpen scene - one, how far of a time jump is this and whyyyyyyy won’t they telllll meeeeee. They hate me. Two, Ellie coming over so close just to hand off a file that he doesn’t even look at 👀 three, THEIR SMIRKS. WHAT DO THEY MEAN. Because Nick is holding back the world’s biggest smile as Ellie gets close to him and Ellie is just all nonchalantly checking him out with a brief eye-sex scene. Like damn this fine man doesn’t want me to blow up and I don’t want him to blow up either 🔥 Now does this mean they absolutely got together and did the nasty after they got out of that cell? Of course not. We can only dream, and write fics. This ending scene is very reminiscent of what NCIS loves to do with their power of open-ended persuasion at the end of an ep, see On Fire for example. The ending music and comments combined with the shot of Gibbs leaving in the elevator is literally there to try and persuade you that he killed Xavier. In this ep, the ending music and voiceover combined with their looks at each other is there to try and persuade you they totally got it oooooon. Not to say they didn’t, but I don’t trust NCIS one damn bit.

All in all, cannot *wait* to see where they take ellick the rest of the season. Emily hyped this ep and man, she did NOT disappoint. Let’s see that shift that is going to ripple for the rest of the season now like Wilmer promised 🤞🏼

Oh and my only side note because this was insanely insanely long and if you’re still reading I’m proud of you for hanging in there with me & my screams into the void, send me an ask screaming back it’s ok I’ll love you for it—waaaas the whole team poking fun at Torres for using the word notable was downright hilarious. That and Gibbs trying to do everything himself, I can’t. Comedic gold. I love. I would go from dying of laughter to intense emotions so fast in this ep I got whiplash and for that, I am thankful to Gina. She always delivers 🔥

#ellick #WWR #ncis #lol this is literally a total of 6k words #what is wrong with me #don't answer that #hope y'all who stick with it enjoy 😘#18x06

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tothemeadow · 4 years ago

Note

these Mario kart AUs are killing me 😭 Ok so, after that little um..’display’ lol, It’s come down to this...Girls vs boys..The reader with the girls competing in the hardest mode: ☀️S h i n e T h e i f☀️ Empress-Sama can pick the punishment 👀

‘to claim victory pt. 3′ / Pillars x Reader

warnings: slight NSFW

words: 1,556

(a/n): Muichiro is 18+ in this!

also, one word: femdom

This is it.

This is your chance.

You’ve come so far, and you are not going to give up. Failure is a well-known friend by now, lingering on your shoulders and whispering words of doubt into your ears. There is nothing left to lose, now, and you’re going to give it your all.

The same can be said for Shinobu and Mitsuri. Like you, they’re tired of facing a loss and crave after the sweet taste of victory. The other team – the guys – have had far too good for far too long. It’s their turn for them to plead for forgiveness, to kneel at your feet and cry for mercy.

You’re so damn hungry for power. It’s well within your grasp, inches away. You are not going to lose this time. Boys be damned.

Stripped down to your undies, your flesh bears fresh goosebumps. The heat radiating off of Tengen and Kyojuro is downright pleasant, and you desire to have them cling onto you. But no, you cannot allow yourself to be distracted.

Your character frantically chases after Shy Guy, gradually closing in on his little buggy. The Shine Sprite hanging above him sticks out like a sore thumb, and you’re practically salivating to get a hold of it. You wait until you’re directly behind and take your aim.

“It’s nothing personal, Gyomei,” you speak.

At that, your character whips a green shell at Shy Guy. The Shine Sprite flies off, allowing you to quickly grab onto it before zooming away.

“Dammit,” Tengen curses by your side.

“Oh my gosh!” Mitsuri cries out. “We got it! We got it!”

“Don’t lose focus, Mitsuri,” Shinobu is quick to respond. “(y/n),” she says to you, “we’ll cover you.”

“Like hell you will,” Giyuu grunts.

Yoshi comes barreling towards your character. Boo King slams straight into him, effectively keeping him from reaching you.

“Thanks, Shinobu!”

“Oi, jackass,” Sanemi barks at his teammate, “don’t fuck this up!”

Your heart thuds with every beeping second. Twenty seconds left. You have to hold onto it for thirty. You must.

Again and again, the guys either launch themselves or an attack at you, but either one of the girls comes to your aid just in time or you somehow dodge it. Isabelle is hot on your heels. Waluigi is charging straight towards you. There are only moments to make a decision.

Screw it, you think as you rear your character to the side. You can hear both Muichiro and Obanai muttering curses.

Ten seconds left.

Your skin is absolutely crawling.

“Give it up!” Kyojuro taunts in his usual happy-go-lucky way. He tries to be intimidating while playing games, but he’s really not.

“Kiss my ass,” you toss back. You flash him a smile right when the clock reaches zero.

“No!” all of the boys shout.

“Yes!” the girls cheer.

Giyuu merely sighs and sets his device to the side.

Mitsuri wildly claps her hands. “(y/n), you did it! You really did it!” You quickly hop up from your seat to meet her hug.

Shinobu comes to stand next to the two of you, a dark glint in her eyes. Her lips curl into a sadistic smile. “Girls,” she begins, using a low voice, “you know what this means.”

A similar smile appears on your own face. It’s time for revenge.

The three of you simultaneously turn to the guys.

“Alright,” Shinobu continues, crossing her arms. “Now it’s our turn to pick the punishment.”

A round of grumbles comes as a reply. The guys are in no place to be angry, especially since all of them agreed to the conditions.

Shinobu claps her hands together. “Alright, gentlemen, please do us a favor and strip.”

You bite your lip and share a sneaky smile with Mitsuri.

Their reactions are amusing, to say the least. Of course, Tengen has no issue with whipping off his clothes and showing off all his glory. Kyojuro doesn’t mind, but is face turns red while he does so. Sanemi and Obanai only seem annoyed by the ordeal. The rest reluctantly do as told, an anxious expression written across theirs features. Soon enough, the room is filled with half naked men.

Mitsuri’s face blows with a bright pink. “Oh, wow.”

You agree. You know all of the guys spend a lot of time working on their physiques, but to see them up close and personal? It’s incredible.

Tengen flexes as your gaze flicks over his torso. “Like what you see, sweetheart? I know, this is quite some prize,” he purrs.

Shinobu rolls her eyes. “Pick two,” she says to you and Mitsuri. “I think we should give them a taste of their own medicine, don’t you agree?”

Your dominant side perks at the suggestion. It’s revenge, alright. And if you can get the guys as embarrassed and flustered as they made you, then sobeit. Humming, you tap your chin, eyes scanning over the different guys. “I want him,” you say, pointing at Sanemi, “and him.” Your finger lands at Muichiro.

“Alright,” Sanemi growls, “let’s get this shit going, then.”

You meet his challenge with a shark-toothed smile.

It’s funny that Sanemi is trying to pass as unbothered about the whole thing. For one, he hates to lose. Second, you can see the subtle shifts in his character. The light trembling. The way he swallows harder than usual. You’re already affecting him and you haven’t done anything yet. Taking a seat next to him, you bat your eyelashes at him.

“I promise I won’t bite.”

Sanemi scoffs at your obvious bluff. He knows it’s a personal jab; he’s into biting himself, and the mark on Mitsuri’s shoulder says it all.

Kyojuro’s sudden giggling catches your attention. Turning to him, you see Mitsuri peppering kisses up and down the column of his neck. Oh, so he’s sensitive? You’ll have to keep that in mind. On the other hand, Shinobu is sitting on Gyomei’s lap. Compared to his massive size and her tiny one, she’s more of a doll sitting in his lap rather than a human.

Fingers dig into your fleshy hip. “Stop watching them,” Sanemi growls, just low enough for you to hear. Jealousy laces his words, and it’s clear as day. Heat spikes up your back.

You cast your attention back to him and click your tongue. “Brat,” you hiss. His fingers dig into you harder. “Don’t be so upset,” you breathe into his ear. “I’ll mark you, okay?”

A heavy breath passes through Sanemi’s nose as you nibble at his earlobe. Lips skimming his sharp jawline, your lids fall into a sultry squint. Sanemi gulps.

It starts with a few light kisses situated under his jaw. You soon grow bolder; it turns into open mouthed kisses, sensuous licks. You take delight in how much he’s trembling. His hand forces your thigh over his legs so that you’re half-straddling him. Although he’s acting extremely bratty, he knocks his head to the side when you suckle on his flesh.

Other sounds fill the room. They’re mostly grunts and little pleasured sighs, but there’s also impatient ones mingling with them. Seems like the others are impatient for their punishment.

Sanemi’s openly groping and kneading your thigh now. You swat his hand away as a warning, but it goes unheeded. You sink your teeth into him in return.

“Fuck!” Sanemi barks.

“Shit,” Tengen mutters off to the side.

Your fingers grip onto his hair and jaw, keeping him in place. After a few moments, your tongue licks over the fresh bitemark and you pull away. You flash Sanemi a devilish grin as he scowls back at you, his chest heaving. Gingerly, you grab him by the wrist and take his hand off of your thigh.

“What did I tell you?” you whisper. “Now you’re bearing my mark - just like you wanted, right?”

Sanemi inhales sharply through his teeth.

Picking yourself into a stand, you look to Muichiro. From his spot on the floor, he looks impossibly tiny. His brilliant eyes widen as you cross over and stand directly in front of him.

“Sit back,” you order him.

And just like that, Muichiro snaps from his hunched position and leans back, his palms pressed to the floor. You quickly drop to the floor, a leg swinging over him; as you straddle him, you press your hands flush to his exposed abdomen.

“I wonder where I should mark you,” you murmur, mimicking the words he said to you earlier. “You think you’re always so sly, Mui. Maybe I should put you in your place.”

Your words take him by surprise. Leaning down, you pick your spot on his collarbone. Muichiro’s high-pitched gasp fills your ears, fuels that growing fire inside of you. You suckle on his skin languidly, dragging your tongue and your teeth whenever you feel like it. Muichiro’s muscles flex underneath your hands.

“Such a good, pretty boy,” you mumble offhandedly. “You’re not a brat like Sanemi.”

To your surprise (and delight), a soft moan breaks through his lips. Color immediately colors his face and Muichiro promptly clamps his mouth shut. Pulling away, you lick your lips and cock your head at him. His eyes shine with that fierce emotion you saw in them earlier.

“Hmm,” you say aloud, grabbing everyone’s attention, “I decided that I like winning a lot more than losing.”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny pillars #kny pillars x reader #kny hashira #kny hashira x reader #request

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ransomedrogue · 4 years ago

Text

Tales of Woe - Scenes from S1

kiss time! yesssss. well, except everything goes downhill from there

anyhow, this week’s scenes - aftermath of an eventful evening...

1.10

Weller ushered his nephew up to his apartment, his physical body now inside the building but his mind still stuck out on the stoop. Images and emotions swirled together, with most of his consciousness locked on the memory of kissing Jane, while the rest of his brain did its best to fend off Sawyer's seemingly endless questions about what he'd seen.

"Why were you kissing her?"

"Isn't kissing kind of gross?"

"Was that your friend from when you and mom were kids?"

"Is she your girlfriend?"

Shit. He had to get that under control before they got back to the apartment and Sawyer outed him to Sarah.

But it was nearly impossible to get his thoughts in any sort of order at the moment, and Weller didn't want to outright lie to his nephew. Yet he also didn't want to face Sarah's scrutiny when he hadn't even had time to process what had just happened.

"Um, yeah, that was uh… Taylor. But she's not my girlfriend. So that was kind of a surprise," Weller finally replied, doing his best to focus his attention on the present.

"Oh. So she wants to be your girlfriend," Sawyer concluded.

His nephew was only nine but he'd pretty much nailed the question in the centre of Kurt's mind.

"Er. I don't know. We're going to have to talk about that," he said.

"You think we could not tell your mom about this until I figure that out?"

Sawyer gave him a blank look and for a moment Weller thought he was going to have to bribe the kid to keep him quiet. But then his nephew nodded sagely, and made a confession of his own.

"A girl in my class kissed me last year. I didn't tell mom either."

"She would have made a big deal about it."

Kurt grinned and ruffled Sawyer's hair. He figured that was a fairly normal thing for a boy that age to keep secret from his mom. And it certainly helped him out in the whole scheme of things.

"Yeah. That's kind of what I was thinking," Weller replied, with a breath of relief.

They entered the apartment and, true to his word, Sawyer ran off back to his favourite game without any mention of what he'd seen. Sarah was in the kitchen prepping things for dinner and barely looked up when they came in so Kurt started putting groceries away, hoping to hide the fact that he was in complete turmoil.

Weller was halfway through unloading the bag when he jolted, realizing suddenly that he'd just let Jane go off without her detail after giving her shit for sneaking out. For a full minute he stood there staring at a can of beans, stuck between running after her futilely and calling her right then, even though she most likely hadn't brought her phone on her illicit mission.

"Kurt?"

Shit. Busted.

He had no idea what Sarah had just asked him so Weller looked up blankly, trying to push the sudden panic out of his throat. His instinct was to sprint out the door and drive all her possible routes home but he had enough sense to resist immediately giving into his anxious impulses. Though mostly because he'd have to explain his behaviour to his sister, which could then easily lead to Sawyer spilling his secret.

"I asked if you wanted white rice or brown rice?"

"Oh. Brown please."

Weller finally put the can of beans down and tried to shake himself out of the moment. He forced back his emotions by repeatedly telling himself that Jane could take care of herself. Anyone that tried to attack her would regret their decision immediately. Also, he was already too late to catch up with her, so it would likely be a wild Jane chase that would require ditching dinner and lying about everything.

It took a lot of effort to turn his attention to cooking, but with Sarah insisting on helping him, Weller did his best to not let his mind drift. Yet still he constantly found himself lost in the memory of Jane's mouth coming up to meet his; how it felt, finally kissing her after desiring it for so long.

A huge part of him wanted to drive over to her safe house after dinner and experience that feeling again. Despite where that was likely to lead, including all the complications it would create. It had felt so right with Jane, more so than it ever had with anyone else. Which really wasn't surprising considering the way they'd fit together perfectly, right from the start.

Dinner was a complete blur but thankfully Sarah was questioning Sawyer about a school presentation due the next day so Kurt got away with fixating on what had happened and what he should do next. Jane had said she'd see him tomorrow and that was definitely the wisest course of action. Yet he absolutely could not stop thinking about her and waiting until the next day to see her again seemed torturous.

"Kurt?"

Dammit. Caught again.

He looked up blankly at Sarah, who was giving him a suspicious look. Sawyer, on the other hand, was grinning at him slyly.

"Sorry, I've been thinking about a case," he said, figuring it wasn't entirely a lie.

His sister was still eyeing him strangely but in the end she just shook her head at his inattention.

"Must be some case," she commented.

He couldn't quite tell if she suspected what was going on in his head but forced himself to swallow his instant defensiveness. He didn't need to give Sarah any more indication of where his mind had been during the meal.

"Yeah, sorry," Kurt repeated. "My head's not here right now. Why don't you guys go work on that project and I'll clean up dinner."

Again, Sarah flashed him a funny look but was, thankfully, more concerned about helping Sawyer practice his presentation than quizzing Kurt on his odd behaviour. He breathed a sigh of relief when they headed off and left him to deal with the dishes.

As soon as he was alone, Weller pulled out his phone and stared at it for a moment. He knew he should call first, before making any rash moves. Yet he didn't feel ready to address what had happened between them. Telling her the truth about his feelings seemed risky to the extreme. Even though she'd been the one on his doorstep initiating the kiss, it still didn't seem prudent to tell her that she had completely blown his mind.

He finally dialled her number, his heart pounding in his ears. And when the call went through to her voicemail, Weller felt more deflated than he should have been.

He'd really wanted to talk to her – partly to make sure she'd gotten home okay but mostly just to hear her voice. It was hard not to think that she was avoiding his call and didn't want to talk to him. Which was stupidly crushing despite everything that had happened between them that night.

Weller hung up after leaving a message and stared blankly out the window. Resisting the urge to dial again, he put the phone down and clenched his hands into fists. Going over to her safe house now would certainly get her detail gossiping about his late night visit.

Forcing back both his worry and his desire, Kurt decided the best course of action was to pour himself a drink. Sitting down at the couch, he sipped at his whiskey and tried to drown out all of his impulses.

He shouldn't drive over there, no matter how much he wanted to see her. So Weller forced himself to stay planted on his sofa, trying not to stare at his phone. Instead, he slugged back the rest of his shot and let his mind drift back to where it had been all night. At the memory of Jane's body, tight against his, and the taste of her mouth on his lips.

###

Jane crawled in the window of the safe house and immediately collapsed to the ground, shaking.

It was as if all the physical and mental shock hit her at once, as soon as she made it back inside. Her lungs still burned with the pain of aspirated water and she was unnaturally cold even though she'd run most of the way back and was finally almost dry.

Shivering on the floor, Jane curled up into herself like she had the first night of her new existence. It seemed absurd that she now wanted to return to that state of innocence, without a single memory or revelation about her past. After all that time and so much effort, it had turned out to be better not knowing anything at all.

Who the hell had she been?

What kind of person would voluntarily choose to do this to herself?

While it was still possible that her former self had been forced to make that video and that none of it was true, Jane had an ominous sense that it was. Oscar's tattoo had gone a long way in making her believe his story and the video he'd shown her. They'd been engaged, presumably in love. She remembered feeling regretful when returning the ring, knowing that he would be upset with her decision.

Jane groaned, desperately wanting to believe that it was all a ruse. She'd already had so many doubts about her past, even before that night's mindblowing revelation. Now she hated the mere thought of who she had been. Especially as all the implications kept flooding through her.

She had done this, planned this all. Purposely involved Kurt in it for some reason, probably a nefarious one. Oscar had been short on details, yet had implied that her team was involved in something illegal. But the idea that Weller was anything but an honest FBI agent seemed completely insane.

God. Had it really only been hours since she'd kissed him?

It felt like a lifetime had passed, especially the time spent being waterboarded by Tom Carter. Jane shuddered again just at the memory of it; the terror of being unable to breathe, feeling like she was drowning. She noted again that she felt frozen despite finally being dry. Knowing that she needed to get warm, Jane tried to push her way off the floor. But it was as if all the trauma of being physically tortured then emotionally devastated had finally caught up to her and she was stuck in her position.

Images of the night kept flashing through her mind, like a frantic slideshow whirling out of control. Sitting on his doorstep, nervous but determined. Walking away from his place, lost in the memory of her lips against his. Being grabbed and thrown in a van before she even had a chance to react. Then the bag and the water and the drill. The gunshots. Oscar and the video.

Jane felt herself starting to hyperventilate as the cycle of images wouldn't stop; always culminating with that picture of herself, telling her that this was all her idea. Even the thought of betraying her team and being a mole was devastating. She owed them so much and trusted them completely. Especially Weller.

Weller.

A part of her still wanted to see him, even though the idea of telling him what had happened was unthinkable. Because, more than anything, Jane needed comfort at that moment and he was her only source for it. The thought of his warmth wrapped around her shaking body was almost inviting enough to push away the horror of the other thought, the one that had been plaguing her ever since she'd seen that video.

What if Weller found out that she was a terrible person, who'd plotted her way into his life? He would obviously despise her, even if she really was Taylor.

Jane moaned again, desperately wishing that it had all been a dream. There had certainly been an unreal quality to her night, yet her misery and self-hatred were entirely too real.

She was about to spin back into the same cycle of remorse and despair when a familiar noise finally broke through her consciousness. It was her cell phone, which she'd left at the safe house so her movements wouldn't be traceable.

A part of her registered that it was the middle of the night by now, so any call would likely be important. Yet still it seemed impossible to get up and answer the phone.

Eventually Jane waited long enough and the ringing stopped, but now that question was occupying a piece of her mind as well. Who was calling her so late? A part of her worried that it was Oscar, or someone else involved in the conspiracy she was tied to.

Trying to get her limbs back under control, Jane growled at her own weakness. The events of the evening had finally caught up to her, especially the stress her body had been put under. But she didn't have time to cry about it, or tremor alone on the floor. Especially if her phone was ringing at that hour.

As if in a trance, Jane found herself pushing herself onto her elbows first then onto her knees. After that, she somehow managed to get to her feet and stumbled towards the phone, feeling as if she wasn't inhabiting her own body. Everything seemed so unreal still; her entire world had collapsed to reveal something she'd never expected.

Jane finally got to her cell and saw that she had missed a number of calls from Weller. Just seeing his name on the screen made her heart clench with dismay. She couldn't talk to him; he would immediately know that something was wrong.

As she listened to her voicemails, Jane's roiling mind went into overdrive, trying to come up with a solution. If she didn't answer at all Weller was liable to show up at her door, despite the time - he certainly sounded concerned enough. Which would then lead to all sorts of complications she couldn't face at the moment.

It seemed to take forever before the obvious answer finally made its way through her anxiety. She could send him a text to let him know she was safe and put off talking to him until she'd had more time to recover.

Somehow Jane forced her fingers to operate the phone and managed to cobble together an excuse for not answering for so long. Even though she was still shaking, unable to get warm despite being dry and safe.

Sorry, out thinking, no phone. Home now. Talk to you tomorrow.

Goodnight. See you in the morning, Weller replied immediately.

Jane pictured him at home, up late worrying about her. The image, along with the text would normally have made her feel warm, though a little guilty too. Now, she could only think what he would say if he knew who she really was.

He'd hate me, she thought once more.

As much as I hate myself.

Goodnight, Jane texted back, even though it was clear she wasn't going to be doing any sleeping. She could only hope that Weller would be able to get some rest, after keeping him up so late. As for herself, she had hours left to spend ruminating on what had happened and what she was going to do.

The images still wouldn't stop pouring through her mind, forcing her to relive her terror at being repeatedly drowned, then threatened with a drill, then shown that video. And yet there was that other memory too, that brought on a different sort of panic. Reaching up towards Kurt; seeking comfort in the warm sensation of his lips on her mouth, the feeling of his body right up against hers.

She wanted that, wanted him. But not if it was part of a plot. And definitely not if he was going to get hurt.

Jane realized that tears had started to slip down her cheeks and she didn't have the energy to push them back. Soon they were pouring out and and she didn't bother to try controlling them or even wiping them away. Curling up on the couch, Jane just kept sobbing until her lungs ached and daylight was peering through the blinds.

Opening her eyes and groaning at the light, Jane peeled herself off the sofa and stood in a burning hot shower, trying to wash the dirty feeling from her skin. Yet she didn't feel any more cleansed when she emerged from the water, nor had it lifted any of the heaviness in her soul.

Whatever had happened to her, it was obviously all her own fault. Now all she could do was protect everyone from the fallout of what she'd done. No matter what it took, she wasn't going to let any of them get hurt.

Whoever she'd been before the memory wipe, that wasn't who she was anymore. And this version of her wasn't going to let anyone hurt the people that she loved. Not even herself.

#blindspot #blindspot fanfic #blindspot rewatch #s1fic #i wrote this

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