#it’s just mentions of canon attempts but nothing graphic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

avocado-writing · 3 months ago

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pairing: logan howlett x afab!reader. 18+, minors dni. angst; smut (p in v unprotected sex; handjob - logan receiving; oral - reader & logan receiving). canonically bisexual reader. mentions of pregnancy attempts. dp+w movie spoilers.

synopsis: in the Void, after leaving the other dead in your own timelines, you and Logan are reunited.

words: 8.5k.

notes: this was inspired by not your man by @studioghibelli and the worst logan by @coweye! please go and read both these fics and show their authors some love, they are both incredibly talented writers who deserve it! dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

The past couple of days have been a lot.

To be honest, anything that isn’t sitting at a bar drinking the place dry is a lot to Logan nowadays. He’s used to low lights, rumbling conversation around him, the fuzzier end of consciousness. Even now he aches for a drink, knowing he’ll have to wake up sober next to the asshole in red he spent the night putting down in that fucking minivan.

He hopes, at least, he has been met with all the surprises that this place can afford him.

Ah. But that’d be too fucking easy, right?

That Cajun bastard’s liquor sits comfortably in the cradle of his palm and he chases away lucidity one swig at a time. Tries to block out the half-baked plan Wade is concocting with the other poor bastards who have been stuck here, even if it’s all probably pointless. He only chimes in to laugh at their hope.

Then Elektra turns, withering pity in her eyes, and seems to properly assess him for the first time.

“They’re gonna be so disappointed when they see you.”

“Who?” he snorts, past the point of caring that he’d disappoint anyone. It’s then that Elektra hits him like a fucking freight train with just one word spilling from her lips: your name.

Logan feels a flood of memories come back to him. Ones he’s spent too long trying to drink away. The early morning when you’d hide under the blankets together, your hand cradling his face and letting the whole world consist of just the two of you. The stolen kisses in quiet corridors so the students at the mansion wouldn’t catch you and start silly little rumours.

Him holding your lifeless body in his arms surrounded by the rubble of what used to be your bedroom, your powers unable to save you.

He doesn’t have anything to say, merely spitting vitriol to anyone who tries to speak to him, even that damn kid who still prefers the other dead Logan to him. Why wouldn’t she? He’s a fucking mess, worth less than nothing, and that Logan was a hero.

He retreats in the evening to lick his wounds or, hopefully, drown them. People keep trying to fucking talk to him and he does not want it. Yet they’re fucking relentless, like the Void is perfect at creating gut punch after gut punch for him. Laura walks away into the darkness after successfully making him feel like shit - not that it’s difficult these days - and when he hears more footsteps he assumes it’s Wade coming to harass him about tomorrow.

“Oh, will you fuck off - ?” he snarls, but the sight of you there, half lit by a dying fire with orange dancing on your skin, oh, it just kills any venom he can muster dead in his throat.

Logan is looking at a ghost and he has never been less prepared for anything in his long, long life.

Your mouth has fallen open into a soft “o” as you look at him, brows knitted together as you take in every imperfect aspect of his being.

“Lo?” you whisper. Your voice hasn’t changed.

“Logan,” he replies, gruff, unsure if he’s confirming or correcting. But fuck does it sound good to hear his name out of your mouth again, even if it’s just a syllable.

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and take a seat on one of the logs which has been pulled up as a makeshift bench. He tries not to watch the way the fire lights up your eyes. There’s an agonisingly long pause before you finally attempt conversation.

“Long time no see, huh?” you ask with a weak grin. Fuck. It’s like a dagger. Your humour was always something which endeared you to him. Unlike Wade you never took it too far, cultivating your sincerity with your silliness in order to grow yourself into peoples’ hearts.

His heart especially, and now it aches.

He grunts, because he can’t bring himself to actually say anything. Can barely look at you. You keep talking, either not noticing or barrelling on regardless.

“You know, when the gang said that you were here… I didn’t believe it. Thought there was no way a fucking Wolverine would fall into this place.”

“Let me guess,” he sneers, taking another long drag of bourbon, “I’m not what you expected.”

You laugh, an easy little thing, and part of him hates you for it. For reminding him of how it sounds.

“I mean, you’re not. But not because of what you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” It comes out as a snap, lip curling back over his teeth in disgust. You do not look bothered in the least, just crossing one leg over the other and leaning back.

“Because I know you, Logan. Knew my Logan too. Bet you’re spiralling, making yourself out to be some kinda disappointment. Well you’re not. You could never be.”

He desperately wants to argue but he simply doesn’t have the gumption. Besides, it’s nice to hear someone say something kind about him after all these years.

“So,” you say after another one of those painful pauses, “considering every time you look my way you wince, you have a me in your timeline?”

He laughs without any humour in it, stares into the flames for so long they start to hurt his eyes.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Ahh. ‘Did’. I died, then?”

You say it so flippantly, he can’t fucking stand it.

“Mmm.”

“Makes sense. Don’t think I’d leave you in any timeline, so the only way I could see us ending would be if I wasn’t there any more.” You sigh, stretching your legs out to warm them. “Can I ask how it happened? Call it morbid curiosity.”

He absolutely does not want to talk about this. But, also… it’s you. Maybe not the you that was his, exactly, but it is you. Perhaps you deserve to know. He tries to stay dispassionate, as if he is a doctor quietly recounting the facts of death to a family member.

“Mansion was attacked. Everyone died, including you. I wasn’t there. We’d had a fight, I went out drinking. When I got back you were gone.” He flexes his fist around the neck of the bottle, trying to avoid shattering it, but desperately needing to hold onto something.

“Oh.” The fire crackles loudly. “What did we fight about?”

This will kill him. He will die in this Void.

“You wanted to do another round of IVF. I didn’t want to be disappointed again.”

The words settle like a cloud of choking ash over the two of you. He takes a long drink. What a fucking failure he is, couldn’t even knock you up properly.

“Fuck, Logan. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Does it help if I tell you I probably wasn’t that mad? I’ve never been really angry with you, you know. My Logan… we used to bicker a lot, we both had short fuses, but it never meant anything in the long run.”

He doesn’t know if it does help or not. Is it better to know that you died hating him, making it easier? Or that you were snuffed out while loving him the whole time?

“Your turn,” he says, because he can’t bear to continue this particular line of conversation, but for some reason he wants to keep talking to you. Your voice is a comfort he thought he’d long since lost.

“You wanna see a picture?” you ask, a grin pulling at the sides of your mouth. No, he doesn’t, but when you reach into your jacket to grab the photograph, he finds himself holding his hand out to take it. You slowly float it over, telekinesis absolutely unnecessary - but you always did use it to make the little things easier.

It’s old. Frayed and disintegrating at the edges, a thing which has been held and looked at over and over again. Faded slightly despite the fact that you clearly try to take good care of it.

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening. You chuckle.

“I know.”

Because, despite the lack of facial hair and addition of a decent rack, the woman with her arm around you in the photo is him.

The Logan in the picture is about as butch as they come, decked out in a Wolverine’s trademark flannel and leather. One of her arms is wrapped around you to keep you close against her, the other playfully flipping the camera off with a middle claw, and she’s laughing with a joy he hasn’t seen on his own face for years. You’re pressing a kiss into her cheek and hanging onto one of her thick biceps. The two of you exude happiness.

“She was the best thing that ever happened to me. She could be a mean cunt sometimes, smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, but fuck we were the centres of each other’s world.” You let out a long sigh and hold your hand out - Logan goes to give you the photo but instead you gesture for the bourbon. He passes it and you and you drink deeply, gratefully. “I’d been in a string of bad relationships. Guys who took me for granted, women who were toxic but I didn’t realise until I was in too deep. Then she came along and well… she was a fucking angel in plaid.”

Logan’s thumb absentmindedly strokes the photo. He’s pretty sure there’s a near-identical one back in his timeline.

“Our mansion was attacked too. She died getting the kids out.”

Fuck. Fuck. No, he can’t do this. He can’t face the way he should have died. He really is the fucking worst Wolverine. He snatches the bottle back from you, you give no resistance, and he polishes it off. The photo flutters to the ground.

“I think it’s time you fucked off,” he growls out. You roll your eyes, fucking roll your eyes at him, something his version of you did on pretty much a daily basis, and the knife in his heart twists further.

“Well, Logan, I’m not gonna do that. Because this conversation is the most whole I’ve felt in a long time, and I’m pretty sure you feel the same way.”

He doesn’t. He does. He wants you to disappear forever. He wants to hold you close and kiss you, beg you never to leave again. He hates you. He loves you so, so much.

He’s such a ruined man that it is laughable.

“So what, I come along and just replace your little girlfriend? First Wolverine that you manage to get your hands on; is that what you’re hoping for?”

You bark out a laugh. It echoes around the trees. There are tears in your eyes when he turns to look.

“Girlfriend? Logan, you were my fucking wife!”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that the laughter engulfs you, peals of giggles that double you over. You hold your head in your hands and it soon turns to bitter sobs. He wants to reach out and hold you, apologise for ever making you sad. He tries to get any lingering drops from the bourbon instead.

“We got married at the mansion. Charles officiated. The kids made us cards. We didn’t get a honeymoon because we didn’t have the fucking time. We had five years. Five really happy years and you know what? We wanted a baby too. We were getting a donor lined up! And then when the attack happened you were the one getting all the kids out I begged you to come with us but you were too fucking good, you had to stay behind and make sure nobody followed us. And it cost you your fucking life. They ripped you apart Logan. I know because all I found of you was your head and your wedding ring. I didn’t even get time to mourn because I had a dozen children to fucking take care of! And I did because I knew that’s what you’d want me to do. It’s what you died for. So I lived in the fucking woods with all of them for years, and they were my family, and I made sure they were as safe and happy as I could make them. And you know what happened then? When they were all grown? A fucking TVA agent appears out of nowhere and tells me, ‘oops! Sorry! Your Logan wasn’t supposed to die, it was meant to be you!’ So they fucking throw me in this hellhole to rot away into nothing and I’m sorry, Logan, I’m sorry that when I heard you were here I got my fucking hopes up that you might be happy to see me, because if there was one person who understood all of the shit I’m going through then it might be you.” You throw your head back up to stare him dead in the eyes. “And it’s pathetic because you know what? Even after all this? I’m still not angry with you. I’m still happy you’re here. Because seeing you makes me feel better, despite everything.”

It’s a long-ass rant, and your words hang in the air after you’re done. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? He opens his mouth to apologise but the words just won’t come out. Because, yeah, if he really dissects himself and looks at the parts laid bare, he’s glad you’re here too.

He reaches down to rescue the photo before an ember lands on it, gingerly extending into you. When you take it back his fingers brush yours. He wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves.

“Who was the donor?” he asks eventually. That does a lot to alleviate the mood, and you smile through tear-streaked cheeks.

“You might not like the answer.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me it was Scott.”

“The two of you got on okay! Butted heads a lot but he was always a good friend to us. Plus it was cheaper than going through an agency.”

He growls to himself and it makes you laugh, but properly this time. Things have started to soften and it’s… nice. To be like this with you again. You pause for a moment, stuck on whether to ask a question; hesitate over whether it’s a good idea, then barrel on regardless.

“Can I ask a weird question?”

“You’re dangerously close to sounding like Wade,” he replies. You groan at that idea.

“Ugh. Fucking Deadpools, man. We get one come along every now and then and trash the place before fucking off again. Apparently there’s like, a tribe of them out there somewhere.” You give a full-body shudder. “Imagine. No, it’s nothing like that, I guess. Can you… can you take off your glove? Left one.”

He has a horrible feeling about this but when you ask so nicely, that air of vulnerability around you, well it just seeps into his fractures and breaks him open. It takes a moment but he does, flexing his bare hand in the cool air.

You reach around your neck and pull at a thin chain he’d barely noticed. The ring at the end slides up from where it’s been resting on your sternum under your shirt, glinting as you remove it.

“Give me your hand.”

This is a bad idea.

He does anyway.

You slip the ring on his fourth finger, softly twisting it to fit over his knuckle as you go. It is the perfect size.

“Will you look at that,” you mumble, not releasing your grip on him. “She… you always told me your hands were kinda big because of the claws. Like I cared. One of my favourite parts about you.”

Your fingers trace along his, finding the spaces between them and gently slotting your hands together. Logan isn’t sure if he’s the one who closes the grasp or if it’s you, but a beat passes and suddenly you’re holding hands.

He’s not done this with you for so fucking long. An age of aching which is relieved at the feeling of your palm up against his.

“So now what?” he eventually has to ask. You smile.

“Well, I mean, your Deadpool is probably gonna get us all killed tomorrow…”

“Ugh. Don’t call him ‘my Deadpool’.”

“… so I’d quite like to just spend tonight holding your hand, if that’s okay. Seems like a pretty nice final night to me.”

When you hit him with those soft eyes, what other fucking choice does he have?

You don’t speak much for the rest of the night. Eventually the fire dies out. Laura comes to seek you out the next morning, and is surprised to find you lying side by side with this other Logan, the most deeply asleep she’s ever seen you, fingers laced together so tightly with his it looks like it might hurt.

He comes to the fight, of course; dredging up what little courage he has left in him in order to prove he’s not totally pathetic. You catch his eye and smile so wide that he feels likes he’s done at least one good fucking thing in his life. He hears the sound of you ripping into people with an enthusiasm he hasn’t witnessed for years. The last glimpse of you he gets before he jumps through the portal is you using your telekinesis to tear a man’s head off and he does not want to examine himself too closely when it sends a jolt of arousal down his spine.

They leave you all there to face the end, but everyone knew that’s what you were all getting into. There has been a net gain and loss of nil. He never had you again. Not really. Not for anything longer than a night, and maybe that will be enough.

Yes. That’s enough. It has to be.

When he tells Wade he’ll go into that room, when he volunteers to die, he does it with the knowledge he’ll be doing something good, finally. Something you’d be proud of him for doing. And with you waiting for him on the other end of oblivion it really doesn’t seem too bad a fate.

But then Wade does what he always does and fucks up his perfectly meticulous plan, and they both make it through, so he has to keep going.

When Wade asks the TVA agent to help the group of you they left behind, Logan is sure to add on that people should get the opportunity to go back to their timelines - surely it’s what you’d want (this oddly selfless request has Wade raising an eyebrow which he ignores). After all, why wouldn’t you want to go back? It’s where you belong. Where you’ll be happiest. Putting things nice and neatly back into their place after this whole fucked-up venture.

He doesn’t have you, but he’s still alive and wants to be, and that’s something. A lot more than he’s had for a long time now to be honest.

His life becomes this strange little thing that’s wrapped up with Wade’s. He sleeps on his pull-out sofa until he has somewhere proper to put down his roots. Tries to lay off the booze as much as he can even if each day is a fucking struggle. Makes steps towards finding a proper place for himself; even gets a job on the door at the bar across the street. It’s okay. One step at a time. He can put himself back together like that.

Imagine his surprise, then, when a week later there’s a knock at the door.

He assumes it’s Al who’s forgotten her keys, or is too drunk to fish them out of her purse after bingo, so opens it without really thinking.

The second time you’ve nearly stopped his heart in seven days.

“Hey,” you say.

“Oh,” is what he can manage. You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Your go-to.

“Yeah. Sorry. I uh, followed you back, I suppose. The TVA were gonna send me home but I asked where you were and when the answer was ‘here’, well… didn’t make sense for me to be any place else.”

He blinks at you. After a beat of silence he can tell you hate, no doubt wondering if your choice was the wrong one, he lifts his hand to cup your face. You stiffen for a second and then nestle into his palm.

“You’re real,” he states. You press your hand to his.

“I am.”

He pulls you into his chest and you are more than willing to come. He feels the way you bury yourself into him, nose first, remembering what he smells like. Your arms wrap around him so tight it’s like you’re scared he will disappear when it should be the other way round: if anyone is dreaming it’s him. You bothered coming here for him. You uprooted your whole life for it.

He could hold you forever but the neighbours are nosy and the apartment is a mess. He presses his mouth close to your ear.

“Wanna get a coffee?”

You pull back to meet his gaze.

“I’d love that.” Your eyes drop and you pull a face. “Oh, uhh, you might wanna get changed first, though.”

He looks down and realises what shirt he’s wearing before letting out a groan, which gets you chuckling.

“Wilson’s letting me borrow his shirts until my first paycheck comes in. Just to slum around the apartment.”

“Oh, so you’re not ‘employee of the month at the dick sucking factory’?” You ask, reading the slogan on his tee.

“No. Looks like Wilson won out over me.”

The fact he’s made a joke hangs in the air for a moment and you burst into laughter, real actual laughter, and it’s the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever heard.

He grabs the only plain shirt Wade has left out, slices off the sleeves just because, and grabs twenty dollars from his roommate’s wallet. Soon enough you’re sitting in the little café near his building. The sky is grey and overcast, just threatening to rain but not quite bothering, and the two of you are tucked away in a corner table while Taylor Swift plays over the sound system.

Logan does not like that he knows it’s Taylor Swift. This is what living with Wade has done to him.

You watch him with affectionate eyes across the table, making sure nobody is paying close attention before using your telekinesis to stir the little metal spoon around in your latte. You nod at his mug.

“You take coffee the same way as she did. Boring and black.”

Logan’s nostrils flare a little in a laugh.

“Yeah, and you take yours the same way too. So fucking dense with syrup that it’s not coffee at all.”

“Oh you were always such a coffee snob! ‘Babe you gotta try it plain first so you can appreciate the aroma��,” you say, putting on a gruff affectation as a parody of his voice.

“You do need to try it plain f—”

He’s interrupted when a sugar lump floats into the air from the pot in the middle of the table and launches itself at him, bouncing off of his pectoral. He cocks an eyebrow.

“Real mature, bub.”

“Grouch.”

“Contrarian.”

“I’m not a—” you pause, realising there’s no way to win against that accusation, and grin at him instead.

“Where are you staying?” he asks after a long drink. It’s not booze. He kinda wishes it was booze. But also, he knows it’s best not to go down that path again, for everyone’s sake.

“The mansion. Turns out I died in this timeline too, so you and I are two for two here” - there’s a hint of a smile at your own macabre observation - “but they were using my room for storage so they just let me have it back.” You grimace a little. “It’s been weird. It’s my space but it’s not, y’know?”

“I get that.”

He probably gets it better than anybody. Nice to have someone to share this strange, singular feeling with.

“You should come around. Laura’s there too, I know she’d be glad to see you too.”

“She settling in okay?”

“Yeah. It’ll take a while, but everyone has been really understanding and kind. I think she’ll thrive here.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

You give him a smile that lets him know you believe it. Your eyes cast over him, taking in this new, slightly more settled Logan, falling still when you see what’s pressed against his fourth knuckle.

“You’re still wearing the ring.”

“Oh,” he replies, surprised. Flexes his fingers as he looks at it. It’s been so comfortable there, so utterly unobtrusive and right, he hasn’t even noticed. “You want it back?”

A beat passes as you consider the question. Coffee is sipped. Another sugar added and stirred, perhaps just for show.

“I don’t know,” you settle on. “I kinda like seeing you wear it but… if you were gonna have my ring, I’d want it to be one that was meant for you.”

He lets that idea settle between the two of you. Suddenly, slowly, you’re reaching forward, laying your smaller hand over his thick, rough one.

“Logan. I want to be with you. In every way you’ll have me, all of it. I don’t know if it was fate or god or plain luck that threw us back together but I’m certain I don’t wanna waste this opportunity. I’d love you in every lifetime, in every timeline. I can’t be without you ever again, I think it would just kill me - and if I know you, you feel the same.”

He doesn’t even bother arguing because he does. When you turned up on his doorstep a scant couple of hours ago a part of his soul had been healed; your existence like kintsugi to piece him back together. A man made of adamantium and gold.

“I’d like that,” he manages.

“Yeah?” Your eyes glimmer with a hope which he’s not been privy to for a long time now.

“Yeah.”

“Well, okay then,” you say with a smile, and drink your coffee.

The two of you do not take it slow. How does one take it slow when your soulmate comes back into your life? You are not exactly the same person he once knew, but you understand each other in every way which matters. Your souls fit together like puzzle pieces. The two of you are whole again.

Then again, perhaps he doesn’t need the version of you he used to have. Maybe, now, he needs this you - rougher around the edges, a little older and more wary, a fit which is better for him. Someone who can put up with his bullshit as Al once bluntly put it.

You barely spend a night apart. You stay over with him on Wade’s pullout (inciting an input of, “something the two of you had better do, we can’t afford a kid on my income—!” before Logan had hurled a water bottle at him) meeting up with him after his shift is done in the small hours, getting something to eat at one of the greasy spoons which remain open. He devours full plates of fatty food; you stick to slices of pie which you feed him bites of from your fork. When you get back to the apartment you cuddle up on the uncomfortable mattress which folds from the sofa and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

He sleeps pretty well nowadays.

The two of you only realise you haven’t kissed yet when you do it for the first time. You’re making a coffee run, tugging on his jacket because you like the smell of cigar smoke and it’s thicker than yours. A little act of intimacy which has become commonplace.

“Same as usual?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Boring,” you make an exaggeration of a sigh, before leaning over the back of the sofa to press your lips to his. He automatically leans into it, tilting his head up so that he can meet you; it’s a chaste little thing, a peck between two people who will only be parted for a moment, but you pull back in surprise when you realise what’s just happened.

“Oh!” you say with delight, eyes sparkling.

Your hand slips around his neck to cradle him, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. You gently pull him back for another. Longer this time. Lips slip together, moving carefully in something a little deeper. When you break for a moment it’s Logan who pulls you back. This third kiss is on the brink of hungry. He slides his tongue to swipe against your mouth and you let out a happy little hum at the intrusion.��

His arm curls around your back. With a little tug he pulls you over the back of the sofa and into his lap, making you yelp with glee. His mouth returns to yours, crushing, greedy for any little noises you’re able to make. You relax into it and are happy to take whatever he gives you.

Wade finds you making out on the couch like a pair of teenagers, coffee forgotten. He does not let Logan live it down for a week.

The apartment is fine, but not a long term solution. Wade and Al are constant presences that stops the two of you being fully at ease together. Logan knows that invitation to go to the mansion is always there, but it’s a while before he takes it - he really isn’t sure what he’ll feel, being back at a place he last saw burned to the ground because of his pigheadedness. Might just break him all over again.

But ah, when you nock your fingers in the spaces between his, he can face anything.

One night, exhausted and full of diner food, he agrees to go back to yours - the two of you have had a late night coffee meaning you’re still a tiny bit buzzed, a little too much to fall asleep on the pullout. Instead you get a taxi to yours, near enough, tipping the driver well when he drops you in the middle of a random street and choosing to walk the last minutes hand-in-hand.

The mansion is quiet. Everyone is mostly asleep. And Logan does feel strange being back here, but it isn’t a bad strange. Just another aspect of this new life he has to compartmentalise.

You drag him through low-lit halls, confident in the steps which will lead you back to your room; he recalls a similar journey from his own timeline in the night you first hooked up, smuggling him to your bed down the corridors all wandering hands and breathless kisses and giddy giggles; but there’s no part about you that wants to hide this.

You’d show your Logan off to the world.

You’ve tried to make the room your own, he can tell. It’s pretty big and spacious. Good view. Has an ensuite which he plans on monopolising. He shucks off his clothes and sleeps in just his boxers, arms holding you to him so he can feel every part of your body against his. His chest hair bristles between your shoulder blades and you hum contentedly.

He agrees to come to breakfast the next morning and, to their credit, people are good at not staring. The members of the team he recognises from his past keep their distance unless he seeks to close it. Hank gives him a smile.

“Good to see you, Logan.”

“Mmm,” he manages. Laura comes down to grab something to eat and lights up when she sees him. She gives him a hug which skews on the side of awkward but he’s grateful to receive it, and he can see how pleased you are watching this development.

He comes around more and more often.

Less time spent at the apartment with Wade - who constantly complains about the fact and Logan cannot tell if he’s sincere or not - more living in the pocket of you. He helps you sort out the furniture in the room so that there’s more space; you’re moving a chest of drawers to another corner together when a photo falls out from behind them. Trapped against the wall for years. Long forgotten.

“Oh,” you say, lifting it up and bringing it to your hand with a wave. Your face twists into something strange and bittersweet, a mask Logan isn’t quite sure how to comprehend, but he quickly understands why when he joins you.

It’s a picture of the two of you.

Not exactly the two of you, of course; the ones of you who lived in this timeline. Logan is posing on the back of his Harley, you’re propped up on the seat next to him with your head thrown back in laughter. The two of you look… young. This must have been taken when you first started going out.

Your thumb caresses the photo in a movement he’s familiar with.

“Huh. Looks like we were together here, too. Who’da thunk it,” you mutter.

He slips an arm around you then because he’s feeling oddly sentimental. It’s reassuring. No matter what timeline it is, there’s a you who loves him and a him who loves you. A simple and irrefutable truth, like the fact that the sun rises every day or the moon moves the tides.

“Apparently Magneto got me in the late noughties. Feels like a bit of a pathetic way to go, but diverging timelines, I guess.”

Logan knows that in this timeline, he stuck around for a while after. Poor bastard, he thinks. Having to live those years without you. That’s a misery he understands all too fucking well.

But not any more.

You leave the photo on your dresser, loathe to throw it away, and continue moving furniture to make room for the TV you just bought. Logan hates sharing the one in the living room, especially when the hockey’s on.

Eventually Logan is spending so much time with you he’s barely living at Wade’s any more. You’ve suggested they’d be happy to have him back in the mansion for a “teaching job” like you have, though he knows there’s never much teaching involved, more helping kids learn to defend themselves without too much collateral damage. Still it’s a fair chunk of change better than his current miserable doorman’s salary and it means he’d be living at more sociable hours.

Plus he’d get to move in with you, an idea you’re both secretly happy about.

So he hands in his notice at the bar and packs the scant few belongings he has at Wilson’s into a cardboard box from Bad Dragon, which is strangely the only one Wade could find him (“god Peanut that’s so weird, oh well!”). Looks around the apartment he’s called home for some time, feels not entirely pleased to be leaving it.

“And remember sweetie, if it all goes incredibly wrong and you realise the place you’ve belonged the whole time is on my undoubtedly piss-soaked pull out sofa bed, Al and I will be happy to have you back with minimal taunting.”

Logan fixes him with a look.

“Wilson?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” The word is odd coming from his mouth but not insincere. Wade goes to say something that’s no doubt stupid and inappropriate, however he softens at the last moment.

“Any time. Go get ‘em, tiger, I’m rooting for you.”

You’ve moved your stuff so he can have a side of the closet, and drawers in the dresser, and he resumes his life with you.

It takes only a couple of days for him to settle and realise how much he prefers this. Living with you properly. How, really, he couldn’t stand to be apart from you. How he wants to be there for every second, hear every laugh which drips from you, comfort you whenever something threatens to ruin your happiness.

He falls asleep with you wrapped in his arms every night. Wakes up with you there. Pretty fucking perfect if you ask him.

There’s nothing special about the morning when you first make love except for the fact it’s the morning when you first make love. It’s a border the two of you haven’t quite crossed yet. Almost as if you’re both afraid to make the commitment, like it may break you apart; there’s perhaps an underlying fear that you’re being unfaithful to your partners from your own timelines. That being together like that dishonours their memory.

It’s a salve, then, that the longer you’ve been together the more you realise that you don’t love each other as a stand-in for the ones who died, but entirely on each other’s own merits. He doesn’t look at you and see the body he held in the manor. He sees someone who he’d protect, give his life to, become a dog for because he’s utterly in love with this you, the one who was so happy to find him in the Void, the one who patched him back together when he was at his most broken.

There’s nothing to second guess in this relationship. It is the most solid foundation he’s ever had, and from the way you look at him every morning as if he’s hung the stars, you feel the same.

That morning he’s holding you particularly tight. It’s a Sunday, the quietest day at the mansion, and the two of you are in bed later than you’d usually be. You’re both awake because you’re pressing more and more into each other’s bodies, nestling together like nesting dolls. His arm slung around your waist, hips against the swell of your ass.

You shift slightly and he feels his cock harden in interest. Why wouldn’t it? Most beautiful person in the whole world right here in his bed. He might be old but he’s not a fool.

He’s aware your hips are moving again, pressing yourself into him harder. He lets out a quiet, gruff laugh.

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Mmm, maybe I am, Howlett. What are you gonna do about it?”

You squeak with laughter as he surges upwards, pinning your hands to the mattress either side of your head so that he can look down at you. Such a pretty picture beneath him. Hair all fanned out, eyes sleepy and sexy, ready to take in the syrupy-slow pace of the morning.

His lips press into yours softly but firm. You hum into the kiss, slipping your wrists from his grasp so that you can wrap your arms around his broad neck and tug him closer. Your legs slowly match pace, looping at his waist. His cock is free to press against your clothed core now and he doesn’t waste a second of the opportunity; he grinds down, never letting it distract from the kiss for a second, even smiling into it when he can feel the blunt head of his dick catch your clit. You gasp.

“Logan…”

Oh yes, that’s it. That’s the voice. He could listen to you say his name a million times and it would still be the sweetest sound in the whole fucking universe.

He kisses you again and again, getting more fierce now. Tongues slide together and you moan into his mouth. Teeth clack with the force of it. He wants every sense to be drowned in you. Your smell, your taste, your touch. You’re holding him so tightly it’s like you’re worried you’ll just float away from the bliss of it all.

He’d never let that happen. He’ll keep you right here in this bed, forever, if you’d let him.

With a display of telekinesis he’s not expecting, Logan finds himself on his back. You stare down at him with wide, hungry eyes, and he’s never been more turned on in his entire life.

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask breathlessly, and he finds himself huffing out a laugh because fuck, as if you’d ever have to ask. You take his meaning and giggle before you start to make your way down the plain of his chest. A kiss dropped on the top of his pectoral, followed by you moving that sweet mouth around one of his nipples to play with it. Logan huffs and arches into your touch like a schoolgirl. You use your teeth to continue the trail, tracing around his abs - which have become less pronounced ever since he started eating right, and you’ve often expressed your pleasure at this fact - mouthing at where his muscles shape his Apollo’s belt.

Your hand goes to palm his cock through his boxers and he has to make a concentrated effort not to come. It’s been a while since he was touched properly like this, and though he used to be able to go all night when he was a younger man, he truly doesn’t know if he has it in him today.

You seem delighted by this development though. Holding his gaze you slowly drag his waistband down to his thighs, watching in delight as his cock bobs up, half-hard. You take him in hand and pump him lazily, languidly, enjoying every stroke which makes him firmer. You prop yourself up on your free arm, elbow on the mattress and palm cradling your jaw, eyes on him like he’s the show of the century.

“Handsome, handsome, handsome man,” you sigh, dreamily.

“Old man,” he chuckles.

“Not mutually exclusive.”

He has to concede that with the way you’re looking at him like you might eat him alive.

When he feels your mouth around his cock his brain almost short-circuits. It’s warm and wet and willing, your tongue gliding along the thick vein you find there before caressing his head. Logan grunts, fisting the blankets, and a familiar snik has you looking up. You grin around his shaft when you see his claws have popped out from the intensity of his gripping hands.

Pleased, you continue with your work. You bob up and down as the fire builds in his belly, a low heat which is soon bubbling over when he feels you press the tip of your tongue into his slit, humming with pleasure as the taste of his pre floods you. Logan is aware he’s beginning to tighten in a way which suggests that if you don’t stop now things will be over entirely too soon.

Claws retracting, his hand comes to grab your hair. His cock is enveloped in the sweet velvet of your throat, in fact he can feel himself brush against your uvula, and when you look up at him like that he almost gives up completely. He powers through though, carefully guiding you up and off. You wipe your spit-soaked mouth with the back of your hand.

“Oh… was it not…?” you don’t voice the word ‘good’ but it hangs there anyway. Logan rumbles with a laugh.

“Fuck, it was the best thing I’ve felt in years. Wanna fuck you properly, though. Come up here and sit on my face, baby. Need to taste you.”

Your eyes go wide. Like he’s come up with the idea of the century.

“Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

There is nothing elegant about the way you pull yourself up the length of his body, but it is filled with a primal need which is far more sexy. You pause at his abdomen in order to rub your soaked cunt across his abs a couple of times. Fucking the muscles there. You throw your head back in gratification and continue up along his chest before a strong thigh is planted either side of his face.

Looking up at you from his back is his favourite view. Logan wastes no time in clamping an arm around either one of your legs and pulling you cunt-first onto his tongue, you gasp and writhe in delight.

“Oh fuck, Logan!” you hiss. Yeah, that’s it. That’s the voice he wants to hear. All strung out with sex and pleasure because of him. He fucking buries himself in you. Kisses your pussy sloppily, changing his attention from between your clit and your folds, no rhythm to his need. When your fingers scratch his scalp in your need to grab a fistful of hair he thinks he might be in heaven. His hips buck into the air, imagining the action of taking you before he’s even properly started. You start to fuck yourself on his face. Hips grinding down onto his beard, groaning at the stubble there which prickles and pleases.

“I’m gonna--”

“Fuckin’ do it,” he mumbles from between your legs. You cum in his hot, wanting mouth; all the furniture in the room rattles as you let out a little involuntary telekinetic jolt.

You are not done. This was the appetiser. Eyes still ravenous you peel your pussy off of his face, sweeping down to kiss him so you can taste yourself there. Moaning in delight at the musk.

“Wanna ride you…”

“Anything,” he breathes because, yeah. He will do anything you ask, anything you want. He’s a loyal hound at your heel.

When you take his cock it’s with less teasing this time, more intent. Spreading your legs wide you line him up with your entrance and slowly sink down. He wants to grab. Your flesh, the blankets, anything. Sensing his desperation you hold out your hands when he’s far enough inside you and he meets them in midair, pressing his fingers between yours, knuckles white from the effort.

Hips nestle against his. You begin to move.

“Logan…”

Your name leaves his lips in a similar whisper, dragged out through his throat from his very heart. You look down at him, eyes clear and wide and lucid despite the heady pleasure.

“Logan. I love you. I love you.”

Yes, you love this him. Not as a stand in for the Logan you lost, not as some sort of idol on a pedestal, but because you’ve fallen for him just like he’s fallen for you. He is worth loving. He is. He is worthy of you. It is a realisation which hits him with the force of a bomb. He grips you tighter.

“I love you too,” he confesses. He feels his pulse sync with yours from where he’s sheathed inside you, grips your hands tighter because he knows you can take it; you hold him back just as hard. Your hips rock in a wild rhythm as he brings his own up to meet them. It’s hard to know who’s fucking who, it’s wild and desperate and raw, but you keep chanting those words as a manta.

Logan. I love you. Logan. I love you.

He only lets go of one of your hands when he can feel he’s about to finish, dropping it to your clit in order to press rough circles there. You come messily over his cock and he spills inside you, pumping you full of him. Marking you as his.

You collapse into his arms, sweaty and spent. He holds you with arms like iron. Cock still inside, softening now, but he doesn’t want to to break the contact.

You pull back after a moment of breathing together, propping your elbow on his chest.

“Hey.”

He smiles back, a real smile, something he’s not been truly able to produce for years.

“Hey.”

“I meant it, you know. I love you,” you trace a pattern on his collarbone, silly and intimate.

“I know. So did I.”

“Mmm, okay, good.” You kiss him and hum into it. “We should get up.”

“Probably.”

“But let’s not.”

“Sounds fuckin’ good to me.”

You laugh, and oh you are the sunlight.

The summer heat is cloying but Wade has set up some parasols on the top of his building to hide under, he did not specify where he got them but a few local restaurants seemed to be without on the journey back to the apartment. The group of you are definitely not meant to be up here, but with the weather so hot, nobody cares enough to cause a fuss.

It’s a small gathering. Logan stands at the grill because it’s where he’s most comfortable, supervising the chaos. That awful mutt of Wade’s is looking up at him with expectant eyes and, when he’s sure nobody is watching, he throws her a hamburger which she goes crazy for.

And it’s… nice. He didn’t even complain when Wade put on the 1989 album. A few of his old roommate’s friends, a couple of them now mutual - Piotr is a pretty relaxed guy to be in the mansion with, and the two teens who Wade somehow befriended get along with Laura. You’re talking with Peter who for some reason is always at these gatherings but he’s probably the least offensive person here.

He says something which makes you laugh, and you look over to Logan as you both settle. You gesture at the bottle of soda in your hand, an invitation; he nods.

You stand, rummage in the cooler, and close the gap. He eyes the glass bottle of Dr Pepper with disapproval; you give him a playful shove.

“C’mon, be good. You just got your one month chip. Keep it up, we’re proud of you.”

He grumbles his acceptance and takes it. It is pretty refreshing to be fair. He settled the hand he’s not using on the grill around your waist, pulling you so that you settle nice and snug against his flank. You grin up at him, pleased with the show of affection.

“Hey handsome,” you chuckle.

“Hey gorgeous.”

“You make me the happiest I’ve ever been, you know that?”

Day by day he’s letting himself believe it. That he’s the kind of man who could make someone as amazing as you happy, as over-the-moon with joy as you make him.

Before he can answer Yukio appears by the grill, pointing a Polaroid camera in your faces.

“Smile!” she says, and the two of you do, because she’s a nice kid and you don’t wanna let her down. She snaps a photo and watches it quickly develop, shaking it loudly in the air before admiring her work.

“Awww, cute! I hope me and Ellie are like you guys when we’re your age. Here ya go!”

She passes over the photo before skipping away to find her next victim. Logan has to try and hide a laugh at the indignant splutters that are escaping you.

“Our age…?!” you mutter, but soften when you look down at the picture. It’s nice. The two of you make a good-looking pair that’s for damn sure, he can almost understand Wade’s insistence of “letting him watch one night”. But most importantly, the two of you look… happy. With each other. With this slice of life.

“This is a great one,” you declare.

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s looking at you.

When you get home tonight, late by the time you pull up to the mansion, you’ll toe off your shoes as you walk in through the door like you always do, but this time you’ll pause to put this photo in front of the one you found behind the chest of drawers, and Logan will feel content that he never has to be without you again.

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk

#my writing #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x men x reader #logan howlett imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu imagine #wolverine fanfiction #mcu fandom

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cherienymphe · 9 months ago

Text

Teenage Dirtbag XI

JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, mentions of blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

⭑

You gasped when Rafe tightly squeezed your wrist, pinning it down beside your head as his other hand trailed down your sweaty frame. It was only the evening, but after hitting a few balls at the country club, he came back in a mood that resulted in him reaching for you the moment he made it to his room. Any other day, and you would’ve gone played your role perfectly.

…but JJ was right downstairs.

All of Sarah’s friends were congregated in the living room, so you made yourself scarce no matter how much you actually wanted to stick around. It’d been hard to avoid JJ’s watchful eye every time you went downstairs, recalling the feel of him on top of you and his hands on you. It was something you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for weeks—even while lying next to Rafe.

You were so conflicted…and not just because you were cheating on your boyfriend.

The whole situation with JJ felt…off. You hadn’t really wanted to go that far, and when JJ kept pushing, you were still unsure if you regretted giving in or not. Was he right when he said you were just scared because Rafe had mentally fucked you up so bad? Had you really just been afraid of the unknown? After all, up until that night, Rafe was the only guy you’d done practically anything with. Those things were very true…and yet you wondered if you should’ve forced yourself to go along with things you weren’t ready for like you had.

…because the truth was that you did enjoy lying underneath someone you felt safe with. When sleeping with Rafe and letting him touch you and returning the favor…you had never not been afraid. Your first time had been a drunk and bloody and violent mess. You didn’t know what it was like to be with someone you trusted and felt wholly comfortable with.

It was an entirely different experience.

Your conflicting feelings were too much, and it was something you wanted to talk to JJ about, but you could just never find the time. Rafe had been especially clingy as of late, and on the off chance he wasn’t, the rest of JJ’s friends happened to be around to where you couldn’t get him alone without arousing suspicion.

Like today.

Unable to get JJ alone, you were forced to basically do nothing but wait for Rafe.

Your boyfriend had been insatiable for almost an hour, twisting his hand into your hair and pulling your face closer the moment he walked into the room. Lying on his bed, you hadn’t had much choice but to slide your lips along the length of his cock, the only silver lining being when he returned the favor. You’d hoped that he would be quick…

“You’re so quiet,” he murmured into the crook of your neck, hips snapping against yours. “What’s wrong?”

When your boyfriend pulled back to look at you, you only shook your head.

“Nothing…”

There was a slight furrow between his brows, and you didn’t like the look that passed over his features.

“You know I like hearing you,” he said, pulling his lip between his teeth. “…and it’s not like we’re at Topper or Kelce’s.”

You swallowed, and his hand tightened on your wrist.

“Is this about Sarah’s dumbass friends downstairs?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“No…I…” you licked your lips. “Not really.”

Rafe had stopped moving, holding himself inside of you as he looked over your face.

“Not really…?” he repeated, eyebrow raised.

Glancing around the ceiling, you sighed.

“I’d just feel embarrassed…”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. You would feel embarrassed about Sarah’s friends hearing you, but you especially didn’t want to think about JJ hearing you. Obvious reasons aside, JJ was the only one to know about what your relationship with Rafe was actually like. You didn’t want to imagine what he’d think.

Rafe scoffed.

“Who gives a fuck about them? This is my house,” he said, tone cocky as he leaned in to kiss you. “Besides…”

He slowly pulled his hips back before thrusting back into you just as slow.

“Let them hear what I do to you.”

His tone was sinister, a mocking lilt to his voice as he started to snap his hips against yours again. When you bit your lip, his movements grew rough, and you sharply inhaled. His hair brushed your forehead as he leaned in, and you couldn’t avoid his eye.

“I’ll fuck you all night if I have to.”

The warning was clear, and when he pushed his cock into you again, you didn’t swallow down your moan this time. As embarrassing as it was, the shame eventually left you when Rafe started pounding into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. At some point, you found yourself on your knees, fingers clutching the sheets and the pillows as he thrust into you from behind.

His hands were tight on your hips, and a mewl climbed out of your throat with every push of his hips.

When he leaned over you—chest pressing against your back—his hand snaked its way around your throat. His grip was tight, making you gasp and making your eyes roll. You reached up to cover his hand with your own, flinching when his teeth grazed your ear.

“You like that?” he wondered, and at your nod, he leaned down to nip at the skin of your neck. “Who’s making you feel this good?”

“You,” you gasped.

He hummed, a question in his tone, and he only seemed satisfied when you moaned his name. Pushing you down, he had you pinned, hips slapping against you as he repeated the question. Understanding what he wanted, you moaned his name again. And again. And again. Rafe only seemed satisfied when you were practically screaming his name, hand tight on your throat while the other dug into your hip and thigh.

When you came, you were shouting his name, and you heard him groan yours into your ear when he came too. You shuddered at the feel of him filling you up, shuddering at the stickiness between your thighs and the cum dripping around his cock and onto your folds. Laying you completely down, Rafe kissed down your back as he pulled out of you, telling you he was going to take a shower.

You wanted one too more than anything, but Rafe had a habit of commencing round two whenever you joined him under the water.

Instead, you took the time to roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as you pulled the sheet over your chest. As great as the sex was with Rafe—when it was consensual—you couldn’t help but to compare it to your time alone with JJ. Thinking back, you’d always thought your former friends were lying when they talked about other things being better than sex depending on the guy.

…but JJ’s fingers and his lips had sparked more excitement than anything Rafe did.

You knew why, and it made you sigh. Resigning yourself to everything with Rafe had been so much easier when you didn’t know what you were missing. You did now, though, and you weren’t sure how you were going to continue to pretend with no problem. Dealing with Rafe’s abuse didn’t seem like the worst thing in the world when you didn’t know how much better ‘better’ could be.

The fact that the ‘better’ was right downstairs had your heart skipping a beat, and as much as you wanted to go downstairs again just to see his face, you weren’t quite ready to face him after he’d so clearly heard Rafe fucking you.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

You wiped your face, crossing your arms over your chest as JJ pleadingly gazed at you. The pool house was quiet save for your occasional sniffle, and you were still when the blond reached for you—not quite rejecting him, but not quite accepting his advances either. There was still some dried blood under his nose, and the skin under his eye was already beginning to bruise.

All of it was evidence of his actions not even an hour ago.

Against your better judgement, you went along with Rafe to a small party on the beach. You’d texted JJ to see in advance if he was going to be there, seeing as the answer to that would determine your own actions, but you’d gotten no response. Hence, your own slight shock at seeing none other than a familiar blond talking to Kie.

You’d looked away the moment his eyes met yours.

Rafe—and you by extension—had kept his distance, but you hadn’t exactly anticipated JJ to be the one to start trouble tonight. Rafe had been talking to some friends that weren’t Kelce or Topper, his hand tight on your waist as he held you close. Per usual, you’d been quiet, just sipping on a beer you didn’t even like as your gaze roamed over the beach.

Your boyfriend had been shoved out of nowhere.

Before either of you had time to react, JJ was on him, throwing punches and taking you by surprise. No amount of yelling could get him to get off, and even when Rafe eventually got his bearings and started fighting back, blood was already smeared under his nose and on his lips. While Rafe’s friends tried to join in and make it unfair, John B. and Pope only tried to break it up.

You didn’t understand what happened, only able to look on in horror as your boyfriends fought.

When JJ slammed Rafe’s head into the sand, your heart jumped. There was a look on the younger blonde’s face like he could kill, and for a moment, you thought that he could. You hadn’t forgotten what he’d said to you in Rafe’s kitchen that day, and you didn’t want to acknowledge the way a brief bout of relief filled you at the thought of him actually killing Rafe. The feeling scared you, so much so that it made your stomach turn, and all relief was gone the moment you imagined JJ in jail.

You only wanted Pope and John B. to get him off of him.

When they did, they struggled to hold him back, and Rafe’s friends fared no better, your boyfriend determined to get his hands on JJ. You’d only been able to look between them, eyes lingering on JJ as he was pulled away. You hadn’t missed his brief glance towards you and the venom you saw there. You were only pulled from the trance by the feel of Sarah grabbing your arm.

“Are you okay? You didn’t get caught up in that, did you?”

You’d shaken your head, and she’d angrily tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Kie will drive you home,” she’d said. “I’m sure Rafe won’t take much convincing.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Your boyfriend was huffing and darting his eyes every which way when Sarah proposed she make sure you get straight home. Even if your boyfriend hadn’t said it, you knew what he was thinking. He still had a fight in his eyes, and you knew that whenever he made it to The Cut, if he didn’t find JJ, he would settle for either of his friends.

That was exactly what you told the blond the moment you walked through the pool house, positive as to where he’d found refuge.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I don’t know why…”

JJ trailed off, running his hands through his already messy hair.

“No…”

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

“I know exactly why I did that.”

He moved closer to you, jaw clenched as he gazed at you.

“I hate that everyone thinks he’s such a great boyfriend,” he sneered. “I hate that he can just walk into a party with you on his arm like he doesn’t treat you like absolute shit!”

Your face fell, and your gaze found the floor.

“God, seeing you standing there…? Like his little accessory or something? Just hanging on his arm without even being acknowledged like you aren’t even a person?” he wondered. “It made me angrier than expected.”

You sighed at that, some of your own irritation dissipating.

“JJ,” you exhaled, sadly looking at him. “You can’t let that bother you.”

“…but it does!”

His voice bounced off of the walls.

“It’s not fucking fair,” his voice was quieter, now, hand coming up to rest on your arm. “It’s not fair that he gets to treat you like that…and have you too.”

You could see it then—there in his gaze—that this wasn’t just sparked by tonight.

Closing your eyes, you sighed again.

“I can’t exactly…refuse to have sex with him JJ,” you softly whispered, slowly meeting his gaze.

You could see that it bothered him, disgust and anger flitting over his features.

“The rest of them were making jokes and pretending to gag,” he gradually replied. “…but all I could think about was him giving you a black eye…and then having sex with you weeks later.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“So you fought him?”

“What else can I do?” he seriously wondered, giving you a look. “…until I can figure out how to get you away from him…I have to settle for kicking his ass.”

You couldn’t even focus on everything JJ said, lips parting as you blinked at him.

“Get me away from him? JJ,” you lightly scoffed. “I…”

Of course, you wanted that, but Rafe was…Rafe. Rafe Cameron, son of Ward Cameron and equally as rich as you. You didn’t want to imagine the things he could get away with considering what he’d already gotten away with. You recalled Ward’s convincing tone that day you’d called the cops on your boyfriend, telling you everything that you already knew. You especially remembered Rafe’s hands on your throat one night, threatening to kill you if you ever left him.

You’d long accepted your fate of walking on eggshells around Rafe forever.

“Are you telling me you don’t want to get away from him?” the blond wondered, fingers grazing the skin of your cheek.

“I do,” you told him, shaking your head. “You know that I do, but… I have no way of…”

Your words trailed off as JJ shushed you, his other hand coming up to rest on the other side of your face. His nose brushed against yours as he leaned in, foreheads touching too. His thumbs traced circles into your cheeks as he closed his eyes.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he whispered, lips brushing yours as he spoke. “I’m going to get you out.”

He pressed his lips to yours, and you thought about Rafe on The Cut looking for JJ, none the wiser to the fact that he was with you.

“I promise you.”

Ward and Rose’s party was in full swing, and yet you found yourself on your fifth drink of the night on the back porch. Rafe was especially irritating, going on and on about JJ, and unable to take it anymore, you’d slipped away to find comfort in your solitude. Since Topper and Kelce weren’t privy to what went down the other night, Rafe had to let them in on all the sordid details, and you couldn’t stand it.

That same night JJ had kissed you for what felt like hours, eventually letting you go once you reminded him that Rafe wouldn’t be out looking for him forever. It was reluctant, but he eventually kissed you one last time. It was still on your mind when Rafe finally came back, still angry at JJ and choosing to take it out on you, kisses rough as he pulled at your clothes.

He’d only seemed satisfied when you came around him for a second time, exhausted and milking him dry.

This feud or whatever between Kooks and Pogues had always been ongoing, but your relationship with JJ only added another complicated layer to it all. While Rafe thought the other blond was just being an asshole, you knew better. You knew that JJ was angry with Rafe’s treatment of you and saw himself as defending your honor or something.

You would’ve found it flattering if it didn’t worry you so much.

You were pulled from your thoughts by a familiar hand on your elbow, and you hadn’t even heard Rafe come outside. When you looked at his face, you could see the boredom all over it, and so you weren’t shocked when he said:

“We’re heading to Top’s.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, and you didn’t have any choice but to follow along as he pulled you through his house. The two familiar guys were already in his truck when you made it outside, and you could only stare out the window when you slid in next to Topper. You tried to ignore the way Rafe’s words slurred as he got behind the wheel, sipping on your own drink.

You could faintly hear him complaining to the other two about Rose’s ‘awful party’ and needing to ‘hit a few lines’. You rolled your eyes, not enthusiastic to be with Rafe and his friends while they snorted whatever up their noses. Despite his inebriation and irritation, Rafe still helped you out of the truck once he arrived. However, you figured out why when his lips immediately covered yours.

“Maybe you can cheer me up, hmm?” he wondered against your lips before pulling you along.

You almost tripped over the end of your dress, and you watched Rafe loosen his tie as he followed the other two inside. The atmosphere was immediately different, Kelce looking for something on his phone to play while Topper headed to the kitchen for more drinks. If you were going to halfway stomach the three of them at once, you’d need another.

While you went to the bathroom, you resisted the urge to text JJ.

Rafe was drunk—and was about to snort a line or two of coke—so his behavior was going to be extra unpredictable. The last thing you needed was for the blond to inquire about why you were on your phone so much and snatch it from you. You really didn’t want to imagine how that would go, shuddering at the thought, and you pressed your hands to your forehead.

Gazing into the mirror, you thought to yourself that you would’ve never thought this was your life a year ago—hell six months ago.

There was a time where you barely even knew JJ Maybank’s name, and now…now he was…what? Your second boyfriend? Your lover? Your guy on the side? Never mind the fact that you’d been too terrified of Rafe to even entertain the thought, but… There was a time where the thought of cheating on Rafe would’ve made you sick.

You felt your eyes burn, and you pressed your hand to your mouth.

You and Rafe were so far from how you’d started out, and while the abuse had certainly made you realize that, your recent actions only drove it home. You’d been sneaking around with someone that wasn’t your boyfriend. You’d been spending the night with him and kissing him and letting him touch you. The reality of just how far your relationship had fallen made you want to cry…

…and now JJ was talking about getting you out.

The thought was terrifying because…how? How was JJ—with his limited resources—going to do what you couldn’t? The thought of not being with Rafe anymore felt so relieving…but equally as scary. Rafe was all you’d ever known, although, you supposed that was no longer the case, and you reminded yourself that JJ told you not to worry about it.

It was easier said than done.

When you made it back downstairs, music reached your ears, and the sight of Rafe snorting a line off of the coffee table met your eyes. Ignoring him, you made your way to the kitchen, quickly finding yourself a drink. The night was going as it usually did, and for once you were happy to be ignored until Rafe remembered your presence.

You had too much on your mind.

You were on your third drink since coming to Topper’s when you finally found a seat on the couch. You tried to ignore how you stumbled, resisting the urge to roll your eyes as Rafe’s words reached your ears.

“…and the piece of shit just pushes me,” he scoffed. “For no reason.”

“What else can you expect from Pogues, man,” Kelce chimed in, shaking his head.

“The next time I see JJ, I swear to God, I’m going to make him swallow his fucking teeth.”

At that you did huff…and Rafe noticed.

The room grew quiet, but you figured that all the alcohol in your system made it hard to notice.

“Problem…?”

When you glanced up, Rafe’s familiar blue eyes were on you. Kelce and Topper were conveniently looking anywhere else, and you gave a humorless chuckle at their cowardice. You didn’t miss how blown your boyfriend’s pupils were.

“I just think it’s stupid…all of this fighting and back and forth,” you took another sip. “You find him and beat him up? Then what?”

You shrugged.

“He starts another fight the next time he sees you, and so on?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to get it.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” you agreed. “It’s stupid.”

At that, Rafe’s face twitched, and you watched him sit his drink down.

“You almost sound like you’re defending him…”

You were way more drunk than you’d intended, but his tone and the glint in his eye warned you off—your inebriation not making you lose your common sense.

“I’m not defending anyone,” you said after a tense pause. “It just seems unnecessarily violent.”

You thought about how angry JJ had been the other night, the look in his eyes, and you shuddered. You really didn’t want to see JJ and Rafe fight again—ever again if you had any say. Rafe only scoffed at your words before standing and making his way over to you. When he reached for your drink, you held it out of reach, and it was his turn to huff this time.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” was all he murmured when he leaned in.

“…because I think it’s stupid to not just let this go?” you wondered with a frown. “God forbid you decide to act your age.”

His hand was circling your chin before you realized it, and you heard Topper lightly murmur his name. Your boyfriend stared you down, both of you just holding each other’s gazes as his fingers pressed into your skin. The room felt too quiet and too tense, and you searched his eyes, almost daring him to do something in front of his friends.

Listening to Top, Rafe let you go.

“Maybe I should take you home,” he sneered. “You’re ruining the mood, and nobody wants to hear your Kumbaya bullshit.”

His hand was on your arm, yanking you up, and he paid little attention to how you swayed. Rafe only cared about pulling you along, telling his friends he’d be back. You stumbled a few times in your heels, almost tripping over your dress, but Rafe just continued to force you outside. He practically shoved you into his truck, uncaring if you even pulled your dress inside of the vehicle all the way.

The moment he was next to you, you were unsurprised by the feel of his hand digging into your arm.

“What the hell is your problem? Huh?”

“I don’t have a-.”

“Bullshit!” he spat, shoving you away and starting the truck. “You’re practically defending JJ—telling me to let this go when he’s the one who snaked me.”

You knew that he wasn’t entirely wrong to want retaliation against what he believed to be an unprovoked act of violence, but you just couldn’t get that image out of your head. That glint in JJ’s eyes. If Rafe and JJ fought again, you were worried that someone was seriously going to get hurt, and if it was Rafe, there was no doubt in your mind he’d make JJ’s life hell.

Despite the alcohol and coke in his system, Rafe managed to safely pull into your driveway.

“You should probably drink some water when you get inside,” he mockingly said. “Sloppy drunk isn’t sexy.”

“Fuck you,” you sighed.

The slap was loud in the truck, and your cheek burned beneath your hand when you touched it. You didn’t know if the alcohol made the pain less or worse, and you blinked away tears. Some still escaped though, and you pulled your lip between your teeth as you sniffed.

“Hopefully you’ll have pulled yourself together by the morning,” Rafe murmured, unlocking the truck. “You know I hate when you get like this.”

Stumbling out of the vehicle, you made sure to slam the door behind you.

Rafe didn’t even wait around to watch you go inside, backing out of the driveway just as more tears fell. Your face stung more when the air hit it, and you sniffed, searching in your purse for your keys. Your parents were still at the Camerons’, and considering it was actually still pretty early in the night, you figured they would be for a few more hours. When you dropped the clutch, you cursed, and you were just about to bend down to get it when another hand beat you to it.

“Jesus!”

You might’ve fallen if he hadn’t reached out to grab you.

“No, JJ,” he teased, but his face fell as he really looked at you.

His hand tightened when you swayed, keeping you from falling, and his other hand reached out to hold you too.

“Hey…hey, are you okay?”

You touched your forehead.

“I’m fine,” you sighed. “Just the average night with Rafe Cameron.”

You wiped your face again, and JJ pulled you against him.

“Did he hurt you?”

The question made you laugh, and you reached for your purse again with a shrug.

“I don’t even know if a slap counts anymore,” you choked out with a bitter smile. “Ending the evening with only a slap is considered a good day.”

You could feel yourself crying again—you blamed the alcohol—and you didn’t protest when JJ took your keys. Rafe was long gone, so you let JJ guide you inside, a hand on your waist as he closed the door behind him. When you stumbled in your heels, it was a reminder that you were wearing them, and JJ bent down to help you take them off. You swayed when you put your foot down, and JJ steadied you as he rose.

“Let’s get you upstairs…”

You let him lean you on him, moving towards the staircase.

“It takes almost nothing to get him mad,” you murmured after a few moments, recalling his ire. “I don’t even know what I was thinking drinking so much tonight.”

You always had to be on high alert with Rafe—always had to be hyperaware and hyper focused on every single expression and word and change in body language. There was no relaxing around Rafe ever, and the thought made more tears fall. When you made it to your room, you immediately sat on the floor, dropping your face into your hands.

JJ softly called your name.

“You know that he grabbed me tonight…and Topper and Kelce barely did anything?”

You looked up at the blond as he sadly looked down at you, jaw clenching at that.

“…and I’d like to think that they would do something if he did much worse,” you slowly said. “…but the truth is…”

You shrugged at him.

“I don’t know,” you confessed. “They never speak out against him, so I don’t know why I’d ever expect that where I’m concerned.”

JJ moved to sit down next to you.

“Especially since they barely even acknowledge me on a regular basis.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry,” you tearfully told him, shaking your head when he protested. “I don’t…”

“Don’t apologize for talking to me about this—any of this,” JJ firmly told you, taking your hands. “I wanna hate him for leaving you alone this drunk, but…”

JJ pressed his lips to your cheek.

“He’s probably the last person you should be with,” he whispered, pulling away slightly.

His blue eyes searched yours, and you blinked at him. You could see so many emotions pass over his features, anger being the most prominent, and JJ’s gaze hardened.

“I should kick his ass again-.”

“JJ,” you admonished.

“I should,” he said with a smile, kissing you. “I should do to him exactly what he does to you.”

Your drunk brain knew that JJ was in your bedroom and kissing you, but you couldn’t quite make sense of it. Your face still stung, and your chest still felt heavy, but all you could really focus on was the kiss. JJ kissed you like he missed you, and you supposed that you missed him too. When one of his hands rested on the back of your neck—the other on the zipper of your dress—you touched his chest.

“JJ…”

He gently shushed you, leaning in towards you more.

“It’ll be okay…”

“I don’t… I don’t think this is smart,” you told him, pulling away. “Rafe could easily decide to come back, and I…”

You bit your lip, eyeing him.

“I don’t want this going too far.”

JJ brushed his thumb along your bottom lip, pulling on it a bit.

“Trust me,” was all he said, kissing you again.

You did, but you knew that this wasn’t something you were prepared to handle yet. You wouldn’t be able to take anything back, and you weren’t mentally nor emotionally ready to walk around looking Rafe in the eye and pretending like you hadn’t had sex with someone else. You were already cheating on him, this was true, but sleeping with JJ just felt like the point of no return…and not just because of Rafe.

Rafe was unfortunately the only man you’d ever been with, and you weren’t able to get past that mental barrier.

“JJ,” you protested, words slurred. “Wait…”

Your back was pressed to the floor, JJ’s frame pinning yours down as he kissed you. Your movements were sluggish and weak, the alcohol in your system hindering them. It was hard to tell if you were actively trying to push him away and was just failing, or if you simply weren’t trying, at all because you didn’t want to.

Everything was so confusing.

The sound of the zipper on your dress was loud in the otherwise quiet room, and you shuddered when the air hit you. When JJ kissed you again, your thoughts halted momentarily, and you blinked up at the ceiling when his lips trailed down to your throat. The room was tilting, and you squeezed your eyes shut. The feeling of his lips on your chest and then your stomach made you shudder, and you pressed your hands to your forehead when you felt him yanking your underwear down.

Your next protest was forgotten when he tasted you.

Your chest arched, and you gasped, wide eyes on the ceiling. JJ’s tongue slid between your folds and across your clit while his hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place. His mouth on you was making your head spin, and too many thoughts were racing around in your head. You wanted to push him away…but you also wanted to pull him closer. You wanted to moan, but some part of you also wanted to swallow down every sound that threatened to come up.

Alcohol completely settled in your system, your vision went in and out, and the next time you blinked, JJ’s lips were touching yours. You could taste yourself on them, and you drunkenly hummed. The blond was saying something to you, but you could only halfway focus, slowly blinking at him.

“You’re okay,” he softly repeated.

You realized why when all of your senses came back into focus, and you felt yourself pushing against his chest. It was weak, anyway, positive that JJ could bat your hand away if he wanted to. Instead, he only kissed you again, deeply inhaling and reaching between you. When you felt the tip of him grazing your thigh, a shiver crawled up your spine.

You turned your head when he pressed open mouthed kisses along the expanse of your throat, shifting as he completely got rid of his pants, now. One hand kept himself hovering over you while the other reached behind his head to pull at his shirt. You shuddered again when his bare chest met yours. It was only just hitting you that you were about to have sex with someone that wasn’t Rafe…

…and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

JJ was slow when he entered you. He took his time in pushing his cock into you inch by inch, and you didn’t know if he was giving you time to adjust or simply savoring the moment. Maybe both. You heard him sigh—you did too—and your nails pressed into his arm. When his hips firmly rested against yours, he held himself there, pausing and just basking in the feel of you wrapped around him.

You were also getting used to the feeling.

While he seemed to be just as long as Rafe, you weren’t prepared for the stretch, and you involuntarily moved your hips. The action made JJ hiss, and he pressed his forehead to yours. His breathing—like yours—was uneven, and he only started to move once he calmed himself down a bit. Pulling his hips back until only the tip of him remained, JJ swiftly thrust into you.

You softly yelped, hanging onto him, and JJ adopted a slow and steady pace. Your dress and the carpet beneath you were soft against your back, and JJ hummed as he sank into you. Your entire body felt abuzz with energy, and it fought with the alcohol in your system. Every push of his hips had you gasping, and when JJ lifted his head, his blue gaze held yours.

You were still really confused—the room tilting around you—but you trusted JJ way more than you ever trusted Rafe. Despite the fact that this was not what you wanted for your evening, your body slowly relaxed underneath his with every thrust. Despite everything, you weren’t scared, and those feelings heavily conflicted with your uncertainty surrounding this.

You hadn’t wanted this…but now all you could think about was JJ’s smooth thrusts and his efforts to push you both over the edge. You hadn’t wanted this, but you forgot why when JJ trailed his lips over your throat, sighing when you threw your head back. Your lips parted, a choked moan escaping as he curved his hips against yours.

JJ was being so gentle with you, and it was what stood out to you the most.

Then again, maybe everything felt good because you were drunk. You felt so light, like you were floating, and your lashes fluttered. JJ’s hand curved against your waist, holding you as he continued to fuck you, while the other ran up and down your side. He was saying something to you, and it took you a moment to focus.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured against your lips, kissing you again. “Do you feel okay?”

When you gave him a nod, he smiled against your lips.

“I told you,” he whispered, cock stretching you out and sliding along your walls. “It’ll be okay.”

You moaned his name, chest arching up into his. He cursed as he held you tighter, and you wrapped your arms around him.

When you came around him, JJ kept moving against you, fucking you and plunging his cock into you. You clung to him as you shuddered, gasping and toes curling. When you squeezed your eyes shut, you saw stars, and JJ murmured soft praises into your ear. His movements prolonged your climax, the overstimulation making you shudder, and JJ only slid his hand under you to fist the hair at the nape of your neck.

When he forced your head back, his teeth grazed your neck, head drifting towards your collarbone.

“I want you to think about me every time you’re with him.”

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #dark!jj maybank #dark!jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks #obx #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #jj maybank fic #outer banks imagine #obx imagine

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corazondebeskar-reads · 6 months ago

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of rage and ruin - chapter three

of rage and ruin series

chapter three

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.3k

summary: you cannot escape the call of the moon.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, allusions to/threats of torture, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), depiction of injury, body horror, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, viewer discretion is advised, menstruation, slow burn

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Joel knows he’s a coward. He knows he’s making your life harder by staying wolfed out.

But the thing is, he just can’t be fucked to care. He wants to. He wants to want to, anyway. But he didn’t ask to suddenly be responsible for the emotional well-being of some random fucking omega.

He was pretty sure there was no right move, anyway. You’re scared of him; you’re scared of the wolf. You’re scared.

As you should be.

Not of him, no, but of this life. This life that has been his reality for the last three years. Now it’s yours, too.

And fuck, if that thought doesn’t make his stomach clench and his chest draw tight. You don’t deserve this. He, arguably, deserves some of it. But not you.

No, not you. He can tell. He can tell you’re so soft, on the outside and the inside. Not soft in the way that you’d give easily beneath his teeth, though that’s true as well. But too fucking soft to have been living in the goddamn apocalypse, let alone here. With him.

Here, which, as far as he can tell, is an abandoned high school turned raider camp. There are a lot more of them than he ever sees. Certainly, they all know about the beast in the belly of their home, but it’s only ever the same small group that takes him out or comes down into the sublevel.

They’ve taken you away again. After his failed attempt at playing human, you’d stayed curled and cold in your cage for a day, and then they swept you off again to the room across the hall.

He tries, oh, he tries to ignore you. To forget that you’re there, that you’re so close, that the concrete cannot keep your scent from him or the throb of your heart or the salt of your sweat from the air.

He fails miserably, of course. Strokes his cock daily, sometimes twice, to the sweet smell of you, to the way your pulse races when you hear the wet, sloppy sounds of his seed splattering against the drain. The way your own slick spreads and leaves him salivating.

Until, one day, it doesn’t. One day, as the moon lazily waxes, drawing more and more of the wolf out to play, he wakes up to a new wave of sharp metal, and your essence is cut with a flood of bitter salt, not unlike the time last winter when one of his molars cracked and the abscess burst and he had to let them pull it from his mouth without giving into the urge to snap down around the bony wrist and condemn himself to death by dental infection.

You’re woken by your new least favorite sound—the haunting howl of your neighbor. The timbre usually fills you with terror, but today, oh fuck, today, you can’t fucking take it.

You groan, crawling out from where you’d been curled up under the bench that had been protecting you from the horrible fluorescent lights. It did nothing for the ache in your lower back, or the ache in your neck, or the ache, well, everywhere.

And you feel it. Hot and sticky. Not that you’re surprised, given the state of the rest of your body. Before you can muster up the will to care, the room spins, the tug in your navel moves up, and last night’s broth ends up back in the bowl it came in. Mostly.

The howl comes again, longer, seemingly endless. At least, until you groan again and mutter, “shut up.”

He does.

You freeze.

“Can you hear me?” you say just as quietly.

There’s a quiet whine.

“Holy shit.”

You feel a fresh gush of heat between your thighs, and he howls in a way you can only call mournful.

You ignore him in favor of figuring something out. There’s no good option in this room. You pull down your soiled panties and set them on the ground to sit, leaning up against the frigid tile wall in a corner where, hopefully, some of your dignity will be maintained when they come in and out with food.

He howls a little more insistently this time.

“Look, please stop. I have such a fucking migraine,” you whisper with your head in your hands.

He falls quiet and stays that way for a while. It takes you an embarrassingly long time to put two and two together, but he whines or howls each time fresh blood leaks out.

When it hits you, you freeze, heart scattering as you first assume that his noises are hungry. Once you calm, though, you know, somehow, that isn’t the case. Something—and you really don’t want to think too hard about it—tells you it’s concern.

“Can you smell it?” you ask hesitantly.

He whines again, and you hear just the slightest change in his pitch and inflection.

You’ve got to be fucking losing your mind. You’re talking to a wolf.

Only… you’re not, really. Right? Unless you hallucinated it in fear-borne delirium, he was a man for about ten minutes.

A man who said he wouldn’t hurt you.

Yeah, right.

He whines again softly, and you scowl.

“It’s my period,” you say, feeling stupider by the minute.

But he makes a loud huff of a sigh, and then the room across the hall goes quiet.

When they bring you back to the cage, there’s no man. Not a hint of him. Only the wolf. And they’ve tired of acclimating you, of letting you cower in the corner of the cage.

With delicate gloved hands (who the fuck manicures their nails in the apocalypse, Cheryl!?), your rope is swapped for a shiny pair of handcuffs, the chain of which is clipped to the front of the cage. You’re stuck on your knees, hands in front of you.

You consider clasping them and praying to your new lunar goddess for mercy. But there won’t be any. She can’t control her change any more than he can control his.

You’re all beholden to your nature, now.

He notices immediately, stalking over on all fours, ambling with his back hunched and teeth bared.

You flinch and close your eyes just before he slobbers on your wrist.

When you force yourself to look, you find him crouched, snout shoved up to the bars, and the long coil of his tongue flopped out. He’s lapping at the raw rope burn, and even though it’s wet and thick and disgusting, you don’t hate it.

There’s something almost soothing about it. His saliva is a cool balm on the inflamed flesh.

So you just stare. He doesn’t stare back, though. His murky eyes stay fixed on the wounds, and he growls in warning when you shift almost out of his reach.

So you hold still, a tugging in your sternum urging you to sit. Stay. Obey.

Later, you’d think about how unnaturally natural it all felt. The way he seemed to lasso you in with those big brown eyes and the way you fell silent when he growled. The way your body moved as if through water back into his reach.

The way you sit still for hours and let a creature more monster than man taste you in a way that should not be intimate, and yet, the slick pooling between your legs seems to disagree. The rough slip of his tongue on your raw flesh, the pleasant tingle his saliva leaves behind—it sits just on the right side of painful, the slight sting and then cooling relief stirring feelings you’ve been trying so hard to ignore.

His eyes go as black as a cove whose lighthouse has long burnt out. And as the smallest whimper of a moan slips from your lips, you dash yourself upon the rocky cliffside.

There’s one moment where you think he’s going to follow you into the depths. One long, fertile moment that’s over in a flash despite the way it gives him time to chew you up and spit you out.

He’s on the other side of the room before you know it, blinking stupidly with your mouth hanging open.

Oh, god. You can’t even turn your back and hide your face, cuffed as you are. He takes pity and doesn’t look at you.

Tommy Miller had seen a lot of shit in his life. Between his stint overseas, his tendency to stick his head into dangerous situations, and the fucking apocalypse, he’s seen—and done—terrifying and disturbing things.

Watching his brother turn into a storybook monster? Well, that takes the spot of the second worst thing he’s ever had to remember.

Laura, the woman in the woods, the woman he’d made a widow, had warned them. The turn, she said, would never be easy. But the first time? The first time would break anyone’s heart.

There was no way to know how he’d be. Some of the alphas, she’d whispered, lost themselves. The wolf was stronger and drowned the man.

Tommy wasn’t worried about that. Not with Joel.

No, it would have been better, maybe. There was a chance he wouldn’t have remembered it, wouldn't have remembered the agony and fear, had he been buried in his own body for the night.

They’d chained him up in Laura’s basement. Tess had gone back into the QZ, keeping up with deals they had to deliver on. So Tommy was alone in the mildew with his big brother manacled to the cement wall.

That was hard enough.

As the sun set and the moon rose, fat and ethereal, Joel whimpered.

Tommy set down the shotgun to get up.

“Don’t,” Joel snapped. “Do not put down that fuckin’ gun.”

“Jesus,” Tommy sighed and sat back down. He should have known his martyr of a brother was about to go off on a self-sacrificing soliloquy, but somehow, he was still caught off guard when Joel spoke again.

“I mean it, Tommy. First sign this isn’t going to hold me, you shoot,” Joel was saying when Tommy realized what he was going on about.

“Oh, shut up, Joel,” he groaned.

Joel was not going to shut up, actually, until that choice was taken away from him. The first in a lifetime of so many choices that would fall away, slip from his grasp and leave him tethered to someone else’s will.

Something snapped inside of him. It burned like a motherfucker, and he grunted. Tommy made to stand up again, brows creased, and a hand outstretched, but when Joel tried to scold him, the only sound was a snarl. Ferocious and rough, with teeth too big and a crinkling, stretching snout.

Tommy’s scent spiked sharp, and Joel won. His instincts tamped down the wolf’s aggression. He may as well have been staked in the heart for putting that fear on his brother’s face.

When his limbs were done stretching, his spine snapping, his—oh, lord— his hair growing, he settled on four legs.

Mine, he thought vaguely when he looked at Tommy, blinking his shiny brown eyes at the small man and ignoring him. He was too distracted by the thunderous mutiny of his achingly empty stomach. His eyes flicked once again to Tommy, who looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not gonna be very tasty,” Tommy said wryly.

The monstrosity that was his brother, now, snorted and rolled its eyes. Tommy couldn’t stop it, couldn’t swallow down the laugh that bubbled up. It was a little unsteady, maybe, but he felt he was entitled to a little hysteria, given the circumstances.

“You can understand me,” he said.

The creature stared at him blankly. It was like he could hear Joel saying no shit.

Tommy scratched the back of his neck and took in the full, grotesque thing before him. “It’s fuckin’ weird, man.”

And that was it. It was that easy.

As long as Tommy was around, Joel was still Joel, even when he was the Wolf. They were one symbiotic creature balanced on the pillar of their baby brother, guided by the inherent protective instincts that drove both man and beast.

But he still wouldn’t return to Boston. Wouldn’t risk it, wouldn’t play games with Tess’ life. He wished he could say it had been to protect all the innocent people around him, but he had long since been that kind of man and was even less so, now that he wasn’t really a man. (This was a sentiment Tommy took issue with, but Joel had always been his own worst critic.)

It would have been easy, he thought, to slip into place at Laura’s. To fill the gap they left behind that night. To soak in her sweet scent and raise another man’s children as his own. But easy didn’t matter, and in the end, he returned to the little cabin in the woods where Tess and Tommy would cycle in and out with the ebb and flow of the trades. He kept to himself, he kept quiet, and he kept his killing to the creatures of the forest (okay, and the stray raider, but really, that wasn’t so different than his life before).

And then they came for him.

When you are returned to the cell, your cage is missing. It’s gone. There’s just an empty rectangle of dirt outlining where it used to live, like a flag. An abandoned roadside sign. No safe haven.

The lackey, a Jim Morrison lookalike—if Jim Morrison had survived the apocalypse, shaved his head, and never skipped leg day—shoves you into the room with no kindness, watching as you stumble and catch yourself on the wall. The door clangs and clicks, chased by the clunky thump of the heavy bolt, and you look around in bewilderment.

It’s empty. For now.

They didn’t even leave your little fucked up mattress, so the only place to sit that isn’t the dirty, broken floor is his bed. And there’s no way in hell. You’re not fucking stupid. He’s superpowered and something of a man, but he’s still a territorial creature.

Also. With the amount that he jerks off, you can only imagine the mattress has the qualities of a saturated sponge and would ooze if you put pressure on it. Unfortunately, this mental image doesn’t trigger your gag reflex but instead a horrible intrusive thought.

You want to roll around on it. You want to kneel down on his mattress with your ass in the air and your face pressed in to suffocate yourself with his rich scent. It gnaws at your spine like a dog with a bone.

Ouch. Too apt a metaphor. You retreat to the corner that formerly held your cage and sit with your back against the wall and knees drawn up, like you’re still trying to fit in its invisible confines.

When the door opens again, you stop breathing. But it’s not the monster that enters.

It’s the man.

His only response to what Cheryl is saying is a nasty sneer; his lip curled enough to expose a much blunter canine than you’re used to seeing him sport. He knows you’re there, of course. But he doesn’t look at you; just scrubs a hand over his beard as the door shuts behind him.

You resume drawing shallow breaths, as if afraid to startle him with too sharp a sound. But the tension in his corded muscles tells you he’s already on edge, waiting. Waiting for you to do something. Anything.

It’s the first real look at him you have, terrified as you were before. His nose twitches like he’s about to sneeze, and you realize with no small horror that the sticky slick is leaking from your core again.

Your traitorous body doesn’t care that he’s terrifying most of the time. Because right now? Oh, right now…

He’s still dripping from being hosed off, his dark hair slicked back and eyes shining under the sickening fluorescent lights. His body is solid— heavy. You think about how it’d feel pressing down on you, and another gush of fluid has your cheeks burning.

He’s thick and veiny and covered in hair—and you haven’t even looked at his cock, yet. There’s a soft layer of fat over his abdomen, betraying the relative safety he lives in despite the constant danger. You kind of want to lick it, to trace your tongue up the path of hair to his chest.

You very carefully do not look at his cock, but as you’re taking in the breadth of his meaty thighs, he turns just so, and you get an eyeful of it anyway.

You’d like to get more than an eyeful.

Oh, Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you?

He sits down on his ass on the mattress and pulls the sad excuse for a pillow over his lap. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he grunts. “Not used to havin’ a stranger around.”

You stare. You hadn’t expected him to talk to you, given how well it went last time. Why aren’t you more afraid? Why aren’t you hyperventilating, crying, pissing yourself in terror?

Somehow, you believed him last time. And you do now, when he repeats it.

“Ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he says quietly.

And all you can do is stare. Finally, you wrench your gaze away and stare down at the ground. He’s staring at the wall, both of you trying to give the other a sense of privacy that simply does not exist here.

You know his eyes lingered for just a moment on your breasts, where the frigid air of the sublevel has your nipples hardened and pushing against the thin sports bra. He dragged his eyes away like it hurt not to look.

“Okay,” you say after it becomes clear he’s waiting for a response.

“Alright,” he says, just as gruffly.

The silence is humid, sliding sticky across your skin. You try not to look at the naked man across the room, but you can’t quite keep your eyes to yourself. “So… what are you?” you finally ask, wincing as you do. What a dumb fucking thing to ask.

“I’m an alpha,” he says, like it was a dumb fucking thing to have been asked.

“Cool,” you say quietly. “That clears up absolutely nothing,” you mutter, forgetting that he can apparently hear you across the hall and through two steel doors, so the little room isn’t likely to be an issue.

He raises an eyebrow. “Whoever bit you didn’t tell you anything, huh?”

“Whoever bit me? ”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, which you think is a little rude, actually. “Yeah, you know. With teeth.” He pauses. “Wait. You’re from one of the test groups, ain’t’cha?”

“You mean the vaccine tests? Yeah.”

“Nobody told you what it means? Any of it?”

“I’ve heard people say alpha before,” you say defensively, even though you know you’re defenseless. “And I’m an omega, or whatever.”

“Yeah, that’s about right,” he said. He scratches his beard again and regards you. “Shit, so you really don’t know a damn thing, do ya?”

You burn hot. “Guess not.”

“Ain’t your fault,” he says with a lackadaisical wave of his hand. But he doesn’t offer any explanations, either.

Great. Glad we had this talk. You keep your thoughts to yourself this time and clam up otherwise, resting your head where your arms are folded on your knees. The air is chilly where the slick is drying on your panties, and you shiver a little.

“You’re cold,” he says, his brows pinched together and disdain in his eyes.

“No shit,” you mutter.

He sighs. “Thought you’d run hot, too.”

“Thought you knew everything.”

He rolls his eyes and then heaves a weary sigh, as if your ignorance is a burden he must bear. “Fine. I’ll tell ya what I know. What do you want to know first?”

“How about your name?” You raise your eyebrow.

His head jerks back a little, eyes widening by a few degrees, before relaxing almost imperceptibly. He takes a moment, an uncomfortably long moment, where his eyes narrow and one corner of his lips twists. Like it hurts him, somehow, to think about.

“It’s… Joel.”

next chapter

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #alpha!joel x omega!reader #alpha!joel miller #werewolf!joel #werewolf!joel miller #fic: of rage and ruin #omegaverse #the last of us fic #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #dead dove fic

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dollpqrts · 4 months ago

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̽ ̽ PAIRING — Art Donaldson x Patrick Zweig

̽ ̽ SYNOPSIS — In the confines of the New Rochelle Country Club sauna, former best friends and tennis doubles partners find themselves inches apart for the first time in twelve years. It’s the night before they compete against each other in the final match of the Phil’s Tire Town Challenger. With unresolved tension at an all-time high, the heat of the sauna isn’t the only reason for their sweaty bodies or heaving chests. Patrick seeking some sort of reconciliation is met with a displeased Art who can’t quite place where his anger stems from. With The men attempting to hash out past wounds, the steam room is hot and charged with passion, it promises violence or something just as strenuous.

̽ ̽ WORD COUNT — ≈ 3k

̽ ̽ CONTENTS — 18+ SMUT MDNI, HEAVY angst to start, alternate ending of canon scene, vulnerable Patrick, mean asf Art, DEVASTATING argument, sexual tension, YEARNING, minor violence - nothing incredibly graphic, porn with plot and context, public ish sex, slight humiliation, praiseee, bottom ish Art, dirty talk, frot, desperation, internalized homophobia, mentions of Tashi, slight toxicity, hand jobs, blowjobs, biting, and lots of sweat <33

̽ ̽ A/N — This is just super self indulgent, Artrick angst rots my brain daily and I feel like this was the sauna scene we deserved </3 I genuinely haven’t written anything for YEARS sooo go easy on me, but YASS first piece of writing on this blog!! don’t hesitate to send in asks or message me for any tips or advice it would be so appreciated. Looking for friends and mutuals sooo, that too :)) if u enjoy reading pls lmk with a comment, or sending a message, however you’d like xoxo

"I don't matter?"

Patrick Zweig was a figure of confidence, well known to many as much too sure of himself for what he was. For what they thought he was anyway. Confrontation was a fuel to him, something Art knew all too well.

What wasn't widely known, and what slipped Art's memory, something that he used to know through and through, was that Patrick’s bold demeanor was a facade carefully cultivated to mask his doubts. Patrick's internal voice was incessant and worried. A relentless drumbeat. He held a firm grasp on his own identity and emotions, never wavering in his display of self-assurance. However, his greatest fears ruled him through the subconscious of his mind.

He was terrified that the most important people to him were unable to understand the depths of his being, that they only saw his shortcomings. He yearned for a love as profound as what he was capable of. Like a flower reaching for the sunlight, he needed someone who could nourish him completely. A full type of love that could only exist if someone could see him for who he truly was.

In a steam-filled sauna, Art Donaldson found himself seated face to face with his childhood best friend for the first time in twelve years. Since then he had degraded Patrick to just another fleeting relationship from their youth. It irked him that he couldn't simply erase that part of his past. As they sat there, their bodies naked and only their waists covered by towels, Art's gaze flickered over the other's body. Patrick, though lacking Art's discipline, was chiseled like a Greek god, which both aggravated and mesmerized Art.

Art couldn't help but think that Patrick was relishing in the discomfort, deliberately putting them in this vulnerable position. It seemed clear to Art that Patrick was fully aware of the effect he had on him. He grappled with self-disgust, frustrated by his inability to articulate himself, that he was undeniably affected by Patrick's orchestration. The opportunity to assert himself to Patrick was finally here. Yet he was struggling to find his voice.

The sight of Patrick's unclothed body in front of him only added to his agitation, taunting him with feelings he couldn't quite place - a mix of envy and something else he wasn't sure of. His lips folded into a straight line, a mannerism unconsciously borrowed from Tashi. Beads of sweat gathered at his hairline, tension that had nothing to do with the heat of the sauna.

"Not even to the most obsessive tennis fan in the world." Art's voice cut through the thick air, and hung between them, heavy with unspoken history.

Patrick's confident grin faltered as he came to know two things. His much-anticipated showdown with Art provided no consolation for his insecurities, and his greatest fear became reality - Art didn't care anymore, maybe he never really had.

For years, Patrick had stubbornly, willingly endured hunger and homelessness all in pursuit of proving something. That he was worthy of the adoration, the victories, the accolades, and the fame of a star tennis player, he believed he was every bit deserving as Art was of it all. The only person who could truly validate that for him was Art himself. With cruel precision, Art had shattered Patrick into a million pieces.

"We're not talking about tennis," Patrick said softly, his eyes seeking understanding.

Art wondered what Patrick could hope to gain from him. Carving out a new life with Tashi, it took time and effort to move on from his teenage years. With the help of Tashi, he had transformed himself into tennis champion Art Donaldson, the Art that Tashi loved, Tashi Duncan's devoted husband, and the father of her child. He had intentionally buried Patrick in the recesses of his mind, leaving behind the insecurities and emotional bullshit of his youth.

Art scoffed, his voice taking on an edge, "What the fuck else do I have to talk to you about?"

Their exchange became a verbal rally, each word a calculated strike. Art desperately clung to his lead, an invisible audience holding its breath. Was Tashi the unseen umpire, coaching Art like an angel perched on his shoulder? Or had he internalized her so completely that her guidance was no longer necessary to decimate his opponent?

Patrick, completely deflated, realized that the words spilling from Art's lips were not his own. They were out of place, disjointed. How could these words be a product of Art's own mind?

They had shared a world of experiences, yet Art fixated on just one - tennis. It was as though tennis had become the sole defining factor of what they were to each other. While Art and Tashi's love seemed intertwined with the sport, what Art and Patrick had run far deeper than the confines of a tennis court. It transcended tennis entirely. At least, that's how Patrick felt.

"I just wanted to come in here to wish you luck, Art."

Art's eyes narrowed, darting away from Patrick's earnest gaze. Distrust clouded his judgment, unable to fathom Patrick's sincerity. There had to be an ulterior motive. The thought stirred his mind mirroring the windstorm raging just beyond the warmth of the sauna. From Art's perspective, he possessed everything Patrick desired – a hot wife, success, and an endless stream of attention. How could Patrick genuinely wish him luck?

A stroke of luck on Art's end the following day could propel Art Donaldson into the next chapter of his illustrious tennis career and leave Patrick Zweig in the shadow of failure. Art knew that luck was the only thing that kept him ahead of Patrick before, that he'd never actually beaten him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he still needed it to stay there, that he was still depending on it.

"That makes no sense."

Patrick mustered a faint semblance of a smile, "I wanted to tell you that I’m looking forward to it. I miss playing with you."

"Yeah?" Art jumped up suddenly, his towel slipping slightly as he adjusted it and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a quick motion. He inched toward the sauna door, the wooden slats warm under his bare feet. "Well, I don't miss playing with you, man. I'm too old for it."

"Oh, get over yourself, Art," Patrick retorted, his eyes locking onto Art's in a challenging gaze.

"Get over myself? Seriously? Look at you, sauntering in here to rile me up before our match. On some sentimental bullshit. We both know every person at this bumfuck tournament thinks that you're nothing, Patrick. I've worked hard to get where I am, I deserve that win tomorrow. You? You're lazy, using cheap shit like this to get your way. Don't act like you ever gave a damn after all these years - about our relationship, or whatever it is you're trying to say."

Patrick could only shake his head in disbelief as the other man dug into him. "Can you even hear yourself anymore?" Suddenly, he sprang to his feet, grabbing his towel before it hit the floor. Art took a step back, his eyes tracing the movements of Patrick's fingers along the towel.

"Do you get off on some delusion that you're all innocent, living the dream, and that I've gotten my karma or whatever the fuck?"

Closing the gap between them, Art challenged Patrick right back,

"Tell me, how do you see it then, Patrick?"

Patrick inhaled deeply, his body coursing with anxious energy but still able to hold himself firm before the other.

"You abandoned me." he declared, voice quivering despite the intensity behind his words.

The two men stood inches apart, tension crackling between them, suffocated by each other's breath.

"What the fuck do you want me to say to that?" Art's voice dropped, barely above a whisper.

"Go to hell, Art." Patrick hissed, his hot breath caressing Art's face, spit landing on it. Art tilted his head up, meeting Patrick's blazing stare with defiance.

In a blur of motion, Art's fist flew upward. Patrick's head jerked to the right, his hand rising to cradle his jaw as if anticipating the impact. Before Art could strike again, Patrick seized his wrist and held it tightly. Art's grunt of pain morphed into an animalistic growl as he lunged forward, their bodies tangling together in a fight for control.

With raw energy, their muscles strained as they grappled with each other. Sweat-slicked skin slid against skin. Art's chest heaved against Patrick's, their hearts pounding in a frenzied rhythm. Bodies intertwined, locked in a primal dance of dominance. Nails raked across skin, leaving angry red trails that would linger for days. The air was thick, charged with the promise of violence or something equally explosive.

Art's hand found Patrick's throat, fingers pressing into the pulse point. Patrick countered swiftly, fisting a handful of Art's hair and wrenching his head back. His other hand clamped down on Art's shoulder, pinning him in place.

Their faces were less than an inch apart, breath mingling in hot, ragged pants. Patrick's eyes seared right through Art, still for a moment. In a ravenous haze, their lips crashed together. The kiss was brutal, all clashing teeth and battling tongues. Patrick bit hard down onto Art's lower lip causing him to shove Patrick away only to yank him in, entwining their bodies back together.

They devoured each other, hands roaming with desperate need. The world faded elsewhere, leaving only the intoxicating sensation of long-awaited touch, the taste of desire on their tongues. Lost in their universe of violence and passion, they clung to each other, neither willing to back down or let go. Their embrace tightened as if trying to meld into one. The heat of the sauna paled in comparison to the fire ignited between them. Years of pent-up emotion poured out in a torrent of kisses as the men groped one another, each touch electric.

Art's mind was cloudy, "Patrick," he gasped, breaking away. His eyes were wild, conflicted. "We can't—"

Patrick silenced him with another burning kiss. "Don't think," he breathed, chuckling against Art's lips. "Anything but that."

They stumbled backward, their backs hitting the rough wooden wall. Goosebumps prickled across their skin from the impact. Like an animal clawing for control, Patrick's hands were everywhere, feeling every inch of Art's body that he could and holding on tight. Art moaned and gasped under his touch as he pressed his body closer, their throbbing erections pressing together through layers of fabric.

"Yeah, that's right." Patrick whispered huskily, "Feel it, Art. Feel how much you want me." A low, guttural moan escaped Art’s lips as the dirty words caressed his ear. Fear and arousal stormed his mind. He knew that at any moment, someone might innocently walk into the steam room and discover them, but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

Art reached into the waistline of Patrick’s towel grazing delicate fingers over the warmth, groaning at the feeling of him, how big he felt. Patrick took a firm grip on Art's wrist, guiding his hand down the fold of his towel. Patrick's cock sprang free, hard and throbbing, the tip slick with pre-cum. Art swallowed nervously, his throat dry.

Their fingers intertwined tightly, Patrick guided their hands up and down his glistening length. He whispered praises in Art's ear, his other hand removing the towel that had been covering him with ease. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment for years, eagerly anticipating it with every fiber of his being.

Patrick rubbed their cocks together, his grin growing wider as the other's jaw dropped in pleasure. "Look who's all hard for me again," he teased, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. "Remember when we used to do shit like this all the time?"

Art could only weakly nod, the memory of that long-forgotten time when they were still friends, and their hands would roam freely. When they said whatever excuse they could make up just to make everything feel okay, whatever excuses could allow them to have a next time.

“I know you were really thinking about me every time we jerked off together.” Patrick teased, his tongue flicking over Art's neck.

"Stop Pat...that's not true,"

“Oh c’mon, don’t you wanna cum for me just like you used to?”

Patrick pressed on, increasing the speed and pressure of their movements, the friction sending shivers through both of their bodies. Art could barely speak.

“Yes, yes...please,” he begged for release, hardly able to form any coherent words.

Patrick let out a low chuckle, pressing his lips against Art's neck as he tightened his grip over their cocks. Art's hips bucked up involuntarily, biting into Patrick's shoulder to muffle a strangled moan.

"You're the same sensitive little boy you were when we were young" Patrick taunted, twisting his fingers just right.

All Art can do is mindlessly nod his head as he desperately fucked into Patrick's hand-- his mind reeling at the embarrassing little comments Patrick’s making. The warmth of Patrick's cock against his own, the wet and slick of their pre-cum mingling together, his rough stubble pricking the sensitive skin along his neck. He was so close, so close...

“Don’t fucking stop,” His voice took on a demanding, almost threatening tone. His hips rutted up into their interlocked fists as he reached the brink of climax. His other hand dug into Patrick's back, leaving scratches in its wake as he mumbled incomprehensible pleas and praises.

Patrick coached him through it, practically growling in his ear "That's it, fuck my hand Art.”

His body trembling with climax, Art released all over their hands and stomachs, his body hot and red, his chest heaving. Patrick continued to stroke his sensitive cock through his orgasm, pushing him past his limit.

“Oh god, t-too much...” Art groaned, his body twitching with every little touch, yet still needily grinding into Patrick’s palm. He had to push Patrick off of him before he would nearly start crying from the overstimulation.

They collapsed onto the bench just by where they were standing, their bodies glistening with sweat and flushed with exertion. The scent of their arousal filled the air, enveloping them in a sweaty heat. Art's cheeks burned with embarrassment as Patrick continued to stroke his hard cock next to him.

“Why don’t you get on your knees and finish me off, hm?” he suggested with a smirk, “It’s the Least you could do after being so mean.”

Art swallowed thickly, hesitating for a moment before slowly lowering himself onto his knees. Humiliation and desire coursed through his veins. He took Patrick's stiff length in his nervous hand, his tongue darting out to lick the droplets of pre-cum that shone at the tip.

Patrick groaned, his hips jerking forward. "That's it, baby,"

The taste of Patrick's skin and pre-cum lingered on Art's lips as he took him in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the head. The saltiness of his own release was still there, all over his cock. With a trembling hand, Art gripped Patrick's thrusting hips and guided him closer to his mouth. His lips wrapped around the tip, his throat constricting as he tried to take more of him in. Patrick let out a deep groan, gripping the edges of the bench and fingers tangling in Art’s hair as he reveled in the sensation. "Fuck, Art," he panted, his eyes locked on the sight before him. "You’re so good at this."

He silently took in his praise as Patrick's thrusts grew more forceful, driving deeper into Art's mouth with each motion. Feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over him, there was nothing he wanted more than to please Patrick, to make him reach new heights of pleasure that they could only have dreamed of when they were young. He worked with both of his hands and his mouth at the same time, pumping down his length and groping his balls. The room was filled with wet sounds, with Patrick's rough grunts and moans. His throat stretched around Patrick's cock, and tears welled up in his eyes.

"God I've missed you," Patrick exclaimed between ragged breaths. "You look amazing from up here."

Patrick's thrusts became erratic and his breathing grew shallow and strained. With one final plea, he pushed Art's head down and held it there as he reached his climax.

"I'm gonna cum."

Art felt the hot spurts hit the back of his throat, and it took all he had not to gag. He swallowed subconsciously, tasting the bitterness of Patrick's release. Patrick pulled out, his hips twitching sporadically as he fought to catch his breath. With Patrick's orgasm, Art could also feel his own comedown, a shift of realization in him. He swallowed hard, his throat raw with the taste of Patrick. He could feel his tears stained on his cheeks, and he tried his best to wipe them away discreetly. He quickly wiped his mouth as he got up, avoiding eye contact with Patrick. He grabbed his towel from the floor, wrapping it around himself before he sat further down Patrick on the bench.

Patrick, panting and still coming down from his peak, barely had time to react before Art slipped away from him.

“What was that for?”

For a moment, Art didn't answer. He stayed silent, his eyes trained on the floor. “I just needed to clean up.”

“Is that all?” Patrick asked. “Or are you too ashamed to look at me?”

Art didn’t say anything.

Patrick felt the change in Art's demeanor, the shame that seemed to radiate off of him. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Trapped in awkwardness. Patrick cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the tense quietness.

"So, uh, you're letting me win tomorrow right?"

Art's forced laugh didn't reach his eyes, the weight of their earlier exchange still pressing on him.

"Oh Fuck off man…" he grumbled, burying any hint of vulnerability from before. His towel tightened in his grip, damp fabric biting into his skin as he pushed away the memory of the fleeting intimacy they had shared. The moment was gone now, and so were any traces of tenderness or closeness between them.

“I meant every word that I said.” Art’s voice trembled with conviction. Without another glance, he stormed out of the sauna, leaving Patrick naked and by himself in the leftover sex and stifling heat of the room. All Patrick could do was sit there, his fingers tapping nervously against his knees.

#₊˚ ʚ by nads ɞ #challengers 2024 #artrick rotting my brain #challengers #art x patrick #artrick #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson fanfic #patrick zweig fanfic

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wangxianficfinder · 9 months ago

Text

I'm in the mood for...

Feb 9th

LINK LIMIT REACHED (check out the replies for more recs!)

~*~

1. hello!! itmf request for jiang cheng time travel fics. no jc bashing please and thank you ♥️ and ✌️

Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Fix-It)

For Both Of Us (And Time Is But A Paper Moon) by sami (E, 65k, wangxian, JC & WWX; JC & LWJ, LWJ & LXC, Canonical Character Death, Mentions of Rape, not explicit but definitely referenced, Time Travel, Not Everyone Dies au, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, WWX/babie tendencies, WQ is a queen in any reality, Healing, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Canon Divergence, Asexual JC, First Time, Getting Together, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, WWX finds new ways to be oblivious, seriously it surprised even us) JC and LWJ time travel together

🔒 a path with thorns Series by baekhyun (baruna) (T, 22k, JC & WWX, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Brotherhood, Complicated Relationships, JC-centric, Spoilers, Sibling Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Humor, Angst, not romance-oriented)

Hand in Hand Together (All Your Life) by sami (T, 41k, WZL/JC, WangXian, Queerplatonic relationship, Implied future MingLi, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Slow Burn) just JC time travels

~*~

2. for itmf, are there any fics in which wei wuxian does not reincarnate, or any modern aus in which he dies? /bunnycoffeeumcat

Threadfic by lamusadelils (LZ prepare WY body for funeral)

goodbye, wei ying by wordsonpage (T, <1k, wangxian, Major Character Death, Modern, Growing Old Together, Established Relationship, Character Death, Angst and Feels, Death from Old Age, Angst, Reminiscing)

Lament by kianspo (G, 8k, LSZ & LWJ, LXC & LWJ, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, Slice of Life, Character Study, Canonical Character Death, except he doesn't come back, as this covers decades, eventually other people die, Mysticism, this is pretty sad y'all, i'll be honest about that, though i was aiming for melancholy, One Hundred Years of Solitude mood)

🔒 Entropy by mondengel (Not rated, 1k, wangxian, Major Character Death, Angst, Character Death) Wy dies a second time

Nothing but a Dream by Purplemagic (G, 1k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Not A Happy Ending) Wy die a second time

🔒 …and other dreams. by mondengel (E, 2k, wangxian, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Charater Death, Eldrich au, Horror, Gore, Body Horror, Murder, Death, A/B/O, Mpreg, Dark fic)

Obvious Progression by GammaRays (M, 21k, wangxian, Major Character Death, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Modern, Disease, Illnesses, Chronic Illness, Cancer, rare disease, Fabry disease, Artist WWX, Medical Procedures, Hospitals, Angst, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Surgery, this is just very sad all around, there are some light-hearted moments too though, like proms and crocheted thigh-highs, Sick LWJ, Sick WWX)

Obvious Conclusion by FairyGardenCorgis (T, 7k, wangxian, Major Character Death, Modern, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Cancer, Grief/Mourning, Medical Procedures, Hospitals, PTSD)

Freefall by cherrywhiskey (T, 1k, wangxian, Modern, Hurt No Comfort, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Angst and Tragedy, Grief/Mourning, Aftermath of wwx's murder, Dead WWX, POV LWJ, Dark LWJ)

🔒 rest by pasteltea (T, 3k, gen, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Angst, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, Modern, Grief/Mourning, Introspection)

~*~

3. Hi! Do you know any fics which center Nie Huaisang or him just having a bigger role in the fic? Can be anything, NHS ships, him just being a facilitator, modern era, whatever! It would be great if he's kinda scheming for the benefit of his friends, or s/t where someone has the hots for him and he's surprised?

Story-Shaped by lingering_song (T, 13k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Inventor WWX, Found Family, NHS needs a new hobby, And apparently that's spoiling his Wei-Xiong, Mentioned Character Death, Alcohol, Protective NHS, WangXian Endgame, Not JC Friendly, Not particularly gentry sects friendly overall tbh) NHS takes WWX in post-canon

Second on 🔒 like mayflies wandering series by RoseThorne (E, 21k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, Assassination Attempt(s), Introspection, Regret, Travel, Post-Canon, POV Third Person, POV WWX, Ghosts, Reconciliation, Exhaustion, Pining, Pre-Wangxian, Pining, Feelings Realization, Illnesses, ennui, Found Family, Porn Reading, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulative NHS, Memories, WWX Needs a Hug, Pining WWX, Friendship, NHS Is A Little Shit, Qi Deviation, Resentful Energy, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Triggers, Fainting, Anal Sex, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Grief/Mourning)

Friends, Sabers, and Other Essentials for Solving a Conspiracy by MeridianGrimm for Lisa_Telramor ( T, 50k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Mystery, Smart NHS, WWX doesn’t stay dead, LWJ gets a new friend, Happy Ending, Fix-It, To be clear the WangXian is mostly background, This fic is about friendship)

The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli (T, 19k, In-Universe RPF, Romance Novel, Post-Canon Fix-It, primarily drama-canon with cameos from novel-canon)

Something Divine by jusrecht (T, 3k, NHS & NMJ)

CH 3 of second verse, same as the first by Cerusee, Mikkeneko (T, 42k, wangxian, Everybody Lives, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Crack Treated SeriouslyS, erious Conversations That They Never Got To Have In Canon, JC has no filter when he's mad, Even Some People They Maybe Would Rather Didn't Live, canon-typical trauma, even if it hasn't happened in this timeline they still gotta deal with the memories, reference to child death, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, WN Lives, WQ Lives, this is absolutely positively definitely Wei Wuxian's fault, Memory Loss, Implied/Referenced Suicide)

the problem with authority by isabilightwood (M, 139k, WangXian, JYL/WQ, QS & JYL, Canon Divergence, Sacrifice Summon, only the summoner sticks around, slightly dark JYL, WQ lives, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Pain, Mild Sexual Content, Switch Wangxian, WWX has to be resurrected & LWJ find out before they can interact, but there’s plenty of wangxian once they do, manipulative relationship)

while covered in mud by merthurlin (T, 12k, NHS & WWX, NHS & NMJ, NHS & Wen remnants, mentioned wangxian, canon divergence, fix-it, NHS goes farming and Hates It)

Crazy, Rich Cultivators by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 13k, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, POV LWJ, īthis started as a crazy rich asians au but quickly got away from me, light moments of angst but mostly shenanigans)

The Mustache by Fortune_Maiden (G, 2k, JGY & NHS, JC & NHS, LXC & NHS, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Humor, NHS grows a mustache, there is much despairing)

Walking Along a Different Road by Anonymous (Not rated, 5k, MS & JGY, MS & NMJ, MS & NHS, NHS & NMJ, JGY/NMJ, WIP, Angst, Canon Divergence, POV MS, MS Lives, Good Parent MS, Hurt/Comfort)

there is no limited dimensions by Stratisphyre (M, 104k, wangxian, LXC/NMJ, WQ/MM, WN/Other(s), Star Trek Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Assumed Character Death, Minor Character Death, Tags on Each Chapter, references to non-con, references to canonical slavery, (The Orion Syndicate is just really bad okay?), bizarre space mpreg, Implied Future Pairings, POV Multiple, The Author Indulges in a Crack Pairing or Two, Accidental Child Acquisition, Found Family, Genius WWX)

Kiss of the Rose by sami (M, 8k, NHS/OFCs, NHS & NMJ, NHS & MXY, NHS & JGY, Family, original trans female character, Falling In Love, Enemies to Lovers, but only one of them knows it at the time, Pining, Getting Together, First Time, First Kiss, NHS drinks Respect For Women juice, courting, Please read notes)

day without night and night without day by xcourtney_chaoticx (T, 27k, NHS & NMJ, LXC/NMJ, JC & WWX, Ladyhawke Fusion, Inspired by Ladyhawke (1985), Animal Transformation, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Attempted Forced Marriage, evil JGY)

the more things seem to change by littlebasketbun (G, 26k, LXC/NMJ, JC/NHS, wangxian, Modern, High School, Matchmaking, failed matchmaking, oblivious idiots in love)

The Same River Twice by nirejseki (Not rated, 17k, NHS & NMJ, WIP, Time Travel Fix-It, Unexpected development)

Counting Brushes by Fortune_Maiden (T, 6k, NHS & NMJ, NHS & WWX, wangxian, canon divergence, fluff & crack, humor, hurt/comfort)

🔒 Just Children to War by Anonymous (T, 4k, NHS & NMJ, Angst, Niè Siblings Dynamics, Niè Siblings Feels, Post-Episode 10 (CQL), Hair Brushing, Hair Braiding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, NHS Needs a Hug, POV NMJ, Early Sunshot Campaign, offscreen death)

silly love songs series by wildwestwind (E, 67k, wangxian, 3zun, JGY/XY, NHS & LWJ, LXC & LWJ, LWJ/WWX/WN, JC/NHS, JGY & XY, XXC/XY, LWJ & WN, WQ & WWX, JC & WWX, Sex Work, Consensual Non-Consent, BDSM, Bad Decisions, Angst, Blow Jobs, Modern, Sex Worker Author, Masturbation, Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Kinkphobia, Self-Hatred, Unhappy Ending, Horny Teenagers, Guilt, Past Rape/Non-con, LWJ is sad and horny, Baking, Politics, Hackers, Trans Female WWX, Aftercare, play piercing, bad polyamory, Marriage Proposal, Homophobia, Class Issues, Face Slapping, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Jealousy, Verbal Humiliation, Tenderness, Affection, Dubious Consent, JGY is a bad person and oblivious to his feelings, Drunkenness, Drunken Confessions, Fluff and Angst, Autistic Character, Autistic LXC, Kid Fic, Autistic LWJ, Trans Female NHS, Childhood Friends, Impregnation, Fluff, Worldbuilding, Bickering, inappropriate use of university library access, Biology, Sadism, Mutual Pining, Self-Indulgent Political Arguments, JGY is so bad at feelings, Porn with Feelings, Falling In Love, Alzheimer's Disease, nursing homes, Sharing a Bed, Fake Marriage, Sickfic, Misgendering, Misgendering Kink, JC Needs a Hug, JC Has Self-Esteem Issues, Kink Negotiation, JC is Bad at Feelings, JC is Bad at Communicating, POV JC, Protective JC, Domestic Fluff, everyone is happy, brief use of reclaimed slurs, Internalized Transphobia, Humor, Drunk Sex, Loss of Virginity, Eating Disorders, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, College/University, Confused Takes On Feminism, Crossdressing, Penis In Vagina Sex, Barebacking, Post-Divorce, Therapy, Friendship, Christmas, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Cultural Differences, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, WWX Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, POV WWX, WQ Is Bad At Medical Ethics, Pining, Grief, Porn AU, Twitter, Idiots in Love, it's not so much that WWX is pushing WN's boundaries as that WN's boundaries are feather-light gossamer and WWX is a very oblivious freight train)

shades of grey spill from my veins (bleeding ink all over the page) by Reverie (cl410) (M, 58k, NMJ/LXC, wangxian, NHS/WN, POV NMJ, Canon Divergence, Joining the “Wei Wuxian raised by the Nie Sect” Club, Mentions of WWX’s life on the streets, Hurt/Comfort, Accidental Sibling Acquisition, Single Dad NMJ, NHS & WWX Friendship, Fluff, Humor, Happy Ending, Everyone Lives AU, Protective NMJ, Sunshot Campaign, Some angst, Blood and Injury, Kidnapping, Protective Siblings, Found Family)

Jailbreaking by CullenBlue (T, 21k, WN & NHS, Canon Compliant, POV NHS, NHS Is A Little Shit, Cinnamon Roll WN, Fierce Corpse WN, Ghost General WN, References to Heavens Official's Blessing, References to The Scum Villain's Self Saving System, NHS insulting the Wen Clan's taste in interior Decorating, Mentions of Murder, WN made a friend by talking about his childhood trauma, BAMF WN, Panic Attacks, mentions of gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Violence in the Name of Comedy, Trauma, Is NHS taking anything seriously? who knows, Bromance)

the final cut by Wildehack (tyleet) (E, 19k, SangYu, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Ideation, Emotional Manipulation, offscreen child death, extremely ill advised sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Grief/Mourning, basically it's a BUMMER) is good but angsty with a bittersweet ending (because it's canon compliant)

~*~

4. Hi!!!!! Thank you so much for everything that you’re going you are literal life savers 🥺🫡

For the next ITMF do you have anything like

A) “On Impulse” by Rynne

B) Or you know that one fan art of teen wwx kissing lwj and lwj being shocked and blushing (pinterest link : https://pin.it/7vWC7oRZ9)

C) And also do you know any fics where wwx shows blatant favoritism towards lsz and the other juniors are jealous till they discover he’s his son ??

Anyway thank you so much ✨✨✨✨✨✨ /ihaveasoftspotfora-yuan

Keep Up by mimilamp (E, 27k, WangXian, High School, First Time, Practice Kissing, Practice hj, Infidelity, Sexual Content, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Pining while fucking, Teen Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dirty Talk) Not sure this is a great fit for #4 as it is both a modern AU and angsty, but it is teenage WangXian getting into it

~*~

5. Hi, I’m in the mood for a fic where... The Untamed is in Top Chef or other cooking shows? I know there are three complete about the great British bake off and also Battle Chefs by Sami, but I want... no, I need more!!! Also, any others about dancing show besides the Wangxian Strictly AU Series by Selenay and Unstrictly Ballroom by Ariaste that I found in the lists here!! I love reality TV fics!! I have read all the ones in the Reality TV list!! Be well and thanks!! Monica /monicaop21

we’re dancing around the kitchen by livinginaworldofnoise (G, 37k, WIP, WangXian, HuaLian, Reality Show, Modern AU, Worst Cooks in America AU, Cooking, Bad Cooking, war crimes committed in the form of cooking, Crack, Fluff, content warning for absolute unhinged chaos, XL Can't Cook, Simp HC) is a Worst Cooks In America AU MDZS/TGCF crossover

and from our own/live to ourselves by betweentheheavesofstorm (M, 105k, wangxian, modern, fantasy, reality tv, angst w/ happy ending, survival, blood & gore, self-harm, animal death, slow burn) is a made-up reality show in Antarctica (fair bit of angsty, be forewarned)

~*~

6. Hi! First off, thank you for everything you guys do! Much appreciated!

This one might be a bit off-topic, as not necessarily wangxian, but... I've been reading through your juniors shenanigans list and I was wondering if you can help? If not, 100% ok, and thank you anyway!

A) something with LJY meeting bb!a'Yuan? De-aged, time travel, or missing scenes from canon, it's all good!

B) anything with my main darling OZZ as the/one of the main characters? Junior-centric fics are so much fun! (Or they're soul-destroying, but in the best way.) /katonahottinroof

6A)

Time, Time, Time by skeletonofaplant (G, 44k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, WWX & LSZ, JYL & JL & JZX, LJY & LSZ, Time Travel Fix-It, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Angst, Fluff, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Time Travelling Junior Ensemble, Junior Ensemble Shenanigans, Humor) The Juniors go back in time. LJY ends up at the Burial Mounds

Of Bunnies and Childhood Dreams series by iamtheelvenprince (T, 39k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LSZ & LWJ, LJY & LSZ, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds, Pre-Canon, The inbetween years, Teacher LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings, POV LWJ, Child LSZ, LSZ's Childhood, Poor LJY, Family Feels, Supportive bros, Gūsū Lán Sect, LWJ loves his students, bad teachers, What happens when LQR isn't home, LWJ's ducklings, Supportive LXC, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Bunnies, Protective LWJ, LJY-centric, Child LJY, Sad LJY, Good Kid LJY, teachers playing favourite, unsupportive teachers, Literal Sleeping Together, Sleepovers, Baby LJY, Baby LSZ, LWJ loves his boys, LXC is overworked, Give LXC a nap, Light Angst, Family Bonding, LXC needs a hug, Lantern Festivals, memorial service, Secrets, Secret family, LQR loves his boys, LQR as the best great-uncle, Hurt, Suicidal Thoughts, Loss, Grief/Mourning, Broken Promises, Finding Ones Self, Self-Reflection, Brotherly Love, Brotherly Affection, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy, Protective LXC, BAMF NHS, NHS-centric, NHS Needs a Hug, Manipulation, LWJ & NHS Friendship, Aftermath of Fatal Journey, Betrayal, Petty LWJ, Good Uncle JC, Good Parent LWJ, Protective LJY, JGS Being an Asshole, JGS Being an Idiot, JGY Being JGY, massive time skips, Teaching, Serious Injuries, Graphic Description, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Damage, Sad Dreams, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Madam Jin deserved better, JC-centric, POV JC, JC Needs a Hug, JC Needs Therapy, Gūsū Lán Juniors Dynamics)

no time for crying by Narci (T, 10k, WangXian, Wwx protection squad, Age Regression/De-Aging, Kid WWX, kid LSZ, night hunt gone absolutely right, (lowkey golden core fix it), Fluff, Angst and Feels, Humor, Juniors)

Back in time by LilacNeko (T, 32k, wangxian, Time Travel, Alternate Timelines, Fix-It of Sorts, Angst, Family Feels, Good Kid LSZ, LSZ Needs a Hug, Sad JL, JL Needs a Hug)

6B)

🔒 卧薪尝胆 by RoseThorne (G, 1k, wangxian, OYZZ & WWX, Petty LWJ, Bunnies, False Accusations, scapegoating, Cultivation Sect Politics, Chief Cultivator LWJ, POV Third Person, POV WWX)

🔒 Four Parts Honey and One Part Vinegar by masked (T, 13k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Fluff, Humor, Time Travel, Wangxian in Love, 5+1 Things, Jealous WWX, the Impeccable Trust between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, POV Outsider, everyone is Thirsty for Hanguang-jun as one tends to be)

visions of glittering rooms by Sour_Idealist (T, 1k, A-Qing/OYZZ, A-Qing/OYZZ/LJY, Modern USA, Alcohol, Poor Movie Theater Etiquette, Drunk Postmovie iHop)

between the pages of some novel by yuer (vintageblueskies) (T, 7k, JL & OYZZ & LJY & LSZ, wangxian, Post-Canon, Case Fic, Curses, Sex Curse, non-explicit discussion of sex and porn, junior shenanigans, the mortifying ordeal of trying to figure out if your seniors are having sex, no sex happens in this fic, the author attempts humor)

Important Distinctions by nagi_blue (T, 5k, gen, Fluff and Crack, Podfic Available)

Linger in the Sun by etymologyplayground (T, 39k, wangxian, JC & WWX, Case Fic, Intimacy, Curses, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Romance, Sexual Tension, Scent Kink, WWX Loves To Teach, wangxian are married, Fluff, nonsexual intimacy, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Nonverbal Communication, this is HEAVY on the symbolism, Translation in Russian)

~*~

7. Is there any fics where LWJ just loses it and slams WWX into a wall or onto a bed or something to kiss him? Like, he just can't take it anymore,, his restraint is GONE! WWX is just too tempting he needs this boy NOW (bottom WWX only pls no implied/referenced switching either oh and no rape it must be consensual or WWX approved CNC)

🔒 感情用事 by rosethorne (T, <1k, wangxian, Frustration, Anger, Embarrassment, Grief/Mourning, Biting, First Kiss, Getting Together, Canon Divergence, POV LWJ, POV Third Person)

🔒 joined delight by RoseThorne (M, 1k, wangxian, underage, fast burn, Making Out, Marking, Frottage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Marathon Sex, Implied Sexual Content, Love at First Sight, Swords, Horniness, POV Third Person, POV LWJ, Canon Divergence, Cloud Recesses Study Arc)

~*~

8. Are there any fics where wangxian are A) babysitters or tutors and meet through that? or B) run a stall/work at a store?

8A)

💖 But really, why? by Scrippio (T, 52k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, WQ/JC, Modern, College/University) features Wei Ying & Lan Zhan as tutors, though I can't remember if that's how they met.

~*~

9. heyy admins! itmf more darkji fics where lwj is possessive of wwx, something like 'so he thinks he's Straight (a memoir by lan zhan)' by pancho. thanks!!

A Matter of Time series by mrcformoso (E, 84k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, graphic depictions of violence, underage, LWJ pov, JC pov, dark LWJ, manipulation, grooming, teen body adult mind for LWJ, happy ending for wangxian, problematic consensual underage sex, blood & violence, insane LWJ, manic LWJ) LWJ is very dark & possessive in this

~*~

10. hi!! i’m itmf for a fic where wwx time travels to the modern era. i’ve seen some fanart and short twitter threads about it where lwj explains modern tech to him and he’s all amazed, but haven’t stumbled upon any fics.

i also wouldn’t mind fics of the reverse where lwj time travels /nalalie

🧡 The Shade of Old Trees by Kryal (T, 128k, WIP, WangXian, Ridiculously Long Notes, History, Canon Divergence, Modern AU, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Slow Life, Action/Adventure, Magic Returns, BAMF WWX) it's not time travel in the traditional sense, instead he gets trapped in ice for 15 hundred years. But he does get taught modern Chinese and technology by LWJ and LSZ! Plus protective WQ and NMJ are so fun to read ^^ - Mod C

结局难更改 (the ending is hard to change) Series by PorcupineGirl (G, 50k, WangXian, Modern with Magic AU, Canon Divergence, Time travel, Reincarnated LWJ & LXC, YL WWX, Reincarnation, Secret Identity, Identity reveal) has WWX time travelling to the modern day rather than falling to his death

counterpart by queensmooting (E, 37k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Parallel Universes, Multiple Selves, Kid Fic, some child endangerment (everyone will be fine), lwj can and has gotten pregnant, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, bittersweet ending (ymmv)) way too much time/dimension travel

🔒 不忘 | Don’t Forget by dragongirlG (E, 50k, WangXian, Modern AU, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Reincarnation, Fix-It of Sorts, Identity Porn, Social Media, Reunions, Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Bondage, References to Canon, Artist WWX, Sexual Content, Pining, POV Multiple, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note)

atlas in his sleepin’ by anatheme (E, 48k, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Reincarnation, Family Reunions, Dimension Travel, temporary transmigration, Transmigrator!LWJ, Yunmeng Shuangjie Reconciliation, jzx motherhenning wwx, First Time, Sharing Clothes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies) it not a time travel but WWX teach LWJ modern tech and depend on your interpretation it could be time travel fic, i think?

Wrong Turn, Right Place by diamondbruise (E, 71k, WangXian, Time Travel, kind of, it’s more reality travel but there’s modern wwx and cultivator lwj, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jealousy, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Cultural Differences)

take me back to a time by DizziDreams (T, 143k, wangxian, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, College/University, Modern with Magic, Time Travel, Sharing a Bed, Fish out of Water, Man Out of Time, WWX questionable decisions, LWJ lizard brain, Angst with a Happy Ending, WWX's lack of self-preservation, Student WWX, Time-Traveling Wizard LWJ, Slow Burn, Character Death, reference to abuse, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Abuse, Canon, LWJ, Canon-Typical Violence, Mutual Pining, Chronic Illness, Not A Fix-It, WWX be like "i should be scared but instead im just horny", feat: LWJ horny grip, Podfic Available, Case Fic, Russian Translation Available, Transmigration, America, Spanish Translation Available) lwj accidentally time travels to the modern era

Echoes of Love by Witch_Nova221 (M, 212k, WangXian, Modern AU, Eventual Romance, Time Travel, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, university lecturer LWJ, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Dark BSSR, Amnesia, Memory Loss, 1980s music, LWJ loves all things 80s, Oxford vs Cambridge, Boat Race, References to Torture, Murder, Blood and Injury, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mystery) is brilliant with an interesting premise

~*~

11. Do you know any fic (preferably wangxian) where wwx accidentally calls jyl mom ???? The thought popped up in my head and I can’t stop thinking about it 😅😂 /ihaveasoftspotfora-yuan

~*~

12. for itmf!!! no wips pls

A) longer fics w sugar dating or service top!!

B) in which one of them is a single parent, or kid fics really

12A)

November Baby by astrophyllite (E, 172k, NMJ/JC, Modern, College/University, Sex Work, Sugar Daddy, Slow Burn, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Pining while fucking, Condoms, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Frottage, Switching, JCn Has A Praise Kink, Hair Brushing, Hair Braiding, Dog Bàxià, Yúnmèng Siblings Dynamics, Emotionally Significant Duck Figurines, Trans JZX) mingcheng not wangxian but if you're okay with a different ship

❤️ All Old Things are New Again by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (M, 52k, wangxian, modern, reincarnation, sugar daddy, kink negotiation, gentle dom LWJ) aaaand some wangxian sugar dating ones that the requester probably already knows about, but linking just in case / is basically a truly wonderful twist on this premise

how to fall in love with a catfish: a guide by wei wuxian (disaster rat) by bwyn, Yuisaki (T, 54k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Actors, Multimedia, Online Friendship, Drunken Shenanigans, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Underage Drinking, Drinking Games, Families of Choice, Ensemble Cast, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Catfish AU)

The Sugar Daddy AU Series by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 106k, wangxian, modern, sugar daddy, sex work, dom/sub, aftercare, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, bondage, boundary setting, relationship negotiation) is basically perfection of this premise

finally safe (for me to fall) by sassybluee (E, 77k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Sugar Daddy, Age Difference, Sex Work, Rich WWX, Older WWX, Service Top WWX, Poor LWJ, Single Parent LWJ, Sugar Baby LWJ, Family Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Cockblocking, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, No Lube, Lube, Addiction, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Implied/Referenced Abuse, wangxian + others) is a complete flip of the typical premise - Wei Wuxian as the sugar daddy

12B)

❤️ save a sword, ride a socialist by sysrae (E, 33k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, College/University, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Single Parent WWX, Homophobia, LQR’s A+ Parenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots to lovers)

🔒💖 Everyanything by deliciousblizzardshark & lingeringdust (E, 46k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Gender Identity, Gender Dysphoria, Trans WWX, Protective LWJ, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Is it bad parenting to bring a baby on a nighthunt, Canon-Typical Misogyny, Fluff and Angst, Vaginal Sex, Canon-Typical Major Character Death)

💖 The Best I Can by Zephyr (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (T, 26k, LJY & WWX, wangxian, canon divergence, light angst, drama, recovery, coming of age, secret identity fail, rogue cultivator LWJ, road trips, happy ending)

The Simplest Way Forward by harriet_vane (E, 70k, WangXian, Modern AU, Accidental baby acquisition, Kid fic, Green card marriage (but not really), Slow Burn, Endless Pining, Happy ending, [Podfic of] The Simplest Way Forward by knight_tracer)

when the sun goes out by travelingneuritis (E, 176k, WangXian, Modern AU, Modern Cultivation, tech cultivation, Necromancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, insecurity around adoption, Dad!WWX, dad!lwj, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Mood Whiplash, Body Swap, sex tears!, Falling In Love, Consensual Somnophilia, apocalypse (localized), Smut, unrealistic sexual stamina, Flashbacks, Time Skips, Illustrations)

Across the street to another life by danegen (M, 99k, WangXian, Modern AU, unleashed au Family Fluff, Set in America, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Amnesia, Ableist, Language, another fridged mother, POV Alternating, past wwx/ofc, past wwx/omc, Medium parent YZY, A-Yuan is wwx’s biological son, Musicians, Happy Ending)

❤️ kick at the darkness ‘til it bleeds daylight by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 75k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Kid Fic, teen shenanigans, two a-yuans, Fluff and Angst, [Podfic] kick at the darkness ‘til it bleeds daylight by contributor-sky (deepestbluesky), esbielle was also here (esbielle), glittercracker, GodOfLaundryBaskets, jellyfishfire, kisahawklin, Koontyme, Rionaa, semperfiona))

🧡 CSI: Gusu Edition Series by Stratisphyre (M, 39k, WangXian, WWX & LQR, Modern with Magic AU, College AU, Golden Core Reveal, Single parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Hospitalization, Allusions to violence and murder)

Magic Mishap by Regency_Bunny (T, 8k, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Single parent WWX, Fluff, Humor, Kid Fic, Meet cute, Love at first sight, Himbo LXC, Magic tricks)

my little love by mellowflicker (T, 54k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Parent WWX, kindergarten teacher!lwj, Kid Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Pining)

I know what my heart wants by yakuso5u (Not Rated, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Father LWJ, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Accidental Child Acquisition, Domestic, Slice of Life, Christmas references)

Window Shopping by thunderwear (E, 18k, wangxian, Modern, quarantine fic, Single Dad WWX, Getting Together, Long-Distance Relationship, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Happy Ending, First Time, Phone Sex, switching POV, Domestic Fluff, some smut)

These Things Stay the Same by notevenyou (E, 30k, wangxian, Modern, Kid Fic, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Injury, Natural Disasters, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Accidents)

say it's here where our pieces fall in place by Lirelyn (E, 68k, wangxian, Family Feels, Modern, Angst with a Happy Ending, Kid Fic, Adoption, Foster Care, most of the angst is backstory and we're working through it, several characters have had therapy thank god, there's a good amount of domestic fluff but also a lot of crying, Often at the same time, oh yeah eventually there will be smut, possibly also with crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Podfic Available)

box your errors by mellowflicker (T, 42k, wangxian, Modern, single dad LWJ, Domestic Fluff, Family Issues, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, let LWJ have friends agenda, Hurt/Comfort, Pining)

The stuffed bunny, the beautiful nephew, and other gifts from Lan Qiren by deliciousblizzardshark (G, 8k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, Modern, Single Parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Uncle Acquisition, Found Family, Fluff)

🧡 your heart, two doors down by ghostsgf (G, 9k, WangXian, Modern AU, Pining, Parenting)

🧡 paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 53k, WangXian, Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Modern AU, Dadji, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Brief Alcohol Mention, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Accidentally co-parenting with your son's art teacher, Fatherhood)

🔒Betting On You by kuro (G, 5k, WangXian, Domestic Fluff Single Parent WWX, Neighbors, Modern AU, Pining, Music Teacher LWJ, Programmer WWX)

Can we keep him? by Sweetlittlevampire (G, 15k, WangXian, Modern AU, Shapeshifters, Animal Transformation, Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, Single Dad WWX, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Modern with Magic, [Podfic] Can we keep him? by Rionaa)

~*~

13. Hi!

A) I would like to ask you to find some wangxian fics with multi chaptered royal au .

B) Omegaverse fic where wwx is a strong omega

Thanks

13A)

我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 84k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan)

travelers through the empty gate by stiltonbasket (M, 107k, WIP, WangXian, Royalty, Emperor WWX, Mistaken Identity, Poor LWJ, Bookshop owner LWJ, Intrigue, Court Drama, Forced Marriage, Confused WWX, POV Alternating, Parenthood, Misunderstandings, Empress LWJ, Requited Unrequited Love, Fluff, Humor, Married Life, Angst with a Happy Ending) my fic fits the bill!

shattered mirrors by besanii

🧡 The Emperor's Portrait by catbrainedschemes (E, 32k, WangXian, Historical, Ancient China, Historically Inaccurate, Meet-Cute, Mistaken Identity, Age Difference, Sexual Tension, Happy Ending, Fluff, Emperor!LWJ, artist!wwx, Misunderstandings, Hand Kink, Strength Kink, Smut, gege kinkl, ots of staring, Dirty Talk, Canon-Typical Bondage) (link in royalty au comp)

True Gold Fears No Fire by defractum (nyargles) (M, 69k, WIP, WangXian, Royalty AU, Ancient China, Wuxia, Historical Inaccuracy, Arranged Marriage, Identity Porn, Mutual Pining, Emperor!LWJ, empress!wwx, Eventual Happy Ending, Misunderstandings) (link in royalty au comp)

Kingfisher Feathers by anonymous (E, 144k, WIP, WangXian, Royalty AU, Emperor LWJ, Concubine WWX, A/B/O, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Angst with a happy ending) (link in royalty au comp)

13B)

I Will Not Go Gentle into the Quiet Night by TriviasFolly (M, 89k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, no cultivation au, Vaugely Historical AU?, royal au, War AU, Slow Burn, Attempted Rape, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Murder) mind the tags

🔒 Wilful Blindness ≠ Ignorance by Cy_an_Blue (E, 59k, wangxian, WIP, Graphic Depictions of Violence, LSZ is a Wèi, WWX is LSZ's Parent, Child LSZ, A/B/O, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Prince LWJ, Concubine WWX, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Original Character Death(s), Implied/Referenced Child Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied Mpreg, Past Mpreg, War, End of War, Post-War, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Gore, Prisoner of War, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, One-Sided Attraction, but not really, Falling In Love, SS Being an Asshole, Angst and Tragedy, Period-Typical Sexism, Period Typical Attitudes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Requited Love, Getting Together)

🔒 Three Letters, Six Etiquettes by 2501987 (M, 24k, wangxian, JC/LXC, Royalty, Arranged Marriage, A/B/O, Arranged Marriage, Angst and Humor, Romance, Idiots in Love, Eventual Romance, Soft Wangxian, WWX is a Little Shit, LWJ is Whipped, BAMF JYL, Family Feels, Awkward First Times, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Bad Sex, Wedding Night, Cute Kids, Domestic Fluff)

~*~

14. hello!! not sure if i was able to send this ask already, but do you know any fics were lsz is referenced as the lan heir? thank you! ☺️ /cuddlemehun

A Civil Combpaign Series by Ariaste (T, 19k, JL/LSZ, wangxian, arranged marriage, courting, teenage drama, humor) it's mentioned in the second fic, Besieged

~*~

15. Hello! For ITMF I am looking for canon-divergent fics where Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen help fight through the Sunshot Campaign, and perhaps join Wei Wuxian in the Burial Mounds after. I would love for Wei Wuxian to have had more allies in those years. Thank you for any suggestions! /gloriousclotpole

The Tiger has Destroyed his Cage by updatebug (G, 54k, WangXian, Shapeshifters, Fix-it fic, Animal Pelts, Tiger WWX, Found Family, adopted family, Yungmeng Siblings, Canon appropriate angst and violence, Gratuitous OCs) the tiger fic has XXC&SL get involved in the Sunshot campaign on WWX's behalf. it's canon divergent/ends before the Burial Mounds Settlement Days, but it's also just a really fun fic (and great for "wwx has more allies")

💖 Xiao XingChen’s travelling sect series by The Silverfish (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (T, 43k, wangxian, SL/XXC, time travel, children, rogue cultivators, hurt/comfort, murder mystery, world travel) Maybe also "Xiao Xingchen's traveling sect"? that's canon divergent much earlier than the sunshot campaign though

~*~

16. Hello, I'm looking for works, where JC was the initial source of hate rumors targeted at WWX that led to his demise. Could you please help?

~*~

17. Hi, I'm itmf NHS as chief cultivator. Best if before wwx death. Maybe he saw that everything is gradually going shit and decides to abandon his weak persona mask early

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @/mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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plzu · 4 months ago

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covfefe (the epilogue) - (Adrian Chase x Reader)

part 10 ☕️ series masterlist ☕️ ao3

a/n: thanks for sticking with me ♡ summary: What happens after the team saves the world from an alien invasion. warnings: canon typical language, no y/n, sex mention but no graphic depictions of smut, mention of trauma regarding assault, lmk if i missed anything!! wordcount: 2.9k

He made the mistake of passing out at the hospital. Doctors and nurses had to remove his suit in order to look him over and tend to his wounds. That meant taking his helmet off, too, and Adrian was much too unconscious to break anyone's hand about it.

When he first wakes up in that sterile room, face exposed and clothed in nothing but a thin hospital gown, he almost freaks out. The only thing that stopped him from groggily attempting to snap the neck of the nurse at his bedside was a sudden surge of drowsiness that swam through his veins, making him go cross-eyed. The last thing he saw before his eyes slipped shut was the unfocused silhouette of the nurse splitting into two.

The second time, he's greeted by the sight of your face, visage softened without the aid of his glasses, but lovely all the same. When you notice he's awake, a grin lights up your face (and, likewise, Adrian’s heart). Saving the world from an alien invasion was cool, sure, but nothing compares to the feeling of being the one to make you smile.

“Hey,” he greets with a growing grin of his own. “What are you doing here? How’d you know where to find me?”

You reach for the bedside table to pick up his glasses, and gently ease them over the bridge of his nose. Your face comes into stark focus as you hover over him, and he’s grateful for the clear sight of your eyes. “Your BFF Chris came and told me.”

(Chris thought you’d be the perfect distraction to keep Adrian from doing something rash, like breaking out prematurely and/or killing the medical professionals just trying to do their jobs. An admittedly good idea, considering Adrian is just pleased as a peach that you came to visit and dote on him.)

“You're my BFF, too, you know,” he feels the need to assure you. He doesn't want you to get the wrong idea. Wants you to understand just how important you are to him, how you've cemented yourself into his life. He has no intention of letting you slip away again.

He missed out in high school. Adrian doesn't want to make that same mistake again.

Amusement glimmers in the softness of your eyes. “I guess I'll take your word for it, Chase. I'm just glad you're okay.”

“Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be okay?"

There's a pitcher of water at his bedside table that you pick up and pour into a small plastic cup. You hand it to him.

"You're in the hospital," you say, very matter-of-factly.

"Yeah,” he responds, before taking a small sip of water that quickly turns into big desperate gulps as his tongue realizes how fucking parched it is.

“Adrian. Chris told me about everything that went down. You, like, blew yourself up.”

Oh, right, yeah. The White Dragon fight. He miscalculated that grenade a bit. Nothing a little nap couldn't fix, though.

“You got shot.”

That did also happen. Didn't hit anything vital, though! He was able to walk that one off after another quick nap.

Mostly.

“And I heard what happened to your, uh," you continued, brow scrunching as you sat back into the chair you had pulled up to his bedside, trying to find the words. “The, um, the blonde? Hardcore? It just sounds like it was dangerous-”

”Wait,” he interrupts. “Did you just say 'Hardcore?'”

“Yeah? The, um- the hot, mean-looking chick? Short hair? White? Her, like… codename is Hardcore, right? That’s what I- I heard."

“Uh, no, silly,” Adrian laughs, because you're so funny and cute and incorrect, it just tickles him. “It's Harcourt, and I’m pretty sure that’s just her last name.”

“What?” Your eyes widen before dropping your face into your hands, groaning in embarrassment. “I hope I didn't call her that in front of anyone else.”

As if to save you from further teasing, a nurse comes just in time to check on Adrian, and when you notice, you stand and place a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. Adrian thinks it's a touching gesture of support, like maybe you think he's scared? But then he realizes the weight you're putting, and he catches the adamant look in your eye.

“Ohhh, you're restraining me,” he says. The nurse glances anxiously between you. With a smirk, Adrian adds, “it's cute that you think you can pin me down.”

Without missing a beat, you grin, and there's something mischievous about it as you wink at him. “Jus' making sure you behave,” you simper. It makes something in him stir; there's an uptick in the beeping of the monitor he's hooked up to.

This is all very unfortunate as the hospital sheets and gowns seem to be made of the thinnest, flimsiest fabric in the world. The nurse very politely ignores the sudden tent at Adrian’s middle and rushes through the rest of the check up before scurrying away with a clearing of their throat.

“Do you think that male nurse -- sorry, that regular nurse -- noticed my boner?”

“Nahhh,” you lie.

Conversation flits between you after that. You share some granola bars with him that had been tucked away in your jacket pockets. When Adrian mentions something about getting discharged soon (whether they clear him or not), you start pacing back and forth alongside the bed.

“About that,” you start, very visibly nervous and suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. “I was, um. I was wondering- well. See, my dad decided he wants to sell the house.”

Adrian's not exactly sure what that has to do with him getting out of the hospital, until you meander and nervously chuckle your way to the bit about needing to find a place to stay.

“I just figured, maybe, since you might need someone to take care of you when you’re out of here, and since you don't actually have a roommate, that maybe I could, probably -- if you don't mind, of course -- stay... with you?”

Adrian blinks. He processes.

“J-just until I find my own place!” You rush to add. “And- like, you don't have to say yes, obviously. I know it's a crazy idea-”

”You want to move in? With me?”

You finally meet his gaze again. You bite your bottom lip, frown, and nod a simple affirmation.

This might be a good time to mentally take stock of the pros and cons of having you move in.

Pros: 1) he'd get to see you all the time 2) like, way more often than he does now, which is cool 3) it’d help with rent, which is a pretty sick bonus

Cons: 1)

Huh, nope, no cons. The very thought of not having to part ways with you at the end of the night has no verifiable downsides. He's been worried this whole time that your time in Evergreen would be cut short. Agonizingly temporary and finite. But now you'd be his roommate, and it'll be way easier to convince you not to leave if you already live with him.

Plus, he now knows what it's like to have you wrapped around his dick. If you move in, he'd get to taste you way more often.

Shit. Fuck. The boner is back.

”Are you-? Did asking to move in just make you horny?”

“Yeah,” he sheepishly admits.

The anxiety disappears from your face. Transforms into silent amusement. “So... is that a yes, then?”

It's a very enthusiastic and consensual yes, and you spend the rest of the visit discussing your move, and declining his request for a quickie in his hospital bed.

“Oomph!”

You land on your back, legs plopping ungracefully down onto the damp ground beneath you. The wind brushes against the canopy of trees overhead, making sunlight coruscate in your vision through the shifting branches and pines.

Vigilante’s scuffed helmet appears above you. “Ooh, that looked like it hurt,” Adrian says, helmet doing nothing to hide the teasing lilt to his voice. “Ready to give up?” He holds out a gloved hand.

“Please,” you scoff, accepting his help to stand. “I can take a hit.” The cold from the dead damp leaves seep in through your leggings. You brush away sticky pine needles from your butt, though you’re not sure it matters. You’ll probably end up flat on your back again in no time.

“Yeah, I know. It’s one of the things that’s so hot about you.” Though you can’t see it, you know his eyebrows are doing something endearingly goofy behind the visor.

It's only been a few weeks since Leota went public about Project Butterfly (without revealing Vigilante’s secret identity!), and Adrian discretely discharged himself from the hospital. (By jumping out the window. Something you don’t think a person healing from a gunshot wound should be doing, but Adrian isn’t exactly like other people.)

You’re unsure how long recovery is supposed to take after what Adrian went through, but you get the feeling that he’s bounced back unnervingly quick. Like, there’s strenuous activity he should definitely be abstaining from for a little while, but Adrian kind of just shrugs and goes about life as normal. For example, there’s some heavy lifting he eagerly volunteered to (helping you move boxes of your stuff from your parent’s house to his place). Or the vigorous physical activity that consisted of fucking you breathlessly into his couch.

You tried convincing him to take it easy, you did. Even offered that if he really needed release, you’d happily take care of him, provide a helping hand and mouth as long as he sat still. But it wasn’t enough, apparently; your resolve was quick to crumble at the pretty sight of Adrian’s flushed face and the sound of his desperate, urgent begging to let him put in “just the tip.”

(It was never just the tip.)

This suspiciously speedy recovery, however, gave you the courage to ask him for the favor that currently has you bruised and aching in the middle of the woods.

(“I want to do what you do,” you said.)

He perked up. “Really? Because the last time I brought up pegging, you laughed so hard you passed out.”)

After that misunderstanding was cleared up, though, you were surprised at how eagerly Adrian agreed to teach you how to fight. There was a small part of you that was worried he’d say no, that it was too dangerous, or something ridiculous like that. He only asked why, and though it may not have been the truth, you just told him it looks really cool when he does it.

The lie -- that wasn’t really a lie, more of a replacement of the truth -- was worth it to see Adrian’s pretty green eyes light up. “You think I look cool? I mean-” his chin jutted out with self-assured confidence. “Of course I look cool.”

And he does look cool. Standing in the clearing in all black, not quite in the Vigilante suit since it needs to get repaired (or replaced). The helmet was the only part of the suit that wasn't riddled with holes, so it's the only thing he's wearing that's recognizably Vigilante. And it is, admittedly... doing something for you.

The suit — specifically the red visor — was scary at first. Unsettling. Even though it's the mask of the man that saved you that horrible night, it was also the mask of the man that killed people so mercilessly -- gleefully, even -- right in front of you.

Not that those guys deserved mercy.

But it was the first time you'd ever witnessed something so brutal up close, and so the red visor stitched itself into your nightmares, despite finding out it was Adrian underneath. Maybe even because of.

But now...

As Adrian shows you what your stance should look like to remain balanced, points out all the points in a person's body that you can hit to make them falter and give you an opening for the finishing blow (or rather, the time to run), you're beginning to find the mask kind of...

Well, fuck. Okay. It's hot. The mask is hot. You were mad at it for hiding Adrian's comfortingly familiar face from you, but now that you've gotten used to it, it's eased itself from nightmare to wet dream. Maybe it's the extra layer of confidence that it provides Adrian — he's different as Vigilante. Not so much, no. It's subtle. But it makes every little head movement and gesture and teasing quip that much hotter.

You won't, like, admit this, of course. He'd be unbearable if he knew just how big of an effect it has on you. He's bad enough as it is, just from knowing which parts of your neck to linger at so he can draw out the sounds that he seems to like so much.

“You're going to be the prettiest sidekick.” Adrian's compliment snaps you from your thoughts. His words -- and the way his head cocks to the side a bit, the way his shoulders sag forward with the weight of his adoration -- makes your cheeks warm despite the near-condescending tone of it.

You shake it off, bouncing on the balls of your feet so he doesn't notice how much he’s flustered you. “I'm not doing this to be Vigilante's sidekick, you know.”

(You’re doing this because of the nightmares you still have, where you find yourself in cramped alleyways and other dark, shrouded places, nightmares where multiple hands touch you, grab you, overpower you. Nightmares where your limbs feel weak and boneless and your fists have no weight to them when you try fighting back the figures that hurt and taunt you. Nightmares that still linger despite moving in with Adrian, the safest you’ve felt in a long time.)

“You're not?” He seems taken aback. “Because you don’t have to land the killing blow as the sidekick, you know. If you’re squeamish about that sort of thing,” he shrugs.

His genuine confusion is amusing. “Is that what you've been thinking this whole time? That you’re, like, training me to be your sidekick?” Honestly, it's kind of flattering that he'd think you'd be good enough to do what he does, right alongside him.

“Well, yeah. You said I look cool! And everyone knows imitation is the best form of flattery.”

Ah. Some things start to click about his relationship with Peacemaker, and the potential origin of Vigilante. Instead of asking him to confirm this, though, you decide to tease him.

“So, is that what you are? Peacemaker's sidekick?”

“What? No,” he responds, voice firm and clearly offended. “Peacemaker and I are partners-”

“In crime,” you nod.

“Yes- No!”

You listen with growing glee and fondness as Adrian continues to explain, accompanied by expressive hand gestures, his relationship with Peacemaker, and how they are equals, thank-you-very-much.

It's been nice spending days with Adrian like this, without being bogged down by anxiety-laden time restraints of having to get back to your parent's house. Nightmares aside, you genuinely feel... lighter, now that you're no longer under their roof. The freedom makes you giddy, looser. You laugh easier, and not just with Adrian. You make time to hang out with Ashe and Matty, and are surprised by how much you actually enjoy spending time with them outside of work. They're good kids.

And, though you weren't so sure about it at first, you find that Adrian's new teammates are decent people, too. Chris is a bit rough around the edges, and everyone is a little mean in a way that you enjoy observing, but they're nice to you, at least. Leota even gave you her number so you can talk to someone normal, that isn't a complete asshole. She sends you pictures of her dogs. You coo at them, and show Adrian, and he pretends he's not a little jealous over the way you gush adoringly at the photos.

You never tell anyone about your mother, how she was involved in your hostage situation. How she's one of the Butterflies. You figured there was no point, now that their food supply has been destroyed. You don't even tell your father, though you suspect he already figured it out. He looked less haggard when he told you about the decision to sell the house.

Remembering that there’s no glowering parent to return home to ignites that light, bubbly feeling in you again. Your mood turns playful, no longer able to take the training session seriously.

So you charge at Adrian, trying to catch him off guard.

He's surprised, but, as you predicted, his reflexes and instincts are superior. He uses your momentum against you. Swiftly wrestles you down onto the ground. He has your wrists pinned above your head in his right hand in no time.

“Did you really think you could sneak up on... me?” The cocky tone dwindles down to confusion when he realizes you've been giggling the whole time he grappled you down into the cushion of dirt and leaves.

This close to your face, you can see the way his eyes search yours behind the red visor. The weight of him pressing into you makes heat excitedly pool at your center.

You wiggle your hips.

Something stiffens in his pants against your thigh.

”Oh,” he mumbles.

And when you hook your legs around his and hear the rustle of leaves around your head as Adrian gets the hint to fuck you in the middle of the woods, you think, maybe Evergreen isn't so bad after all.

taglist: @whatevermonkey @hiddlebatchedloki @nobodys-baby-now @navs-bhat @afraidofshrimp @training4theapocalypse @abbaenthusiast @jediviolet @t0byisher3 @madhyanas @kores-mun-son-n-more

#adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #peacemaker fic #writing #fanfic #mine

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anika-ann · 5 months ago

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Back and Forth - part 7

Part 7 - Step Forward

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 15000 (cough-)

Chapter summary: In which the heaviness of the past fall on you harder than before - but there might be someone more than willing to help you carry the weight.

Series masterlist

Warnings: deep-rooted issues with self-worth (result of shitty ‘parenting’), mentions of canon-typical violence and blood, unhealthy relationship with pain and one's self, language feels and fluff ✨ Please, let me know any time if you think I missed any!

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: hello, loves, thank you for your patience and enjoy the 15k worth of words. I'm afraid I have no advice as where to take break from reading. But stay hydrated and keep the tissues close. Enjoy ✨

Yesterday was a good day, you decided.

Hours had blended together and so it was rather difficult to draw sharp lines between days, even as there was no blessing such as forgetting a single minute of time spent in captivity due to your momentarily enhanced memory; but you had drawn a sharp line.

The gala, the kidnapping, the captivity and the rescue, that all had happened the day before; it might have as well happened in another dimension entirely.

On the other hand, waking up to Natasha and Steve, being visited by Daisy, who was picked up by Mack and May along with their greetings, a brief hello from Coulson, these happened yesterday. Way too much sleep, numerous check-ups and attempts at balancing your meds, finding out about the impending investigation of your mother, a therapy session, report writing and way too much sleep –those happened yesterday, but weren’t important.

Because yesterday was a good day.

Yesterday, giddiness filled you any moment you remembered Steve’s words: I just like you.

His warm smile.

The gentle touch of his hand.

Yesterday, a smile attacked your lips whenever you recalled his large hands holding up your face, tucking loose strands behind your ear, even if that memory was associated with pain and sweat and blood.

You’re being very brave, doll. I’m sorry, sweetheart.

I just like you.

See you soon, doll.

Yesterday, you giggled. You damn well giggled when the echo of his soft voice whispered the endearments to you so sweetly.

Sure, Daisy had a hand in that – she was just as giddy as you, probably even more so, with her eyes shining, so excited and happy for you. Her enthusiasm, despite carrying an air of naivety, was nothing short of contagious. You deserved a win, she said, and you believed her, accepted it as a fact for more than just a moment; and basking in the genuine warmth of hers, you didn’t feel guilty for being greedy, for thinking you deserved such a good thing to happen to you.

You didn’t feel bad for wanting, you didn’t feel bad for being so arrogant as to think you had a chance at not only happiness, but excellence, no matter how out of reach it usually appeared.

Yesterday, you were excited, because Steve said he would see you soon and he might as well have been saying ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’.

Today was the ‘tomorrow’.

And the feeling of glee and the butterflies in your stomach was replaced by a gaping hole filled with a cold coil of doubt, dread and, eventually, panic, as the sense of reality crept in and dug its nails straight into the edge of that hole and climbed out through your still open wounds.

The whole concept of yesterday was utter nonsense, which you should have known right away.

You had been taught better than to believe something as unplausible as this to be possible.

You felt like the stupidest person on Earth for entertaining the thought of this chance at happiness even for a moment.

Steve Rogers had said he liked you. Right.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, drop-dead gorgeous, annoyingly kind, utterly brilliant, absurdly stubborn and righteous and as close as humanly possible to perfect, had said he liked you. In romantic sense, unless your perception of other people’s emotion was entirely off; which surely was the case at times, but you did not believe that it was now.

The thing was, you did not have a single doubt in your mind that Steve had spoken the truth. He was one of those people who told no lie unless their life depended on it and maybe not even then, and he seemed so genuine in his care and interest in your well-being and youthat you would not only giggle with giddiness, but might actually weep.

However, the sudden source of anxiety curling in your stomach might as well be a gut feeling – an instinct you had been relying on ever since you had started at the academy and been told to listen to it at all times, because it was the most reliable tool an agent could ever gain, only improving with every single bit of experience gained. And it was very true, that; this very gut feeling had saved your life and the lives of others a hundred times.

The gut feeling was never wrong; even if it sometimes went against everything your purely rational thoughts whispered you to believe.

Today, the two – rationality and your gut feeling – came to a rare agreement.

Steve Rogers might have said he liked you, but there was no world in this universe in which that would be enough for him not to break your heart eventually. He wouldn’t want to and perhaps he would break his own in the process, because there was no world in which he’d intentionally harm another human being beyond actual physical fight with an enemy agent – but he would still do it.

And the reason for that was simple: Steve Rogers was too good to be true and despite that fact and against all laws of nature, he was true.

A guy like that was one in a million, if not in a billion. He was the impossible combination of kind, caring, fierce and handsome and had shoulders wide-enough to carry the weight of the world; but not even his shoulders were wide enough to carry a relationship based on mere, albeit genuine, care. Because that was what this was; care and lingering sense of compassion and belonging. You two had been through an extreme situation where the essential part of him, driving him to protect others, had been pushed into an overdrive and naturally, he had given in, dotting on you with utmost care and all gentleness he possessed.

And from his position as your superior, he might have approved of how you two had handled the situation. He might be riding on the sweet feeling of victory, even as you two hadn’t truly been the ones to deliver it. He might have been happy with your performance as an agent, as a colleague, even as it had been less than stellar. And there was no denying that you two had found a momentary understanding for each other in a situation that had left no other option, and it had served you as the sweetest relief, a calm shore in the raging sea of pain, fear and despair.

All that was true. And all that was bound to be temporary.

You had cared for him a long time before that, harboured feelings you shouldn’t have long before that. For him, it was much less than that: a feeling of affection having stemmed from crisis, lingering. A feeling that was about to run out of fuel soon enough.

And even if by some cosmic error it hadn’t been, you’d disappoint him eventually; an inevitable failure or even a mere misstep.

And a guy like him, almost the perfection incarnated, who could do so much better than that? He would turn his back to you then. He would get bored. He would have had explored the flare of passion, should you care for that term, and he’d realize that the spark had evaporated a long time ago. You’d be back to yelling and grunting and growling whenever you’d appear in each other’s immediate vicinity. Or maybe there’d be less of that; he’d be perfectly civil, but indifferent, acting like you two had never happened. Or, despite being the paragon of virtue he was, he’d push you away; probably into such elite position in SHIELD which would include zero interaction with him, making it look like an honour to you, while it would only serve to cover up for the fact he was simply looking for a way to kick you off the team to avoid you. Or perhaps the worst possibility of all – he’d stay with you out of pity despite not being happy, because Steve Rogers would never intentionally harm another human being beyond actual physical fight with an enemy agent.

And either of these scenarios would crush you.

When your therapist, whom you had had an appointment due to protocol, pried this information out of you long after you had exhausted the events of the mission, she expressed her compassion, confirmed your fears were valid and understandable, because she loved to do that, and warned you that you could become a self-fulfilling prophecy. To prevent that, she suggested more frequent sessions to help you deal and an extension of the session you were to share with Steve, because of course she did, and more importantly, she recommended you to talk about your feelings to Steve himself.

You nearly leaped for the door and ran despite the bullet holes in your thighs still closing.

Because that, that was not going to happen.

You weren’t sure how to handle with your predicament, but you knew that doing what she had suggested was not going to be it. You were not going to expose yourself even further than you already had, you were not going to show anyone, let alone Steve Rogers, any more of the mess you were; God knew he had seen more than enough for a lifetime and you were humiliated for just as long.

No.Telling him about these fears and doubts was certainly not an option. You would have to work out how to deal with what had happened yesterday and the day before and the night before, but revealing your raging emotions was not going to be the way – not if you wished to stay an Avenger and wanted to avoid pity and being labelled as insane and weak.

Yesterday was a good day.

Today was not.

And then Captain America strolled into your room with a cute bouquet of pink tulips, because of course he would guess you had a beef with roses, and with a slightly nervous smile on his lips, his arm still in a sling, because he healed on normal rate now since you had become the involuntary thief of his enhanced healing and--- your heart leaped to your throat, something ugly digging its nails into your stomach.

You smiled at him tightly, touched and irritated, because he was being his perfect self again, asking about how you felt and whether you had had a good time with Daisy and he smiled warmly when he said Coulson had talked to him; allegedly, he had been slightly star-struck still, wishing Steve an easy and early recovery, but had also warned him to take better care of one of his best agents and people he knew or else.

And you sat there, propped up on the bed, fisting the sheets and swallowing hard against the lump in your throat, painfully aware that you were staring at him, pretending that you didn’t feel the flutters of your heart over the gaping hole in your chest growing in size with every passing second. You should be able to appear calm and indifferent and goddamnit get a grip on your emotions or at least your reactions, but you seemed to lose all control over your body.

Because it was too much to handle even as it shouldn’t have been.

Because you could have this.

You could have this man for a while, this demi-god who, with only one fully functioning arm and actual gaping pain in his chest of his own, placed the flowers on your nightstand, moving effortlessly around the room and looked like he could lean to your face and kiss your cheek or forehead or do something else equally sweet any second.

But you were all to aware; you could only have this in some fever dream.

This scene didn’t only appear wrong because you had stolen his healing ability; this was you stealing someone else’s life.

This wasn’t how your life went.

You strived for excellence, but never succeeded. You didn’t catch an eye of people like him; and when you had, by some miracle, they didn’t stay. And Steve made for such an absurd sight; his beauty alone was blinding, and that was with a ghost of a prominent purple shiner on his right cheek, a cut above his brow and him otherwise injured, dressed in simple comfortable clothes; he had exchanged his hoodie and sweats for a henley and jeans. He was so infinitely good and handsome in his hesitance when he reached for a chair to pull up to your bed, stilling for a moment, his eyes finding yours.

“Can I?” he asked softly, a gentle furrow to his eyebrows, effectively confusing you by asking instead of questioning your silence.

“Of course,” you replied automatically, realizing that you had been, in fact, responding to whatever he had said, even if with a strained voice and in short.

Yeah, I’m better, thanks, the serum works wonders. How are you feeling? Is it time to switch?

Yeah, it was good to see her again.

Really? That’s nice of him…even if kinda rude.

Steve sat down, hands resting in his lap, observant gaze roaming your face, flickering to your own hands, following your line of sight as your own travelled to the flowers again and then reluctantly back to him.

He even brought you flowers. Really pretty flowers, one of your favourites, and he somehow managed to pick the right size of a bouquet for not seeming overbearing nor careless. Who the heck did that?

You noticed, however, that the blue of his irises lost some of its spark since the moment he had entered – and you hated it.

But that was barely a surprise, wasn’t it? You were acting strange, perhaps came off as hostile even. You were the kind of person who’d only dim him light more the longer he’d stay. It was no surprise he noticed your peculiar behaviour, and perhaps even the negative effect you had on his usual greatness. Of course he had noticed; he was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for, an unfortunate consequence of keeping people like Tony Stark, Bruce Banner or Natasha Romanoff for company.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said lowly, a sincere apology as he lightly beckoned with his chin to the vase of tulips – and you felt even worse than before for making him doubt his lovely gesture.

You gulped. “You didn’t.”

His creased eyebrows rose a fraction, along with one corner of his lips, an uncertain but telling smile, wordlessly calling your bluff.

It was a sweet image; your chest ached all the more for it, along with a flash of indignation and – as ashamed as you were for such an intense emotion – despair.

Just… why?

Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to be so devastatingly handsome? Why did he have to be just so… perfect? You didn’t belong with perfect, you never could. You could have belonged with him in some alternate universe in which he was a handsome scumbag perhaps. Or an average-looking good guy. Or a handsome good guy, but at least dumb. Or even a handsome, smart and relatively-good guy, but completely unavailable; not looking at you like he wanted to tell you that you could tell him anything and he’d listen and he’d make everything right.

Your heart hammered in your ribcage almost painfully, pulse throbbing in your temples as your lips acted of their own volition.

“I’m just… I’m scared.”

Steve’s brows arched higher, but much to your surprise, he didn’t laugh; if anything, he pulled back a bit, as if he wanted to give you space.

That ass. He just had to be so scandalously considerate too, didn’t he?

Damn him. Damn him and his pretty eyes, wide with bewilderment, and that barely visible flash of hurt, which made you want to explain yourself even as admitting you were afraid in the first place was an insanity which you had not planned on participating in. What the hell was it with him and that anyway? You had never had a case of a loose tongue with anyone else, not even with him, not before that… stupid charity auction and all that followed it.

“…of me?”

Are you scared… of me?

“What—No!” you blurted out instantly, almost laughing at the absurdity of that idea. “No! Not at all, that’s-- I just-”

You physically bit your tongue, forcing your mouth shut with jaw so tight it ached, but it was for a good cause. Telling him was a terrible idea – you had concluded that already.

But then Steven Grant Rogers was a rare bird and he was also an incredibly annoying one; because once you had mentioned being afraid, you could almost see the metaphorical grip he had got on your words, unrelenting. He was not going to let an admission like that go. The unfairly soft but expectant look in his eyes told you so.

Oh damn you, Steven Grant.

Damn you, damn you, damn you.

Your thoughts were running hundred miles a minute and still, you had no idea what to say and how, not without sounding completely deranged.

“I just… you said you liked me.”

Even as you spoke the words, you wished you could somehow take them back and choose different ones; in a barely visible movement, Steve cocked his head to side, curious.

“Yes, I did,” he said, voice puzzled as much as his expression. “I do.”

You gulped, unsure how to respond to that, vainly searching in your mind once again.

There was no safe way out. Whatever you’d say, you’d only make it worse. If you hadn’t mentioned it at all, had you made literally anything up – though you doubted telling him you were afraid of the HYDRA doctor returning or another plausible thing would have made you look any less unstable – the words spoken yesterday might have been forgotten. But it was too late for that now; you couldn’t take it back. And you had no idea how to move forward.

And the flowers were so pretty.

Silence stretched for a few moments as you kept wondering, kept looking for the right words; but as it turned out, you didn’t have to.

A brief disappointment flashed on Steve’s face as he caught on – or caught on on enough – and then his expression returned to pleasant neutral.

It made you want to scream.

“I see. Well, I also said I’d never bring it up again if you just said the word,” he reminded you, voice absurdly, maddeningly soft.

It pissed you beyond belief; flames of undiluted rage and frustration licked up your fingers, gripping onto the already rumpled sheets.

Nothing but the tinniest hurt had showed in Steve’s expression and then it was gone. A mask, no matter how pleasant, was in its place, compassion almost, tender understanding even as he could understand nothing at all.

Fucking why? Why wasn’t he angry instead? Why wasn’t he letting you see it?

“I… meant that. I mean that,” he continued, the cerulean blue of his irises just a tinge sad, but kind. So irritatingly kind – because of course it was. He was a good guy, hell, he was the ultimate good guy, he couldn’t afford to look offended, or god forbid wounded. He had to keep face, because that who he was, people need someone strong to look up to, need a strong leader – he even told you that for god’s sake. No, nothing could touch him, because the troops needed someone to lean onto. Of course.

Then, naturally, there was another explanation.

An explanation that stung much worse than the idea that he simply wouldn’t let anyone see his true emotion: he had no hurt to hide whatsoever. You had been right about his past words being but a lingering flare of sentiment. And now, with you backing off, you actually offered him the out he needed, the out he perhaps wouldn’t have found the will to create himself in fear of hurting you. He had realized what you knew too – that his interest was a simple consequence of a stressful situation you had handled together.

But that was what you wanted, wasn’t it? You predicted it and you got it. Not a self-fulfilling prophecy – just a prophecy. Maybe the artifact had given you the gift of divine foresight as a bonus. You wished that it hadn’t; because for some stupid reason, having those silly hopes of having him – hopes you hadn’t suffocated soon enough – crushed, that really fucking hurt.

“I promise it doesn’t change anything. You won’t bear any consequences. I won’t treat you any worse for it,” Steve added, reassuringly – or at least he had probably meant for it to sound as such.

It had the opposite effect.

Treat you any worse?

Of course he wouldn’t. He would never. And you were such great friends to begin with, weren’t you?

The sardonic chuckle escaped you before you could stop it, causing Steve’s gaze to snap up from where your hands were gripping the sheets, confusion and slight offence – at last – lacing his expression. Your satisfaction at seeing that however, mixed with guilt for making it so.

“Sorry. I mean… I just--- that’s it, isn’t it? There’s not that much potential for it to get worse,”you spat that word, malice slipping into your voice even as you tried to swallow as soon as you tasted its bitterness on your tongue. He didn’t deserve that; this was your hurt and your problem. All he had done wrong was having a little unfortunate hand when choosing his words. And looking utterly perplexed now. “We don’t really know each other, never talked much. When we did, we argued, pretty much every time, so… you know. Not much potential. Going separate ways is probably for the best.”

A beat of silence. Second ticking by without as much as an exhale.

Yet, the air shifted ever so subtly, but dramatically.

That.

That was it.

Whatever you had mentioned did it and despite the punch to your stomach that seeing Steve’s face distorted with distress felt like, it also hummed of satisfaction. Anger. He was finally angry with you, like he was supposed to.

His jaw tensed, eyes hardening, as did his voice, even if it spoke of an insult you didn’t quite understand.

“I like to think that at least some of those fights stemmed from misunderstandings and lack of will to see each other’s perspective. Which, I believe, is something we started to work on yesterday, and the day before. I think we were communicating just fine during the auction too, and we handled what followed just as well, don’t you?” he argued, a hint of what was a distinctly Captain voice – one you knew all too well, because he had been using it when talking to you more often than with anyone else – taking over.

Your next words – and frankly, you were unsure what they would be – died on your lips.

Well.

It was safe to say you hadn’t expected this when seeing his indignation rise.

Obviously, you hadn’t planned on telling him any of this in the first place, but a part of you knew that had you imagined telling him this, in your mind he wouldn’t have… protested against you parting ways being for the better. He would have rather agreed in a hard collected voice, if for nothing else, than for keeping the stability of team.

But he did protest.

Of course he did.

After all, you two were in opposition more than often, weren’t you?

You swallowed against the large lump that had grown in your throat, your pulse thundering in your ears. Steve’s frown was far from concerned now and you instantly kicked the fraction of your heart that whispered of missing his tenderness to shut the hell up.

Steve appeared as if he was hiding the fact that he was beyond angry and Captain-level disappointed in you.

That was supposed to be a victory of yours of sorts – proving your point.

Because you had known that was coming eventually, hadn’t you? It just came a lot sooner; you had sped it up by slipping and made for it to arrive right away. And that was a good thing, wasn’t it? Because now, it came before you could actually tangle with him enough to make it hurt more later, when he’d leave after having you truly believe that you could somehow, by some cosmic flaw, be worthy of him.

So why did you feel nauseous and weak and like you might start crying? You were a grown-ass woman and you were one of the top agents this country had, an agent who had, no matter how barely, made it to the Avengers Initiative. This shouldn’t affect you, especially since you had known it was coming.

But here you were, desperately trying to gather your scattered thoughts and rendered mute. And your boss, Captain Steven Grant Rogers, was waiting for your response, challenge written all over his expression.

You gulped, sticking your chin up to regain some resemblance of posture and scraps of dignity. You even managed to make your lips not tremble, perhaps even smile a polite and pleasantly neutral smile, as you set off to explain your perspective.

Because this was a rational discussion, an exchange of perspectives Steve had mentioned. This was what your purely rational thoughts and your field-experience gut feeling told you and you should stand by it. Right?

“I suppose. But… well, it’s been pretty intense, hasn’t it? It was… what happened was a forced bonding experience, emotions flew high. I just… know from experience that those tend to settle sooner or later, tend to revert… to its original state.”

It would be almost comical, the perplexion on your Captain’s – just Captain’s – face, if it wasn’t accompanied by his frown hardening, him straightening in the chair, shoulders squaring despite his injuries, his gaze turning piercing.

It would be comical if it only didn’t feel like a stab straight between your ribs, because you had seen expressions so much softer on his stupidly handsome face and they had even been directed at you. Before; and that was long, long gone.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded stiffly, shaking your wobbly mask of confidence.

“I- I mean-…“

He watched you as you found yourself at loss for words all of sudden; expectant, eyes practically drilling into your skull now as you scrambled for words.

“What did you mean by that?” he repeated, defensive.

He wasn’t shouting, didn’t even raise his voice; but the lump in your throat grew suffocating anyway, all alarm bells ringing in your head as that one single emotion of his had crystalized so clear in his expression. Disappointment.

You could not afford having the Captain, your direct superior, so thoroughly disappointed in you.

Fix that. You had to fix that right now, had to get your head down and keep it there, crawl if necessary, because you were toeing the line. The line of being dismissed. The line of getting fired.

And that was not an option.

“I mean… what I mean by that is that I understand people are influenced by intense emotions and… when the dust settles, they can… change their mind,” you explained clumsily, ashamed of how meek your voice had suddenly become – but you couldn’t help it. You had to show remorse. Not for earning pity, but to show willingness to learn from your apparent mistake; it would not save you, but it might salvage a faint image of your determination and skill.

You looked up from your lap carefully; and instantly snapped your gaze back. Steve’s frown disappeared as if you had snapped your fingers, sudden understanding written all over his face instead, clear as day.

But it brought you no relief.

“You think that I said I liked you only… out of some adrenalin-fuelled impulse? Is that it?”

A layer of ice ten inches thick covered his deceivingly calm voice and yet, this time you could hear the hurt in it; the bitter chuckle that followed his words cut into your stomach, screaming how absurd he thought that your idea of what his motivations were was.

Absurd. Stupid. He thought you were stup-

“No!” you blurted out, despite thinking, knowing, meaning, exactly that. “I mean… yes--- I-- don’t know, I just-“

Steve scoffed. Peripherally, you saw him shaking his head, running his fingers through his hair and shaking his head again.

You had never felt so small, not in any of your previous fights – and that was saying something, an ice-cold shiver running down your spine, sweat beading on your burning skin.

Fix that.

“I’m so sorry, St— I’m sorry, Captain Rogers.”

He winced. He actually winced, you saw as much when your gaze flickered up to show the sincerity of your apology. The smile he gave you in return was tight, hard and unforgiving.

Not that you’d deserve forgiveness, would you?

“Well, so am I.”

He spoke the words just as he rose to his feet, his gaze betraying him and flickering to the vase with the gorgeous tulips he had set up. They now felt like an insult on their own.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated pathetically, feeling the tell-tale burn of tears in your eyes.

And god, were you pathetic. Steve had just shown a flicker of emotions he actually felt, just as you had asked him back at the HYDRA base; and now that he had, you wished he hadn’t. Because he was hurt by your assumptions, hell, perhaps by your rejection as well, at least to a point.

He was hurt and you were the one to blame it on.

You hadn’t meant to hurt him. You just didn’t want to get hurt either. You wanted to save you both from inevitable heartache that was to come. Was that really so wrong of you?

Steve took a deep breath, releasing it slowly; you remembered the terrible pain he had to suffer from his spectral injury and you felt like you might actually throw up. That was on you too. Because that was your messy powers to deal with, not his.

“I should go, let you rest. I do hope you’ll feel better soon,” Steve said, almost on autopilot, but once again, so annoyingly sincere in his well-wishes you wanted to yell at him and shake his shoulders. Why couldn’t he just really be angry with you? It was clear you had touched a nerve, you very obviously wounded him, but there he was, as close to stoic as possible, and generously wishing you well.

A part of you – one that you were deeply ashamed of – quite literally wanted to crawl from the bed to grip at whatever part of his body and beg him to snap at you again even as it was simultaneously the last thing you wanted him to do.

Tell me you hate me. Tell me you think I’m stupid, that I’m evil, a bitch. Show me you are fucking angry, show me you feel something, even if it’s hate, you wanted to shout or whisper or rasp. Anything.

But you had some remnants of dignity left and a position on the team to maintain. So you didn’t do any of that.

Instead, you reciprocated in a whisper: “You too. And I… I really am sorry.”

Steve’s smile, while still tight-lipped, turned softer despite his jaw strung so tight it might cut glass.

“Don’t be. I am glad we cleared it up. I made a promise and I will keep it,” he declared lowly before he sighed and turned to the door, adding in a barely audible voice: “I hope you can trust me to do that at least.”

It was always that last straw that broke camel’s back, wasn’t it?

His barely-there whisper, one you likely weren’t meant to hear, because normal human ears probably wouldn’t – and it broke the dam you had so feebly tried to keep together. The tears sprung from your eyes, a rush of shame, desperation and anger bubbling to the surface, making your voice creak as your cried out.

“Goddammit, Steve, I trust you with my LIFE!”

At the sound of your distress, his head snapped back at you – because of course it fucking did, the caring asshole of a Captain – looking over his shoulder. His carefully crafted facade crumbled a fraction at the sight of your tears, his words slow and quiet.

“But not that I know how I feel?” he asked lowly. “Don’t trust me enough to-”

“I don’t trust myself, okay?!” you cried out, spilling the one truth that no one, no one was supposed to know. He turned to you fully, two surprised blinks of the sea of blue you could drown in; but you were drowning in your own tears instead, words spilling from your lips before you could stop them in between your heavy hitchy breaths, someone seemingly having sucked all air from the room. “I don’t trust myself to--- to keep you interested, not to bore you—to disappoint you somehow within a goddamn month! Because I never can-- I can never keep it up! I don’t trust myself to-- They always leave, everyone does--- sooner or later, because I’m never enough for any-- fuck.”

You choked on the last word, hand slapping over your mouth, forcefully suffocating any other words that might spill out at any cost. You had to stop this very fucking second.

Because Steve stared at you, rendered speechless.

You could only withstand the intensity of his gaze for few moments, before you buried your face in your hands, embarrassment enveloping you like a straitjacket filled with itchy powder; a fabric that trapped you without a chance of escape, but with tears drenching your face, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to judgement. An acute sensation of needing to crawl out of your skin tied your hands and your tongue alike.

You bit your tongue to keep the sob bubbling in your throat inside, humiliated enough for a hundred lifetimes; and all the more when it struck you over and over that hiding your face was so incredibly childish – your companion, your superior, had already witnessed your hysteria and could still see you.

And boy had he seen more than enough.

God, what you had been thinking – you hadn’t been,that was the problem – springing all that on him, crying in front of him--- You needed to pull yourself together, you had to do that right this goddamn second, or he really was going to mark you as mentally unstable and kick you out of the team. And hey, Coulson was still nearby perhaps, they could just seat you on a plane and-

“It’s not fair to judge me based on your past experience, no matter how bad,” Steve whispered tightly, interrupting your train of thought, and the sob you had tried to stifle so hard clawed its way out pathetically, a lovechild of a sardonic laugh and a wail.

He was right. Of course he was right. But that wasn’t what you were doing. It wasn’t that, it wasn’t--- alright, it was that too, but mainly it was your gut feeling, it was what kept you alive-

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m scared. I know it’s not fair, but… what you said, I--- you like me? It’s--- it’s too unreal. It’s too fast. It’s-“ you were mumbling, probably incomprehensible, so you dropped your hands, daring to glance at him through your tears, glad you couldn’t quite decipher his expression. You chuckled bitterly – why were you still talking, what was it about this damn man that made you so unacceptably, unforgivingly and most of all brutally honest? He had already heard more than enough and yet you seemed unable to shut the hell up. “Come on, you gotta know that half of the reason why I always react to you the way I do is ‘cause you’re pretty much perfect-“

Did he just grind his teeth loud enough for you to hear-?

“-and I’m not. I know that in my goddamn bones. I always fuck up. I try my best, but my best is so damn far from perfect, case on fucking point- and I’m just scared even though I know I shouldn’t be scared of anything. I’m scared that as fast as we went from--- from yelling at each other and clashing to… to you bringing one of my favourite if not the most favourite flowers and all your damn sweetness and more respect than I deserve, your goddamn thoughtfulness-“

You gestured to the tulips and him, respectively, with both hands, because damn was he too large to encompass with a gesture of a single hand.

“And we’ll switch back to that--- that antagonism again, or dull indifference just as fast and-“ You gulped, catching your breath, staring at your comforter because you couldn’t admit that when facing him, not even with whatever magical truth serum his presence was, your voice falling quiet-

“-and it will devastate me.”

It will devastate me, because getting a taste of true happiness beyond the one born out of solid work and then losing it… it will kill me. It’s addictive – I know it is. Just like life without pain. And going back to normal will truly, irreparably devastate me.

Heavy silence settled over the room. Even without looking at Steve, you could feel the weight of his judgement and shock. With a wavering sigh, you hid your face in your hands again, squeezing your eyes shut, licking your lips; they seemed dry as sandpaper in contrast to your drenched cheeks.

“I’m truly sorry. About… that, springing all that on you and this—whatever pathetic shit it is,” you croaked, chuckling humourlessly, finding yourself actually too drained to feel as horrified as you should. Polite. You had to gather strength to be politeat least. “Could you--- could you please leave me alone? You should rest too. You’re more like a normal human now, you need time to hea-- that’s--- I’m sorry, that’s none of my business, I-- Captain.”

The lump in your throat had grown to such size there was no space for air to go in and out. Your throat working against it as you swallowed was the only movement of the statue you had become – hoping and praying your Captain to take the hint, pricking up your hearing to know the exact second the door would shut behind him so you could break further, alone.

A shaky inhale. A wavering exhale.

Silence.

A sigh.

Two steps; approaching, not retreating.

A scrape of the chair.

A gentle whisper of your name.

Your hands dropped, a feeble flicker of anger in your chest. You had literally just asked him to leave.

Yes, you had hurt him; yes, you had thrown a fit that would have probably had you hospitalized in a mental institution had you not had medication to blame it on, but did this have to the part where Steven Grant goddamn Rogers decided to be defiant? Couldn’t he have been considerate now, considerate enough to oblige you request to leave you in your laughable state of disintegration?

You attempted to shoot him an unimpressed glare, an uncompromising expression telling him to get the hell out.

It crumbled the second you saw him leaning forward on his healthy elbow propped on his thigh, soft, soft gaze roaming your damp blotchy face and no doubt red eyes. God, you had to look like a mess and he should not see you like this, no one should ever, ever see you like this—

Evading his painfully seeing gaze, you searched for the box of tissues; only to be handed it by him as if to accentuate your humiliation.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry-“

Steve repeated your name calmly, no doubt grimacing when you blew your nose loud and tried to clean your face a bit, probably failing. You inhaled shakily, then exhaled, in and out, licking your lips before you gathered enough courage to look up for at least for a moment.

Why the hell was he still here? Had he texted a mental hospital when you hadn’t been looking, making it his mission to guard you until they arrived? That would have been entirely legitimate thing to do, you were aware of that.

Once you met his eye, he held your gaze firmly, leaving no escape; you had no idea how he did that or how to free yourself. There was just something about this man, you swore-

“Let me clear one thing up. You are everything but pathetic,” Steve said slowly, emphasis on every syllable, practically spitting the last word.

“Really fucking debatable,” you muttered under your breath, wiping your nose again as if to unintentionally prove your point.

But thank god, at least you managed to stop more tears from spilling.

“No, it’s really fucking not,” Steve mimicked your words and it should feel insulting, but for some reason, it made your belly flutter a bit and your heart do a funny flipflop, because you were quite sure you had heard him drop but one F-bomb before despite the fact he had earned the right to curse incessantly with everything he had been through. “Captain’s orders. But now, I need you to clear one thing for me. Really clear it up this time, please.”

You felt bone tired all of sudden; which meant you felt like clearing up nothing. But he was your Captain. And he was, for some inexplicable reason, endlessly patient and even said ‘please’, so you’d answer anything, because there was nothing left to hide anymore. You had already revealed the darkest, ugliest parts of you, leaving you completely naked even as you sat here dressed in a hospital gown and under a thick comforter,.

You sighed, folding your hands in your lap, reciprocating his gaze in a lame attempt at bravery.

“And what’s that, CaptainRogers?”

To his credit, this time he barely moved at you addressing him in that manner; the intense sincere gaze on your tear-soaked face didn’t falter, his irises the most beautiful blue with a light speckle of green you had ever seen; a safe calm sea enveloping you sweetly and seeing right through you clearer and clearer the deeper you sank into it.

“Do you like me?”

All feigned bravery gone, you closed your eyes.

It figured he would ask that; it made sense. You didn’t remember every word of your outburst – well, you probably did, but didn’t wantto look back at it – but you assumed it was painfully clear from what you had word-vomited all over him that that might be the case. That you did very much liked him indeed.

There was no point in denying how you felt, was it? Steve was a smart man, brilliant even; even with the ambiguity of your behaviour, he had figured out the truth already. He was truly only asking for clarification; which was fair, because god knew that besides being hysterical, you had also been sending quite mixed signals.

His question was ridiculously worded, too, like one of a first grader to another, but you assumed that was what you deserved after having thrown a tantrum like a child indeed; and simplicity often carried the most power of all. A single word could break hearts or mend them; it could decide the fate of empires, have them burn to the ground or forge alliances to rebuild them.

A single word could mean the difference between life and death; a single word, and the course of a life could drastically change.

You didn’t dare to open your eyes when you whispered one word just like that, knowing it might change everything.

“…yes.”

A hitch of a breath.

A beat of silence.

A rustle of fabric and faint creak of a chair; he must have shifted in his position, but you refused to check.

“Well… as far as rapid changes go, that’s one for me. A really fast U-turn at that,” Steve said, contemplative – with the faintest hints of non-ill-intended teasing.

You opened your eyes slowly, fully aware of him not having said that he liked you back – but you did not think you’d deserve as much. Not to mention that he had already said so yesterday. Yesterday had been a good day.

Gulping, with your heart racing, you met his gaze again, moved by what you found; his gaze was warm and open and generously nonjudgemental. Hopeful even – and perhaps a little teary too.

Drowning in the sea of blue again, the words were slipping from your lips before you could think twice.

“Not to me.”

There’s nothing new to me about that.

I told myself I hate you. I often acted like I did, but I don’t. I like you. I’ve always liked you. I’ve always liked you and knew I could never compare. I admire you for all you are, I… like you for it. So much that it’s suffocating me.

As your admission brought a lovely smile to Steve’s lips, you were glad you didn’t share the rest of your thoughts.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that, since I feel the same,” he whispered tenderly, almost shyly, before his voice gained its firmness again – one of a leader, a fair one, a kind one. I just like you. “So… to sum up, despite what we believed we thought about each other, we discovered that we actually like each other. That… makes me very happy, but it doesn’t mean we have to-- it doesn’t mean we can’t take it slow.”

Your heart skipped a beat, painfully so, as if it got punched, and then broke into a mad race; your breath hitched, a single stunned word escaping you.

“What?”

The way your voice wavered was incredibly awkward, you were aware – but what?!

“If your concern is about things going too fast and burning out just as fast… then we can make sure to start by building a stronger foundation and take it slow. With no schedule or expectations,” Steve continued with patience you were sure you did not deserve, but with every word, you were only growing more and more confused.

You blinked, trying and failing to process his words. Words that made something very, very warm and fuzzy grow in your chest, your eyes beginning to burn with fresh tears.

It was safe to say that going too fast was not your only concern – but it was the one you admitted to and damn well meant it. And Steve, bless his heart, instantly rolled with the punch, taking it into consideration, because he--- he genuinely seemed to want to make this, whatever it was, work.

It was certainly true that if you walked into the relationship, so to speak, instead of rushing in like fools – if you got the feel of each other in immediate proximity, saw how you worked first, instead of jumping in head first only to find out that you didn’t work all that well – you might end up landing softer instead of meeting a brutal crash and burn. You knew you’d fall for Steve deeper either way, the occupational hazard of being in his vicinity with no intentionally built wall of forced contempt, but it would feel safer.

It was something you’d be much more willing to risk; there was absolutely no denying that and you had to bite your tongue as not to yell an immediate naïve yes.

Because it sounded like a whole lot of work. A lot more effort than Steve should have to put in, with women quite literally lining up to win over his heart, all of them offering him to share love a hundred times easier than this.

And yet, this infuriatingly gorgeous man was watching you patiently, appearing as if putting in that work didn’t bother him at all – and you wouldn’t be as crass as to question whether he realized his options, because you knew he was too intelligent not to. It felt like a conscious and entirely informed decision.

Which made no damn sense.

“You… wouldn’t mind that,” you stated more than asked, internally cringing at your choice of words.

“No. In fact, it might be a good idea, because I do see your point. We don’t know each other that well even as I feel I know quite enough, we didn’t interact outside of our job, so… let’s start there,” Steve suggested as if it was. Not. A. Big. Deal.

As if you weren’t negotiating term of a potential relationship but talked about where to go for lunch.

Except his intent and tender gaze told you he was all too aware of the gravity of his proposal – and that it mattered to him. And it sure as hell mattered to you. The fact he was still sitting there instead of shutting the door behind him as he would have stormed off mattered most of it all, telling you already that if there would be an eventual crash and burn, it certainly wouldn’t be on him. He had to know that too.

And yet he was still here, suggesting this.

That feeling in your chest was rapidly expanding and you had no idea how to stop it and whether you wanted to stop it in the first place.

“…as in, let’s try to become… friends, is what you’re saying.”

Steve shrugged lightly, one corner of his lips rising a tad higher; adorably so. “Sure, we can call it that. Or something else, or nothing at all. Just… let’s try get to know each other better.”

“Just like that?” you questioned, still stunned.

“Yes.”

“You-… you’d want that.”

“Yes.”

“But-” He tilted his head, almost looking as if he wanted to scold you for your continued protests which only undermined you, but he stopped himself last minute, giving you a gentle teasing smile instead, as to encourage you to talk about what you genuinely could not wrap your mind around. “I just—I mean… I disappointed you already. You’re rightfully angry – or were at least. I hurt you, just now.”

You felt like a child learning about adult matters for the first time and probably looked that too – but it was simply such an ungraspable concept you couldn’t seem to help it. Especially since Steve was everything but condescending about it and you would be worse than a half-wit not to use that opportunity.

“True. A little,” he admitted and while it stung to hear it, you couldn’t say you weren’t grateful for him not denying it and thus not making you feel like an idiot any more than necessary. “But like I said, I do see your point. I might not entirely agree, but you’re right in one thing for sure. You might trust me with your life – your words not mine, as much as I cherish them –, and I trust you with mine, but this… this requires a different kind of trust. So let’s try to build it and see how it turns out.”

Let’s try to build it and see how it turns out.

Just like that.

You were rendered entirely speechless.

Your lower lip was a second from wobbling and you bit your cheek in hopes to stop it, but there was no stopping the rapid acceleration of your heart; at this point, it galloped faster than in a middle of a taxing mission.

Because you might need to have Steve’s suggestions explained to you as if you were a child, but you had more wits than that. By offering to do this, Steve was putting his own feelings into jeopardy too; to offer this, he really had to have some feelings for you – for some insane reason – and he was risking them growing when entering this arrangement. He was risking he’d get burned too.

And to do that, he had to believe you were worth it.

And goddamn if that didn’t make you barely swallow your tears as it became harder and harder to breathe. It shouldn’t have stunned you, you supposed – not with the words he had spoken before, even if back in the cell, it would have been easy to dismiss the words as a soothing lie instead of the truth.

‘It was never my intention to make you feel like anything less than absolutely incredible. What I actually believe is that you are that and more,’ he had said.

He meant it. He truly did.

Now, he must have mistaken your silence for hesitance, because he carefully spoke up again.

“That is, of course, if that’s something you’d li-“

“Yes! …yes,” you repeated, softer this time. Still, your mind was racing as fast as your heart, in uncontrollable overdrive. “I’d really like that, but… but that doesn’t seem fair to you.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, features relaxing; he understood he had convinced you to try. He understood you agreed, but he was, as it seemed to be a constant in the past two days, interested in your perspective still.

“How so?”

“What if-” you started off, instantly earning a raised eyebrow. And you got his point, seeing no point in wallowing in what ifs – but he hadn’t heard what you had to say yet. “What if it doesn’t work out? What if we start… building that trust, be--- friends, and it turns out there’s nothing else waiting down the line? You’d waste your time and energy for nothing.”

Worse; you’d waste it on me.

It seemed Steve heard the unspoken too, judging by a small frown appearing on his face, not approving. But he was prepared – probably because it had taken you forever to put your thoughts into words.

“How is that a waste?” he questioned, not expecting an answer. “Do you consider getting to know me and becoming friends a waste of time then?”

You shot him an ugly, ugly look for hitting the nail on the head, because well, of course you didn’t – and he grinned boyishly, clearly having received your answer loud and clear.

You wished you were as brave and as strong as him – as big of a person. It felt like such a stark contrast, his behaviour and composition and yours. You had made a scene, you had insulted him and made him angry, you had hurt him.

And yet here he was, not only offering an alternative, genuine care and compassion and understanding, but himself too. He was willing to go slow for you. Build a friendship, build trust. For you. And it didn’t feel like the dynamics of the team was the thing he cared about the most. For some reason, it truly seemed to be about you. And him.

How could you measure up to that? a voice in the back of your head asked, a nasty bite to your conscience; but Steve was looking at you as if you already had. And you wanted to prove him right. For him and yourself.

You allowed yourself a brief reprieve before composing yourself, and let all your feelings wash over you, allowing yourself to feel them.

You granted yourself the dangerous luxury of fully entertaining the thought, of believing Steve didn’t give a damn about those women lining up, because he was genuinely interested in you, even if it meant putting in the work from the start. And that while the past two days have contributed to that, it seemed he had harboured certain feeling for longer.

And when you tried your damnest to apply that optics on his past actions, it was nothing short of mind-blowing how it could all actually make sense.

The fact he worried about your safety and well-being possibly being the reason why he had had trouble controlling his frustration around you, when you massively prioritized the mission objective to considering your own safety. He simply wouldn’t want you to get hurt.

The fact you had called him out on being a hypocrite only fuelling his anger, but the feelings he might have struggled with being the match to gasoline, contradiction of, on one hand agreeing, with you – he was barely someone not risking his life in name of protecting others – and on the other hand, utterly hating seeing you do the same. The feelings that got in the way, leading him to yell at you, even when you did what many of his friends did on daily basis and him seemingly appreciating it in them.

The way his eyes had lingered on you in the quinjet the night of the charity auction. The bold thought it might have not been strictly mission-related, might not have been memorising the dress which would have taken him a split second to do with his enhanced memory. Just maybe, maybe appreciating the sight of you, his compliment reaching beyond professional courtesy.

His behaviour the whole night perhaps being beyond what he considered being civil, being a gentleman, beyond trying to put out the dumpster fire the team dynamics became when you clashed with him. That it might, just might be him taking the opportunity to smoothen things out and make the most of the night in the sense of building a base for something not only much more amicable, but even something beautiful and fragile.

His soft, careful touch, a little tremble to his hands when he had taken care of you back in that base, nerves and fear and reassuring, affectionate and entirely unnecessary touches to comfort you rather than treat your wounds.

Entertaining all these thoughts was dizzying. It felt like walking on the ledge twenty stories high. And you were terrified of the fall.

It wasn't that the idea of a man being interested in you was a foreign concept; Steve would hardly be the first one. You weren't stupid enough to believe men never found your line of work or your appearance attractive; but entertaining the idea of Steve being that man to truly want you, even as it seemed more plausible by the minute... that did feel like you were balancing on your tiptoes on that ledge, just to tempt fate.

But what you had agreed to try, that felt like Steve standing on that ledge with you, just as prone to slipping and falling as you. He had given you power. You could easily push him off that ledge, throw it back to his face, try to turn that vulnerability he had shown against him, through HR if nothing else, twist it into some sort of unwanted advances, even as it was the farthest things from what he was doing or what you wanted to do.

And as he stood all the way up there with you, he was holding your hand. He was there and you knew he would strap you into a parachute himself to keep you safe even if he didn’t have one himself in case you were to fall; he'd dive right after you to save you without wearing any protective gear himself, just to take the brunt of impact, because that was who he was, on the battlefield or outside of it, because that was the standard he held himself against. This was how he lived and already died once.

You two were talking about building trust; but the truth was that deep down, maybe you knew you could put that trust in him already, and it wasn’t just about keeping you safe during missions.

You were kidding yourself when you spoke of nothing waiting down the line; whether you liked it or not, you were already falling for him, already had, because there was no other way with this gorgeous bastard.

“Well… I’d like that very much then,” you choked out at last, Steve’s smile shining all the brighter for that. “But I really am sorry I hurt you.”

He made a noncommittal sound. “I’ve had worse.”

Like getting shot in the chest?

Being leaned forward to you like that had to hurt like hell – but you hadn’t realized it until now. He was very good at hiding his pain, but you supposed that didn’t really surprise you.

He had been good at hiding a lot of things, apparently.

“Still sorry.”

“And I appreciate it.”

His smile remained genuine and warm as he said so, even as comfortable silence settled after that. It reminded you of the way he had introduced you during the function – and damn if that didn’t feel like it had happened at least a week ago – full of pride and faith. Like he believed without an ounce of doubt that you were able to do anything you’d put your mind to. And it helped you remind yourself that there had been rare times when you had believed that to.

The sudden urge to repay him, to reciprocate the kindness he was more than worthy of, to be as good as he was – the best possible version of yourself at least – had you blurting out the words before you could think twice.

“Is there anything I can do to make up for it?” you asked, instantly wincing at the overenthusiastic tone, the stupidity of the question and its – genuinely unintended – sexual subtext. “Sorry, that was a stupid question, I don’t know what I was-”

“Actually, there is,” he interjected, your eyebrows arching in surprise, heart skipping a startled beat. “You could finally join us for a board game night for once. Sam is in, Pepper and Tony too, Natasha should be back from her recon mission later. I’m sure Wanda will join in too and Bucky never misses an opportunity to show off.”

Oh.

Even as the last remark had the corners of your mouth twitch, you worried your teeth over your lower lip.

A board game night sounded… overwhelming, to say at least. But also rather fun. There had been maybe one or two nights together like that since you had joined the team, events you hadn’t participated in; but the laughter could be heard all over the Tower to your rooms. It had always made you question whether you shouldn’t try to join, feeling out of place in your room as much as you feared you would have felt out of place with them.

Perhaps joining this little event would be a nice, safe first step into the ‘friendship’ you and Steve had agreed on entering; with other Avengers around, you would still be spending time together, but there there would be less pressure to interact only with exclusively.

“No pressure. Honest,” Steve added quickly, clearly noticing your hesitation. “Just a night in with friends – if you want.”

Because that is what they are to you too – your friends, you heard unspoken.

And maybe it was the serum coursing your veins still, maybe it was the hint of uncertainly in Steve’s voice as he suggested it, the quiet hope – the olive branch extended even if you didn’t quite deserve it. Affection wrapped in a simple offer of spending time together. He believed you were worthy of it; whether this view of his would last or not, you’d take the chance. Because he deserved it.

And perhaps so did you.

Steve watched you, expectant but careful, truly trying his best to show there was no obligation. Too good; too kind.

It felt like you needed to remind him that despite what he had witnessed a few moments ago, you were not entirely made of glass. That beyond being an utter mess, you could hold your own at times too.

“I don’t know, Steve…”

He breathed in, a quick flash of disappointment in his expression, one he was just as quick to hide. Your gaze fell to the covers as you bit back a smirk. You almost, almost felt bad when he rushed to assure you.

“That’s perfectly fine. I understand. You-“

“I just don’t see how kicking your ass in a board game could make up for anything, you know?” you interrupted him quietly, peeking up at him from under your eyelashes, just in time to see his jaw fall slack a fraction, his back falling back to the chair with a barely-there astonished chuckle.

Laughter danced in his irises now, one corner of his lips lifting in a smirk.

“Oh, is that how it is, huh?”

“Yup,” you popped the p, a grin shyly tugging at the corners of your lips when you saw his amusement. Amusement you brought there.

“That’s quite the confidence, Agent Spectre. You don’t even know what games we play.”

You shrugged, the smile tugging insistently on your lips now; you caught yourself leaning forward, closer to him – and for some reason, an unexpected surge of confidence told you it was okay. More than okay.

“True. Then again, I never really played any, so I’ll be lost anyway. But… I’m a fast learner when I want to be.”

Something flashed in Steve’s eyes, be it at your words or your posture; something that made your stomach somersault a bit, pleasantly so.

“I bet you are, doll. I know you are.”

You had not been prepared for the shot of heat flooding your veins, but you certainly didn’t find it unwelcomed. If anything, you drank from with vigour it like from a glass of a fine sweet wine, going into your head just as fast, your gaze involuntarily flickering to Steve’s lips, the sight of them making your stomach do a funny flip-flop.

“Oh? And what else do you know?”

“A thing or two. Like that I’d rather have you on my team.”

You could melt at him saying that, both painfully sincere and playful. That was an awfully sweet sentiment, wasn’t it? You swallowed the brief hysteria that tried to overtake over your brain at the idea of him talking about your place in the Avengers instead of simply joining him in a team-up in a boardgame, sinking into his gaze instead, growing more intense by the second, feeding your confidence further.

“Is that right? Don’t want to play against me? Am I that intimidating to our mighty Captain?” you teased him lightly in a low voice.

And once again, you found yourself entirely unprepared for his reaction. Thoroughly unprepared.

God, his eyes darkened so prettily, pupils dilating a fraction, gaze flickering down to your lips and lingering for a moment, body leaning forward, the predator and the prey caught in a trap at once.

Challenging. Teasing. The mighty Captain. He liked that.He had asked you multiple times not to call him that; now with what he had confessed to before, it dawned to you that maybe, just maybe, there had been more to that request than he had felt mocked. You saved that important observation for later use.

“Maybe you are,” he whispered, his voice earning a huskier quality that spoke of that not quite being the case – and spoke of an entirely different emotion. “Or maybe I just know what I want.”

Fresh surge of burning heat spread all over you, your stomach making another mad flip. Your heart reached its speed limit, every beat painful with its ferocity, but oh so thrilling.

You were in a process of quite literally melting from inside out, searing hot sensation in your belly, when Steve suddenly winced and backed away into his chair, his intrigued expression rapidly shifting into an apologetic one.

“I’m sorry, that was--- I wasn’t—I meant that when I said there was no pressure, of any kind. I said we should—and you agreed and I’m more than fine with it, I just got carried--- which isn’t an excuse-“

You rushed to lean in further, ignoring the stab of pain in your legs as you did so and placed your hand over the fist curled on his thigh, effectively shutting him up as the warmth in your chest bloomed. You couldn’t seem to stop your smile from turning softer and wider, as Steve had stumbled over his words, so mindful of not coming off as forceful. Considerate. Kind. Sweet. But goddamn also so insanely attractive, his words having whispered of passion humming under that composed gentle exterior, passion you’d like to explore thoroughly… and repeatedly.

What did it matter your cheeks burned at initiating the touch when in reality you wanted to do much more? Preferably to smack your mouth on his to shut him up for real and show how you felt about his flirting and consideration alike, how the look in his eyes had almost literally set you on fire? How you had to remind yourself that going slow was a reasonable idea you appreciated, because that flicker of something in his expression had nearly made you want to forget all about reason?

He deserved to know; but you searched for gentler words, less rushed. Because building that firmer foundation he had talked about was worth it.

“Steve. It’s fine. You did not exactly hear me protest, did you? …thought so. If anything, I’m… flattered. And I’m not entirely made of glass,” you added self-deprecatingly, earning a quiet but decisive ‘I’m well-aware.’ “Now, if you want me on your team… I’ve got your six. Like I know you’ve got mine. Plus… someone has to protect our fearless leader, right?”

Your words echoing the ones back from the Hydra base had not been an accident; and Steve recognized them even in a vastly different context. He had to, because his tensed shoulders sagged a bit, torso leaning closer again; his fist relaxed too, turning palm up, opening for your hand to slip into his. The firm yet careful squeeze to your hand was only the warmer as it was joined by his smile.

“Well. I can’t say I have ever felt safer then.”

The flutter of your heart at the sincerity of his words was unexpected, but all the sweeter. Because once again, he seemed to mean it; and you had never realized not only how true these words were for you too, but also how insanely the idea of Steven Grant Rogers, the kindest and strongest human you had met, feeling safe with you, would take your breath away.

“Good. Me too,” you agreed softly. In the back of your mind, a familiar tune hummed tenderly, your heart fluttering again at the sheer warmth in Steve’s gaze. “I think we’ll make a good team, stranger.”

His thumb swept over the back of your hand as if there was nothing more natural in this world. And perhaps there wasn’t.

“Yeah. I think we will.”

The evening found you in the common room indeed, the space already buzzing with low chatter and clinking of glasses and mugs, nondescript radio music playing in the background.

Scattered around the living room adjoined to the communal kitchen, Tony, Pepper, Natasha, Sam, Bucky and Wanda were distributing drinks and plates with various snacks, mock-fighting for what they believed to be the best spot on the couch or this armchair or that one, or simply talking, giving the room an air of a venue of a nuclear family gathering rather than one of the couple of colleagues. As you and Steve walked in together – well, he walked, you rolled in on an electric wheelchair for the time being – it gave you a brief pause, an unpleasant feeling of being an intruder crawling up your spine, an instinct to turn on your wheels and roll away tugging at your mind even though you had once or twice reluctantly joined a very similar family back at the main SHIELD base.

Back then, you’d have Skye to nudge you in, even going to such lengths as loudly announcing your presence in various ways so it would be more embarrassing for you to flee; a sneaky, evil way of making you stay she’d pull every single time she believed you had had even the faintest desire to be there and socialize with other people than her.

Now, you had Steve by your side; and he didn’t push, not even when you caught Wanda’s encouraging smile, her lips curling up just a bit when she spotted you; just as warmly as when she had brought you a few essentials and outfits from your rooms at the Tower. Apparently, the system only permitted another Avenger to enter your quarters upon your request unless you were present at your door – which was a regulation you’d complain about since you had needed to get your things and you had been on a strict bedrest for at least a few more hours, which had forced you to bother an Avenger. You had a creeping suspicion it was a regulation Tony had made on spot when you had been bedridden, to make you socialize – it wouldn’t be the first time now, would it – but there was nothing you could have done about that. Wanda had been kind enough to answer your awkward plea, entering your mind as respectfully and briefly to find out what you wanted as she did with your private space.

You reluctantly reciprocated her smile, hearing Steve shift behind you; yet, he didn’t rush you to take the final step.

He had picked you up in your hospital room just as one of the nurses was helping you settle in the wheelchair, a concerned scowl on his face as if he was scolding you for not waiting for him to help you instead; and while you tried not to let it show, you did have to admit that even without the serum coursing his veins, he would have probably been able to help you avoid putting so much weight on your legs better. That was, had he not still had his arm in a sling which he conveniently seemed to forget. You were willing to forgive his hypocrisy this time only because it truly hadhurt and because his scowl gave way to a smile after your simple “shall we?”

“Of course. It’s good to see you out of the bed,” he had said, his eyes lighting up a bit indeed as his gaze roamed your body. “Anything I can help with?”

‘Clear the way if I decided to run – roll away – at the last moment,’ you wanted to retort, swallowing the remark and shaking your head instead with a silent “thanks”, deciding to focus on little joys offered instead – like Steve’s soft smile or the way the blue of his henley brought out the cerulean of his eyes or the faintest traces of smile lines framing them.

“Then into the lion’s den we go.”

Back then, you could hear the hints of humour in his voice; but as you took a deep breath before finally taking the figurative last step, your ribcage tight, it felt like you were entering exactly that.

“Heeey, look what the Cap dragged in!” Bucky greeted you loudly, causing you to jump at the noise and mainly at all heads snapping to you and Steve.

Starting just stellar, you thought to yourself darkly, arranging a polite smile despite your heart thundering and screaming at you to run with every rapid beat.

“Har har, Buchanan. Mind your own business,” Steve snapped from behind you, his voice carrying tension, but no malice. If anything, there was a light humour laced between his protective words.

“Ouch, full name, you’re in trouble, James Buchannan Barnes,” Sam commented with a grin, earning an eyeroll from the supersoldier – and a second later, Bucky was staring at you and Steve again, grinning as well.

“I think he’d much rather mind yours,” Natasha hummed as she set down her cocktail, beckoning at your pair in greeting. “Hey you guys.”

“Well too bad for him,” Steve said, stepping further into the room, a wordless prompt for you to do the same.

Into the lion’s den indeed. But at least they were friendly lions. Right? Why did it still feel like it would be safer to jump into the literal snake pit with no weapon but your own fists?

“Do you need any help?” Wanda asked sweetly, practically rushing to your side.

It reminded you of her earlier enthusiasm; your smile automatically grew, genuine. You simply shook your head with a low but heartfelt ‘no, thank you’.

“Is she here voluntarily?” Tony questioned, stealing your attention. “Casper, if you want to get out of here, blink twice, I’ll save you. Blink thrice if he threatened to shoot you to get you here.”

“Stark!”

“Tony!”

Despite all the heads snapping back at the man, it was Steve and Pepper who cried out; and you couldn’t but snort undignifiedly when Tony’s head whipped to Steve on instinct, and only then slowly, oh so slowly as if he was terrified, he turned his head from the hulking form of a semi-supersoldier to the petite woman that was his wife, clearly indicating who was the one inspiring more fear in him.

“What? It is too soon?”

Pepper just kept glaring at him, without a word – an answer in its own right.

It only now dawned to you why they had snapped at him, why Tony had asked if it was too soon. They were worried. About you. About how you’d react, about whether you’d fold down like a house of cards at a mention of a gun, whether you’d break like a weakling, like—

Except it wasn’t that, was it? the kinder voice in your mind questioned, growing stronger when you felt Steve step closer, your enhanced senses picking up on the warmth of his hand nearing your shoulder, even if not touching. They weren’t worried because they thought you were useless; they were worried and considerate, because that was what friends did for each other.

“I’m pretty sure that about thirty hours after is still rather soon, yes,” Natasha hummed, breaking the silence with light amusement in her voice, eyeing the billionaire who was smiling at Pepper with clueless innocence. “You’re lucky you’re tech-smart at least, Stark, even if Johnson keeps giving you run for your money.”

“Oh gimme a break!” Tony cried out, abandoning his post of a scolded child, turning to Natasha fully. “She basically grew up in the Rising Tide, that’s like… that’s like she’d been to Hogwarts of hacking and became Dumbledore’s protégé, or something, okay-!”

The corner of your lips twitched up, a feeling of unjustified pride swelling in your chest at the mention of whom you certainly considered a friend of yours; and at the rather accurate description, even if wrapped in a literary reference.

You fought the urge to grin fully when you heard Sam tease Tony further.

“Ooooooh, look at the well-read man with such apt metaphors!”

“Please, I’m pretty sure he only watched the movies, like you lots with The Hobbit,” Bucky added, a look of mutual respect for roasting a friend exchanged between the two men, until indignation coloured Sam’s expression when he realized he was being teased as well.

It was the most surreal scene to watch; but it was even more surreal scene to feel.

Feeling of knowing Daisy, knowing someone so capable and knowing you belong among her favourite people somehow, was one thing – but it was a whole another thing to realize that watching the Avengers, literally the mightiest heroes on Earth, poke fun one on another, didn’t make you feel out of place. In fact, it made you feel quite welcomed. As if you… as if you could almost, almost belong one day, if not as one of them, then at least alongside them without sticking out.

And it was that dizzying feeling, that traitorous feeling, that made you speak up too.

“Hmm… I don’t know, Tony. I’m pretty sure it was more like the Hogwarts sent her an encrypted message begging her to join so Dumbledore could learn a few new tricks,” you corrected him with a gentle humour; or at least you believed so.

Until you found the whole room suddenly staring at you, Tony even mutely pointing his index finger at you, unable to retort.

The image he made for should be preciously hilarious; you had a feeling that now you truly should be proud, because you had managed to render him speechless. He had to be utterly shocked to be at loss for words. But he wasn’t the only one – and that was the thing that stunned the warm feeling blossoming in your chest, the air in your lungs freezing, a cold coil of anxiety settling in your ribcage instead.

Alongside them. Not one of them. In fact, not even close to the latter, forever stuck in the former.

It wasn’t your place to join the teasing; that was a gross overstep.

You had said too much. You had overstepped by miles. Tony’s face was pure shock. Bucky’s and Sam’s and Wanda’s, when you checked subtly, were unreadable. You had missed by thousand miles. Steve behind you remained quiet and you didn’t dare to turn to him. Pepper appeared somewhat scandalized, even as she was still looking as perfectly put-together as ever, not a hair out of place in her elegant overall and a loose ponytail. You messed up. You had to apologize-

A levelled voice, warm with amusement, interrupted the noise of your mind and the quiet that had settled in the room alike.

“Not wrong, from what I read up on her,” Natasha said.

Tony, still pointing an index on you still, opened his mouth. “How dare you, Casper. I’m always in your corner and that’s what I get? Jail, I say!”

Your shoulders sagged in relief, lungs expanding again with a generous inhale; you felt yourself grin and letyourself do so, lifting your hands in surrender. That was very true, he had been in your corner – and you were grateful for it. Yes, Tony did whatever Tony wanted and you had no doubt he had pushed you and manipulated you into that charity gala, but much like in the case of Steve, you realized now, as reluctantly as it was, that his behaviour was coming from a good place. From a place of a wanting to be helpful and useful and good and supportive… an ally. A reluctant friend, perhaps.

He deserved the same from you. Your grin widened, heart stumbling even as your voice carried confidence.

“Hey, just saying what I know... Don’t shoot the messenger.”

A distinct sound of someone choking on their drink had you snap your head to the couch, taking note of Bucky doubling over as he coughed; several snickers sounded around, causing satisfaction fill your gut – and warmth your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hold on, how come she gets to joke about it?!” Tony complained loudly, taking steps closer to you as he gestured in – hopefully mocked – accusation.

“I think that for starters, she’s the one who got shot-“

“So did he!” Tony cut Sam off, pointing at Steve this time. “What if he’s uncomfortable with it?”

You finally dared to look up at Steve, who was still by your side, now silent for a while – and whose stare you felt for just as long. There was a mischievous grin on his face and if you looked further, a speckle of what looked like a little bit like pride.

They are your friends too, you know.

He glanced up at Tony, shrugging with his healthy shoulder without care for the world.

“I mean… I don’t mind at all-”

“Ooooof course you don’t,” Tony stated, grimacing and looking at Steve somehow both with indignation and uncomfortably knowing look. “When it comes to her, you’re already whi-“

Pepper shot Tony another warning glare and he hesitated as he glanced at you in the least subtle way, causing heat rise to your cheeks, a small swell of panic swirling in your chest at his implication – panic and bottomless source of warmth.

“-spering behind my back, like the whole team,” Tony finished, clearly entirely differently than he had intended. “You know what? Just for that, Rogers, I’m gonna crush you in Monopoly.”

A collective groan sounded around the table, various protests against the game rising, incomprehensible words with a very comprehensible message.

You used the momentary chaos to move, glad to have a second of reprieve at attention was no longer on you.

You had been childishly naïve. Sam’s eyes instantly turned to you as he stood up and offered to take care of your drinks.

“Oh- uhm, thank you. Can I… can I have a cup of tea?”

“Coming right-“

“Tea?!” The exasperated cry genuinely made your heart skip a startled beat, upper body whipping the direction of its origin. “Did she just ask for TEA? It’s a party, Casper, for the love of god. Live a little.”

You could hear Steve, who magically appeared by your side just as Sam had disappeared to the kitchen area, breathe in to protest – but there was no need. This, you got.

“I’m on pain meds, Tony. Not to mention I literally can’t get drunk now. I mean… probably.”

At that, Tony’s eyes snapped to Steve, bright and mischievous. “We can get you drunk now, even without Thor’s help. Wilson, get some tequila in here while you’re at it!”

“You… do know he’s on pain meds too, right?” Bucky deadpanned, voicing the very protest you would have – as amusing as seeing drunk Steve might turn out. It would be quite an experience to see him without a filter, wouldn’t it?

“So? He’ll live!” Tony called out, waving the concern off with a theatrical swipe off his hand. “And I’m sure his liver will recover once they switch again.”

You froze.

Just a joke. A simple sidenote – and yet, you found yourself going rigid, anticipating pain, the kind that had no relief no matter the amount of medication; as if it was going to return any second. And then, cold creeping up your spine, dreadful anticipation of justified judging gazes turning to you; because you were the cause of Steve’s momentary lacking healing factor, the cause of his condition – a condition they didn’t even know the worst part of, from what you understood.

You were the reason; you were the thief. You were the sole reason why Steve wasn’t healed yet, even if that was his very own choice, one you hated him for as much as… appreciated him.

And then you noticed.

No one was looking at you.

There were no glares filled with contempt. If anything, the company seemed both amused and slightly annoyed at Tony’s half-serious suggestion.

Breathing in and out, you forced yourself to relax, consciously lifting the corners of your lips when Bucky seemed highly unimpressed, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“Will it now, Doctor Stark? I mean… we didn’t try any antiserum yet. Switching powers, or bullets weren’t enough. So let’s try if a cocktail of alcohol, salt, citrus and fentanyl does the job, shall we? Come on, Stark. It’s like you don’t know him, he does enough reckless shit on his own… please don’t encourage him.”

Several things happened at once.

Natasha hummed in agreement, her face speaking volumes about how truthful she found the statement.

Next to you, Steve made a small offended noise.

Tony rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “buzzkill.”

You barely stifled a snort of laughter, managing to mask it as a cough; yet, Bucky’s gaze flickered to you, something pleased flashing in his eye.

“Honestly, I think I could beat you even in that state, but Bucky’s right. Let’s leave that to another time,” Steve offered in a conciliatory manner, causing Tony to arch his left eyebrow.

“Is that a challenge--?”

“Maybe-”

Bucky flung his hand towards Steve with what could only be read as mute despair, leaving no hopes for your snort to stay silent this time; but also earning much of your sympathies, as you immediately marked him as your ally. He got it. He agreed with you on Steve being a hypocrite when calling you out. He was, as you had assumed before, the one keeping Steve in check – or to least was trying to do so. Good.

At the sound you failed to stifle this time, Bucky’s gaze found yours again, even if briefly. What you found was warm understanding.

“Aaaalright,” Natasha interrupted the playful – but not quite so – exchange between Steve and Tony, a gentle gesture of stepping between the two. “Down, boys. Let’s get back on track, some of us had an early morning, some of us are on painkillers indeed. What are we playing? Not Monopoly, so…”

At that, you proceeded to tune the noise out, unable to help them decide anyway. When you glanced Steve’s direction again, he charmed an easy smile for you, gently brushing your arm with his fingertips before he sat down, sending both shivers and pleasant tingles through your body, your heart making a funny little flip in your chest at the tender subtle touch.

When you smiled back, genuinely unable to help it, his smile turned blinding and he leaned in, whispering only for your ears – and probably Bucky’s.

“Thank you for joining me in the madness. I’m sure you already see why I needed some strong and reliable back-up.”

It was an easy compliment, a barely-there acknowledgement wrapped in a joke; and yet, you felt yourself smile wider, meeting Steve’s gentle blues, something deep within your stirring.

“I’ve got your six, Captain,” you reminded him. “And thank you for inviting me.”

“My absolute pleasure… but if we end up in different teams, just don’t win with too many points over me, will you?”

You smirked, even as you had a lot less faith in your board game skills than he apparently did; it gave you a confidence boost you weren’t aware you needed. It seemed so effortless to let the playful competitive atmosphere of the night affect you, when Steve’s literal and figurative warmth radiated off of him, caressing your skin even as he was no longer touching you.

“Well… no promises.”

“Hmpf… a wolf in sheep’s clothing...” he muttered, suddenly turning to Tony with a stern look on his face as the billionaire held one of the board games. “No, we will not play Twister, that had better be a joke, you have two people who got shot and one with a sprained wrist-”

You hadn’t noticed, but since the only conclusion of the other injured person was Natasha, you were not surprised she was able to hide it, especially with her sweatshirt sleeves having a thumb hole, easily disguising a splint. And perhaps you had been a little distracted; by your pain medication, of course. There was nothing else to draw your enhanced senses to itself with the force of gravity. Nothing at all.

Even as your heart raced at the turn your thoughts seemed to be running to, you accepted your tea from Sam’s hands with a silent thank you, missing the wordless exchange of meaningful look between Natasha and Bucky, who in turn had not missed how close Steve had leaned in to whisper in your ear even though you were momentarily an owner of enhanced hearing indeed.

But even without seeing that, it felt like what you were doing – something as trivial as being present at a little party in with your colleagues – was moving forward.

And no matter where you’d end up, it felt like it would be a good place; and you’d have a good person by your side, always, be it Steve, or one of his – and one day perhaps yours as well – friends. You’d count your blessings, even as Wanda pulled out the box with the chosen game at last, the number of rules she started to list already making your head spin.

Being surrounded by so many voices had rarely ever felt better; and rarely quieted the ones in your mind. It had rarely felt safe. And as a sweet cherry on top, Steve’s fingers brushed your elbow, his reassuring smile feeling soft even as you didn’t turn your head to see it.

Yes, it was slow; but you were moving forward. And it felt really, really good.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Dear reader, apologies for the long wait on a long chapter. Life got busy, specifically work did, draining all my (creative) energy. And frankly, a part of this chapter fought me tooth and nail – I can only hope you, too, will think I won the battle eventually. But oh, did you think only pure fluff was coming? Well. Sorry to disappoint 🤭 ehm. Anyway.

As always, many thank you for your support – and a gentle reminder I’m always happy to hear your thoughts if you’re willing to share them.

Also, I feel like there might be one more chapter before something I can actually call an epilogue, so stay tuned.

May June be kind to you and your loved ones 💕

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x you #agent reader #shield agent reader #avenger reader #inhuman reader #fanfiction #steve rogers #captain america #back and forth #anika ann

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sillyunknownkitkat · 11 months ago

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Leon S. Kennedy ×/+ sibling reader

Plot: You're forced to follow his steps because you can't be left alone.

Tw: angst, bad writing, curse words, alcoholism, sexual assault to reader (not openly detailed, just mentioned), unaliving attempt from Leon (nothing graphic, just alcohol and meds), uncanny Leon and Chris back stories but nothing too bad

This is requested, but I lost the ask :( but anon, you're a genius.

So let's go over the basic headcanons once more just to be sure.

Leon and you are siblings. You're a bit younger than him.

After the Raccoon City "incident", he wanted to join the police right?

Well, the only problem in this case is that he didn't think about one thing.

Since it was only the two of you, he's your legal gardian, and therefore, you can't be alone.

But guess what? The government wants you too !

Who else would be able to do this good at a task they lived?

When Leon heard the news, he first was angry and then devastated.

His poor little baby sister/brother/sibling had to go through he'll too.

I don't think it's canon, but the training is hardcore.

After all, they need help really fast, and they can't just put two kids on the field like that.

So every day was basically hell for the both of you.

What you didn't know was that they kept Lepn informed of your condition/state.

They thought that knowing that the only family had left was suffering would make him stronger but it just broke him even more

That's when he started heavily drinking. They kept both of you separately so he couldn't actually see you.

He couldn't save you. The only thing he could do was listen to the atrocious training you were going through.

Every time he looked in the mirror, he felt like a monster. Why couldn't he just protect you? Why did you have to be in so much pain too.

Also, there are a lot of gross men out there.

Some abuse their power just because they can...

When Leon learned that you've been assaulted, he tried to kill himself.

So he took meds and drank until he just couldn't anymore.

But since he drank so much, he threw up, and that's what saved him.

Here you were, shaking him and crying. Begging for him to wake up.

You managed to sneak out. You wanted to surprise him, but you were the one surprised to see your brother on the ground, a bottle of whisky in one hand, pills on the ground, and puke on him

When he woke up, you just murmured, reassuring words to him

"It's okay now.. I'm not going away." "You're the best brother Leon." Don't ever doubt this."I'm okay, you're okay...we- we're good."

You weren't actually sure of what you were saying back then but you needed to be strong for him.

After helping him clean up and going to sit on his dorm bed, you just looked at him. He was thinking hard.

"I met someone who'll help you." He'd say while looking in the void.

"What..?" You'd ask. What was he talking about? Was he still drunk?

"Chris. Chris Redfield. He's training too, but he's almost done. You'll sneak out and go with him, hide and wait for me."

"I'm not leaving you here Leon!"

But he'd just stare at you with wet eyes, his hand squeezing yours gently before shaking is head a bit.

"Knowing you're going through all of this hurts me ___. I can't do it anymore.."

Those words made you change your mind. You really didn't want to leave him alone, but you knew it was the right decision

So after a big hug shared between the two of you, you'd go back to your dorm so no one notices you were gone and started day after day, slowly packing your stuff.

When the day to leave finally came, you weren't able to see Leon.

When Chris and you met, you were a sobbing mess, bag sitting next to you on the ground.

Chris tried to comfort you the best he could but the pain was really a lot.

You still followed him to his house and met Claire.

Each day was hard, but you kept being strong for Leon.

Of course, both of the Redfield siblings were helping you.

You just had to wait the day you'd be able to meet again.

There you go. I'm not crying. You are.

Kinda shit writing tho so I'm sorry, hope it's still good tho

Have a good day/night, and be safe. Everyone ❤️

#resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy + sibling reader #leon kennedy x sibling reader #leon kennedy angst #gender neutral reader #leon kennedy headcanons #resident evil headcanons #this is sad

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cherienymphe · 9 months ago

Text

Teenage Dirtbag XII

JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: mentions of NON-CON, mentions of DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

Your rescue just comes with a price.

⭑

When you woke up, you were alone.

Even if you didn’t remember how drunk you’d gotten the night before, everything about the way your head pounded and the tightness in your throat told you so. Sunlight was bleeding through your curtains, but it wasn’t the kind of brightness associated with the afternoon, so you knew it was still morning. You were slow in sitting up, holding the sheet to you as you glanced around, your gaze briefly landing on the familiar fabric on the floor.

You stared at it for too long, raising your hand to press to your forehead in both disbelief and horror. A strange range of emotions were all fighting for dominance within you, and you forced yourself to close your eyes in order to calm down. Taking a deep breath, you tried to ignore the feeling of dried bodily fluids between your thighs…but it was hard. You could feel a familiar sting behind your eyes.

You’d cheated on Rafe.

Sure, you’d been doing that for some time, now, but last night you’d really cheated on him. You didn’t know why a few kisses and some touching didn’t make it feel as real to you when it most definitely should have, but last night was a point of no return. Last night was a line you weren’t even sure you’d wanted to cross. Your stomach turned, and you swallowed it down.

You and JJ had sex.

Right here…in your bedroom.

There was a part of you that wondered if you could even call it that. You’d been so drunk, and while things were still a little fuzzy, you knew for a fact that you’d been so unsure. JJ hadn’t seemed to care, but JJ wasn’t like Rafe. Surely, if you’d tried harder to stop him, he would’ve stopped…right…? You did want to be with JJ, that was no secret, but maybe the events of the previous night showed you that you weren’t as conflicted as you’d thought. After all…

You could’ve protested more.

…but you didn’t.

Your mind was going a mile a minute, and after briefly dropping your face into your hands, you threw the covers back. You weren’t in the right headspace to analyze anyone’s actions and motives, pushing yourself to your feet to seek out a much-needed shower. You grimaced at the sight of your clothes on the floor, forcing yourself not to think about that, right now.

You were thankful that your perusal in the mirror brought up no unwanted marks, and that allowed you to rest easier. The warm spray of the shower did help with the hangover and fatigue, but it did nothing for the heaviness in your chest. Pressing your wet hands to your face, you allowed yourself to remember the way JJ held you—how gentle he was in doing so. You couldn’t recall the last time you felt like that.

You swallowed down a sob at the memories of his lips pressing kisses all over your face as he laid you down on your bed. By that point, you’d forgotten why it was a bad idea, wrapping your arms around JJ and lifting your hips to meet his. The alcoholic fog made it hard to decipher how long he’d slowly thrust into you against your sheets, but it was long enough to make you shudder just thinking about it.

…but it was wrong.

It was so wrong, and not just because of Rafe, but because you hadn’t even wanted to in the beginning. You wondered if that even mattered at this point. You wanted JJ. You’d wanted to know what it felt like to be with him and be with someone who made you feel safe. Even if you hadn’t been quite ready yet, did it matter? Whether it was last night or two months from now…did it matter?

Telling yourself that you couldn’t stay in the shower forever, you turned the water off.

Rafe was the last person you expected to see when you finally opened the door.

You actually froze at the sight of him, tightening the towel around you just as he sat on the edge of your bed. The sight of him there…sitting where you and JJ were only hours ago…it made your stomach turn. He looked better than you felt, dirty blond strands freshly washed and the short sleeves of his white polo stretching against his skin. You surmised that it was a warmer day outside.

“I’m surprised you even made it upstairs last night,” was his pleasant greeting.

Finally telling yourself to move, you made to pick up your dress…and underwear.

“I managed,” was all you said, moving to put the dirty clothes in the hamper.

There was no way Rafe could know, but part of you felt like he could just sense it. Rafe had this way about him that made him seem larger than life, like he had abilities and senses the rest of you—namely you—didn’t. As you looked at him, you couldn’t stop your eyes from watering, recalling the feel of JJ shuddering against you as he came, his blue eyes staring into yours. The tears spilled over before you could stop them, and you watched the way Rafe’s lips curved.

“I take it you remember last night…and how shitty you were being.”

You wiped your face, looking away from your boyfriend, remembering something else entirely. Yes, you were shitty, but not for the reasons he thought. When you heard him stand, you pressed your hand to your face, and you didn’t protest when Rafe gently pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. Rafe shushed you, slowly rocking you, but there was nothing comforting about it.

“You know I hate it when you drink like that,” he murmured into your hair. “You know I hate how…fussy you get.”

You nodded, your mind preoccupied with the sweet nothings JJ had whispered into your ear instead.

“…and then I have to be the bad guy when you start embarrassing yourself.”

You recalled the sigh you’d let out when JJ pulled out of you, conflicted between wanting him to leave as soon as possible and pulling you against him again. You remembered his hand on your face and his lips on yours after he’d gotten dressed, telling you he wished he didn’t have to go. You could still remember his fingers against your lips as you’d drunkenly kissed them, vision blurring and room tilting. You didn’t remember him leaving…only closing your eyes.

When you pulled back to look at Rafe, the expectant glint in his gaze was evident, and before where it would’ve made you bristle… Now, it only made your heart sink. You looked over his face, telling yourself that Rafe was a thousand times worse to you than you could ever be to him, and yet, that did nothing to ease your guilt. He was still your boyfriend…and you’d had sex with someone else.

You’d made love to someone else.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly told him.

Even though the apology wasn’t for what he thought it was…it was genuine.

You ignored another call from a familiar face, swallowing down the bad taste it left in your mouth. You felt all kinds of horrible for ignoring the blond for literal weeks—especially after having sex with him—but you needed time to think. About Rafe, about JJ, about that night… Your feelings about said night were still so complicated and confusing, and you still didn’t know if you liked the way JJ handled things—and if you did, was it because you were drunk?

You chewed on your fingernails, telling yourself that JJ wasn’t Rafe.

You’d experienced rape many times, and that night with JJ wasn’t quite the same.

So, why did you still feel weird about it?

“We could go to the beach…”

You were pulled from your thoughts by another blonde teenager, Sarah’s budding smile filling your vision when you refocused on her. She sat back down before you on the couch, handing you a glass of lemonade as she gave you a hopeful look. You swallowed a sigh, knowing that if you agreed, her friends would show up somehow…and you weren’t quite ready to face JJ just yet.

You knew that he was still periodically sleeping at the pool house, catching glimpses of him through the window sometimes while everyone else slept. You didn’t need to be a genius to know that he was waiting and hoping you’d come see him, whether to talk or repeat what had been done that night. You had too many things to sort through—your confusion, your guilt, your feelings for him.

You didn’t know how to feel about JJ, right now, and that worried you.

“I better not…”

As your voice trailed off, you watched her face fall. You knew what she was thinking about before she even voiced it.

“I really am sorry about what happened at John B.’s,” she sheepishly told you. “Nothing went as planned.”

“Sarah, it’s fine-.”

“It’s really not though,” she sighed. “I…”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling.

“I hate how Rafe treats you,” she forced out, voice cracking. “He behaves like you belong to him.”

Your gaze fell to your lap at that.

“He treats you like you’re his fucking property, and…”

Her expression was a mix of confusion and disgust when you looked up again.

“I just don’t understand why you stay,” she spat, scoffing to herself. “Sure, you love him, but…”

She shifted on the couch, giving you her full attention.

“Does he love you? Do you like being treated like this?”

“Sarah-.”

“I don’t care if I’m overstepping, help me understand,” she cut you off, looking between your eyes. “Why do you stay? Why do you put up with it?”

You were trying not to let her words anger you—after all, how could she know—but it was hard when she looked at you like you were some foolish and dick-struck girl she just didn’t get. Swallowing down all the things you wanted to say, you merely shook your head.

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“You’re right,” she fired back. “I don’t get it.”

Your jaw clenched.

“I don’t get why you let him talk to you any kind of way. I don’t get why you blindly follow him around and do what he says! I don’t get why I’m trying so hard to help you have some kind of life outside of my brother when you don’t even seem to want that,” she said, face pinched in confusion. “My friends like you, and…if you asked them, they’d probably consider you their friend too.”

You looked away at that.

“They ask about you and they worry about you— because they see it too! —but you seem so,” she dragged the word out. “…happy to revolve your entire life around Rafe.”

You blinked back tears, struggling to handle the range of emotions her rightful frustration brought on. Sarah didn’t know the truth, so you couldn’t fault her for feeling disturbed by your dynamic with her brother, but that didn’t make it sting any less. Especially so since it seemed like everyone only saw you as the girlfriend that obeyed Rafe like a well-trained dog.

You would love to have friends outside of Rafe and his friends. You would love to be able to go anywhere you wanted without your phone and car being tracked. It would be nice to tell your boyfriend you were going to hang out with Sarah or whoever without it being some big thing that needed approval and a million questions about who else would be there—if any guys would be there. You would kill for a normal relationship with a normal boyfriend that didn’t put the fear of God into you, but that wasn’t the hand you were dealt.

“What do you want me to say, Sarah?” you eventually sighed.

You could see the way her face fell as she studied yours, and you didn’t miss the guilty look to cross her eyes. She touched her forehead, huffing.

“Nothing, I guess,” she quietly answered. “I’m sorry, okay? I just… I just think you could do better.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you only nodded, ignoring her soft sigh as you stood. When she said your name, you didn’t acknowledge it, only throwing her a small smile.

“You should go to the beach, anyway, Sarah,” you told her. “Your friends always look for any excuse to get in the water.”

You forced yourself to go upstairs, hating how right everything Sarah said was and how awful it made you feel.

When Rafe finally returned hours later, you weren’t in the most contagious of moods, wrapped up in his bed and still thinking about things that made your chest sting. Sarah’s words only served as a reminder as to how trapped you truly were, and that in turn made you feel less crappy about what you’d done with JJ.

It wasn’t like you could actually leave Rafe…

JJ was right when he’d called your relationship a hostage situation. With that being said, you couldn’t let go of that part of you that recognized Rafe as your boyfriend and recognized what you were doing with JJ as cheating. As awful as he was…Rafe was still your boyfriend, and while his jealousy got the better of him more often than not, you both knew that deep down, Rafe would never in a million years expect you to cheat on him.

Maybe that had more to do with control than trust though…

Rafe wouldn’t expect it because of his ego…not because he loved you. Besides, many would argue that he’d betrayed you first and a million times over. Crossing boundaries and breaking trust was a betrayal, and Rafe had done that the night you’d turned nineteen, slapping you at your own birthday party, and all he’d done since then was continue to betray you.

When the bed sank underneath his weight, you closed your eyes at the feel of his fingers on your face.

“I ran into Sarah on the way in…”

He continued when you didn’t respond.

“She told me to check on you…said she probably said some things she shouldn’t have.”

You squeezed your eyes tighter, and when you didn’t deny that, you heard him mumble something under his breath. It was about her, no doubt.

“Was it about me?” he wondered, voice dropping.

Licking your lips, you found your voice.

“Rafe, I don’t want to talk about this…”

“Don’t let Sarah get into your head…” he drawled. “She’s a bitch, alright?”

You were pushing yourself to sit up before he could even finish, frowning at him.

“Don’t call her that,” you argued. “She’s your sister.”

“…and she’s a bitch,” Rafe repeated, lowering his head so that his eyes were level with yours. “She hates that you’re with me, so I can only imagine what she was saying.”

“Nothing that wasn’t true,” you whispered.

Rafe didn’t respond to that, but the way he blinked at you told you that maybe you shouldn’t have said it. You couldn’t hold back your tears as you stared at him, and he just watched you wipe your face.

“My life revolves around you, Rafe,” you quietly cried. “Will it ever not?”

By the way he rolled his eyes, you could see that he didn’t want to have this conversation.

“I don’t have any friends-.”

“You have my friends,” he interrupted, and you shook your head.

“Your friends. What about friends of my own?”

More tears spilled over when Rafe stood, and you frowned at him.

“I do everything you ask,” you whispered. “I’ve cut people out of my life, I wait on you, I dedicate just about every minute of every waking moment to you. When will it end? When will you let me have something like a life?”

You were unsurprised when Rafe’s hand found its way to your jaw, fingers firmly pressing into your skin and making you wince. His face was so close to yours, and you reached up to rest your hand on his wrist. At the feel, Rafe only tightened his hold, and more tears spilled over. Your boyfriend’s breathing was even as he looked between your eyes.

“Did you forget that it was only less than two months ago that I was racing down the streets of Kildare County to pick you up from The Cut?” his tone was sharp. “Hmm?”

He continued when you blinked.

“Or what about when you talked to JJ before that behind my back?”

The mention of the other blond had you squeezing your eyes shut.

“You make it sound like…”

“I don’t care why you did it,” Rafe spat. “Point is, you did.”

He shook your face, making you peel your eyes open. Rafe’s face was even save for the clench of his jaw as he stared you down. Suddenly he looked over you, face softening just a tad, and a smirk danced along his pink lips.

“Is it that time of the month?” he chuckled when you jerked your face out of his grip. “Is that where this is coming from?”

“Fuck you,” you breathed, and he paused.

You watched him touch his tongue to his lip.

“…or maybe that’s it,” he whispered. “Maybe you need me to fuck this attitude out of you, and you just don’t know how to say it.”

When you moved to get up, Rafe stopped you, hands tight on your arms.

“No,” he dragged out. “Don’t get up…”

You jerked away when he leaned in to kiss you.

“You’ve been moody for weeks, ever since you got drunk that night and made a fool out of yourself…”

He was rough in pushing you down.

“My dad’s had me so tied up with family business stuff… I’ve been neglecting you, huh?”

“Don’t touch me,” you spat, harshly shoving his chest. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Yeah, okay,” the blond chuckled, and it was genuine. “If I relied on you being in the mood, I’d never get any.”

You struggled with his hands as they pulled at your shirt, and eventually you gave up, striking him clear across the face. The slap was loud, and your hand stung, evidence of just how hard you’d hit him. You could tell it shocked Rafe too, and your lips parted, silence descending over the two of you. You reacted before he did, using his momentary shock to climb off of the bed.

You were already in the hall when you heard his door swing open, banging against the wall.

“What the hell is your problem?”

His voice was loud, and that was all the confirmation you needed that you were alone in the house.

“I told you I’m not in the mood,” your voice shook, and rightfully so.

You winced when Rafe caught your arm, yanking you back and making you face him. There was a deep frown between his brows as he stared you down, and you swallowed at the redness you saw on his cheek.

“Am I supposed to care about that or something?” his tone was clipped as he looked between your eyes. “You think I give a fuck? You think I won’t fuck you right here in this hallway?”

“Rafe, I’m serious,” you bit out, fighting to push at his chest.

“What is your problem?” he repeated his earlier question. “Did Sarah put some ideas into your head or what?”

You winced when his other hand roughly grabbed your neck, and you grabbed that arm too.

“Have I ever cared if you’re in the mood? No? So, why would I now?” he wondered. “…and more importantly, why would you think I would?”

“Rafe, please,” you begged when he leaned in, turning your face away.

When his lips touched the corner of your mouth, you hit him again.

He hit you harder.

Your face was on fire when you landed on the floor, eyes watering. You bit back a sob, covering your face as you heard Rafe sniff above you.

“I’m a guy, baby,” was all he said. “I promise you, I can hit you ten times harder.”

Your breathing was uneven, and when you refused to move, your boyfriend huffed.

“Get up,” he quietly told you. “Get the fuck up.”

His hand was under your arm, yanking you to your feet.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you today–fuck, I don’t know if it’s something Sarah said, but cut it out,” he sneered, shaking you. “I’m not in the mood to deal with your bullshit.”

“Oh, when you’re not in the mood to deal with my ‘bullshit’, I have to shut up, but when I’m not in the mood to fuck you, I should lie there and take it anyway, right?”

Rafe reared back a bit, looking down his nose at you, and the way he studied you made your heart skip a beat. You winced as his hand tightened, and you hated the way his lip twitched. There was a glint in his eye that made you nervous, and you watched him slowly smile. Letting you go, both of his hands started to gently drag up and down your arms.

“I think you’ve been hanging around Sarah too much,” he told you, an amused lilt to his tone. “We both know things go so much smoother with us when you know your place.”

You pulled your lip between your teeth, tearfully blinking at him.

“I’m not leaving you, Rafe,” you whispered. “You have made it abundantly clear that I am never leaving you, so why can’t you give me something to work with here?”

Rafe tilted his head at you, a frown on his face as he reached up to gently touch your own face.

“You can leave,” he said to you, making you roll your eyes. “Baby, you can leave me anytime you want…”

You didn’t look at him, refusing to dignify this farce. His fingers were gentle on your skin as he trailed them down your jaw and neck, and you shuddered, tears kissing your eyes at the way he was toying with you.

“So long as you know what’ll happen if you do…”

You didn’t say anything, and the tension in the air shifted when he spoke again, tone venomous.

“You want to leave me, you go right ahead, but don’t think I won’t smile in your daddy’s face after wringing your neck,” he sneered. “Don’t tell me you’re never leaving me like that’s supposed to be some comfort to me or some bargaining chip.”

He took your face into his hands, making you look at him.

“I know you’re never leaving me,” he calmly said. “It’s not something I worry about, so there’s no need to reassure me. I don’t need it.”

“I could,” you choked out.

That bloodthirsty glint in his eye came and went, and Rafe smiled again.

“Okay… Let’s say, for argument’s sake, you do leave me… Who in this town would touch you with a ten-foot pole?” he shrugged. “You’re mine.”

You licked your lips.

“Kildare isn’t the only place in the world,” you whispered.

“You’d have to get off the island first,” Rafe bit out, visage void of all humor, now.

His nostrils flared as he looked between your eyes, his blue gaze cold, and you took a step back when he moved forward. The look on his face was unreadable, and you struggled to figure out what he was thinking.

“Is that what this is about? You’re thinking about leaving me?”

“No.”

You denied that before he’d even finished talking, heart skipping a beat.

It was your boyfriend’s quiet moments that you found unpredictable. When he was irritated and loud and pacing like a bull, you knew what to expect and how to handle him. In the moments where most of that was going on inside of his head, you didn’t always know how to proceed or how to prepare yourself.

“I just feel like if I say I’m not in the mood, it shouldn’t become a big thing,” you tearfully continued.

“…and why should I care if you’re not in the mood?” he wondered, leaning in. “Why should that matter to me…?”

You took a deep breath, voice shaky.

“…because I’m your girlfriend.”

“…and as my girlfriend you don’t think it’s your duty to fulfill your part in this relationship?”

You crossed your arms over your chest.

“I spoil you, I buy you flowers and gifts, I take you out to places some people on this island will never see,” he said. “So many girls want what you have, and you can’t even put a smile on your face and fuck me when I want you to?”

“They wouldn’t want what I have if they knew you were a violent piece of shit,” you spat, tears in your eyes.

Rafe’s expression shifted at that, and although you couldn’t name it, you knew you didn’t like it. You watched him glance away, jaw ticking as he slowly nodded. When his eyes met yours again, you braced yourself. You were prepared for a slap.

Not a punch.

Your scream bounced off of the walls as you covered your face, and if it weren’t for Rafe, you would’ve collapsed right there. His arms were tight around you as you held your nose, blood seeping between your fingers as you squeezed your eyes shut. Your whole face hurt, but your nose especially, and if all the blood didn’t make it obvious, the God-awful pain did.

It was broken.

You couldn’t stop crying, the most gut-wrenching choking noises escaping your throat, your sobs coming out too fast for your body to handle. Rafe was moving—walking you somewhere—but you were too preoccupied with the pain in your face and the blood on your arms to concern yourself with it.

Until there was air beneath your feet.

It was too late for you to grab the railing, the blood on your hands making it impossible to slow your descent down the stairs. Each step was like a hit to your arm or your leg or your side, and even throwing your hands out before you didn’t help much. When you landed at the very bottom—right onto your knee—you didn’t register the pain at first. There was too much pain—mostly in your face—to take note of the one that was prominent alongside your nose.

When you did, you gasped, keeling over and holding your knee to your chest.

Your other hand was still holding your nose, and you were growing lightheaded at both the sight of blood and the feeling of the loss of blood. Your mind was going a mile a minute, and the sharp pain in your knee had you momentarily forgetting about your nose. When you tried to move your leg, you cried out, and you only pulled your gaze away when you heard Rafe walking down the stairs.

Through tearful eyes, you watched him steadily take out his phone. His face was as calm as ever when he finally joined you on the first floor, and you flinched when he reached for you, hand coming to rest on the top of your head as he made you lean your cheek against his leg.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the operator’s voice traveled from the phone.

“Yeah, um…my girlfriend… She just…she just tripped down the stairs,” he breathed. “I think she’ll be fine, but she’s bleeding a lot, and I think she hurt her knee.”

You shook against him as he gave her his address, and when he hung up, you avoided his gaze when he slowly knelt before you. Against your will, he pulled your hand away, and you flinched again when he tried to wipe some of the blood off of your face. Rafe’s voice was soft as he shushed you, but it only made you cry harder.

When he didn’t say anything, you knew that he was waiting for you to look at him, and when you did, he took a deep breath. His blue eyes stared into your own.

“How’s that for a violent piece of shit?”

With a screaming leg, and a face that felt like it was on fire, you had no choice but to let him pull you against him. His arm curled around you as he rested his chin on top of your head, hand playing with your hair while you both waited for the ambulance.

#jj maybank x reader #dark!jj maybank x reader #rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #dark!jj maybank #dark!rafe cameron #jj maybank #rafe cameron

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prettyboykatsuki · 2 years ago

Note

IM ASKING YOU TO WRITE THE CHILDE FIC ZERO IM ASKING x1000000!!!

the blizzard and the storm | tartaglia / childe (ajax)

✭ tags ; extremely dark content ahead, dead dove do not eat, mother/son incest / hard incest, noncon, spanking, mentioned domestic abuse (nothing graphic) and explicit alcoholism (his dad is the bad guy here), canon adjacent but not compliant (spoiler warnings for his background), violence and murder etc etc. 18+

PLEASE HEED THE TRIGGERS.

✭ wc ; 3.5k (????)

✭ a/n ; this one is pretty bad man. sorry about that. but exploring this dynamic with him was very interesting. also the different usage of childe and ajax r intentional here

✭ synopsis ; to be a twisted son means to be born to a mother who loves you. if you're ajax, anyway.

The blizzards of Snezhnaya are ceaseless.

Ruthless and violent. The winds that touch the barren lands are so strong and mighty that they are near impossible to brave. The snow comes down so thickly that the world is painted in white for miles to see. If you leave just a little outside the city, you must prepare to remain indoors for days.

Even if you were to break your back trying to clear it, the next day it would pour heavier. A relentless storm. The dirtied tracks of snowboots and handprints are gone, desolate underneath them. You could dig for days but the frostbite would riddle you sick before you made it out alive.

Nothing changes the color of a snow like that. When winter comes, it buries everything that attempts to defy it. It is cold and unforgiving.

Childe knows this better than anyone. He grew up along side it, the knowledge engraved in his skeleton - he could feel the chill of winter all the way in spring when he was a boy. Hairs stood on the back of his neck as he pictured the days to come - chopping wood and hauling them on his back. To keep the fires lit and his sibling alive. Bartering with neighbors for keeps, for food and grain before the storms took over again.

Childe does not regard the winters of his adolescence fondly.

A decade of trying to survive them sours the memory like a whiskey gone off. Perhaps they could be, if you hailed from Inazuma where the snow is no less than decoration, or Mondstat where spring comes just as often. But in Snezhnaya, winter was war torn. It was hungry.

What an unpleasant childhood it had been. For as long as he could remember - winter had been a game of survival. At 7, he'd picked up glass shards off the kitchen floor from where his father had smashed glass bottles of gin. At age 9, he had learned from a doctor how to suture with sewing thread just in case and what liquor is best to pour over wounds in case to prevent infection.

His father was an unpleasant man. A fool-hardy one. Though he wasn't always. During the years he was able to adventure and come back to boast - Childe would even describe him as fatherly. They would fish while young Childe(though then he was Ajax) would listen, eager to hear the tales from beyond seas.

It's just that when a man born for freedom is trapped, he retaliates against what he believes are his chains.

For his father, that had been that crooked house with walls that moaned in pain. It had been you, his mother, who spoke meekly and softly no matter what pain befell her.

His father was an unpleasant man during winter. Childe cannot recall each instance of it. Just that the shattered glass of his memories painted him as a monster. A violent alcoholic, a boastful and arrogant bastard.

A man unworthy of you. One who raised his hand at him often. Who raised his hand at you, his loving mother, even more.

The first time Childe tasted bloodlust, he was 10. He remembers it vividly, so much so he often dreams he is back in that kitchen. In a small cottage, with a butchers knife trembling in his palm and anger coursing through him. That night, had he not heard your weeping cry of solace as you lay in bed alone, his father would've been dead 4 years earlier.

Instead, he crawled into bed with you. Nursed the bruise on your cheek - his poor, poor mother. By then he was still small. Stronger than you though. He wiped your tears and apologized. Said he'd take care of breakfast tomorrow, to which you only laughed.

All you had was each other. Some of his siblings hadn't been born yet, and they were too young to understand it all. Childe only had you. And you only had him. His mother who loved him. Who called him starlight or dear boy as often as his name.

(He loved how you uttered his name, so softly. Ajax. Like you chose it. Like you wished for him)

His mother who was lovely and bright, like a star falling against the snow.

Childe has loved no such thing as you. Had it not burdened you if his father died, he would've buried him years ago.

But he waited. Bared his teeth for many years. Killer instinct might be the right way to describe it.

It handn't been time.

When Childe was 14, he got lost in the forest. He disappeared for three days and encountered the Abyss. In the forest, alone with nothing but a cruel swordsman and rage - he had gained strength that he had longed for so desperately his whole life.

In this way, unmistakably, he was so much like his father. The ambition in his heart was so hard and heavy that Childe could not remain the same after looking at it.

(Even as a Harbinger, he cannot recall the extent of this darkness. Only that at the time it felt righteous and true. If this was the doing of destiny, then Childe was always meant to be a weapon of war.)

In the Abyss, times passes slowly. 3 months entrenched in vile, filthy ambition had only been 3 days. When he had returned, his mother had a fresh bruise on her eye and his sister wept for a week.

He did not came back the same.

Where he used to meek or quiet, he had become hostile and arrogant. He was strong. Strong enough to intimidate. Clever enough to lure people to their death. The summer he turned 15, he had gotten into so many altercations - he would lick the blood in his mouth pre-emptively so it didn't spill on the clothes you lovingly tailored for him.

Darkness was a powerful force. A welcome one. The world was bigger than the winters of Snezhnaya and Childe could no longer deny that truth.

A man who yearns for freedom retaliates against his chains. Childe could no longer tolerate the presence of his father.

(During his training, his mentor drew a sword to the tip of his throat. And Childe felt his breath hitch in excitement, but not fear. A rumbling voice of a masked soldier echoed in his ears.

"Ajax," He had said, cold and low "What do you wish for?"

He laughed and leaned his head back against the hard floor.

"Power," He said, clearly and starkly - a headrush of euphoria as he wiped blood from his nose "And..."

"And?"

"To take my Fathers place," He says, with less hesitance that he expected, too restless to pretend "To make my mother mine alone."

"What a twisted boy you are, Ajax."

He laughs "You wouldn't understand, Master. What it's like to be so twisted and know you'll always be loved.")

Childe, upon his return, no longer tolerated anything. The more he retaliated, the more his father seemed to take issue with him. But he was no longer a boy afraid of the world. He had seen its underbelly and bathed in the blood that run through out it.

When Childe was 15, in a fit of delight, he had killed his Father with his bare hands. The old man was drunk, and only when he stumbled back did Childe realized how weak he'd been all that time.

You watched him, then, as Childe killed his own father so ruthlessly. You flinched, and closed your eyes. But you did not yell for him to stop. That night, he kissed the crown of your forehead and told you to rest

He buried the body with his two hands. The blood that trickled into the snow had disappeared as a blizzard hailed the next day. His littlest siblings were too little to remember, and his sister did not ask any questions.

Things were different then. In a single night, Childe went from boy to man.

It was the following morning his vision appeared. Hydro. The Archon of justice approved him. It was the next week in which he had been hailed to join the Fatui Harbingers as the youngest of them - that the Tsaritza crowned him a jewel.

Thing were different. Childe had grown up to be a fine weapon, after all. In exchange for joining the Fatui, he was compensated well. He had bought you a home and land, and sent money to you every month for years. The work kept him busy, but he wrote to you. To his siblings. And he visited whenever he could.

There was never enough time, to do as he pleased. He had what he wanted. Power. But not what he wanted most. You.

When he was 21, there was a lull in his work. For the first time in almost 6 years, he could remain in Snezhnaya as nothing called for his attention. There he stayed with you, and his sibling all grown-up. And like the man of the house often does, he took care of everything.

Spoiled his sisters with clothes and shoes, his brothers with toys and books. You, his mother, with dresses and jewels so fine that you seemed shy even trying them on.

How beautiful you were, had always been in his eyes. What a fine young woman you must've been too. His father was so undeserving of you. To bear children with you, to make love to you when he could not give you a house with warmth.

(But Childe did it all so easily. How unforgiving he cannot take you as consolation. How beautiful you would look, swallowed in the silks he bought. In the perfume you'd smell best in.)

Childe did not interfere on the matters he wished too most. Because, despite himself, he had not wished for your ire nor to cause you suffering. His mother who he loved. Who he longed, the strength of his desire was bone chilling.

In Childe's mind, you had always been his. You were his long before you were his fathers. He had lived inside of you, so wasn't it only natural to regard you this way? Your flesh and blood. His home since the very start.

Staying with you now when he'd grown up into a man had done nothing to quell the lust. The first time Childe takes you, it's unceremonious. It's a decision he makes on the flip of a coin.

(All alone in an empty house, he walks into your bedroom. With an agenda and little in his mind other fulfilling it - you're asleep in your night time attire. A sheer, loose little bodice that you can only wear given the heat - with a blanket thrown haphazardly over your waist.

Childe slips into bed with you, and like instinct you stir. You turn, your eyes fluttering open as you face him. Childe gives you a small smile as you rub the sleep out of your gaze - a soft, rounded way of speaking.

"Ajax, starlight, what are you doing here?" You offer, your hand reaching for his face in the dark. He grasps it in his, nudging his palm into his cheek

"I'm very stressed," He hums, warmly, coming closer towards you all the same. And you welcome him, despite the fact he is too old for any of this. He hugs you close, too close, and you let him. You rub his back fondly "I missed you very much."

"Such a big boy you've grown into and look at you, coming to sleep in mommy's bed." You tease, so lightly it doesn't sting "That's alright. You're always welcome. You grew up right before my eyes. Is there anything I can do?"

And Ajax laughs. Assured, that you will still love him because you are incapable of leaving even when you should

"Yes," He says, moving his hands too low for comfort "A few things...?"

"...Ajax?" )

The first time Ajax takes you, he wonders why he hadn't done so sooner. Like the kind, soft mother you are - best you could respond with is crying. It was the first time he had been the source of your tears, did he realized you'd always been like this.

How could you be such a cry baby? What a darling quality.

Your body was sensitive to the touch. Ajax kissed you like you were lovers and you only barely bat him away. You weren't strong enough to do much more, and eventually you gave in completely.

Kissing you had felt so right. It had all been perfect. You were always a woman. More than his mother, you were nothing but a delicate woman. One who longed for touch and affection. He can't imagine his father gave you enough.

So he did. He kissed down your throat lightly, pinned your wrists and made you helpless. He nudged his nose against your pulse and pinned you with the brunt of his strength, made you feel the hard twitch of his cock. Feel his burning, sick desire for you. You deserved that much.

He makes a show of it, just for you. Eventually you stop squirming, relenting instead. And you mewled, so noisily when he toyed with your body. He liked learning about your body. It made him feel close to you in a way he'd always longed for.

Your nipples were so sensitive to the touch, but especially to being licked and sucked and bitten at. You liked delicate touches on your hips and waist. But you liked your cunt to be touched more relentlessly. You're wettest when his fingers are toying with your clit, a needy little thing. Hard under the callous pads of his fingers.

You're cute when he's a little rough with you. Even now. His palm smacked hard against the most sensitive and achy parts of your body and you liked it.

You wept when he finally fucked you. He went raw and you whimpered his name like a plea, Ajax. Archons, how could anyone ever compare? Hot and wet inside, soft and womanly with the stretchmarks of childbirth. He wanted nothing more to fill you with his seed over and over again and again. To touch your womb again like a welcome.

He'd never known how much he longed for domesticity. His father was a foolish, foolish man. How could anyone mistreat you? Husbandry with you is so sweet.

The first time Childe takes you, your relationship changes forever.

But you, his kind mother who loves him with so much affection, don't turn away from your son. And he's relieved and delighted to be able to have you. Even though, sometimes you look at him so sadly, you hardly push away.

("It's my fault," You sob, as Ajax bends you over the edge of the kitchen counter. He kisses your bare shoulder, cock sheathed inside of your warm cunt. He breathes a sigh of relief "It's all my fault."

"Don't blame yourself, mama," He coos, a hand around your waist as your pussy clenches down hard on his cock "Nothing could have changed me being born your son.")

Childe learned you blamed yourself for his desires. And he thinks in many ways, that's so like you. His beloved mother, his mama who cries and cries and cries. You blame yourself for everything because you are weak.

But Childe loves your weakness. He loves that you are so tender that all pressure makes you fall apart. Because you are like that, he doesn't let you go too far. Who knows what you'll do when he's away from home? What things you'll get yourself tangled in when he's gone? The leash is tight, but you are comfortable and safe.

And you can go out as long as you bring guards and come home by a certain time. You listen when Childe tells you these things before he returns to his duties, even fixing up his coat.

When Childe is forced to leave again to attend to his work, leaving you behind is the hardest of all. But he does so with high hopes, and he kisses you goodbye in the inappropriate way he loves when no one is looking.

(When he leaves, he finds about your affair as soon as it happens. There is always someone watching. At the time, he takes his anger out on whatever target has been assigned to him.

And it quells the violence in him long enough to plan. Ajax doesn't blame you. His mother who he loves, who must've been lonely. Your adultery reads to him like a cry for attention.

Your punishment will be light.

But any man who lays hands on you that isn't him must be punished violently. Childe thinks of how he'll scatters the body in the oceans breaching Snezhnaya. Or how he might feed them to the creatures kept in Dottore's lab.

He sits on the anger for a year until he's officially around to come back to his hometown.)

When Ajax returns, he doesn't hesitate upon arrival. He is 24 and stronger than he'd ever been. Before he even walked through the threshold of his home, he detoured to the house off the end of the street and killed the man who's defiled you in his absence.

He came home to you with the blood still splattered on his pale cheek. He told the children to go with his guards so he could talk to you about "grown-up" things and went without thinking twice.

And then he is home. Childe is Ajax, and he came home to you, his mother. And Childe would never pride himself on raising a hand against you, but even you must learn your lessons.

(You look good bent over his lap. This is the first thing that crosses his mind as he takes you over the knee - on the side of the bed.

You're wearing a dress with tight stockings, like you're trying to look nice for someone. And the idea is so rage inducing, he almost forgets to control the strength in his hands.

He pulls the skirt past the curve of your ass and lets it bunch around your waist. Your hands tied over your back, Ajax lets his fingers tease against the seem of your stockings. White, lace panties like you're a young girl underneath the thick, sheer fabric of nylon.

He sucks some air inbetween his teeth.

"Were you lonely while I was gone, mama?" He says, voice soft but curt "Is that why you were wasting your time on other worthless Snezhnayan men?" '

"Ajax," You beg, sobbing while you squirm "Please."

"Shhh. Don't cry too much, okay? I already got rid of him and took care of it."

You weep out a no, and Childe lets his hand come down on the fat off your ass. A harsh smack echoes against the room and you quiet almost immediately. For someone who shies away from his discipline, you sure take it well.

"You should take care of your family, you know? And that means not bringing around strange men, okay? You already have me to take care of your needs."

"That's wrong, Ajax—"

"Who can tell you what's right and wrong? I'm a very powerful man now, Ma. And I'm strong too, so you shouldn't worry about it," He rips the seam of your stockings as he tugs the fabric to the side - revealing your cunt. Unshaved and wet, Ajax lets out a pleased sigh as he draws his fingers through your folds, teasing your clit gently "I'll always be your starlight, though."

"Ajax." You whisper, hoarse and ashamed and so sweet for him "Please."

"Did you miss me, Mama?"

And your voice softens, even as Ajax eases himself into you with his fingers. Violates you gently, letting you fuck against the resistance, pushing up along your walls until you're moaning involuntarily. Even as he touches you in the way you love to detest, he can hear it in your tone. That you can't bring yourself to resent him for it all.

He rubs your gspot with careful precision. A well-practiced act of love and devotion, like a man to his wife that he doesn't often get to feel. You bury your head, stifling a moan when you speak.

"I always miss you, Ajax."

And it's enough to make him lose all control)

The blizzards in Snezhnaya are ceaseless.

And Ajax is 26, and this time of year never changes. It's like a reminder that somethings never do. Like his love and devotion, wiping the slate clean each time he sins.

Ajax comes through the door with flowers this year. He does every year on the day his father passes, but the flowers don't go on a grave. It'd be pointless to do that in that old backyard.

Instead, he wipes his shoe's on the mat and places them in the vase that you've kept out for him. He sees you in the kitchen and peers over your shoulder as you make something with your hands. He kisses your shoulder, innocent.

"I'm home, Mama."

"Welcome home, Ajax. Go wash up before dinner."

Some things are so unchanging, like how he will always be your son. Just like winters in Snezhnaya will always be cold and he will always come home to your warmth.

And you will always, always let him.

#dark content cw #noncon cw #incest cw #abuse cw #i think thats all #childe x reader #childe smut #do i even want to put this in the tagsdjsdkj #writing tag #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut

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shams-of-the-wild · 5 months ago

Text

Cooking Prep with Wild.

———

| [Ao3 Link] |

The preparation of food, especially of breaking animal carcasses into edible meat for cooking, is something that is consistent across all the eras of Hyrule.

Time, as a farmer, is more than familiar with this process.

Wind is not.

Wild, is arguably, even more familiar with this process. What he considers edible meat, however, is not just limited to animals.

Time and Wind, have questions.

{Written during the hour long, first sprint prompt of the Linked Universe discord — Prompt: Cooking}

Word Count: 646.

Warnings: Non graphic descriptions of processing a (monster) carcass into meat for cooking/mentions of monsters being eaten as food, mentions of blood.

A/N: Honestly this was not going to be the first fic I was going to post for LU/LoZ but as soon as I saw the prompt for the sprint, I immediately knew I had to put my niche knowledge of unusual medieval—victorian era cooking knowledge to use. And since technically consuming monster parts is both canon and a viable option in BotW/TotK, I couldn't resist the urge to take some creative liberties and add a little dungeon meshi vibe to Wild.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this very short oneshot.

———

“Wild?” Time asked in a tone, that Wild had roughly worked out was meant to express resignation.

Wild hummed in response, too busy focussing on carving into the bokoblin. Well carving off parts would be the more accurate description but waste not want not! It had been ages since he'd had the chance to do this since there hadn't been a chance to test the edibility of the monsters from the other eras yet. The fights had been far too efficient and destructive, sure part of that was his fault with his improvised time bomb arrows and whatnot but he was hardly the only one with bombs or bomb arrows!

Wind scrambled over the broken monster fortifications to reach him and Time, immediately attempting to poke the bokoblin with a stick as soon as he was in range. “Whatcha doing?”

Huffing, Wild finely sliced off the ears of the bokoblin, inspecting them in the dying light of the sun. “Harvesting.”

“For your potions?” He eyed the monster parts curiously. “So you were telling the truth, potions are really made of monster parts?”

“Elixirs. And no, this is for dinner.” Wild grunted, snapping his carving knife into its skull and cracking it like a palm fruit, before scooping out the brain.

Time stared unimpressed at Wild.

“The guts and horns are for elixirs because they contain higher quantities of malice which means they have to be boiled thoroughly before they're consumed, otherwise you risk getting minor gloom poisoning.” Wild explained, grinning slightly, as he chopped off the nose. “Nothing some sunshine or sunny foods can't fix, of course but it's inconvenient if you're regularly travelling, like us, and can't set up something like a Hunter's pot to stew them until they're safe to eat. Besides, usually these parts are kept for emergencies because elixirs can't use any old monster part so it's better to save them in case you need to whip up more elixirs, or if there's a particularly bad farming season and you have to make the most of what you've got. Which is usually when the community comes together with all their saved offal and bones, and whatever fruit or veg can be spared to build a perpetual stew.”

Time pinched the bridge of his nose. “Usually people don't use monster offal or bones. They're not considered safe, or clean, to eat. It's only game or livestock that we use all the parts of.”

“Well that's a waste!” Wild grunted, scooping out the bokoblin's eyes before eyeing the rest of the battered head as he crossed his arms and grumbled slightly. “Monsters are an excellent delicacy in my Hyrule, in fact since the end of both the Calamity and the Upheaval we've had flocks of visitors from our neighbouring countries eager to taste our unique cuisine.”

Wind poked at the skull with the stick again. “Yeah but they're probably there for your recipes like pizza! Or the Goron curries! Or the weird purple monster foods you can make!”

He paused, eyes lighting up. “So what do you do with the head? Do you use the skull as a goblet filled with blood?”

Wild made a noise between a cough and snort. “Nah, blood's better used for making blood sausages but this guy's lost too much for me to get any worthwhile amounts from 'im. Better to let his blood fertilise the soil instead. Besides I'd need someone else to hold the cooking pot beneath the monster whilst I slit its throat.”

“Ooh! Next time you find one with enough blood, can I help!” Wind pleaded, eyes widening as he pouted at Wild with his classic puppy dog eyes.

Wild thrust his fist towards Wind for a fist bump. “Of course! It's been ages since I had a chance to make them!”

Behind them, Time groaned, he hoped next time wouldn't be any time soon.

———

Thank you for reading! Hopefully you enjoyed this short oneshot!

Likes, reblogs, replies/reblog comments, and asks are all much appreciated!

I shouldn't have to say this but due to previous comments I've received in other fandoms: — Criticism and/or rude comments are not welcome regardless if you try to soften them with compliments/compliment sandwiches. I write and share my fics for fun. Not to be degraded or criticised as if this was homework or literature coursework.

Otherwise, I'll be over the moon to receive any comments, whether it's as short as <3, emojis/kaomojis/emoticons, extra kudos, or as long as a whole fic reaction comment! No matter the comment, you'll have my undying love and gratitude.

Also, if you'd like me to write some more cooking monsters with Wild fics, then just yell down in the comments!

#linked universe #lu #lu time #lu wild #lu wind #Wild Sham's Posts #Wild Sham's Fics

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ghost-of-ao3 · 1 year ago

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So this is going to be a list of Tim centric fics. To be clear I haven’t read very many of the comics but I love both fanon wet cat Tim and Canon feral jackass Tim. I love all the flavors of Tim and I feel like my fic recs will show that so be mindful. I’ll also try to warn for triggers as I list them but I probably won’t get everything so please please be mindful of the tags and keep yourself safe! That said here’s the list in no particular order.

The Definition of Valor by nerdpoe 10,106 words and 1 chapter. This fic is about Tim having been blinded by Ra’s after his Widower attack is forced to adapt and overcome the difficulties that comes with losing his sight. It’s a good mix of funny and serious and I personally adore the way it’s written.

The Blood on Our Hands by KelpieCodyne 8,207 words and 1 chapter. This one is about Tim getting blasted by a spell meant for the person with the highest kill count. I like how Bruce has to grapple with his kids morality and with the fact that many of them have killed before and I really love how his siblings step up and bring out their own problems with his strict moral code. If that’s something you enjoy you might like this one.

Loch & Key by jayburb (toothpasty) 12,514 words and 3 chapters. This one does have Tim being abused by his parents so TW for that. The fic itself is about a legend of Loch Gotham. It features Tim’s interactions with the Loch and the vibes are excellent. I really really loved reading this one.

In Service by smilebackwards 12,730 words and 3 chapters. This is about how Tim ends up apprenticing under Alfred instead of becoming Robin and it changes more than you would think. I really adore the interactions between Tim and Alfred and watching him learn from him. It also re-frames his relationship with Bruce which is deeply sweet because the man has an adoption addiction that can’t be stopped.

Baby Birds and Bat Caves by IzzyMRDB 30,113 words and 20 chapters. Tim goes into the cave system after a storm and it makes him weirder than he already was. It’s based on Welcome to Nightvale but Gotham style and is very fun to read. I adore watching how Tim interacts with the forces that be while the bats are panicking over a child running around Gotham and reporting on the oddities of the city. It’s just a good good fic. TW for Joker’s attack on Barbara and Jason. These are still mentioned and while I don’t find the references overly graphic others might disagree.

Growing Old with You by LilliputianDuckling This is a series with 12 works currently and 110,554 words. It’s a Timkon series where Tim and Kon are childhood friends with good father Lex Luthor, identity shenanigans, and just the struggles of growing up and falling in love. I really cannot recommend this enough if you’re a Timkon enjoyer. There is some smut in the later works and some of the vague homophobia of being 12 year old boys in the early 2010s era but nothing that’s like hate crimes, there’s also mentions of peer pressure with regards to sex but nothing happens. The warnings being said I really connected to the characters in this fic and it just felt very real in a way that was so good. This is probably my favorite Timkon series and like I said I cannot recommend it enough and no words I say will do it justice.

Where Bats and Birds Roost by Mouse_in_this_house this is a series with 26 works and 204,783 words. For warnings There is a fic in here that centers on Sexual harrasment, attempted assault and stalking all done by an original character, Ra’s also harasses Tim So for this series please be mindful of heavy themes in regards to sexual assault. There’s other warnings but I can’t remember them all so please be mindful of the tags and do what you need to do to keep yourself safe. I cannot describe exactly what this series is but it’s a focus on Tim, the Batfam and the Core Four. Tim is so Tim in this series, he’s feral and a little unhinged but also scarily competent. It feels like Tim coming into his own and building a home, building safety net after safety net and making his own. Meanwhile people are worried about him and are dedicated to trying to work it out. That and the Bats think there’s a new player on the rise and the Batfam has no idea it’s Tim. Just all in all a really cool series.

Damian Drake by InkpotSprite 6,962 words and ? Chapters. Damian gets told to find his dad without being told who it is and ends up thinking his dad is Jack Drake. I adore it when Damian ends up imprinting on Tim like a baby duck. This is very sweet and it’s very funny to watch Damian and Dick be at odds. Just a very funny lovely fic.

Alone Together by SpaceWall 22,908 words and 4 chapters. This features Batfam heavily and isn’t exactly Tim centric but I had to add it to the list because this idea for platonic soulmates changed my brain chemistry. Your soulmates are with you your whole life, as invisible forces. I cannot describe this one but it’s really really good.

The Threads That Bind by SpaceWall 5,921 words and 1 chapter. Tim is practiced in thread magic, when Jason attacks Titans tower he sees that magic first hand. I personally love fics where Tim has a special little thing that’s uniquely his, this one does that really well as it describes his relationship with his small form of magic.

Into the Brighter Night by shoalsea 162,894 words and 12 Chapters. This is a fic about Tim that takes place mostly when Tim isn’t there. It shows how his family and friends view him without him being explicitly present for most of the fic and it’s done incredibly like I’m still losing my mind over this fic. Young Justice is heavily present and is my everything. It starts with a threat against Robin and then spirals out from there. I highly recommend this one just showstopping. TW for sexual assault being brought up, it's not graphic but still be mindful.

Maybe with a Shift in Planets by SilberSkiesAtMidnigh 4,557 words and 1 chapter. For warnings there are mentions of Cassandra being abused by her father. This is a fic where Tim finds Cass on a roof before they are found by Bruce. I love how this is focused on Cass’ POV and how it makes sense of the world in her eyes. And I love the way she views Tim Just really lovely work.

To Eat Well by SilverSkiesAtMidnight 4,599 words and 1 chapter. This is a fic about Tim but it focuses mostly on Jason. When Tim is kidnapped the family is left to cope as well as they know how. Jason stress bakes. I’m adding this fic in for a few reasons, one it’s really good and super well written and two the focus is Tim being missing and the love and concern the others have for him.

Surveillance by smilebackwards this is a series with 4 works and 29,187 words. This is a Civilian Tim Au where Jason never dies and it changes things. This series is really good, I love Tim arriving late or early to the Batfam and this fic delivers it so well. Just because he isn’t Batman trained doesn’t mean he’s not competent and just really incredible as a character. A lovely series.

#Tim Drake fics

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deanwinchesterswitch · 2 years ago

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Tell Me You Believe Me

Summary: The path through proves to be more tangled in assumptions and righteous pride than either imagined. Neither wants to walk away, but belief has been challenged, and trust weakened by rumors. One wrong turn, one misplaced comment, and they will never find their way back home… back to each other.

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Angst; Some fluff; Language; Mentions of sex work(nothing graphic); Canon divergence; Descriptions of high emotional distress; Possible triggers

Betas: @princessmisery666 and @wayward-and-worn

Word Count: 4,667

Author’s Note: This part also took a little inspiration from the song Redemption by The Strange Familiar.

Part Three

A stab of terror pierces her heart, and a wave of bile churns in her gut. “Dean, wait…,” she screams, but no sound passes her lips, “please don’t walk out on me again,” strangled by the clutch of emotion. She stumbles, blindly reaching for him, tears streaking down her face. Entire body trembling, she grasps the back of the couch, nerve endings raw and alight, flesh beaded with sweat.

He makes it to the end of the porch before his knees finally give, and he has to lean against the pillar to stay upright. “Fuck!” he shouts into the darkness, but the word barely comes out in a whisper, chest tight with fear. This can’t be the way their story ends.

His throat convulses in an attempt to keep the acridness from his stomach from rising any further. Sharp short breaths, lungs aching, feeling brittle with the effort. Hot tears evaporate in the cold wind, skin itching beneath the crusty trail left behind. Unable to will his body to stop shaking, a shrill buzz in his ears greying out all thought.

Flesh splitting with the force of the first punch to the cabin’s wall, he rears back and strikes again… and again, lungs raggedly swelling as he’s finally able to draw in deep angry breaths. With one final blow, he steps back. Fingers flexing against the pain, he flicks his hand to dispel some of the blood before wiping his knuckles against a jean-clad thigh.

She’s right. He did this. He tore their lives apart, and evidently, for no good reason. The ever-present danger of supernatural beings still seeking her out, and he’d left her without backup. The life she’s currently living, while seemingly luxurious, is almost as dangerous.

Fuck. FUCK!

Scrubbing his uninjured hand down his face, he filters through their conversation, trying to unscramble his thoughts and calm himself.

‘I didn’t want to leave.’ ‘I certainly wasn’t happier without you.’ ‘I’m not doing what you think I am.’

If she’s not doing that, then what the hell is she doing?

All he wanted was a chance to talk. See if she was doing okay. Yet, he managed to screw that up too, but then he’s not surprised. Eventually, he taints everything good that enters his orbit. “Son of a BITCH!” This time, the punch is to the air, head thrown back, teeth grinding as he scowls at the starry sky. “Just once… one good thing. Is it really too much to have?” Of course, he doesn’t expect a response. There never is.

With the next hit, he leaves his fist pressed against the rough facade, the cool wood helping to soothe the throbbing ache of his battered hand. Hanging his head, he wrestles with the instinct to shove all the emotions back down and squirrel them away in their designated compartments. He needs to feel them, let the happiness and joy she shared with him rise to the surface, and dilute the misery and rage.

They were happy. As happy as they could be with the brutalities that plagued their lives. Eyes closed, he inhales sharply through his nose, fighting his insecurities with thoughts of better times. Time spent at the lake, conversations about their life once they got out, the scrunch of her brow as she worked on a piece, her smile, the way she snuggled into him, ear pressed over his heart as she fell asleep. Those are the things he should be fighting for.

Lost in the desolate silence, the image of the enraged and devastated woman that he walked out on, again, skewers his vision. In the space of a heartbeat, his chest tightens then swells. She said she loves him, present tense. Maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for him yet. “That’s it.” Leaning into the pain, he pushes off the wall. “I’m not walking away this time.”

He knows he has a lot to atone for. Even though it goes against everything he believes about relationships and the hunting life and that all that has happened supports his reasoning, he still wants a second chance. A chance at redemption—if she allows him to have it.

Even if she doesn’t, they have to push through and find a resolution. Maybe even absolution. He won’t let her continue to be weighed down by the carnage he created. With a heavy sigh, he turns to face the door and takes the first step toward what will either be his eternal damnation or blessed salvation.

A deck of cards tossed into a hurricane. Emotions carried on the wind, drowned in the waves only to be lifted from the depths to be flung and shredded, scattered in the wake of devastation. There’s no sorting or shuffling them into a neat stack—no winning hand. Instead of calmly dealing with the situation and finding a way to forgiveness, she threw everything at him like a game of 52-card pick-up. Anger had never served her well before, and it may just be her end this time if she can’t get it back under control.

He finds her bent over, hands clutching the back of the couch, toes of her boots tear-stained. He didn’t think there was anything left of his heart to break, but then a low continuous whine reaches his ears, and her name is agonizingly wrenched from his chest.

She takes a stumbling step, “D- Dean?”

The visible trembling of her body crushes the last of his uncertainty, and he rushes forward. “I’m here.” Reaching for her, he deplores, “I’m here. I’m not leaving. I’m not walking away this time.”

The punch to his chest is a jolt, “You kic- kicked me out of our home.” the slap to his cheek stings. He doesn’t move to stop her, taking every blow she lands just like he told himself he would when he returned to the bunker all those months ago, hoping to find her still there. When she angrily cries, “Called me a liability,” raw emotion threatens to choke him.

Snatching her hands as she shoves him, he holds them against his chest and laments, “I didn’t mean anything I said that night. Not a goddamn word.”

A hitch of breath, body wedging closer, fingers twisting, pulling the fabric of his shirt taut across his shoulders, then the almost inaudible “I did” slices through him like a Hellhound’s claws.

“Son of a b-“ Body shaking with a new surge of emotion, tears precariously clinging to his lashes spill over to drip down his face. Holding her, the phantom ache in his arms dissipates, and the persistent tension in his chest eases.

She sucks in a ragged breath, hands pushing at him, and he loosens his hold. The sadness in her eyes is painful, disconcerting, almost unbearable. “W- why’d you come back?”

Moving to brush the tears from her cheek, she flinches away, eyes narrowing. Before he can answer, she grabs his hand with a shake of her head.

“You’re bleeding.”

Fucking idiot. Why does he do this to himself?

“It’s nothing.” He doesn’t care about the painful swelling. He just wants to fix them. He’ll fix his hand later. But his dismissal is ignored.

“Let’s get this taken care of.” She pulls him along behind her as she heads to the bathroom, frustrated that he chose violence to himself to deal with the situation, but a sense of delight blooms with the thought that this is a wound she can fix. Stitching his tattered flesh will be easy as pie compared to mending the fragmented pieces of their relationship. Removing the first aid kit and a bottle of rubbing alcohol from beneath the sink, she orders, “Sit on the toilet, hand over the sink.”

Dean flips the toilet lid down before doing as instructed. A deep breath seemingly calms her, but her first touch is almost timid, and he wonders what’s going through her head. The last couple of hours has been an overload of emotions for both of them. He’d bet Baby that she’s upset with him about the state of his hand and how it got that way. Still, the warmth of her skin pressed against his softens the edges of residual anxiety, kindling the possibility that they can get back on track with a calmer discussion—that they’ll figure it out… together.

The strong, steady pulse beneath her fingertips would typically have a soothing effect on her but only serves to remind her of better days—days that seem like a lifetime ago. A life that he impulsively tossed aside. A life they foolishly let wither away amidst guilt and uncertainty. This can’t be how it all ends.

No. Together they can figure this out. There’s a chance to salvage their relationship. Until she screwed it up, they were talking, peeling back the layers of regret and despair that dulled the brightness of their devotion.

The love is still there, expressed in the recounting of a memory, comfort taken in a hug, small gestures of kindness, a familiar smile. Even if it’s dimmed, currently buried in the rubble of today’s destruction, it’s there. Reminders of the happiness they should be fighting for, and they were happy, even amidst the horror of what being hunters entails. Maybe they can be again… once they find that sliver of light to guide their way.

First, a little triage is in order.

“You decided to pick a fight with a log.” She’s all too familiar with his coping mechanisms. There are reasons he likes the punchy part of hunting. The shrug and tilt of his head confirm her statement. “You know they call it hardwood for a reason.” Glaring at him, “Don’t,” to immediately forestall the joke hovering behind the cheeky grin and wiggle of eyebrows.

“What?”

Clicking her tongue at his not-so-innocent smile, she returns her attention to his hand. Not sure whether to laugh at the endearing man and how well she knows him or to cry over how much she’s missed his playful banter. “So predictable,” she mutters, shaking her head.

“Predictably adorable?” he teases, the beginning of a chuckle quickly turning to a shocked grunt as she roughly tugs his hand beneath the stream of water. Remembering how gentle and careful she used to be when tending to his wounds, he studies her, debating whether her roughness is due to remaining anger or apprehension of not having done this in a while. At least he’s assuming it’s been a while since she’s had to attend to any type of flesh wound for someone.

Despite the surge of optimism only moments ago, the dregs of the bitter, emotional cocktail she’s been served today muddle in her thoughts, and she’s a little harsher with her ministrations to his injury. Prodding at the open wounds, a sharp huff of breath wafts through the ends of her hair. Jaw clenching, his pulse spikes under her touch as she bends his wrist and vigorously wiggles each of his fingers.

“Nothing appears broken. You’re going to need some stitches, though. Grab me one of the cloths over there, please.” She points to the rack of towels across from him. As he reaches for a hand towel, she pours a stream of alcohol over the torn flesh.

“HEY!” Her grip on his wrist tightens when he tries to jerk it away. “A warning would have been nice,” he scowls.

“Would it have made it hurt any less?” Biting back the unexpected satisfaction of causing him pain, she tucks her chin and focuses on gently patting the area dry, wondering if the pain of a shattered heart hurts any less when you see the blow coming.

He could swear there was a little upturn of her lips, like she was taking pleasure in hurting him. She had always apologized for the slightest sting, wincing emphatically with each jolt of pain, but that was before.

The heat he radiates feels like it’s branding her skin. With the wounds cleaned and disinfected, she unceremoniously drops his hand. Sorting through the kit, she finds the suture needle and thread. “Been a while since I’ve done this,” she absently muses while threading the needle.

“You were always the best out of the three of us. I trust ya.” The needle is jabbed into his flesh, and he grunts, “Fuck.”

“Stop being such a baby.” The little jolt of pleasure at his discomfort makes her wonder if she had too good of an example to follow in regard to suppressing her emotions, and they are now finding another conduit of expression.

This time he knows he’s not imagining the slight curl of her lips. With steady hands, she makes quick work of the tiny stitches, which further implies that she’s intentionally trying to induce pain and not nervous about the task. The needle harshly pierces his skin again, and he clamps his mouth shut on any comments.

After trimming the last suture, she begins to deftly wrap his hand. “Been practicing?” he asks curiously. She’d always struggled to get the bandages tight enough to stay in place with hand wounds.

“One of my clients was a boxer. I asked him to show me how he taped his hands.” Remaining focused on her task, she can only imagine the look on his face but is confident of his thoughts. He gives a noncommittal grunt, and she needlessly yanks the gauze tighter before forcefully taping the end in place.

“Never took you for a sadist,” he states. He knows it’s an exaggeration but protectively cradles his injured hand against his chest nonetheless.

“No, just a whore.”

OH! There it is.

The enraged accusation permeates the air of the tiny space they’re sharing, making it difficult to breathe. Decidedly, she’s not quite ready to let that go. Tossing the remainder of the gauze roll and tape back into the kit, she flees the room.

Cursing under his breath, he scrambles to follow, “Y/N-” catching up with her in the living room.

Rounding on him, tears once again threatening to break free, she cries, “Do you truly believe-”

He quickly cuts her off. “Just tell me what you are doing.”

“Art,” she yells, “you jackass!” and huffs through a momentary hesitation. Indignation at his assumption still resonating, but the long-held desire to share her good fortune with him has the words spilling from her in a rush.

“I had some mixed media pieces in a boutique. Cooper bought one for his wife. She loved it so much that they contacted me through the owner and commissioned me to paint a mural in their nursery. When they found out I was living out of a motel, they offered to let me move into their home while I was working on the piece. They had a party one night and showed some of their guests.”

Her voice is shaky but harsh, features running the gamut of outrage, sadness, and relieved happiness—another gut punch at how clueless he’d been to the consequences of his actions.

“Afterward, I received several more commissions. The other things were just perks—meeting with the clients, assessing the locations for quotes, and networking at events. Cooper and Natalie are a lovely, generous couple. They were only trying to help me.”

I. Am An. Asshole

He silently chastises himself, dropping his head in shame. Of course, she is using her artistic talent to make money. Hadn’t he told her earlier that he thought she could do that? Pride surges forward, and for a brief moment, he’s genuinely happy—she has the life he always wanted for her—but the delight is quickly replaced by heartache. She has the life he always wanted for her—money, a place to call home, the cabin is hers, new friends that seemingly care about her, and she’s doing something she loves—why would she ever want to return to the horrors and hopelessness of hunting? Why would she want to come back to him? Swallowing heavily around the lump forming in his throat, he focuses back on her.

“I thought you knew.” Dean shakes his head, and her eyes widen with shock. “You didn’t know, but you assumed that I… that…” throwing her hands in the air, she hisses, “fuck you!” Spinning away, she stomps toward the table, snatching up the bottle of whiskey and taking a healthy swig. Surprised the bottle doesn’t shatter when she slams it back on the table, she swipes the back of her hand over her mouth, then angrily shouts, “Why would you think that? I couldn’t... I wouldn’t.”

He lamely tries to defend his assumption. “You mentioned how good the pay was and then started talking about all that fancy shit.”

“So, what?” she chides, “You thought the only thing I could get paid well for was spreading my legs as a high-end hooker?”

“No.” Rubbing a hand down his face, he grunts, “Hey, you ran with it.” In an attempt at bravado, he squares his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why?”

There’s no need to elaborate. She knows what he’s asking and shifts her stance.

“I don’t know.” It’s not a plausible answer. Shaking her head, she paces in front of him. “I waited for you. Waited hours for you to come back. Sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door, willing you to appear. When you didn’t…”

Stopping to face him, she fists a hand, tapping, then rubbing it against her breastbone. “I- I think I resented what happened more than I realized or wanted to admit, and seeing you, talking to you… all the emotions started to break free.” She spreads her hands wide in front of her, trying to express the enormity of her feelings. “The exigency to make you feel the way I felt that night won out.” Eyes riddled with guilt beg him to understand. “I’m so sorry. I made the same promise to have your back, and I left you. I told you I loved you, and I left you to- to deal with it all on your own. I broke every promise I ever made to you.”

Eyes misting over, the pain threatens to consume her like holy oil fire, but right now, she needs him to understand that she is as culpable as him, if not more so, for creating the situation they are currently in. That despite the misery and hostility, she wants a chance at redemption.

“I- I thought that not arguing and leaving would make things easier for you, but deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. I struggled every day to come to terms with what I’d done. Yeah, I understood… you were scared. I know how that feels.” Shaking a finger at him, she humorlessly laughs. “Your unmitigated desire to constantly sacrifice yourself has made me one with that feeling.”

Pausing, she studies his features, gauges his body language, searches his eyes, and finding the vulnerability behind his defenses, drops her remaining armor. Every drop of sincerity in her soul breathed into the words, “I forgave you before you even stepped out of the room,” for him to hear.

“When you didn’t call, I realized how badly I’d fucked up, and then I took too long to try and fix it because I didn’t know how. The guilt grew the longer I waited, and I convinced myself you would never want to see me again, that you were better off without me. I’ve blamed myself every day for leaving you to deal with… everything. I don’t expect your forgivene-”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Gripping her hand in his, he presses it against the vein in his neck. Dean’s heart is pounding like a jackhammer, surprise registers in her expression at feeling the intensity of his pulse, and he hopes she hears the truth around the sorrow in his words. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I wanted all of that for you. I wanted you to be happy and safe.”

He can’t help the slight snicker at the arch of her brow. “Yeah, okay, so maybe you weren’t safer, but I believed you would be. I wanted you to…” his voice wavers, and he squeezes her hand before continuing, “to have everything I could never give you.” Tucking his chin, he shifts her hand to kiss her knuckles and then lets it go, backing away. “I’m happy for you.”

She doesn’t let him get far. Grasping the front of his shirt, she holds on, knowing her happiness, her life, hangs in the balance. Lips trembling, she sobs, “I know you probably won’t, but please believe me when I say you are all I’ve ever needed. Ever wanted. Nothing, none of it, matters without you. Every time something good happened to me, you were the first person I thought of telling. The only person I wanted to share it with.”

Taking a step closer, she captures his gaze. If her eyes are indeed the windows to her soul, she wants to ensure he sees everything—the ache in her heart, the truth in her words, the smoldering ashes of her love waiting to be reignited by his spark. “You are the only one who can chase away the visions that haunt me, make me laugh when I think I never will again, make me feel seen. I’m not happy, Dean, not truly. So, I’m asking… No. I’m begging,” fingers fisting tighter into his shirt, she cups his cheek with her other hand, “please don’t leave me again.”

“Stop,” he croaks. Placing his hands over hers, he briefly closes his eyes, swallowing the fear. “Just… stop.”

She tucks her chin and tries to slip from his grasp. Locking his arm around her, he crooks a finger beneath her chin, urging her to look at him. When their eyes finally meet, he shakes his head. “I’m the one that should be begging for forgiveness because what I did, what I assumed, is unforgivable.” Shushing her when she tries to speak, he maneuvers them closer to the chair and gently pushes her to sit. Brushing a finger over her cheek, he stares down at her, words trapped in his throat.

Warm fingers wrap around his, “Dean?” the concern etched on her face makes him realize that he’s been silent far too long.

“I love you so much and am so sorry for hurting you. I was terrified of losing you to some horrible death. Hell, I still am.” Crouching in front of her, he steadies himself with his hands on her knees. Holding her gaze, he earnestly states, “I know that doesn’t excuse how I acted or what I said. You’re right. I kicked you out of your home. It was a shitty thing to do, and-”

“Yeah, it was. And so was my leaving. Dean-” Her hands cover his, trembling fingers squeezing around his palms.

Small. She sounds so small… and scared. Pain holds her smile captive, and sorrow shrouds the sparkle in her eyes. He cuts her off, cradling her face in his hands. “No. It’s my turn now.” Her laugh emerges as a sob, but she gives him a nod, and he thumbs over the apples of her cheeks.

“When I came back, and you were gone, I was sucker punched with just how badly I’d fucked it all up. I panicked. It felt like I’d died… again. I should have called. I wanted to call. Hell, I wanted to hunt you down and beg for your forgiveness right then, but I convinced myself that what I wanted, what I felt, didn’t matter. That you probably hated me anyway, and as much as it hurt, it was for the best.”

Dropping his hands to gently grasp hers, he brings them to his chest, “I am so sorry for all of it,” flattening them beneath his as he kneels between her legs. “And I am so damn proud of you. Of everything you’ve accomplished. I’ll get it if you don’t want to give it up. You shouldn’t. Fuck, I shouldn’t even be asking you to.”

He tries to pull away, but her fingers curl into his t-shirt, body tense as she shakes her head. “Fine,” he mutters, her grip remaining firm as if she senses that he’s drawing strength from her, and a tear slips from the corner of his eye.

“Not gonna lie, it- It’ll suck if you decide not to, but I will understand.” He’s unsure how much more he can get out before completely losing it, so he rushes through his next words. “I know these are just words, but you have to believe I will never stop trying to make it up to you. You’re the light that illuminates all the dark corners, my light at the end of the tunnel. Hope that there is something better for us out there. I don’t want to do this without you anymore. I’m sorry for everything. Can you forgive me enough to come back home?”

There’s so much more he wants to say, probably should say, but he figures that he’s said the most important things and prays that it’s enough.

Y/N contemplates the man in front of her, blinking when the brimming tears held back by her lashes spill over to race down her cheeks. The watery distortion can’t hide the truth in his eyes, the sincerity in his tone. Brushing a thumb over his brow, she trails her fingers down his cheek, fingertips disrupting the trail of salty droplets. “I told you I forgave you before you even walked out the bedroom door. It’s not a lie. I didn’t say it to make you feel better.” Resting her palm against his neck, her thumb strokes along his jaw. “I think we each carry enough guilt in this to negate the other’s.” He leans into her touch, but his gaze never falters.

She knows there’s much more to be said, trust to be earned back, decisions to be made about their future, but there will be time for that later.

“Dean, you are my home.” She anxiously tugs on his t-shirt, then surges forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and sobs into his neck. “I’m never leaving it again.”

Feeling like he’s standing on shifting sand, he clings to her, afraid the emotions will bury him alive. Needing her closer, he twists to sit on the floor, pulling her into his lap. He fights to find solid ground, a stepping stone on a path forward, searching for footing, falling into his safety net of humor. He kisses the top of her head, smiling through his tears, “So, does this mean it’s a rumor that you've moved on? That you no longer love me?”

“Yes!” She chokes out, laughing despite the ache in her chest. Sitting back, she frames his face in her hands. “Forget anything you’ve heard to that effect. I gave you my whole heart and never got it back. Not one tiny piece. It’s always been yours and always will be.”

For the first time in almost a year, Dean breathes freely, heart beating unrestrained, chest no longer feeling like it’s being crushed under the weight of a golem.

Smile relaxed, tongue wetting his lips, he leans in, but she pulls back, forcefully smacking his chest, and warns, “Don’t ever call me sweetheart like that again. If you do, I’ll give your cassettes a hunter’s funeral.”

Shock, then a nervous laugh, but he knows he’ll do anything to keep her from leaving again. “Deal,” he passionately agrees, sealing it with a kiss.

The mischievous glint in her eyes when she sits back piques his curiosity, and his smile grows as he lifts a brow in question.

“I feel like we should get Jody a fruit basket or something.”

His burst of laughter unleashes a fit of giggles from her, each releasing an inner sigh as tears of happiness now stain their cheeks. Rumors dispelled, defenses reduced to dust, hearts beating in sync once again, safe in the arms of the other.

Love Me Some Pie

@123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deans-baby-momma // @deaneverafter // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @globetrotter28 // @iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @michellethetvaddict // @mimaria420 // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @mvdeanw // @princessmisery666 // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

#tell me you believe me #rumors part four #dean winchester x fem!reader #dw's witch writes #033123

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sinaprime · 2 months ago

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Chapter 1: The Beginning I

(A warning before you start reading. This is my first chapter of a new story I'm working on. It's also my first story in the Naruto verse. The full story will be shared on archiveforum, but I can't tell when yet. If you not a fan of Tobirama Senju or relationship between Madara and Tobirama then you better don't bother with it, even if you might like the first chapter.

There will be a reference of rape, though there won't be an explicit graphic description of it. It also just serves as a basis of the story, which means there won't be any future rape. It'll be mentioned but nothing else, well maybe an attempt but again it won't be the main topic. This is not meant to be a dark fic. Yes, there will be the typical canon violance, maybe some foul language, but not chapter long scenes of torture or whatever.

Okay, that should be enough as warning. If you're still interested, then have fun!!!)

It was dark. Heavy clouds covered the sky. Thunder echoed through the forest, while lightning lit up the sky for short period of times. The ground was slippery from all the snowy rain and the temperature was just barely above zero so that every breath was visible.

In middle of the storm a lone figure run from their pursuers. Unfortunately, they were low on chakra and the poison wasn’t any help either. It should have been an easy mission, it was an easy mission, a simple assassination of a low ranking noble, that played with the wrong guys. The problem came after the mission was a success.

On their way back home, they stumbled upon a group of Hagoromo Shinobi. It’d have been easy to avoid them, but something let them hesitate. There were several chakra signatures that radiated distress and weren’t coming from adults. It let their inner omega come forward, which also caused a low growl escaping their throat.

Being a sensor had its advantage of scouting the surroundings without coming to close to the enemy, especially if being one with a sensor radius of several miles. It was easy to determine the number of enemies, and it wasn’t a number they wouldn’t be able to handle, not with the right strategy.

Looking up at the sky, they knew it wouldn’t be long until the storm hit. So, they followed the group in a safe distance and attacked with the first thunder covering their own sounds. It was over in minutes.

What was left were only three children between the age of four and seven. The oldest being a Nara, the second oldest an Aburame and to their surprise the youngest being an Uchiha, with an Sharingan (Heaven’s eye) that probably just activated and let them slightly flinch. It wasn’t very well known, but over the years they observed that the activation of a Sharingan is mostly triggered by very strong feelings, mostly during a traumatic event like watching a friend or family member die. How that works exactly, they couldn’t find out yet. To do so they would need an Uchiha willing to let them examine their eyes or a corpse, but neither the first nor the second was an option. And they for sure wouldn’t experiment on a child that was barely out of their diapers.

It took them a while to convince the children that they meant no harm and offered to accompany them to their clan members, which weren’t far away. The two older kids accepted their offer, and it wasn’t long until they were found by their respective clan members, though the rescuer decided it was better to stay out of sight with the Uchiha child pressed against their chest, and throat.

After that the problem was to get the Uchiha child close enough to their clan without possibly being detected themselves. There was no doubt that a searching party was already on the way, and knowing the Uchiha, they won’t have sent only two or three clan members, but most likely five or six if not more. A number they would have no chance to win against.

Just as they had the thought, several chakra signatures entered their current observation radius, one being clear that of Uchiha Madara, a raging wildfire that made it difficult to detect all the smaller ones around him, but just as their suspected, there were more than six people.

Unfortunately, they had not much of options, to be precise, there was no other option as to wait until the group was close enough to reach the child before something could happen. In addition, the wound they received during the fight, hadn’t stopped bleeding and from the dwindling feeling of their limbs, the weapon that pierced their skin had been poisoned. It also started to affect their chakra reserves, which in addition influenced their sensory range, which they needed to navigate through the darkness of the storm.

The only chance to survive the encounter with the Uchiha was to abandon the child and to reach Senju territory before the Uchiha even knew they were there, which on the other hand meant to leave the child without any protection, which wasn’t an option either. It might be a child from an enemy clan, but no child deserved to die alone in the wilderness. A flash of an older boy, bloodied and surrounded by enemies entered their mind, and they were quick to push that thought aside and to focus on the current situation.

They thought for a minute until an idea struck. They could try their new technique. The chakra loss would be very high, and it’ll probably allow the poison to work quicker on their system, but it’d still increase their chance of escape, especially with the right timing.

Deciding then ten minutes was enough of waiting, they used their new developed technique and left the unaware child, running in the opposite direction of the incoming Uchiha, hoping they would be far enough away before the Uchiha noticed their presence.

Unfortunately, as soon as they turned their plan into action, the storm increased in intensity. Not only that, but they also missed the lone figure that had separated from the group somewhere on the way and was soon crossing their path. So here they were now. More stumbling than running through the forest with their fast-depleting chakra reserves while trying to dodge the pursuer that wouldn’t give up their hunt.

Fate seemed to be against them, and it wasn’t long as something hit their legs and sent them to the ground. They tried to stand up, but before they could something heavy landed on their back. Black dots begun clouding their already blurry vision either due to the blood loss or the poison they didn’t know, most likely it was both.

Their body was moved forcefully until they laid on their back. Only barely they noticed a hand moving in direction of their mask. They tried to stop it, but the next moment their mask was already ripped off. With blurry eyes they looked at a face with red eyes and what they thought was a sinister smile.

The brief second must have been enough to be pulled into a Genjutsu by the Sharingan, or maybe they just lost consciousness. They didn’t know. Their last thought before the darkness overtook them was that at least it wasn't Uchiha Madara who killed them, knowing full well that it would break their brother's heart.

----

The sound of metal against metal echoed through the near forest, indicating another fight between Uchiha and Senju. It wasn’t something unusual. For centuries, the two clans were the biggest rivals and met at least once in a week on a new battlefield.

It wasn’t that there hadn’t been attempts of making peace during those centuries, but never did it last for even longer than a month. Too great was the hate between them. The slightest misstep of one member of either clan was enough to break the peace and renew the fight. For a long time neither clan asked for a ceasefire or peace treaty until one day a boy started to have a dream.

It had been a month since Tobirama thought he was going to die. He barely remembered what happened that stormy night, nor what happened after he lost consciousness. His last clear memories were that of red eyes and an eerie smile. Then nothing.

The next thing he knew was waking up in his bed back in the Senju compound two days later. As he asked his older brother about it, Hashirama told him that he found him near the Senju compound, bloodied, unconscious, and with clothes drenched and tattered. Nothing unusual in a life of a Shinobi but having survived the encounter and whatever happened after was still surprising when you consider the circumstances.

At the end, Tobirama shrugged it off. Either his memories would come back and reveal how he made it back to the compound or not. There was no point in thinking about something that you may never find an answer to. He accepted it as a stroke of luck and continued his life as always.

However, his luck seemed to run out, again. Since the morning Tobirama felt nauseous and his chakra was slightly unbalanced, which he both reasoned with having barely slept the past couple of days and with too little of food. He had been on another mission the past two weeks, which should have only lasted for ten days instead of fourteen. However, the nobles he had been tasked to escort liked to take much longer brakes in the towns they passed. In addition, they have been attacked several times by some groups, mostly bandits, Tobirama was quick to eliminate them, but one group had two Shinobis within them, which took more effort to get rid of.

At the end, it left Tobirama with little left of his rations for his two-day trip back to the Senju compound, and even less sleep because he was in constant alert with senses stretched out as far as possible, wanting to avoid something similar happening as on his prior mission, which had been still fresh in his mind.

Therefore, he wasn’t in his best condition when the bells alerted them that one of their patrols were in a fight and needed back up. As always when they were confronted with the Uchiha, Hashirama took it as a chance to convince Madara, who he still considered a friend, to agree to a peace treaty. And as always Madara declined Hashirama’s offer of peace and like always it ended in a fight with Tobirama vs. Izuna and Hashirama vs. Madara.

And here they were now, again on a battlefield close to the Naka River that parted their two territories.

However, this time Tobirama could barely keep up with Izuna. His senses were a mess, and the more he tried to concentrate his chakra, the dizzier he became.

“What’s up with you Senju. Seems not to be your best day to fight me. Maybe you’d just give up and let me take your head.” Izuna mocked. Tobirama gritted his teeth, but otherwise stayed silent. In a way Izuna was right, this was indeed not a good day to fight him. But Tobirama couldn’t stay home knowing that if it wasn’t him fighting Izuna, then it would be one of his other clan members, which would definitely end with their certain death, worse it’d probably cost much more members their life, and Tobirama couldn’t risk that. As the heir of the Senju clan, it was his responsibly to keep them and his brother safe.

Trying to clear his vision, Tobirama missed Izuna moving and appearing right in front him. With his Sharingan active Izuna tried to catch Tobirama in a Genjutsu, but out of reflex Tobirama closed his eyes, which on the other hand allowed Izuna to kick him into the side followed by a fist punch hard enough to send Tobirama flying several meters backwards.

Unfortunately, he had not much time to get his composure back as Izuna already prepared to throw his fire jutsu at him. To block the fireball flying in his direction, Tobirama used his water release technique to create a large water dragon as a shield. When both elements collided, it covered the near area in a thick mist.

Tobirama breathed heavily to keep his nausea in check. He was also sure that at least one of his ribs was bruised if not broken.

What Tobirama missed when preparing to throw several kunai next, was the Uchiha behind him. So, he was more than surprised as something sharp pierced his body and caused sudden pain flooding his system.

He let his head fall and saw the top of a sword coming out of his stomach.

“Got you.”, a voice said close to his ear, “Thought you could escape me, demon? Wrong.” The sword was pulled back slowly, and Tobirama could only groan at the sensation of flesh and tendons being cut. The man stood, a hand on Tobirama’s shoulder, holding him in place. Then followed another stab, this time through his upper torso, piercing his lung.

“Haro?” The mist cleared and allowed Tobirama to see Izuna standing a few feet away from him. “Wh…”

“I’m just finishing what I couldn’t end last time, and what you failed to do any other times on the field. Truly I don’t know why you had so many difficulties with it. He’s just a weakling, like all omegas are.” The Uchiha roughly pulled the sword out of his victim. Tobirama could feel how blood begun to fill his lung and how it made its way up through his airway and into his mouth.

“Wh…Wait. An Omega?”

“Yes. And for a Senju a very pretty one, I must admit that. What a waste, but at least I had some fun with him, the last time I saw him. Little bitch didn’t even fight when I took my revenge. It’s just too bad we were interrupted before I’d kill him.” Tobirama’s eyes widen, and he tried to move away, but the Uchiha grabbed his hair and pulled him back forcefully.

“I’m not done with you yet, bitch. Your head is mine.” The Uchiha forced Tobirama’s head back to expose his throat. Cold metal touched his skin a second later, and Tobirama could only think that yet again this will be his end.

At the same time the metal cut into his flesh, several vines broke through the surface, forcing Izuna and the other Uchiha to jump backwards. The latter hadn’t let go of his sword though, and therefore caused an even bigger and deeper cut when retreating.

Through the force of it, Tobirama’s weakened body also followed the movement of the hand in his hair and started to fall backwards. But before he could hit the ground, his falling body was caught by Hashirama, who stared at him in shock and fear.

“Otouto.”

“An-Anija.” Tobirama gurgled, which also caused him to cough heavily, spitting up blood at the same time. The taste of it also triggered his nausea to come back with so much force, that he couldn’t stop retching and vomiting. Fortunately, Hashirama was quick enough to turn Tobirama on his side, so he wouldn’t drown on his own spit and blood.

“An-i-ja.”

“Shhh. Don’t speak. Your Anija will heal you. You’re safe.” Hashirama tried to be calm, but there was unmistakably panic in his voice.

Tobirama was gasping for breath, when he felt a shaky hand on his throat and another on his chest, followed by something warm entering his body. His brother must have moved him on his back so he could use both his hands freely to perform his iryō ninjutsu, which explained the warm feeling of chakra flooding his system.

Staring into Hashirama’s brown desperate eyes, Tobirama couldn’t stop himself mumbling. “M’sorry. My fault…wasn’t good…felt bad…should have not fight…but…clan…protect.”

“No, it’s my fault. I’d have known better. I’d have known that you needed more rest. I’d have seen that you weren’t feeling well. Please, Tobira. It’s not your fault. I just wanted the fight to end. This is exactly the reason why I wanted our clans to become friends. I can’t lose you otouto.” Hashirama sobbed.

“Tsk. Our clans will never be friends.” Haro muttered. When Hashirama lifted his head to glare at him, he saw several other Uchiha nodding at the statement, including Izuna. He turned his gaze to Madara who stared at his clan member darkly.

“Madara?”

He didn’t saw Madara turning his head to him, because a wet cough alerted Hashirama to look down at his brother, who had closed his eyes by then and was paler than Hashirama had ever seen him.

“Tobi? Come on, otouto. Stay with me.” He redoubled his efforts and was even more shocked when he felt a very tiny chakra signature suddenly answering his own.

“Tobirama.”, someone yelled and was kneeling next to them the next second. “Oh, kami.”

“Touka.”

“I know, I know.” The female alpha Senju turned and yelled. “Taka, run back to the compound and inform the healers that we have an emergency. Two stabs, one through the stomach and another through the chest, also a cut at the throat.”

“Y-yes, Touka-sama.” The kunoichi turned back and looked at Hashirama. Only then, she noticed his very pale and shocked expression.

“Hashirama?”

“Touka. He…he is…it should not…”

“Come on Hashirama. To’ra needs medical care urgently. Everything else…can wait. And remember that we are still on a battlefield with enemies close by.” She looked over his shoulder with a scowl.

“You’re right…let’s go.” Hashirama stood with his unconscious brother in his arms. Though before he run off, he turned a last time to his once former friend, expression blank, and eyes no longer brown but a dark green mixed with some alpha red.

“I won’t seek revenge, no matter what happens, but next time our clans fight, Madara, I won’t hold back either. You don’t want peace? Fine. But don’t blame me and my clan for any further losses within the Uchiha. Keep away from our land. Any Uchiha daring to step on it again, will die." Without losing any more time, Hashirama started to run as fast as he never did before.

The Uchiha watched them go with slight mixed feelings. There was something unsettling about Hashirama and it let a few guts twist uncomfortably. Never have they seen eyes like this.

Madara, having not expected Hashirama’s harsh threating words, could only stare in shock after his former friend and think that today his clan had made the biggest mistake.

-----

And what do you think?

Should there someone be inspired to draw some art, then please feel free to do so, just please don't forget to add a reference to my own work. Unfortunately, I'm not talented enough for that, though I'd like to add some pictures when I'll publish it on archiveforum, of course only with your permission as well.

Thanks for reading

#senju tobirama #hashirama senju #madara uchiha #madara x tobirama #ao3 writer #au #omegaverse

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 1 year ago

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The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Four

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Four Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 5598 Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

~~~

'So, what do you say, Serena? Do you want to be one of us?'

Madame Lacroix's words looped through your brain as you walked as fast as possible back to the third shitty flat you'd been set up in by your undercover team. You attempted to keep your pace steady but not panicked, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching you.

The invisible gaze had weighed on you since you'd left the Chateau, since you'd left the meeting. But this new information couldn't wait.

You unlocked the rusty gate to the apartment building, and flew past the bags of garbage that piled up at the doorstep without a single crinkle of your nose - you'd been desensitised to New York's poor pollution a while back. Swift feet carried you up two flights of stairs to your apartment door, where you scrambled for the key to open it.

The moment you stepped over the threshold you finally let the mask of Serena Vanderguff down. Your shoulders sagged as your brain finally recognised the pain in your feet from the six-inch heels you'd been wearing all evening. Despite that, you scrambled to push the heels off, not bothering to place them neatly by the door with the other pairs, and ran for your computer. It was hidden in a false back behind the kitchen sink. Most people would look for a computer in the bedroom or the lounge room, so you'd made the modification in every apartment yourself in case you were broken into by some amateur thieves in the neighbourhood.

You pulled the false back away to reveal the small device and grabbed it out, placing it on the kitchen bench and turning it on. You quickly pulled up the chat room you'd been using to communicate with Holt the whole operation.

You typed a quick message: Face to Home Please.

Not even a minute went by and a reply came: Welcome Home.

A window popped open on your screen with an image of the FBI sigil. You picked up the computer and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You quickly checked your windows. The moon was on the other side of it's peak; New York was the city that never slept, but it had it's low points, and the precious hours between midnight and sunrise were the perfect time to commit all kinds of crime and other unspeakable things.

You pulled the blinds down once you cleared the street, and sat on your bed as the screen changed from the sigil to the image of a room with a long table and a board in the background. That was odd. It wasn't the usual dark room with just Holt and a headset. Instead, Holt sat in a chair closest to the screen, files spread out in front of him.

But he wasn't the only one in the room.

'L/N, you're on,' he said, but instead of speaking the new information you'd just learned and moving on like you always did, your throat closed up at the sight of familiar faces now swarming the camera.

'Y/N...' JJ breathed out as she took a seat opposite Holt. A beautiful brunette sat beside her that you didn't recognise, only emphasising the missing presence of a certain Alex Blake. It saddened you to think she'd moved on since you'd left - you never even got to say goodbye. But you could've cried at the sight of Hotch and Rossi walking closer to the table with the others. You found Derek leaning on the end of the table beside Spencer, who seemed frozen by the board as he looked at you with everyone else.

This time, you were the one to look at him - at all of them - with shock and surprise, not expecting to see any of them so soon after your initial questioning. Tears stung your eyes, but you remembered you were still wearing makeup and kept them from welling over.

You couldn't help yourself, you raised your hand in a half wave motion, your voice returning. 'Hi,' you said, that one word coming out breathless because the weight that one word carried was almost too much to accept. You hadn't been allowed to be yourself outside your apartment and beyond the one minute conversations you had with Holt once a week.

You had imagined your return to the BAU a hundred times over; you had your explanation ready, your apologies on the tip of your tongue. But now, with the opportunity at your feet, you could barely form a cohesive sentence.

Hotch put you out of your misery, a small smile gracing his stoic features. 'Good to see you, L/N.'

'I second that,' Rossi added, giving a little wave and a smirk back to you. 'Nice hair, by the way.'

You couldn't stop the smile that pulled your lips wide, and it suddenly felt like you were back in the BAU round table room. Like you'd never left.

'Thanks,' you managed out, reaching up to touch the mess of H/C hair on top of your head. 'Not really my style, but then again, I'm not really me right now, so...'

You hadn't meant to bring the mood down, but eleven months was a long time pretending to be someone else. You were starting to forget how you liked your coffee and your style and your way of walking down the street. Just little things, but they added up, and you felt the weight of all the little things you were losing on your shoulders and back everyday.

Your eyes sought out Spencer, half expecting him to look sad or sympathetic like the others. However, what you found was a steeled expression of determination and anger on his handsome features. Not at you (even though he never took his eyes off you), but at the situation you had been put in, you realised.

So he did get my message. That one thought brought a sense of relief to you.

'You had something, L/N.' Holt said it more as a prompt than a question. He knew you wouldn't call up off schedule without a reason, and he didn't want to waste any more time than you already had.

'Yes,' you answered, shoving down your tears, shoving down your delight at seeing your friends, and fell into your other persona: analytical, emotionless undercover operative. 'We were right. There is a big seller that hangs above all the managers heads. They just told me tonight that they have been impressed with my work and so has he. They asked me to join the upper ranks of their scheme.'

'Your work?' Hotch asked.

Holt turned over his shoulder to address everyone. 'L/N has wormed her way into the top spots of each establishment to see where the girls have been coming from, but we've also found out that these places deal in a lot more than just human trafficking. Illicit drugs, money fraud, you name it. These places are screwed a hundred times over when we nail them.'

'So why not make an arrest now, then?' Spencer asked from the back. 'You have enough evidence to do so.'

'Yes, but not on the man that we really want,' Holt replied. 'We make an arrest now, we potentially scare off the seller for good. Girls will keep disappearing, and the killings continue.'

'We figured out that sooner or later, if I offered myself to do the dirty jobs and keep it all quiet, they would learn to trust me,' you explained. 'But I couldn't just do it at one place, I had to do it at as many places as I could to garner trust from multiple witnesses so that their boss would take their recommendation and bring me in himself.'

'And now he has,' Holt added. 'What exactly did they offer you?'

'Each establishment has a spokes girl, for lack of a better word,' you explained, recalling Madame Lacroix's own explanation to you about the Business. 'Roxy was the Chateau's, and these spokes girls would be called in at any time to... appease the seller. It was a sign of good will and thanks from the managers to the man that brings in their workers. I bet anything that that's where Roxy would go on her odd days off, and why she would come back looking like she did.'

'She was his personal play thing...' the brunette said, her tone indicating her disgust to the subject. Her eyes flashed with realisation as she looked directly at you. 'The other girls that were killed, were they also spokes girls from their establishments?'

You weren't surprised that she'd made the link. You didn't know her, but if she was on the team, she must be a good profiler and filled in the gaps.

You nodded. 'All of them. My guess is he wasn't happy with the service he was getting from those girls...'

'Or he could be sending a message to the managers themselves,' JJ finished.

'Maybe it's both,' Rossi offered. 'Maybe he isn't happy with what the managers have turned the girls into since he sold them and this is his way of telling them to pull it together or else.'

'But why twelve stab wounds?' Hotch asked. 'We've profiled this unsub as someone who is calculative and calm. He wouldn't leave those marks without a reason.'

'We've suspected that there may be more than the six establishments that L/N has infiltrated so far,' Holt offered. 'The first kill wasn't planned, based on the jagged and messy stab wounds on her body and the time between the first and second kill. His message wasn't received so he started killing with purpose, making sure that everyone who knew those girls knew who killed them.'

'So you think there are twelve other establishments he runs?' Derek asked. 'And that's who he's trying to warn?'

Holt nodded. 'We've got a list of potential places, but nothing solid like the first six. We figured if we found the guy behind it all, we could shut down everything at once.'

'Well, we think we've found out how these girls are being found,' Hotch said. 'We've been visiting homeless shelters and unofficial orphanages in the quieter, low-risk suburbs where if someone went missing, people wouldn't bother looking for them, not even police. We managed to figure out where the victims and some other missing girls came from including Roxy and her real name.'

'Missy Wright,' JJ added. 'That was her name before she was taken.'

Missy. It didn't sound right; you couldn't imagine that name upon a girl like Roxy. Thinking about it, though, that made sense. Just like you, she'd spent so much time believing she was someone else that her true self was someone completely unrecognisable.

You hated to think that Y/N L/N would be gone for good if you stayed as Serena Vanderguff much longer.

'Garcia is trying to match some more missing girls with the girls in the clubs,' the brunette explained. 'She's also looking into security footage from the aquarium Missy was taken from to see how our unsub did it. Although, whoever this guy is had probably been nabbing girls way before he found Missy, so she might find nothing if he was smart.'

Holt turned back to you. 'We'll keep looking into the girls past, L/N. What else did they tell you about these spokes girls?'

You heard the urgency in his tone. You needed to wrap up in case someone was listening.

'Not much. Just that, after I said yes, they would be in contact with me about having a first meeting.'

'Wait. You said yes?' The question came from Spencer, and you turned down the volume on your computer at how loud he was. He walked down the side of the table until the the bags under this eyes were visible on your small screen. 'Why would you do that?'

You didn't appreciate the tone he spoke with, like he couldn't believe what he heard. As if you'd made a dumb decision.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you narrowed your gaze on Spencer. 'Because this is what we've been working for this whole time. Once I'm in and amongst the dealings, I can gather enough evidence and we can shut this whole operation down for good.'

'You're assuming you won't get caught,' Spencer argued, hands splayed on the table now. 'You have seen what he's done to the girls who haven't given him what he wants, right?'

'I have, which is why I said yes, Spencer.' You never thought the next time you would say his name it would be out of frustration towards him. But it sounded like he didn't trust you. After all the crap you had both been dragged through, you would've thought he of all people would've had your back.

But beneath the anger, you saw his hurt. You saw him sitting at his desk that Monday morning just waiting for you to walk through the doors and maybe ask you out again, not even realising you'd already left. You saw the walls he had rebuilt after you'd worked so hard to pull them down after Maeve's death. The sad irony of it all was that those walls were because of you this time.

So you reigned in your annoyance and said in a steady, calm tone, 'I didn't stop him in time to save Roxy and the others. But there are hundreds of girls that could be next. I won't let him take another girls' life away twice.'

It was silent for a moment, but the moment dragged as you held eye contact with Spencer. You saw his internal battle through the somewhat blurry image of him, and you hoped he saw your own. It sickened you to think about what you were walking into, but you were not going to let another innocent girl be killed because of an impotent, psychopath who got off on overpowering women.

The moment ended when Spencer pushed himself up from the table and stepped away, dropping his gaze from yours for the first time since you'd appeared on screen. It saddened you to think what was going through his head, because you knew that he was blaming himself for your situation. But you were relieved that he dropped the matter for now, at least.

'All right, L/N,' Holt started, standing from his seat. 'That all?'

You dragged your gaze from Spencer back to your unit chief. 'Yes, sir.'

He nodded in approval. 'Okay then. Keep us up to date about this meeting. We'll be in touch.'

'Yes sir,' you said, but instead of signing off straight away, you allowed yourself a few seconds to look at all your friends and give them another wave and small smile. 'I'll see you guys around, then.'

'You got it, kiddo,' Rossi said, waving back.

'See you soon, L/N,' Hotch said.

You spared one last glance at Spencer, whose head had risen again so he could look at you. Determination, once more, steeled his handsome features, giving you hope that he wasn't completely mad at you.

It took all your strength to look away from him and press the button to end the call. One second you were staring at your friends, and the next you were staring at a black screen. You closed the video window and chat group and shut down your laptop.

You finally rubbed at your eyes, not caring if you smudged the makeup anymore. You were about to go take it off anyways before going to bed. It had been a long day, and knowing that you would only get a few hours sleep before the sun rose and you were expected back in at the Chateau for more dirty business, you rose, returned the laptop to its hiding place, and grabbed some takeaway Thai from the fridge.

You would eat, then shower, then go to bed, as you always did day-in and day-out.

Soon enough, you thought as you laid in bed that night, allowing exhaustion to lull you into a dreamless sleep. Soon enough, I won't have to do this anymore. Soon enough, I can go back home.

~~~

Spencer was on the precipice of exploding with so many emotions as you ended the call.

Frustration, hurt, hysteria, confusion. Some of it, he hated to admit, was aimed at you. Only because he wanted you safe, he convinced himself, but the offended look on your face when he'd told you to back down told him that you didn't see it that way.

He couldn't help it though, trying to micro-manage. Change wasn't something he liked. While he easily adapted to any situation he was placed in, that ease didn't always coincide with agreement with Dr. Spencer Reid. You leaving was a big change for him, and since then he'd grown more anxious to be in control of every aspect of his life, including the choices of the people around him.

'...there are hundreds of girls that could be next. I won't let him take another girls' life away twice.'

He rubbed his eyes in exhaustion, brushed away the loose curls drooping into them. He knew why you were doing all of this, why you were risking your life. Your selflessness was one of the many things he adored and admired about you.

The small, selfish gremlin inside of him sometimes, however, wished you weren't so selfless. Especially now.

'I definitely wasn't expecting that hair,' Rossi said, breaking the silence that had filled the room since you ended the call. 'I haven't seen that style since my grandmother died.'

'Well, it seems to have paid off finally,' Holt said, standing from his seat. 'She's in, which means we're only one step away from finding who this creep is that's kidnapping children and then brainwashing them into being prostitutes for his own personal gain.'

'Don't forget that he kills them, too,' JJ added, a worried look shining in her doe eyes. 'If Y/N makes one mistake, she could be in real trouble.'

Spencer gulped down the bile that rose at the image of you lying in the morgue like Roxy and the others, all cut up, beaten and bruised. But his heart tightened with disapproval, as if berating his mind for playing cruel tricks on him, on his faith.

On you.

'She won't.' Spencers words echoed through the room, and it surprised him how calm and steady they rang. Realising everyone was looking at him, he repeated. 'She won't. She's made it this far without our help, and she knows what's at stake. All we can do is support her...' He looked to Rossi then, making eye contact with the man who had over time become his mentor. The salt-and-peppered Italian nodded slightly in approval. '...and have faith that she'll do the right thing.'

'I wouldn't worry too much about that,' Holt said, drawing attention back to him. 'She's got a mini camera hidden that looks like a button she attaches to many of her outfits. Anything she sees, we see. The moment we get eyes on the seller and solid evidence that he's behind all this, we'll swarm in on him before he can even think of running.'

'But we can't just rely on Y/N to get that information for us,' Derek countered. 'We've still got to treat this whole operation as two separate cases. Didn't you mention there might be other establishments that are part of this and that's why the girls are being stabbed twelve times?'

'Morgan's right,' Hotch said, looking to the man in question. 'If we back off now, we may alert them to L/N's involvement. Tomorrow, Morgan, work with JJ, Rossi and Garcia and see if you can find out if more girls from other similar establishments have gone missing or turned up dead mysteriously with the same MO as the current unsub. Kate, Reid and I will go back to other establishments we know and ask them where they have been getting their workers from. It's time to put them under some pressure. For now, though, let's go rest. It's late, and there's nothing else we can do until tomorrow.'

Spencer didn't like the thought of another night of you sleeping wherever it was you were chatting from - you must have been in a small room with dark green walls as your voice didn't echo; no light flooded in but you would've pulled the blinds down to ensure your privacy, so you were staying somewhere busy where people could see into your window if the blinds were up. Most likely some sleazy apartment building in lower Manhattan so you could walk to the Chateau in a hurry if needed.

Spencer didn't like that thought at all, but Hotch was right. They couldn't do anything until morning, so might as well try and sleep before chaos unfurls completely. But before Spencer could pack up his satchel bag, his boss called his name.

'Reid,' Hotch called gently, pausing Spencer's motions while everyone else exited. 'I'm bringing you along tomorrow because I need your questioning skills, but I need to know that you're going to be impartial to the matter when we question Madame Lacroix and other employees at the Chateau. Can you do that?'

Hotch didn't mention you at all, but Spencer knew that you were what his boss meant. Silently he was asking: can you keep your cool around Y/N?

In every other circumstance, no. He could barely breathe when you were near him, even then when he saw you on a giant monitor covered up by a mask that made you almost unrecognisable. But what you were doing was important work, otherwise you wouldn't have left him without so much as a goodbye, or even left at all. You'd suffered eleven months for this, he would not screw this up for you even if all he wanted was to bring you back home.

Back to him.

So he nodded, confidently and with purpose. He felt like an imposter doing so, but it was convincing enough to Hotch, as he nodded in return. 'Good. Now let's go rest. I don't think we'll get another break like this for a while.'

~~~

Spencer could just tell the Pit was going to be loud before he'd even stepped inside the Chateau itself. The noise was only amplified by the neon lights that flashed and waved all over the dark room as he followed Hotch and Kate down the stairs into it.

They'd spent the majority of the day going all over New York asking the same questions to the other establishments. Some genuinely didn't seem to know, speaking to their lack of involvement with the Business, while others went on the defensive straight away and lawyered up. They might as well have stamped GUILTY all over their foreheads.

The Chateau was their final stop. Unfortunately it appeared to be peak hour currently, as Spencer could barely squeeze through people to get to the bar it was so packed. But they managed, and were greeted by a beautiful woman with charcoal skin, dark eyes and rainbow braids that picked up the neon strobe lights brilliantly.

She looked up from the drinks she was making - some sort of vodka concoction and scotch on ice. 'Sorry, sir. Won't be a moment.'

Hotch pulled his FBI badge out and flashed it at her. 'Actually, we're not here for a drink. Where can we find your boss, Madame Lacroix?'

The woman finished the drinks and placed them on the bar where another girl put them on a tray and left. She wiped her hands on the towel over her shoulder, face dipping with sadness. 'This is about Roxy, isn't it?'

'We just have a few more questions we think your boss can clear up,' Kate injected.

The woman nodded, turning to her left and pointing to Madame Lacroix's office that Derek had gone to only a few days ago. 'She should be in her office. That's where she usually is on busy nights like this.'

'Thank you,' Hotch said before turning to talk with Kate and Spencer only. 'Stay here and see if anyone would be willing to talk about where they've come from or anything else about how this place started up.'

They both nodded as Hotch left for the office, disappearing within the crowd. Kate turned to Spencer then. 'I'll talk to the bar staff first.'

'All right,' he said. 'I'll scope out the floor.'

Kate smiled. 'Don't get lost on the dance floor, now.'

'I won't,' Spencer replied, amusement on his lips. Kate spared him one last smile before turning back around to speak with the bartender. Spencer took that as his cue and turned to walk into the fray of sweaty bodies and clouds of smoke.

He tried not to focus on how many germs were being passed around between the number of people pressed together as he squeezed through. He needed to be looking for girls that were younger than the rest, most likely new. They would be the ones to talk.

Keen, calculative eyes landed on a girl no older than twenty with long, strawberry-blonde hair, doe eyes and a skimpy lilac coloured outfit sitting on an older gentlemen's lap. There was another man there too, the three of them sitting around a small table as they chatted and the men laughed occasionally. And while she laughed and smiled with them, Spencer could just tell she wasn't having a good time.

It stirred a sickening swirl inside of him at the sight, spurring him to walk at such a pace he almost knocked a few people over. 'Sorry gentlemen, but I need a moment with, ah...'

'Lavender,' the girl kindly offered, and Spencer noticed the hope that glimmered in her innocent eyes.

'Hey, now wait just a minute,' the man that Lavender sat on said, his words slurred, clearly intoxicated. 'Did you pay for her time? No? Then scram.'

The man grasped at Lavender's hips possessively, fuelling Spencer's disgust and anger more. He pulled his badge out and shoved it in the men's faces. 'I'm with the FBI, and we're conducting an investigating that you're obstructing right now. So get your drunken hands off Lavender and-'

'Wow, doll face! Aren't you a cutie!'

Spencer couldn't finish his sentence as he was pulled sharply away from Lavender and the men and dragged through a sea of people. He was shoved into a private booth where his kidnapper closed the curtains in a flurry and only turned around when she was sure they were the only two in the room.

It shouldn't have surprised him when you turned around, your hair puffed up, face dolled up, and a red dress sticking to you like a second skin as you stormed over to him in your matching six-inch shoes.

'What do you think you're doing here?' you asked in a harsh whisper, your Brooklyn accent dropped in favour of showcasing your annoyance at him. 'You can't just go throwing your badge in front of big shot men like them. Do you even know who they are?'

'I was just asking a question,' Spencer argued, making sure to match your whisper with his own. 'And they were obstructing my investigation. I mean, they had their hands all over her-'

'Because that is what she is paid to let happen to her,' you interrupted, sitting beside him with a sigh of exhaustion. It was, after all, just before midnight, and the night was still young. 'I don't like it either, but we can't do anything about it. Hopefully those doofuses didn't see your name so they don't know who to complain about.'

Spencer looked around the room, but it was too dark to see into the top corners. 'You're not worried you'll be caught?' You'd dropped your accent without a second thought, so he assumed the booth was somewhat safe from prying eyes and eavesdroppers.

You shook your head, brushing a puffy piece of your hair out of your face. 'These booths are used to do some... well, I think you know what kind of things happen back here. It wouldn't be good for business if any footage of what happens behind closed curtains got out, so Madame Lacroix eliminated the risk.'

It was as if you both finally realised that you were the only two in the room. No cameras, no overbearing bosses (on both sides). Just you and him.

Synchronistically, you and him wrapped your arms around each other, holding one another in a tender embrace that spoke volumes of the time that passed and all the hugs you'd missed in that time.

Everything you'd miss in that time.

'I'm sorry,' you spoke first, words muffled by Spencer's shoulder. 'I'm so sorry.'

'No, no, don't be,' Spencer soothed, hating how you felt you were the one to blame for the mess you both had landed in. 'This isn't your fault. You had no choice.'

You pulled away from him at the threat of tears, but you kept your hands clasped within his, finding his warmth comforting in the depths of the Pit. You blinked rapidly as you looked upwards, stabilising yourself. 'No. But it's the right thing to do. And we're so close, I can feel it.'

He brushed his thumb over your knuckles. If only that action could swipe away all the guilt and pain you'd experienced for so long. 'I know... I just wish you didn't have to keep being someone else. I've missed you.'

Your smile filled a small part of the hole you'd left in him when you'd left, though it was tinged with sadness. 'There hasn't been a day I haven't thought about you guys, that maybe one phone call wouldn't have compromised the mission.' You let out a deep breath, and your smile slips into a flat line. 'What are you doing here, really?'

'Hotch is putting some pressure on Madame Lacroix by asking about how she gets her employees,' Spencer answered. 'Hopefully that will prompt her to get you that meeting with the seller faster.'

'Or blow the whole case apart,' you countered, brows furrowing with worry. 'There's been no mention of human trafficking so far in Roxy and the others girls' murders. Madame Lacroix will get suspicious.'

'Which is what we're betting on.'

You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth in a combination of concentration and frustration. 'That's quite a risk you're taking there, Spence.'

'So is what you're doing,' he said, squeezing your hand in his. 'We're going to end this, I promise. And then you're going to come back to the BAU, and... it'll be like you never left.'

'Alex is gone.'

He doesn't hide his surprise at your words, as you spoke them more like a statement than question. But, just like him, you were a profiler. You were paid to be observant.

'I didn't see her in the video chat last night,' you explained, though Spencer didn't ask for one. 'After this is all over, I'll give her a call.'

'I'm sure she'd like that,' Spencer said softly, a melancholic feeling saddening him at the thought of his absent friend. 'Kate's nice though. She has a daughter, though she's not Kate's. Kate's technically her aunt, but her sister died in 9/11 alongside her husband, leaving the kid an orphan.'

'So she took her in.' Your smile returned ever so slightly. 'I'd say that's more than nice, Spence, and more like what a saint would do. She sounds like a great addition to the team.'

You spoke the last sentence with a hopelessness Spencer did not like one bit. Like you'd given up on coming back to the team - coming back to him - a long time ago.

'Hey,' he said, pulling himself closer to you. 'Don't be like that. You're going to come home. I won't let this end any other way.'

You opened your mouth to reply, but the rumbling of footsteps alerted you both to newcomers that didn't understand the meaning of curtains closed. You reacted quicker than Spencer, who just sat frozen in terror at being exposed or caught or he really didn't know what, just that he was terrified.

You unravelled your hands from his, and instead clasped them around his neck so you could pull yourself onto his lap, barely-covered breasts pressed dangerously close to Spencer's face. He was so used to being above you that he never imagined what it would be like to have the roles reversed.

Was it possible to be simultaneously embarrassed and happy at the same time? According to Dr Spencer Reid, the answer was yes.

He consciously placed his hands on your hips just as the curtains to the booth were reefed open and an overtly drunken man stumbled in with another Chateau girl on his arm, this time a dark-haired beauty with tan skin and dark eyes.

'Sorry, Nadia,' you said, Brooklyn intonations slipping easily from your tongue as you smiled devilishly. 'This booth's taken.'

'Oops!' Nadia squeaked, turning to the man with laughter. 'Sorry!'

And once more the curtains were closed. And it was just Spencer with you.

And your chest pressed right into his face.

You let out a sigh of relief before returning your attention to Spencer. You had to look down to get a proper angle at him, and despite your gaudy makeup and exaggerated hair and jewellery, he couldn't have thought of a more beautiful sight than looking up at you in that moment.

You looked so angelic, your lips so sweet and kissable-

'Well, that was close,' you breathed out, and Spencer heard your heart pounding even without his head pressed to your chest anymore.

Spencer swallowed thickly. 'Yeah,' was all he could manage without making a fool out of himself. He was alarmingly aware of his hands still holding your hips, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of you just yet.

You leant back a little, still not hopping off him, and pointed to one of the black-domed buttons lining the front of your dress. 'Holt has a feed directly linked to this,' you explained in a hushed voice. 'Madame Lacroix said I would be meeting the seller later tonight, so you better be watching.'

Only when he nodded did you make an effort to get off him much to Spencer's disappointment. He'd hugged and held you many times before - but maybe because this time was more intimate, or because there had been so much time since you'd last been together - but he craved your touch again. Soon, he told himself, and he kept his hands at his side.

You stood up and so did he, but just as you went for the curtain, he gently grabbed your wrist. 'Hey, uh,' he started, unsure if now was the right time to ask or not. But all things considered, would it ever be the right time? Throwing caution to the wind, he asked, 'What would you have said? That night I asked you out. Yes or no?'

That one unknown answer had been torturing him for months, mainly because he'd thought you left them all behind without a single thought. But he knew better now. He knew it hadn't been your fault you couldn't say or promise him anything.

Now - now there was hope again.

You stared at him for what felt like an eternity to Spencer, mouth moving but no words coming out. Your hesitation to answer saddened him. Maybe he'd read the signs wrong. Maybe all you'd ever wanted to be was his best friend. Had he just ruined your friendship twice by asking that damned, schoolboy question?

Again, you couldn't answer, as another man with a prostitute came barreling through the curtains.

'Oh, looks like we have some company,' the girl said, but not making any move to leave with the attractive gentleman on her arm.

'Don't worry,' you said, gripping Spencer's shoulder and guiding him out of the booth. 'Doll face here was just leaving.'

You shoved him and he stumbled back into the messy, sweaty fray that was the Pit as you closed the curtains behind you.

'Hope you enjoyed your time, doll face,' you said, the guise of Serena Vanderguff slipping back on scarily so. You flashed him a sickeningly wide smile as you held out your hand for a shake. 'If you want more, you know where to find me.'

And just like that - you disappeared into the sea of bodies that somehow seemed to have increased since Spencer left for only a few minutes. Spencer had half a thought to chase you, find out your answer once and for all, but there were too many people watching. He would only cause a scene.

'There you are.' Kate's voice prompted him to spin around and be greeted by the woman in question as well as Hotch, obviously having finished his interview with Madame Lacroix.

'Was that Serena just now?' Hotch asked in a quiet voice, but loud enough for Spencer to hear over the loud music.

Spencer nodded. 'She said something is going down tonight. What did you find out?'

'Lawyered up in the end. She's definitely hiding something. Anything from you, Kate?'

'I tried asking a few girls, but they all seized up or ignored me. They appear trained that way, just like we suspected. Brainwashed, of some kind.'

'All right,' Hotch said. 'Let's get back to the office. L/N's feed is our only lead now.'

Spencer followed his colleagues through the Pit to the exiting stairs, all the while looking for you. He couldn't find you, however. Maybe she's already having the meeting, he thought. If so, he just hoped you wouldn't do anything stupid in the mean time.

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