#i had a pound of tissue removed from each one which. doesn’t sound like a lot at first but when i thought abt it i was like.
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10 days post-breast reduction and i’m like wow i feel so affirmed in my gender. wish i knew what it was
#sorry for the reductionposting but. i cannot express how good it feels LMAO#i had a pound of tissue removed from each one which. doesn’t sound like a lot at first but when i thought abt it i was like.#i don’t even buy a pound of turkey at the deli#personal
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Wash Away the Pain #5 - Crosshair
After being rescued from the Empire's clutches, Crosshair is struggling to heal and adapt to life on Pabu.
Pairing: Crosshair x gn!reader
Word count: 1.7k
Warnings: whump, guilt, angst, Cross is prickly (what else is new), reassurance, hopeful ending.
A/N: I was heavily inspired by these gorgeous drawings by @thattoothpick.
This is the last installment in a mini-series where each of our boys get their angsty shower time.
Each can be read as a standalone or as a continuation. Check out the whole series: Echo, Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker.
I'll die on the hill that Cross is still chipped and was lied to by the Empire that it was removed. And that it's effectiveness was all but worn out mid-way through S2.
Sign up to be tagged in my future fics.
The cold water hits him, and, for a moment, Crosshair forgets how to breathe. It feels like thousands of icy pinpricks piercing his skin. The pain, the cold, they remind him that he’s alive.
He escaped.
He was rescued.
Like a lost child. Or an abandoned tooka. He’s not sure which is worse.
For two months, he’d been free. Two months ago, he’d opened his eyes, still strapped to one of those Maker-forsaken tables in that Imperial hellhole, expecting to see Hemlock or Karr hovering over him. Instead, he’d seen you. Wide eyes that had crinkled with delight, his name falling from your lips.
You shouldn’t have come for him.
The kid? Yes. But him…
He doesn’t turn at the sound of the fresher door opening. He doesn’t need to. Only one person would have the guts to bother him this early in the day.
The warm hand on his back makes him want to flinch, makes him want to pull away. He doesn’t deserve the softness, not after everything he’s done.
You step into the shower, not caring to discard your clothes or bothered by Crosshair’s nakedness – after so long with him and his brothers, nothing was sacred anymore. The cold water makes you hiss, but you push through it. “I can hear you overthinking again.” You murmur, fingers leaving a feather-light trail down the curve of his spine. He’s still too skinny; the few pounds he’d once had took him much longer to regain, no matter how many meals you presented to him.
“Then stop listening.” Crosshair’s reply slides out quickly but lacks the bite it once had, the snark and sneer that had sent countless others running. But never you, the plucky medic assigned to him and his brothers early in the war.
A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “Where’s the fun in that?” You tease softly. A low grunt is all you get in return, but you don’t take it to heart. Your gaze flicks up from his back to the scars on his head – the messy web of scar tissue from Bracca and beside it, a thin, straight one, a recent addition from where you’d pried the inhibitor chip out of him.
You’d known none of it was his fault. Known he’d still been under their control.
Crosshair can feel the weight of your gaze on him, and he’s uncomfortable with the attention. “Picture will last longer.” He huffs, knowing he won’t get rid of you easily.
You haven’t said much over the last two months, letting his brothers try and rebuild their relationships with him. It had been rocky at first; a few times, you’d had to physically put yourself between him and Hunter so they wouldn’t start scrapping. You knew they loved one another dearly, but there were a lot of problems to unpack and work through. They were making progress, though, learning to admit they were wrong, compromise, and apologise
But you’d noticed Crosshair was still withdrawn. He’d never been chatty, but he’d never hidden away either - he’d spend days in his room in your shared house on Pabu.
Even sending in Tech – who’d by some miracle survived his fall on Eriadu and had been taken to Tantiss on Hemlock’s orders – hadn’t proved very fruitful.
Now, you suppose it’s your turn. “None of it was your fault.” You start, tone gentle but firm.
“Don’t placate me. I’m not a child.” Crosshair grumbles, rolling his eyes as he draws his arms around himself as if he could shield himself from the conversation.
“No, you’re not.” You sigh. “I get it. I really do. Maker above, Cross, I don’t know where to begin with everything you’ve been through over the last year. But bottling it up, locking us all out, withering away. It’s not healthy.” You feel Crosshair tense under your touch, his shoulders stiffening. The water continues to cascade down, a constant drone almost drowning out the tension in the small space.
“I don’t need your analysis, medic.” He mutters, his voice low and gruff.
You wince at the name. When you’d first joined them, he’d used it mockingly. It was only when you’d persevered and formed a quiet friendship that he’d stopped using it. Choosing not to focus on the little stab of pain from the barb, you press on. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Crosshair. We’re here for you. Your brothers... and me. You don’t have to carry the galaxy’s weight on your shoulders.”
He scoffs, a sharp edge to his voice. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one pulling the trigger on innocent people.”
The fresher has a bit of room, and you use it to your advantage. Shifting your stance until you’re standing at his side, body pressed to him, you reach out and snag his chin with one hand, turning his face to meet those hawkish eyes that have recently lost their lustre. “And you weren’t the one doing it willingly. There’s a difference, Cross. The inhibitor chip controlled you. You’re here now, free from its influence.”
He doesn’t protest, so you continue. “You’ve been through hell and come out on the other side. But healing isn’t just physical; it’s mental, too. You can’t keep shutting everyone out.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t retort immediately. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the steady rhythm of water droplets hitting the floor. “I don’t deserve it.” He finally admits, his voice barely audible over the shower.
The vulnerability in his words tugs at your heart, and you realise that breaking through the walls he’s built around himself will take time. You’ve seen him at his lowest, physically and mentally battered, and now the scars on his body are mirrored by the ones etched into his soul. “You’re not some burden we’re shouldering out of obligation, Cross.” You say, your tone unwavering. “You’re family. And family sticks together, no matter what.”
He grunts, the rough sound echoing in the confined space. “Family? I hunted you across the galaxy. No wonder you all left me.”
“That wasn’t you.” You assert, your voice steady. “You were manipulated, controlled. We know that now. Blaming yourself won’t change what happened, but we can work through it together.” You still regret leaving him behind on Kamino twice, not stunning and dragging him onto the Marauder.
He averts his gaze, fighting back the emotions threatening to surface. The vulnerability you’ve glimpsed in him is a crack in his armour - you just need him to remove the rest of it and let you all in.
“We’re not giving up on you.” You declare, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. His eyes close at the contact, subconsciously leaning into your palm, and your heart aches for how touch-starved he is. “And you shouldn’t give up on yourself either.”
“Accept that you deserve to heal.” You suggest. “You don’t have to carry this burden alone. Let your brothers in, let me in. We’re not here to judge you but to support you.”
The water begins to lose its icy bite as your body becomes numb. Crosshair doesn’t respond immediately, but the tension in his shoulders begins to ease, and you take that as a small victory.
“Maybe.” He concedes, a hint of vulnerability in his voice as he opens his eyes to meet your gaze again.
You smile, a mixture of relief and determination coursing through you. “Maybe is a good start, Cross.” You keep your hand on his cheek, offering silent reassurance. “It’s okay not to have all the answers right now. We’ll figure it out together.”
Crosshair takes a deep breath, a shuddering exhale escaping him as if releasing a burden he’s carried for far too long. “I don’t want your pity.” He mutters, his gaze dropping.
Your thumb brushes along the edge of his tattoo, your touch a grounding force. “You’re not getting pity. You’re getting understanding, support, and a second chance. You’ve been through enough; it’s time to let others in to help you navigate the aftermath.”
He doesn’t argue further, and you both simply stand there for a moment. The silence is no longer heavy with unspoken pain but holds the promise of a shared journey towards healing.
“Come on.” You say, finally breaking the quiet. “Let’s get out of this shower and get some breakfast. Tech is attempting a new recipe, and Wrecker claims he’ll out-eat everyone.”
Crosshair arches an eyebrow. “I’m unsure if that’s a threat or a promise.”
You chuckle, the sound echoing in the fresher. “Knowing Wrecker, probably both. But it’s a distraction, and distractions are good right now.”
He nods in agreement, and together, you step out of the shower, the air hitting your damp skin. As you reach for towels, you catch Crosshair stealing a thoughtful glance in your direction.
“What?” You ask with a slight tilt of your head.
Crosshair hesitates momentarily, feeling a little stupid but wanting to ensure you understand how much this means to him. “Thanks... for not giving up on me.”
You meet his gaze with sincerity. “Never have. Never will.” You state.
Your words touch something in him, a little more weight lifting off his shoulders. “And I’m sorry for…” He makes a vague gesture with his hand, but you know exactly what he’s getting at.
Amusement curls at your lips. Crosshair’s apologies were new, and while he wasn’t particularly good at them, you saw it as growth. “Apology accepted. Call me that again, though, and I’ll snap every toothpick on the island.” You reply, tossing him a clean set of clothes from his cubby with a small smile.
Relieved at your acceptance of his admittedly poor apology, Crosshair notes to keep working on them while gracing you with a small smile. “I don’t doubt that, doll.”
You roll your eyes at the familiar nickname, a sign that perhaps, despite the struggles, a sense of normalcy is slowly returning. As you both start to dress in clean, dry clothes, you can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope that this small breakthrough might be the turning point he needs. The scars may run deep, both physical and emotional, but the shared understanding and unwavering support from family might just be the key to helping him rebuild.
Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @littlemissmanga @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog
#the bad batch x reader#the bad batch x you#bad batch x reader#bad batch x you#tbb x reader#tbb x you#crosshair x reader#crosshair x you#tbb crosshair x reader#tbb crosshair x you#crosshair bad batch#the bad batch crosshair#bad batch crosshair#tbb crosshair#crosshair#the bad batch#star wars the bad batch#star wars clone wars#clone force 99#ct 9904
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part i
She comes to with a pounding in her head and the feeling of something being lifted off her chest.
Literally.
In seconds, her whole body feels lighter. The next thing she registers is a hand in hers. When she stirs, the hand around her tightens and she hears Brainy’s voice, “Director—”
The moment she opens her eyes, she is met with Alex Danvers; a stethoscope slung around her neck and a small flashlight on hand. In her periphery she confirms that it was indeed Brainy, holding her hand.
“Lena, Lena, look at me. You’re at the DEO, you’re safe, you-”
“Alex, I know the drill, this is— what? My 91st time now?” She says dryly as her hand slowly slips out of Brainy’s and her fingers massage her temples; eyes clenched shut. Alex visibly relaxes in relief, “Good. Thank fuck your sarcasm’s still intact,” she says, “But I still have to check you, alright?”
Lena nods and she guesses Kara most likely had harassed her sister just to get her hooked in. If Alex mumbling “-so damn stubborn all the damn time…” under her breath was any indication.
She’s well aware of the other person in the bed next to hers. The one, that is now also starting to stir into consciousness. Lena had just noticed that J’onn and Nia are in the room as well, near Kara’s bedside.
She wants to ask how she got here, how Kara found her, how the fuck did a Black Mercy get her? But everything is spinning and her coherence is slowly devolving to exhaustion. Her brain was pushed to its limits with that illusion.
Which makes panic flare in the back of her head thinking about how Kara had seen her ideal world.
A world, that her mind had fucking decided should center around her ex. Her ex who just happens to be a superhero. A superhero that pulled her out of her own delusions.
Oh God, Lena thinks she’s going to throw-up. Alex takes one look at her face and immediately shoves an empty sterile container to her. She dry-heaves unto the bucket as Brainy rubs her back and holds her hair.
“Fuck,” she whispers as Alex hands her a tissue to wipe her face. “Your vitals are fine. Your brain activity spiked for a few seconds there. But you got out at just the last minute-”
“What the fuck happened, Alex?”
She asks as she tries to sort out all her feelings long enough for Alex to give her a full explanation.
But it isn’t Alex who answers her.
“I found you.”
The three words are bullets flying across the room directly shot at Lena.
“Unconscious. On the floor. Black Mercy attached to your chest. That’s what fucking happened.”
Kara sounds like shit.
Was her first thought when she heard Kara speak. She guesses she looks like shit as well, but Lena can’t be certain. Her back was to her as Nia removes the wiring still wrapped around her. Her voice was firm, but Lena knew better. She knows Kara; knows she never really swears; knows when and where Kara uses the Supergirl voice. When she’s scared and she doesn’t want anybody to know.
“Your pulse was so weak. I- I could barely hear it.”
This second statement is in contrast to Supergirl’s venom. This time words catch in her throat and Lena is fucking thankful that Kara’s back was to her. Because she knows she can’t handle those eyes. But before she could answer, Alex starts to speak, eyes briefly darting to Kara.
Lena doesn’t know whether she should be thankful for the interruption or not.
“Which is why,” Alex cuts in and making sure to stress her next words, checking that Lena is listening, “I need you to stay here till we find out who did this. And as your doctor I’m saying you need at least 12 hours of rest.”
“What? No, somebody give me my phone. I need to call Jess,” she protests and Alex looks like she’s about to give Lena a piece of her mi—
“Are you kidding me right now? I found you on the floor, thinking you were dead, pulled you out of a parasitic trap and you want to go back to L-Corp? To what? Get killed again?”
This time, Kara’s two steps away from her bed and fuming. It makes Lena...feel...things.
“I have to call Jess—”
“Do you not get it? I spend my days trying so hard not to listen,” She grits out, “ To not to check in on you every single second of every day and then the one time—” Kara’s conviction crumbles, voice breaking, eyes shining.
“And then,” she falters, voice heavy with emotion and tries to control herself.
“The one time, the one fucking time I decide to break my own rule, what do I hear? I hear nothing, Lena.”
The last part is a whisper. She’s shaking and all eyes are on them now.
“Do you know why? Because your heart-rate was so slow that I couldn’t pick up on it.”
Kara looks like she’s two inches away from imploding. Lena’s heart is pounding and the room falls silent and it feels like it’s just the two of them in the room having a staredown.
“I— I’m sorry. I—”
I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to care. I’m sorry.
“Thank you for saving me,” she voices out instead in that calm methodical way she uses when talking in the lab. Amazed at how she sounded because she herself is also less than two inches away from a complete meltdown.
Kara’s shoulders visibly sag as she holds back tears. Lena knows she should probably say more but... she doesn’t really know what to say.
She was still processing everything.
It was so vivid that Lena was half-expecting to see a ring on her finger once she looks down, a stubborn part of her brain insisting that there’s a matching one in a chain around Kara’s neck.
Before Kara can say another emotional heavy statement, Lena turns to Alex instead, “Fine,” she says, agreeing to Alex’s previous order.
“But I can’t stay here for 12 hours. And also, I need my phone, my tablet and my assistant. I’m helping in the investigation,” she says leaving no room for argument.
Alex looks like she might agree but Kara speaks up again.
“No, no. No, you’re not going near that investigation and you’re staying the 12 hours here,” Kara grunts out, jaw-clenched as Lena looks at her with sharp eyes.
“You have no right to decide that for me—”
“Not to mention we have to tal— “
They both spit at each other at the same time.
“We have nothing to talk about,” Lena objects and she knows how much of a lie that is, but Kara just won’t fucking back down.
“Nothing?! You’re calling this nothing?! You’re calling the fact that your ideal world was us married, nothing? You’re telling me—” she trails off and scoffs, pinches the bridge of her nose in disbelief, “You’re unbelievable-”
That was what she meant when she said Kara was two inches away from imploding.
“Supergirl.”
J’onn’s voice seem to bring the both of them back to reality and Lena notices how heavy the air in the room has become, how Nia is standing stiffly at the side, how Alex’s eyes keep flicking between the both of them
“That’s quite enough from the both of you,” J’onn says and Kara whips around to face him, Lena was scared that she was going to deck J’onn for interrupting but Alex also intervenes.
“J’onn’s right.” She puts a hand on her sister’s shoulder turning her away from J’onn. Looks like she had the same train of thought as Lena.
“My patient needs her rest. So, all of you get out,” At which Nia nods at her with a sympathetic smile and then Brainy is hugging her whispering, “I’m glad you’re okay.” before leaving the room as well.
“And that means you too,” Alex emphasizes at Kara, who looks like she’s going to shoot lasers out of her eyes at her sister for suggesting such an incredulous notion.
But Kara takes a breath, gives Alex a hard look to which Alex merely raises a brow in challenge before taking a step back and speeding out of the room, not sparing Lena another glance.
Once everyone is gone, Lena collapses back on the bed, letting out a heavy sigh.
“She changed the timeline, you know. And reality too, I guess. Or at least she tried to.”
“What?”
“Before you two became a thing, before beating Leviathan,” Alex recounts, “She tried to change the timeline to save your friendship.”
“I’m sorry- What?”
She’s sure she looks pretty absurd with the look on her face right now. Kara did what? Kara did that? How did she not know that? How did she not know Kara literally teared apart at space and time just for her?
“She struck a bargain with a Fifth-Dimensional imp so she can fix everything. Said she’d rather change reality than face the possibility of having to fight you.”
For a moment she feels she’s going to throw-up again. But then again, after what the both of them just went through, Lena’s not surprised. God knows the lengths she would go through for Kara.
It feels even more visceral now, not to mention it was Alex who told her.
“I don’t know what the hell happened between the two of you, but God, Lena she hasn’t been the same since. And I don’t really want to know what kind of bullshit the Black Mercy put you through, but I think both of you could really use their best friend right now.”
Alex sits at the side of her bed, putting a hand atop hers for a moment.
“Just think about it, while you rest,” Alex tells her, squeezes her hand and gets up again.
“You can’t just tell me those kinds of things and expect me to rest,” Lena retorts, making Alex turn her head back to her.
She’s glad that Alex doesn’t seem to pick sides. When the break-up happened she was expecting the DEO Director to turn up at her front step with a taser and point canons for breaking her sister’s heart. But Lena was surprised when Kelly turned up instead, telling her that Alex is with Kara, so she’s getting Kelly for the night.
The couple didn’t get anything from Kara or Lena that night, despite their various attempts at coaxing the truth out. The night was sobbed away or in Lena’s case, drank the night away; chugged enough wine that Kelly had forcefully pried the bottle from her hands.
“Look, Lena, The two of you are really overdue for a talk.”
Alex's words bring her back to reality. She pulls a tablet out and Lena’s work phone is retrieved from her pocket.
“So, talk,” Alex enunciates as she hands over the devices.
“Because I am locking you here. No going to L-Corp, no trying to escape with Jess and no overworking till midnight. You get to call your assistant, tell her what happened and then you rest. That’s an order, got it?”
“Got it,” Lena grits out rolling her eyes, hiding the fact that she’s beyond warmed by the gesture. Alex merely shakes her head at her before stepping out. The door slides close behind her and Lena is finally left alone with her thoughts.
Alex has a point. Alex has a great point, her mind screams.
But...not ready, is an understatement. She is not ready to talk to Kara about the break-up, much less about why her Black Mercy induced dream is an overtly domestic version of their love story.
She decides to file it under ‘Things For Later’ which is probably a bad idea. Her therapist would most likely tell her that. Then again, she doesn’t really think she’d be seeing her therapist any time soon.
How does one unpack a whole alien parasite attack on your psyche in one session, anyway?
***
Alex finds her stood before ruined slabs of concrete.
“Any updates?”
“We’re skip-tracing all employees from L-Corp between the graveyard shift and the morning shift.”
“Good, I have a feeling it was an inside job.”
Alex lets out an audible sigh.
“Something you wanna say?” She says as cement crumbles under her fists and dust particles rain over her red boots.
“Talk to her. “
Kara snorts.
“You say that as if I haven’t tried talking.”
Alex puts a hand on her shoulder stopping her from launching another punch.
“Really talk to her this time,” her sister stresses the words in that classic Alex Danvers’ ‘I’m-serious-so-you-better-fucking-listen’ way.
She lets the words sit in the forefront of her mind, shoulders dropping, fists and arms following suit.
“We were married,” She whispers and it takes two seconds for it to register to Alex before she steps closer, an ‘Oh, Kara.’ slipping past her lips.
“We were married and happy. So happy. It felt so real, Alex, it felt so re—”
Sobs choke her and Alex closes the gap and she lets herself be tugged in a tight, tight hug. Alex rubs comforting circles on her back as Kara’s chest heaves and tears pour.
The thing about it was, she didn’t even spend more than one minute in that fantasy world, yet her brain acts as if she’s lived that life. As if she didn’t drop smack right in the middle of a stranger’s bedroom and the first thing she saw was a doppelganger of herself and her ex. In bed. Together.
It was as if everything came to her in one terrifying moment of clarity. Boots in the corner. Cape haphazardly slung. Lena’s work laptop. Chew toys for dogs. Scattered Science books, then—
Golden rings, on a finger, in a chain.
Mating bands around wrists.
Wedding portrait. Weddin—
It all hits her at once faster than a whiplash and harder than a superpowered punch; knocking the wind out of her lungs, until she realizes she was gasping.
“Lena, we have to go, please. Please believe me, this isnt-”
“Real. I know-”
“What’s your surname?”
“Luthor.”
Just like you promised. Promised. Promised.
Always.
Alex squeezes tighter and Kara is pulled back from the depths.
Her sister lets her go and steps back a bit to cup her face in her hands; snotty nose, sniffles and all.
“Hey, look at me. That wasn’t real. And I know how bad you want it to be real. But Kara, nothing will happen if the both of you keep pulling away from each other. Someone needs to take the plunge.”
“She doesn’t want me, Alex. She ended things.”
Alex takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, shakes her head and then lets it all out in one go.
“Kara. I don’t really wanna say this to your face while you’re sobbing over me. But,” Alex lets out an exasperated sigh with a shake of her head and then lets out, “Good fuck, that is the most stupid thing to come out of your mouth. I don’t know how to stress this enough but...her IDEAL world is the two of you playing house. What more do you need? She wants you.”
“But she-”
Alex holds a finger up to stop her from talking.
“Nope. No. Listen to me, you are being an idiot. Well, Lena is too. But we’re talking about you right now, so… again, you are being an idiot. Just— Talk to her, Kara. How many times do I have to say that?”
Kara goes from sobbing to shocked to skeptical in the few seconds that Alex was speaking.
“I- I don’t know, Alex.”
“Kara, she wants you. She’s just scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“You won’t find out if you don’t talk to her.”
Well, that was a great response.
Alex is hoping that it’s great enough of a response to convince her sister.
***
There’s a blue lump on the side of her bed.
A blue lump with blonde hair?
Lena rubs the sleepiness off and slowly sits.
Kara, it was Kara.
Kara was asleep, back hunched, head pillowed on folded arms on the side of her bed.
Lena immediately realizes the uncomfortable position she is in, not to mention the cape that is now roughly bundled at the back of the plastic chair.
She carefully lays a hand on Kara’s shoulder and shakes her softly.
“Hey, Kara, wake up, hey,” Lena mutters quietly.
“Wha- Lena?” Kara startles awake and shoots up from her position.
“I- you looked like you were gonna have a back ache so I-uh,” Lena was grasping for words in that usual way she does when Kara’s around.
“Here.” She pats the space next to her, “Come on, sit here, climb in. We uh- you’re right, we should talk, might as well do it while we’re both comfy, right?”
She attempts at lighthearted conversation, she already knows the next few minutes are going to be the most emotionally draining moments of her— their life.
Kara hesitates a bit, before nodding and wordlessly hoisting herself on the bed.
“So, do uh- do you wanna start or should I?”
Again, she was grasping for words.
“Go ahead,” Kara says barely above a whisper, Lena was kind of hoping Kara would go first but well, here goes nothing.
“Thank you for coming to get me, I wasn’t expecting you to come,” Lena confesses, she really was surprised when Kara—the real Kara— showed up to rescue her.
“I’ll always save you, you know that,” Kara butts in, as if what Lena had said was the most ridiculous thing ever. She guesses it is, to Kara’s ears. She did promise always after all.
“Yeah, I know I just— for a moment there I just thought...well, never mind what I thought honestly-”
“You thought what? That I don’t care about you anymore? That I won’t fly off the moment I sensed you were in danger?”
Well, she’s on fire today.
“It’s not like that, you know that,” Lena protests but Kara interrupts again.
“It is like that. You thought just because we’re over I don’t give a shit about you anymore. You of all people, know I can’t—” Kara cuts herself off as if in pain, “I’ll always save you, Lena. Together or not. I care about you,” Kara utters, turning her head to meet Lena’s eyes before facing in front again.
Lena feels like care is a placeholder for something both of them aren’t capable of saying at present.
She doesn’t dwell on it too much because Kara is saying something again.
“I think…” She begins with a voice full of an emotion Lena can’t name [read: don’t want to name.]
“I care about you a little too much and that...”
Lena holds in a breath.
“And that scares you doesn’t it?” Kara finishes and she looks at her again but this time around Lena’s cheeks are wet.
Kara puts a hand atop hers and squeezes and the gesture pulls words from Lena’s throat.
“You wanted everything so fast, Kara,” she whispers, not really trusting to increase the volume of her voice lest it shakes.
“You were telling me all these grand plans of settling down and staying together and I was still having a hard time telling you ‘I love you’ and-” her voice breaks, “And even though, you kept saying it was okay, that you were just thinking out loud, I saw how hurt you were whenever I hesitated.”
Lena’s mind briefly flashes to all those nights spent with Kara, beside her and just feeling this massive fucking pressure of living up to what Kara wants. Shy I love you’s and fear, just so much fucking fear...and insecurities screaming at her that she isn’t what’s good for Kara.
“I- I couldn’t give you what you wanted and I just kept thinking was it me you really wanted? Or was it this domestic bliss that you’ve conjured in your head? Something you can have with somebody else. And it just kept spiraling from there. Thinking somebody better can give you what you want, somebody who’s not tainted, somebody who you can be proud of, somebody who won’t feel so fucking scared of saying ‘I love you’.”
She was aware she was one breath away from sobbing and when Kara moved closer and softly said, “Oh Lena,”
The dam burst.
“Oh, baby, come here, I’m sorry. Rao, I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t know I made you feel that way, I’m sorry,” Kara murmurs to her as she cups Lena’s cheek and uses her thumb to wipe tears.
Lena’s eyes were so green at the moment and Kara has to remind herself that they still have a long way to go for tonight.
“Look at me, I’m sorry I didn’t know, I’m sorry you felt pressured but Lena, there is nobody else I want. You are the one I want, hell I’m pretty sure every me out there in the multiverse is looking for their own Lena right now. You are the best I could ever have.”
The words hit Lena and it just makes her sob harder. Kara fully turns her body to the side to gather Lena in her arms and lets her sob into her neck.
“I- I left because I thought I couldn’t be enough, I didn’t want to. But everything was happening so fast and you wanted so many things and I couldn’t give it to you and I felt like such a fucking failure,” Lena sobs out, words slightly muffled with how hard Kara is pressing into her.
“Lena you are not a failure oh, come here. Listen to me, you’re not a failure, you’re not supposed to build your world around me okay? You do it for yourself. You are brilliant. You are not a failure and I am so so sorry that I made you feel that way.”
Kara rubs circles on her back and squeezes around her every so often. It feels like forever that they stayed that way. Kara whispering, “Shh, breathe, breathe with me,” and Lena sniffling into Kara and Kara just wrapping all around her and calming her. When Lena’s sobs start to subside and she feels confident enough in her ability to speak she slowly breaks away from Kara.
“I’ve been going to therapy,” she begins, “It helped...a lot. Helped clear out a lot of things f-for me. And I think,” She pauses, “Kara, I- I also think you need it more than I do.”
At that Kara’s face scrunches up in confusion.
“How so?”
“Remember when I told you you wanted so much so fast?”
Kara gives her a nod.
“I think you were trying to run, darling.”
She knew she should be focusing on what Lena was trying to tell her but she can’t help the little flutter of her heart at the pet name.
“Run? Run from what?”
“Kara,” Lena starts, unsure about how she should really go about all this.
“You went through hell and back trying to fix the universe, you watched another home of yours get erased from existence. And not to mention that before and during all of that, the two of us were fighting. And then to make things worse at the end of it all, you get ejected into a universe you barely know with my brother as its savior.”
Lena lays out all the facts methodically, slowly, carefully but just blunt enough to make Kara realize that all that trauma should not just be brushed aside.
“You went through a lot.”
A lot, doesn’t even begin to describe the enormity of everything the both of them went through. But Lena supposes they can unpack that another time. There’s a pause and Lena watches Kara take a breath.
“Kara, I think you jumped into a relationship with me because it made you feel good. It made you forget about all the recent hardships you just went through. And I guess maybe I did too, you know? We both just wanted to feel some crumb of peace, but God, did we go about it the wrong way.”
Lena watches her words sink in, how Kara stops, blinks slowly only to take a sudden breath as tears slowly track down her face.
“I- No. I didn’t. No, you’re wro- Lena, I-” Kara fails to tie together a sentence as tears start to fall down. It’s easy when everything else is in your head, when you can replay memories and cover them in filters made by your own brain, but when someone else puts it on the screen for you? That’s a different matter altogether. Nobody had shown Kara the severity of her trauma before and now it’s taking its toll.
“Oh, Kara. Come here, come here,” Lena coos, this time it was her pulling Kara in. Kara melts into her and Lena feels the telltale signs of heavy sobs come through.
“I don’t know- I-”
“Shh, it’s okay, Kara, it’s okay.”
She lets Kara fall apart in front of her. She knows those tears are oceans of their own, those drops carry the memory of a fallen planet, an entire culture, stories, people, loved ones. Every drop is a person Supergirl had failed to save, another universe, another home. Every drop is every lie she ever told Lena and all of the pain there was when she was gone.
“I’m sorry, Lena, I’m sorry.”
She can’t beg forgiveness from an extinct race or a wiped out universe but Lena? She could still have Lena.
***
Alex finds them curled tightly together in the Med Bay come morning. She kind of wants to cry in relief at the sight.
Finally, fucking finally.
She doesn’t have the heart to bother them so she grabs them an extra blanket and tucks both in, exiting with a small smile to her lips.
***
They both wake up to the sound of laughter, the perpetrators— a couple of low-rank agents— stop in the tracks at the sight of a disheveled Supergirl, scowling madly at them with one Lena Luthor tucked in her arms.
“Uh- sorry, we’ll just uh-”
The agents bolt out of the room immediately, letting Kara slump back into the pillow.
“Hi,” Lena croaks out with a rough voice, eyes puffy from last night.
Snippets from last night immediately flashing in Kara’s brain.
Kara holding Lena.
Lena holding Kara
Teary apologies
Catching-up on each other.
Talking till yawns interrupted their words.
Kissing.
More kissing.
More kiss-
You get the picture.
“Good morning,” Kara replies with a shy smile.
“Is scaring agents one of Supergirl’s many talents?” Lena teases, as Kara scoffs fully turning unto her side to face Lena, hand casually brushing a stray strand of her on Lena’s face
“Serves them right for just walking in-” Kara stops mid-sentence, fingers freezing and her eyes turn hesitant, “Sorry, is this okay?”
Because even though last night had happened even though they’ve talked until words could no longer name the depth of their feelings and they turned to silence instead, Kara is still unsure. Hesitant. Wary of giving too much too soon or asking for too much too soon.
But the most difficult part is over and they both realize this as the sun from outside filter through the many wide windows of the DEO, as Lena’s next words ring about in the warmth of the morning.
“Kara, it’s okay,” Lena answers her, catching Kara’s frozen hand and leaning into the touch, pressing closer to Kara’s face, noses touching, lips a breath apart.
“In fact, it’s very much okay.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
The first tell was the lack of a body next to her. The second was the freezing cold. Her bed was almost never cold these days. She’s grown used to sharing her bed with a Kryptonian heater, and so, to wake up from a nightmare alone in bed was now an unusual occurrence. Unusual nough to make her panic.
She sits up, disoriented from her nightmare. Lena groggily registers a low melodic humming crackling from the baby monitor on her nightstand.
“Kara,” she whispers into the quiet of the room, “Please come back to me.”
The humming from the monitor begins to sound distant as it gets louder to Lena’s ears; drifting nearer and nearer to the bedroom.
The door opens and Kara strolls in, messy bun, sleepy voice and all. In her arms a squirming, kicking, sniffling, very much awake bundle fits.
“She doesn’t want to sleep, I tried everythi-” Kara whines and then stops as she takes in Lena’s racing heartbeat, shaking lips and shining eyes.
“Oh no, did you have a nightmare? I’m sorry, I-”
“It’s okay, Kara. Just— Come here? Please?”
Kara shuffles quickly towards the bed; Lena lifts the comforter, making room, the bed dipping as her wife climbs in.
“You okay?” she asks, once she’s settled down next to Lena. She continues rocking her arms as an attempt to get their daughter to sleep for the nth time tonight. Her wife doesn’t still doesn’t answer her, although she doesn’t miss how Lena slightly calms at her presence.
“Lena, hey, you with me?”
“Kara?”
“I’m here, I’m here.”
“Thi- this is real, right?”
Because sometimes, there are nights where dreams feel all too real and pain comes rearing at you as if it all happened yesterday. Because after all these years, Lena still carries fear inside of her; fear that none of this is real, fhat Kara doesn’t really love her, that she’ll never be good enough, that she’ll be abandoned again. Fear that all of this is just a figment of her imagination.
“Oh, Lena. Come here, I’m going to pass her unto you alright?”
Lena’s eyes snap up to hers for a minute in hesitation but she finds herself slowly nodding. Kara wouldn’t give their daughter over if she isn’t sure Lena could handle it. She slowly transfers their child to Lena’s arms.
“Do you feel her warmth?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Do you feel her weight?”
“She’s real, Lena. I’m real,” Kara says as she wraps her arms around them, cradling her wife and child close.
“She’s getting heavy.”
“Yeah, yeah that she is. This is real, Lena.”
“Here,” she gently puts a pillow beneath Lena’s arms for support as she slowly grabs one hand and puts it right over her heart.
“Feel this? Can you feel it?”
Lena does, Lena can and she nods and it’s real and Kara’s heartbeats are steady under her palm; each beat an echo of Lena’s name. She’s certain of that, because she’s pretty sure her heartbeats are all echoes of Kara’s name again and again and again.
“This is real.”
“Promise?”
“Always.”
#woooooh i made a follow up!!!#its still sunday in some parts of the world right?#so happy supercorp sunday y'all!#the reckless writer writes#a supercorp black mercy au#supercorp fic#supercorp#rcklss writes
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If you have time can you do the “You’re not mature enough to be a parent.” - “Try me.” prompt.
This is like… more than a year later. But! I feel that we all need some fluff right now, so here you go, with a small modification.
Bounding
Summary: Domestic Bechloe fluff
Word Count: 2.5k
Rating: G for gross amounts of fluff
Ao3 and FFN (posted as a chapter in a series of prompts)
Chloe stares atthe pile of soggy, smelly laundry in the washer in disbelief. She blinks once.Yep. It’s definitely been sitting there. For several hours, judging by thecrumpled state of their clothes.
That’s when theannoyance sets in.
“Beca!” she shouts.
“What?” Becacalls from deeper in the house.
“Did you forgetto move the laundry again?!”
The ringingsilence she gets in return is all the answer she needs
After having beenmarried and living together for two years, it’s safe to say the honeymoon phaseis wearing off.
With a growl,Chloe reaches into the washer and tries to extract the clothes, which cling toeach other and the inside of the machine with stubborn tenacity. A whiff oftheir damp odor wafts into her nose and she cringes; changing her battletactics, she shoves the clothes back into the washer and slams the door closedso hard it makes the machine rattle. Muttering angrily, she wrenches open thelaundry cabinet and, in her haste to find the detergent, knocks over severalbottles of various stain removers and carpet cleaners, some of which crash tothe floor.
She groans outloud and stoops, collecting each item and shoving it back in the cabinet,knowing the lack of organization will annoy her later but not bothering to carenow. She untwists the cap of the detergent and, not paying close enoughattention to her task, pours far too much into the measuring cap and spends thenext few seconds pouring it back into the bottle. Of course, some trickles downthe side of the bottle and leaves a sticky blue mess.
Clicking hertongue in annoyance, Chloe tugs open the machine’s soap drawer, pours thedetergent into the slot, then slams the drawer closed. Her movements sharp andquick, she screws the cap back onto the detergent untidily, causing even moreof the soap to run down the sides of the bottle and onto her hand. With a huff,she wipes the bottle and her hand clean with some tissue and slams thedetergent onto its proper shelf so it knows what it’s done. Kicking the laundrycabinet door closed, she pounds her hand on the washer’s “start” button, whosecheery wash cycle jingle only worsens her temper.
Chloe blows astrand of hair from her eyes.
Is it really thathard to remember to switch clothes over to the dryer in a reasonable amount oftime? Or, is it so hard to do the dishes? Or, heaven forbid, put them away? Achore that Beca had neglected all week. Beca’s been neglecting lots ofhousehold tasks, now that Chloe thinks of it. Vacuuming, bathroom cleaning,studio organizing, meal prep. In fact, Chloe can’t recall a single thing Becaactually has helped with recently.
Chloe clenchesher jaw. They’re supposed to be a team.They’re supposed to work together to maintain house and home. They’re supposedto slow dance while cooking. They’re supposed to throw socks at each other whenfolding laundry. They’re supposed to trade kisses while passing one another inthe hall, one armed with a broom and the other pushing a vacuum.
But no. It’s beenChloe pulling both of their weights around the house, doing all the chores,while Beca sits behind her laptop mixing and doing who-knows-what, a veritableBeca Show while Chloe slaves away.
And she’s hadenough.
Gritting herteeth, Chloe barks out, “Beca! Where are you?”
A briefhesitation, then a small sounding, “Studio,” comes from Beca’s generaldirection.
Chloe snortsderisively. Of course. She stomps toward the study, moving quickly throughtheir kitchen and dining room and into the hall. The door to the studio roomBeca has claimed as her workspace is open a crack already, but Chloe stillflings it open. She holds onto the handle so it doesn’t ricochet off the wall(the last thing she needs right now is a drywall hole to patch) but it stillhas the desired effect; Beca stares at her from her desk, eyes wide andstartled.
“Chl—”
“Beca, what thehell?”
“I—”
“I had to restartthe washer because the clothes you leftin there started to mold.”
Which isn’tstrictly true. They just smelled kind of bad. But still, Beca’s grimacedelivers no small amount of satisfaction.
“I know, Iforgot, and—”
“You’reforgetting a lot!” Chloe cries, throwing her hands into the air. “Dishes,floors, bathrooms, cooking—”
“Chloe—”
“We need to eat, Beca! Do you want us both toabsolutely starve because you forgot to meal prep? I mean Jesus,Beca, I could pass out at work fromhunger if I don’t have lunch!”
Beca’s lipstwitch. Chloe feels some of her anger deflate, but rallies quickly.
“And what aboutthe—the floors? If we don’t vacuum—allergens! Molds! Dust! Everywhere!” Chloelists, regaining momentum. “Dirty carpets lead to heart disease, Beca, I readthat in the—”
“I’m sorry!” Becamanages, hands raised in a peace offering. “Really. I’m sorry. Work has beencrazy lately, and—”
“I work, too!”Chloe declares imperiously, though she knows her regular 9-to-5 hours as amusic teacher are less demanding than Beca’s often-erratic schedule meetingwith rising singers seeking production. “And yet I do everything!” She moves,storming farther into the room to join Beca behind the desk to peer at herlaptop. “What could you possibly beworking on that’s more important than—”
Chloe cutsherself off with a choking noise, unable to believe her eyes. She stares at thelaptop screen for a long moment, then looks back at Beca, who grins sheepishlywhile seeming to shrink into her office chair.
“So, um, I’vebeen thinking—”
“DOGS?” Chloeshouts, pointing an accusing finger at the laptop. “I’ve been breaking my BACKaround OUR house doing YOUR chores because you’re too busy looking at picturesof DOGS?”
“Um.” Beca says.“It’s the Humane site? I’ve just been thinking, you know, it might be nice tohave a dog?”
Chloe sputterswordlessly, despite the tiny part of her that agrees with Beca whole-heartedly.It would be really nice to have a dog. But she’s on a warpath, damn it, and shecan’t stop now. So, she draws herself up to her full height.
Beca’s eyes widenstill further. “They’re so fluffy, Chlo, look.”
“You’re notmature enough to be a dog parent!!” Chloe spits.
Beca’s eyebrowsdraw together and she lifts her chin, defiant. “Oh yeah? Try me!”
The words comeout loud and challenging, and for a second, they glare at each other. A smallmuscle twitches in Beca’s cheek, and Chloe has a fleeting thought towardkissing it.
Just like that,most of her anger drains away. She’s never managed to stay angry at Beca forlong.
“Fine,” she huffs,pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. I’ll ‘try you,’” she says, and noteswith satisfaction the sudden uncertainty in Beca’s eyes. “Time to go mattressshopping.”
Beca’s expressionturns to one of mingled horror and devastation. They’ve been talking aboutpurchasing a new mattress since their wedding, having used Chloe’s same oncesince college—which had been purchased secondhand from her cousin before herfreshman year. Which was several years ago. It’s safe to say the mattress hadbeen solidly worn out for a long time, with actual dips in the spots theyusually sleep. It’s just that mattress shopping—spending at least a few hoursin some stuffy mattress store, trying out the hundreds of options and findingsomething they both agree on—is such a chore that they’ve put it off.
Chloe standstriumphant, positive that Beca will drop the dog thing and agree to help morearound the house; basically, anything to delay the mattress shoppingexperience.
However.
To Chloe’ssurprise, Beca’s consternation changes quickly to resolve. She stands from herchair to meet Chloe’s eyes and closes her laptop.
“Fine!” Becasays, wearing that smug, closed lipped smile. “Let me get my keys.”
************
It takes themalmost twenty minutes to actually get in the car, because Beca is too stubbornto admit she lost her keys and wastes fifteen minutes stalling. Chloe finallydigs out her own keys and drives them to the nearest mattress store in silence.
When they arriveat the mattress store, Chloe is relieved to see the parking lot is fairly quietwith few customers. Beca isn’t a huge fan of crowds, and the guilt over makingher mattress shop on a weekend is already starting to set in a little. If therehad been a ton of people there, Chloe would have felt worse about it.
Maybe Beca sensesher guilt; her hand smoothes over Chloe’s lower back as they enter the store.The small gesture tells Chloe she has nothing to feel bad for, and that Beca’sright there with her.
“Good afternoon!”an older, smiling sales associate greets them almost immediately. Chloe’s eyesflick to a nametag: Jerry. His easy-going demeanor and welcoming expressionbring a smile to Chloe’s face.
“Hi!” she greets.“We’re looking for a king-sized, please. Can you help us with that?” As shealways does with new people, she looks for any telltale flicker behind his eyesat the realization that she and Beca are a couple. Thankfully, nothing in hisopen expression changes, and a moment later, Beca’s hand slips comfortably intohers.
“Definitely,”Jerry nods. “Right this way, please.”
He leads them toa side room, where dozens of the king-sized mattresses are aligned perfectly,gathered by brand and further organized by mattress quality and specifications.Maybe seeing their overwhelmed expressions, Jerry begins talking them throughthe advantages and disadvantages of certain brands, as well as the importanceof lumbar support, firmness-to-softness ratio, and customizable comfortsettings. Beca’s eyes glaze over about thirty seconds into his speech, thoughChloe catches her occasionally blinking in effort to pay attention.
It really, trulyisn’t anything against Jerry. It’s simply that mattress shopping is horrible.
It’s a bit of arelief when Jerry finishes the information overload. “I can see that you havemuch to consider,” he says kindly. “I’ll check on some other customers and comeback in a few minutes?”
“That’d be great,thank you,” Beca says, pulling herself out of whatever loop of music Chloe ispositive was running through her mind.
Chloe smiles atJerry as he returns to the main floor, and then turns to Beca. “Fun, right?”
“Super fun,” Becasays. “Very adult. Very mature of us to be here. Purchasing mattresses.”
“Mmm.”
“King-sized,even,” Beca continues. “Upgrade.”
“I thought wecould at least get a nice one.” Chloe walks toward a mattress, sitting on theedge and bouncing a little. “Ooh, Bec, this one is springy!”
“Oh yeah?” Becaasks, wiggling her eyebrows and slowly pacing to Chloe. “That’ll be fun…”
Chloe feels theheat rise in her neck as Beca draws closer.
“…for bouncingon!” Beca finishes her sentence, jumping completely onto the mattress andstanding on it. Before Chloe can stop her, she jumps on it once, making thewhole thing bounce under them both. “See?” Beca asks proudly, looking down ather.
“Get down!” Chloehisses, even while fighting a smile. “Jerry might be back soon!”
Instead, Becaextends her left hand. “Care to join me, m’Lady?”
It’s really thesight of Beca’s wedding band that does it. Chloe gives Beca her own left hand,and Beca helps her to her feet so they’re both standing on the bed.
“Beautiful,” Becasmiles, and it’s the easiest thing in the world for Chloe to lean forward andkiss her quickly.
“You’re just asbeautiful,” she says.
“Mmm, very true,”Beca agrees with a crooked grin. “We’re both stunning. Now, wanna race to theother side of the room?”
“Oh, it is soon,” Chloe says, and before Beca can so much as blink, she’s jumping from theirmattress to the next, bounding along, aiming for the far wall.
“Cheater!” Becacalls out, and then all Chloe can hear is Beca’s laughter from behind her andthe regular squeaking of bed springs as Beca jumps on the mattresses.
They race, Chloein the lead, bouncing from mattress to mattress, focused on their end goal. Theelation of it fills Chloe, rises in her chest with every jump she takes, andshe feels like a child. Beca draws closer, until she keeps pace with Chloe, andthen they’re not so much racing as they are just keeping near each other. Themattresses are large enough that they can bounce a few times on each beforeleaping to the next, and by the time Chloe gets close to the finish line, herlegs burn with effort.
She arrives onthe final mattress barely an instant before Beca does, and the second Becalands, she wraps her arms around Chloe’s waist and falls, taking her down tothe soft display bed with her.
They’re bothlaughing and out of breath, and Chloe clings to Beca, who pulls her close, eyesdropping to Chloe’s lips, and—
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
************
The car ride homeis as silent as the ride to the store had been.
Chloe keeps hereyes resolutely on the road, both hands firmly on the wheel. Beside her, Becastares out the passenger window.
Traffic hasgotten heavier, people going out to dinner or to shows to enjoy the weekend.They get stuck at a red light. It’s the same one that Chloe swears she always gets stuck at; it definitely hasit out for her.
Beca clears herthroat softly. “So… he was kinda grumpy, wasn’t he?”
The dam breaksand laughter bubbles up from Chloe’s chest. Beca starts laughing too, real,rich laughter that only makes Chloe laugh harder. They laugh, and keeplaughing, each one setting off the other, and it doesn’t subside until Chloe’sstomach hurts and her cheeks ache.
“Oh my god,” shemanages weakly, wiping tears from her eyes as the traffic light turns green andthey inch forward with the crowd of cars. “I thought he was going to kill us.”
“Nah, Jerrywouldn’t do that,” Beca says, waving a hand. “He was trying not to laugh thewhole time he was banning us from the store.”
“He still bannedus though!”
“Only because hetotally had to,” Beca argues. “We still ordered a mattress, so at least wedon’t have to do that again for a while.”
“It was more funthan I thought it would be,” Chloe concedes, taking her eyes off the road onlyfor a moment to smile at her wife.
“It was,” Becaagrees. “Though, maybe you were right about me not being mature. I’m sorry,Chlo. I’ll help more around the house and with everything.”
“I’d appreciatethat,” Chloe sighs happily. “And then, you know, we can talk about being dogparents.”
Beca perks upimmediately. “Yeah?”
“Totes,” Chloereplies easily. “And, maybe, eventually… parent-parents?” she glances over,biting her lip.
Beca is lookingat her like she put the stars in the sky. “That would be nice,” she says.
“Then it’s adeal,” Chloe agrees. “Just… no letting the dog on the new bed, okay?”
Beca doesn’tanswer.
“Bec, I mean it!”
“No promises,Chlo.”
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Second Chance (Spencer Reid x Reader)
Requested: No
Trigger warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence and mild language.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Beginning(n): late 12c., "time when something begins;" c. 1200, "initial stage or first part," verbal noun from begin. Meaning "act of starting something" is from early 13c.
Beginning. From where I stand right now, the beginning seems so much more tame than what I know now. Spencer would usually tell me some sort of fact associated with the ‘beginning of the world’ if he were here right now. But he’s not. If only foresight were real. And I had it’s full power of never saying what I did. Never pushing him away. But I guess hindsight isn’t 20-20. And words can’t be taken back.
~~~
April 12. Seems like a regular day to anybody. But not to me. Not to Spencer. He and I have been in what feels like an endless storm of arguments since Christmas. He and I had always been each other’s rock. Our anchor with how stressful our jobs are. I was there for him when the cases got rough and he was my shoulder when a case got way too personal. We just fit. That is, if you didn’t count the small little quirks in our relationship. One of which being my tendency to be like Morgan and jump into situations without too much thinking.
I won’t lie; he absolutely hates it. Case in point:
“Spence, come on, I can walk on my own now. The swelling’s gone down.” I complained, groaning at my tall and lanky boyfriend who was currently forbidding me from standing up from bed. So, maybe I might have gotten my ankles fractured and twisted by an unsub when I had tackled him prematurely and he and I went tumbling into traffic. No biggie. Other than the fact that one of the BAU’s SUVs ran over my ankles. Hotch didn’t see me. I don’t blame him.
Spencer rolled his eyes as he pushed me back into bed as I tried for the fifth time that morning to get up to go to the damn kitchen and eat something. “The doctor said you need three weeks of bed rest. It hasn’t even been two yet.” Spencer reasoned, tucking me into the covers of our shared bed before I could protest.
“Spence, I’ll be fine going to the kitchen. It’s not that far away.” I tried again, sitting up from the bed and pulling covers off of my body. “I promise I’m fine.”
Spencer shook his head and gripped my hands, trying to lay me back down. “Actually there is plenty of space between here and the kitchen, Y/N. The inflammation and swelling process is to remove the damaged tissue from your fractures. Your ankles can’t heal until you let the swelling complete its course. This wouldn’t have happened if you had just waited for me.” Spencer sighed again, the end of his words having a bit of a jabbing tone that sparked a sharp ache in my chest.
“What?” I asked, with half a laugh and half disbelief. “Are you serious right now? After all the things you’ve done without orders? Don’t make me list them, Spencer.” I hissed, half pissed that Spencer would even bring this part up. Sure, Hotch had given me a few weeks off due to my injuries, and I had gotten a case of major cabin fever since that included bed rest from the doctor. But that seemed to be forgiven by everyone. I still got calls from Penelope every few days to check on me for the rest of the team. But I guess this was still an issue. Even after we already had this argument.
Spencer grunted as he stood up straight again, seemingly towering over me in all of his 6’1 glory. He may be making me mad right now, but he was still my tree. And I his squirrel. If that makes any sense.
“Don’t start this please, I don’t want to argue with you on this.” Spencer tries, pinching the bridge of his nose.
I gritted my teeth and scoffed. “Then why bring it up? Especially the way you did? Why, Spencer? Why? Cause I’m itching to know.” I instigate. Not the best move on my part. As Spencer’s eyes flickered with anger. It was clear he really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. But he should’ve thought about that.
“Y/N do you really have to do this? Can’t we have one day without an argument?” Spencer huffed, running a tired hand through his hair. I roll my eyes in anger and I plant my feet against the hardwood.
“You started this Spencer, not me. I just want to know what the hell you meant by what you said.” I retort, trying to reel back my anger. This argument wasn’t going anywhere. We hadn’t been communicating. It didn’t take a profiler to see that. And it seemed all that miscommunication was coming back to bite us in the ass.
“You want to know what I meant? I’m tired of you throwing yourself into danger like that. Morgan does it, yes, but that does not mean that you should follow in his footsteps, Y/N.” Spencer says in a half accusatory tone and half calm. How the hell does he stay so calm when we argue? Even when I know he’s angry?
“Oh, so Morgan does it better than me or something? If it’s so bad, Spencer, then go scold Morgan too why don’t you? Maybe you’ll actually get somewhere with him.” I jab at Spencer, instantly regretting my comment.
Spencer is grunting with anger as he tries to formulate a response. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Y/N! All these arguments? They never end well for either of us! If you hadn’t been so reckless maybe we wouldn’t have to be having this argument!” Spencer finally quips back at me. I widen my eyes and I furrow my eyebrows after a few moments. I open my mouth to respond before Spencer leaves the room, shutting the door a bit harshly as he does.
I scowl and scoff as I unwillingly roll back over into bed. I was so done with this constant arguing. What had happened to that spark we used to have? That perfect routine where everything just fit?
After a few minutes of sulking in my own anger I sigh. This was ridiculous wasn’t it? Sure. But I wasn’t ready to apologize yet. At least Spencer has another day or so before he’s gotta get back to the BAU. I can apologize to him before bed tonight. Can’t go to bed angry.
I couldn’t help but remember a poem that Spencer had read to me previously. It was on the tip of my tongue. I remember he had a collection of them that he liked to leave for me whenever he got home before me. Or if I left before him and I was expected to come home early. Especially when he had to work and I didn’t. It was just something we enjoyed. Well… used to anyway.
The poem was Love’s Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelly, I think. Yeah. That was it. I can only remember part of it though.
The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?
What happened between us? What did we do to get this far away from our paradise that we had made together?
I sighed as I recalled the poem, shifting through my nightstand and finding the small notebook paper that he had left for me on my pillow months prior. Was this relationship even salvageable? Would we ever get back to this point of love between us? Or would this rift grow ever larger, and keep us apart?
I let out a tired exhale and began to slowly get up from my prison. I hissed as my ankles began to wobble from the sudden weight. I gripped the nightstand for dear-life before I found my balance, and I started to wander into the apartment I’d been kept from for the past week and a half.
I wobble my wounded and swollen feet into the living room, gripping onto everything that I could to get there safely and without a fall. Knowing Spencer’s state of mind it would probably feed into another argument. But though all odds were against me, I made it to the couch. I plopped down and picked up a forgotten book that laid next to me. La Divina Commedia. Why am I not surprised Spencer’s been reading that?
Before I could pick the book up and even attempt to read it in it’s natural text, I hear the plop of a ready back by the front door. I sigh. Of course there’s a case. A case while I’m down for the count. My fault, I guess.
I sigh and put the book down. “So you’re leaving?” I question, trying to sound at least remotely sincere.
Spencer doesn’t even acknowledge that I’d even spoken, too busy with his bag. At least he had the manners to respond. “Yes, I am. Three women were abducted in Oklahoma. It will probably take a few days.” He says, his usual tone of sorrow for having to leave absent from his voice. Almost like he was thankful for this break from me.
I bite my lip nervously and fight the urge to sigh yet again. “Well… Tell the team I said good luck.” I say as audibly as I can without giving away the hurt pounding in my chest.
Spencer at least nods before he grabs his now full bag and exits the apartment. Not even looking at me once.
Kidnapping case, huh?
~~~
Spencer’s POV
Spencer can’t help but notice the seething anger he was emitting as he walked into the bullpen to set his stuff down before the case briefing. Morgan and Prentiss both gave him looks as he set his bag down and tried to gather what he would need for the case at hand.
“Hey kid, something… going on at home? I can feel your anger from over there.” Morgan prompts, pulling Spencer into a half head lock with his arm. Spencer sighed and pulled away from Morgan’s attempt at communicating.
“It’s fine, Morgan. Really. Did you know that couples find themselves fighting about household issues about seven times each month? A survey of 2,000 Americans, commissioned by a furniture company, found couples wind up averaging about 72 spats each year over home improvement particulars.” Spencer starts to ramble, unable to hold back his concern for the topic. At least his attitude and overall tone wasn’t deteriorating from where it had been before he left.
Morgan nodded, suddenly understanding where the conversation was leading. “Ah, so you and Y/N having some trouble in paradise? She getting cabin fever yet?” Morgan teased, poking Spencer in the shoulder.
“I don’t believe there’s ever really paradise in a relationship. A study proposed by the company Eharmony suggested that although 64% of couples are happy in their relationships, that other 36% isn’t. But that number continuously changes. And relationships end everyday over small things.” Spencer rambled again, his hands being shoved into his pockets as Morgan began leading him into their meeting room.
Morgan shook his head. “Man you got it bad. Just try to make it up for her when you get home, alright? You don’t wanna go to bed angry, you know what I’m saying?” Morgan suggests. Spencer sighed and went silent as they pushed through the glass doors and took their seats at the round table to let JJ announce their newest case.
"We've got three missing women in Oklahoma city, all from low socioeconomic classes. Danielle Jones, Katie Hurtz, and Cassidy Weirton were all last seen by their boyfriends at a party they all attended yesterday. Their cars were found dumped into the nearby river with signs of chains digging into the paint. Almost as if they were pulled into the river." JJ explains, turning to face the team.
Prentiss raises an eyebrow. "Don't they all look a little like Y/N? You know, h/c, e/c, s/c?" She brings up, slightly catching Spencer’s attention. Spencer looks up and looks at the photos currently on the screen. Emily was right. They did all look like her.
Morgan nods in agreement. "Yeah, they kinda do. I'm kinda glad you ran over her ankle, Hotch. She might've had to deal with Mr. overprotective here if you didn't." He teased, gesturing his thumb to Spencer.
Spencer raises an eyebrow and looks at Morgan in a bit of shock. "I don't follow." He asks. Prentiss shook her head and gave Spencer a knowing look.
"Come on, Spencer. We all heard it from Y/N herself when Garcia called her. You're giving her cabin fever by keeping her in one room all day long." Emily points out, teasing him a bit along with Morgan.
"Why is this important? She needs approximately 3 weeks of bedrest as determined by her doctor. I'm just trying to make sure she heals right." Spencer expressed in annoyance. Although Prentiss was definitely right. Y/N had been showing him signs of just wanting to move from the bed to the couch so that she wasn't bored from her surroundings. But she still shouldn't be moved all that much. Especially since she didn't have any sort of cast or boot to help with the healing. Only a brace.
"She isn't coming with us on this case, so there isn't any reason I need to worry, is there?" Spencer reasoned, growing tired of the teasing.
Morgan raised his hands up from where they had been resting on the table. "I guess not. But kid, seriously. Take it from a man who knows: don't fight her on this." Morgan encourages.
Maybe he was right, Spencer thought.
~~~
Three days had passed since Spencer had gone on the new case. I was absolutely and completely, lonely. And it was almost suffocating.
Thankfully Spencer had left me an apartment full of food, so I needn't worry about having to cook or, god forbid, have to go grocery shopping in my condition.
But I was tired of the four bare walls of the main area of my and Spencer’s apartment. I could only bear them for so much longer before I completely combusted from boredom and fourth stage cabin fever. So… I went out to go get a few books. What? We had crutches from the hospital. And taxis exist. So I was fine.
Besides, I knew Spencer hadn't read books from this author yet. And I was partially hoping that he would take them as mostly an apology gift and the rest just a gift. I wanted to try and get back into the swing of our relationship. Try and just maybe get back into a somewhat normal routine. Even if I was incapacitated.
I clobbered around the bookstore, my more injured foot swinging as I used the lesser to get around. There were so many books I just didn't know which ones to get for Spencer and just how many I wanted to get for myself.
One I picked up reminded me of a case that had come across my desk. The case was actually in Quantico. An unsub was kidnapping women around the ages of 20 to 35 and the bodies were found dumped into the river, raped and mutilated. But there were only two victims at the moment, and the period between them was months, so it hadn't seemed like one to worry about. I heard the unsub left a letter to each of the families of the victims. Almost taunting them. Weird how you can make connections like that in real life compared to your second one.
But eventually I hobbled again over ro the counter and heaved about 5 books up into the clerk's view. The clerk looked me up and down and smirked.
"Rough day?" He asked, beginning to scan the books into the system. I groaned and chuckled slightly.
"More like rough life." I reply, heaving myself back onto the harsh arm rests of the crutches. The man nods in understanding.
"Very true. But hey, I'm sure you'll get off of those soon and get back to your normal routine." He says, telling me my cost.
I fumble through my wallet and pull out my credit card. I hand it to the clerk. The clerk then takes it and swipes it for me.
"Do you want to sign up for our rewards program? You get a book free with every purchase." The clerk prompted. I raised an eyebrow at the sudden offer. I'd never gotten this offer when I'd gone here before. Was it new?
"Not today, sorry." I begin, taking my credit card back from the clerk and beginning to put it back into my wallet.
"It's something new we're trying. Get more customers interested in reading and stuff. And… I kinda promised my boss I'd get at least one my next shift. I'd really appreciate it." The clerk prompts again. I sigh. Would it really be that bad? Spencer might appreciate it. Getting more books for only a quarter of the price? He'd like that. Hell, I'd enjoy that. Why not?
I shrug and I nod. "Alright, alright. You need my number and stuff?" I ask. The clerk nods.
"Uh huh. Just name, number and address." The clerk says, beginning to type into the computer at the counter.
"Y/N L/N, 555-555-5555, (insert random Quantico apartment address here)." I list, piling the books up and putting them into a bag the clerk handed me.
As the clerk finished up I smiled at him. "Have a good day sir." I say as I begin my hobble back towards the door.
"You too."
~~~
I wobble on the crutches as I clop back to Spencer and I's shared apartment. I sigh as I begin to fumble with my keys. My phone drops out of my pocket as I do.
I grumble and lean over to grab it. I turn it on out of curiosity. No new messages. Nothing. Not a single 'How are you?' text. Kinda pissed me off a bit.
But instead I sigh and just type a quick, and small text.
Y/N - Hey, can we talk when you get home? I wanna make it up to you. Please.
I sigh and shove it back into my pocket. I'll deal with it later, I think.
I finally unlock my door and shove it open. When I do though, I find a letter shoved under the door. Couldn't they have put it in the mailbox?
I pick it up and shut the door behind me. I hobbled over to the dining room table and put the bag of books down, along with the crutches as I began to investigate the letter.
I don't even get the chance to fully open the letter before I'm grabbed from behind and a cloth is shoved into my mouth. Chloroform.
I try instantly to cough and spit the rag out, but by the time I do, I've already begun to breathe the gas in, and my vision began to grow cloudy and spotty.
The only thing I hear as the lights begin to fade and my capture begins to drag me away is "Good… go to sleep now."
~~~
Spencer sighed as he sat on the plane in mid thought. They thankfully were able to capture the unsub and bring him to justice before he could kill any of the girls. But something had struck him as they had finished up the case. Y/N had texted him, wanting to talk. He'd tried to reach her that night by calling her cell, but it went straight to voicemail. He didn't think much of it. She was probably sleeping. As she should be.
But still. She was right. They both needed to resolve this. Nothing was going to improve if they didn't try.
"Hey kid, whatcha thinking?" Morgan asks, taking a seat next to Spencer as the plane got ready to land.
"I think I'm going to talk with her tonight. See if we can come to an understanding. A compromise maybe." He sighed, fumbling with his fingers.
Derek grinned. "Alright, Spencer, my man!" He exclaims, lightly hitting his shoulder. "Good. I'm proud of you, kid." He says, prompting Spencer to smile.
"Thank you Morgan. I just think we'll find a better normal is all." He agrees, unable to focus on the current case report he'd just written.
Prentiss wanders over and takes a seat next to Spencer as well. "I'm glad you've decided to tame the beast, Spencer." She teases.
Rossi's ears perk up at the conversation. "Are we talking about Y/N here? Cause she's untameable." He expresses, pulling a smile onto Spencer’s face.
She really was untameable, Spencer thought. Maybe that was a good thing.
~~~
Spencer stretched his arms as he walked to his apartment. After the long and hard case they had, he just wanted to hold you and pull you close. Those girls looking so similar to you had messed with his head.
Spencer exited the elevator, ready bag in hand as he turned to head down the hallway with his and Y/N's shared apartment. When he finally stopped, he noticed the door was ajar. Weird. Y/N always had a quirk about insisting he close the door behind him whenever he entered or exited a room. So why would she leave the door open?
Spencer cautiously entered the room and saw the lights all completely turned off. Maybe she was in bed, he thought.
He flicked on the lights and noticed a bag of books on the table, and a half opened envelope laying there as well next to forgotten crutches. Spencer rolled his eyes as he noticed the books were newly bought, guess Y/N couldn't stay in bed while he was gone.
That's when he noticed the letter again. He opened it up and began to read the complete horror that met his eyes.
Hello.
I'm glad we share an interest in books. I've always liked reading. Did you know that? I've also loved (h/c) haired girls. All my life. When your (e/c) eyes met mine, I knew you had to be mine. So, please don't fight this. All I want is for us to be together. Forever.
I promise I’m not like him. Your boyfriend. I won't leave you alone on weekends with fractured feet.
Just obey me, and you'll be happy. I promise.
Love, Z.H.E
Spencer felt tears building up in his eyes. This man, this--this Z.H.E had taken Y/N. Taken his girlfriend at her weakest. And he wasn't here to protect her.
Spencer thrust the letter onto the table and dropped to his knees. You were gone. Out of his reach. And there was no telling how long you'd been gone. How long you've been in this unsub's hands. So there was no way to know if you had any chance.
Spencer clutched at his shirt and tie as he began to quicken his breathing and his heart began to pound faster. He had to do something. Anything.
Then he felt his phone vibrate. That was it. He had proof. This wasn't Y/N's handwriting. They had a case. They just had to get permission.
Spencer shook his head. Fuck the permission. He was going to find Y/N and put the bastard who took her in prison. They didn't have much time, but he was going to find her. Dead or alive.
Spencer pulled his phone out and immediately began dialing Morgan’s number, tears still streaming down his cheek.
He was going to find you. He had to.
After a few rings, Morgan finally answered the phone. "Reid? Kid it's like 11 o'clock at night. What's wro-" Morgan groans.
Spencer immediately cut him off. "Morgan, Y/N's not here. Some-someone took her. Th-they left a-a note and u-uh… they signed it Z...Z.H.E." Spencer rambled and stuttered, his voice almost inaudible from his tears and his voice growing faster with his nerves.
Morgan’s response was to be expected. "Wait, what? You serious kid? Hold on, I'll call Hotch. Bring anything Y/N might've had with her the day she got taken with you back to the BAU. We'll meet you there." Derek ushered, the sound of a TV being shut off in the background.
Spencer tried to calm his breathing, but it only got faster and harder to control. "O-okay… got it." Was his only response as he hung up the phone and pulled out a pair of gloves from his pocket and began searching the apartment for any sort of sealing bag he could put the letter in for evidence. If the bastard wasn't wearing gloves, they needed to be able to find fingerprints. Not just his own.
Once he found something, he slid the envelope and the letter into the bag and sealed it shut. Once he had it, he grabbed the bag and the bag of books and began to carry them out the door.
~~~
I groaned as I lifted my head up from where it had hung for I didn't know how long. My neck ached from the change in position, and I heard a few painful pops as I moved it. I felt my head pounding. Seems like that head wound is finally giving me trouble.
I tugged at my arms, feeling rope dig back into my skin in retaliation. I gritted my teeth and began to try and use my fingers to attempt any sort of chance this asshole decided to leave the knot in close range of my hands. But alas, he didn't.
My legs were tied to the chair as well, almost tighter than my arms were. I sighed. It had been 4 days since this asshole had taken me. And it wasn't pretty. I had a large gash on my cheek, and bruises that scattered my torso and thighs. This guy wasn't subtle in his obsession with me. He needed to see me multiple times a day. And if I didn't do what he asked, he whipped me. And the guy got off from it.
I sighed, at least he decided to move me from the dangling chain prison he'd had me in the first three days. The first one he just needed to see all of me. I was just unlucky enough to wake up prematurely.
I'm glad I wasn't awake for most of it. It still hurts. Every time I close my eyes I try and focus on Spencer. His hazel eyes looking down at me with love in them, telling me it'll be okay.
But when I open my eyes again, I'm back in my own personal hell.
I sigh and look around, hoping the blood that was pooling above my eye didn't drip down into my eye where I couldn't see. I'd already viewed this whole room dozens of times. But it was something to do while this asshole lived upstairs with his wife and their young daughter. And they do nothing about it.
My eyes find the only window in this hell of a basement and I see that the light is brighter than usual. Must be noon. I can't tell. That can only mean he's going to be here soon. Gonna take another piece of me that I'll never get back.
"S-spencer…" I whimper quietly, squeezing my eyes shut as a tear builds up in my eye. If I hadn't gone out like he told me this wouldn't have happened. I'd still be in our apartment and I would've been there to welcome him home. Not here. Not with death looming over my head.
"Oh, poor baby. You seriously want him? When you have me? You've got all you could ever want and you never accept me. Why?" The most disgusting and smoke-induced sounding voice echoed into the basement.
I turn my head and glare at my capture, my right eye squinting as the blood from my forehead began to drip over it. I don't answer him, afraid he'll just beat me again for my answer. He'll beat me anyway.
He growled and pulled my face towards his, holding it harshly as he spat into my face. "Answer me, bitch! That's all you are!" He yelled, pushing the chair against a beam. I cough as my head collides with the wood.
I shake as my head slowly lifts to look at him again. "I… I don't want you… I w-want to g-go home…" I stutter. He wants an answer. But I don't want to play into his game. I feel disgusting.
He then launches a punch to my gut, causing me to cough up a spat of blood and begin to groan from my bruises. Add another bruise to the pile.
"WHY?! I am a better man! THE better man! You are mine! Accept it!" He spat, tossing the chair aside along with me. "It's like you don't even like me!" The man growled.
I groaned and began to shrink as much as I could into the chair. Why? Why me? He had a wife and a kid upstairs. A perfect normal life. Why couldn't he just settle?
The man shook his head and growled. "No. No we're gonna show this 'boyfriend' of yours just how good I am to you." He insists before he fishes through the clothes that he had torn off of me and pulled out my phone. I could only hope that Garcia could track its location fast enough.
~~~
Spencer gripped his hair tightly as everyone was scrambling to try and find some way, some connection to bring them close enough to be able to find Y/N. But they had nothing.
So far, they hadn't found any fingerprints on the letter that Spencer or Y/N hadn't left themselves. And the bag was obviously only carried by Y/N. So they were stuck until they could get another piece of information.
Morgan sighed as he watched Spencer go over the letter for what he knew was about the twelve hundredth time that night. He really didn't deserve this.
Morgan took a seat and tried to get Spencer’s attention by lightly grabbing his wrist. Spencer jumped from the sudden contact, sighing slightly.
"Nothing… After 5 hours of searching we have found nothing. All we have is a reminder of how terrible I was to her." Spencer sighed, his esteem having grown drastically low in the time that he had spent reading the letter over and over again.
Morgan sighed. "Kid, you were not terrible to her. Come on. She loves you, man. Seriously, I can see love. And she's got it for you." Morgan insists, nudging Spencer’s shoulder. Reid sighed and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Still, the last thing I did with her was argue over her being reckless. That might be the last thing she ever hears from me." Spencer expressed, clutching harshly at his chest.
Derek sighed again and nudged Spencer once more. "Come on, kid. We'll find her. That won't be the last thing you say. The last words you ever say to her will be on your shared deathbed kid." Morgan teased. "Come on, the girl got you five books when she was supposed to be resting. If anything that tells me she loves you more than the pain she feels." Morgan chuckles, gesturing towards the bag of books on the evidence table.
Reid shrugs and looks down for a moment before it hits him. He stands up suddenly and starts shifting through the plastic bag for the receipt.
"Woah, kid. Did I say something to set you off or-?" Morgan asks suddenly, confused by Spencer’s sudden movement.
"The books! She-she would've taken the b-books out if she had been home l-long enough to put them away-" he rambled, searching and flipping through each of the books, desperately trying to find the receipt and to find some sort of indication as to when she was taken.
"Right, but Reid I don't-" Morgan starts again.
Spencer shook his head. "Just-!" He exclaims almost exasperatedly. Then he finds it. Deeply nestled into a copy of Edgar Allen Poe's greatest poems, was a receipt for four days ago at a bookstore a few miles away from their apartment.
"Found it." He whispers, smiling happily. Maybe he had a chance of finding Y/N after all.
Morgan widened his eyes. "Does it got a date on it, Reid?" He asked, getting up from his chair in a quick haste to know if they had a new clue.
Reid nodded, a few tears building in his eyes. "Four days ago. She's been with the unsub for...for four days…" Spencer sputtered, forcefully putting the small receipt down so he didn't crumple it more.
Morgan gave Spencer a sympathetic look and opened his mouth to speak.
"You're gonna wanna see this, Reid." Garcia came onto the screen, pulling Spencer’s attention to it.
"Hold on baby girl," Derek says before he rushes to the glass door that connected the council room to the rest of the bullpen. He opened the door and called in Hotch, JJ, and Rossi. Prentiss came in as she was coming down the hall.
"What is it Garcia?" Hotch asked as he came in, settling into the room and looking at the screen she currently showed her face on.
"Okay, but this is kind of… gore-y. You might not want to see this Reid-" she began, trying to warn Spencer of the video's contents.
Spencer shook his head. "Show the video." He insists. Garcia sighed, but clicked play.
On the screen showed a much less clothed Y/N and a hooded figure in the room. A single light bulb was hanging from the ceiling.
"Since princess here can't accept me, let me just show you what I've done to your precious girl." A distorted voice echoed through the video speakers.
Spencer’s eyes were wide as he was forced to watch the screen for more information on where his (nickname) was.
The hooded figure then pulled out a knife and advanced towards Y/N. Y/N herself bit back a quiver and a whimper. Spencer knew it by her bitten lip.
The figure then used the knife to cut a long gash along Y/N's left arm, before grabbing the right and cutting his initials into the soft skin that was there.
"You're mine, now. What boyfriend would want you now with another man's claim on you?" The figure growled at Y/N.
Y/N took in a shaky breath and looked into the camera. "I-I can take it. I-i p-promise. S-spencer," mouthing one word before the figure slapped her across the face for doing so.
"You bitch‐!" The figure growled. Spencer shut his eyes tightly and looked away from the screen. He could barely make out what she mouthed. Basement.
Hotch looked to Reid, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Did you catch it? The word she gave?" He asked calmly, understanding Reid's need to look away from what this man was doing to the love of his life.
Spencer shook in terror for a few speechless moments before he was finally able to lift his head back up.
"She… s-she said basement, Hotch. She's in a basement." He announces, keeping his eyes away from the screen.
"Meaning this guy could have a complete other life. And that nobody knows what he's doing downstairs." Morgan infers, Prentiss nodding towards him in agreement.
JJ speaks up next. "Sorry to burst the bubble here, but I think I found the case this unsub is connected to." She says, dropping a very thin case file onto the table.
"Two women, between the ages of 20 to 35 were taken from their homes in the mid afternoon. Yet no one saw or heard. At each of the scenes, a letter is found that is similar to the one we found at your apartment, Spence." JJ informs, sighing. "Each of the women were found two weeks after their capture dumped into the river and stripped of their belongings. With sighs of rape and mutilation." JJ says sorrowfully. Spencer’s fist tightens at his side, his eyes squeezing shut again.
He could've been there for you if he hadn't taken that case in the heat of his anger. He would've kept you from going out and attracting the attention of this unsub. But he was more focused on his anger.
"Reid, do you have anything new?" Hotch asks, jotting down a few notes to be able to refer to later. Spencer sighed and nodded.
"Y-yeah. I found the receipt from the bookstore she went to. Four days ago. It's called Zander's Stories." He says, looking up to face Hotch for a moment.
"Good. We'll head there and talk with the owner, see if we can find any employees with our profile. And if they have cameras we'll check to see who checked Y/N out." Hotch informed. The rest of the team nodded and began to get back to work.
Spencer stood up and stopped Hotch for a moment. "H-hotch, what is the profile? If you don't mind my asking." He asked shakily, his hand grasped at his sleeves nervously. He had been so focused on the letter and understanding the handwriting that he only had a portion.
Hotch sighed. "Reid. We're looking for a man most likely in his thirties or forties. Has a history of being flirtatious, almost creepily so with customers. Most likely has a wife, maybe a child as well. But never wears his wedding ring. Almost wanting to lure women closer to him. He probably talks mostly of himself and his own accomplishments than those of his coworkers. Takes every conversation as a chance to turn it about himself." He answered, giving Spencer a sympathetic look. They all wanted to find her. But they had to be careful.
Spencer nodded as he took the profile in, taking a mental note to think of any people he might know. Anyone who might've been watching them before now. But he found nothing.
"The handwriting seems to be gleeful almost in tone. A-almost as if he'd finally gotten what he wanted. Like a child sending a thank you letter to Santa for the presents they got for christmas." Spencer expressed, picking up the letter to point out the darkened graphite marks on the letter page.
"Interesting. He might've been watching her before. Have you and her been out before this? Perhaps gone to this bookstore before Christmas?" Hotch asked, gathering together the papers he had written on.
Spencer searched his mind for a moment, trying to reach as far back as his photographic memory would go to help him remember if he'd ever encountered a man that matched the profile.
"For Christmas she did get me a-a new poem book. A-and a book on philosophy. She might've visited the store then." Spencer informed, his hands gripping tightly and his knuckles turning white.
"That's it. He watches them for months in advance. He seems very organized. He kidnapped her without much fight. Even with her being injured she would've been able to fight him off if he simply grabbed her. He planned this." Hotch then grabbed his things and rushed out the door to join the others.
Spencer felt his body still as he tried to figure out what he could do. What he could say to help find another clue as to where you were. All he could think of was to try and come up with a geographical location from the different victims and the profile.
He just hoped they wouldn't be too late.
~~~
Again I opened my eyes exhaustedly. It seemed I'd been here ages. I didn't know the times between when I'd wake and when I'd pass out. But those times between when I'd wake and after I'd fallen asleep were the best. I got to see Spencer. In all his gentle and warm light.
"S-spencer… I'm scared…" I whispered, not hearing any echos of breath in the tiny basement this man was keeping me in other than my own.
I almost imagine him replying; Why? I'm here.
I choke back a tired sob. "I-i'm afraid… a-afraid I'll never s-see you again…" I whisper in a reply so hoarse and tiresome.
Again I can imagine his response, almost hear it. Don't give up. I'll see you soon, sweetheart.
I swallow a choked sob and close my eyes once more. My hope was almost gone. I'd been here so long. I knew it was at least 4 days. Maybe 5 at the most. I don't know how much I can handle his beatings. Or his possession.
I sniffle and clear my throat as I hear footsteps above me. He's coming again.
The door to the basement slams open and I jump from the sudden noise. His feet pound against the wooden stairs as he rushed down the stairs. I squeezed my eyes shut as he came into the light, unable to face him.
"You didn't tell me you were fuckin' FBI!" The man yelled, slapping me for good measure. I bite my lip and hold onto my whimper. I swallow harshly, not replying to his obvious question.
The man snarls, raising his hand to slap me once again before he stops himself. I almost let myself think that maybe by some miracle he'd grown some sort of conscience. That maybe he'd show me a little mercy. But of course, I was wrong.
The man pulls out his knife and cuts my bindings, pulling me off of the chair abruptly. He grips my wrists so tightly I was sure he'd break them if he squeezed any tighter.
He stayed silent as he dragged me across the floor, digging his nails into my wrists. He hoisted my body up like a ragdoll and enclosed my damaged and rope-burned wrists into chains, allowing me to hang there limp and tired.
"See this, this is what happens when you lie to me, bitch!" He yelled, picking up a long piece of wood he kept in the basement and thrusting it against my stomach. I sputter and cry out before I could even attempt to silence myself. I could feel my insides aching and throbbing. And the nailheads sticking out of the wood bruised my skin, almost breaking it from the force.
The man pulled the wood back and thrust it against my legs, making me whimper from the pain. The nails dug into my calves and my thighs, drawing blood from the wound. I was losing my resolve to fight and to push through the pain.
The man then brought it back to my torso, and thrusted it against me. I felt my ribs cracking and popping. Pain throbbed from my chest, and it grew stronger with each thrust I endured.
Again and again he beat me, the wood and nails digging into my skin and bruising it well. Moments later I found my eyes slowly falling closed as each thrust collided with my body.
Before my eyes could close completely I felt the wood thrust against my back, causing tremendous pain to my spine. If I had the ability I would have crumbled to the ground.
"You're gonna pay for this. You were supposed to be mine. You are not his. Mine, and mine alone!" The man growled, pointing a finger at me. I look away, only for him to force my face towards him.
"I think it's time you went to sleep, sweetheart~" he purred just as he thrusted the butt of his knife against my head, sending me back to my dreamscape.
~~~
Spencer found his phone once he heard it begin to ring. He'd been eyeing it since he'd finished the geographical map. He could only hope and pray that whoever called him would have some sort of good news. She had been missing for four days. Five now. And they weren't any closer to finding her.
JJ had gone on TV for a press conference. Try and bring the unsub out since most like to inject themselves into the investigation. Spencer had been against it. He'd seen time and time again what happened to the agents that unsubs found out what they were. Prentiss had gotten a beating for it while Reid had to stand back.
But this was the best course of action, according to Hotch. And Spencer had no choice but to agree with him for now.
When his phone began to ring, Spencer jumped in his seat and immediately answered, having seen it was Hotch.
"H-hotch, tell me you've got something." Spencer begs, not even trying to hide his worry anymore.
"Zander Harrison Edison. He's the owner of the bookstore. The employees all agreed to him fitting the profile. He has a wife and a daughter. And has been reported to flirt with a majority of the female customers." Hotch reads off. "I got Garcia working on an address now. But we need you down here. Just for when we have one." Hotch informs, his speech a little quicker than normal. He was probably hurrying out of the book store to get to the SUV.
Spencer let out an audible sigh of relief and his hand finally loosened it's tight and tense grip. "Yes, o-of course Hotch. I got a geographical pinpoint I can send her before I head out." Spencer offered as he began to gather his things in a haste to get to Y/N as quickly as possible.
"Reid, calm down. She's going to be alright. And sure. That'll help her get the address narrowed down for us. Just hurry, we don't have much time to lose." Hotch agreed with Spencer, the sound of a car beginning to start sounding in the background.
Spencer took a shallow breath and nodded. "R-right...r-right I just gotta… j-just gotta calm d-down…" he says with uncertainty. He hangs up the phone and immediately begins to head towards Garcia's office with the geographical pinpoint he had narrowed.
Spencer's feet couldn't carry him any faster than they did as he hurried towards the technical analyst's cave. Spencer hastily knocked and pounded on the wooden door much harder than he intended to, bringing an impatient Garcia from her office.
"In case you haven't heard, we're a little busy right now with a kidnapped-" Garcia began to scold before he noticed Spencer’s hurried and worried expression. "Oh, Reid. Sorry you don't...don't usually knock that hard. I'm finding the address as we speak-" she starts.
"I-i've got the geographical location, Garcia. It-" he sighed, messing with his tie nervously. "It'll help." He says, as his eyes wandered around anxiously.
Garcia nods and gestures for Spencer to go ahead. "Alright then, lay it on me my love." She prompts, turning her chair around and swerving into her desk.
Spencer nodded hesitantly and then began to detail the geographical pinpoint. "Try around the downtown Quantico area. Specifically the more suburban areas. This guy has a basement he's keeping her in." He lists off, pulling back his fingers from his fists as if counting each detail.
Garcia smiles slightly as she types. "Perfect, just imput the owner and/or the renter of the home and-" Garcia trails for a moment. "There, (Random Quantico suburban address here). Go get your Princess, Reid." Garcia insists, handing him a sticky note with the address.
Spencer took the note with no hesitation and spun on his heels towards the exit of the building. "Will do." He replies as his paces grow wider and he finds himself run-walking down the stairs instead of the elevator.
He was going to find you. You were going to be okay.
~~~
I was unlucky enough to wake up only an hour later. Thankfully, he was gone. And I was alone. I hung from the ceiling like a pig in a slaughterhouse. It certainly felt that way too.
My ankles were thankfully not chained. The cold metal digging into my wrists was enough.
I squeezed my eyes shut again, and tried to imagine Spencer once more. Maybe fall asleep again. Seeing him again seemed like a lost cause now. Maybe he'll find someone who doesn't jump into situations without thinking like Morgan. Maybe she'll bring him more happiness than I ever did. And maybe she'll get along with everybody better than I did. Maybe he'll want to marry her too-
Before I knew it tears were cascading down my cheeks. No. No, I couldn't give up yet. We've found people who've been missing for weeks. Though of course that's a rarity. But it still happens.
I'm still alive. As long as that's true, there's hope for me yet.
I heaved as air desperately tried to enter my lungs from this position. Everytime I tried to pull up enough to breathe, the harsh and rusted metal cuffs dug farther into my skin.
I hissed as the cuffs felt sharper around my wrists. I recalled the pictures of the other two victims. They too had deep abrasions on their wrists. Guess they got this treatment too.
I gripped the chains loosely, trying to give my wrists a break from the harsh edge of the cuffs. I dreaded his return. Knowing it was just going to be more torture. He'd gotten his taste of me. Now he just wanted to see me bleed.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps above me. I swallowed nervously, bracing myself for whatever he had planned for me next. But that's when I heard the thud of a door being kicked in. My heart skipped a beat as I heard it, hoping for the love of God it was who I thought it was.
Then the footsteps got quicker and they pounded against the floor above me. I heard a hurried turning of the knob to the door of the basement, before another thud was heard and a plethora of curses followed it.
My chest got painfully tighter with the hopefulness that I was saved. That maybe… maybe he'd come for me. But the pain was worth it.
The knob was turned hastily and the door opened. I still couldn't help but lose my breath for a moment. This could all be a misunderstanding. He could be coming down here to kill me.
But then I saw the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes turn the corner and break at the sight of me hanging from the ceiling.
"She's down here! I need a medic!" Spencer called back up the stairs. He then raced to my side, trying desperately to undo the cuffs.
"Y/N… Y-Y/N s-sweetheart…" he whispered, looking at me heartbroken. I swallowed hard and gestured towards the desk in the corner of the tiny basement.
"O-over th-there. T-the keys…" I whisper hoarsely. My voice must've died on me from all the screaming. Spencer nodded and quickly spun around and grabbed the keys from the cluttered desk of weapons the man used on me.
Spencer swallowed harshly as he took in the tools that lay against the wood of the desk. Many of them still had blood on them, previously used. It ached deep in his heart. He turned his head away from them and focused on her. On the only one who mattered right now.
Spencer brought the keys back towards me and quickly unlocked the cuffs. I fall into his arms and he wraps them around me tenderly. "Y/N...t-thank God…" he whispered. His large hand raised up and cradled my head. "I-i'm sorry… s-so..so sorry…" he whispered into my ear, crying as he held me.
I, although exhausted, found a smile pulling at my lips. "F-for what? F-finding me?" I teased, trying and failing to put my feet on the ground.
Spencer slightly chuckled and pulled me up farther into his arms. "N-no… not that…" he sighed, pulling me as close as his arms and my body would allow. "Don't put your feet down. Your ankles are still fractured sweetheart." He slightly teases back. I let out a small, tired laugh.
"S-spence…" I whisper. "P-please… did-" I begin to ask hesitantly. He nods. "He's been taken care of, Y/N. He's in our custody now. I promise." He says, gently caressing my cheek.
I lean into his touch and sigh in relief. Soon after, Morgan comes down into the basement and almost scares the shit out of me.
"Thank God…" Morgan sighed in relief upon seeing me. He then turned to Spencer. "Reid, help me carry her up to the paramedics." He insisted. Spencer nodded and began to hoist one of my arms over Morgan’s shoulder to help carry me. "I got you, baby girl. You're safe now." He assured me. I nodded weakly as my eyelids began to fall from exhaustion.
They carried me up the stairs and helped to lay me onto the stretcher that was brought into the house. The paramedics then brought me out to the ambulance. Spencer was by my side the entire time.
The paramedics hoisted me into the ambulance and began to work on me and my injuries. It was by around now that I began to really fall asleep. Finally able to sleep without the fear of waking up to a beating.
One of the paramedics looked to Spencer as he watched Y/N as they began to prepare to head to the ER. "You coming?" He asked. "We don't have long for her."
Reid looked to Hotch, hoping to be given leave enough to be with Y/N in the ambulance. Hotch nodded. "Go on, Reid. We'll take care of it from here." He assures.
Spencer smiled at Hotch without another word. He turned around again and entered the ambulance, sitting beside Y/N as the engine started up and they began to drive away.
Spencer leaned farther and closer towards Y/N, feelings of both relief and sorrow washing over him. He had her back. She was safe. She wasn't dead. She was very much alive.
~~~
Hours later Spencer sat in the waiting room for an update on Y/N. He had been separated from her immediately once they arrived, having no news of her afterwards. Anxiety was all he knew as he dreaded what the doctors were going to say about her injuries. Just how much pain Zavier had caused her. What he did to her.
JJ, Prentiss, and Morgan all flowed into the waiting room, smiling as they found Spencer bent over with his face deep in his hands.
"Hey Reid. So… any updates?" Morgan asks, trying to give his friend some space. Spencer rubbed his face tiredly and shook his head.
"Nothing. Not since we got here." He says with a hard sigh. Emily frowned and caressed his shoulder.
"She'll be alright. We'll get the evidence we need and she'll only have some scars. I'm sure." Emily assures, giving Spencer a gentle look.
Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose but nodded. They were probably right. "Probably…" he says softly, looking around once more in hopes that the doctor would come through the door.
Each opening of the door into the actual ER got Spencer worked up. He kept thinking it was the doctor or a nurse calling him back to see her. To see Y/N. But alas, it was not. Time and time again, each and every turn of the knob wasn't for him.
JJ sighed. "I should've taken this case more seriously when it came across my desk, Reid. Especially when the girls looked like Y/N…" she apologizes, looking down at her feet in shame.
Spencer looked up and shook his head. "There was nothing you could've done that would have kept him away from her, JJ. Or prevented him seeing her. He'd already had his eye on her and-" Spencer took a deep breath. "My point being that it isn't your fault. Alright?" He promises, looking up at JJ from where he sat.
JJ sighed and crossed her arms, holding her sides uncomfortably. "I still don't like this. He literally kept her down there and his wife did nothing. This is reminding me of Janice and Cameron Hooker all over again." She groaned, looking towards the hospital entrance as Hotch and Rossi entered.
"How is she?" Hotch asks, standing next to JJ and next to where Morgan sat.
Morgan answered for Spencer in a matter of seconds. "No news yet. They still got her back in intensive care. They'll let us know when she's stable, I guess." He shrugged.
Spencer sighed again and ran another hand through his hair. Hotch noticed this and spoke up.
"How are you handling this, Reid? I can give you a few days off with her after she's out to get settled. If that'll be alright." Hotch suggested. Spencer felt unease begin to grow in his belly. He almost spoke up on it until Hotch finished his portion of the conversation. "Afterwards I plan to arrange for her to work at her desk and help Garcia. To put both of your minds at ease." Hotch assured. "We cannot have either of you constantly worrying about the other's well-being while on the job for the next few weeks."
Spencer’s uneasiness immediately faded and was replaced with a feeling of relief once more. He let a small smile find its way onto his face and nodded to Hotch's suggestion.
"Y-yeah… I think I'd like that." He says softly.
Not a moment later the door opens and a nurse begins calling for Reid. "Is there a Dr. Spencer Reid here?" The nurse calls.
Spencer rose to his feet in an instant, biting his lip anxiously. "T-that's me." He answered.
The nurse nodded. "Alright, well we just finished her surgery. She's got a few cracked ribs and one fractured one. She also has some minor damage to her spine. But other than that, just a medium concussion. She's asking for you, by the way." The nurse announces, smiling gently.
Spencer again couldn't help the smile that teased at his lips when he heard Y/N was asking for him. He followed the nurse back into the ER and towards the recovery room. His heart slightly pounded as he wandered closer and closer to Y/N.
Then, he saw her.
Laying in a hospital bed angled slightly up to support her spine, laid Y/N. She looked up at Spencer with tired eyes, smiling at him instantly.
"Spence…" she called. Spencer was glad to answer to it. He found himself placed at her side immediately, pulling her gently close so as to not damage what the doctors had fixed.
"Y/N… sweetheart…" he called in a soft whisper, kissing the nape of her neck gently. She hummed softly and held her arms limply around his neck.
"Spencer… I-I'm sorry… f-for the a-arguing. I j-just-" she began, pulling slightly away from him, although she could not find anything else she feared more.
Spencer shook his head and pulled her into a full kiss, cupping her bandaged and bruised cheeks. His thumbs gently wiped away her incoming tears and caressed her cheek lovingly. She pressed her lips against his moreso, relief flooding her senses.
She let herself collapse into his embrace and his kiss, ignoring the pain that came with moving too far forward. Spencer laid her back against the bed to prevent any more injury before he continued to kiss her gently. He'd wanted this for a week. And now he had it.
After a long moment, Y/N reluctantly pulled away from the long-overdo kiss. She let Spencer’s touch remain on her cheek as he continued to hold her. "Sweetheart, none of that matters to me anymore. You're alive. You're breathing. That's all I need right now." He says sweetly, kissing her forehead as tenderly and as gently as he could.
Y/N let out a soft giggle and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "I love you, Dr. Reid." She teased. Spencer chuckled softly in return.
"I love you too, Y/N."
#spencer x reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#criminal minds#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x reader fic#spencer reid x reader fanfiction#kidnapping
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Butterfly Blood // update 1
woo! first writing update on this WIP so far! (Finally!!). Since I don't want to include huge spoilers on this book, as I might one day end up publishing (who knows), I will be splitting these posts into chatting about my process, character development, edits etc. and then include extracts that aren't too spoilery! I think it'll be okay for the first sections of the book, especially as alot of the first few chapters is character building and imagery to set the scene, tone and atmosphere.
Also, the working title of "Bleeding Out" that I HATED with a PASSION is finally gone! My novel is now called Butterfly Blood based on a excerpt way in the future of the story. (Which I'm very excited to share c: )
I wrote the prologue after I’d finished the first chapter, to introduce the book and it’s mystery in a more captivating way than it had initially been introduced.
Frog finds himself underground in the middle of a forest with no knowledge of his surrounds, his past, or his identity. He clings to one certainty, that he is and was raised by frogs. (This book is a bit wack, just roll with it.)
As he crawls into the middle of the road, a truck starts hurtling toward him and careens off the road last minute. The driver drops down and searches for for Frog, but cannot find anyone.
There is no blood, no screaming, no mangled man wailing on the ground. Reluctantly, the driver withdraws from the dark and locks himself in the enclosed cabin of his truck, steadying his breathing.
As the exhaust sputters to life again, and tires tug against the initial friction of the gravel, the disappearance twists the driver’s thoughts.
His passenger clings with sticky tree frog palms to the trucks stomach; well-oiled organs huffing heat and fumes onto his face.
So this book actually began with a very horribly written chapter. The structure was a mess and for some reason I kept bombarding the reader with information about my main character Rowan and really pushing forward the idea that she’s an energetic person... Which was stiff and just poor writing, honestly. (Also, I've changed my ideas since about how I want to characterise her.) But out of the 3000 word (approx) start, there were salvageable aspects, and those went into the first chapter along with a lot more fleshing out of the scenes, setting and character. I also finally decided on a tense and perspective after being super inconsistent with it and unable to make my mind up.
But! We got there in the end, I just thought I’d share my struggle since writing is not a perfect process and there is a lot of rearranging, and sometimes it feels like pulling teeth.
The premise of this chapter is to set the scene of Blackerwick (a fictional, dreary british seaside town), introduce Rowan (our main character), and the complex relationship with her father, who has become insular over the past month before the story starts.
—excerpts;
A little world building and set up!
Everything about the sleepy town Rowan’s family had moved to is soaked in a distinct achromatic despondency. Inland residents slumped and slogged in their routines, never caring to change them, almost afraid of living. It had confused Rowan at first when she’d come here from Ireland at fourteen, how much the dull town contrasted its landscape. It seemed undeserving of such beauty; a tall mountain range to the left of Blackerwick, and beyond it a city; wide stretches of moors headed toward the forests, and beyond the forests—the ocean. It was as if all the world’s natural beauties had congregated here millions of years ago as the earth slid into place, waiting for settlers to enjoy it. They didn’t even seem to notice.
Fading out of view behind her, a mangle of dark rooftops mesh amongst each other, a severe contrast to the pallidly painted house fronts, and chimneys slice into the sky, puffing endlessly on their pipes.
Hot air is exhaled from the horizon, tugging striking, unruly orange hair from her heavy ponytail as it whistles past her face. She closes her eyes peacefully against the feverish winds, her clothes buffeting and pounding as if fighting it off. Grinning, she leans toward the sea, trusting its breath to hold her weight.
In the course of this chapter Rowan has had an altercation with her teacher and gotten a detention, pushed through the forests toward the beach, and now is returning home. She rouses her dad’s attention by feigning a headache, because he doesn’t bother with her unless he sees she is in pain etc. Now for some quality mild gore!
Turning, she leans in to hug him when she realises there’s blood gushing from her nose.
“Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit! Not again!” Rowan scoops shaking hands to her nose, tacky blood spilling over her fingertips. “Dad, Dad!”
He is already on it, tipping her head back into his cupped palm, holding tissues tightly to her nose. She wheezes and sputters, the world spinning as she lurches toward the sink, clinging to the draining board to keep her balance. Everything red, the four walls of the kitchen, red. Her blurring vision, red. Everything bleeding like her gums beneath grinding teeth as she bites down on the impulse to say something. She wants to scream, or throw up, head swimming as her world tilts upside down. Her skull rests in her father’s strong palm, a fleshy safety net.
Wash your mouth out with soap, ma’am.
I was considering having Rowan not swear around her father, but her mother is pretty aggressive and her dad (Karmen) swears regularly, so it doesn’t seem too outrageous anymore. (I could never, my mum would flip).
When the bleeding slows finally, and her chin closes in on her neck again she notices her father’s shirt is covered with dried, grubby gore. It looks like he is bleeding out from a deep gash notched into his chest. His heart clawed savagely from its dwelling.
Karmen being a worried dad is best dad;
“You said not again.” He says finally, as she gathers herself, filling glass after glass with water and gulping hungrily, throat tilted toward the sky.
“I’ve been getting more than usual recently.” She replies nonchalantly.
“That’s shouldn’t be normal.” He says.
Rowan shrugs, “I’ve always been prone to bleeding and bruising.” As if to defend herself or prove her case, she pulls down her jeans slightly, revealing a black contusion on her hip. It fades into swarthy purple and blue; a gradient discolouring her pale freckled skin; a deep ink blot, as if the flesh had been punctured with a fountain pen.
Her dad hisses sharply. “How did you do that? I told you not to go into those woods anymore!”
Ok! Enough blood! I really made nosebleeds overly dramatic lol.
Anywho!
the first 2000 ish words of this chapter follow Frog (he's later named Mint), and let me tell you, his perspective came so naturally, and was such an interesting world view to write in. I'm not saying i like him, but I enjoy writing him for sure.
This chapter was initially 2100 words and I intended it to be a brief introduction of mint, but I merged it with the next one because I thought they joined together nicely. The other aspects of this chapter introduce more of the friend group (honestly the only relevent characters within this group are Damian and Jamie, the rest are low-key assholes) and set up later events.
—excerpts;
Mint is wandering in the forest, and hunting.
He slinks into step with the deer as it rises, shaking his head as it shakes its placid mane. Serenity slices the air in two.
Frog strikes.
The blade almost glitters in the air as it shoots toward the limpid animal’s vulnerable throat, veins pulsing beneath frosty, translucent fur. Incorporeal beast. A surreptitious streak in the night, headfirst, embedding with a gurgle and a coarse, barbaric scream. Deer’s aren't meant to sound like this. Like a human, like something capable of feeling and hurting. Frog wriggles the blade out of its fleshy sheath and exhales into a whistle. He looks gleefully at the drowned grass damp with blood. Gushing over his squirming toes.
Its crown tumbles to the soil, antlers embedding deep into the foliage at Frogs feet. He sits beside Stag on the floor laden with pine needles--wreathing its glazed face like christ’s crown-- and strokes the un-bloodied fur of its forehead, holding its unblinking, waxy glare. Frog is the victor.
Frog/Mint is hunting! He kills a stag! Then he brutally dissects it;
Peeling away at the thick membrane enshrouding Stag's skull, with tender interest, Frog carves muscle and fat from its head, pellucid and opaline, dropping the pale crumbs of carcass onto the ground. The deer’s dense ghost is not yet cold in his crimson tinted hands.
Rowan feeling numb, because oh boy us writers like to see our characters in pain;
The water is scalding. Rowan breaks out in goose bumps. Catching her reflection in the rippling bathwater she almost doesn’t recognise herself. Flushed, pale cheeks. All sharp edges, cheekbones slicing beneath the eyes, graceful slanting nose scooping down into a slight point. Her lips protrude from her face, full and large, accommodating an easy smile. Rowan pulls her downturned lips into a small grin. The constructed happiness blurs in the water. Holding her breath, she leans into the baths hot grip, filling with her fiery hair.
The silence smudges in her ears.
I also wrote some banter-y dialogues but I think I'll share them another time... After they've been edited.... a heck ton... There's an over exaggerated smoking description in this chap too but I've shared that before heh :)
I hope you enjoyed this LONG overdue chapter update! So far there are 7 chapters, so I have a lot of updating to catch up on! :)
I don’t have a tag list at the moment, but if you’re interested in this wip and want to be on it, then please send me an ask or a comment and I’ll add you :)
Tag list, ask to be added or removed;
@alicewestwater @elaz-ivero @coffeeandcalligraphy @hanwatchingmovies @sirfitzroys @chloeswords @nev-953
#writing#writeblr#chapter update#writing update#novel update#chapter excerpt#excerpts from my writing#writing excerpt#novel excerpt#wip excerpt#wip#novel wip#novel drafting#butterfly blood
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EBTKS scene/snippet
A bunch of you guessed that my WiFi network names come from Brooklyn Nine Nine and The Wedding Singer respectively, so check below the cut for a full (short) scene from the next chapter of EBTKS
Hours pass.
A brief and heated FIFA tournament is held in the den upstairs.
A pepperoni pizza is consumed.
The sun goes down, they neck a few beers, a bottle of Balkan 176 is removed from the freezer, and at some point in the night that bottle finds itself empty, while James finds himself lying on his bed fully clothed, and with a bloodied tissue stuffed up each of his nostrils.
Sirius is on the floor somewhere, though James only knows this because he can still hear him talking.
"I don't hate change," he's saying. "That's just a myth."
James frowns at the ceiling. He's been thinking about the green paint splotches on those worn, clinging jeans, wondering how they got there, what Evans had been doing at the time, so he hasn't got a clue what Sirius is talking about.
"What?" he murmurs. "You mean like—change like coins? From a cash register?"
"No, you twat."
"Five pence pieces?"
"I'm talking about change in life."
"But you do hate that kind of change."
"I don't," says Sirius sulkily. He is lying, because wanting things to stay exactly the same forever is an integral part of his being, which is why he refuses to use brands that have ever changed names in the past. James has to go without the quilted comfort of Cushelle toilet paper because of that bastard. "I just want all of the specific things I want and I remember and I like never to change. Everything else can change, who gives a fuck? But what about Woolworths?"
"What?"
"Where the fuck did Woolworths go?"
"I've no idea what you're talking about," James admits to the ceiling.
"Thick head's filled with women, is why."
James gasps his deep offense and sits up, his tissue paper dangling from his nose. Sirius is lying on the floor beneath the window with his feet propped up against the wall. At least, James thinks he is, because he's lost his glasses somewhere and he can't make out anything clearly that's not less than six inches in front of his face. "It's not filled with women!"
"Filled."
"Half-filled!"
"Get over it. She's gone. Woolworths is gone."
"So?"
"So find something else to do," says Sirius. "No more women."
James glares at the shadow-shrouded lump on the floor that currently comprises his friend. It's all well and good for Sirius, who would rather have his scrotum waxed and pounded with a meat mallet than ever be one half of a couple. Sirius doesn't have to deal with the trials and tribulations of romance, doesn't have to date, never wastes an evening repeatedly checking his phone to see if his text has been read and returned, doesn't know how it feels to have his heart crushed like a beetle underfoot, but James knows, because James wants a wife and kids one day, and a wife and kids means dating. James is a grizzled veteran of love. Young as he is, he has been through the wars and lost. Repeatedly. To the exact same woman every time, which is what makes it all so embarrassing.
"No more women," he tentatively repeats, testing the way it sounds.
"Nothing but freedom here," Sirius seconds.
"No more women," says James again. "Done with women. First Cath and now Lily," he spits, firing the name from his lips with as much spite as he can muster, and it's sort of funny that he can say it, Lily, like she's someone who takes up space within the sphere of his existence, like there's a familiarity between them. Something or anything. Lily. Like he knows her. It's somehow very naughty to say it, like calling a teacher by their first name, but Sirius isn't going to snitch on him. He can say whatever he likes, safe in his own home where she can't get him. "They fix your boilers and you think they're not gonna break your heart but then they—'' He stifles a burp. Acid is bubbling in his stomach, sending pain shooting to the centre of his chest. "They go and break it anyway."
Sirius lets out a loud, snorting laugh. "What?"
"What?"
"But you didn't fuck the other one."
James yanks the tissue paper out of his nose. "What?"
"You didn't...pursue that Lily bint."
"Right," James agrees, frowning. "Right. I didn't. But still—"
"No but still, I don't get your point."
"Because you're drunk."
"Not as drunk as you."
"There isn't—shut up," he huffily admonishes, and Sirius starts to cackle like one of the witches in Macbeth, which is fitting, because Lily Evans is probably holed up in a gingerbread cottage somewhere, sacrificing toddlers and brewing up curses in a cauldron. James hates her and she's stupid and she wasn't really sorry, not very deep down, not in her heart of hearts.
Anyway, Lily Evans is a witch who consumes the flesh of children to maintain her youth and beauty. She has powers that make him want her. He'd never choose it. James doesn't even care what she thinks, and if his head was clamped between her thighs he wouldn't have to listen anyway.
He should have had that wank.
"It's s'posed to mean you're horny," he remarks aloud, examining the blood-soaked tissue that's clenched between his fingers.
Sirius gives up his deranged cackling so abruptly that he was clearly forcing himself to laugh to begin with. "What does?"
"Getting a nose bleed."
"Since when?"
"In manga."
"I don't fucking read manga," Sirius scornfully responds, as if he doesn't have a massive Shinigami Ryuk tattoo on his back. More lies. "So much for no more women."
"So I'm supposed to stop having a normal—" A second, more successful burp leapfrogs out of his neck. "A normal physical reaction?"
"Reaction to what?"
"To her."
"If I have to hear one more word about fucking Catherine—"
"I wasn't talking about Cath, I was—wait, shut up. Shut up." James's phone has started vibrating, so he fishes it out of his pocket. "I'm getting a call. Private number," he adds, frowning, but he swipes right and presses it to his ear anyway. "Hello?"
"Explain to me why you think it's acceptable to ignore your friend's repeated requests for the name of your plus one at her wedding!" comes a familiar, female, very angry voice.
James falls back onto his mattress and lets out an anguished groan.
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Pacify (Rami Malek Smut)
This smut was inspired by an ask I got about THAT sensuuaalll audio involving the lovely Rami Malek. Hope this doesn’t disappoint; Enjoy xx
Warning: Unprotected Sex, Swearing, and some Angst.
Word Count: 3.3k (sorry, but absolutely not sorry)
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This smut is completely based off of this audio and I high recommend you listen to it and then listen to it 10 more times prior to reading: x
Winter was still holding on to the last days of March when we had the fight.
It was our first screaming match that left both of us heated and furious with the other. We both said terrible, awful things to the other in order to prove our side of the argument and, honestly, I had never seen that side of me or Rami before, but we both had to equally share the blame because neither of us stepped in and embraced the other, instead we pierced each others hearts with our words and this ultimately resulted in Rami storming out of our front door.
He walked out without so much as a word or indication of where he was going, but, at that very moment, I didn’t even care. His spewed words had damaged me so deeply that I didn’t even sleep in our shared bed, but resorted to the sofa instead. Sure it was uncomfortable, but I, in general, felt uncomfortable and anything was better than being in a space that we had shared intimate memories in and a room that still smelled of him and had him all over the place.
Now, it has been 48 hours. Again, zero calls, zero texts...
I felt afraid.
So fucking afraid that this was it. Everything that we had built up in our relationship was being thrown out the fucking window over a fight that, now seemed so trivial. All I wanted was to be near him again and to feel him again, but I was too scared to be the first to reach out, in fear that he was still tender and reeling from our altercation.
But he was my boy and god did I want my fucking boy back.
His anger driven words had consumed me when he first spoke them, but now I knew he was saying it all out of anger and, in all honesty, none of his or my words were worth this. Worth throwing everything away.
I just miss my fucking boy.
I’d spent most of my time on the couch-eating, sleeping, crying, mentally scorning myself. I hadn’t changed out of the pajama’s I was wearing, when we had our fight, I hadn’t showered, I had barely eaten. The only thing I could muster enough strength to do is brush my teeth and get up to grab another box of tissues as I let my pain flow freely down my cheeks.
Some re-run of a comedic television show was playing on the screen as I stared mindlessly, not paying honest attention to the plot, the character, or even what the fuck the show was. All I wanted was him right now; he was the person to comfort in situations like these and to tell me everything was going to be okay and stroke my hair as I cried into his shoulder, but right now all i had was matted hair and a throw blanket stained with my tears to comfort me and it wasn’t doing a damn thing to help ease this agonizing pain and fear that I felt.
Loud thumping footsteps in the hallway immediately drew my attention. As crazy as it was, I knew the sounds of him moving and living and breathing and, yes I know, crazy, but they sounded like his movements. After a couple minutes of silence, I gave up hope that it was him, until I heard the loud noise of the front door opening and closing.
I jerked my head over in the direction and saw him standing there. His condition was similar to mine; same clothes, untamed hair, and puffy eyes stared back at me as he stood in the doorway, probably feeling the exact same way I was-cautious, yet wanting to run into each others arms.
His footsteps were loud as his loafers pattered across the hardwood floor over to our bedroom as I watched him slip off his shoes and undo his tie, flinging it on a nearby chair.
“It’s cold in here”, his voice echoed from the other room.
I cracked a pathetic excuse for a smile, if you could even call it that. He was always one to complain about how cold I liked our home to be, but without him here to complain, the temperature remained to my liking and I hated it. I wanted nothing more than for him to turn the temperature up, without my knowledge, like he always does, and then we play fight over a suitable temperature that we could both live with.
I watched him slump down into a seated position on the edge of our bed as he rubbed his temple, wincing in pain, presumably from a headache that he often got when he was very tired or very stressed.
“Do you ever feel like you’re dying inside?”, he choked out as his gaze remained fixed on the floor.
I couldn’t help but let a soft sob audibly fall from my lips as he then looked directly at me as he said those words. Those completely heart stricken words.
I knew I felt the exact same thing because Rami was a big part of my life that made it worth living and without his presence, what was the point? He was my happiness, my comforter, my confidant, my friend, and my lover through thick and thin, but right now we weren’t keeping our vows to one another. In sickness and in health can seem so literal, but sickness can also mean when anything in general just isn’t right and we weren’t right right now.
Without a word, I stood up from the couch, shifting my body a little to allow it to regain its strength and mobility that it had been stripped of during these past two days. My feet were slow and shuffling, but they moved closer and closer to our bedroom and, specifically, to Rami.
His red eyes watched my every move as I came to stand in front of him with a foots length, or maybe even less, between us. We both stood just staring at the other, taking in each others appearance and evaluating the result of this fight. I for one never, ever wanted to fight like this again; this pain was much too much to bare and the constant anxiety of thinking I had lost him for good had eaten me away for far too long for my liking, and even now, I had no idea what he was thinking, Maybe he was actually done with me and simply stopped by to tell me himself.
Just as my thoughts began to drift to the worst of outcomes, I felt his hands barely graze my fingers. He seemed so scared to touch me, like i’d flinch or flee any second or that he would wake up from this dream he was having where we were both in the presence of one another again. Thankfully, this was anything but a dream and we needed to fix this; we needed to fix us.
I took the initiative and pushed my fingers in between his and grasped his hands tightly with mine as we both continued to just look at each other, silently apologizing and pleading with the other. Mutely calling each other stupid and childish and banishing the fight from our memories so we could get back to normal again.
Without a single word I pressed my lips to his. This kiss wasn’t normal either, it was passionate, it was sorrowful, and it was lustful all wrapped into one and Rami’s hand immediately went to the back of my head, pushing our mouths even closer together as his actions let me know he felt the same and he wanted this just as much as I did.
Our tongues and lips quickly moved with one another, synchronizing perfectly , just like we always had before, as our hot, audible breath was furiously filling up the room.
I let both of my legs move to either side of Rami as I lifted myself onto the bed and straddled his waist and began to grind my hips against his groin area. His erection soon became quite noticeable as I felt it brush against my clit through his pants as I continued to rock my hips against him.
Now, Rami wasn’t usually too vocal, letting out noises of passion when necessary, but tonight he wasn’t holding back. His soft, yet heavy breathing against my mouth was making my core drip with desire to feel him inside of me..but I wanted this to be slow. I wanted to feel every inch, fuck, every centimeter he had to give me. I wanted to hear everything, taste everything; I wanted all he had to offer and I wanted it slow and good.
“Lift up your shirt.”
Instantly, I pulled away from Rami, just enough so I could lift the fabric off of my body and fling it to the floor, leaving the upper half of my body completely naked; Rami following suite as he lifted his own shirt off of his body and brought his hands to my back as he pressed my bare chest against his, also, naked chest.
Both of your hearts were beating frantically, pounding out of your chests as they thumped against one another while our kisses became much, much more desperate, almost mirroring the first time we had sex with each other. Both so nervous, desperate, turned on, and deprived of one another; we couldn’t get enough and even the slightest of movements or grabs of the others body was giving us borderline heart attacks, yet we would never stop and no fucking way was I stopping now.
As much as I didn’t want to, I climbed off of Rami’s flustered body, to which he responded with a whimper, and planted my two feet on the carpeted floor as I tucked my fingers in the elastic of my pajama pants and my panties. Slowly, I pulled the two pieces of fabric down my legs; Rami’s eyes watching my every move as if he were taking a photograph with his mind whilst I finally became fully nude in front of him.
Rami’s blue toned eyes were terrifyingly dark in this moment as he shamelessly eyed up every inch of skin that I was exposing to him and it wasn’t long before he was tugging his jeans and briefs down his legs to join me in complete naked vulnerability.
He looked glorious clothed, but god damn did he look even better with absolutely nothing covering up his glistening tan skin that was just asking me to devour every inch.
Removing my eyes from his face, I let my gaze slide down his body; it started at his thick neck and moved down to the toned chest that I’d clung on to so many times while he fucked me senseless. Next, his tight stomach..his v shaped hips..
I let my gaze flicker back up to his eyes, briefly, before I got on my knees in front of him and moved my gaze down to his, now unclothed, erection. His tip was searing hot as I lightly tapped the skin with my finger, moving the pre-cum, that had developed from his slit, around the head as Rami continued to loudly let out strangled breaths.
I continued teasing his tip with my finger, never fully touching his cock until I felt his fingers spread out against my scalp, gently raking his fingers through my hair and moving any locks covering up my face. He simply looked at me and I knew he was pleading. He wanted my lips so bad and I wanted nothing more than to make him feel good in this very moment.
My eyes remained glued to his as I took his tip in my mouth, slowly moving my tongue around the sensitive skin as Rami continued moving his hands in my hair and wincing as I gave him a hard suck and then removed him completely from my mouth.
I repeated this popping motion a couple times before moving my mouth along his cock, slowly, slowly, slowly bobbing my head along his member as he kept his eyes fully focused on me. He never once urged me to go faster, simply letting me take my time to eat him up and show him how sorry I was and how much I loved pleasing him with my mouth.
Soon, Rami’s hips began to roll with my movements, ever so often, pushing his cock gently against the inside of my cheek or further down my throat until he grabbed a hold of my arm and pulled my mouth away from him so I could come into a standing position.
My bottom lip was tugged between my teeth as I practically pounced on him, feeling our naked bodies mesh with one another while I left sloppy kisses to his sharp jawline and leaving trails of saliva as I bit and sucked on his favorite spot just below his ear, causing him to let out an equally whiny and breathy moan as his hands grasped my ass, squeezing them firmly.
In one swift movement, Rami had flipped our bodies, causing his to hover above mine as he rested between my spread legs. His lips immediately went to my breasts as he pressed loving kisses to each of them before lapping his tongue around one of the nipples. My hips bucked upwards as his erection poked into my thigh, teasing me, as Rami continued making out with each of my breasts, making each nipple feel loved and sensitive.
We both kept eye contact as Rami pulled away from my chest and pressed his erect cock into my, already soaking wet, entrance. We both winced and moaned at the contact that somehow felt so much more different this time. It was as if our bodies were saying i’m sorry where the words were failing us and with every pleasure fueled movement and loving gaze and adoring touch we were saying a perfect apology to one another.
Rami kept a slow speed, at first, as he continued moving in and outside of me, letting me feel ever vein and twitch of his cock as he pulsated against my walls. My hands flew up to his hair as I pulled his lips down to mine, feeling and hearing his hot breath against my tongue as he fucked me right.
I moved my hips up to meet his thrusts as we rocked together; his cock buried deep in my pussy as he began to speed up his thrusting movements, filling me up entirely and sending sharp tingles through my ridged walls all the way to my thighs as they lightly shook beneath him.
I adored missionary with Rami, he made the simple position so pleasurable, but right now I wanted nothing more then to sink into him and let me do all the work and him enjoy what I had to offer him.
I removed my hands, which were raking down his back and pushing his lower body deeper into me, away from his body as I pressed my both of my hands against his chest, making his movements stop.
He looked so confused and so sad, I almost drew my hands away and let him keep continuing until we were both cumming with each other, but I wanted to make him feel and let him lay there, in completely relaxation and pleasure as I made him feel so, so good.
My hands forced Rami down onto his back as I climbed on top of him, straddling his waist and letting myself hover over him as I brought my lips to his and we kissed; simply just kissed and relished in our love and who we had both become while loving each other and growing with each other.
In desperation, Rami started moving his hips, forcing the tip of his cock to tap my clit and I knew I couldn’t deny him this pleasure anymore and I, also, didn’t want to. Whatever he needed, I wanted to be the one to give it to him.
Gripping his shaft in my hand, I lowered myself onto him as he went even deeper inside of me, making me feel every pleasurable inch he had to offer, all the while, Rami took in a sharp and silent breath, making the room quiet, for the first time since we started making love, then let out a loud audible groan as I started grinding my hips against him.
My hand on Rami’s chest held me up and assisted me in keeping a neither slow, nor fast, but medium pace as his hands came to rest on my hips, helping guide my movements as his stuttered breath continued to make me ache even more just from the noises he was making.
Rami continued guiding my hips against his, perfectly assisting my body to move so I was fully feeling the sensation of him inside of me as well as the brief friction my clit was getting from gliding across his body. I kept my eyes fixed on him; adoring the sweaty man with a creased forehead as he tried to hold in the orgasm I could tell he was desperately trying to put off until I came. He always wanted me to cum first, always.
As he tucked his bottom lip in between his teeth, his quiet ‘mmm’ sounding groans hummed throughout the room as he watched the space where our bodies were deeply connected and working with the other in a perfect mechanic motion.
My orgasm was bubbling and I was in much too needy of a spot to be slow or averaged pace right now as I sped up my movements and began furiously grinding my hips as Rami started moving his own hips, thrusting upwards hitting the most euphoric spot. It didn’t take long for me to be mixing ‘oh fuck’ and ‘rami’ as I felt my orgasm crash into my body with full force. I briefly closed my eyes during my orgasm, but when I opened them back up Rami was staring directly at me, a half smile on his lips as his teeth still kept his bottom lip tucked in.
I slowed my grinding movements, earning a whimper from Rami, but only to catch my breath for a moment before I moved slowly upwards with Rami still inside of me and then slid my wet pussy back down his shaft.
He immediately responded by rolling his head back against the pillow and letting a ‘mmmm’ and ‘ooo’ sounding moan rip from his lips at a loud volume. I smiled, admiring the mess I was making of him and bounced on his dick at a fast pace; knowing he was close to orgasm, I didn’t want to tease him any more than he had done so to himself by holding in his own orgasm.
He let out one last breathy moan before he shot his load inside of me, furiously thrusting his hips up to meet my bouncing movement as he rode out his high by burying himself as deep inside of me as he could.
I watched as his once heaving chest attempted to return back to normal pace as he opened his eyes to look at me. We were both smile at each other and I giggled as he dramatically let out a satisfied and spent, breathy ‘ohh’.
We didn’t say anything words. No ‘thank you’s’ or ‘holy fuck’s’, we just used our intertwined bodies to speak for us as Rami would occasionally press a kiss to my sweaty forehead and I would grasped his hand in mine and press a kiss to each knuckle.
This was the best apology we had ever expressed to one another and it wasn’t even with our words, but with our bodies.
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Tag: @oxuminaa @hazeleyedbeth @runawayxwithme @rami-sunflower-malek @deacytits @killerqueenofthenight @amcquivey @rami-malek-trash
#rami malek#rami malek smut#rami malek x reader#rami malek imagine#rami malek one shot#rami malek fic#the pacific#borhap#merriell shelton#snafu shelton#ahkmenrah#elliot alderson#mr robot
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Presents | Shawn Mendes Christmas Fluff
Pairing: Shawn Mendes x Y/N
Word Count: 2,100 +
It’s been 4 months since Y/N and Shawn broke up. Due to Shawn’s busy tour schedule and Y/N’s was busy with her senior year of college, they never had time for each other. Before the breakup, they had been dating for almost 2 years. And it turned out to be a mutual decision that they both regret making. Both of them still talk at least once a week, trying their best to remain best friends. She even went to his concert in Toronto about a month after they broke up. But now it’s the holiday season and they are wishing that were spending it together. This year it was Y/N’s turn to host the holiday party, so she invited all of their friends, including Shawn.
Shawn arrived before anyone else did, showing up a half hour early. He knocked on the door as Y/N was taking cookies out of the oven.
“It’s open!” She shouts from the kitchen.
Shawn could barely hear her through the door, but walks in anyways. He closes the door behind him and puts his jacket on the rack. He removes his shoes and walks into the kitchen to find Y/N. He is holding a couple presents in his hands, hers included.
“Hey,” he says quietly, noticing she is still busy getting ready. The kitchen is filled with food. The dining table is set for 8 people, and Shawn notices that she is using her festive table decorations. He sets the gifts down on the table against the wall.
“Hi, you’re a bit early,” she chuckles while placing the warm cookies onto the cooling rack, then puts the hot tray in the sink.
“Yeah, hope that’s okay...I can help out if you need it” Shawn slightly stutters, barely keeping eye contact.
“Sure. Can you plug in the Christmas lights in the living room and dim the rest of the lights? Oh and, make sure there are hand towels in the bathroom? Please…”
“Of course, I’ll take care of all that.” Shawn answers and walks towards the living room.
Y/N takes this opportunity to rush upstairs to her room to change. Once she has her casual/dressy outfit on, she checks herself in the mirror to make sure her makeup and hair is okay from earlier. Knowing her other friends would be arriving soon, she returns downstairs to check on Shawn. He sees her coming down the stairs and smiles at her.
“You look great, Y/N” Shawn grins.
“Thank you, you don’t look too bad yourself.” Y/N smiles back at him.
“Thanks. Everything in the living room is all set. I put all the gifts near the tree and made sure there is a hand towel in the bathroom.” Shawn informs her as they walk towards the kitchen. Y/N grabs a decorative plate from the cabinet and begins to place the cookies on it.
“So how did your final exams go? You only have one semester left right?” Shawn asks while helping her move the cookies over.
“Not as bad as I thought. I feel like I had way too much time on my hands, so I studied a lot. And yeah, only one semester left of college. Then I’ll have my degree.” She says looking down at the cookies, arranging them on the plate.
“That’s great, I’m happy for you. I hope your last semester goes well too.”
“Thank you” Y/N walks to the wine rack to grab a bottle. She knew which kind was Shawn’s favorite, so she grabs it on purpose. She even had another bottle of it stashed away so they might have some to share again. Y/N gives the bottle of wine and an opener to Shawn. Meanwhile she grabs some wine glasses for them. Remembering at the last second to grab a few more glasses for their friends, and placing those on the counter too.
“How did the New Year’s Eve recording go?” She continues as Shawn opens the wine bottle.
“It was exciting. Probably not as exciting as it would be if it was live, but at least I get to spend New Year’s Eve with friends instead of backstage with a bunch of strangers,” he explains.
Y/N chuckles a bit at the last part he said. He pours their wine and wedges the cork back in the bottle. Sliding her glass across the counter to her.
“I wish that you had been there to see it.” Shawn whispers, not looking at her. He’s even more nervous around her than he had been when they had first started dating. Mostly because he doesn’t want her to be uncomfortable around him.
“I wish I was there too, but ---” Y/N is cut off by the doorbell ringing. She nods to Shawn answer it, so he walks to the door to let their friends in. Y/N follows behind him slowly, hugging her friends after they greet Shawn. Eventually they all move to the dining room.
Throughout dinner, Y/N and Shawn stole glances at each other. They sat diagonally from each other, but everyone knew they could cut the tension with a knife. By 8:30 pm everyone is ready to open presents. So they all headed to the living room, sporadically placed around the room. Shawn sat on the couch next to Brian, while Y/N was sitting on the loveseat next to her best friend, Jess. Shawn looks at Y/N every few minutes, still wondering what she was going to say to him earlier before their friends arrived.
Everyone had placed their secret santa gift around the tree. Neither Shawn or Y/N got each other in secret santa, but they had gotten each other presents to give to the other later that night. After opening presents, the group decided to watch a classic Christmas movie, “Elf.” Almost all of the wine and beer had was drunk by the group, meaning everyone was a bit tipsy.
When Shawn gets up to grab another beer, Jess pulls her aside and whispers, “are you and Shawn okay? I know you aren’t angry with each other and it’s been a while since the break up, but you’ve been staring at each other all night.”
“Everything is fine,” Y/N whispers back to her. “Nothing is going on between us, everyone here knows that.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem that way. It seems like you still feel the same as you did the last time. Like you still want to be with him again,” Jess questions her.
“Jess, this isn’t up for discussion right now. Shawn and I already decided what is best for us months ago. Now hush, and watch the movie.” Y/N starts getting frustrated. Thinking about Shawn the whole duration of the movie, not even paying attention. Shawn sits closer to her during the movie, he almost tried to hold her hand at one point.
Once the movie is over, it’s about 11:00 pm. Jess had offered to stay and help Y/N clean up, but Shawn already told her he would. Of course all of their friends gave them a wink before leaving for the night. Y/N brought some empty glasses back into the kitchen when she remembered Shawn’s gift. He is somewhere in the house cleaning up, so she calls him.
“Shawn?” She shouted, standing by the kitchen sink.
“Yeah Y/N?” He replied from what sounded like the bathroom.
“Can you come here for a second? I have something for you.”
Her heart started to pound as he replied a quick “sure,” and heard his footsteps coming into the kitchen. She grabs his gift that she had hidden in the cabinet. Holding it in her hands for a few moments before giving it to him. He sits down in one of the island chairs across from her. While carefully undoing the wrapping paper, Shawn tells her “you didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I know, but when I thought of it I had to get it for you,” Y/N reasons with him.
Shawn removes the wrapping paper to reveal a black box. He opens it to see a large, blue guitar pick made of glass, with white cursive lettering. It’s about the size of his hand and comes with a stand to mount it on a shelf or desk. There is a song lyric engraved in it, Shawn immediately noticing it as his own lyric, ‘You Can’t Take My Youth Away.’ Shawn looks up at Y/N, with a huge smile on his face.
“This is beautiful, thank you so much,” Shawn stands up, moving toward her, still holding his gift.
“You’re welcome,” Y/N grins. “Did you see what’s under it?”
He looks back in the box, under a layer of tissue paper is a bunch of small white guitar picks with the same engraving, but in navy blue. She knows that Shawn goes through a lot of guitar picks every day, so she wanted to give him a lot of picks that he could use. The larger one to put on a shelf in his bedroom or living room.
“Oh my god, Y/N! This is great, I love it.” He responds while going in for a hug. He holds her just a bit longer than normal, just to hold her again. He pulls away and gently puts the glass guitar pick, back in the box, on top of the regular picks. He moves toward the hallway, “I got you something too.” He disappears to retrieve her gift from his coat. He returns in a few seconds, Y/N moves to the seat next to his at the counter.
“You didn’t have to,” Y/N chuckles. “I know you told Matt what to get me for secret santa.”
Shawn laughs nervously, “to be fair, he almost bought you a really ugly sweater. So I think I was helping.” He hands her a poorly wrapped box.
Y/N chuckles at the thought of Matt buying her an ugly sweater and then going to Shawn for help. She ended up getting a couple makeup palettes. She removes the wrapping paper to reveal a white jewelry box. When she opens it, her jaw drops. It is a beautiful set of pearl earrings and matching necklace. She instantly remembers when she left behind her grandmother’s pearl earrings and necklace at a hotel, while on tour with Shawn. By the time she realized, it was 2 weeks later. The hotel staff said that they searched the whole room to find the set, but it was gone, someone had already stolen them from the room.
Her eyes start to water, as she stared at the small box. Shawn stands beside her nervously, worrying that she doesn’t like it. Y/N sets the box down on the counter, next to Shawn’s gift. She stands and pulls him into a tight hug. Her arms are around his neck, while his arms wrap completely around her waist, their faces are buried in each others necks. Y/N lets out a few tears, Shawn feeling them against his skin, but he doesn’t care. Shawn remembered how upset Y/N was when she lost her grandmother's pearls. This necklace was clearly his way of saying ‘I still love you.’
“Thank you,” Y/N sobs into his neck. They haven’t let go of each other, Shawn slightly swaying them. “I love it….I love it so much”
“You deserve them, I tried to get them to look like your Grandmother’s, but--” Shawn starts but Y/N cuts him off with a kiss. Her hands pulls his face closer to hers, even though they couldn’t be any closer. At first Shawn is taken aback, not daring to open his eyes thinking it’s a dream he doesn’t want to wake from. After a few seconds, Shawn lifts her body and places her on the counter, next to the gifts. Her legs latch around his torso as his hands, comb through her hair and grasp the back of her neck. The kisses don’t become too heated, they are meant to make up for the time they spent apart. Just holding and kissing each other again feels like home.
Shawn is the first to pull away. “I miss you….I miss this. Can you...can you please be mine again --” He begs while trying to catch his breath.
Y/N smiles and nods furiously, “yes.” She kisses Shawn again. “I missed you too. I never stopped wanting to be with you.”
“Me too,” Shawn grins back at her. They both smile and continue to kiss. Shawn lifts her off the counter and carries her to the living room, plopping down on the couch, with her now on his lap. Needless to say, they had a lot to make up for.
#shawn mendes#shawn mendes imagine#shawn mendes smut#shawn mendes fanfiction#shawn mendes au#shawn mendes fluff#shawn mendes angst#shawn mendes x y/n#shawn mendes x reader
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Harry takes care of his sick girlfriend
A/N: for @ofpeppermintbay :) 1.5k of fluff about Ellie being embarrassed that she’s sick in front of her new boyfriend
As far as I was concerned, there wasn’t anything worse than the flu. Ask me three days ago, and I would have told you that rush hour traffic, obnoxious co-workers, and ferris wheels were up there with terrible things. But now, with my head spinning and my body constantly switching from hot to cold with no warning, the flu had definitely taken the number one spot on that list.
I opened my eyes momentarily, letting my hand reach around on the couch for the remote. If I were going to die here in the living room of my flat, at least it would be with some dignity and the sweet sound of netflix as background noise.
“Ellie?” I heard his voice as the doorknob turned. Harry--my boyfriend of just about two months--was certainly in for a surprise when he took a good look at me. I sat up quickly, a rush to my head made me lay back down as he made his way towards the couch. “Baby, you look terrible,” he said, a grimace on his face as he took in the sight.
There were tissues on the floor, DayQuil on the end table, and just about six blankets strewn over my near lifeless body.
Harry and I had met through mutual friends, and after a night at an adult arcade with endless rounds of gin and tonics, I was pretty smitten. He lived four blocks away from me, and while he had a spare key to my apartment because he one time watered my plants when I went to my mum’s for the weekend, he’d never just shown up like this.
We’d had our first fight, we’d had our first make up, but we had not yet seen each other groggy and dazed from cough medicine. While a part of me was grateful for his presence (if only so he could call an ambulance when I inevitably croaked), I was also extremely embarrassed about the state of my flat.
Dishes in the sink, a dirty pot on the stove, my bed unmade from feeling like complete shit for the last two days. I don’t think he’d ever seen so much as a sock on my floor.
“Thanks,” I mumbled out, sarcasm intended. “I feel fantastic.” He let out a quiet laugh and sat on the edge of the couch. His face, which was marked with concern and care, felt too close for comfort. I probably reeked of sweat thanks to the fever that couldn’t make up its mind, and I probably had a puffy face and red nose from all the tissues.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were this poorly?” He muttered, his hand coming to cup my cheek. His hands were cool from the winter, providing much needed relief for my hot face.
Why didn’t I tell him? Well--there were a few reasons, really. For one, while I hadn’t been dating Harry very long, I’d definitely learned that he was the type of guy to overreact. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but if I told him that I had a fever or the chills or any type of illness, I wouldn’t have put it past him to show up unannounced (like this), but likely with a medical team or soup or strap me into his car to take me to the doctor.
Secondly, I hadn’t been dating Harry that long, and so having him see me in this type of state was definitely not too high up on my list of ways to impress him or make him fall in love with me.
But, of course, I wasn’t going to say all of that--nor did I have the energy to utter more than a few words at a time. “I’m okay,” I told him, forcing a small smile on my face, which only seemed to make my entire body hurt more.
“Ellie,” he said, a sigh escaping his lips as he stood from the couch. I didn’t reply, instead, I just watched as he removed his wool coat and the scarf that was around his neck. He tossed it to the armchair beside us and moved my legs to position himself seated beneath me.
“What are you doing? Don’t you have plans with Alex tonight?”
He ignored my question as he fixed the blankets, making sure the covered me completely, up to my neck and down to my toes. He tucked them in on the sides and smoothed out any wrinkles, looking over me once before deciding he’d done a good job. “No,” he said, “I’ve got plans with you.”
“I’m sick,” I reminded him, unsure of what he meant.
“I’m aware,” he nodded, a smirk crossing over his lips as he reached for the remote on the coffee table, flipping back to the home screen of netflix. “But I’m obviously not going to leave you here to deal with this on your own.”
He wasn’t even looking at me--his eyes were on the TV as he searched for something to watch. And what got me was that he said it so matter-of-factly--like there wasn’t anything else he’d rather do than sit with me on the couch and watch a movie while I tried to take enough medicine to stop my head from pounding.
He’d been like this from the day I met him--kind and caring and sweet. Willing to go out of his way for someone if it meant that they’d feel better.
“Documentary or comedian special?” He asked, his eyes still on the screen as I stared up at him lovingly.
**
“Okay,” he came out of the bathroom and had the box in his hands. He stared down at the tiny print as I pushed myself up on the couch. It’d been four whole hours since he arrived, and I’d yet to feel any better despite the most recent dose of DayQuil. “I think you can take two of these on top of it,” he said.
I swallowed and rubbed at my eyes. The last thing I wanted to do was take more medicine, but if it meant I’d maybe feel a bit better, I was willing to try it.
Harry made his way back towards me in the living room, still looking over the box. When he got back to the couch, he looked at me and offered a smile. “Want a glass of water?”
I nodded pathetically, not bothering to hide the frown on my face. I didn’t get sick often--I barely ever caught a cold and I never even needed Advil. So this was something new entirely. Having Harry here to monitor and administer my meds felt somewhat relieving.
He tossed the box to me, it landed on my lap as he headed towards the kitchen to fetch me a clean glass. He’d already done the dishes I’d left from the night before and he went to the pharmacy down the street to get some gatorade and soup.
“Alright,” he cooed, reappearing with a tall glass of water and a smile on his face. “You have to drink at least half of this.”
“Why?” I asked, taking it from him carefully so as to not spill the liquid. I set it on the end table as he reached for the box to take out the correct dose.
“Keep your fluids up,” he said with a shrug, obviously. “The more hydrated you are the better your body will work.”
I let out a short laugh, “okay, Dr. Harry.”
“Sarcasm is a good sign,” he leaned forward to kiss my forehead, extending his arm to give me the two pills in his hand. “Means you’re healing.”
I rolled my eyes, plopping one pill in my mouth and taking a swig of water. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
He furrowed his brows at me, a serious look coming over his face. “Maybe Dr. Harry could do something else to make you feel better,” he said.
I had to squeeze my lips together to not expel my second sip of water directly into his face. He let out a hearty laugh and shrugged. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”
“You can when I’m sick!” I defended. He licked at his lips and turned his head back to the telly--we’d been in the middle of a show when I complained that my head was still throbbing. I let it go, mostly because I didn’t have the energy to bicker, but also because I was feeling slightly better.
I don���t think it was the medicine, I think it was just Harry.
#harry styles blurb#harry styles imagine#harry styles fluff#harry styles concept#harry styles fanfic#harry styles story#harry styles one shot#harry styles drabble#harry styles fiction#harry styles writing#harry styles#harry styles girlfriend#harry styles takes care of sick girlfriend
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Let Me Be Your Lover Boy(Part 7)
BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader
Summary: When an undesirable meeting with Roger Taylor knocks you off your feet, the drummer will do anything to get you to fall for him.
(A/N) SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT! I’m not exactly sure how to feel about this chapter tbh I wasn’t really inspired at all and have had horrible writers block. I’m planning on the next chapter being the end so we almost there haha. Here’s to hoping my writer’s block goes away.
Warnings: swearing, references to sex
Get Caught Up! Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
Masterlist
“She’s never late.” Deaky states, stomach growling at the banana nut muffin in front of him, waiting to be digested. “Should we go see if she’s awake? We did get back pretty late last night.”
Brian puts down his tea cup and scoots forward on his chair, about to push off to go get you from your room. But Freddie launches up before him, hand on his chest to hold him down.
“I’ll go get her.” He says enthusiastically. He was putting up a front, he heard it all the night before, for his room was next door to yours. He barely slept from hearing yours and Roger’s moans. Knowing Roger for years, Freddie has overheard his conquests on tours more than not. But this time, it sounded different. He couldn’t place it in his mind.
Freddie felt the other side of the wall pound with every shake of the bed. Inches separating you from the singer. This means he also heard the argument. The cries from deep in your throat as you rejected Roger, breaking his heart. Freddie can recall the shake of the room with the powerful slam of the door, followed by heavy quick footsteps trailing down the hall, far away from the room he knew Roger was supposed to be occupying.
For hours after, all Freddie could hear from his bed was your muffled cries, hours of cries. Each yell of bastard, asshole, dickhead coming from deep in your soul. It wasn’t his place to intrude at the time, but you not showing up for breakfast as you always do was the final straw.
Without another word to Brian or John, he exits the dining room in a haste, ready to finally confront you about Roger.
Frantic knocking on the door jolts your eyes open. Your eyelids peel apart, crust poking the corners. Your back screams in pain as you struggle to sit up from the floor, where you had crumpled down a few hours ago knees pinned to your chest when you couldn’t manage to hold yourself up anymore. Flashes of the argument have been repeating in your mind all night.
Minutes after Roger stormed out of your room, you regretted every word out of your mouth. The truth is, you don’t know what you want. You didn’t know during the fight, all that was coming out of your mouth was panicked words, afraid of the world. Afraid of someone growing close to you in any way. You haven’t had a group of people you’ve grown so close to so fast, the fear of losing that was deafening in your head at that moment. Roger didn’t understand that though, not that you explained it well at all.
The knocking didn’t stop. You crouch up onto your knees, aching as you make your way onto your feet, using your bed as support. Each knock from the other side of the door throws your mind back, the steady bumping of your bed against your wall as you rode Roger, taking him in fully. Faster and faster until you screamed his name in ecstasy. Soon after, screaming his name in anger.
You shuffle your feet along the carpet, stepping on your array of crumpled tissues that stick to your feet, not bothering to remove them. Without looking through the peephole, you crack the door open. Before you even peak around the door, a hand grasps the edge, pushing it far open.
Freddie stands there, a concerned look on his face. His mind void of anything but you, standing in front of him, hunched over, arms wrapped around your stomach, grasping your shirt for dear life. Freddie pulls you into his arms upon peering at your puffy raw face. “Darling, tell me everything.”
You break into a dry sob, your body shakes in Freddie’s arms, which wrap around your shoulders even harder. He strokes your matted hair with his hand, shushing you gently. No tears left your eyes, so you stand there, gasping for breaths. Listening to Freddie’s hushes and feeling his breathing you attempt to match it.
“I fucked up.” Is all you can choke out, between deep gasps for breaths.
“If I’m being honest, I think you both fucked up.” Freddie admits. You knew he was right.
You move your hands to Freddie’s chest, pushing off him to stand on your own two feet. “What?”
“I heard everything.” He nods his head to the wall your bed rests against. “Thin walls.” He gives a small smile, letting you know you can be open with him. He won’t leave your side.
Stepping to the side you sit yourself onto the bed, sheets still thrown about from your sex with Roger. Freddie immediately follows suit, placing his hand on top of yours on your lap.
“I don’t want to lose you…or Brian or Deaks.” You say quietly, staring at your toes, “or my job, or my privacy.” Each phrase comes out quicker and louder.
“Woah, woah, slow down, dear.” Freddie squeezes your hand. “Do you really think you’d lose any of that with Roger?”
You shrug your shoulders, unknowing if your beliefs are true or if your mind is thinking in overdrive.
Freddie breaks the silence, whispering soulfully, “He would never allow that. We would never allow that.” Freddie thinks for a moment, you turn to him, waiting for more consolation. His deep brown eyes stare into yours and he brings his face close, “Roger wants the world for you, he would do anything to make you comfortable.”
“I thought this was all a big secret.” You say, giving a small laugh at the ridiculous thought.
Freddie gives a hearty laugh, bringing his arm around your shoulders and squeezing you in close. “(Y/N), he has been drooling over you since he laid eyes on you in that alley. I’m surprised you fell for the bastard yourself,” he jokes.
“It was a mistake, I shouldn’t have jeopardized what I have with the band.” You shake your head in frustration.
“I know you probably don’t want my opinion but I’m going to say it anyway. You didn’t. If you want to screw Roger go ahead. It won’t change our feelings towards you. Hell, it’ll even make Roger happy.” He pauses. “You know, he’s changed since you’ve been around. Good change.” He adds.
You nod your head, taking to heart what Freddie said. “Freddie, I think I need to stay here and think today, is that alright?” You don’t have many plans today except some outing with the band, but you think seeing Roger this soon will only end badly. You need time to figure out what you want, how you feel, and what to say to him.
“Of course. I will check up on you later.” Freddie kisses your temple and heads towards the door. Glancing to the side he noticed your jacket, the hole uncovered and much larger than before. Freddie turns back to you, “I’ll fix that when we get home, with a color that doesn’t remind you of Roger this time.”
Shaking your head in disbelief with a small smile, he bloody knew the entire time.
---
Moments after Freddie left the room in a hast, Deaky reaches out for his muffin, taking a large bite out of it. Brian rolls his eyes at his actions.
“They’ll be a while he has to go all the way upstairs and I’m starving!” Deaky defends, small bits of the muffin falling from his lips and onto his pants.
Brian shrugs and goes to grab one as well but is interrupted by the harsh opening of the door. Brian and John snap their necks to see Roger, heavy stepping and wobbling towards them, an empty stare on his face. They notice his eyes, dark and heavy, clear signs he hadn’t slept nor had a good night.
“What the hell happened to you?” Brian asks, more joking than concerned, ready for a crazy story.
“Shut the hell up.” Roger spits out, eyes black as he stared daggers at Brian, who sat back, tight lipped and embarrassed.
Roger plops down onto the chair across from them, laying back arms across his chest, staring at the ceiling. John leans forward, concerned. “Roger, what happened after the concert last night?” His voice anxious.
Roger lets out a large exhale, staying silent otherwise.
Brian pipes up again. “Roger, we know something isn’t alright, we aren’t idiots.”
“I am though,” Roger yells out, bringing his hands up to his face. “I fucked up, big time.”
Deaky and Brian share a look, scooching to the edge of their seats. Leaning in to hear about Roger’s mistakes, as he usually excels at executing his plans.
Roger sits forward to match them, staring at the ground. “I got with (Y/N) last night before the concert.” He speaks, interrupted by John’s comment of
“That’s why your shirt was miraculously gone in a short time.” He teases, knowing full well it was noticed.
Brian chimes in with more teasing, “Yeah and the bloody enormous grin on his face. That and his tempo was off half the time.”
Roger just shakes his head, heart too heavy to join in on the banter. “Anyways…” he says a little annoyed, “It happened again last night.” He takes a long pause, “but after…I said I wanted to tell you all and for her to be mine. She didn’t take it well.” Roger racks his brain of the reasons you gave him, none of them being good enough excuses to him.
“Rog, I’m sorry.” John states sympathetically.
“Maybe she was tired and didn’t mean it,” Brian tries to reason. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”
Roger stares up from the floor finally and into the concerned and caring faces of his bandmates.
Brian continues, “The night you met, you passed out in the van. Even though she was pissed off at you, she gawked at you in the van, it was like she saw a freaking god.” Roger lets out a small smile, thinking about how he wanted to worship you, rather than you him.
Deaky chimes in immediately after Brian, “or the dopey in love look on her face when she sniffed those flowers you got her.”
Brian gives another point, “The way she hugged you after the show. We all saw it. She looked like she was on a cloud, the smile she had was unlike I’ve seen before, from anyone. Hell, even from John’s wife!”
“Hey!” Deaky grunts. Roger gives a small smile, thinking about your beautiful face and the particular way your lips curled up when he walked into the room. Or the subtle eye roll you’d do at any of his poorly times jokes. Or your eyes gleaming and watching into his so intently any time he got lost in talking about music.
“Give her a chance to cool off. An initial reaction isn’t always the reaction they mean. It’s a panic, “Brian reasons.
Roger nods his head. “Will you guys help me with showing her how much I love her?” Roger asks quietly, thinking he has never said his feelings out loud before.
John and Brian’s mouth grows into an extra-large smile, “If it’s love then of course we will.”
Roger leans back again, rubbing his eyes hard with the palms of his hands. His brain starts running, knowing the next time he will see you, he will either be greeted one of two ways, with love or with hate.
Taglist @emmadarling20 @sunnnymercury @roger-taylor-stole-my-heart @blissfully-queen @anita-e-taylor @mrs-rogertaylor @emma-worthington @jennycidesstuff @rogerswig @roger-taylor-owns-my-wigg @perriwiinkle
#ben hardy#roger taylor#ben hardy!roger taylor#borhap!roger taylor#roger taylor x reader#borhap#bohemian rhapsody#queen#queen band#queen fic#borhap!roger taylor x reader
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Deserve It // Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes
word count: 1,718
pairing: stucky x sick!reader
warnings: sickness, language
summary: it’s your luck that both steve and bucky are gone when your immune system decides to fail you
a/n: i’m so far up stucky’s ass right now it isn’t funny
masterlist
ask me stuff
--
It was quite the minor inconvenience that you managed to get sick only a day after Steve and Bucky were called away for a mission. You didn’t think it was possible to feel this ill, especially with your better-than-normal immune system. You were almost positive this was what death felt like.
Tissues littered your Bucky’s bedroom since you couldn’t bring yourself to get up and throw them away. You didn’t even know if your legs would hold you up at this point. Your head hurt to the point where you were begging it to blow up so you wouldn’t have to endure this torture for much longer.
“Miss? I’m detecting levels of discomfort from your room. Would you like me to call for someone?”
You groaned loudly at the volume of FRIDAY’s voice. Even though she was barely audible to any other ear, it sounded like she had been screaming in yours.
You curled closer to the pillows you had barricaded yourself in, begging your body to just let you sleep the sickness off. It was ten times worse that your super soldiers couldn’t be here to cuddle you back to health. It wasn’t a secret that you were clingy when illness took over. Steve and Bucky happened to love it, even though they hated seeing you suffer through it. It was an outlet for them to get out of meetings and spend more time with you.
“Y/N? Are you okay? FRIDAY told me you were sick.” Wanda was careful enough to keep her voice low and the lights off as she entered your room. “Do you need anything?”
You sighed and pushed yourself out of your fort of pillows to look at your friend. “I feel like death,” You mumbled before breaking out into a coughing fit.
“Have you taken any medicine?” She frowned at the sight of your weak form tangled up in your boyfriend’s sheets.
You shook your head, instantly regretting it with the rush of nausea that overwhelmed you. Your finger pointed blindly towards the cabinets across Bucky’s large room. “I can’t reach it. Steve put it up too high.”
Wanda smiled softly at the notion. Of course, Steve would put things on the top shelf. It was evident that both he and Bucky loved the fact that you would have to come to them when you wanted something down.
While you curled back into your mass of sheets, Wanda pulled the cabinet door open. Once her eyes landed on the box, the familiar red hue of her powers wrapped around the box and brought it directly to her hands. She closed the door and made her way back to you as she shifted through all the medicine in the container.
“FRIDAY, what are we dealing with?” The witch asked as she climbed up on the bed next to you. The amount of bottles that she had to choose from was overwhelming and the last thing she wanted to do was give you the wrong one.
“It would appear to me that Miss Y/L/N is relaying symptoms of a respiratory infection. I believe it’s referred to as the flu.”
You groaned again beneath the piles of blankets. “It’s just a cold.”
“Miss, you are running quite a high temperature for a normal human. In addition to that, you’ve been experiencing the chills, coughing, and constant headaches for the past few hours. I may not be completely correct but I suggest you ask Doctor Banner for his assistance once he returns.”
“Until then, medicine!” Wanda shoved two painkillers in your hand. “I’m going to get you some water. If it is the flu, the best thing to do is rest and drink plenty of fluids.”
You shoved the pills in your mouth and swallowed them dry despite her disappointed look. “Since when do you know how to treat the flu?”
“Captain Rogers had a feeling he would be gone when you got sick and made sure I would be prepared to take on the challenge.”
You rolled your eyes as she exited the room in search of a drink for you. Wanda was a blessing for you since the moment you joined the team. She had that little bit of innocence that you shared but both of you were more than capable of kicking ass if you needed.
Down in the kitchen, the Maximoff grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge before throwing together some chicken noodle soup. She made sure to exactly follow the recipe that Steve taped on the inside of the cabinet door.
“The team is approaching, Miss Maximoff. Would you like me to inform Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes of Miss Y/L/N’s condition?”
Wanda smiled to herself and poured the soup into a bowl. “No, thank you, FRIDAY. I have a feeling they’ll be finding me first.”
Sure enough, it didn’t take long for the two super soldiers to notice that you didn’t welcome them the moment they stepped off the jet. It was a habit at this point. Whenever one of you had a mission, the others would be there to greet them when they returned.
“Wanda?” Steve’s voice was loud enough to fill the entire floor.
“In here,” She called back knowingly as she placed a spoon in the bowl. The pounding of two sets of footsteps was unmistakable as the two men made their way towards her.
Steve’s eyes searched the room as soon as Wanda came into view. Part of him was hoping that the two of you had lost time with each other but as soon as he saw you weren’t there, his heart sank.
“Where’s Y/N?” Bucky voiced Steve’s concerns. He already had a feeling of where you were but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. There were only two reasons you wouldn’t show to greet them: you were dead, which he knew wasn’t true, or you were sick.
Wanda smirked and handed him the water bottles before putting the bowl of soup in Steve’s grasp. “I think you’ll know where to find her.”
Bucky took off first, his pace much quicker because he thankfully didn’t have a bowl of soup to worry about. He didn’t even bother to glance in your room. He already knew you’d be bundled up in his bed. It was where you always went when you were sick.
“Doll?” He opened the door slowly to keep from startling you. His eyes caught sight of his Captain America blanket bunched up over your form, various pillows barricading you in.
“Buck?” You whispered as you forced yourself to sit up to see one of your boyfriends in the doorway. “What are you doing back?”
The soldier ignored your question as he set the bottles of water on the nightstand before climbing into bed. He pushed many of the pillows and blankets to the floor before resting against the headboard with you between his legs, your back flush against his chest.
“What’s wrong, babydoll?” He hummed as he pulled your tangled hair into a ponytail to keep it off your neck. “You’re burning up.”
You hummed quietly, unconsciously leaning closer to his metal arm for the cooler temperature. “‘M fine, Buck. Just a bit sick.”
“A bit?” Steve joined you in the room now, holding the soup in his hands still. “You have the flu, babydoll.”
You groaned and opened your eyes as he sat in front of you and Bucky. “It’ll go ‘way soon. Jus’ lemme sleep.” Your eyes fought to stay open. It was as if since your boys had returned, your body deemed it safe enough to sleep in peace.
“Wanda said you haven’t eaten all day. You need to eat some soup and then we can cuddle and sleep all you want.” Steve pulled the remaining blankets from your frame in an attempt to cool you off.
You sighed and turned to face him completely. Bucky’s hands settled on your hips, his fingers pushing up the t-shirt of Steve’s that you were wearing as you reached forward to take the bowl.
The captain was paying close attention to your movements, however, and pulled it back from your reach. “You’re shaking. Just let me do it.”
“I’m not a baby,” You whined as Bucky pulled you back against him, his metal hand pressing against the back of your neck to provide relief from your fever.
“I know you’re not, love,” Steve chuckled as he moved a bit closer. “But I also know Buck doesn’t want soup all in his bed.”
You sighed in defeat and reluctantly allowed Steve to feed you the soup while Bucky cuddled into you from behind. You could finally feel the medicine that Wanda gave you kicking in, effectively postponing your headache for now.
“All done, doll.” Steve set the empty bowl on the dresser behind him before getting up to remove his uniform, leaving him in a white undershirt and boxers. He took care of crawling in beside you while Bucky undressed as well before you found yourself in a super soldier sandwich.
“I love you guys,” You mumbled as you cuddled closer to Steve’s chest, your hand pulling Bucky’s metal arm to wrap around your waist so he was the big spoon. “Too good to me.”
Both Bucky and Steve remained quiet as you fell asleep, each of them pressing various kisses on your hot skin. This was a privilege for them, to love and take of someone who loved them back equally, if not more. The three of you were unbreakable, a force to be reckoned with.
Wanda couldn’t hide the smile on her face as she watched the scene from the doorframe. It made her happy to see all of you happy. With the past that Steve and Bucky had been through, you were exactly what they needed. In the same regards, Wanda had watched the shy, quiet girl you once were blossom into the loveable, confident woman you are now.
She closed the door softly before making her way down the hallway. “I want a picture of that, FRIDAY. Other than that, turn off all alarms and make sure they’re undisturbed until tomorrow.”
“Right away, Miss Maximoff.”
Wanda grinned as the photo came through on her phone, addressed to the whole team. “They deserve it.”
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#captain america x reader#steve rogers x reader#x reader#reader insert#wanda maximoff#avengers imagine#bucky barnes imagine#steve rogers imagine#captain america imagine#stucky x reader#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader#winter soldier x reader#bucky x steve x reader#winter soldier imagine#scarlet witch#james barnes imagine#james barnes x reader#marvel imagine#avengers x reader#polyamory#sick!reader
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In Return
The @ignoctsecretsanta event is finally here! My gift-ee was @raenngu - Merry Christmas! The fic is under the cut, or you can find it here on AO3. Hope you like it! ( ゚▽゚)/*
Title: In Return Rating: T Warnings: None Other Tags: Established Relationship, Sickfic, Cuddling & Snuggling
By the very nature of his position, Ignis spends more time with Noctis than anyone.
By the very nature of his position, Ignis spends more time with Noctis than anyone.
There’s very little that isn’t shared between them—every joy, sorrow, hope, and fear. All secrets, dreams, frustrations, and hurt. Stolen kisses when they think nobody is looking. A million little affectionate touches that come as naturally as breathing air, cultivated by a lifetime’s worth of trust and understanding.
All that being said, Noct isn’t the least bit surprised when his own miserable, sniffling, hacking cold becomes Ignis’s miserable, sniffling, hacking cold.
After ten-plus years, it’s the natural order of things.
Granted, they do go about convalescence a little differently—Noct stays home for three days and watches terrible daytime TV, while Ignis…does not. But there’s a certain sense of solidarity between them in the two days after Noct starts to get better and before Ignis starts to feel worse.
The problem is, Ignis only seems to be feeling worse.
The poor guy has tissues shoved in every available pocket, nose scrubbed pink in a way that might be funny were it not for his obvious misery. When he’s not blowing his nose, he’s coughing, and when he’s not coughing, he’s clearing his throat with such a poorly-hidden grimace Noct knows it must hurt like hell.
He has to admit, he feels a little guilty—both for giving Ignis his cold in the first place, and for the fact that he’d managed to get away with relatively mild symptoms in comparison to whatever monstrosity has set up shop in his advisor’s chest.
So, on the fifth day, when Ignis’s cough begins to sound less like he’s clearing his throat and more like he’s struggling not to drown, Noct makes up his mind to do something about it.
Mercifully, they only have two important things left on the agenda for today: the longest, most boring meeting in the world, and a daunting stack of reports Noct has been putting off reading ever since the first sniffle hit. He knows he should have put more focus into keeping on top of things, but he can barely get through those pages of political jargon on a good day, let alone when he’s not feeling well. He tells himself it was a losing battle, but that consolation is somewhat hollow in the face of all this backlog.
Nevertheless, he can only focus on one thing at a time. And for now, that one thing is this meeting.
They’re just there to observe, really. Ignis has been dutifully taking notes the entire time, but it’s not like either of them knows jack about city infrastructure. Some guy with a ridiculously gaudy tie is bemoaning the lack of funds allotted towards bridge maintenance, while another is trying to interject a point about the necessity of upgraded emergency weather equipment. It’s probably important and relevant information that will affect a great number of people, but the two men remind him more of sleazy used car salesmen than respected government officials. It’s almost enough to turn him away from the topic entirely.
It’s also very, very boring.
Noct can’t keep his attention from wandering, eyes straying to the yellow legal pad Ignis is writing on. His notes are pristine, key points jotted down in his tiny, neat handwriting. His gaze travels up to Ignis’s face, watching his eyes flick from the speaker to his notes, back and forth at lightning speed. He doesn’t seem to notice Noct’s watchful stare, even as the prince takes in the dusting of pink high on his cheeks, the beads of sweat collecting at his hairline, the occasional shiver running through his frame…
Then he stops writing.
Noct freezes, wondering if he’s been caught—and if so, why it should matter. But no, Ignis keeps his grip on the pen, his other hand traveling to press ineffectively to his chest, and Noct can now hear the gentle wheeze with each of his inhalations.
He’s going to cough, that same gut-wrenching cough he’s been doing since yesterday. And he’s doing his damnedest to suppress it—out of what? Politeness? For the sake of these clowns bickering over money? It must hurt, too—and is it his imagination, or are Ignis’s eyes a little wetter than they’d been a minute ago? He looks anxious and miserable in a way Noct hasn’t seen since—
He’s just about to say something when Ignis stands, breathlessly muttering an apology in the midst of a bow, and marches out of the room like a man on a mission. The door hasn’t even swung all the way shut before Noct hears exactly what he’d known was coming—explosive, deep coughing, seemingly far too loud to have come from his mild-mannered advisor. Then the door latches, effectively soundproofing the room.
Somehow the silence is worse. He’s sure everything is fine, but not knowing for certain that Ignis had managed to catch his breath is agonizing in its own way.
This meeting cannot end soon enough.
Some fifteen-odd minutes later, when it finally does, Noct is in such a hurry to gather his and Ignis’s things that he barely hears the closing remarks about the necessity of another meeting “in order to make a well-examined decision on the matter.”
Figures.
The wave of relief Noct feels when he finds Ignis waiting right outside the door is palpable. He passes over his briefcase and travel mug, lacing their fingers together long enough to give his hand a comforting little squeeze before they head towards the elevator.
As soon as the elevator doors shut, Ignis sags against the wall, eyes closed. He has a few damp specks on his shirt collar—he must’ve gone to the restroom to splash cool water on his face, Noct realizes, though he certainly doesn’t seem to be feeling any better for it.
“You look like shit,” Ignis cracks open one eye, and Noct amends, “—sicker than I was, I mean.”
“Yes, well…” Ignis makes a vague gesture with his mug, which Noct knows is full of that awful herbal tea he drinks whenever he’s really, truly ill, “it’s nothing a good night’s rest won’t fix.”
Noct rolls his eyes. “And when’s the last time you had one of those?”
“…Touché.” Ignis closes his eye again and raises a hand to adjust his glasses, fingers lingering for just a few seconds to pinch the bridge of his nose. Noct pats his back reassuringly, and he can’t quite help his own smile when the corners of Ignis’s lips quirk up in amusement. “Do I look an absolute state?”
“Do you feel an ‘absolute state’?” Noct counters, reaching up and pushing back the few sweat-damp strands of hair that have stuck to Ignis’s forehead. An unsubtle brush against skin reveals what he already knows; his advisor is running a temperature.
Ignis only hums.
The elevator chimes.
The debate over who is going to drive them back to Noct’s apartment is short-lived once Noct points out that it is in both of their best interests if Ignis doesn’t crash the car in the midst of a coughing fit. Ignis tries valiantly to argue back, but raising his voice to a proper fighting volume is enough to send him into just such a fit. He hacks wetly, face buried in the crook of his elbow, hard enough and long enough that he’s practically swooning when it finally lets up. Eyes and nose streaming, he even lets Noct open the passenger side door for him.
And while Noct is sure Ignis probably has like, four different kinds of cough drops in his briefcase, he offers him one from the handful he’d stuffed in his pocket earlier—basking in the warmth of the tired, grateful little smile he receives in return.
Noct leaves the radio off—a necessary sacrifice for the sake of Ignis’s pounding head—and fiddles with the heat instead. It’s not particularly cold out, but he remembers Ignis shivering his way through the meeting and figures it’s the best he can do for now.
Either he’s correct, or else exhaustion has simply won the battle, because they’re barely a mile out before Ignis lists to the right, forehead thumping gently against the cool glass of the window. Noct waits a moment before sneaking a peek at him, wondering if maybe he’s just resting his eyes, but no—his posture is completely slack, mouth hanging slightly open. Hell, he’s even snoring—barely loud enough to be heard over the whirr of the heating system.
If he wasn’t one hundred percent certain Ignis would wake up to scold him for removing his eyes from the road, Noct would totally take a picture right now.
Instead, he just concentrates on keeping the ride as smooth as possible.
Ignis doesn’t stir until they’re parked, and Noct gives him a minute to collect himself before they head into the apartment. He toes his shoes off ungracefully, watching with some interest as Ignis follows suit, and leads his still-drowsy boyfriend over to the sofa.
“I am in dire need of some caffeine,” Ignis complains through a yawn, even as he sinks back into the cushions. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”
Noct rolls his eyes, exasperated but still impossibly fond. “Bronchitis, Ignis. You have bronchitis.”
“…Perhaps.”
“Almost definitely,” Noct uncaps the thermometer, conveniently left on the end table earlier that week by none other than Ignis himself. “Open up,” he pokes his patient in the lower lip when he doesn’t react fast enough.
Ignis complies, reluctance written all over his face. “I hardly think this is severe enough to warrant such attention,” he mumbles around the thermometer.
But thirty seconds later, they have their answer. “102 even,” Noct announces, to Ignis’s obvious chagrin. “That’s high enough. You’re going to bed.”
True to his nature, a counterpoint follows, “Noct, it’s only—” he squints at the clock, “—5:30.”
“Yeah, and you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” The deeply troubled furrow between Ignis’s brows doesn’t smooth out, so Noct softens his tone. “Just for a little while, okay? You can sleep here on the couch, and I’ll sit in the chair and tackle a couple of these reports. Sound good?”
Whether it’s the thought of the prince actually getting some work done, or just the simple enticing pull of slumber, Noct isn’t sure, but Ignis folds like a house of cards. “If you insist.”
Noct leans in long enough to give him a peck on the cheek, then heads to his bedroom to retrieve a pair of Ignis’s warmest pajama pants, the thickest blanket he owns, and three ridiculously overstuffed pillows. He makes quick work of his advisor’s business attire, heart clenching at how badly he shivers in just his underclothes, and helps him shimmy into the flannel pants. Ignis coughs lightly, face turned away as Noct arranges the pillows at one end of the couch and eases him back against them. Noct kisses him again, this time on his fever-hot forehead as he tucks the comforter around his body.
“Comfy?”
“Very.”
“You need anything else?”
Ignis shakes his head. “You’re spoiling me,” he cautions, though the warning comes across more sleepy and content than foreboding.
“You deserve it,” Noct smoothes back his bangs, stealing his glasses from the bridge of his nose and placing them on the coffee table for safekeeping. “Just rest. I’ll be working if you need me.”
“Hard to believe,” there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips as his eyes flutter shut.
“Harsh, Specs.” But Ignis is already asleep.
Noct settles in for the long run.
Ignis awakens with a rush of adrenaline and the horrible, pressing knowledge that something is wrong.
His sleep-addled brain takes a moment to process that he’s coughing—hard enough that each cough brings literal tears to his eyes. He struggles his way out of his blanket cocoon, turning on his side and pulling his knees toward his chest, anything to make it stop. He hears rustling, footsteps, someone talking to him, but he can’t make sense of the words. Then, without warning, he’s hauled up into a sitting position—a move that throws off what little equilibrium he has and makes him sick to his stomach.
It’s Noct, he realizes belatedly, feeling a hand against his back. Noct’s hand, Noct’s voice, Noct’s sofa, Noct’s apartment. He focuses on that hand, kneading gently into his back, trying to help get his breathing back under control. He takes in a stuttered breath, coughing it out again just as quickly, but Noct’s voice has an encouraging edge to it now, and a cool hand presses to the back of his neck as he manages another inward gasp.
Noct sits with him until he’s only panting, then gets up just long enough to nab the box of tissues from the end-table. Ignis grabs a handful, dabbing at his eyes and blowing his nose until he feels almost human again.
“Feel better?” Noct asks.
“Somewhat.” he lies, noting with no small amount of displeasure how utterly destroyed his voice is.
Noct clearly doesn’t believe him, which is probably for the best. Still, he drops the subject. “You want dinner? There’s leftover soup.” To say the soup is simply leftover doesn’t quite do the sheer volume justice. When it comes to Ignis, there is simply no underestimating the curative powers of broth and noodles.
Which is to say, he’d dutifully produced a truly absurd quantity the very moment Noct had mentioned feeling unwell.
Except now…now the very thought of food is enough to turn his stomach. “I’d—” he cuts himself off, swallowing compulsively, “I’d rather not.”
He must look as exceptionally queasy as he feels, because Noct doesn’t try to talk him into it. “You should probably have something to drink, at least…you’re still pretty flushed,” he’s frowning as he presses the backs of his fingers to Ignis’s forehead. Ignis repeats the action himself, but he can’t really make an assumption either way. “Tea?” Noct suggests, “I don’t have your gross herbal stuff, though…but I think there might be orange juice in the fridge?”
Ignis would rather play it safe, in all honesty. “Maybe just a glass of water, and some of that awful cough syrup I forced into you over the weekend?”
Noct turns to stare so quickly he nearly gives himself whiplash. “So now the truth comes out—you knew it was horrible from the beginning. ‘Cherry flavor’, my ass.”
The snort that escapes Ignis is both hilarious and unexpected, and he catches a glimpse of Noct’s grin before he turns away under the pretense of retrieving the requested items. In the short time it takes him to fill a cup and grab the cough medicine, Ignis is overcome by a wash of fatigue, and he flops back onto the pillows, massaging his throbbing temples. He realizes he’s probably dehydrated, but knowing the cause of this massive headache doesn’t do him much good. His eyes slip shut despite himself.
“Still tired?” Noct’s voice is low, obviously trying to avoid disturbing him.
“Exhausted, actually,” Ignis murmurs, dragging his eyes open long enough to accept the proffered glass. The cool liquid feels incredible against his raw throat, and he surprises himself by downing half the water in one go. Noct uncaps the medicine, examining the label on the back and carefully dispensing the correct dose into the measuring cup. In Ignis’s humble opinion, the syrup would be much less intimidating if it didn’t reflect a murky, reddish hue, but beggars can’t be choosers. He takes it like a shot, but it still hits enough of his taste-buds on the way down to send a shudder up his spine.
Noct gives him a wry smile. “Horrible, isn’t it?”
“Positively disgusting,” he swishes a little water around in his mouth to try and dissipate the taste.
“Should knock you out in no time, at least,” Noct supplies.
Not that Ignis will probably need much help on that front, drowsy as he already is. Being sick is certainly doing a number on his overall productivity. He allows Noct to take him by the arm, helping him rise from the gravitational pull of the sofa and make his unsteady way into the bedroom.
He shrugs him off, though, when Noct tries to deposit him in bed.
“What’s up?” Noct tilts his head to the side, a slight pout upon his lips.
He can’t let this one go, though. “I know a shower is probably out of the question, but…” he hopes Noct catches his drift.
Noct sighs, but ultimately agrees. “Okay, yeah. Go brush your teeth and wash your face and whatever else you gotta do. Maybe a bath tomorrow, if you don’t look like you’ll fall asleep and drown in the tub.”
Reinvigorated by the promise of basic personal hygiene, Ignis straightens up enough that Noct deems him sufficiently awake to manage without a babysitter. With a nodded promise to shout if he needs anything, he disappears behind the door, relishing this brief moment of solitude. He brushes his teeth quickly—eager to erase the lingering pseudo-cherry flavor from his mouth—uses the facilities, makes a vain attempt to comb his hair into something half-controllable, and takes great pleasure in washing away the sticky layer of dried sweat on his face.
Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror is somewhat startling—he looks much worse off than he’d remembered from that morning. Or perhaps he’s simply projecting how terrible he currently feels onto his reflection. In either case, he sincerely hopes a good night’s sleep will help clear away the bruise-colored circles beneath his eyes.
He’s shivering by the time he returns to the bedroom, beyond grateful when Noct ushers him beneath the comforter—and even more so when the prince climbs into bed after him.
The lights go out. Save for the ambient hum of the building, the room is quiet.
And Ignis is suddenly wide awake.
He blinks, eyes trying to adjust to the inky blackness of his surroundings. Maybe he’s just not in the right position? He shuffles over onto one side, then the other. Flips the pillow over, fluffs it up, then scrunches it beneath his head. He takes several deep breaths, trying to relax himself into unconsciousness, but all that succeeds in doing is to force a string of smothered coughs from his abused lungs.
A low groan forms in the back of his throat, and he has to resist the urge to pull the covers up over his head like a scorned child. He settles for smushing his face into the pillow, trying to block out the universe and whatever nonsense could possibly be keeping him from several hours of desperately-needed sleep.
He knows he’s truly done it when Noct mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over, draping an arm across his body in a half-hug he’s all too eager to receive.
“Wha’ssa matter?” The question is inelegantly put, Noct’s own exhaustion creeping into his voice—a gentle reminder that he’d recently been ill, as well.
“I can’t—” frustration laces his words, but there’s no helping it, “—it’s—it’s ridiculous. Apologies.”
He can practically hear Noct rolling his eyes in the darkness. “Don’t ‘apologies’ me, c’mon.”
Ignis considers his options for a long moment. Finally, “I can’t sleep.”
“Obviously.”
“I—I’m certainly tired enough, but…” Noct is moving behind him, arms creeping up his back to find his shoulders. He’s just about to ask what he’s doing, when firm pressure into an achy spot right between his shoulder blades makes him gasp.
Noct pulls away as if he’d been burned. “You’re tense,” he observes.
Ignis can hear the strain in his own voice when he replies, “A bit, yes.”
Hands wandering up and down, Noct is sure to feel every illness-bred knot in Ignis’s back. The displeased click of his tongue all but seals the deal. “No wonder you can’t sleep—scoot forward a little,” he pushes Ignis slightly upright, blatantly ignoring the groan this elicits, and shuffles into the newly-created space against the headboard. Ignis rests against him without any prompting, snuggling up to this most welcome source of heat.
Noct’s hands are warm as they sit upon his shoulders, and Ignis can’t help the shaky little sigh that passes his lips at the first gentle sweep of his thumbs over coiled muscle. Noct takes this for what it is—permission to press a bit harder—and works at the first big knot he finds.
Ignis arches his back ever-so-slightly, trying to guide Noct’s hands where he needs them most, and has to bite back a moan when he finds the right spot. “You’re too good to me,” he murmurs, rolling one shoulder forward with marked relief.
“We both know that’s not true.”
Ignis laughs, quiet and a little raspy as Noct cants his hips forward, giving him space to lean back. Noct’s hands are in his hair now, pads of his fingers rubbing lazy circles on his scalp. He can feel the rise and fall of Noct’s chest with each breath, and he tries to match his own breathing to the slow, easy pace. When he presses his ear to Noct’s breastbone, he can hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
He could fall asleep like this.
The darkness that laps at the edges of wakefulness is familiar. He breathes in time with Noct, the wheezing ache in his chest dissolving bit by bit. The arms around him are warm, the form beneath him is sturdy. It feels good. It feels right.
It feels like home.
In the hazy bliss of near-unconsciousness, he thinks he forms his mouth into the shape of, “I love you.”
The press of lips to the crown of his head is all he needs in return.
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“Zhe Good Doctah Haz Got You”
(This took me, what? Three days? Maybe more? I don’t remember lol but I worked hard and I’m really proud! I hope you enjoy it too.) **TRIGGER WARNING: talk of self-harm, suicide attempt mention** It was around midnight when Marvin arrived at Schneeplestein’s bedroom door. He had been having nightmares lately, but this one was particularly bad. The shaken wizard stood, body still trembling as his hand hovered over the door. He wanted to knock so badly, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He just couldn’t. His heart raced and his breathing quickened, the fear of being a bother to his friend in the middle of the night getting the best of him. Slowly, Marvin drew his hand away from the door, and slumped down against the hallway wall, sitting on the floor, knees tucked close to his body. He silently pondered what to do, the sound of his still-hammering heart the only noise accompanying him in the dead of night. Suddenly, the world around him faded to black, leaving Marvin in a seemingly endless expanse of darkness. He then stood, eyes darting around frantically, trying to make sense of where he was. The four-bedroom house he was familiar with was no longer there, but in its place a dark void, which lacked any form of escape. The wizard began to panic, heart rate picking up again. “H-Hello…? Is a-anyone t-there?” Marvin called out into the nothingness, not exactly expecting an answer. His blood ran cold when a voice chuckled back. “W-Who are you?” Marvin gulped, aware of the shakiness of his voice. “S-Show yourself!” “Heh heh heh…how cute. The so-called "wizard” is trying to be brave.“ The voice spoke back. Marvin didn’t recognize the voice at all. He would have at least expected it to be Anti, if no one else, but…it wasn’t. "Marvin the Magnificent, huh?” The voice continued. “Don’t know what makes you so "magnificent”, honestly. To tell you the truth, you look a lot more…pathetic, to me.“ Marvin felt a slight twinge of guilt at first, but it quickly turned to anger as he shouted back out into the void. "I’m NOT pathetic! Who even ARE you?!” “It doesn’t matter who I am,” the voice responded. “But if you’re THAT curious…” the owner of the voice stepped forward, walking out of the endless darkness and just into Marvin’s line of sight. The owner was a young faceless girl, with blonde pigtails, a blue tank top, and a yellow skirt. Marvin almost recognized her as a girl that he’s entertained at a birthday party once, except…well, she doesn’t have a face. Marvin gulped and stepped back. “Afraid of a child? Hah!” The girl laughed, though her body didn’t move at all. With each passing second, Marvin became more and more unsettled. His heart nearly stopped when he heard the second voice. “Y'know, eventually they’ll realize you’re nothing but a fake.” A boy the same height as the girl walked forward, wearing a blue tee-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. He, too, was faceless. “You’re just another useless street magician. You’re nothing special. Stop trying to act like you’re "all that”.“ Marvin took another two steps back, beginning to feel nauseous. He took in what the boy said and rubbed his arm self-consciously. He didn’t really know what to say now. "I-I…” he started, but immediately shut his mouth when he heard whispers in the background. They were faint, but coming closer, gradually growing louder. And soon, he could see them: a horde of faceless children walking out of the darkness, each one speaking it’s own insult. Marvin glanced around in every direction. The children were everywhere, surrounding him, and it seemed like there was a countless number of them. His eyes widened as he began to hear clearly what each child was actually saying. “Pathetic.” “Weak.” “Loser.” “S-Stop…” Marvin whimpered quietly, his head lowered and eyes fixated on his feet as he tried not to cry. “Failure.” “Phony.” “Idiot.” “P-Please…please stop…” Marvin pleaded as the voices continued. They were loud now, bouncing around the environment. It was quickly becoming too much for him, and he sunk to his knees and covered his ears. The voices seemed as if they were in his head, and no matter what he did, Marvin couldn’t block them out. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breathing rapid, and he felt nauseous as the world spun, the countless mass of faceless children surrounding him, chanting their insults loudly. “FAKER.” “LIAR.” “LAME.” “SCAREDY-CAT.” “COWARD.” “STOP! STOP IT, PLEASE!” Marvin cried out in agony, tears escaping through tightly shut eyes, streaming down his face, and hands tightly gripping his head as he was overwhelmed by the insults. The voices then stopped at the sound of Marvin’s shout, but something else took their place. “You know, I’ll never understand why we decided to keep you around.” Marvin’s eyes slowly widened as he removed his head from his hands, looking up towards this new voice. This voice, however, was one he recognized. “C-Chase…?” Marvin asked, reluctantly. Chase now stood before him, arms crossed. He stared Marvin down hard, almost as if he were disappointed with him. “Yeah, I agree with him. You’re honestly nothing special. Your "powers” barely even work!“ Another figure now appeared in front of Marvin. Well, more like "hovered” in front of him. “Jackieboy Man…? You too?” Marvin asked, heartbroken. Jackieboy Man just floated there, wearing the same disappointed expression as Chase. “He’s right, you know. Neither of us understand vhy you are still here.” Dr. Schneeplestein walked out of the darkness now, arms folded similarly to the other two egos. “Schneep, I…” Marvin began. “Ah, ah, ah. Not anozher word. You are vasting my precious time, Marvin.” Fresh tears stung the magicians eyes as he hung his head in shame. He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Marvin was even more taken aback when he saw who it was. “J-Jack?” “They never loved you, Marvin.” Jack informed, almost sounding sorry for him. Almost. “W-What?” “You’re useless. They’d be better off without you. I’m sorry to say this, but it’s true.” Marvin gazed incredulously at Jack, and then back at his friends, his only family, who now all hated him. This realization hit Marvin suddenly, and again he lowered his gaze, beginning to cry. “I-I’m sorry…I’m sorry I disappointed you guys…I’m so sorry…” Marvin mumbled out apology after apology, sobbing harder and harder between each one. “Marvin…” “I’m so sorry…” Marvin whimpered, not hearing the voice that began to speak to him. “MARVIN!” The wizard jolted as he suddenly awoke, knees still tucked close to him as he sat in the hallway of his house. A dream. It was all a dream. “Marvin…? Are you okay, buddy?” Schneeplestein was crouched in front of Marvin, an extremely concerned expression on his face. If Marvin could sink any further back into the wall, he would. A horrified look plastered Marvin’s face as he recalled the dream. What if they really felt that way about him? “S-S-Schneep, I-I’m so s-sorry…I d-d-don’t mean to w-waste your time. I-” Marvin stuttered as be began to hyperventilate, terrified. “Shhhh…relax, Marvin…” the doctor hushed the panicking magician, trying to get him to calm down. “Zhere’s no need to apologize. You’ve done nozhing wrong.” A sob escaped Marvin’s mouth and Schneeplestein pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back, letting Marvin cry it out until he was calm enough to talk. “Zhere, zhere, Marv. Zhe good doctah haz got you.” Schneep reassured him. “Vould you like to talk about it?” Marvin then pulled away, nodding as he wiped his eyes and nose on his shirt sleeves. “Come,” the doctor then stood, holding his hand out to lift Marvin off the ground. The wizard grabbed Schneep’s hand and pulled himself up, then followed him into his bedroom. “Sit.” Schneeplestein commanded, pointing to his bed. Marvin sat and watched as the doctor pulled up a chair from his desk and sat in front of him. “H-How did you know I was out there…?” Marvin asked, sniffing and grabbing the tissue Schneeplestein handed to him, blowing his nose into it. “I heard you crying out zhere. It vas a tiny noise, but I heard it and vent to check it out. You seemed to have been crying in your sleep.” Schneep responded. “Ah.” Marvin slowly nodded. “Before ve get started, I need to do a routine checkup.” The pajama-clad doctor informed Marvin. He reached for his stethoscope, which was sitting on his desk, and put on a pair of rubber gloves that came from a box that sat besides said stethoscope. “Can you remove your shirt, please?” Marvin’s heart nearly stopped upon hearing those words. “U-Uh…” the magician stammered. “Is somezhing wrong?” Schneep asked. “O-Oh, uh…n-no.” “Good. Now, let’s get zhis over vith, so I can help you.” Schneep turned around to grab his clipboard and pen. Marvin’s heart began to race, and he began to feel nauseous as he reluctantly removed his red, long-sleeved shirt. He pulled it over his head, and set it behind him, letting out a shaky breath. Schneep, having gathered his materials, then turned back around to face Marvin. His eyes widened at what he saw. Schneep was used to seeing burns and callouses on Marvin’s hands and wrists from practicing magic, and was also used to helping him treat them, but…this was something else. Something way different. Both his arms were laced with cuts, some old and some new, some covered with bandages and some left uncovered. Schneep knew immediately that this wasn’t the work of magic. “Marvin…vhy didn’t you tell me?!” Schneep exclaimed, worry lining his voice. “I could have helped you! WE could have helped you!” Marvin swallowed, feeling a lump growing in his throat. He was trying so hard to bite back the tears. “I-I’m…I’m sorry, I just…I didn’t wanna bother you…” Marvin’s gaze was focused on the ground, unable to look the doctor in the eye. “It’s my problem…I didn’t wanna put that burden on you…” “Nonsense.” Schneeplestein quickly replied. “Doctors are meant to help you. And if I’m not a doctor, vell, zhen my name isn’t Henrik von Schneeplestein. Vhatever you need, Marvin, you come to me. I’m not just here to heal your physical wounds, but…” Schneep pointed to his head with a smile. “…also zhe ones up here, as vell.” Marvin sniffed, wiping his eyes. “O-Okay…” Schneep sighed. “Now, let’s get zhis over vith.” And with that, they got through the normal checkup routine. Once that was done, and Marvin was once again clothed, they could finally get into what was bothering the troubled magician. “Okay, now zhat zhat’s out of the vay, we can FINALLY get into it.” Schneep said, sounding relieved to start helping his friend with what was bothering him. Marvin just nodded, wondering where he should begin. “So, Marvin…” Schneep began. “Vhat is it exactly zhat is troubling you?” Marvin sighed. “Well…as you may have guessed after spotting me crying in my sleep, I’ve been having really bad nightmares lately. I’m not sure if they’re magic-related or not, but they’ve been going on for a few months now, and…” he paused, wondering how he should go about explaining the nightmares. “Uh…I’m not sure how to explain this.” He rubbed the back of his head nervously. “Zhat’s okay, Marvin. Take your time. I’m here to listen.” Schneeplestein reassured. Marvin nodded. “Well…” he continued. “The dreams, they’re…well, they’re not all the same, but they have the same theme. Like, for example, the dream I had tonight…” Marvin then went on to explain in detail what happened in his nightmare. Halfway through, he had to pause because he started to cry, and Schneep gave him another hug while he calmed down. Throughout the entire time, though, the doctor listened patiently, writing down key points. Not only did he want Marvin to get better, but wanted to make sure Marvin was safe, before he goes too far and attempts to do what Chase tried in the past. When Marvin had finished getting his thoughts out, Schneeplestein reviewed the notes he took. Going over them, he had an “aha!” moment. He just might have pieced it all together. “I zhink I know vhat’s bothering you deep down, Marvin.” the doctor announced. “Does it sound magic-related?” Marvin asked. “Because I easily could have cursed myself on accident…” “No, no, no. None of zhose zhings. We both already know zhat you’re afraid of disappointing us, and letting everybody down. But zhe issue is that you’re not dealing vith it, just suppressing it. So, ve’re going to come together and help you.” “‘We’re’? You mean all of you guys?” Marvin asked, sounding a tad bit worried “Yes. You need to confront your fears of failure by addressing it directly. Don’t vorry, though, it vill be fine. Chase vent through a similar process, back when…” he paused, remembering the incident. Recollecting his thoughts, he cleared his throat and continued “Vell, you know.” “I understand.” Marvin nodded. “Also! You vill be meeting vith me once a veek to work on coping methods for your negative thoughts, as vell as to keep track of your nightmares. Sound good?” “Yeah, thank you. Really, for all of this.” Marvin said, sounding grateful. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner. I really wanted to, but…I was just so afraid. I thought I could just deal with it on my own, or at least make a potion or find a spell that would help, but that didn’t work out.” “It’s okay, Marvin, really. Just remember, vhen you have a problem, I’m vere for you. Don’t take it out on yourself, okay?” “Okay…I’ll make sure to come to you from now on.” Marvin responded. Schneep then stood, and pulled Marvin into a tight hug. When they separated, they both glanced at Schneep’s alarm clock. 3:00 AM. “Do you zhink you’ll be able to go back to sleep?” Schneep asked, turning back to Marvin. “Probably not.” Marvin shrugged. “But I’ll try to figure something out.” “Do you vant to stay vith me tonight? I…honestly don’t feel safe just leaving you on your own, not right now. You understand, don’t you?” Schneep rubbed the back of his neck. He knew that Marvin would probably be fine but, after what happened with Chase…he was too scared to almost lose another friend, no matter how small the chance of that happening would be. And, if Marvin had another nightmare, a worse one, Schneep wanted to be there for him instead of leaving Marvin to his own devices. “I understand, Schneep.” Marvin smiled. “I’ll stay with you tonight, if it makes you happy.” “Zhank you, Marvin.” And with that, the both of them got into bed, with Marvin laying closest to the wall the bed was up against. While Schneep was able to fall asleep quickly, it took Marvin some time before he could fall asleep, as well. He felt comfortable with someone else with him, but he was still worried he’d have another nightmare. After about a half hour, he finally pushed his worry to the back of his mind, and fell into a dreamless slumber.
#marvin the magnificent#dr. schneeplestein#chase brody#jackieboy man#jacksepticeye#antisepticeye mention
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Pater’s Rose7*
SOOOO here is part7 of my story, it’s a long chapter I know but I had to tell a little bit more ;)
I hope you will enjoy it!! And of course as always let me know what do you think!!! I’m looking forward to hear from you!!!
Enjoy the reading.
P.s. don’t forget the tissues!!
All the love, as always
E. xx Emily’s eyes are closed; her head tilts back and she inhales sharply. Olivia frowns, and I can hear the wheels in her head. I don’t dare to look at him. Nervously I play with my hands, looking down at them. From below I try to catch a glimpse of him. He stopped in his movements. His napkin is still at the corner of his mouth. I can see how his fingers crunch the white fabric between them until his knuckles become white. His eyes rest on me.
John is the first who says something. Cutting the maddening silence with his deep voice.
“Well.” he strokes over his mouth with his thumb and his forefinger.
“Maybe you should sleep on it.” That’s Emily’s voice, interrupting John. Yes maybe I should rethink that. But I know that I can’t bear to see him, knowing what we could have but will never have. Knowing that he sleeps alone in his bed, that he wakes up alone. So I guess it will be best if I leave. I haven’t packed yet; all my clothes are hanging in the wardrobe waiting to be stored away neatly in my luggage.
“So we should spend the evening together since maybe it’s the last one?!” John looks around the circle, trying to lift the mood.
I want to go to bed, creeping under my sheets, crying, because I know I can’t run away from my feelings. I know that I will cry in my bed in London the same way as I cry here. I will miss him the same way I miss him here, and he is sitting next to me. I know that I will miss the green of his eyes, studying me, his words which reach my ear. And of course I will miss his touches. How his soft hands slide over mine. I can’t nearly breathe, and I guess my soul won’t survive this.
Emily’s eyes looks icy, and I know that she’s disappointed in me because I broke her heart. For few seconds I regret what I said. But it’s my life, isn’t it? All this time I did what everyone expected. I was the well-educated daughter, who married the man which she should marry. I was the sister who everyone could count on. I was the wife who tried everything to please her husband. But who am I? I don’t want to be a daughter, a sister or a wife. I want to be a person with her own story. I want to paint with my own colors. I want to paint a colorful picture with more than three colors. I want more, and yes right in this moment I feel so badly about it. I feel guilty for wanting to live my life the way I want to.
Emily stands up stroking John’s shoulder while she walks out of the room.
“I.. I... excuse me.” John stands up, too, walking after her. I can hear how his voice becomes softer as he says her name.
Those green eyes pierce me.
“Why?”
“I have to,” I whisper.
“That’s not an answer,” he shakes his head, sliding his hand over the embroidered tablecloth in my direction, trying to catch my hand.
“You gave me the same answer. It’s more than fair that I give you the same.” My eyes sparkle with rage.
He gave me stupid excuses, and now I should prove my decisions. When I stand up in anger, he does the same.
“It’s my free will to leave, and I guess some people can’t live with that.”
His eyes widen, and he knows that I heard him; he walks towards me grabbing my upper arms with his hands. I’m astonished that he doesn’t wear his ring. I can’t feel it through my blouse. I don’t wear my wedding ring either it’s stored away in my jewelery box where I can’t see it. Only the small imprint on my ring finger tells that there had been a ring.
“Stop that,” his green eyes ignite his jaw is clenched, and I shoot darts out of my eye directly into his face.
“Why?” I ask boldly; my heart pounds, and I guess it will betray me once more.
Then I feel his lips on mine, demanding. He presses his soft lips on mine. I try to push him away but I’m like wax in his hands. I want to give in as we hear steps, and he jerks and draws back immediately.
My lips are red and open, his too, and a shimmer is in our eyes as my sister enters the room. She looks at me and then to him and back to me.
“Pater Styles, John is waiting in the living room.” she says while she fixes me with her gaze.
“Well, I won’t make him wait,” he hurries out of the room, looking at me as he turns around the corner. My sister doesn’t see his painful glance because her back is turned to the exit of the room.
“Don’t yell at me,” I say ruefully. “I know I should have told you that I was playing with the thought to leave. But Em. I can’t find any clear thoughts. In my head everything is turning and swirling.”
Emily doesn’t say anything; her skirts rustle as she walks towards me, hugging me tightly.
“I don’t want you to go,” she whispers in my ear, and I feel tears on my cheek.
“Oh Em.” My hands pressing against her back, feeling the little buttons of her blouse, pressing in my palm. “I don’t want to go either.”
“Then don’t go. Don’t go back to him, please. You can stay here.”
“Em, my place is there in London. Maybe one day I will be free, but…” I close my eyes, swallowing the knot in my throat, blinking away the tears.
We’re standing there a while, holding each other, feeling each other’s pain. As I open my eyes, I see that the candles are nearly burned down, but neither of us wants to move. It’s like the time doesn’t exist for a little while. I summon up power for London.
“Let us join them.” she says, releasing me, and I wipe her tears away with my thumb.
“Don’t cry,” I say while smoothing the skin on her cheeks.
Emily grabs my hand, and we walk out of the room. I stop as I hear the laughter from the living room.
“Emily, I want to take a walk. It’s half past seven. The sun is still shining.” I squeeze her hand. Before she can say anything, I toss my scarf over my shoulders, looking back to her.
“Thank you.” I mouth and then I disappear.
I walk down the few steps, on which I stand looking at him as he held my hat in his hands, inhaling the fresh air. It’s still warm and the sun heats my face; hungry for it, I hold my face into the light. The gravel crunches under my steps, and I love the noise, mixed with the singing birds. I don’t know what they’re singing but it sounds lovely, like a secret melody, which they sing only for me. Smiling at this thought, I walk further down the way. The way, which was muddy is dry still, so I can walk blithely down the path. It seems I have no destination. I pull on the pins which are holding my hair up. Shaking my head lightly, my hair falls down in soft waves, feeling the wind playing with it. The wind becomes fresher, and I pull more tightly my scarf around my shoulders. This time I find the direction easily.
My feet sink into the warm sand; this time I don’t pull off my shoes. I don’t want to, the light feeling which I felt the first time here is gone.The sand makes my shoes dull and dusty. Watching over the sea I can see the night coming; the waves land softly on the beach; some seagulls circle over my head. It would be a beautiful scene if my heart weren’t so heavy.
Walking up the stairs to the lighthouse I peer around the corner; no lighthouse keeper. So I walk to the bench, stroking softly over it with my fingers, remembering our meeting here.
My finger embraces the simple bannister. The ends of my scarf blows in the wind; also the wind takes away the beautiful view by blowing my hair in my face. Removing the scarf and stroking the strands of hair behind my ear, I watch over the sea. The sun plays with the waves, and it seems that the water is made of diamonds and pearls.
I wish I had a ship so I could sail away, far away. The dark clouds promise a rainy night.
Closing my eyes I hold my face into the wind, feeling the salty breeze on my soft skin. It feels marvelously vivid. Only me the crying of the seagulls and the sound of the sea.
“I knew you would be here.”
I don’t open my eyes, embracing the bannister tighter; it cuts into my palms. The unmistakable scent of him floats to me, seeps into my nostrils. How can I ever forget this heavenly scent? Hoping that every cell in my nose inhales his fragrance and always remember it. My lips curve into a little smile.
I turn my head, looking at him. He is standing a few steps away, still in his riding clothes.
“It’s a beautiful place.” I say turning my head back so I can see the sea again. I feel him behind me as his hands grab the bannister next to me, feeling his heat. He buries his face in my hair, and I feel his cheek on my head. Unsure if I should lean against him, I tug nervously on my scarf. His right hand releases the bannister and he strokes my hair softly to the left side of my neck, so he can see my bare skin. I feel his hands on my shoulder, softly stroking over it, wandering further down to my stomach, where I feel the familiar knot. His flat hand rests on my stomach. I feel his nose dancing over my neck, the little hairs rise in the nape of my neck; it’s not an unpleasant feeling, but in a way external to me.
I feel so much in this moment, his hand on my belly, his nose on my neck, I close my eyes trying to let go everything, as I sense his lips on my bare skin. Kissing the soft place behind my ear. I open my mouth a little bit, leaning against his body. It feels better than I thought: stronger, softer.
As he kisses down my neck, I touch his hand which rests on my belly, covering his with mine. I guess that his eyes are closed. I can feel his eyelashes on my skin. Moving his hand from my belly, he intertwines his fingers with mine. Playing tenderly with them. I look down at our playing hands, smiling. My heart races, and I guess it’ll burst. I don’t feel nervous at all; it feels intimate, it’s like it has to be. It’s like I only know him: his touches, his kisses. But I’m excited like a bride on the first night. I hold my breath for a second, thinking of my wedding night. I was clueless and I wanted a tender, gentle man.
“I’m here,” he whispers, and I forget the unpicturesque memories of my wedding night.
His touches give me some encouragement, and I turn around. My lower back rests against the handrail, my hands find their way to his chest, looking up to him. My hair and my scarf blow in the wind, and my scarf cloaks us both. His green eyes glisten, gazing at me full of desire. My flat hands rub gently over his muscular chest until I stop at his collar. My eyes reciprocate his passion. Swallowing, he closes his eyes, sliding his hand on my cheek, covering half of my face with his hand while he presses his lips on mine. Giving in, I loop my arms around his neck, opening my mouth so he can tenderly slide his tongue in. Softly he caresses my tongue with his; our bodies pressed together. I feel his tummy on mine, his chest on mine.
We’re standing here on the little round platform in front of the white lighthouse; the waves break under us; white horses dying loudly while they break against the rocks. The wind howls, and I feel the last sunrays on my skin as the sun drowns into the sea. It’s like the sun disappears because she can’t bear the scene: two hearts beating in the same forbidden rhythm, too tired to fight against it, so the sun sends the unhallowed night to watch us.
My fingers slide into his hair, and I kiss him again and again, I can’t get enough of him; the knot in my belly already untied. Shivering, I crawl more into him, feeling his heat, and I can hear his heart beating with my ear resting on his chest.
“Are you freezing?” he asks me between our kisses. I’m shaking my head, because I want more of him. More kisses. More him. Maybe I will be a lump of ice, but he will keep my heart warm, always. I know that my heart will be warm and in unbearable pain when I’m back in London, walking restlessly around in the big house, touching my lips, trying to remember his lips on mine. I don’t want to think of this grey, lonely, empty truth, because he’s standing in front of me: warm, alive with a beating heart.
Pushing me away a few centimeters, he touches my hands.
“Ice cold.” he says, wrapping the scarf tighter around my shoulders, before he turns around, leaving me here. I’m close to tears, with my swollen unclosed lips, holding my woolen scarf in my hands. I will never wash it again, I will put it in a box and from time to time if the pain is too much I will smell it, and in the silence hope that I can cure the pain only to cause a new bleeding cut.
The dusk is approaching, and I ask myself if I will find the way home alone as he appears with a smile on his lips.
As he reaches me I fall in his arms; aghast, he loops his arms around me.
“I thought…” I start, but he covers my mouth with his lips. Closing my eyes I sense his hands on my hips as he suddenly lifts me up. Carrying me in his strong arms around the lighthouse, he smiles as I slide my right arm around his neck, placing sweet little kisses on his neck. Tasting the bittersweet sweat of him I sigh, resting my head on his shoulder. Feeling his arm on my back and my legs are bend over his other arm.
He kicks the wooden door of the lighthouse with his foot and the door opens snappily. With a loud noise it bumps against the wall. For a moment I’m scared that he damaged the door which looks like what one might find in a barn.
“The lighthouse?” I ask with a low voice. He nods as he enters the dark round tower. I feel safe in his strong arms as he carries me up the stairs until we reach a room which is illuminated only by an old oil lamp. The lamp stands on a simple wooden table, two plain chairs standing next to the table, waiting for someone to use them. My eyes spot a bed in the small room where he puts me down. The air is stale, and I guess that the thin itchy blanket which lies on the bed is damp. My glance wanders further: the stairs continue up; they lead to the beacon.
Swallowing, I look up to him; he softly strokes my hair out of my face, and I kiss his wrist. For a moment I ask myself where the lighthouse keeper is, but that’s not important.
He and I are everything that counts. I jerk as a light beam whizzes past the window. It’s the light of the beacon which leads the voyagers the right way. It’s funny that the light leads the right way for them but for us: it’s the wrong way. It’s a forbidden way; a way we never should have walked.
Grabbing my hand, he walks the few steps backwards to the bed while my eyes and my heart drown in his eyes. I follow him; I would follow him anywhere. I would lie on the cold hard ground with him: only to feel him, to touch him.
“I know it’s not as comfortable as your bed in London, but…” he whispers.
“It doesn’t matter as long as you’re here.” I respond, whispering back. The shadows dance over his face, and his green eyes glisten in the twilight of the oil lamp. Raising my arms, I frame his face with my hands, standing on my tiptoes, kissing him. My scarf slides from my shoulders, and it should be the first piece which lands on the old wooden floor. He slides his tongue again into my mouth; this time demanding, passionate.
I have never felt such power of a kiss; I would never kissed like that. Feeling the desire rising in my stomach and between my legs. I never felt like this before. I can’t get enough of the tingling is it possible that I’m addicted to him in this short time?
He breaks the kiss, and I see how his chest sinks and rises. We’re standing in front of the the bed, looking at each other, as I stretch out my hand, touching his button border. Closing his eyes, I can see the fight which he decides inside. For a few seconds I want to leave; I wish I could undo all the things. I wish I had never left London. I wish I have never drowned in the green of his eyes.
His hands cover mine, pressing it on his chest, and he kisses my wrist, putting my hand back on his chest while he drowns in my eyes.
Unbuttoning button for button I look him deeply in the eyes, and he smiles that smile where his dimples appear. Now I feel a little nervous as I reach the last button.The rest of his shirt sticks in his trousers; with tender fingers I pull on it, opening the last buttons of his shirt. His shirt is open and allows me a glimpse at his bare chest. He pampers my neck with gentle kisses, and I touch his shoulders while a shiver runs over my body. His warm hands run slowly over my hips further up while his hands rumple my blouse until he reaches the first button on my white blouse. Still kissing my neck, he opens the first button and a little moan escapes my mouth. Tilting my head back, he kisses my exposed throat, touching my neck with his smooth hands, placing his thumb on my ear as he embraces my neck.
This glances, these touches, these kisses that must be love, there is no denying. Of course not! The passion pulses through my veins and not less through his because I can see the bulge between his legs.
It’s a unknown feeling that I’m the reason for this reaction. I was only a means to an end for the man in London.
Unbuttoning carefully every button like it were a precious pearl. He doesn’t pull my blouse out of my skirt. His fingertips dance over my decolleté; softly his fingers brush over the lace of my silk chemise. My fingers hold tightly the fabric of his shirt on his shoulders while my blouse slides from my right shoulder. Gently, he kisses the top of it before he kisses me, deeply passionate. During our kiss, I slide my hands under his shirt, brushing the white fabric off his shoulders. It lands behind him; the sparse light dances over his muscular body. I never saw such a perfect body. It’s like he is cast in stone. His eyes capture mine as he kisses me again, burying his hand in my hair, pressing his naked skin on my silk covered breasts. Heavily breathing, we release each other.
He steps back, sliding out of his black, in this orange light shining, riding boots. The flame flickers in the reflection of the shiny boots. Unbuttoning his trousers, he walks back to me; my hands slide over his shape, and my hands land on the waistband of his trousers. My heart races. I never touched another manhood. I barely touched Williams. He only used that part to drill deep inside me.
My lips brush lightly over his shoulder, and I hear his first deep moan. Pressing my kiss onto his right shoulder, I wander over his chest to his left side while I hold tightly onto his waistband. His eyes are closed, and I still kiss his chest as my left hand strokes softly over his back, and I can feel his goosebumps. A soft smile appears on my lips. Slowly I take pleasure in my new power, yes I enjoy caressing him; and he is the only man who I want to open up for.
“May I?” he whispers while his hand grabs my belt buckle. Touching his face, I close my eyes, nodding. Tenderly he opens the belt buckle and the little button on the back of my skirt. I expect that my skirt falls to the ground, but he is holding my skirt in his hand, as he looks at me. He kisses me deeply as he releases the heavy dark fabric, which falls immediately with a rustle onto the ground
I freeze a bit as the cold night air hits my legs, despite the fact I’m wearing stockings which are held up with my black suspenders.
My blouse hangs only over one shoulder, the other side senses the chilly air. My chemise covers my intimate parts, which are pulsing with lust. I want him. I want to make love to this man who gave his whole life to God. I want to love him.
Kneeling down in front of me with his open trousers, he slides carefully over my legs. With handy fingers he opens my shoelaces, and I slide out of my black boots.
His hands caresses my right leg while he kisses my left thigh. My hands are buried in his curls, and I inhale sharply as his warm hands slide to the suspenders, loosening the stockings.
With tender, warm fingers he rolls down the right stocking. I stand on the tiptoe with my right leg to give him better access to my leg. Kissing down the path he finally removes the unnecessary fabric. My right hand is covered with the sleeve of my blouse while my grip tightens in his hair. He moans against my left leg. I feel his hot breath against my intimate parts. Moaning, I tilt my head back, feeling how he rolls gently down the other stocking, pressing a kiss on my knee.
“Harry...” It’s the first time I say his given name, and it feels so good. His head bends up immediately as the word leaves my dry mouth. The corner of his mouth is twitching. I close my eyes, feeling his hands on my thighs, wandering further over my hip while they slide up my chemise too. As he kisses my belly, I giggle lightly, only to moan in the next moment as his hands slide over my breasts. Still on his knees, he looks up to me. I saw him kneeling in the church: praying, pleading that he would forget me. The glint in his eye; what if he changes his mind? What if he... I can’t continue my thoughts because he opens the last buttons of my blouse. It’s me who slides my hand over my shoulder removing the expensive fabric. William would had never bought me this blouse if he had known that it would lie on the old wooden dirty floor in a lighthouse, removed by tender passionate hands.
The flame immerses our bodies in a gloomy, galanty show. The play will cost our soul, and we already know the end, but we both want to forget it, living in the moment.
My hair falls into my face as I look down at him, standing in front of him only clad in my silky white chemise which has never been touched by a man.
His eyes are dark; the smooth fabric is wrinkled because his hands rest on my hips, holding me.
“You’re so beautiful.” he whispers, sliding his hands behind my back, pulling me closer to him. I close my eyes, a soft smile on my lips, supporting myself on his strong shoulders. His nose runs over my belly, the silk is tickling my skin, brushing over his upper arms. I sense every muscle, tense and ready to welcome me. Leaning against his arms, I sigh.
His hands are on my rear end; his face is close to my intimate parts, now feeling the heat of his skin. Kissing my belly, his left hand moves to the waistband of my knickers. Opening the ribbon with one fluid move, he looks up to me like he wants to know if I feel comfortable. And yes, I feel pleasurable in his arms. My knickers land down at my ankles while he squeezes my hips, kissing my thigh. A little moan escapes me, and he kisses the inside of my left thigh, pressing his hand into my flesh. His lips tickle my tingling skin while he brushes over it, finding his way between my legs. My hands slides to his hair, feeling his smooth cold locks in my hands.
Suddenly I feel his lips between my legs, kissing my lower lips. His breath hits hot against the damp petals of my womanhood. Standing on my tiptoes because of the overwhelming power of his touch, I buck forward, moaning, pulling on his dark curls.
Panting, he feels my breasts on his head, because of my bent-forward body. I never felt such an intense feeling before, and now he kisses again the moist folds between my thighs.
My moan becomes louder, and my grip in his hair tighter. What is he doing to me? I heard of other things a man can do with a woman, but I never experienced it. William never touched my pubic area; no, he never did, and now I relish every moment: every kiss he presses on my womanhood.
“Harry!” I scream huskily. The hem of my silk chemise sits on his forehead, which is pressed against my pubic bone where I can also feel the root of his nose. His hands are now on my hips, the fabric in his fists.
The words slip out of my mouth; maybe it’s the heat of the moment or the passion? The deep desire which makes my core wetter.
“I want you. Please, love me; love me like I am your woman.” I whisper, and he withdraws his tongue. Panting hard, he sits back on his heels, studying my face in the twilight. I don’t know what he sees, only me. I’m the reason why his eyes become darker, his swollen, wet lips pinker.
As he stands up, he captures his eyes with mine. My womanhood misses him already: the pleasurable penetration, the teasing of his tongue on my most private parts. Stepping close to me, he frames my face with both hands, kissing me deeply. His hair tickling on my forehead, and I love this feeling; I will never forget it.
Sliding his tongue between my lips, as he did on another part on my body. His velvet tongue dances with mine as I take heart, stroking over his manhood.
It feels warm and hard under my touch, as I brush again over it I feel a small wet spot on his shorts. Breaking the kiss, I bite my lower lip, searching his eyes shyly.
“Everything’s fine.” he moans in my ear, and I tug on his trousers. Kissing my lips again, he undresses himself completely.
Looking down at him I see his huge manhood. I never looked at one like now. Can I say that it is, in an awkward way, beautiful? Timidly I stretch out my hand, touching his warm pulsing shaft. His head tilts back, and a deep moan escapes his mouth. His Adam's apple is moving, and I lean in, kissing it, feeling his pulsating length against my thigh, leaving a wet spot there. Softly my hand brushes over it, and I can sense every vein, catching me at the thought of how would it feel if he would…
His forefinger pushes down the thin strap on my right shoulder; it titillates the soft skin on my upper arm. While he removes the strap on the other side, I slide over his muscular chest with my flat palm. Taking in every muscle, every elevation, trying to memorise it and never forget it.
Lowering my glance, I glide out of the straps. The silky fabric lands on top of my knickers, covering my ankles. I step out of the clothes, kicking them somewhere in the room.
“When I saw you the first time at the train station, I knew.” he whispers, stroking my hair behind my ear, kissing it, wandering further down with his lips until he kisses my collarbone.
His warm hands run over my back and leave goosebumps on my burning skin.
Hope is rising in me; what if he reconsiders his decision? What if we could do this every night? My heart starts to race faster at this thought.
My breasts are pressed on his chest: it’s an overwhelming feeling, sensing his bare skin on my warm breasts.
His hand glides over my bottom, curving around to touch my sweetness. I claw at his shoulder as his long finger sweeps over my most guarded place. Moaning, I feel his manhood against my tummy. Slowly his finger massages my folds.
God, I want him. I want him now, in this lighthouse, in this night. Glancing to the bed, it’s me this time who grabs his hand, circuiting the iron bedstead. Looping his arms around me, he beds me down on the old blanket. Lying under him I can see the white in his eyes, and I see how his chest rises. Is there a chance that he is nervous? His fingers dance over my silhouette, and I coil under his touch. My lips are open as he grabs my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine, resting our entangled hands above my head. He looks at my breasts, my nipples stick out because of the intention of his touches and the cold summer air. Kissing my exposed nipples, he observes as my back bucks and a little smile appears on his lips. My free hand touches his face while he caresses my nipple with his tongue; after he releases it, I feel a painful loss.
Looking at me, he moves my leg tenderly with his knee so he can kneel between my legs. Bending his body down, I feel everything, every vein in my body. Every muscle. I want him. I want him so badly.
Squeezing my hand which rests above my head, he releases my hand, supporting himself with both arms surrounding my head. Bending my legs, raising hungrily to my waist. His forehead rests on mine; I can feel his breath in my face as he sinks deeper.
His green eyes fix mine as he slides into me. Bucking my back, my toes slide over the itchy blanket, squeezing his shoulder. The silence of the summer night is interrupted by our moans. He doesn’t move at first. I feel full; it’s a wonderful feeling. I will never forget^ it. Slowly he starts to move. He withdraws himself a little only to thrust into me in the next second. I moan loudly as he invades tenderly, deeper this time.
Looking at me, he assures himself that I’m fine. I’m more than fine, it’s one night in heaven. Kissing me as he thrusts again and again, I loop my legs around his waist. I don’t want to let him go. He should stay here forever. An unknown feeling rises in my belly. I can’t describe it but it feels overpowering; devouring everything. He pants over me, and his damp hair glues onto his forehead. With shaking hands, I stroke the strands off his front.
Finding a rhythm, his sweaty body fits perfectly on mine. He lifts me up on another level of closeness. Now I understand what it means: creating a new life. My fingertips run down his back; his throaty moan echoes in my ear as his forehead touches my shoulder.
“Harry…” I breathe, the knot in my belly stretched to the breaking point. The tingling is everywhere, on every inch of my skin; my hands grab the blanket which I hold tightly in my fists as he thrusts deep inside me again. Kissing my neck; my eyes shut down, and the knot bursts. I scream his name in the dead of the night, sensing his manhood inside of me. I fly away. I poise over the bed, still feeling the haunting sensation. I’m addicted to it.
And I will get more of it as he moans deeply, sensing a familiar warm feeling between my legs. His eyes are pinched together and he groans my name urgently. I welcome his seed inside me, and I wish I could welcome it again and no more of William’s. Looking at me, exhausted, he smiles, his eyes glisten in his post orgasmic state. His sweaty chest rests on mine.
I’m so bedazzled that little tears run down my cheek. The emotions are too much for me at the moment. I want to say something, but I don’t want to speak. I want to kiss him, but I want to feel his hot cheek on my chest, his sweaty hair which I brush gently away with shaking hands. And I want to feel how the stunning feeling ebbs slowly away. He gave me this feeling, and I will be forever thankful for that. I was his woman for this night, for a few hours we were only humans, without any background. The naked he and I.
Opening my mouth my words come out too quickly, too husky.
“Did I do it right?” My tears run down my face, his head rises. “I wanted to do it right one single time.” I whisper. Feeling how he moves, I wish he could stay between my legs. But he withdraws himself, crawling up to the head of the bed. Lying next to me, the thin blanket is between his legs as he pulls me in his arms. New tears are welling up in my eyes. The emptiness between my legs is nearly maddening.
My head rests on his chest, and I can hear his pounding heart. With both hands he holds me by my right upper arm.
“Don’t say something like that!” he says, pressing a kiss on my sweat-soaked forehead.
“You did everything right, my little rose.” he strokes some untamed strands behind my ear, caressing my cheek with his forefinger. Some tears drop on his naked chest, and he strokes softly, soothing over my head.
Our legs are tangled between the blanket. I feel the warm feeling in my belly, and I wish, I pray, that my secret desire becomes true.
“As I saw you the first time at the train station, as you said my name, and you touched me, I knew it.” I whisper against his chest, and I bet that he is smiling as I press a kiss on his chest.
“I love you,” the words are scarcely audible, but I understand them. This was true love, true love-making.
The oil in the lamp is almost consumed. My eyes are heavy. Cuddling into his arms I find some peace of mind there. His fingertips dance over my skin, taking me away in other dimensions, in another world. He showed me another universe, abducted me to another world. I want to stay there, I don’t want to leave this paradise, where I can be with him and he can be with me. Smelling his scent, my lips curve, tiredly kissing his chest.
The steady rhythm of his breath has a slumbrous influence, but I want to stay awake, I want to relish every minute, every second which I get with him. And then a deep slumber captures me, and I drift away in his arms.
I start to shiver in the early morning hours, opening sleepily my eyes, feeling every muscle of my body. My hand searches for his body but there is no body next to me, only the imprint of his body in the old sagging mattress. Pressing the old blanket against my chest I sit up, still dazed by the happenings from yesterday. Touching my lips with my fingers, I simper. There is no sign of him. My sleepy eyes roam the room; the table and the chairs look very lonely with the lamp on top. I ask myself who ate on the table, and in the morning light I see that one chair is worn out and the other looks unused. Thinking of the lonely person which sat there makes me sad. My glance wanders further through the room; his boots are still there. I breathe a sigh of relief and my heart starts to race. Is it a good sign that he is still here? Maybe last night changed his mind? Crawling over the bed I fish for my chemise. I slide into it; it feels different. I feel different. I close my eyes for a moment. I don’t feel like an adulteress. I feel light, happy, maybe a little bit free; I’m a woman who made love with a man who loves her.
Maybe it will be the only night with him, but no one can steal that from me, no one can ever purloin the memories of that night, the night which changed everything. And I know deep inside that no one will ever touch me like this again, I will never feel such deep connection to another man again.
Rubbing my arms, the morning hours are cold here; wrapping the blanket around me, I peer up the stairs which leads to the beacon.
I scramble up the stairs, a smile on my lips as I see him, standing there, illuminated by the rising sun, his glance over the sea, only dressed in his trousers. I don’t say anything. I’m just studying him. His serious eyes, the deep furrow between his brows, the pain in his face, and the rosary in his long soft fingers, and I know.
It’s the same train station, but it feels different this time. The engine is waiting, ready to leave, taking me back to the grey everyday life, back to him, back to London. I wear the same gloves, the same travelling clothes as the last time. The parting from Emily made me cry, but I know that someday I will see her again, so my tears are dried quickly. But I guess my tears for him will never dry up.
He carries my luggage; walking behind him, my heart is petrifies. He stops at my compartment, standing in front of me, still my suitcase in his hands. He wears his cassock again, remembering me of his status.
I hear his words in my mind echoing; it’s an endless loop. He broke all his vows for one night with me, but he loves God more. That’s his life. That’s him. He chose this for him, it’s the covenant.
I will never be by his side.
The dark green carriage is behind me, only a few steps separates us. Only the stairs separate me from another life. A life which I no longer want. I tasted the freedom, the levity, and now I taste the bitter aftertaste.
He puts my bag down in front of him,looking at me.
I bite my lip; I don’t want to cry in front of him. I wish I could fall into his arms, sobbing. The haze of the engine cloaks us, and he looks like a legendary figure. A hero who rescues the love of his life, killing the dragon for his damsel. Blinking the tears away, I swallow, trying to moisten my dry mouth.
My heart pounds wildly in my chest. When will the numbness come to ease my feelings, to send me in the empty corner of my heart?
“I guess it’s time to bid you farewell,” I say with glassy eyes, trying to control my shaking voice. The green eyes look at me for the last time in their familiar sad way. His black cassock blows in the wind. I cut out the busy ado around us. The suitcase carrier, the crying children, the loving couples who kiss each other, confessing their love. The tears of a mother who waves to her son,proudly in a uniform. Train stations are sad. It smells of tears, goodbyes, and of the bittersweet hope that you’ll see each other again soon. Sometimes it makes me smile woefully, when you can see the homecomer. I’m a homecomer, but no one will welcome me except the London rain. After all there is at least reliance on that.
Stepping closer, he shuts his eyes down, kissing my forehead. I freeze as I sense his lips on my hot front.
“I will always love you,” he whispers, looking deeply in my eyes. “Promise me that you will forgive me.”
I grab my suitcase, looking him in the eyes, feeling the knot in my throat and in my stomach. I can’t breathe for a few seconds. All the pressure is in my chest. The tears well up as I open my mouth, whispering.
“I can’t.”
Turning around, I enter the compartment. Standing in the aisle I press my hand on my mouth, trying to suffocate my sobs. I’m unable to walk; my hands embracing the worn out handle of my leather suitcase.
The sadness seeps with the pain out of every pore of my body. The tears leave a hot wet street over my cheeks as some of them die on my lips. Tasting the salty despair I start to walk searching my cabin.
Storing my suitcase away I fall, exhausted, in the soft seat. My whole body is hurting and my heart is bleeding. Maybe I will die? Right in this moment I wish I could. I have still his scent in my nose, still feel his touches on my skin, as I watch outside the window as the train starts to move slowly. I see him standing there, his untamed curls in which I had buried my hands, the pink lips which kissed mine, the hands which caressed my body. The train is leaving; it’s like he would hold my heart in his hands and the train rides away, ripping out my heart. All that he leaves is a big bleeding hole which will never be filled again.
My eyes are full of tears as he fades away slowly. Feeling the cold window on my temple I cry out my heart, desperate sobs leaving my mouth, and my chest is hurting. Searching in the pocket of my coat for a handkerchief I sense something on my fingers. Holding my breath, my fingertips feel something wooden. Gently I pull it out of my pocket.
It’s his rosary.
#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles imagine#harry styles au#original writing#parter's rose part7#harry styles smut
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