#maybe the first line *was* meant to be read in a wink-wink-nudge-nudge kind of way and I just didn't oh well not the point

[bragganhyl]

click to listen to the bad influence you have on this man

[maatryoshkaa]

between the lines | lee minho

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔

✑ Late fines, shared lockers, and a missing love letter:

In which a frantic search for an overdue library book leads to you finding other things that are...long overdue.

✑ PAIRING: student librarian!minho x bookworm!reader

✑ GENRE: retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, slight enemies-to-lovers shenanigans

✑ WORD COUNT: 9.7k

✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying themes, skz are all around the same age. mc is insecure and a bit of a valentine's day grinch. minho is whipped but too hardheaded to admit it. also, an embarrassing amount of classic literature/pablo neruda references.

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

Call it the most romantic day of the year if you will, but in the treacherous hallways of Levanter High, it meant a minefield of hormonal couples, crushed chocolate boxes, and supermarket rose bouquets. Clutching your backpack with a grimace, you narrowly dodged a pigtailed cheerleader as she leapt into her jock boyfriend’s waiting arms. Turning into another hallway, you plugged your ears to block out a senior boy’s cold rejection of a freshman’s nervous love confession.

You finally caught sight of your locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Levanter High’s lockers were split in half lengthwise—one top row, and one bottom row. You dropped to a crouch to wrench yours open—you’d lost your lock a couple of weeks ago—trying to block out the early morning commotion as you rummaged for your English books.

“Hey, watch ou—”

The locker above yours opened with a screech, and you looked up just in time to see a pink avalanche of cards and chocolates raining down on your head in a painful, deafening crash. The student who had called out the warning was frozen with a comical look of shock on her face. You swore the entire hallway fell silent, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slowly raised your gaze at the person who had opened the locker.

Lee Hana—head cheerleader of Levanter’s pep squad, and in your humble opinion, the spawn of Satan herself.

“Ohmigosh,” she exclaimed, raising one hand to her mouth in mock horror, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

The crowd around you was beginning to snicker and point, and you felt your face growing redder by the minute. “What are you doing here?” You asked tersely, motioning towards the locker above yours. “That’s not even your locker.”

Hana smiled and held up a small, glittery package. Oh. You didn’t have to look closer to know that the envelope was a love letter, elaborately tied to a box of expensive chocolates—the kind your parents would probably have to work overtime to afford. “My Valentine—for your locker buddy,” Hana replied matter-of-factly, then added, “Not that you would understand, hm? Since you’ve never received one yourself, and all.”

A smattering of laughs erupted from the crowd that was building around you. Biting back a retort, you looked down at all the other Valentine’s trinkets that had spilled around you. Of course—you should have gotten used to it by now. After all, your locker was right underneath the one that belonged to the student librarian, school heartthrob, and the absolute bane of your existence, Lee—

“Minho!” Hana exclaimed, and you looked up to see him shuffling through the crowd, his eyes briefly falling on yours. You immediately turned away as the pretty cheerleader skipped up to him, and shoved your books into your bag. Slamming your locker shut—twice, because Levanter’s damned lockers always jammed before shutting properly—you snatched up as many of Minho’s fallen Valentine’s Day trinkets as you could before shoving them back into the now-emptied top locker. The metal door was still swinging wide open. You’d overheard Minho complaining to the boy who always did the announcements—Han Jihyun? Han Jisung?—about how he kept losing his own lock. Both of you seemed to have a habit of misplacing things (not that you liked to admit to that similarity).

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho was still watching you over Hana’s shoulder, his lips tilted in a half-smile. Your gut twisted unpleasantly. Four years and counting—that was how long you’d ended up with a locker right under Minho’s.

“You’re so lucky!” Lia—your best friend—had gushed, while you had scoffed in utter disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Just my rotten luck.”

“Come on, y/n. Are you still hung up about that love letter from freshman year?”

Yes, you had thought sourly. “No way,” you had snapped, and Lia had giggled, unconvinced.

It wasn’t like you’d always had a personal vendetta against Minho. In fact, in ninth grade, you’d been head over heels for him, just like the rest of the student body—to the point where you’d even slipped a small love letter into his locker on Valentine’s Day, too. It had been one of those gaudy 99-cent corner-store cards, and you'd saved up your pocket money just to buy a matching pack of candy hearts. Then you’d spent the day with butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting nearby his locker to see his reaction.

But when he hadn’t shown up, you'd shrugged and begun heading home—and that was when you had caught sight of Minho, throwing all the love letters he’d received straight into the Dumpsters in the back parking lot.

Talk about a reality check.

As if that hadn't been traumatizing enough, you’d been forced to face him nearly every morning for the following three years. To make matters worse, being Minho’s involuntary locker mate also meant that all the girls—and guys, for that matter—saw you as little more than a stepping stone to him, always asking you to relay party invitations or trying to curry favour with you to get to him.

“We’re not close,” you’d insist to his persistent admirers every time, but it didn’t help. Minho, on the other hand, you thought bitterly, seemed to think he was too good for anyone—he didn’t even respond much to Hana’s advances, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way he’d even look twice at you—you’d been firsthand witness to that. You finally gave up trying to clean up the fallen Valentines, and stood up with a sigh. Throwing him a death glare, you pushed past the crowd just as the bell rang and students began scurrying away.

What did it matter if Lee Hana was trying to get with Minho? If anything, they were a match made in heaven. Or hell. With a decided huff, you plopped yourself down at your desk just as your English teacher began class.

“We’re starting the poetry unit today! Remember, you’ll be writing a love poem of your own for the final project—so I suggest you all get started on reading!” You teacher had winked and clapped her hands excitedly while a collective groan had swept through your class. A few couples had nudged each other meaningfully, already promising to write their poems about each other, and you’d thrown up a little in your mouth.

Romance was a bit of a touchy subject for you— now, you didn’t hate the notion of love, per se, you’d just always been somewhat...wary of it. After watching your friends fall in and out of disastrous relationships and fleeting feelings from the sidelines too many times to count, your own defense mechanisms had skyrocketed, and now you found yourself trying not to roll your eyes at every piece of romantic writing you read. Still, this inexperience only made you more determined to get a head start on the topic— and so, once the last bell had rung, you made a beeline for the school library. You would tackle love the only way you knew how to—by hitting the books. Pushing open the door, you overheard Hana and her friends muttering in disappointment and immediately recoiled.

“You said he’d be in here!”

“Well, I thought I saw him! Let’s wait for a bit.”

You peeked over the librarian’s desk, and sure enough, it was vacant— save for a tray of half-shelved books and stamping cards. Maybe Minho left early today, you thought, shrugging. That’s a relief. Then you shook your head quickly. What’s it to me whether he’s here or not? You tried to ignore Hana’s disdainful glance at you, heading straight towards your favourite nook at the back of the library instead: a cozy alcove tucked behind the last row of shelves. With a deep sigh, you pulled out the first book of poetry your teacher had assigned—Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets—and sank into the bean bag chair.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…’

A couple lines in, and the Englishman’s words were already making your head spin. You grimaced, massaging your temples. ‘A summer’s day?’ Seriously? You could swear you’d seen something less cheesy on a dollar store card. After a couple of pages, you could already feel your treacherous eyelids beginning to droop, fighting to stay awake as you tried to make sense of Shakespeare’s verses. But thy eternal summer...shall not fade...nor lose...possession…

“The library’s closing.”

You jolted awake, hands fumbling blindly before you could even force your eyes open. The library came into focus first—the lights had been dimmed, the flickering EXIT sign from the empty hallway casting a warm glow through the panelled window across the room. A dull headache still throbbed in your temples.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes groggily. You had to practically peel your cheek away from the Shakespeare book, fingers gingerly feeling the dent the cover had left in your cheek. “I-I’m so sorry, I must have—lost track of time studying.”

A familiar chuckle sent your heart plummeting to your stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

When your eyes finally adjusted, your expression automatically soured into a glare.

“Now that’s more like it.” Smirking, Minho crossed his arms, leaning back on a bookshelf. He glanced down at the book in your lap—the book that you clearly hadn’t been studying. “Didn’t know you were one for Shakespeare.”

“I—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not. His writing gives me a headache. It’s like it’s all in another language or something.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Old English. Why are you reading it, then?”

“We’re doing poetry in class—and our final project is to write an actual love poem, based on the poets we’ll study. Shakespeare was just first on the reading list, so…” you felt yourself trailing off, flustered. Why were you even bothering to explain this to Minho, who probably couldn’t care less? “Nevermind.”

You felt his piercing gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag, glancing outside at the nearly emptied parking lot. If you squinted, you could spot a couple—Seo Changbin, judging by the male’s iconic leather jacket, and his lover—making out under the bleachers. You shook your head incredulously. Valentine’s Day. Love poems. Hormonal couples galore. It was like the universe was playing a long, cruel joke on you: Ha-ha, look who’s spending Valentine’s Day studying in the library alone.

Well, alone except for a student librarian with whom you had a mortifying history. Not much better. Eager to leave, you got to your feet, only to see Minho flipping through a smaller book he’d pulled off the shelf next to him. “If you want some real inspiration,” he began slowly, pushing up his glasses, “I’d suggest you start closer to our time period.”

You looked down at the book he was holding up, brow furrowing as you read the title out loud. “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Pablo Neruda.”

“The best Chilean poet of the 20th century,” he nodded. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this.’”

It took you a second to realise Minho was quoting a poem, and you were suddenly grateful that the dimly lit library hid the flush of red that had betrayed your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “That actually sounds...kind of pretty.”

He didn’t look up, but you thought you saw the corners of his mouth shoot up ever so slightly. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on you? Flipping through the book, Minho fished out a pad of sticky notes from his back pocket and marked a few pages. “Here. ‘The Song of Despair’...‘Tonight I Can Write’...‘Here I Love You.’ Those are good.” Clamping the book shut, he held it out towards you.

You almost thanked him, but the words faltered on your tongue as you took it from him suspiciously. “What’s with the sudden helpful attitude?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.” You raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he smirked. “Consider it my apology for this morning, then.”

That left you at a real loss for words, and for the first time, you struggled to find a retort. “That’s...considerate of you, apologising on behalf of your girlfriend and all.”

“Hana’s not my girlfriend.”

You breathed a small laugh. “Soon-to-be, then. Don’t break her heart.”

Minho scoffed, bringing the book to the front desk and scrawling your name on the sign-out card. He stamped the dates, then held it out at you before glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen, the empty football field lit only by rows of flickering lampposts. “You can get home safe?”

“Screw off, Lee Minho.” You eyed him warily, shoving the book into your bag before practically running to the double doors. The strange atmosphere that had suddenly built up in the library felt terrifyingly foreign to you, and your first instinct was to be rid of it as soon as possible. In the hallway, you spotted a janitor dumping a bin into a trash bag. A familiar avalanche of pink envelopes and gifts caught your eye, and you felt a wave of humiliation. Just the memory of Minho throwing yours out—after reading it and having a good laugh, no doubt—made you want to ram your head into the lockers all over again. You’ve got no chance with him, y/n, you thought blearily. Right when you’d thought you’d finally come to terms with Minho’s brutal (albeit unintentional) rejection, here he was again: crashing back into your life like some...cat-eyed, pointy-nosed meteor.

“Oh, y/n! One more thing.”

You’d already had one foot out the front door when Minho called your name again, making you jerk your head back in surprise. Minho had his bag slung over one shoulder, a pile of books in his arms as he waved to get your attention. His smile looked almost...genuine in the warm shadows, his round glasses softening his usually sharp gaze. Despite yourself, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Then Minho made a wiping motion over his face and grinned. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”

Your face reddened, and you slammed the library door shut, earning a glare from the janitor down the hall. Smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead repeatedly, you stormed out of the school muttering curses under your breath. Typical Lee Minho.

To your surprise, you practically devoured the poems in less than a week, taken aback at how much you genuinely enjoyed them. It was the first time you didn’t find yourself cringing at romance—and sure enough, in a couple days’ time, you found yourself reluctantly standing back in front of the double doors of the school library once again.

Carefully, you craned your head to peep into the panelled window, scanning the room for Minho. As per usual, a gaggle of girls were huddled on the other side, blocking your view.

“Looking for someone?”

Flinching, you nearly tripped on Hana’s long legs as she came up beside you. Before you could respond, she fixed you with a withering look. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Little Miss Perfect.”

“I—sorry?”

The cheerleader rolled her eyes, sneering. “Don’t act all innocent with me, you sneaky b—”

Sighing, you pushed open the doors before she could finish. Hana followed you into the library, still sputtering angrily. Her hand snatched your arm, French manicure digging painfully into your cardigan.

“The Valentines,” she hissed, and it finally clicked.

She’s talking about the love letters, you realized. The ones Minho throws out every year.

Gut twisting, you looked up to see all the other girls crossing their arms and looking back at you expectantly. “None of you...got a response?” You asked incredulously, already knowing the answer. This happened every year: Expectant admirers showered Minho’s locker with gifts, Minho wouldn’t even glance at them— and then, for some reason, you were left to take the blame. A twinge of annoyance shot through your chest.

“You stole them from his locker, didn’t you?” Hana continued accusingly, pupils shaking. “You sneaky, jealous bitch— of course you did.”

He threw them all out, you wanted to scream back at her, but the words wouldn’t budge from your tongue. Somehow, saying them out loud felt like tearing off the stitches of an old wound; a painful reminder of your personal humiliating memory. And—though you hated to admit it—a small part of you still didn’t have the heart to throw Minho under the bus just yet, even after all that he’d done.

Feeling defeated, you sighed and turned towards her. “Why would I want to do that?”

Hana scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls over one shoulder. “Oh, please. We all know you’ve had a massive one-sided crush on him since ninth grade.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, the other girls’ snickers at your reaction drowning out any of your protests. “That’s not—”

“Not true? Then—is it mutual?” Hana sneered mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. He wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of y—”

“Can I help you with anything?”

The small crowd fell silent as Minho appeared from one of the aisles, eyebrows raised slightly in his usual nonchalant manner. A chill of panic rushed down your spine, palms growing clammy with cold sweat. H-how much did he overhear? In your peripheral, Hana was practically batting her eyelashes at him, but Minho’s mild eyes were focused on yours expectantly.

“I—uh. Well,” you stammered eloquently, your entire body suddenly paralyzed. Hana’s cherry red lips were twisted in a smug smirk, clearly waiting for you to embarrass yourself. “The book,” you blurted, immediately rummaging for the poetry book in your bag and holding it out to him.

Minho took it from you, fingertips grazing yours slightly. They were surprisingly warm. “How’d you find it?”

“R-really good, actually.” Then, you hesitantly added, “I...like the way Neruda uses imagery—he’s precise without being plain, and artful without deviating too much into purple prose. I think I liked Tonight I Can Write the most— y’know, ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines...’” You swallowed, then instantly began regretting having ever spoken. Great job, y/n, now you sound like a full-blown nerd.

But Minho nodded, his eyes gleaming. “‘I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me, too.’”

“That’s the second verse,” you muttered automatically, and his lips twitched.

“It’s one of my favourite lines.”

The other girls had begun to awkwardly shuffle out of the library, their absence easing your racing heart. With just a few mildly spoken words, you noted, Minho had managed to make you feel as though you had blocked out the rest of the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Hana glaring daggers at you, and the small smile dropped from your face.

“Do you need something?” Minho asked her blankly, his gaze trailing down to Hana’s hand, which was still painfully latched onto your arm. With a roll of her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the library.

As soon as she was gone, you breathed an audible sigh of relief. Minho was peeling the sticky notes off from the poetry book you’d returned, eyes still watching you intently. Giving him the side-eye, you deadpanned, “She’s pretty, you know. Maybe you should go talk to her sometime.”

There was a small smile on Minho’s lips. “Does she like Chilean poetry?”

You could only give a short—slightly too shaky for your liking—laugh in response, ruffling your own hair as you tried to calm your frazzled nerves. Don’t forget, y/n. One, that he’s out of your league. Two, how this was all his fault to begin with.

“Is that all you came here for?” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts again, making you jump. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He finds this—me—amusing.

“Well…” you looked down at your feet, then grudgingly nodded at the poetry book you’d just returned. “Do you...have any other recommendations?”

Minho’s face broke into a shit-eating grin, and you bit back a groan. before your pride got the better of you and you changed your mind, he was already heading towards the back of the library, sliding books out as you struggled to keep with his pace. “First of all, Dickinson. Hit-or-miss, but you never know. Then there’s Sylvia Plath, some Emily Brontë…”

Before you knew it, you’d been whisked into a world of verse and metaphor, flying between numerous time periods and continents as you and Minho perused the shelves. Just like the time when you had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, the library seemed to grow cozier, quieter, more peaceful during moments like these, as if the entire world was holding still as you lost yourself in pages upon pages of books. Soon, you found yourself heading to the library nearly every day after school. Despite yourself, you found yourself looking forward to that sunset hour, the fleeting period where most students had left, and the entire library would glow warm as though it were blushing under the swathes of golden light. And in these same fleeting moments, you found your gaze lingering more and more on Minho—the way he would push his silver glasses on, furrowing his brow in concentration whenever he searched for a book, or run his long fingers over their worn spines whenever he was lost in thought—

“Like what you see?” With a flinch, you realised Minho had begun walking back towards you, a crooked smirk on his lips as he set a new pile of books down at the desk you were sat at.

“No!” You snapped, too quickly. “Just—spaced out for a bit. Too concentrated on the project.”

The smirk hadn’t budged from Minho’s face, and you resisted the urge to throw a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Selected Poems at his long, pointy nose. “Mm. You seem to be coming here a lot more often.”

“That’s because the due date is coming up.”

“No. I mean, you seem to be talking to me a lot more.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching a book from the top of his pile as you muttered, “Screw you, Lee Minho.”

His eyebrows shot up in wicked mischief. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

With a cry of exasperation—and surprise at having been heard—you hoisted your book bag onto the table, building a makeshift wall between the two of you.

You didn’t catch the way Minho’s laughter slowly faded as he rested his head on one hand thoughtfully, quietly watching you read. Your lips were pursed in concentration as you muttered your notes under your breath. Cute, he couldn’t help thinking.

Minho had always been good at memorizing things, but he couldn’t remember exactly when you’d begun disliking him so much. You had always intrigued him—what with the way your locker always seemed to be overflowing with books, or how you used to lend him your copy when he forgot his, back in ninth grade. That Valentine’s Day, four years ago, your name had been the only one he’d hoped to find as he rifled through the cards he’d received. But he’d come up empty, and so he’d thrown them all out. And for some reason, you’d been cold to him ever since.

Minho had assumed that you were probably annoyed with all the letters that would fall out of his locker and onto you, and so every year he tried his best to get rid of the Valentines as soon as possible. Nevertheless, you only seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with him.

And now here you were, right in front of him, four years later, and he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you why. Confrontation had never been his strong suit—his words always seemed to come out too blunt, too cold, too soon, and so he’d always avoided bringing it up with you again. Minho sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Written words—that is, books—had always been so much easier than people.

He did, however, remember when he’d started falling for you.

Tenth grade, literature studies. He’d begun arguing against your thesis during one of your presentations, and the two of you had ended up bickering the entire class—pulling out quotes from nearly every chapter of Pride and Prejudice before the class president had to intervene, and your teacher had sent you both to detention.

You had glared at him once, and he’d fallen head over heels.

These violent delights have violent ends, he’d mused in his head back then—Romeo and Juliet—and with the murderous stare Minho sometimes caught you fixing him with, he was willing to bet that you were wishing a violent end on him, too.

He couldn’t pen a love letter to save his life, either— and so, he resorted to pettily glaring at any admirer that approached your locker like Gandalf—you shall not pass—until they backed off. Minho didn’t think you would appreciate him revealing that, either. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his actions seemed—and like a poorly written plot twist, you had ended up stumbling back into his life again. Never in his life, however, did Minho think that Pablo Neruda would become his wingman. Glancing down at his portrait on the back cover of the book, Minho could almost imagine the Chilean poet pointing his pen threateningly: “Don’t screw this up.”

“Hey, Minho?” He snapped out of his thoughts to see you waving your hand at him from the other side of your book bag. “You were right. I don’t get any of Dickinson’s poems.”

Your words took a moment to register, Minho caught off-guard by the soft golden hour light illuminating your pretty features. You waved your hand in his face again, and he blinked, breath caught in his throat. Almost tripping over his tongue, he finally quipped, “How on earth are you passing AP English?”

You glowered and smacked his shoulder, the near-silent library ringing with Minho’s laughter once again.

With a week left to the deadline, you were planted at your desk in your room, the wastebasket littered with crumpled up half-sheets of notebook paper. To your dismay, none of the words seemed to be coming out the way you wanted them to. Gnawing the back of your pencil in frustration, you dumped the contents of your book bag onto the desk, and spotted your latest library book—100 Love Sonnets, by Pablo Neruda. Inexplicably, out of all the poets Minho had introduced to you, you always found yourself coming back to him.

Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, your fingers stopped at one titled Sonnet XVII. “I love you without knowing how,” your eyes scanned the verse curiously, “or when, or from where. I love you simply…”

It was the poem Minho had quoted that evening in the library, you realized, heart skipping a beat. “...without problems or pride / I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving / but this, in which there is no I or you / so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand / so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close.”

With a sigh, you buried your head in your arms, lying face-down onto the desk. Maybe the reason why you instinctively disliked reading love poems so much was because of the sheer sincerity of them all. You envied their ability to put feelings into words—with unabashed, unapologetic ardour, and be celebrated for it, to boot. Eyes scanning the verses again, your mind wandered to the way Minho’s eyes had lit up as he’d explained the lines to you, his brow furrowed in focus.

At Levanter High, you had grown used to being pushed around and out of the spotlight. It was either the popular girls and their backhanded compliments, or the boys who spoke to you condescendingly just to a) get you to do their homework, or b) get in your pants. But Minho had always taken you seriously, albeit while driving you half-insane with his infuriating remarks. And as much as you hated to admit it, that same fiery look in his eyes whenever he got worked up—so different from his usual reserved facade in front of the teachers and swooning students—had always made your heart skip a beat. In tenth grade—back when he seemed to pick a fight with you nearly every English class until Bang Chan had to hold the two of you back from killing each other—you’d thought you’d successfully quashed your feelings for the mild-voiced, hazel-eyed librarian. Yet every time he spoke, he left you feeling vulnerable, disarmed, and you were back—though you refused to admit it—to square one.

“‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,’” you whispered, fingers tracing the words on the paper. Feeling a sudden surge—of confidence, or simply exasperation, you weren’t sure—you seized the pen and began scribbling on a new piece of paper. For years, you’d been afraid to face your feelings, terrified of the humiliation if Hana—or anyone at school—found out. But if getting them all out in one cheesy, hot mess of a love letter could give you some closure, you thought tensely, you were more than happy to oblige. You would write it all out under the guise of a love poem, and then it would never have to see the light of day again.

Words began coming to your head like a floodgate had been thrown wide open, and you began scrawling onto the page. “‘I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,’” you quoted thoughtfully as you drafted your own poem. In a way, it felt cathartic—you could get all your feelings out, pass it off as an assignment, and never think about the forbidden fruit again. For all you knew, it was a win-win situation. The pen kept wobbling, ink spilling out haphazardly and skipping, but you relaxed slightly. Maybe this assignment wasn’t too bad, after all.

Head filled to the brim with poetry, you set the pen down and dozed off.

“You’re not coming to the football game?” Lia flashed puppy eyes at you, and you smacked her hand playfully, swiping a french fry from her plate.

“Lia, since when have I ever gone to one?” The two of you had dropped by the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe for a quick pick-me-up during lunch hour, but one smile from the cute waiter—Yang Jeongin, if you remembered his name correctly—had dazzled Lia into ordering an extra burger combo, complete with a plate of fries. “Sports and crowds—not my thing. And I have an English project due the next day.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on! Knowing you, you’ve probably already finished it by now.”

You grinned, thinking back to your love poem and fighting the urge to cringe. You’d read it the morning after, and it had taken every fibre in your being to hold yourself back from ripping it to shreds. Piercing, catlike eyes, you’d written in one line. Silver spectacles. Long fingers on dusty pages. Shuddering, you’d stuffed it into the Neruda book before banishing them both to your locker and going about your day. Love poems are supposed to be cheesy, y/n, suck it up. It’ll only be this one time. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than your teacher would ever read it.

When you dropped by the library after school, you spotted Hana’s familiar figure by one of the cubicles. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh muted by the plexiglass windows, you saw that she was talking to a grinning Minho.

“Are you sure you’re not coming to the game on Thursday?” Hana was whining as you pushed open the doors to the library. She patted his arms playfully. “You could be on the football team if you wanted to, you know! Why don’t you try?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not that quick on my feet.”

“Well, tell you what. They’re having a party at Hyunjin’s place right after—his parents are out of town. If you don’t feel like coming to the game, at least join us at the afterparty to loosen up a little—have a little fun.” She blew him a kiss and stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder and spotting you. You instinctively froze, bracing yourself for whatever slew of insults she had for you today, but all Hana did was beam and wave at you.

As she passed you by the door, she threw you a knowing wink. “Have fun on your little study date!”

Her words made your ears grow hot again, but to your surprise, there was no trace of venom in her voice — only a lighthearted teasing, as if she had been your friend all along. Hana really did look sweet when she smiled genuinely, and you could see why she had so many people easily wrapped around her finger. Maybe people do change. Or she’s just in a good mood. Before you could shrug and turn away, you sensed Minho’s presence behind you and yelped.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, and you could swear he was suppressing a laugh. “Here to work on your project again?”

Hana’s strange exchange with you on her way out had left your mind reeling, and you scrambled to form coherent sentences. “No, I, um—I actually finished it last night. I just…” Thought I’d just drop by to say hi. But your pride turned the words to mush before they had even formed, and you ended up trailing off awkwardly.

“Really?” There was a flash of disappointment in his face, then Minho’s gaze landed on the book-borrowing register on the front desk. “Right—your book is due today. Did you want to return it?”

Your eyes widened, silently cursing at your own forgetfulness. “Um—yes,” you lied, pretending to search in your bag before giving an awkward laugh. “Yep. I think it’s in my locker—let me go get it.”

After jogging to the other side of the school, you flung open the bottom locker, making another mental note to replace your missing lock. Still catching your breath, your hand sifted through the notes and textbooks before coming up empty. Where is it? You could swear you remembered putting it there, unless—

Breath catching in your throat, you shut the locker with a mortified bang. The English classroom. You practically sprinted down the hallways, earning another dirty look from the janitor as you raced past. Bang Chan looked up in alarm when you nearly crashed into the English classroom door. The entire room was empty, save for the class president, who looked like he was helping to file the teacher’s papers.

“Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly as your eyes frantically raked the room.

“Have you—seen a book, by any chance? 100 Love Sonnets. Pablo Neruda.”

Chan frowned. “We shelve all the books after class, and if it’s one we don’t recognize, we keep it until the students come back in the morning.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”

Your heart sank, and you saw the corners of Chan’s mouth lift bemusedly.

“What’s the hurry, anyway? I thought you hated love po—”

With a groan of frustration, you left the baffled class president staring after you as you turned on your heel and back into the hallway. Your mind was racing, panic making your ears buzz. The love letter’s in there. Where the hell did I put it? You sprinted to the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe next, but only got an apologetic shrug from Jeongin even after you’d scoured every nook and cranny of the diner. The sun was already beginning to set as you trudged, defeated, back to the school. Spotting the library’s dim windows in the distance, you wrestled with your options — if it weren’t for that cursed love letter, you could’ve probably just told Minho you’d misplaced it. But now the book—along with everything you’d never dared to tell anyone, crammed onto a sheet of notebook paper—could be anywhere, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop looking until you found it. Heart heavy with dread, you did a full 180 and began walking home.

It was no use. You’d practically pulled an all-nighter tearing your room apart searching for the book— and then, the better part of the following day running around town. But no matter where you looked—the record shop, Blockbuster’s, or even the laundromat—you came up empty.

It’s like it’s disappeared entirely, you thought as the lunch ladies piled your tray with a few sad-looking burritos. The cafeteria was buzzing with teenagers jittery with caffeine and sugar, and you had to duck as a boy chucked an apple at another across the room. You passed the cheerleaders’ table, trying to avoid eye contact, but their giggly conversation carried over the chaotic commotion.

“Did you see how cute Hyunjin looked today on the field?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe Hana can talk to him for us—if he doesn’t fall for her first.” The blonde cheerleader that had spoken nudged the older girl insistently.

“Me?” There was a smile in Hana’s voice. You could feel her eyes on you as she mused, “Oh, I don’t know, Hyunjin’s not my type. I much prefer boys with—how should I put it—catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long fingers perfect for turning dusty pages…” She clasped her hands together in mock adoration, and her friends erupted in giggles.

“What the hell was that? Sounds like a cheesy love poem.”

You had frozen stiff as soon as she had uttered the words, stunned eyes finding Hana’s only a couple feet away. She gave you a winning smile—the same one you’d deemed friendly just a couple days ago—and winked.

“Give me my book back.”

You pulled her aside after the last bell had rung, voice shaking. Hana only tilted her head innocently, eyes round as a puppy’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you could spit a biting retort back at her, the taller cheerleader tapped her chin thoughtfully with one bejewelled nail. “But I might think harder if...I got a little something in return.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want?”

“Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party as my date,” Hana beamed, “and tell the office you want to change your locker.”

“You’re crazy,” you blurted, and her face immediately darkened. Dropping her voice, she leaned in closer, until her voice was right beside your ear.

“Oh, I can be even crazier. What would happen if I made copies of this little letter on Monday, hm? Or published it in the school paper for everyone to read? I’m sure Han Jisung would love that—”

Your eyes trailed down to the slip of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, the sight of your own familiar handwriting making panic surge through your veins like ice. Snatching it from her hand, you quickly began tearing it apart before noticing the calm smirk on Hana’s face.

“Photocopy, silly,” she giggled in a sing-song voice as you peered more closely at the shredded pieces, hands shaking. “Oh, all right, don’t cry. If you want the original so badly…” she leaned in again, cruel smile on her lips. “Then you might want to look in the library.”

Eyes widening, you immediately pushed her away and bolted for the stairs. “Don’t forget the deal! Thursday night,” Hana called after you, and you broke into a run.

Most of the classrooms were already empty, their dark windows reflecting your own face back at you as you hurtled past them. Your heart pounded in your chest as the library finally came into view at the end of the hallway, but you nearly came to a screeching halt when you saw that the lights had been turned off. Had Minho gone home early? Chewing your lip anxiously, you peered past the plexiglass. Aisles empty, books all shelved neatly, chairs stacked. The library was quiet as a tomb. Desperately, you tried the knob—and to your surprise, the door creaked open. Maybe he forgot to lock it. You had nothing to lose. Holding your breath, you slipped in.

Even the faint click of the door closing again sounded deafening. You rifled through the front desk first, dropping to a crouch as you inspected the carts and borrowing-bin. To your dismay, they were all empty—they must have all been re-shelved already. Heart sinking, you began tip-toeing through the shelves, fingers trembling as they ran over the laminated Dewey Decimal labels. Please, please, please…

You reached the poetry section at the back of the library, eyes squinting to try and read the spines of the books under shrouds of shadows. Poets— Nash. Naidu. Nemerov…

“Neruda,” you gasped, eyes falling on the book you had practically gone through hell searching for. 100 Love Sonnets. Almost sobbing in sheer relief, you reached out to grab it—just as another hand shot out from beside you. Your yelp of surprise broke the still, dim quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who the warm, pale fingers belonged to.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Spectacles glinting under the twilight, one hand in his pocket, nonchalant as ever, was the boy that had gotten you into this mess. Lee Minho.

As you stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, you felt as though your entire world was balancing precariously over a yawning abyss— as if one wrong move would send everything you’d spent the last two months—no, the last four years—repatching. You swallowed hard. His hand had landed a split-second later than yours, holding both you and the book in place, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his warm fingers on your chilled skin. Forcefully, you yanked the book from the shelves and out of his grasp. “The—book. I-I realised I still needed it for the project. It’s due this Friday, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “Today’s only Wednesday. Why not come back tomorrow morning?”

Shit. “I, um, promised Lia I’d go with her to the game tomorrow,” you fibbed, flipping through the book quickly, ready to grab any stray piece of paper that flew out. Nothing. “So I—need to finish the assignment today. Could you renew it for me?” Trying to plaster on an unbothered smile, you flipped through the book again. Still nothing. Had Hana lied to you?

In your peripheral, you saw Minho slowly shift his weight, crossing his arms as he mused, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. We’re getting...careful about letting students borrow books for too long. People tend to leave some...strange things in them.”

Your eyes snapped up, fingers freezing on the fluttering pages. “What—then did you—see anything? S-strange, I mean.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Minho’s eyes, and then it was gone. He cleared his throat, humming thoughtfully. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

The strange intensity of his gaze seemed to corner you into the shadows, and you swore your heart was pounding so hard it seemed to echo through the room. “Nothing,” you stammered, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I mean, I just—accidentally left—” Kill me now. You shook your head rapidly. “N-nevermind. I’m heading home.”

“Y/N—”

“Oh, one more thing.” You turned, remembering Hana’s sly words to you back in the stairwell. “You’re invited to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, after the game on Thursday.” Then, hoping you sounded more convincing than you felt, “Hana’s really counting on you to be her date.”

Minho chuckled. “You know I go to parties as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in his words, only that same, airy indifference Minho always carried himself with. “Please? Hana—I mean, it would make her really happy if you went.”

“Would you be happy?”

The strange question caught you off guard, making you look up again. Minho was no longer smiling. His hand was still resting lightly over the missing space the book had left on the shelf, and his expression looked strangely lost under the twilit sky.

“Would it make you happy if I went?” He repeated, and you felt your mouth go dry.

Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, and I won’t publish your little love letter for everyone to see on Monday. You nodded firmly, laughing in an attempt to ease the strange atmosphere that had settled over the two of you once again. “Y-yeah. Ecstatic.”

You turned on your heel, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh. If the poem wasn’t in the book, where on earth could it be? Option one: It had fallen out somewhere along the way, and hadn’t fallen into anyone’s hands. The best case scenario. Option two: Hana had been playing with you again, and she had had the original all along. Option three…

“By the way, Hana told me not to give this to you.”

You whirled around in surprise, and your eyes landed on a horribly familiar piece of notebook paper dangling from Minho’s fingers. Option three, damn it all. Mortified, you snatched it from his hand, crumpling it into your fist as he laughed lightly.

“It’s a very good poem.”

“Shut up, Lee Minho,” you wailed, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and bury you six feet under for all of eternity. “It’s a cheesy, cliché wreck.”

He hummed in amusement. “What were you writing about?”

Paralyzed, your eyes flickered towards the window before sputtering, “The—sunset. Figurative approach, you know? Emily Dickinson-inspired—”

“Mm. Then what was that quote about—” He tilted his head in thought, fingers snapping. “Catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long—” He stopped when you plugged your ears instinctively, eyes glowering at him in disbelief. If looks could kill, Minho was sure he’d now have died more times than the characters in a Shakespearean tragedy. “—was that about the sunset, too?”

“Of course,” you snapped, your voice a tad too pitchy for your liking. Damn Lee Minho and his knack for memorizing things. “Haven’t you ever heard of extended metaphors? Rest assured, Lee Minho—I will never, ever, ever—have feelings for you.” You crumpled the sheet of poetry into a ball as you spoke with a note of finality, jamming it into your back pocket for good riddance.

Minho looked unfazed, the light curve of a knowing smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he took a step towards you, making you stumble back in alarm. “‘You can cut all the flowers,” he mused, glancing down at the crumpled love letter, “‘but you cannot stop spring from coming.’”

“Wh-wha—”

“Neruda quote. Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop,” he murmured, eyes growing serious for a moment before his lips twitched with mirth, “but something tells me I deserve to hear more about that sunset from your poem.”

Gulping, you felt hot tears brimming in your eyes, and suddenly wished you were anywhere but here. This confrontation had been your worst nightmare, what you had always wanted to avoid. Your pride’ll be the end of you, y/n, you remembered Lia remarking when you’d sworn up and down that your feelings for Lee Minho were a thing of the past. And it was true—your pride had always gotten the better of you. You were a hypocrite, and a terrible one at that—always telling yourself you had gotten over that stupid, ninth-grade heartbreak, before unravelling into a nervous mess whenever Minho so much as threw a glance at you. And now, you could feel everything you’d feebly repressed for the last four years caving in. Crashing down on you like an avalanche of cheap supermarket chocolates.

“It was about you. You, alright?” You hissed, voice coming out more wounded, rather than venomous like you’d intended. “There. Are you happy now?” You were glad the shadows hid the humiliated tears beginning to roll down your cheeks, and wiped at your eyes furiously. Damn it all. So much for not crying.

“Then why didn’t you—”

“Say anything?” You breathed a short laugh. “Because I didn’t want to see you just throw it out again, okay?”

The silence that met your words was deafening, and when you finally mustered the courage to lift your gaze you saw that Minho’s look of disbelief mirrored your own.

“'Again?'”

Damn Lee Minho and his two-faced ass. Had he already forgotten? “In ninth grade. I left you a—stupid love letter in your locker, with all your other Valentines. Then I s-saw you throwing them all out, behind the school.”

“But I read every name on the cards,” Minho insisted, running a hand through his tousled hair. I left you—a stupid love letter in your locker. Your words sent his head spinning, and he felt his flustered cheeks heat up as he mumbled, “I’ve never—seen yours on any of them.”

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. Minho’s brow furrowed in vague recollection. “But I did see Hana pulling an envelope out from my locker that day. She said that—she’d heard someone had been sending chain mail on Valentine’s Day, so she was helping the principal clean them up from people’s lockers.”

Hana? Your mind flashed to the missing locks, and the cheerleader that always seemed to be hanging around your locker, and suddenly everything dawned on you. “What did the envelope look like?”

“A corner store card. With—”

“Candy hearts. Right.” You muttered, watching Minho nod slowly. Your anger faltered slightly, feeling a slight shame wash over you, but you weren’t willing to give up just yet. “That still doesn’t explain why you dump out all the gifts you get every year.”

He sighed. “Look. Why would I keep love letters from people I don’t like? That’s just...narcissistic. And I don’t...like chocolate, either,” he added as an afterthought, and you couldn’t help exhaling a short laugh at his ridiculously blunt sentence. Another silence fell between the two of you, the angry tension in the air replaced with an almost childish awkwardness.

“I really did like the poem,” Minho spoke tentatively after what felt like an eternity, and you buried your head in your hands.

“Shut up, Lee Minho, oh my g—”

“And I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” The soft edge to his voice made you stop, peeking out of your fingers to look at him questioningly.

“Why not?” You asked, swallowing hard. “You said keeping letters from someone you don’t like would be narcissistic.”

He was barely a foot away, and the sheer proximity of his face from yours made your stomach flop—with irritation or butterflies, you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. Nonetheless, a tiny voice at the back of your head told you that you were heading towards the latter.

“You know, for someone who reads so many books, you sure are dense,” Minho murmured, shaking his head.

“Wh—”

“I throw out all my Valentines every year because I never see your name on them, alright?” His expression was as careless as ever—that cool, calm facade he wore like a suit of armour—but you didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Lee Minho, you realized with a jolt, was nervous. “I...only ever wanted to receive one from you.”

Your eyes widened, hands lowering from your face in shock. The book tumbled from under your arm to the ground. “But—Hana always told me about how much you hated me.”

“Hmm.” He dropped down to pick it up before fixing his piercing eyes on yours. “Funny. She’s been telling me the same about you. How you’re a two-faced, back-stabbing...such-and-such,” he smiled at the indignant look on your face before his face grew serious. “You’ve always let people walk all over you, and you never retaliate. It’s both admirable and frustrating to watch.”

“I’m not good at confrontation,” you mumbled, still shifting your weight from one leg to the other nervously. “Every time I think I’ve finally got the guts to try and say something back, I...I get all terrified that the words’ll jumble up and I-I’ll start to cry like an idiot again—”

“You’re not an idiot,” he interrupted sternly, “You’re probably more clever—and genuine—than everyone in our grade combined. Your thesis was brilliant.”

You snorted incredulously. “Then why did you keep attacking it every class?”

“It was the only time I could get you to talk to me.”

“Weirdo,” you muttered, but you couldn’t find it in you to make the word sound insulting anymore. Minho chuckled, hand grazing yours as he handed the book back to you. You didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he.

“It is weird. I must be out of my mind. Whenever you look at me, it’s like the whole world stops, and suddenly every cheesy line of poetry I’ve ever read just seems to make sense.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were more than certain Minho could hear it. The way he was looking at you was nearly overwhelming, stomach fluttering with a feeling so strange and foreign it terrified you. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that you would be here, in this delicate, unreal moment, and you felt all your insecurities threatening to swallow you up again. Out of everyone in the school, he likes you? A voice snickered at the back of your mind. Don’t kid yourself.

Shrinking away, you mumbled, “Y-you—don’t have to say stuff like that, you know. I mean, i-if you feel bad because of the letter and everything, you don’t have to pretend you lik—”

There was a flash of an exasperated smile on Minho’s lips. Before you could finish, his hand reached to pull your chin towards him again, and suddenly his mouth was pressed flush to yours. You froze, lips parting in surprise, but the kiss was light—barely even a brush of soft skin, and bringing with it the faint scent of vanilla and old books. Minho pulled away almost as quickly as he’d pulled you in, stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

That seemed to send what was left of your hesitation crumbling into dust. You grabbed the collar of his dress shirt to pull him back in, and the library fell silent again.

Minho kissed the way he talked—soft but firm, and always leaving you struggling to catch your breath. Each touch had the growing intensity of something long overdue, starting out careful—as though you were treading over the newly shattered, four-year-old misunderstandings of one another—before your hands instinctively tangled in his hair and Minho pulled you in impossibly closer. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against yours, the crumpled poem and Neruda’s sonnets long forgotten on the carpeted ground.

The click of the library door opening sent the two of you flying apart, Minho hitting his head on the shelf with a comical thud. The kiss left you dazed and out of breath, and Minho’s face was flushed as both of you whipped around to see a livid Hana at the front of the library. Mouth opening and closing in silent fury, she shot you a death glare before storming out the door, leaving both you and Minho blinking after her.

Several moments passed, the whiplash of the unexpected interruption having sent both of your heads reeling. Then, the two of you broke into stunned laughter, slowly sliding down to the carpet as you doubled over in giggles.

When you finally stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Minho’s gaze was fixed fondly on your face. You poked his cheek. “You’re blushing, asshole.”

He didn’t respond, eyes falling to your lips again, and you felt your own face flush. “W-what?”

Minho grinned. “And you have drool on your chin again.”

“Hey, Minho! Minho, you won’t believe this!”

That enthusiastic voice belonged to none other than Han Jisung—voice of Levanter High’s morning announcements, and notorious school gossip. He hurtled down the bustling hall towards you and Minho, hunching over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Shit, ‘sung—did you kill somebody?”

The dark-haired boy shook his head rapidly. “Did you see the school newspaper?”

Your mouth went dry, Hana’s lingering threats still ringing clear in your ears. Jisung continued excitedly, “Two people submitted anonymous love poems over the weekend—at the same time! Can you believe it? I’m supposed to cover it on the announcements in a bit!”

Two? You peered at Minho, who hadn’t looked at you, and glimpsed a knowing glint in his eyes. “W-who submitted them?”

“Well, Lee Hana was handing out copies of the first one to everyone first thing this morning. But when I showed her the other one, she refused to tell me who the first belonged to.” He pouted.

Minho looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have a copy of the paper, ‘sung?”

The dark-haired boy grinned. “Yeah, ‘course! You guys can have mine. See ya!”

As Jisung disappeared into the crowd of students, you turned back to Minho. He had been in the middle of putting a new lock on your locker, and was now setting the combination on his own. “They’re matching,” he’d pointed out when you’d gone into town together to buy them, and you’d groaned.

“Gro-oss.” The old, PDA-hating you would have probably thrown them away on the spot, but now the sight made you smile like a dork. If you can’t beat em, join ‘em.

You looked down to read the papers Jisung had deposited into your hands. Sure enough, on the left column, you spotted a photocopy of your own love letter. But on the right, there was a completely new one—and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who the anonymous writer was.

“You know, Minho,” you deadpanned, “I don’t think either of us are cut out to be poets.”

“I stayed up all night writing that love letter, you know!” Minho exclaimed indignantly, and you just shook your head laughing. “But you’re right. I could feel Neruda turning in his grave.”

“You’re going to be the end of me, Lee Minho.”

His face broke into a mischievous grin at that, pinning you playfully to the lockers and stealing another kiss as you yelped in surprise.

“Can it be a happy ending?”

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (8)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.3k warnings: sweet happy beautiful bucky, a unpleasant reminder of the past, whiplash of emotion, the angst I warned you about 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

Bucky wasn’t quite sure how to hold onto this feeling without suffocating it.  

It had been nearly a year since he’d felt even an ounce of the relief like what washed through his body when you walked through the door. All it took was a single smile from across the room, the soft brush of your hair over your fingers as you nervously tucked it behind your ear, and he was gone.  

Enough for his cheeks to ache from smiling. Enough for his stomach to twist and knot from laughter. Enough for the wrinkles by his eyes to draw long and pronounced— the physical embodiment of joy upon his face.  

He wasn’t walking on eggshells, waiting for the carpet to be dragged out from under his feet, for the paralyzing darkness of an empty void to consume him whole. The shadows weren’t lingering in his wake, itching to clench their claws into his spine and drag him away from the one thing that finally drew light back into his life.  

For the first time since he stepped back on American soil, Bucky Barnes was happy. Truly and honest to God, happy.  

“So! What do you think?” your voice called to him, breaking the trance he’d been in. 

“Hmm?” Bucky blinked a few times to adjust to his surroundings. You were laughing at him, a hand over your lips in an effort to muffle the sound. Behind you, a woman directed a pointed stare in your direction despite the busy chatter inside Luciana’s.  

“The book, Bucky,” you grinned, tapping on the edge of the binding.  

He glanced down. The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue sat propped in his right hand, the clip you’d given him the first day of book club nestled in at the center to keep the pages open. Truthfully, he hadn’t read a single word of it since he sat down with you an hour ago. His attention had been better kept watching how you tugged your lower lip between your teeth in concentration, how your eyes widened at a particularly suspenseful part of your chapter, how you clicked your nails against the coffee mug in perfect rhythm with the café music.  

“It’s good,” he said, though you pouted at him. 

“Bucky you’ve been on the same page for twenty minutes!”  

Busted. He shrugged, a laugh in his breath.  

“Guess there were better things to look at.” 

Your lips parted for a second, caught off guard, before you settled back into your seat. Your hands wrung out in front of you, eyes darting down the floor. It wasn’t easy to make you flustered, but damn if it was Bucky’s favorite feeling in the world.  

“Don’t insult my books like that, Barnes,” you teased, lingering smile upon your face.  

“Wouldn’t call it an insult,” he said simply. “There’s not much that can hold a candle when you’re around.” 

The stun didn’t leave your face for a few seconds. You stared at him, then glanced around the room nervously as if he’d said something incredibly intimate. He couldn’t remember the last time this came so easy to him – the flirting, the charm. It was something he’d thrived on before the war and now, it seemed you brought that side out of him again.  

“You’re a charmer today,” you observed, laughing through the nervous energy. “What’s gotten into you?” 

“Nothing.” Bucky shrugged, reaching across the table to break off a piece of your pastry and plopped it into his mouth. “I’m happy. Can I be happy?” 

You nodded quickly, almost a little too enthusiastically, with a smile so wide on your face he wondered if it were possible for it to touch your ears.  

“Yeah. Yeah, you can be happy.” The words left your lips almost breathlessly. You were looking at him like he was the goddamn sun and damn if that didn’t tug straight at his heart. “I like you happy.” 

“I like me happy, too,” Bucky chuckled. He glanced up at the clock. “Come on, we should head over to the VA.” 

You downed the rest of your coffee in a single chug and set the cup on the counter. Luciana waved at you as you moved towards the exit, Bucky in tow, and she winked at him as he passed by. He nodded, offering her a tight-lipped smile as he stepped out into the cool Autumn air. Your hand naturally slipped into his and you tugged him along the sidewalk.  

“Promise me you’ll actually pay attention to Steve’s spiel instead of staring at me the whole time,” you teased him as you walked over the crosswalk, nudging his side.  

Steve was giving a presentation at the VA for the open house; explaining the benefits, the groups, different opportunities, and the respite rooms. It was a big deal apparently and helped to bring a lot of former soldiers into the fold. It was one of your favorite days because there was usually an increase of members at book club for a few weeks after.  

“No guarantees,” Bucky replied, face as even as he could manage it. That was, until you swatted his chest and he burst into laughter, drawing the attention of a group of teenagers who eyed him as they walked by. Their lingering stare meant nothing to him when he stood at your side.  

When you reached the VA, you pushed open the door, considering his hand was otherwise occupied, and led him inside. There were dozens of people in the lobby, certainly more than he’d ever seen inside. Men and women were mingling around the tables, some sitting on the couches, with paper plates of cheese and crackers from the grocery store.  

Tony stumbled by carrying about four boxes filled with cookies, barely keeping his balance.  

“I could use a little help, kid!” he called, eyeing you as he frantically made his way to the kitchen.  

“Coming, Tony!” You turned to Bucky, smile still present on your face as you ran a hand along his arm in comforting sweeps. “Will you be alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m good. Go.” 

Maybe if he looked close enough, he might have seen a well of pride on your face, but you didn’t give him the chance before you leaned up and pressed a kiss straight to his lips— no cares for the crowd in the room or the fact that Sam and Steve were lingering around the VA somewhere. Bucky couldn’t find it in himself to worry about the stares because, hell, maybe he wanted people to know you were the woman he had the privilege of kissing. 

“Go,” Bucky said again, pulling away from you reluctantly as a clanging could be heard from the kitchen, followed by an aggravated moan which could have only belonged to Tony Stark. You pouted, stealing one last kiss before bolting down the hall and out of sight.  

Bucky spent a few extra seconds staring down the end of the empty hallway before he turned back to the room. The crowd didn’t bother him as much as it might have a few months earlier. He didn’t feel the same rush of anxiety in his veins as he felt on busy streets, but it didn’t mean he was explicitly comfortable either.  

So, he kept to the outskirts of the room, standing along the wall and observing quietly from the corners.  

The event seemed to be going well. He’d spotted Steve mingling with a group of older guys with long white beards and biker jackets, laughing as they told him about their adventures biking cross country. Sam found his way over to the couch beside a few of the guests who had busied themselves with the food instead and even found a way to get them talking to one another. Bucky kept his hand pressed into his pocket, a semblance of a smile on his face as he watched Sam pick a chip of the plate of the woman he was talking to without reservation. 

It was a good place. A respite. Just like Sam had told him it would be. Bucky found a sense of normalcy in this building he couldn’t have hoped to find out in the real world alone— a belonging – and he knew a lot of that had to do with you.  

He was just about to head down to the kitchen to see if you needed any help when he heard a voice that ran like ice through his veins. What it had said was indistinguishable, but Bucky could recognize the thick grovel of the tone almost anywhere. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, trying to remain as small as possible, as he spotted Jack Rollins emerging from the entrance.

With slicked jet-black hair, hardened angular lines upon his face, and a permanent scowl etching down on his features, Jack Rollins was not a man Bucky ever wanted to see again. He spoke with the two men in his wake, gesturing to a woman who was standing quietly by herself, reading the flyers on the bulletin board, as if he were stalking prey.  

Bucky’s heart was thunderous as he took a step back. His black slammed against the wall, catching the breath in his lungs. His fingertips brushed over the chill of the pealing wallpaper, trying to find his grounding before Rollins noticed he was there. But luck was never so kind to him.  

It only took one scan of the room before Rollin’s eyes landed on Bucky. He stilled, just as surprised to see him, but then, something dark twisted upon his features. 

“Sergeant Barnes!” he called over the crowd, a jeering sort of laugh in his voice. 

Bucky gritted his teeth, forcing himself to meet Rollins in the eye. “Jack.” 

“Been over a year, man. How you been?” Rollins was conversational only in statement. His tone was near threatening, his men following behind him like a shadow. Dark eyes trailed down along the empty sleeve on Bucky’s side, a smile rising on his face.  

Bucky tried to pretend as though he didn’t notice. “Recovering. You?” 

“Yeah, I bet you are.” Rollins chuckled. Then, he puffed his chest up. “I’ve been working for the private sector.”  

That didn’t surprise him. Rollins always had an affinity for the darkest parts of the job overseas. He took too much pleasure in the use of his weapon, paid no mind to the destruction left behind in his wake. Rollins was exactly the sort of man the military hoped to produce; follow chain of command without question, find purpose in your mission, execute without remorse. Seemed he found more of the same when he returned home. Only this time for a bigger paycheck.  

Bucky could still picture him dressed in army camouflage with the weight of near forty pounds of combat gear on his back, finger always on the trigger. It felt a bit like that now, Bucky realized, as Rollins narrowed his eyes as if he were going in for the kill.  

“You know, Barnes,” Rollins shrugged, exchanging a snide grin with his friends, “I’m a little surprised you’d even show your face around here after what happened. Takes guts.” 

Bucky swallowed as though there weren’t blades in his throat. He tried not to let the hitch in his breath show or how his stomach dropped about ten feet below the surface. Instead, he pressed his lips together into a thin line, holding Rollins’ stare as if he were made of stone.   

“You should leave,” Bucky said, his voice low enough to break gravel.  

“Me?” Rollins mocked, laughing as he turned to his friends. Then, facing Bucky again as a darkness clouded over his features. “That's rich, coming from you.” 

Bucky held his breath. He tried to draw on images of you sitting across from him at Luciana’s, how you smiled at him, how you made him feel like he didn’t carry such a heavy weight upon his back. He pictured you curled up next to him in your bed, imprints of the pillow on your cheeks and the covers pulled up tight to your chin. He imagined how your hand felt in his, how it brushed along his back, how your lips felt on his cheek, on his mouth.  

But those pictures started to fade the longer Rollins stared at him, that devilish smirk upon his face as he ran a hand along his jawline, cracking his knuckles against the bone. Those comforting images of you sunk into the darkness, pulled from him somewhere far beyond where he could reach and suddenly, he felt like he was standing on a pillar at the center of the ocean, nothing but violent waves surrounding him for miles. Alone.  

“I mean, what the fuck are you doing here, Barnes?” Rollins jeered, picking up a cookie from the table, inspecting it for a moment before he tossed it back on the platter. It crumbled on impact. “You think you even deserve to step foot in this building after what you did?”  

“It didn’t go down like you think,” Bucky shot back, his voice uneven, wavering, as if he didn’t quite believe it himself.  

He tried to repeat the words that Sam had worked to instill in him again and again for months after he came home. They never seemed to stick until the last few weeks but now – now they felt as far away as ever.  

I did everything I could. 

Some things are outside of my control.  

It wasn’t my fault. 

He wasn’t sure he believed that with Jack Rollins circling around him like a vulture, amused by the distress quickly forming against Bucky’s features.  

From across the room, Sam stood up from his place on the couch, a hand gesturing over to Steve as he caught sight of Rollins. Bucky retreated in his stance, feeling as though Rollins was towering over him, his chest caving in. Rollin smirked, teeth bared and ready to strike.  

With venom like precision, Rollins spat, “You’re the reason half our unit is dead, asshole.” 

It hit like a sucker punch to the gut, made him stumbled back a few paces as if he were clocked in the chest. The initial blow only lasted for a few seconds before the overwhelming sense of shame seeped back into his veins, slipping through his blood like muddied waters and stealing away the careful, steady progress he’d made.  

Then, a lingering acceptance as it cleared him to the surface. 

A numbness took over, casting back to the shadows inside his mind. It was what he’d been waiting for since the day he’d stepped foot off that plane – for someone to confirm all the destruction and self-loathing he’d felt since that day.  

Rollins was right.  

I could have saved them. 

I could have prevented all of it. 

It was my fault. 

He’d been foolish to convince himself otherwise. 

“Hey!” Sam barked, jutting out in front of Bucky and shoving a hand to the middle of Rollin’s chest as he attempted to draw closer. “What the fuck is your problem, man?” 

“My problem? My problem is you’re letting just about anyone walk through those doors!” Rollins shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Bucky. “Your buddy here is responsible for eight of our own coming home in caskets!” 

Bucky flinched, visibly recoiling as if something had burned him, and it seemed to be the reaction Rollins was looking for because a snide grin slid up along his cheeks.  

Steve was suddenly on his left, a hand pressed to his shoulder. He was whispering something in his ear, but he couldn’t quite hear him. He could hardly make out what Sam was shouting as he attempted to push Rollins towards the door. A crowd was gathering – standing in watch to observe the shame of a soldier who should have burned in the desert with his friends.  

“What’s going on?” 

Bucky’s heart dropped at the sound of your voice as you appeared on his right. He didn’t know how long you’d been there or what you heard, but it was the first time he ever regretted allowing himself the luxury of your presence, of your warmth and kindness. You should have been an anchor beside him, but he could feel the rope slipping from his grip, letting him sink down into the ocean or float high into the clouds – somewhere far away from where you were.  

You ran your hand along his arm, trying to thread an ounce of comfort back into his body, but he was rigid as stone. The touch was paralyzing. It was a reminder of his emptiness, of his ill attempt to be worthy of your affection. You seemed to notice as you stared up at him, worry filling your eyes.  

“Ah, so you’ve got a girl now, too?” Rollins sneered towards Bucky, shoving Sam aside.  

“Leave her out of this,” Bucky warned, his voice returning to him only in your defense. He stepped out in front of you, shielding you from Rollins’ gaze.  

It only seemed to amuse him more. “Tell me, sweetheart. What’s it like? I mean, can he even get the job done? You wanna try being with a real man again?” 

It was Sam that roared in response. “Watch your fucking mouth!” 

Your hand rested on Bucky’s shoulder blades as if you were trying to ease him but he felt like he was on fire. Rollins shoved Sam aside to get a better look at you, a predator going in for the kill.  

Rollins’ cold eyes stared directly into yours and Bucky felt his breathing stop.  

“Did you know half of our unit died under his watch?”  

Everything became white noise after that. Bucky didn’t dare turn to look at your reaction, nor could he hear Sam’s defense or Steve’s angry shouts as Rollins continued his taunts. He didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly, Rollins was on the floor. Sam was shaking his hand out, holding his fist against his chest. 

Rollins stumbled his way back to his feet with a vengeance, folding his hands into fists as he charged at Sam. 

“Get him out of here!” Steve’s muffled voice called to you as the crowd began to swarm in. Former soldiers joining the chaos, cheering or barreling fists. A man bumped into Bucky’s shoulder, but there was no trace of a reaction on his face. He was empty. He was numb.  

Bucky could vaguely feel your hand as you slipped it into his pocket, drawing his own to intertwine between your fingers and you tugged him down the hall. He knew better than to look over his shoulder at the mess he was leaving behind.  

*** 

You took Bucky into the empty library, quickly closing the door behind you to muffle the sound of the shouting down the hall. Bucky stood at the head of the couch, his eyes downcast.  

“Are you alright?” You knew there was no good answer. It was a foolish question. And still -- you asked. 

Your hands slid along Bucky’s chest, up to his shoulders to try and draw some of the tension away, and for the first time, he recoiled under your touch. Your hands quickly dropped down to your sides as you took a few steps back, hands held tightly in front of you. A flash of remorse covered his features as he looked at you, but then the stone swept back in its place and hardened the softened edges you adored. You pushed aside the splinter inside your chest.  

“Who was that guy anyway? He seems like a real piece of work.” You laughed, though it was tense and forced. Bucky didn’t so much as crack a smile.  

It was silent for a moment. The only sound coming from the low hum of the radiator in the corner of the room. Bucky’s gaze was fixated on the carpet, staring at the years’ faded stains and the dust bunnies at the foot of the couch. A terrible aching tugging down on his lips, on his eyes, on his cheeks, and he barely resembled the man who had teased you over coffee at Luciana’s just an hour earlier.  

“He was right, though.” 

You swallowed, daring to ask, “what do you mean?” 

“I'm the reason half my unit is dead,” Bucky replied flatly. When he looked at you again, you found his eyes were red, his lips swollen from chewing on the edges. His right hand had indents in his palm from where he’d dug his nails into the skin. Your stomach lurched.  

“Oh, Bucky.” Your heart broke at the sight of him. “That... That can’t be true.” 

He didn’t say anything, but the grit in his teeth was enough to tell you that he believed it. You’d only seen glimpses of how the war had touched him, how it cast shadows over the man he’d been before he stepped on that plane and adorned the uniform, but now – now, it felt like those shadows had consumed him whole. He couldn’t so much as see the soft rise of the sun over his shoulder. He was too swept up in the embrace of darkness. The light couldn’t touch him where he stood shielded by night.  

“Why don’t we go to my place?” you offered, inching a step closer. When he didn’t retreat, you gathered his hand into your own. While he didn’t pull away again, you could feel the reluctance in his grip, the rigidity in his stance. “I can make dinner and we'll throw on a movie, okay? Let’s just get out of here.” 

Your right hand slid along the side of his face, cupping at his cheek. He usually leaned into the touch, pressed a kiss to the inside of your palm. Instead, the most he could force out was a tight-lipped smile that did not touch his eyes. You could practically feel how hard he was clenching his jaw, the muscle tired and aching. Still, he nodded. 

As you led him out the back exit of the VA, you glanced behind you to see Rollins sitting on the floor, nursing a bloody nose as a police officer stood over him, jotting down notes as he spoke with Steve. Sam caught your eye for a second, nodding in your direction. A relief washed through you and you tugged Bucky outside before anyone could notice him slip out.  

It was silent the whole walk to your apartment. It wasn’t entirely unusual, but it was the first time the air carried a lingering sense of discomfort in it. You wondered what was going on in Bucky’s head, how badly he’d construed whatever Rollins had said to him, even before you arrived. Sam had told you of Bucky’s self-destructive habit of carrying guilt far heavier than he could carry, guilt that didn’t belong to him. He seemed to welcome it like it was made for him. He didn’t mind if it ripped him apart and left him broken and empty when it was done. He seemed to think it was what he deserved.  

You squeezed his hand, hoping it might draw back a sense of comfort, but he kept his eyes forward on the empty streets ahead. His hand was little more than limp in your hold.  

*** 

Bucky was just on the edge of sleep when it began to creep up on him. Slow at first, and then, sudden, in violent flashes. 

Sweltering heat. The low rumble of a jeep. An infectious laugh on his left and the cold compress of a gun in his hands. A sudden stop.  

Bucky gritted his teeth, trying to turn away from the images attempting to draw him under, to sweep him beyond the current, to drown him in the darkest parts of the depth. But the riptide caught hold of his leg and forced him underwater.  

Heavy equipment on his back. Sand under his feet. The sun blinding in his eyes.  

He swallowed, but his throat was lined in rust. It burned. He couldn’t breathe.  

A reflection over a valley. Someone shouting. Screaming. Warning. Frantic.  

The kid. Get to the kid! 

Then – the heat of a fire scorching his skin. Ringing in his ears. Muffled. Agonizing silence. Blood on the sand, on his shoes, dripping down his side and soaking into his uniform.  

Pain. So much pain. So much pain. So much— 

Bucky’s eyes shot open. He sucked in a breath of air and it came in short and shallow, barely filling his lungs, and he was panting for more. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, gasping for breath until he took enough in that the dizziness started to subside. His forehead was lined in sweat, his right hand shaking uncontrollably as he gripped at the sheets.  

It was as mild as it’s ever been – the nightmares. Usually, he woke up screaming, his voice so raw it ached until morning. He thrashed and kicked and drew blood until something finally jarred him awake. He’d broken the lamp beside his bed four times in the weeks after he came home. It was violent and messy, and it was a damn miracle he’d only felt a sliver of it tonight.  

But it had been so long since he had one. He almost thought they had finally released him from their hold before Rollins showed up. For a while, they let him be happy. He should have known better than to expect it to last.  

The mattress dipped slightly behind him and with a sharp hilt, Bucky suddenly remembered where he was.  

He turned over his shoulder to find you laying on the bed beside him, hair cast up and around you against the pillow, eyes closed, the steady rhythm of your breaths indicating you were still fast asleep. He stilled for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the light scrunch in your nose.  

You’d tried so hard to get him to smile the whole evening after what happened at the VA. Constant touches to his cheeks, along his arm, playing absentmindedly with his hand. You made him dinner and curled up against him as you put on a movie that you were certain would turn his mood around, but he remained stoic and cold until you finally resigned to the bedroom.  

He could tell how exhausted you were. Even reaching for his hand, there was a helplessness in your grasp, but you’d begged him to stay, insisting you didn’t want him to be alone after what happened at the VA. You held him tight to your chest, told him over and over again that you didn’t care what Rollins said, you knew he was a good man and that was all that mattered. 

Bucky wanted so badly to believe that.  

But here you were – so beautiful, a light, something good in his life he didn’t deserve.  

Sam would kill him for giving into those thoughts again, but all he had in his head was violence and agony and there you were – so peaceful and soft and kind. He'd taint you with all the mess threatening to break through his seams. He’d hurt you. He'd break you. You couldn’t hold him together no matter how hard you tried. He didn’t deserve such kindness. Today reminded him of that.  

Bucky leaned in and pressed a short kiss to your temple. It was feather light and still, you sighed in your sleep. He tried not to notice when the corners of your lips curved up into a smile.  

Then, he crept out of the room, stealing one last look at you as you turned onto your side, arms crossed over your chest protectively. Something tugged inside his chest, begging him to stay. He could feel it pushing him back toward the bed, to your embrace and the comfort it brought, but he turned his back. He ignored his every instinct to return to your side and dragged his feet of the bedroom instead.  

Despite his reluctance, he found himself lingering on the photograph in your hallway of the Air Force pilot; sandy blonde hair, a tight-lipped smile, features that made him look younger than he probably was. A pang of jealousy wretched into his stomach at the sight of this nameless man. Shame quickly followed. 

You never spoke of the man in the photo – the nameless Air Force pilot who stood at your side in front of your parents. The way you pressed out a smile despite your tears, the position of your stance angled closer to the pilot as if to preserve your last remaining moments together, made Bucky question what had happened to this man. This was clearly a man you had loved. Might still love. 

Bucky didn’t dare allow himself to wonder if he had ever measured up. He supposed now he would not get the chance. 

Bucky let out a sigh as he turned away from the picture. He made it all the way to the door before he heard the squeak of the floor boards behind him. 

“Bucky?” 

Sleep was still etched in your voice. You yawned as you folded your arms, squinting at him to adjust to the dim light in the kitchen. Bucky clenched his jaw, reluctantly turning to face you.  

“It’s the middle of the night,” you said, eyes flickering to the clock above the stove. It was then you must have noticed the jacket draped over his shoulders, boots on his feet, hand begrudgingly releasing the door knob. Your face fell. “Where are you going?” 

He didn’t know what to say. Was there an easy way to break your heart? Was there any excuse that could allow both of you to walk away from this unharmed? There was no good answer, but his silence certainly was worse.  

“Bucky?” you tried again and he could hear the inflection of concern etched into your tone. You took a step closer to him and he held himself firm. He was stone now. It was what he had to be.  

“I’m sorry,” he muttered out, voice low, though he met your eye. “I can’t do this.” 

If you were still half asleep a moment ago, you weren’t anymore. Your eyes widened, lips parting. Your arms fell down to your sides.  

“What... What are you talking about?” you exhaled, barely above a whisper. He could hear the hurt in your voice, the confusion, and he hated himself for it. You stepped closer, reaching out for his hand. “Please, just come back to bed. You look like you haven't slept for—” 

Bucky pulled his hand away the moment you touched his fingers. It forced a hitch in your breath, a step back. You hadn’t expected him to recoil from you like that. Two times in the same day. You were losing him, the realization clear in your eyes. He was slipping and he would not take the tether as you threw it to him.  

“This is about what that man said at the VA, isn’t it?” you asked timidly, your lip quivering. You shook your head, trying to hold back tears though Bucky could practically hear the tension from the lump in your throat. “He was... he was just being cruel. I don’t believe a word of it. And neither does Sam or Steve – the people that love you, Bucky. Don’t give in into him. Don’t let him win.” 

Bucky didn’t say anything, rendering his reaction colder than you deserved. 

You reached out for him again, a habit, though you pulled your hand back to your chest before you could touch him. It was shaking.  

“Honey, please,” you tried again, unwilling to give up on him like you should. “Come get some rest and maybe you’ll feel better in the morning. Just... don’t go. Don’t be alone with this.” 

You were begging. He could hear it in your voice. The desperation. And still—Bucky offered you nothing in return. 

He sank so far inside himself you couldn’t reach beyond the cliffside to offer your hand. All it took was a single push. He was already standing so close to the edge. Rollins had set a hand on his back, like an old friend, like an enemy, and shoved. Bucky didn’t even try to catch his fall.  

“Whatever this is...” Bucky murmured and eyes focused down at the tile, unable to look at you as he broke your heart, “it’s over.” 

His heart was splintering as he said it and still, he turned and left without another word. He didn’t wait for your response, didn’t wait to see whether his cruelty had ended in tears, and closed the door behind him. You didn’t attempt to follow.  

You’d understand eventually, he convinced himself. Even a woman as compassionate and loving as you couldn't possibly love a man so broken, with jagged edges and open wounds, with shards of glass embedded inside him and poison in his touch. Empty and hollow. Broken.  

[samstree]

and the wolf was nowhere to be found (1/3)

In which Jaskier chooses to lie, until he can no longer tell the truth.

(lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, geralt apologizes, post mountain, miscommunication, rated teen, read on AO3)

A big thanks to @wanderlust-t and @a-kind-of-merry-war for the prompt! <3

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4]

“You are gonna run after him again, just like that? Don’t you remember what he did to you? What you went through?”

Essi leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching as Jaskier packs a second bag.

“Come one, poppet. Geralt was having a hard time back then, and now he’s come all the way to Oxenfurt to apologize.

“So what?”

“So I’m forgiving him.”

She grumbles a few rude words regarding the witcher’s lineage.

“Hey! That’s not nice.”

“And this is way too easy! Why can’t you see a disaster waiting to happen until it hits you in the face?” Essi exclaims. “Do you know what I would have done? I would make him grovel! Give him the cold shoulder. Or…or at least play it cool for a while longer so he knows not to take you for granted again! Sorry, but I’m…not like you.”

“Um…excuse you. I am plenty cool!”

“There’s nothing cool about being utterly in love and then getting cast aside over and over again, Jaskier. You know that.”

Jaskier sighs, walks to Essi and pulls her into a tight hug, all his scattered doublets ignored.

“I’m going to be okay,” he tries to tuck her curls away from her eyes but fails.

“Are you?” When she pulls back, there’s something inscrutable in those blue eyes, the curtain of blonde hair obscuring her emotions. “When you came down from the mountain, the way you couldn’t even … I don’t know. I just need to make sure it won’t happen again.”

“It—” Jaskier opens his mouth to make an easy promise, but finds the words choking in his throat. “I, um—”

Essi squeezes him on the shoulder. “He’s apologized, profusely from what you told me, and he’s being nice now. He will certainly be nice for a while, but what happens after he wins you back? What’s preventing him from hurting you again?”

Jaskier has no answers for her, so he resorts to giving her another hug.

“At least, think about my cold shoulder tactic. Sometimes people need the reminder, just so they know what they can easily lose.”

“Essi—”

“Think about it.”

She presses a small kiss on Jaskier’s cheek and leaves him to his packing. Outside the window comes the familiar sound of Roache’s hooves, clicking against the cobblestone.

Jaskier straightens his tunic and lets out a heave. He can see Geralt is being good now, friendly even, after all these years of denying their friendship. Now, the witcher is even waiting downstairs to begin their next journey.

Essi is just being overly protective, Jaskier decides.

He winds down the stairs and finds Geralt cooing at Roach. The urge to melt in those golden amber eyes is overwhelming.

“We good?” Geralt takes Jaskier’s bags and secures them on Roach, side by side with his saddlebags.

“Good,” Jaskier lies.

 ---

The truth is, Jaskier has heard of this so-called “cold shoulder” tactic. He’s even contemplated it for longer than he’s willing to admit. Every time Geralt dismissed him as a friend, brushed him off, Jaskier couldn’t help but want to retaliate with equal measure.

What if he’s the one to give Geralt a time-out? What if when Geralt tells him to fuck off, he just…leaves? The same idea churned in Jaskier’s stomach for two decades, but in the end, he knows the answer—he can never bring himself to go through it. His feet would carry him back to Geralt before even taking a step away.

He was left anyway.

But now…

Jaskier can’t afford to be left again. Essi was right. He isn’t sure if he can pick himself up again. He barely managed it the first time.

Jaskier lets out an audible scoff as he comes to the realization. He’s going to do it. The cold shoulder tactic. It’s so cheesy that it feels like something only school girls would use to get attention from a crush. Keep your distance, string him along a little. That’s how you get him to notice you exist—

“Something funny?” Geralt turns on horseback, sunlight peaking through his silver hair, a curious frown between his brows. He’s towering, beautiful. He has always been the most beautiful person Jaskier knows, even if he doesn’t know it.

Jaskier strums an absent chord on his lute. “Just something Essi said.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nudges Roach forward. “I was thinking… You’ve never seen a basilisk, have you?”

“No?”

“There are rumors about a nest in the next town. Want to see it?”

A hint of smile hints at Geralt’s lips, and Jaskier’s heart almost leaps out of his throat. A basilisk hunt is one he’s been dying to watch for years, if not decades. He’s drooling with excitement just thinking about the ballad that will certainly sweep the continent off its feet.

“Of course I want—" The sentence stops in its tracks. Jaskier bites his tongue to hide the slip. “You know what, I think I’ll stay in town. This new song needs some polishing before its debut. I’m sure a big witcher such as yourself doesn’t need a bard’s moral support for a meager basilisk, right?”

Jaskier adds a wink for good measure, but Geralt is not amused. He’s staring from his vantage point, his expression inexplicable. Is it really so shocking that Jaskier will turn Geralt down this once, after all this time?

“I understand.” Geralt pauses before continuing, almost too carefully. “Perhaps I can help? Sing it for me tonight?”

“Sing it…for you?” Jaskier asks, dumbfounded. The lute in his hands suddenly feels a lot weightier than it is.

“You wanted my review for so long, Jaskier. I’m giving it to you now. I’m sure your playing will be…nice.”

Geralt looks at him with hope in his eyes, and Jaskier can’t help but let his ego grow a little. It’s unbelievable that a simple refusal is what got Geralt to finally say anything positive about his music. The tiny triumph fills his chest with unexpected giddiness.

“Maybe I will. We shall see,” he replies. His fingers strike another chord.

Jaskier feels a spring in his steps, urging him forward to the mare’s steady gait. Golden amber eyes are burning a hole into his back, but he doesn’t dare to look back lest the tiny bubble of this perfect moment break.

 ---

Night falls, and Jaskier scribbles down another line. The door opens and Geralt drags his feet into their shared room.

Jaskier makes no effort to get up.

Once upon a time, he would have raced across the room to greet Geralt, checked for injuries and fussed over any scrapes and cuts, all the while getting dismissed with the witcher’s grumbled words. He’d help remove those heavy armors when Geralt’s muscles ache from exhaustion and get ichor all over himself.

He will not do that tonight.

Play it cool, Essi’s words echo in his memory. Right, he’s doing things differently now.

Jaskier fixes his gaze on the notebook in his lap and listens as Geralt shuffles around the room, putting everything back in place. One by one, his armor pieces drop in the corner of the room.

“How was it?” he asks with the most nonchalant tone as if he’s just noticed the other man’s existence.

“Fine. The basilisk’s dead.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier chooses the single hum uncharacteristically as Geralt puts his swords against the doorframe and sits down on the single chair.

He’s so still, hovering even.

“What?” Jaskier finally looks at him. Geralt, as he claimed, looks fine, with only a smudge of a black ichor sticking to his hair. A frown appears between his brows.

Adorable.

Jaskier shakes the thought quickly.

“Your new song?” Geralt prompts.

“Oh yeah. Never mind. I don’t feel like singing.”

It’s another lie. A necessary one, Jaskier tells himself.

“You,” Geralt says, raising an eyebrow, “don’t feel like singing?”

Jaskier clutches the notebook to his chest almost defensively, not sure what to do with the accusation. Is it a tragedy that Geralt knows him like the back of his hand? Or is it a shame that Jaskier is indeed buzzing with excitement to test out this song, with the most important person in his life?

“Well, I don’t.”

Jaskier keeps his chin up and scrambles off the bed to put away his books and pens. Geralt’s intent gaze is on his back again.

“Twenty years, and I’ve never known you to turn down an opportunity to sing.”

“I guess you don’t know me that well,” Jaskier bites back with a force that seems to come out of nowhere. “The bard may not want to entertain all the time, darling.”

The endearment sounds false, more like a jab. He lets out a dry chuckle and hopes to ease the tension but to no avail. Geralt’s eyes are wide with surprise. So Jaskier reaches for his bedroll as a distraction, but only serves to make the confusion deepen on Geralt’s face.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier lays it by the fire, on the soft rug that magically seems clean enough. It should be self-explanatory, but apparently not because Geralt is still staring quizzically.

“Sleeping.”

Geralt looks at the double bed and then back at Jaskier. “On the floor?”

“Thought I’d give you the space. I know how keyed up you are after the potions.”

Jaskier can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing as more words he doesn’t mean comes out of his mouth. He crosses his legs on the bedroll and pulls the blanket onto his lap to hide from Geralt’s scrutiny. But then, something dawns on Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier…” Geralt rubs his forehead, his face pinched. “What I said in Oxenfurt, I meant it.”

“You do?”

“You can count on me now. It won’t be like…before.”

Their gazes meet, and Jaskier bears the intensity of it with everything he has. He feels bare, seen through by the amber gold he’s missed and cursed and loved so much.

“I’m here, and I’m all here, Jaskier. Please believe in me.”

“I do.”

It’s not the truth despite how much he wants to believe it. Jaskier wonders if lying to Geralt ever becomes easier.

He doesn’t know what is not convincing him. Geralt looks so genuine, and Jaskier wants more than anything to trust him again, but the smile on his face feels too stiff.

The plan is going as Jaskier wanted. He’s showing Geralt that his friendship doesn’t come freely anymore, and the witcher needs to make more effort, meet him halfway, somehow. Then how come as the quiet night creeps in, Jaskier only finds a hollow space in his chest?

The roaring fire in the hearth warms his back, but Jaskier clutches his blanket tighter. It can’t stave off the coldness left by the lack of a witcher’s body by his side.

 ---

Jaskier continues with the same scheme the next day.

Ignoring Geralt is not a difficult task in the beginning. The barmaid is a beautiful thing, doe-eyed and curious, has too many questions for her own good. She keeps asking about Jaskier’s ballads, and wouldn’t quite believe any crazy stories in them.

“Is it true that the White Wolf fought a sea serpent on the Skellige Isles? Surely, those creatures only exist in legends!”

She’s getting familiar, pressed up against Jaskier on the bench, almost pushing him back into Geralt’s side—the real subject of the topic, but it’s obvious her fascination lies only in Jaskier. Her brown eyes stay on the bard alone.

“Why don’t we find somewhere more private and I’ll tell you all about it?”

“Is it a good one? It must be a heroic tale, isn’t it?”

“Heroic, of course. There’s also a twist. I won’t spoil it for you, but—” Jaskier winks, his fingers brushing past her wrist. “—it’s a love story that holds more heartbreak than you can bear.”

Her giggles are like soft wind chimes, and Jaskier guides her away from their table. He takes two steps and turns back, smacking himself on the head as if he’s only just thought of it.

“Oh, shoot! I know I promised to go the market with you, Geralt, but you see…” He gestures to the girl waiting expectantly in the near distance. There’s nothing I can do about it, he says with a shrug. “Have a good time, will you?”

Geralt is holding his tankard, his knuckles white and his face ice-cold. It’s like Jaskier is looking at one of those ice sculptures made by Oxenfurt’s art students every winter.

“You said you’d come.”

Geralt’s voice is so gentle, so full of dejection that Jaskier’s resolve almost breaks. He clears his throat and darts his eyes elsewhere. Those acting coaches back in school would have been disappointed in him for letting his emotions peak through, but Geralt doesn’t seem to notice what’s underneath this front.

“Surely you can find a new bridle for Roach by yourself,” Jaskier waves his hand in dismissal. “You are a big witcher.”

Geralt opens his mouth and closes it, before speaking again. “And the pastry shop you wanted to visit?”

Jaskier thinks of the lemon cakes he’s been itching to try and swallows the yearning in his throat. Gods, being with Geralt all day with not a care in the world, and with the best sweets on the continent. What is he doing turning all this down?

“Well,” he insists, “Better company comes before cake, my dear.”

With that, Geralt lets go of the topic. His amber eyes drop back to the half-finished ale. “Better company. I see…”

“Surely you understand, Geralt.”

“Just—” Geralt purses his lips in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t exaggerate too much.”

Jaskier should feel bad as he walks out the tavern door with a beauty on his arm, he should, but instead, a pang of anger rises in his throat. How many times did Geralt abandon him at the sight of Yennefer in the past few years? How long did he brood on top of that mountain, recounting every bad choice he’d made in his life and decided that it was all Jaskier’s doing?

For once, Jaskier doesn’t want to put Geralt first in everything, waiting for a bone thrown in his direction, and the witcher—this infuriating man—is going to act like a kicked puppy.

Horrified at this burning rage, Jaskier turns only to watch helplessly as Geralt walks down the street in the opposite direction. He’s planted to the spot, unable to chase Geralt down, and clueless as to whether this plan is doing him any favors other than the fleeting satisfaction of getting back at his friend who was at fault.

Was.

Geralt was at fault. Jaskier has forgiven him, or at least, that’s what he said at first sight of his witcher’s travel-weary face back in Oxenfurt.

And yet, he’s punishing him still.

The barmaid is still waiting for Jaskier’s stories, her cheeks still round with a timid blush and her eyes gleaming with expectations.

The colorful adventures taste stale on his tongue and she loses interest too quickly before returning to her post. His mood sours further as the day stretches on.

Jaskier ends up wandering around town without an aim in mind. The only place he’s carefully avoiding is the market, and the stable, and the smith’s shop. Anywhere he might bump into Geralt. When night draws in, a sudden downpour catches him off guard and drenches him from inside out.

Great. Just the perfect ending to the worst—well, the second worst day of Jaskier’s life.

Candles are still lit as Jaskier enters the room. He finds Geralt fast asleep already, and on the table, right next to his writing supplies, is a lemon cake.

It’s drizzled in honey and looks just as enticing as he imagined.

Jaskier picks it up and finds a lump forming in his throat, choking him with guilt. He wants to scream, to let out the frustration at all the mistakes made in the past and haunting him still. He wants to cry. It’s just…

Now, he doesn’t know if he still deserves to.

---

Okay, I know I'm being mean to Geralt here, but don't worry, I’ gonna be mean to Jaskier in the next one ;) 

Also, whatever Jaskier is doing here is very unhealthy. Don't try this at home.

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[onionsoop]

Late at Night /// Nanami x f!Reader /// (+18)

Summary: During a class trip to Hokkaido, you find yourself stuck in the same bed with Nanami which leads to some late night events unexpected events :0

Length: 4.5k

Tags & Warnings: Teacher x Student (Reader is 18), exhibitionism (kind of), voyeurism (kind of), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, stupid “same bed” cliché, praise (kind of)

Authors Note: Hey everyone, I just wanted to let you all know that this the first fic that I’ve ever written and I hope you enjoy! I’m hoping to keep writing and posting more fics to this blog in the future for Jujutsu Kaisen, Haikyuu, and maybe some other fandoms. Anyways, thanks for reading and sorry for any spelling mistakes :) Oh, also there might be a part 2 for this??? idk, ill decide later on, not sure what direction I wanna take it in

The sound of the bus coming to a halt was what woke you up from your long and uncomfortable nap. You opened your bleary eyes to find the rest of the students in your class beginning to stand up and climb out into the cold and snowy outside. It had been a long trip, about eight hours and during that time almost everyone had fallen asleep. You had all left at eleven in Tokyo and due to being so far North, the sun had already set outside despite it only being seven. You picked up your backpack from where it was shoved underneath the seat in front of you and let out a sigh about having to get up and stretch your stiff legs. 

As you filed into the line, you were greeted by a large slap on your back, “Hey Y/N, how’d ya sleep?” Nobara asked, giving you one of her signature grins. 

“Fine,” you said rubbing your eyes, “though I can’t say that the bus window made a very comfortable pillow.”

“Well good thing we’ll be able to sleep soon. Hopefully, Gojou will put us together and won’t ruin our fun,” She said with a wink, receiving a small chuckle from you. Two weeks prior to the trip, Nobara had spent most of her time devising a plan to prank Itadori and Megumi while they were asleep. You knew she was counting on you to help her out with it, but you were a little unsure if you wanted to risk getting caught and excluded from the rest of the trip in order to fulfill one of her silly ideas.

Once everyone finally piled out of the bus, you were all led into the Dining Hall for a nice hot meal, a welcomed contrast to the freezing temperatures outside. You had never been to Hokkaido before and both the piles of white fluffy snow and the different array of hot soups and curries were new and exciting to experience. Dinner was overall jovial and chaotic, you sat with Itadori, Nobara, Todo, and Maki and you had all had a good time arguing about what activities you wanted to do in the next few days and which dish was the best. By the time dinner was over, you felt completely stuffed. During the course of the mea, you had eaten almost everything you could get your hands on and now felt more ready than ever to go to bed despite already sleeping on the bus. 

Everyone was piled into the main lounge area of the dorm building to be sorted into rooms. You could see students shifting around trying to get closer together and counting the number of people between them to try and be spaced together. From the edge of the room, Nobara was making aggressive eye contact with you and beckoning you to come over, which you quickly did in hopes that you wouldn’t be stuck in a room with people you didn’t know. 

At the front of the room, Gojou stood up and clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Now everyone, as you probably know, there are going to be four people per dorm, no more, no less during the duration of our trip. In every room, there is going to be one chaperone and three students. There are only two beds per room, so you will have to share with somebody else or choose to sleep on the floor, it’s up to you. And finally, to your displeasure, we have already assigned who is going to be in what rooms.” 

That final sentence caused a groan to come from the student body along with sounds of protest and arguing. Gojou ignored this though and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper and began to read names off of them. Students all began to pick up their stuff and head to their dorms as they were called out, and as you all listened Nobara let out a groan as she was sent to a room with Inumaki, Panda, and Mei Mei. You waited on the floor still surveying who else you might be put with. The number of students in the room was dwindling and most of your friends had already been taken which sent a pang of worry into your gut. 

“... and in room 6 there will be Itadori, Megumi, Y/N, and Nanami,” Gojou said. A momentary wave of relief washed over you after hearing that, you knew Megumi and Idatori semi-well, so it wouldn’t be too awkward of a time, but that feeling quickly dissipated as you remembered you were with Nanami. It was a well-known fact that about ninety percent of the female population found him attractive, and you couldn’t be excluded from that group. The pieces of the puzzle quickly snapped into place as you thought more about the room situation. You were the only girl in the group, which meant that there was no way in hell that they would be letting Itadori or Megumi share a bed with you. 

You would be sleeping right next to Nanami. For the next four nights. 

The walk to the room was only a chance for you to get more and more anxious as you thought about the upcoming events. Megumi and Itadori were cheerfully chatting in front of you, occasionally turning back to include you in the conversation or make a joke, but it didn’t help with the looming feeling of Nanami behind you. 

You all arrived in the room and Itadori immediately jumped on the bed, messing up the sheets and knocking off one of the pillows, earning a sigh and displeased look from Megumi. Despite your nerves, you plastered a neutral expression on your face and tentatively walked over to the second bed in the room, setting your bag down and sitting down on the squishy mattress. 

At this point, Itadori and Megumi were starting to argue, Megumi saying that he wouldn’t be able to sleep next to him if he was going to take up that much room while Itadori was doing his best to stretch all his limbs out across the full length of the bed. You pulled out your phone and tried your best to look busy. It wasn’t quite time for lights-out, but you still felt a bit nervous starting to unpack in a room full of guys, especially with one that made your heart race. 

Nanami, in his typical fashion, had not said anything since being assigned to the rooms. You felt him sit down on the other side of the bed and saw that he was beginning to unpack out of the corner of your eye. You shouldn’t be so nervous, nobody else is, after all, Nanami was just going to be sleeping next to you, you had stood that close to him before on other occasions. It still felt different though… You quickly shut those thoughts out of your head as soon as they came in. He was your teacher, you shouldn’t be thinking that way. 

To distract yourself, you unzipped your bag to go and look for your pajamas and toothbrush. You had packed a mix of cold and warm clothing for your trip considering you would be traveling all over the place, but you soon realized you had made a mistake with your pajamas. You pulled out the green shorts and tank top you had packed without much thought, despite never feeling this way about them before, you now felt that they might be a little too revealing for sleeping in a room full of guys. 

You shoved the top back into your bag and opted for a t-shirt instead, which helped you feel a little less nervous about your situation. In order to get out of the room, and to hopefully talk to Nobara, you rushed into the girl’s bathrooms and let out a relieved sigh. This trip was going to be a difficult one to get through. 

You quickly got changed in a stall and spent a large portion of time afterward talking with the other girls in the room. Many of them were complaining about who they got put in a room with while others were whining about not getting to stay with Gojou. Apparently, Momo was the lucky girl of the night who got to room with Gogou, Todo, and Mechamaru, but she didn’t seem to have much interest in her good fortune. Finally, Nobara slammed open the door to the girl’s bathroom and made her way over to you. 

“I can’t believe this stroke of luck, you got a room with both Itadori and Megumi, that’ll be perfect,”  She said with a devious grin on her face. 

“I’m not really sure, do we really wanna risk the rest of the trip?” You said, trying your best to calm Nobara’s excitement. 

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry. Plus, we can wait until the last day too, then they’ll have their guard down too,” she stated, nudging you in the arm after. You continued to happily chat with the rest of the girls and avoid going back to your room for a good half an hour, but, as expected, you heard Gojou come down the hall announcing that it was five minutes until lights-out. Most of the girls quickly began packing up their stuff and rushing out of the bathroom to not get in trouble and you figured you should do the same. 

When you walked back to your room and pushed open the cracked door you were quickly confronted with your nerves coming back and a hyper Itadori. Megumi was in bed doing his best to read a book while Itadori was bugging him through multiple various and loud methods. You went back to your side of the bed and put your toothbrush and skincare away, laser focusing your eyes on anything that wasn’t Nanami. 

The five minutes that you had before bedtime seemed to be over before you could even process it. For the first time that night, at least to your knowledge, Nanami finally said something, “Alright boys and Y/N, lights out.” Which earned a complaint from Itadori and caused Megumi to quickly jump up and shut off the lights, eager to have a chance to get away from him. You could see Itadori and Megumi start to bicker about the blankets and “staying on your side of the bed” as you pulled back the covers and crawled in between the blanket and the sheets. The bed was warm from the thick layered blankets on top and the fuzzy fabric it was made out of and as soon as you sank into it, your tiredness from the long day hit you like a brick. Despite that though, you still went stiff when you felt the bed shift from Nanami laying down next to you. 

“If I steal all the blankets during the night feel free to take them back.” He said, making you jump and answer with a quick “Okay.”

Even after Itadori and Megumi had finally settled down you still couldn’t completely calm down. You were making sure to stay on the very edge of the bed to not accidentally make contact with Nanami, but it wasn’t a comfortable position. You thought he might be asleep already but you weren’t entirely sure, he hadn’t moved much from his original position either.  You could hear Itadori’s snores from across the room and the constant shifting of Megumi who was currently covering his head to try and drown it out. After a while though, you finally felt yourself begin to drift into sleep, and you welcomed it. 

It was the middle of the night. You don’t know what woke you up but you found yourself disturbed and rubbing your eyes in the pitch-black room. As your eyes were beginning to adjust though, you immediately froze. You found yourself facing the chest of Nanami with his arm under your head, you must have rolled over at some point in the night putting you right next to him. 

The slight smell of aftershave filled your nose and you could hear him gently breathing with the rise and fall of his chest, he must be fast asleep. The loud snores of Itadori still echoed through the room but all you could concentrate on was the man in front of you. You had never been this close to him before, or anyone before, and your heart felt like it was about the burst out of your chest. You wouldn’t dare move in fear of waking him up and making the situation awkward, so you stayed frozen in your spot trying not to shake. 

You couldn’t deny that you had thought about things like this before, the thought of being so close to him, having him touch you, and being able to feel him under your hands, but the prospect of having it actually happen was just too anxiety-inducing. You could feel your face going red as you thought about all the dirty things you had done before, and you felt a slight twinge between your legs. 

You couldn’t. Could you? You hated the thought as soon as it entered your head, but that didn’t stop your hand from creeping between your legs and resting on your stomach. It was so wrong, he was your teacher, he was nine years older than you, but you didn’t want to stop. You would probably never get a chance like this ever again. You could even promise yourself to sleep on the floor the next three nights, but just this once, you wanted to risk it. 

Your fingers crept down under the waistband of your shorts and panties and dipped into the slick folds between your legs. You tentatively put two fingers inside, never taking your eyes off of Nanami’s face, and began to pump them in and out. Your thumb found its place on your clit which you began to rub circles on. The sudden feeling of having your clit touched was enough to make you clamp your other hand over your mouth to try and quiet your breathing. Your first priority had to be staying silent.

You could feel your eyes beginning to half close as you gave into the pleasure, and they drifted down to look at Nanami’s chest and the sculpted muscles under his shirt. You began to move your fingers faster feeling your release on its way and you held your hand tighter to your mouth as your head became fuzzy. Small whimpers were beginning to slip out of your throat and you could feel your movements getting sloppier as you continued to speed up. 

A hand wrapped around your wrist, stilling your hand. 

You froze, eyes shooting open to find Nanami looking down at you with a weary expression. You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out. Your brain was in a frenzy, you wanted to just evaporate into thin air or die on the spot, but you couldn’t do anything. 

“What are you doing?” He asked with no hint of emotion in his voice. 

“I-I’m sorry-- I--,” you couldn’t spit the words out, truthfully you couldn’t even think of what to say. You were caught red-handed and you didn’t think you would ever be able to make yourself forget the embarrassment you felt at this exact moment. 

“Do you normally do this when you’re put next to your teachers?” 

“No, I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’ll leave--” you stuttered out, trying your best to make the situation end as quickly as possible.

“So this is a special occasion then?” He asked, holding your gaze and not releasing your arm. 

“N-No--”

“Which is it then? Do you normally do this or is this a one-time thing?” He said, interrupting you before you could spit out another pitiful apology. You tried your best to slow your breathing to get out a coherent answer, but it wasn’t working with the way that Nanami’s eyes were drilling into yours.

“I-Its a one-time thing, I-I’m sorry, I’ll go sleep on the floor,” you said trying to pull your hand out of his grasp but he didn’t let go. You felt sick, you shouldn’t have taken the risk, you knew that the mortification you felt would outweigh the pleasure you got from masturbating if you got caught.

“You’ll be left frustrated then.” He said. Everything he was saying wasn’t registering, all you felt was the panic in your gut and the need to get away as quickly as possible. 

“T-That’s fine, I-I don’t care,” you quickly spit out, feeling tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

“Are you sure...? ...I’d be willing to help,” he said, keeping his voice low as to not wake Itadori and Megumi.

“I--.., w-wait, what?” You said, the meaning of his words finally hitting you. 

“I would be willing to help, I don’t want one of my students feeling pent up and unsatisfied.”

“I…” you didn’t know what to say, you were so shocked by the whole situation that the thought of answering was even too much. He pulled your hand up from under your shorts and out into the open where evidence of your actions was clearly visible on your fingers. His gaze dropped back down to your face expecting a response. You opened your mouth to answer before diverting your eyes and opting to give a small nod.

Nanami’s hand landed on your hip and slowly made its way down under the waistband of your shorts while the arm that was under you came down to reach around your back and pull you closer. You could feel his fingers brushing past your stomach as they trailed closer to your dripping wet cunt. Your breath was caught in your throat as you felt everything that was happening, you had to be dreaming, there was no way. 

Nanami’s fingers finally reached your entrance and he slipped one inside of you, causing you to let out a small gasp and cling onto his shirt. His fingers were much larger than yours and could reach places that you couldn’t yourself, making you tighten up around him. It was truly torturous as he began to move his finger inside of you, the friction on your tight walls and the adrenaline from the whole situation was enough to make your head fuzzy and cause a small whimper to come out from your sealed lips. 

 You could feel him pulling you closer as you held onto his shirt and arched your back from the pleasure. He was already going at a gentle and agonizing pace inside of you, but when he added a second finger it was what threw you over the edge into a shaking mess. You were no longer able to control your breathing and keep quiet so you threw a hand over your mouth in order to stifle your moans and whimpers. 

“Getting close?” he asked, whispering into your ear making you shiver from the feeling of his breath on your skin.

Without thinking, you whined out, “Y-Yes, b-but I want more, I-I need you inside of me...” 

As soon as you said it you knew you had gone too far. Here Nanami was, fingering you and holding you close to help you cum, and you had the audacity to ask for more. His fingers stilled inside of you and you tightened up at the feeling of them sliding out, leaving you empty. Nanami put his hand under your chin and tilted your head up to look him in the eyes.

“Then climb on,” he said, making your eyes widen.

You took your hands away from their place on his shirt and began to unsteadily move yourself on top of him. At that same time, he had his fingers hooked around the waistband of your shorts and thoroughly soaked panties and was pulling them down your legs. You positioned yourself on top of his lap, your thighs on either side of his hips. You had your hands braced firmly on his chest, trying to hold yourself up, but you couldn’t manage sitting up more than a few inches. Under your bare pussy you could feel his hard-on through his pants and you were trying your best to keep your hips still and not grind on him. 

His large hands began to pull his pants and boxers down and you lifted your hips to make it easier, but when he had finally removed them you couldn't hide your surprise about his size. Apparently, the look was written all over your face because a hint of a smile was on Nanami’s face and he grabbed your hips to keep you steady.

“You were the one who said you wanted more, sweetheart. You haven’t changed your mind right?”

You dryly swallowed and quickly shook your head no. Even if you were worried about being able to take him, it didn’t mean that you weren’t going to try, especially when one of your wet dreams was playing itself out in real life.

Nanami slid his hands around your hips and under your thighs to help position you above his cock. You could feel yourself beginning to shiver with anticipation just by looking down at what you were going to take in your tight, dripping pussy. The need to be filled up by him was becoming overwhelming and he was taking his sweet time with looking at you and lowering you onto him. When the tip finally touched your entrance you let out a whimper followed up by a pathetic “please.”

“Please what? I wanna hear you say it.” Nanami said, bringing a hand up to stroke your cheek.

“P-Please fuck me, I-I wanna be filled up so badly,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. Finally, you felt him start to enter you, your walls painfully stretching to accommodate his size, and you weren’t able to stifle the high-pitched moan that escaped your lips when it happened. Your vision was getting blurry and your arms lost the strength to hold you up anymore, causing your head to smack into his chest. You heard Nanami curse at the loud noise you made and you felt his fingers force their way into your mouth and down your throat, forcing you to keep quiet. He continued to push your hips down onto him, earning a few whimpers and causing you to grip onto his arm. Despite your heavy breathing, he didn’t give you much time to adjust to his size, you could feel the painful sensation of him pressing up against your cervix as he held you down along with the feeling of your slick beginning to coat both of your thighs. 

His grip tightened on your ass as he began to lift you up and down, you tried your best to help by moving your hips but you didn’t have much strength left in your legs after being so close to cumming earlier. The feeling of him stretching you out and rubbing against your slick insides would have ordinarily caused you to make moans that could be heard through the walls, but the combined force of using all your willpower and having two fingers shoved down your throat was enough to reduce your noises to just quick and heavy breathing. The wet sound of you bouncing on his dick was the only noise that could be heard throughout the room and it was enough to make you tighten up around him, causing Nanami to shut his eyes and get a concentrated look on his face. 

In a hushed and deep voice, Nanami asked, “Can you keep quiet sweetheart?” which you quickly nodded to. As soon as he had removed his fingers from your mouth, leaving a trail of saliva behind, your hand was back over your mouth and you were biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. His free hand brushed a piece of your hair behind your ear before making its way under your shirt. You felt him grab your chest and begin to pinch your nipple between his middle and index finger, making your job of staying quiet much harder than before. The feeling of having your chest played with sent waves of pleasure down to your crotch, only causing you to feel yourself get wetter and closer to orgasm. The pace he was fucking you at wasn’t ruthless, but it was slow and powerful enough to make you feel your release building up inside of you, every thrust made it a challenge for you to hold on and not completely give in. You could feel that he was close too, his movements were getting more erratic and you could see the sheen of sweat on his face in the dim light of the window. 

You took your free hand and moved it up to his face, brushing your fingers past his cheek and sliding them into his hair. You didn't feel like you would be able to hold on much longer and your eyes began to cross as you let yourself fully give in.

“Cum with me sweetheart, okay?” He said, looking up at you through lowered eyelids. You nodded with what little energy you could and prepared yourself for what was next. His hand moved from its spot on your chest and went down to help fuck you faster on his dick. The pace quickly picked up and you could feel that your pussy was going to be bruised in the morning from how hard he was going. He reached his thumb down to your clit and began to move it in circles like you were doing before, causing you to gasp and grip onto the hair that was in your hand. 

It took all your effort to keep in your moans and whimpers as you reached your climax, feeling your cunt spasm around him and the words “good girl” falling from his lips. Your vision went blurry as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm and cum inside you, filling you up with his hot sticky liquid. 

When you regained your focus, you were both a gasping and sweaty mess under the covers. His hands had moved to rest around your back and hold you against him and his cock was still sheathed inside of you. You didn’t have any energy to move and simply let your arms fall limp on the bed, savoring the afterglow and the feeling of his cum starting to drip out of you. 

You felt immensely tired and could feel your eyelids wanting to close. You felt Nanami place a kiss on top of you head which caused a faint smile to form on your lips and you wrapped your arms around him, ready to fall asleep exactly where you were resting on top of him.

As you gave one last look around the room though, the last thing you saw before you drifted to sleep was Itadori staring at you wide eyed from the other bed. 

[dracosaurusrex]

i love ur writing!!! can u maybe do a hc where its post war! draco x reader where they get married right, then reader gets pregnant with scorpius!! and its like them taking care of him, seeing him growing up and sending him off to hogwarts etc etc yk? also u dont have to do this ofc 🤍!!

Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy) 🌱 - Headcanon

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Hi nonnie!! I’m sorry it took me a while to get to this. Besides being occupied with schoolwork, I thoroughly had to think about how Draco would be as a father. I hope you enjoy!! It’s a lil long too aha.

PS. Kudos to you if you know where the title comes from aha

When Draco found out you were pregnant, there was no containment to the pure joy he had felt in the moment

Tears of joy brimmed his eyes

Crushing embraces

Playful kisses transitioned to more passionate ones as he poured out his love for you

Despite the years following the end of the war, he still didn’t feel deserving of you

Furthermore, he didn’t feel deserving of parenting a child with you

But one thing he was certain of was that he didn’t want to be anything like his father.

The very thought chilled him and struck fear to his bones

“Draco, you’ll make a great father” you say constantly. Each time you do so wrapping him in a warm embrace

It surprised you seeing him cry for the first time as he cradled your growing bump

“Do you think he can hear me?” He’d ask

You nodding as you wiped the tears rolling down his face

“I don’t want him to grow up like I did.”

“Love, we wouldn’t be here if you didn’t go through any of it.”

More silent tears and kisses to your bump

“I’ll do my best for you and your mother, I promise.”

Him kissing your bump one last time

“We’ll do our best for each other” you reassure

-🌱- 

There’s no end to him showing you how much he loves you.

The morning sickness, weird cravings, the aches and pains—this man spoiled you and made sure you were comfortable as much as possible

Happy wife = happy life

You both taking turns to tell the baby in your womb stories

Draco playing the piano with you and the baby by his side

You’d be cuddling as you both thought of names

Him opting to follow Black tradition and use names from constellations

“If it’s a girl, it should be Maia Altair. Both are the brightest stars within their respective constellations.” He said.

“How about Lyra Celeste?”

“That’s pretty too. Goodness, I hope it’s not a girl. We’d have a hard time choosing.” He says jokingly, making you chuckle.

“How about for a boy?” You ask

“I was thinking along the lines of Scorpius... I can’t seem to think up of a middle name”

“How about Hyperion?”

“Scorpius Hyperion?” His eyes widened for a moment, “That’s perfect.”

He didn’t mind whether you’d give birth to a boy or a girl—he wanted to give his children the best whether that’d be values, or material possessions

-🌱-

Being a private family meant a gender reveal and baby shower with just the two of you.

You hand the photo of the ultrasound to him faced down

“We’re having a boy, Draco.”

Hearts pounding.

Smiles wide

Draco’s sight was transfixed on the small formation printed on the page for a bit before looking at you again

The moment reminded you of the first time you said “I love you” to one another

He presses a tender loving kiss to your lips as you wrap your arms around his torso.

The next couple of months pass quickly

Life is still happy coz wife is still happy

There’s look comprising fear and awe when Draco laid his eyes on the newborn baby boy in your arms

“May I hold him?”

You hand Scorpius to him with tears in your eyes

Scorpius being so small that he doesn’t even occupy half of Draco’s forearm

“Welcome Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, my son” He says softly, tears following soon after yours did

-🌱-

Raising Scorpius was similar to walking on a tightrope, but even if you both fell at times, it was never hard enough to keep you down

He was a sweet boy, an obedient son

He took after Draco’s appearance: platinum hair, pointed face, and he sported a warm pair of grey eyes

But he bore your kind and compassionate personality, which Draco adored

Regardless of how much of your personality he inherited, Scorpius still had his father’s attitude sometimes, much to your amusement and shock

Draco spoiling him throughout his youth

You dressing Scorpius up

Both of you teaching the boy human decency towards witches, wizards, and muggles alike

One thing Draco made certain as a father was to make sure that Scorpius knew he was welcome to talk to his parents about anything

While you’d speak of matters of the heart, Draco would do his best to speak on matters of logic and reasoning

No matter what, you did your very best to make known to the young Malfoy that he was loved.

-🌱-

Time spent together as a family occupied the best memories of your lives

While Scorpius was growing and learning new things, you and Draco were learning (and growing) alongside him

When he was five years old, having finished his daily lessons, he walked  amongst the vast halls of the mansion, knowing exactly where his parents would be

First checks the library to find Draco focused in his study

“Papa?” He calls out with a small voice

“Yes Scorp? Have you finished your studies for today?”

“Yes, father. May I sit with you?”

That was the day that Draco introduced his own passions to his son.

The little boy on his lap looks at the book in front of him with awe as Draco tells him stories of constellations and alchemy

“That’s how we named you.”

“My name is Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy!” The sound of pride ringing from his little voice strikes a chord in Draco’s heart

He kisses the top of his head

“Yes, we’re are Malfoy’s”

“And mama?”

“Mama, is Y/N Y/M/N Malfoy.” He says with his heart fluttering.

The sound of your name never fails to reduce his insides to mush.

He then removes himself to find you painting the white peacocks that scattered the lawn

“Mama, what are you doing?”

“I’m painting love. Do you want to see?” You kiss his cheek as you gather him into your arms to give him a view of your work

“I want to learn how to do that!” 

“And what is it would you like to paint first?”

“The skies in papa’s books!”

-🌱-

As much as possible, you hid small arguments and issues from Scorpius

You and Draco had established three rules when confronting road bumps in your marriage:

Communicate needs and feelings

Give one another space when needed

Never go to bed with issues unresolved

The openness you taught your son, would be put into practice between you both

Fortunately, you being with Draco for more than ten years meant that you’ve practically seen him at his lowest points

He learned how to be vulnerable to you, and was your shoulder to cry on when needed

Nevertheless, each issue was resolved with a kiss, and something a little more *wink wink* (Scorpius would already be in bed dw)

Draco would catch himself staring at you in the kitchen one day, feeling the same way he would when he’d stare at you in your potions class

The smile you give when you notice him never changed

Scorpius taking note of this calls his dad out

“Papa, why do you love mama?” 

“She’s my best friend, Scorpius.” 

“I love mama too!”

You were the rock to your little family of three, and the older man would wonder how he became so lucky every time he thought about it.

-🌱-

Time flew by real fast in the manor. Before you know it, Scorpius turned eleven, and received his letter to Hogwarts

Robes? Check

Books? Check

Quills? Parchment? Check

Cauldron and other items? Check

Excited and nervous Scorpius Malfoy? Check.

“Papa, mama, what if no one likes me?”

Draco takes the first and last say before you can even open your mouth

“Just be yourself Scorp, and you’ll be fine.”

The platform bustling with sounds of old and new students alike

You see the Potter’s and the Weasley’s from afar and give a small wave

Draco, acting like a git, only gives a nod when you nudge his side with your elbow

Scorpius is the first to move away from his father’s side to introduce himself 

“Hi! I’m Scorpius Malfoy!” He says with a toothy grin

Albus’s eyes sparkle at a new friend, “I’m Albus Potter! This is Rose Weasley! We’re both first years!”

“Me too! Can I sit with you on the train?”

The exchange throws both Harry and Draco into a spiral, leaving you, Ginny, and Hermione thoroughly amused for the day.

“Albus- he”, 

“S-Scor-”

Both fathers are ignored.

But the happy grins they see on their sons faces calms them down slightly

The time comes for the train to take off

Draco wraps his arms around you as you wipe the tears forming 

It was a miracle that the little boy grew up to be a kind, intelligent, and talented young man. 

In that moment, Draco has never felt so grateful for his family

I apologize for the length. It’s kinda chaotic, but I hope you enjoyed reading it hehe. Thank you so much for all your support!

Tagging:

@amithatemo @littlethie @drxcomvlfx @svturtles @stretchyice @xoxohollands @dracosathenaeum @hahee154hq @mushi98 @dreaming-about-fanfictions @beiahadid @Saby06143 @rottenhexrt

[sibsteria]

all the angels [cast & angels & chuck]

prompts: ''run away with me''

summary: [bare with me, this is a long summary and concept] throughout the decades, y/n and the angels lived in harmony, her being the only being with powers on par with chuck. an immortal life with your angels sounds good, doesn't it? something goes wrong and y/n gets projected into the world of the spn actors. she had never met god, despite being made for the angels because of him. the thing is, she doesn't remember anything of her life with the angels and this messes with reality. the world of reality, along with y/n, are all magically convinced she has always been in their universe as a fellow cast mate. what happens when most of her favourite angels and a certain hellish man team up to collect her in the middle of a con?

characters: Rob Benedict, Richard Speight Jr, Mark Pellegrino, Misha Collins, Mark Sheppard, Sebastian Roche, Chuck Shurley, Gabriel, Castiel, Lucifer, Balthazar, Crowley

warnings: I dreamt something along the lines of this and it's just pure crack, I apologise, fluff, angst, everyone is single because it gets weird. I wrote this at 4am :/

---

''So let's talk about Y/n's character! She hasn't been explained too much but we know her backstory.'' Wow, thank you, Mark Sheppard.

''Well, I'm pretty sure the fans already know.'' I shrug, but a glare from the man before me makes me roll my eyes.

''Come on, don't leave them in the dust, also sharing a name with your character is weird right?'' He teases me, I resist the urge to walk over and playfully slap him.

''Fine. She was created by God to please the angels in whatever way they needed, with her consent obviously. She creates a connection with Gabriel and their connection become the focus of her life, until she meets Crowley-'' I look over at Sheppard and paint a fake scowl on my face, sending the audience into light laughter. ''-who is also vying for her attention, but as you all know, she had been killed off at the end of the last season. Y'all didn't see that blinding golden light and her disappearing act?'' I raise my eyebrow at the crowd. They murmur amongst themselves.

''Are you sure she was killed off?'' Richard snickers from next to me. ''What if her dear Gabe just snapped her away for some-'' He wags his eyebrows to out fans. ''-angel on paragon action.''

''It's literally in the script shut up- or you know, believe this idiot.'' I smile, showing I meant no offense

''Scripts change! You know that!'' Misha reasons, aggressively.

''I suppose so.'' Leaving audiences in an unsolved mystery is the fun of cons.

---

Sitting in the green room, it's sweaty and warm after the panel. We are instantly greeted by our colleagues awaiting their next instructions such as Mark Pellegrino, Sebastian Roche and Rob Benedict.

''Welcome back, you little bastards.'' Sebastian's voice rings throughout the room, I groan, faceplanting onto the couch where Rob sat, fiddling with an acoustic guitar.

We sat, talked, ate, I napped, yknow the usual.

---

''So, do you think they will bring you back for the next season?'' Misha asks, I bite my lip and answer him.

''I have no idea, no one has said anything so maybe not. I'll be joining our widdle Kings of Con if not.'' I give a baby voice when talking about the couple that is R2.

''Hey!'' Rob's voice wavers in his distinct little way.

''Rude of you to call me little.'' Richard winks and I shoot gag at him, he feigns a frown.

''In other news-'' Mark Pellegrino's cut-in is interrupted by a blinding golden light, surrounding the room. I grip onto Rob's arm as the ground begins to shake, burring my head into his chest, I cover my eyes from the light. He holds me back just as tight, hiding in the comfort of my shoulder. One of many weird, intimate moments with him that makes people believe we are together.

A loud, pitched, sound rattles around us. A few of us scream in pain but I just whimper and move closer into Rob.

Suddenly, everything stops and stills.

I can't force myself to move.

''What the fuck?!'' I hear Misha, making me not want to move even more.

''Ha! Look, she's cuddling you. Awe.'' I hear Richard's voice, but it wasn't him, it didn't sound like him. I pull myself away from Rob's chest and look at the scene unfolding.

'What the fuck?'' I whisper, repeating Collins' earlier comment. Stood here, a few feet in front of us are Gabriel, Balthazar, Castiel, Crowley, Lucifer and Chuck. Did I miss something?

''Not happy to see us, darlin'?'' Gabriel smirks, a foot of his approaches me, I look at them in confusion and shock.

''W-What's going on?'' That is the first time I have ever heard Pellegrino stutter.

''We should probably talk...'' Chuck wavers his hands to us all, motioning us to listen to him.

''So, uh, Y/n here? She's our Y/n, from our reality and we kinda want her back.'' Gabriel shuffles his weight between each of his feet, I'm in too much terror to even speak, so is everyone else.

''You hear him, dickbags? We want her back.'' Lucifer crosses his arms, staring dead into Pellegrino's soul, presumably to make him uncomfortable.

''I don't understand-'' I stop myself, leaving it at that.

''Wait, do you not remember?'' Gabriel looks at me, broken eyes reflect his inside pain.

''Of course she doesn't, you bollock! Can't you see the look on her face?'' Crowley rolls his eyes but for some reason I can sense his true sadness.

''I will explain, better.'' Castiel takes a step towards me. ''You are Y/n Divine, our Divine, your the celestial from our existence. Your our...?'' He struggles to find the words, Balthazar answers for him. Not the lot of explaining I need there, Cas.

''Our collective soulmate, so to speak.'' He nods.

''Yeah, that's who I am in Supernatural but- this isn't the show, this is reality. I gotta be dreaming, oh my God-'' Chuck interferes (doesn't he always).

''That's me.'' The nervous laugh from the bearded almighty almost makes me laugh, almost, but the situation was too real for it. ''Would it help if I...showed you?'' He says, unsure of his choice of words.

For some reason, I pour my trust into him, and walk towards the clone of my almost boyfriend, I wished.

''Mind if I show all of you?'' Chuck asks, before ignoring some of the 'no's in the room and he snaps, bringing us into a dream state.

Scenes flow through our brains, ones that weren't in the show

---

Dressed in a white kaftan with golden afflictions, there was Y/n, lay in the greenest of grass. And next to her? Gabriel the Archangel. Almost in a Bella-Edward meadow position, the two looked into each other, reading one another's soul.

''Run away with me.'' Gabriel whispers, lighter than air.

''What?'' She snaps out of her dreamy daze.

''Let's leave, you don't need any other angel that isn't me.'' This breaks her heart, although Gabriel was her favourite and the one she had a special connection with, she had a duty to remain near the other angels.

''I want to-'' Gabe's heart lifts but sank soon after. ''-but you know I can't. I wasn't created to defy my purpose, I would cease to exist if I did.'' A tear rolls down her cheek, the light from the fading sun rested gracefully on her skin.

''I know. Oh, what was I thinking? My father will come after us and- I would rather now think about what he would do to us, to you.'' He looks away from her to relish in his pain.

''Don't be like that, my little Aurelian enchanter-'' She mentions the colour of his golden wings, which lay across the ground behind him, a beautiful sight. ''-the time will come where no angel needs me, then I can devote myself to you, only you.'' She mumbles, pressing a sure kiss to the peak of his nose. He huffs in a peaceful array of emotion.

''At least you don't kiss any other of my brothers or estranged family.'' He nudges back at her, nose to nose.

---

''That was sickening to watch.'' Pellegrino chuckles into the dark abyss of our voices, unable to see each other but still recognising each other within the blindness.

''Shall I show you another one?'' A rhetorical question from the Lord from above, as he whisks us into another memory.

---

She sat on a bench, clad in elegancy, the world was still new and beaming. New angels were being created, not all of them needed a divine celestial to aid them, so she spent her days watching the creations live. The bees harvesting pollen from the flowers was one of her favourite sights.

She felt an angelic presence appear next to her, but a new one, an unknown one.

''Who might you be?'' She asks, not tearing her eyes away from the fuzz of a creature.

''I am Castiel.'' Short and stat, seems like the kind of being he was, without a vessel he could be read more easily.

''No vessel yet, I assume?'' She looks towards the beam of light beside her.

''No, not yet. I hardly think there's a need for such a thing.'' His voice was the most beautiful she had heard, of all the angels, no vessel and no front made him so much more enticing.

''Well, nice to meet you. You're wings...they're black? Pretty though, new as well.'' She smiled at Castiel, his aura positively increased, the interaction helping them both. Just a simple amount of time in company can help an angel.

''Thank you.''

---

''So that's Castiel?'' Misha seems uneasy.

''Would you like to see the encounter between her and his vessel?''

---

She sat, with Balthazar, just grooming his beautiful wings. An act she did for her most favourite angels.

''Have you seen Castiel's vessel?'' He smiles up at her, in his own vessel.

''Not yet but I am excited though, from the comments I'm hearing, he is a most handsome fellow.'' She brushes past a certain spot, making Bal shiver in delight, not in a sexual manner.

''Ugh, like you don't find yourself infatuated with my golden winged brother already, don't go falling for another one.'' He groans in disgust, she laughs, melodically.

''I can promise you, I won't.'' That was a future lie.

''Hello, Y/n.'' A new voice from behind her, sensing the energy, she knew it was Cas.

A wide grin stretches across her features, ''Castiel!'' She shouts, whipping round to face the angel in his new restrictions. ''My, my, good choice, my angel.'' A nickname specifically reserved for the defying being.

''I would say 'thank you', but it would be a most similar and repetitive interaction.'' She sighs in relaxation, reliving her first encounter with Castiel.

''You are always welcome, you're one of my favourites.'' She boops his nose, squeaking 'boop' at the same time, Cas cocks his head in confusion.

''Boop?'' He questions her, she shrugs her shoulders.

''You're cute, so I booped you.'' She giggles, Castiel couldn't refuse the stutter in his 'emotions' as she spoke.

''Okay.''

---

I heard Mark Sheppard's voice throughout the void, ''YoU'rE cUtE, sO i BoOpEd YoU!'' His badgering voice pointing fun at me.

''Shut up.'' I mumble.

---

It was beautiful, the winding waterfall gushing down the rocks, watching it flow. She sat, in deep thought, things between Lucifer and Michael were getting tense, she was scared for the future.

''You don't need to worry about us, my little cherub.'' Lucifer's voice mixed eloquently with the sound of the waves slowly connecting the lake below.

''It's part of my job, I couldn't help it if I tried.'' She shrugged, she stared at the water, taking in the fresh air.

''I know that things aren't simple, they never will be, just know you will always have me. I have never spoken to anyone in such a tone before, you should be honoured, little one.'' This made her accumulate, she leaned back into hold, he was a median temperature. It was nice.

''My Lucifer.'' She grinned in thought. ''You always have been the most intriguing, I will never give up on you, I promise you that.'' She craned her neck to look at the blonde, before pressing the smallest of kisses to his jaw. She had never seen him so vulnerable, so honest with himself, and she wouldn't again for some time.

---

''My dear, this is too dangerous. You are not a warrior, you are a healer and an abettor. I can't let you, I'm sorry.'' Crowley's gruff rumble soaked the thin air, she wanted to fight for her angels- with her angels. She held the power, but not the will.

''I was made for this moment, this is my purpose, I have to do something.'' She pleads, tears stinging her eyes.

''Listen to me, darling, they need you alive more than you're help. Listen to what I'm saying, although I am nonpartisan, I can't remain unbiased. I fear that my little, fascination with you is what keeps you safe. The angels may not love it, but it keeps you safe whilst they handle their own. They want you safe, so that is what I will do.'' His short monologue seemed to flip something within Y/n, she stayed silent for a moment, reeling in thought. Hearing his repetition of the word safe just made her wish the same for her angels.

''I-I guess you're right. I don't want anything to happen to them, you remember last time, when it all-'' She couldn't bring herself to continue, relishing in the agony of remembering when Lucifer was cast.

''Yes, my dear, and you nearly got caught in the crossfire. It can't happen again, there is no other being like you and there never will be. The stories are that God nearly killed himself trying to create you, you are everything he wanted humanity to be.'' She smiled at this, he was trying to cheer her up with a bit of complimenting. ''Even if you are stubborn.'' She slapped his chest, as a farce and let out a small cachinnate.

---

Everyone was silent, things started to get heavy on thought and reason. No one could think of a word to say.

''One more for good measure, then we will asses you, Y/n.'' Uh, what does that mean?

---

The quiet air that surrounded the two was comforting and safe, content and peaceful. Y/n and Gabriel sat opposite one another, his wings lay in her lap as she did what she does best. Her hands traced up the outer lining of his wings, from top to bottom, before moving in the the inner feathers. She rolled a collection of feathers between her fingers each time she moving a few inches down, softly and gently. Working out the stress and the tightness that wound itself within them, he holds onto her knee, using it as a gripping post every once in a while. It wasn't a pain thing though, it was quite the opposite, the gratification and the bliss he was receiving from such a special moment was intense.

''I don't know why, I think your wings are my favourite.'' She hums out, brushing out the feathers she had been fixing in a swoop from the height of his wing and downwards, before moving on to the next section.

''Oh, really?'' Gabriel couldn't resist the playful tone residing in his comment, but that was what Y/n loved, he wasn't afraid to tease her.

''Without a doubt, they're mesmerising. Such a beautiful colour, and shape. They suit you so well.'' Slowly, she leans forward to kiss the corner of his mouth, before gently pulling herself back.

''Come on, sweetheart! You can do better than that-'' His voice is cut off by a staggering gasp as she unwinds a knot in his feather,  gripping her knee tight, he swoons.

She doesn't say a word, yet she picks up her head again, craning towards the angel's face. While continuing to brush out his ailerons of flight, she kisses him again, direct and strong. She moves against his lips with such care but much passion, Gabriel couldn't resist the slip of his tongue to her, she wasn't in any way complaining.

---

''Okay, that was upsetting to watch.'' Richard grumbles, we find ourselves back inside the green room, standing in front of us remain Chuck and Gabriel.

''You're telling me.'' I let a slanted expression reach my face.

''You mean you still don't remember?'' Gabriel's frown tugs at my heart, I feel something for him, but not as immense as what we have been watching.

''I have something that might work, but it might...do something?'' Chuck gives out a nervous chuckle, small and barely there.

''Do it, I need her back, I don't care about the consequences unless it hurts her.'' The strain and torment in his intonation is dismal.

''It won't hurt her, but it might- never mind, if it happens then it happens, if it doesn't then you will be happy you didn't know.'' Chuck walks towards me with purpose and I cower back slightly, a stern alarm on my face.

''W-Woah there, what are you doing?'' I reach out my hands in a 'stop' motion, he grabs hold of them.

''Bringing back your memory, I need you to focus on the moments you just watched, think about how you felt during them.'' I thought back, I felt as if I was the girl in the grass, and in heaven and the girl who loved the angels. I revelled in the select memories, the beautiful memories. ''Good, carry on thinking about them and how you felt.''

I felt a warmth surge through my hands, as they remained connected to Chuck's.

''It's working.'' I peek open my eyes and look down at our hands. Mine are white and hold a holy glow, my eyes widen as I look at the magic.

''This is you?'' I ask, Chuck shakes his head.

''It's you, well, it's us. You have your own powers, but this kind can only be used when I am touching you. You know you have angelic advantages, from the show?'' He explains in a way I understand, I nod. ''D-Do you want to remember this world? Along with your true one?'' I bit my lip before answering.

''I would, some people I can't let go.'' I look towards Rob, who stood off towards the side, the group of my colleagues still in shock of the situation, some whispering to each other.

''I see. Are you ready?'' The heat is getting more intense in my hands, a burning hot white light shines from then.

''I think so.''

''I need to warn you, you may not like what could happen next.'' He unclasps our hands before reaching up to sandwich my head between them. It wasn't painful, it was peculiar, my body went numb. This took around a minute before he took his hands of me.

My mind and his instantly travelled to a secluded world. It was barren and empty, but beautiful, Red sand and burnt skies surrounded me, small oasis' patched around. The sun was in a constant set, never going up nor down.

''Where are we?'' I asked Chuck, he was dressed in a white pant and shirt, I looked down towards myself. I was enclosed by a gorgeous lengthy white garment, a golden sash across my waist.

''We're in your head. How are you feeling?'' I smile.

''Like myself, thanks Chuck, nice to meet you by the way- can't believe I haven't said that yet, after all Gabe has told me.''

''Um, okay, this is going to be awkward to ask. What do you feel? When you look at me, that is.''

''Hm...'' I look into his soft eyes. I felt as if I belonged there, like it was home. My whole existence within his soul.

''That's- not good.'' He must have read me, because I didn't say that out loud. I widen my eyes, starting to panic. ''I-I mean, it could be? It depends how you feel on the matter.'' He tries to soothe me.

''Explain.'' Was all I said.

''We- well. I've linked us, not on purpose. You're life's fulfilment is with me now, along with the angels. I'm not your creator anymore, I'm your equal. Yet you are not light nor dark, your the meld of both, a mediator if you will. The love for the angels, can be found within myself now. I'm sorry, I never thought it would actually happen.'' I'm guessing this is the first time he has ever apologised, I don't know how but- I feel like I know everything about him. The almost humanitarian way he dabbles jn his powers is confronting.

''Yes, that's another edge you have, you know everything about me now, you know who I am and what I've done.'' He looks ashamed and off to the side.

''You may not be proud of who you are, but I am-'' I hold his hand and turn his head with my other. ''You're the creator, just because you have done bad things, does not mean you're a bad person.'' I feel like I've known him my whole life, I technically have. He remains silent.

''We will have our time, go seem them. If you ever need to see me and I'm not around, think of this place and I'll meet you here, no matter how far apart we are.'' He extracts us from the sanctuary.

I'm back in my own body, looking around at the awkward faces of my peers. We must have been stood, staring into space for some time.

''Hey-''I turn to Gabe as he speaks, walking towards him before I stop dead in my tracks. I swiftly run back to Chuck, slamming my lips against his, I feel my heart stutter in the shock of my own actions. He kisses me back with much more passion, before I pull away. I look at Rob, his mouth his hung open, using my power I look into his head.

He's shocked and- jealous. He thinks it's invigorating to see a version of himself kiss you. Realising he could've admitted his feelings to you, perhaps you wouldn't have gone back to them.

''Well- okay, that's new.'' Gabriel mutters, his voice cracks in the middle of his speech.

I turn and run towards Gabe.

''Don't worry, you're still my favourite.'' He yanks me into a hug, pulling me into a compact hug, I wrap my legs around his waist.

He whispers some enochian into my ear, I bite my lip and smile. Along the lines of 'should I book the hotel now or later?'.

''You know full well we don't need to do that.'' I couldn't help but tease him back, he sighs in content, happy to have us back.

''I'm- confused, what the fuck is going on?'' Sebastian calls.

''If you want, you can make them forget, Y/n.'' Chuck announces, a valley of yelling and protests wash over me from the Supernatural cast.

''Can I? It could be for the best...'' I trail off, the cast look at me with hurt in their eyes, I decide to communicate with Rob through his head.

'Rob' He looks around, alarmed. 'I'm in your mind, don't panic'

'How could you? I know you aren't meant to be here but please don't make me forget you' I could hear the pain within him.

'I won't completely, you'll know me, but not as who I am. You will know me as your colleague and friend, I'll visit you'

'I love you, I'm sorry I never said it' I heard his heart shatter.

'I love you too, maybe we can develop something in the future' Maybe I was asking too much of myself, maybe not.

''You ready to go back?'' Chuck waltzes toward me and Gabriel. ''Other angels want to see you, I can hear them, it's rather annoying.'' I smile at the thought of seeing them all again, this time knowing who they are to me.

''I think so.'' I turn back to say my goodbyes.

''Misha, you are one of the most genuine and kind people this Earth can offer, I'm so happy I met you.'' I move forward to hug him, channelling my power, as soon as I leave this plane it will activate- leaving them in the state they were before.

''Mr. Sheppard, you smarmy bastard, never change. The world couldn't take it. I'll see you soon.'' I step forward to hug him.

''My, my, Pellegrino, a tear? Not going soft on me, are you?'' He shakes his head, rolling his eyes at me. ''I'll miss you and your karaoke.'' I hug him, he holds on a little longer, refusing to let me go. I look at him with sad eyes, before turning to Sebastian.

''You and your attitude Roche, you're such a light person, you'll see me again and I promise you that. Keep up the humour, you're not yourself without it.'' I hug him, ejecting a powerful wave.

''Richard, I will admit you are my best friend, even when you're trying to sleep with everything that walks. Take care of Robbie for me, I won't be too long before my next visit, so hold on.'' I grip him in my arms, pulling gently on his beard as we part, before getting mockingly swatted away.

I couldn't sat goodbye to Rob, looking at his disheartened face. ''R-Robbie-'' I tried not to cry, saying goodbye to so many friends is breaking me.

''I can't explain how much you mean to me, I love you, in every way you can imagine. I love you all.'' I hug Rob, not wanting to let go.

''Please don't go.'' His whimper makes me finally let out tears.

''I need to. I promise I'll return.'' I think about my next action, before deciding on it.

'Pull away if you don't want this.' I say to him, his head is swimming with agony.

Kissing him, very lightly, I feel tears mix on my lips. I pull away before I get too attached.

''Gonna miss you, so much.'' He whispers to me, clutching my shirt in his hands.

''I have to go, bye Benedict, till we meet again.'' I try to spin a comedic affect into my words, stepping away from my best friends.

Chuck holds out his hands, Gabriel and I connect to them. I shut my eyes, I can't face what I'm leaving behind. I feel a golden illumination against my shut eyelids.

It's not forever, but I will miss them.

[imaginedisish]

Devil’s Advocate (Tenet) Neil x Reader

Chapter 3: North American Scum

A/N: Hi guys! Here is chapter 3!!! I feel like it could have been better, but I really started feeling it at the end (and I think you can tell) Enjoy ahhh!! (and yes, the title of this is one big LCD Sound System Reference :))

Summary: You and Neil are sent on your first mission, but things get incredibly messy, as they always do. 

Warnings: Guns, gun wounds, death, cursing, angst, and that’s about it!

Word Count: 5,765... If anyone wants to teach ya girl how to do the “read more” thing that would be fantastic...

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2

Sunlight pours through the small crack in the curtains. Your stomach is pressed up against the mattress. You shift around underneath the sheets, but an arm is wrapped around your body, keeping you in place. You inhale deeply, and the smell of his cologne fills your lungs.

Neil. You keep your eyes shut, reveling in his touch. He rustles a bit, and you feel yourself being pulled in closer to his chest. You maneuver onto your side, allowing him to bring your chest up against his. 

His lips brush against your left ear. 

He has to be awake, You think to yourself. A light kiss presses softly against your ear, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks. There is absolutely no way he’s still asleep. 

“(Y/N)?” Neil whispers, as if to ask if you were still next to him. 

Your eyes flutter open. “Good morning,” You mutter. Your voice is hoarse from a full night of sleep, the first full night of sleep you had gotten in what felt like ages. 

The light catches Neil’s blue eyes, causing them to sparkle and glow in the rays of sun. His blonde hair was a ruffled mess. Still, he’s undeniably attractive. It didn’t matter how unkempt he appeared to be, there was still something about him; something about him that made your heart pound out of your chest, something about him that made it impossible and yet easier to breathe all at the same time. His presences was overwhelming and yet so calming. 

He clears his throat. “Did you sleep well?” He asks, his arms still pulling you tightly against his chest. 

Besides all the other times we’ve shared a bed, You think to yourself before saying, “That was probably the best sleep I’ve gotten in years.” 

You remember that just yesterday he had said you two were “friends.” 

But friends don’t do these kinds of things. 

Neil smiles back at you, his nose less than a centimeter away from yours. “I’m glad,” He responds. You can feel his breath on your lips. 

The last thing you want to do is get up. You silently hope that Neil won’t move. Eventually, the time would come to do the very thing you came here to do, unfortunately. But for now, you wanted to enjoy laying in bed with Neil, regardless of what it meant for him. 

You watch as Neil sighs and furrows his brows. There’s something on his mind, and it’s very clearly bothering him. You always hated seeing him like this, and you couldn’t let it go unnoticed. 

“Neil?” You ask. “Are you alright?”

He smiles sheepishly. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” Neil reassures, but you know there’s something wrong.

“If there’s something on your mind, you can always talk to me,” You say, bringing your left hand to rest on the side of his upper thigh. 

You’re shocked to feel his exposed skin and not his boxers. They had scrunched up into his crotch. 

You retract your hand immediately, feeling as though you had overstepped some unspoken boundary. “I-I’m sorry about that.” Your voice is distraught and shaky in the wake of your embarrassment.

“No,” Neil says. His voice is calm and a smile reappears on his face. “It felt nice.” You nod, allowing your hand to travel back to where it was. 

You decide to start over and try again. “But really Neil, you can always talk to me, about anything,” You pause, choosing to go the confrontational route. “I know something is wrong with you. I can just tell.”

Neil’s arm tightens around you. You didn’t think it could be possible to get closer to him, and yet suddenly you were. “Well, last night…” Neil trails off. You can feel his heart beat grow louder in his chest. “I was going to talk to you about something.”

“Well, what is it?” You ask. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment Neil would tell you how he felt about you. 

Neil inhales sharply through his nose. “(Y/N), it’s just that-,”

The sound of Neil’s phone roughly vibrating against the bedside table next to him cuts him off. He lets go of you and turns over to pick up the phone. You stuff your face into your pillow in absolute agony. 

Another moment stolen, You think. 

“Shit,” He mutters under his breath. “Hello?” He answers the call. “Already?” There’s a pause. “What do you mean it’s half past twelve?” Another pause. “I’m sorry we must’ve slept through the alarm I-,” Whoever is on the other line interrupts him immediately. “Alright, thanks. We’ll start getting ready now.”

You lift your face off of the pillow. Neil hangs up and puts the phone back onto the nightstand. 

“It’s time already?” You ask. You feel your anxiety growing in the pit of your stomach. You know what’s coming next. You can feel it on the tip of your tongue. You can feel the uncertainty. You can already hear the gunshots, the screams, the cries for help. 

Neil turns back over towards you, his arm wrapping tightly around your body yet again. “Yeah, it’s time,” He says, pressing a kiss against your forehead. His lips are warm and soft, reassuring even. But you didn’t want to go, not yet. Being with Neil was too good. For the first time in a long time, you were finally feeling normal. You had finally felt safe. And now, as you always did, you were going to risk it all.

I can’t do this, You think to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Neil,” You feel yourself tremble a bit, “I-I can’t d-do this,” You stutter, tripping over your words at the mere thought of getting out of bed. 

“I’m so sorry, love,” Neil says, pulling you closer to him. “But I don’t think we have a choice.”

A choice? You hated the idea that anyone had a lack of “choice,” especially when it came to the organization. You hated the idea that nothing could be changed or altered to make something better. What’s happened, happened. And yet, you believed none of that. 

Of course I have a choice. I’m an autonomous woman with agency and independence. You think to yourself. “And what the fuck is stopping me from saying no, Neil?” Your sudden fury causes him to jump back a bit. His grip on you loosens. 

Neil’s shocked expression takes you aback. “I didn’t mean to make you-,”

You cut him off, feeling guilty for jumping down his throat so abruptly. “No, it’s not your fault Neil. It’s me,” You roll onto your back and Neil’s arms slide off of you. “This is so overwhelming. I’m a mess.” 

Neil shifts closer to you. He’s laying on his side. He brings his hand across your body and onto your shoulder, drawing light circles with his index finger. You sigh, his touch leaving goosebumps on your exposed skin. “It’s going to be okay, I promise,” He says. He lets you sit in silence for a few minutes. He somehow knows it's exactly what you need. 

He always does. 

You look over to the alarm clock on your bedside table. 

12:34

“We should probably get up now,” You say apprehensively. 

Neil nods, lifting his hand from your shoulder. He presses a kiss against your cheek before hopping off the bed. “Just for good measure,” He says with a wink. 

Neil had been stealing kisses from you far more recently than he had in the past, and you certainly recognized it. You weren’t complaining, but it was confusing. You weren’t sure what he wanted. You knew there was at least a slight chance that Neil saw you as more than a friend. That was a natural occurrence of life. After all, you had fallen for him. 

Who’s to say he couldn’t fall for you too. You immediately shake the thought off. Thinking like this could ruin the mission. You were too distracted for your own good. Now was not the time to be wondering how Neil felt about you, regardless of how puzzling the situation was. 

Neil had shuffled off into the bathroom. You could hear the shower turn on and the glass door of the shower close behind Neil. You stifle any further thoughts in the back of your head, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You walk over to your duffle bag and begin to rummage through your clothes. You were always incredibly indecisive when it came to what to wear. 

After a few minutes, you finally decide on a pair of baggy, black menswear dress pants, similar to the ones you were still wearing. You grab an oversized white t-shirt to go with it. You pull your black high top converse out of the bag as well, letting them fall to the floor. 

The door to the bathroom opens, and Neil comes out with just a fuzzy white towel wrapped around his waist. You stare too far down for far too long, and Neil is quick to notice. 

“If you’re going to look at me like that, you should really buy me dinner first,” He jokes. He walks over to you and stops when he reaches his suitcase. 

You feel the heat rising to your cheeks and you smirk a bit. “I-I just didn’t expect you to be-,”

“To be what? Practically naked?”

“Well, yes, to be honest,” You say, your smirk turning into a wide smile. Neil smiles back, and nudges you playfully with his elbow. You shut your eyes and shake your head. “I’m getting in the shower now.”

Neil chuckles as you walk away. “Can I have the same show you got? It’s only fair!” 

How you wished he wasn’t just kidding around with you. 

You step into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. 

The shower is incredibly refreshing. The hot water almost puts you to sleep again, but it’s a welcomed feeling. Things seemed peaceful. But there’s always a calm before the storm. 

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. 

“(Y/N)?” Neil calls. 

His voice catches you off guard. You almost slip on the water below. “Yeah?” You call back, catching yourself and regaining your balance. 

“I think I left my boxers in there,” He says. Your face reddens as you predict his next words. “Is it alright if I pop in and grab them? I won’t peak, I promise!” You hear his muffled chuckle through the door. 

You swallow hard. “Yeah, sure I don’t mind,” You say back. Your heart races in your chest. The glass of the shower door was completely fogged up, and Neil wouldn’t see a thing, or at least he probably wouldn’t. But part of you of wanted him to…

Your thoughts are interrupted as the door creeks open, and Neil enters the bathroom. There’s some shuffling around and you can hear Neil moving some things. 

“Where the bloody hell did they go?” Neil whispers to himself. A giggle escapes your lips. “What’s so funny about this, love?” Neil’s sarcastic tone only makes you laugh more. 

“I mean where could they have possibly-,” You say, cutting yourself off as you look up to see Neil’s boxers hanging over the top of the shower. “How did they even end up there?”

Neil chuckles now too. “I must’ve put them up there with my pants. I didn’t think I’d have time to iron my clothes, so I just threw everything over the top to get some steam on it,” He explains between laughs. Of course he was worried about how wrinkly his clothes would be, You think to yourself, letting another giggle out. 

The shape of Neil’s body becomes more prominent as he walks over towards the shower. You feel yourself growing nervous upon the realization that Neil can most likely see a better outline of what you look like too. His hand grabs the boxers and he yanks them down. 

“I promised no peaking, so I’ll get out of your hair now,” Neil laughs and you watch as he walks over to the door. You almost wanted to tell him to stay. 

Almost. 

Before you can say a word, Neil opens the door and steps back out. Flustered beyond belief, you force yourself to finish the shower. 

You brush your teeth and put your stringy, wet hair in a clip to at least make it look presentable. You grab your clothes and slip them on, tucking your t-shirt into your pants and lacing a black, square buckle belt through your belt loops. 

You take a look at yourself in the mirror and you can’t help but feel at least a tiny bit proud of what you were able to accomplish in such a short time, that is, until you open the door. 

Neil is standing on the other side of the room, his left arm holding his weight up as he leans against the window, looking down at the city streets below. His grey suit jacket hangs below his hips and fits him perfectly. His white dress shirt is crisp, and a little green scarf serves as his neck tie. His pants are the exact same color as the suit jacket, and at the bottom are a pair of black dress shoes. He didn’t bother to gel his hair back, but it looked better when he let it be a little messy. When he gelled it he looked too uptight, too posh, too much like a tory. 

You still remember the day Neil had taught you that word. You didn’t have a clue about British politics, and despite Neil’s well-off appearance, he was always adamant about not being a tory. 

“But you’re as posh as anything Neil,” You said, breathing absurdly hard in between laughs. 

Neil shakes his head erratically. “I’m posh in a cool, secret agent way!” He exclaims in his defense. “I’m not a tory, come on! I shouldn’t have ever taught you that word. You’re just going to hang it over my head forever.” He sighs dramatically, shoving his head in his hands for extra effect. 

You rest your hand on his shoulder, reassuring him sardonically. “Oh Neil, fine. You’re not a tory.” 

The rest of the flashback, the playful banter and the stolen, sneaky touches are quickly shut down by the buzzing of Neil’s phone. He breaks his stare from the streets below and picks it up, carefully reading the message he just received. 

“It’s time, they gave us the location,” He says, still looking down at the message. You freeze instantly, as if you’ve become paralyzed. “(Y/N)?” Neil calls, walking over to you. He places his hands on your shoulders. 

“I just,” You trail off, searching for the right words. “I just thought I’d have more time to prepare, I guess.” 

Neil loosens his hold on your shoulders and wraps his arms all the way around you, pulling you tightly into his chest. “I know love, I know,” He whispers. You take a deep breath. 

Maybe I could do this, You force yourself to think. I have to. 

You untangle yourself from Neil and walk over to the chair to put your converse on. Neil studies you from afar, seemingly watching your every move. You don’t feel uncomfortable at all. You know he’s watching you to make sure you’re okay. Normally you wouldn’t want Neil to worry about you so much, but now his worry was welcomed. It made you feel safe. It made you feel validated. He truly wanted nothing but the best for you, and he made that abundantly clear. 

You finish tying your shoes and stand up, lightly brushing away the creases in your pants. You grab your long, tweed, dark grey trench coat and throw it over your shoulders. You grab the pistol at the bottom of your suit case, and slip it into the inside pocket on the right side of the coat.

“I’m ready,” You say, looking over at Neil. 

Neil nods, and walks back over to you. “Are you sure?”

You nod back. “No, but that’s okay.”

————

You and Neil make it down to the parking garage, but the Porsche is nowhere to be seen. Neil pulls out a set of keys from his pocket and presses a button. 

“Can’t repeat the same ride twice,” Neil jokes as the lights of a black BMW flash in your face, just as the Porsche had done last night. You let a small smile break your furrowed brows and tightened face as you get into the car. Neil puts the keys into the ignition and drives off. 

Neil explains the mission to you on the way there. The plan was to continue posing as Ophelia and Atlas Ryan, two newlyweds traveling the world together. 

“But you’re from London,” You retort, posing a potential problem about the cover. 

“You’re not,” Neil grins back at you. “Besides, who says I can’t show you around a bit?” 

You grin back at him, finally accepting the plan. 

“So we’ll be pretending to shop in this clothing store,” Neil starts, but you quickly interrupt him, knowing exactly what’s coming next.

“What’s it a front for?” Anxiety sits in your stomach like a rock. You couldn’t help but blurt out the question. 

Neil swallows harshly. “There’s a Turnstile in the back,” He says, keeping his eyes on the road. “And some inverted weapons, although some may be an understatement.”

Of course there’s a fucking Turnstile, You think to yourself.  You grip the handle on the side of the door as the GPS shouts directions. 

Suddenly, the bombs in Neil’s suitcase all make sense now. 

“And we have to stick a bomb…” You trail off, flabbergasted by the danger of the mission. 

“We have to stick a bomb somewhere inside the store, and detonate it the second we leave,” Neil finishes your thought. 

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down, but it doesn’t work very well. You look back to the GPS on the screen, searching for your ETA. 

1:35PM. 

That’s when you look down at your phone and realize that it’s already that time. Neil slides into an open parking spot a few doors down from the store. 

He looks over at you once last time. 

“Are you sure you can do this? Because maybe I could find a way to do this by mys-,”

“No,” You state firmly, refusing to let Neil finish. “We’re in this together.” You put a hand on his thigh and look longingly into his eyes. “I’d never leave you, Neil.” Your eyes flicker down to his lips. 

Neil smiles, and you can feel your heart burst in your chest. He grabs you and pulls you against him in a tight embrace. It wasn’t exactly what you were aiming for, but it most definitely wasn’t a miss. He lets go and you nod at each other subtly. 

It was time. 

Neil opens his door and hops out. You go to open your door, but Neil quickly walks over to your side, opening it for you. He grins, knowing that you aren’t allowed to complain. You were married now, after all. Neil grabs your hand, and helps you out of the car. 

You walk along the street past a few cars before finally finding an opening to get onto the sidewalk. You and Neil stop in front of the boutique.

Through the Looking Glass

A far too perfect name, You think to yourself.

Neil’s hand is still holding yours. He squeezes tightly, and you squeeze back. 

Neil takes the first step and opens the door. A bell rings. The white walls of the store are decorated with fairy lights and some posters. 

“Good afternoon! Welcome in,” A tall, black haired woman says cheerfully from the behind the register. “Is there anything I could help you find today?"

Shit, You think to yourself. Her questions were simple. They were completely normal questions, and yet you were frozen again. 

“We’re just taking a look around. It’s only my wife’s second time here in London,” Neil starts, developing a story, a reason to be here. “She came to meet my parents a few years ago, but she never really got the London experience, you know?”

The woman nods from behind the counter. “That’s wonderful!” She says ecstatically. You were amazed at Neil’s ability to keep his cool. You could tell he had her convinced. It was like a superpower or something. “Well, if you need anything at all, let me know!” 

“Thank you so much,” You say, finally having the courage to participate in the conversation. 

You and Neil begin to shift through racks, picking a top or skirt out every few pieces or so. You carried a few fake conversations: where to eat dinner, where to go next, what landmark to see first. Neil casually slips the bomb in your pocket in the midst of discussion.

Finally, after collecting a few pieces, you and Neil head back over to the woman behind the register. 

“Do you think I could try these on in the fitting room?” You ask politely, a smile spreading across your face. 

The woman smiles back. “Of course, right this way!” She leads you and Neil over to the back of the store and into a smaller room. There’s a row of doors connected to cubicles on the right side, and a set of pink tufted armchairs along the left. There’s a few doors along the wall ahead, and that’s where you assume the turnstile and weapons are kept. She unlocks one of the rooms, and guides you inside. “Thank you so much,” You say pleasantly, trying to keep your cool despite how terribly you want to start trembling. You head into the room and shut the door behind you. 

There’s a long mirror in front of you, and a small, tufted white armchair in the corner. The bomb would fit best behind the armchair, and could go relatively unnoticed. You decide that you should actually give some semblance of a fashion show before placing the bomb. Otherwise, you might blow your cover. 

You carefully place your coat on the armchair, making sure that your gun isn’t exposed. You grab your first outfit, a navy blue turtleneck sweater and a plaid skirt. You slip into the clothes and open the door. 

Neil’s gaze immediately settles on your exposed legs. “Wow,” He mumbles, looking you up and down. 

You smile widely and blush. “Oh stop it,” You playfully say back, forgetting all about the mission for a split second. 

“You look fantastic, really, (Y/N).” At first, you want to revel in his comment, but your eyes widen, quickly realizing what Neil had just done. 

“Atlas, I don’t think that’s my name,” You whisper, hoping the women behind the counter hadn’t heard Neil call you by your name instead of Ophelia. 

Neil gulps, and a slight smile appears on his face. “Ophelia darling,” He says louder this time, “You look incredible.”

You try to keep the show going, and you smile back. “Well then I guess I’ll just have to get this outfit, won’t I?” You say back, glancing over at the woman behind the counter. Her eyes were locked on yours, and she quickly breaks her stare. She grabs the phone on the counter and dials a number.

“Atlas,” You whisper, getting closer to Neil. “I think we’re a bit fucked.” 

Neil turns around quietly, and watches the woman on the phone. She looks like she knows what she’s doing. 

She looks like she knows who you are. 

“What should we do?” You ask, whispering even softer now. 

Neil remains in the chair, and turns back to face you. “Put on the next outfit. I’ll keep an eye out.” You nod, and head back into the room. 

You take off the skirt, and grab the light beige menswear dress pants off their hanger. You put them on, one leg at a time, trying to listen to what was going on outside the room. You slip the navy sweater off and grab a turtleneck in a darker shade of beige to put on. 

You step outside, and luckily, Neil is sitting exactly where he was sitting before. 

“I like that one a lot too,” He says, looking you up and down just as he did before. “I meant what I said before, you really do look fan-,”

Neil is cut off by the opening of one of the doors. A tall, brown haired man steps out of the door and walks over to the woman by the counter. You keep your smile on your face in an attempt to salvage whatever is left of the mission. Neil does the same. 

“You know, we should probably get going now if we want to make it to our lunch reservations,” You say as the idea pops into your head. This was your way out. 

Neil grins at your cleverness. “Oh wow, I can’t believe it’s time already. Still feels like the day just started!” 

“Time flies when you’re having fun, my love,” You say as you head back into the room. 

You’re overdoing it, dumbass! You mentally yell at yourself. You knew your cover was blown. You take the clothes off, and go to put yours back on. In all your shuffling and panic, you forget one crucial thing. 

The bomb is in the pocket of your pants. 

The second you take your pants off the armchair, the bomb falls out and crashes to the floor. It slides under the door all the way to Neil’s feet. 

“Shit,” You hear Neil curse. 

BANG!

A gunshot rings out in the store. 

You grab your gun from the pocket of your trench coat, force your pants on and run out of the room. 

The man is collapsed on the floor and Neil’s gun is aimed at the woman. You cock your gun and aim as well. 

“I should’ve fucking known from the start,” The woman says, shaking her head. “North American scum, you’re all the same. Slimey little-,”

“Shut the fuck up!” You shout. “You’re going to call whoever you just called, and tell them that you don’t need any further assistance, do you understand?”

She cackles. “No. Why the bloody hell would I do that? There’s at least twenty men on their way down here.” Before you can respond, she reaches for something behind the counter. 

BANG!

You feel a wetness in your right shoulder. It’s an odd, numbing sort of feeling. Everything appears to be fuzzy for a split second. You can’t hear properly, you can’t see properly, it’s like static on a television set. 

BANG!

Everything begins to come back as Neil rushes over to you. He crouches down. You hadn’t even realize that you had fallen over. You look down to your right shoulder, and notice the blood pooling underneath your shirt. You take a deep breath, knowing that this wasn’t the end. You had to push through the mission.

“(Y/N)?” There’s nothing but panic in his eyes. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” You say, standing up. Neil grabs your arm, helping you. “I mean it, I’m okay. I can do this.” 

Another man bursts into the store through one of the back doors. He brandishes a gun. You hold your pistol up and shoot. 

BANG! 

You hit him in the center of his chest, but the knock back causes you to fall to the ground. “Sh-shit,” You mumble. The pain is too intense for you to say more than that. You take a few deep breaths, trying hard to put yourself back together. 

Another man enters the room, and he grabs the bomb off the floor. 

“We need to go, I can’t have you here like this,” Neil says. He kneels down next to you and scoops you up in his arms. He frees his right hand ever so slightly, aims his gun at the man, shoots, and misses. 

Then, the man aims his gun towards you and Neil. 

There’s another bang, followed by the sound of shattering glass echoing in the store and down the street. 

“N-no, we can’t go. I’ll just shoot with my left hand, I can do it.” But before you could protest any more, Neil had already ran out of the boutique and towards the car. He secures you in the BMW, only for you to unbuckle and attempt to get out. 

But it’s too late. Neil slides in, turns the ignition, and presses down on the gas. 

“No!” You scream. You turn around and watch the boutique disappear behind you. “Neil! What the fuck?” You look over to him. His eyes are locked on the road. 

“What? You wanted to stay back there and die?” He asks, anger growing in his voice. 

“If it meant the mission succeeded and you got to live, then yes, I would have happily died,” You say, turning behind to see if anyone was on your tail. 

Sure enough, three black SUVs were following close behind. Neil looks into the rearview mirror. 

“Shit,” He curses, pressing his foot down onto the gas pedal as hard as he possibly can. He weaves through traffic, turning down a few streets rather erratically before finally hitting the highway. 

“We need to get to the safe house,” Neil explains. “TP said he had the directions to one programmed in the car before we got it. It should be the only directions in the system.” 

You nod, reaching over to the screen and selecting the navigation app. There’s one pre-programmed destination. You click the destination, and the directions load in immediately. 

“I’m going to get them off our ass, okay?” You say, opening your window and grabbing your gun. 

Neil frantically looks over to you, and then back at the road. “What? No! Get the fuck back inside!” He commands, but you ignore him and unbuckle. You carefully slide out the window and sit down on the thin edge. 

You aim your gun at the windshield of the closest SUV and fire. The windshield barely dents. It’s bulletproof. 

“Get inside!” Neil shouts again, shifting lanes quickly and strategically. 

You ignore him again, and aim towards the SUV’s forward right tire. You shoot, and the tire deflates immediately. The car looses control and crashes into the center divider.

“Fuck yeah!” The exhilaration is like a high. You forgot what it felt like to be back in the field and actually doing well at your job.

The other SUVs are close behind, and you aim once again, this time of the back left wheel of one of the vehicles. You pull the trigger, sending the car off into the grass, crashing against a tree on the side of the road. 

“Be careful, alright?” Neil shouts his reminder, hoping that it will have some effect on you. 

There’s one SUV left. Just as you take aim, a man lets himself out of the passenger window and sits in the same position as you. You take a deep breath, and switch your aim to the man instead of the tire. 

“Hey fuckass!” You scream, diverting his attention from the wheels of the BMW to you. “Over here!” You shout. 

“(Y/N)!” Neil shouts angrily. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

BANG!

“(Y/N)!” Neil screams, making sure that you’re still right next to him. 

You take a deep breath. “I-I’m fine. He missed,” You say, but you’re not entirely sure that he did. The burning pain on the right side of your stomach tells you otherwise. 

The man goes to aim towards you again, but before he can shoot, you pull the trigger, hitting him directly in the head. He topples out of the car, giving you the space to shoot the back wheels of the car. The SUV spins out into a nearby street light. 

You slump back into the car, and close the window. Neil takes a quick glance into the rearview mirror to make sure no new SUVs appeared,

“Are they gone?” You ask, silently hoping that Neil would say yes. 

“Yeah, for now,” Neil says, shifting his focus over to you. “Holy fuck, (Y/N), you said he missed!” Neil exclaims. “This is exactly why I fucking took you back to the car in the first place.”

You shake your head. “I didn’t ask you to do that. That was your choice. I make my own choices,” You pause, trying to catch your breath. “I’m an adult, you know. I’m not some kid for you to babysit.” 

You look down at your side, and notice that you’re bleeding out onto the seat. “Oh sh-shit.”

Neil’s gaze focuses off the road and onto your wound for a quick second. “Jesus Christ what the fuck happened, (Y/N)? What did you do?” 

“I saved the mission, what did you do?” You say, frustration heavy in your voice. “I didn’t ask for you to save me. If we just stayed in the boutique another second we could’ve blown the whole place up and-,” 

But you can’t finish. An immense stabbing pain pulses strongly at your side. Your eyes begin to well up. There’s so much pain that you can’t even scream. 

Neil is too focused on the road again to notice what’s happening with you. “Don’t blame this on me! What did you expect me to do? Leave you there? Fuck no,” Neil doesn’t realize that you’re dipping in and out of consciousness. “You don’t understand how much I care about you. You don’t understand what my life would be like if you died. It would be hell (Y/N), absolute hell.” 

Neil stops his rant and looks over to you. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Neil’s voice is filled with worry. “Say something (Y/N), or at least try to stay awake.”

You’ve already lost so much blood. It was too hard to concentrate on what Neil was saying, you were too concerned with simply keeping your eyes open.

“N-Neil, a-am I going to make it?” You whimper earnestly. In truth, you were thankful for what Neil had done, you had just been beyond angry that your first mission back was a failure. 

Neil nods, and places a hand on your thigh. “You’re not going anywhere, I promise. I’ve got you,” Neil says. He pushes the gas pedal into the floor. “Just stay awake for me, please.”

But you can’t. Your eyes shut, and suddenly the world goes dark. 

>>>>Chapter 4

tags: 

@kmcedric11​ @annasdani​ @mellifluous-cosmos​

[erin-bo-berin]

A Game of Chess

MASTERLIST

This was an anon request to write a fic that involved Spencer’s childhood friend Ethan that appeared in season 2′s episode Jones. To the anon who requested this, I’m so sorry it took so long to write, but I seemed to have trouble getting this fic perfect. But finally, I tweaked it and molded it into a story I’m proud of and really like how it turned out. Shoutout to the wonderful @multifandommandy​ for helping me with the inspiration for the unsub in this fic. With her suggestion of using the real Axeman of New Orleans from the 1900′s, the unsub in this fic was born. I hope you guys enjoy this fic. Enjoy some sassy, jealous Spencer. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut)

Word Count: 6,907

New Orleans. 

Home of jazz, amazing food and beautiful sights.

Unfortunately, it was also the home of a current and active serial killer.

You and the rest of the Behavioral Analysis team had been called in for a serial killer running rampant in New Orleans, which meant that left little time to actually enjoy the sights.

“Remind me before we leave to take you to this jazz club I think you’d like,” your friend and coworker, Spencer nudged you with a smile.

“If we have a moment to breathe,” you groaned, taking a peek at the murder board that had already been set up by the local detectives.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make time for my favorite agent.”

He gave you a slight smile and a sly wink as he headed in the opposite direction of you to get started on some geographical profiles.

You felt a flush creep up from your neck all the way to your cheeks. It was no lie that you fancied the intelligent Dr. Reid and some days, you thought he actually reciprocated your feelings.

It felt like the two of you had been circling one another constantly for months, either pretending the feelings didn’t exist or shamelessly flirting with one another. At this point, you weren’t sure anything would ever happen between you two.

That still didn’t stop how flustered he could make you. Such as how he had just done.

It was something special to have his undivided attention. That was a recurring thing for you though. You always seemed to receive a more special kind of attention from him than the rest of your friends—aka the rest of the BAU team.

You were heading towards the table in front of the murder board to set down your things when JJ quite literally appeared out of nowhere by your side.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that wink,” she smirked knowingly, settling down in a seat at the head of the table.

“Don’t start,” you retorted, cutting your eyes towards her in a warning glance.

“I’m just saying,” she smirked, opening the file and flipping through it before she spoke her next words.

“It’s just a matter of time before the other shoe drops.”

Whatever that meant.

•

You hooligans think you can catch me, but you can’t. You won’t. I’m much more cunning than you think.

You’ve found victims one, two and three. What about four, five and six? Seven? Maybe they exist, maybe they will exist soon. That’s for me to know and you to find out. If I wanted to, I could slay thousands of your best citizens, for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death.

“Well, that’s not chilling at all,” you muttered.

A letter had been sent to the NOLA police department, apparently from the killer himself. He was taunting them and your team, that much you knew.

“Definitely a narcissist,” Rossi said, relaying your thoughts, “He thinks he’s untouchable.”

“Not to mention he actually took a line from the infamous Axeman of New Orleans case,” Spencer pointed out.

Everyone blinked at him, clueless.

“The Axeman was a serial killer from May 1918 to October 1919 here in New Orleans. He was never caught, but he typically murdered couples with an axe; axes that belonged to the victims. It’s similar to our current unsub although he’s killing women with an axe. That’s actually kind of similar to the Axeman because he did actually slay a few single victims, some being female and-”

Spencer paused, noticing the entire team staring at him, once again.

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“Just a bit,” you nodded, holding back a grin.

Once the boy got started on something, it was hard to get him to stop. Or not talk 100 mph.

“Is this guy a genius or something? I didn’t even know about that serial killer,” the local detective, named Valadez, whispered to you as Spencer started back up and more to the point.

“You get used to it, trust me,” you grinned.

“The Axeman actually sent a few letters of his own,” Spencer said, looking at the copy of the letter, examining it, “He quite literally copied one sentence word for word.”

“Which one would that be?” Tara asked.

“I could slay a thousand of your best citizens, for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death,” Spencer read.

“That’s the copied line?” Emily asked.

“Yeah,” Spencer answered distractedly, still studying the writing, “From the Axeman’s letter on March 13th, 1919.”

“So is this just a copycat?” Matt asked.

“I don’t think so,” Spencer answered, “Although the similarities shouldn’t be ignored. He kills women with axes and then sends a letter that has a line that’s verbatim for what the Axeman said.”

“So maybe he’s getting his inspiration from this Axeman guy?” JJ questioned.

“It’s possible,” Spencer nodded.

Spencer was totally in the zone, looking at the writing, tongue poked out of the side of his mouth.

“At most, he has an ego that needs to be stroked,” you said, “There will definitely be more victims.”

“Victim three, Raquel Clayton was discovered outside a jazz club,” Detective Valadez said, studying the murder board.

Spencer’s head jerked up.

“Did you say jazz club?”

“Yeah, does that mean something to you?” Luke asked, curious.

“The Axeman also mentioned in said letter he would spare anyone that was listening to jazz music on a specific night. That night the entire town had dance halls filled with people listening to jazz music. Either his motive is somehow related to this or this guy is just fascinated by the Axeman case. What jazz club was it?”

You were glancing over the detective’s shoulder, reading the file. The name struck you as one you’d just heard earlier in the day. With a smirk, you looked at Spencer.

“Up for a trip to your favorite jazz club?”

•

“It doesn’t surprise me that I managed to actually bring you here, but under the fact of work circumstances,” Spencer grumbled.

“Hey, we’re here aren’t we? We can enjoy a little music while we ask around and see if anyone has seen anything.”

The club was darkly lit, but was filled with soothing sounds of jazz music. You could see why Spencer liked it here.

“The music is pretty.”

“It is, isn’t it?” he agreed.

You stood for a few moments more taking in the pleasant sights and sounds around you before sighing.

“Guess we better get to work, huh?”

Spencer nodded.

“You start with the bartender and workers around there, I’ll start at the back. I’ll meet up with you later,” Spencer said.

You nodded and headed off to start your first rounds of questioning.

-

An hour later you met a disheartened Spencer. He’d had no more luck than you had. No one had seen anyone suspicious, no one had seen anything, there wasn’t even the first hint of who a suspect was.

This guy seemed to be as invisible as the real Axeman.

“Maybe Jazz was just a coincidence?” Spencer asked.

“You know as well as I do, that there’s no such thing as coincidences in our line of work,” you commented.

He was about to say something when a voice interrupted him.

“Reid, is that you?!”

You and Spencer turned to see a tall man, roughly the same age as Spencer with dark hair and dark eyes. His long beard would’ve been unruly on anyone else, but on this man it seemed to fit him perfectly.

“Ethan?” Spencer’s face lit up, as he hugged the guy.

“It’s been quite a long time since I’ve seen you. What’s it been? 13 years?”

“About,” Spencer nodded, “I didn’t know you were still here in New Orleans.”

“I just got back after some traveling. You can take the boy out of New Orleans but you can’t take New Orleans out of the boy.”

You watched the exchange back and forth, smiling politely.

“Are you gonna introduce me, Spencer?” you asked.

“Well, does Reid here have a girlfriend? Cause if so, he sure does have mighty fine taste,” the man said.

“No, he’s not my boyfriend,” you chuckled, “I’m his partner.”

You held out your hand.

“Supervisory Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N. But you can just call me Y/N.”

He smiled, shaking your hand.

“Reid, you didn’t tell me the FBI had such beautiful girls like Y/N here. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have dropped out of the FBI so long ago.”

You smiled bashfully as you dropped your hand from his.

“Y/N this is an old friend from Las Vegas, Ethan. We grew up together.”

With a sidelong glance at Spencer you could see him jaw clenching and unclenching. Something he did when he was annoyed. That intrigued you. What was annoying him?

“So you were in the FBI?” you asked, curious.

“Nah. After the first day of training, I dropped out. Left it to this guy here,” Ethan nodded to Spencer, “I knew Reid would be the better agent anyway.”

“What made you drop out?”

You winced, realizing your tactlessness. 

“Sorry if that was too personal of a question,” you apologized.

“No need to apologize,” he held his hands up, “With a pretty agent like you, I’d spill all my secrets.”

A slight blush grazed your cheeks and you smiled brightly up at him. It was nice to hear such compliments. It was something you weren’t used to.

“I figured out I wasn’t up for being in the FBI. Much more of a musician, I guess you’d say.”

“Oh, you play?”

“Sax, piano, a little guitar.”

“Impressive,” you grinned.

“So, Reid. You doing better now? No more addiction?”

“Addiction?”

You furrowed your brows, looking at Spencer quizzically.

“It’s nothing,” Spencer mumbled.

“Last time I saw him he was pretty messed up,” Ethan said, demonstrating a shaking hand, “What was it you were on again?”

“Dilaudid,” Spencer answered, lips pressed in a thin line.

“What?”

You had joined the team only eight years ago, in your early twenties, just shy of Spencer’s thirtieth birthday. He’d already been with the BAU for eight years himself by that time. There were a lot of things you didn’t know about his past and apparently, this was one of them.

“Y/N is a newer member to the team,” Spencer said, suddenly seeming more relaxed, “She only joined a couple of years ago.”

“How long has it been since you’ve been in the BAU again man?” Ethan asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“Fifteen years.”

“Damn. That’s impressive. I could never. Guess that’s why I ended up here,” he motioned with his glass, indicating this certain jazz club.

Spencer’s phone rang, but he ignored it.

“Speaking of,” Ethan turned to you, “How would you like to hear some great music sometime? I could get you front row seats. Maybe even play a request or two just for you.”

He winked at you, increasing your flush. It’d been a long while since you’d had a guy hit on you, hence your constant flushing. You were flattered and you were seriously thinking about taking up his offer.

Spencer’s cell started in again. Once again, it went ignored.

“If I get a chance, I’d love to come hear you play.”

He was about to say something when the cell rang again. For a second you actually thought it was Spencer’s phone again, until you felt the vibration against your thigh from your own phone.

“One second, excuse me,” you apologized, taking your phone out of your pocket.

You had a missed call, followed by a new text.

New body found. Meet us at crime scene ASAP.

It was from Emily.

“I’m awfully sorry to break up this reunion, boys,” you said, “But we gotta go. The job calls.”

“No problem. See you around dude,” Ethan said, patting Spencer on the back.

“Anytime you want to take up my offer, just drop by. I’ll hook you up.”

This was said to you.

He raised his tumbler in your direction with a flirty grin as he backed away.

When you turned to follow Spencer out, you realized he’d already left.

•

You and Spencer arrived at the crime scene ten minutes later.

“What took you guys so long?” Emily asked.

“Sorry, my phone was off and Y/L/N didn’t tell me you needed us.”

You shot Spencer a look.

What the hell was he talking about? You certainly had. Especially after he’d ignored his own ringing phone twice.

“It’s fine, you’re here now,” Emily said.

“Another body was dumped. Female, approximately 25-30, seems to be wounded from an ax,” Detective Valadez said.

“Man, he really did a number on this poor woman,” you mumbled, shaking your head, “She must’ve really pissed him off.”

The victim was so wounded and bloodied, it was difficult to identify much else about her.

“I know what that’s like,” Spencer mumbled.

You glanced at him again, your questioning glance being plainly ignored.

What was up with him?

“Split up. Witnesses said they had just seen her get off of the bus down the street. We need to know how she ended up here,” Emily said, “Y/N, Spence. I want you to start at the bus stop and see if you can retrace her steps.”

So that’s how you and Spencer ended up at the bus stop, him mumbling to himself and you exasperated at his silent treatment.

“How are we going to figure anything out when you won’t even talk to me?”

He continued to ignore you, walking up and down the sidewalk, thinking.

“If you’re mad can you just please tell me why?”

“I don’t know. You might be too busy flirting with some passerby,” he grumbled.

You were even more confused. 

“What are you talking about?”

Back to ignoring you again.

“I think we’ve figured out about as much as we can from here, let’s go,” Spencer said, taking off.

He left you behind feeling even more confused than to begin with.

•

The only bright spot of the next few days was that there was a break in the case.

Thanks to Spencer’s excellent geographical profiling skills, he’d managed to narrow down the unsub’s hunting ground.

The icing on the cake?

In the dead middle of his hunting ground was a jazz club. The same jazz club you’d been to with Spencer the day before, the one where Ethan frequently played at.

Two more victims had been murdered, something that made your heart twist painfully in your chest. You’d been too late to help them, but now, you could get justice for the poor women who had met their untimely end. 

To attempt to catch him, the team came up with the idea of sending an undercover in and staking out the place in an attempt to lure him out.

You were going to be the one that would be sent in. In fact, you yourself volunteered to. You wanted to arrest this guy and throw him in handcuffs. It’s what the bastard deserved after his heinous crimes.

Even though Spencer had hardly talked to you for the last few days, he still flat out refused. He kept trying to talk you out of it and convince Emily to send someone else in. But you’d already made up your mind. 

“You’re not going in there, Y/N,” he protested.

“Yes. I am.”

Your voice had a steely edge. He wasn’t going to change your mind.

“Do you know how dangerous it is?!” he’d thrown back at you.

“Gee, no. I never thought about it,” your sarcastic tone was harsher than you intended, but it felt good.

If he was going to be mad at you for whatever reason, then so be it. But you had every right to be just as angry at him for giving you the cold shoulder.

“This is serious, Y/N.”

“You know what, Spencer? You have some nerve acting like you care about me all of a sudden. You have no right to order me around like you’re my father. Especially since you’ve been passive aggressive with me all damn week.”

With that, the plan was set.

And you went in.

•

“Remember, Y/N,” came Emily’s voice in your invisible earpiece, “If you encounter our unsub, we have to catch him in the act. It’s very likely he will attack you and try to hurt you, you know that right?”

You trailed a finger around the lip of your tumbler, looking around the mostly empty bar before answering.

“I’m aware. I’ll be alright.”

“Okay. Just act like a normal young woman out having a night out. We know he’s picked up all his victims here.”

“Got it.”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Agent Y/LN,” you heard.

You turned around, seeing Ethan stroll up to you, a sly grin on his face.

“Well hello there,” you grinned, leaning against the bar, “And please, call me Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he said trying out the name, “Might I say you look outstanding tonight.”

You smiled down at the deep teal ruched dress you had donned for the evening. It was a simple dress with thin spaghetti straps and a deep plunging neckline, showing off more of your breasts than you ever had at work. It fit on your body perfectly, hugging your curves and highlighting them. A pair of strappy, gold, stilettos were the only accessory you’d paired with it.

“Thank you. I’ve been anxious to hear you play.”

“Where’s Reid? Did he not come with you?” Ethan asked.

“Oh, he’s around,” you replied coyly.

Just outside, down the street sat Luke, Rossi, Emily and Spencer in an undercover van, watching the entire thing on their monitors.

The styrofoam cup in Spencer’s hand crumpled from his grip on it as he watched the scene unfold before him. Thankfully, he’d already finished his coffee earlier.

Rossi glanced at the cup then to Luke, with a raised brow.

“You okay there Reid?” Luke asked, knowingly.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out. 

“Right,” Rossi drawled, clearly not convinced.

“Isn’t that your childhood friend?” Emily asked.

Yup,” Spencer said and nothing else.

“I saved you a seat at the front, just like I said I would,” Ethan said.

Spencer’s blood boiled when he saw Y/N’s hand on Ethan’s arm. She was doing that thing she did when she flirted: that cute half smile and a peek up through her lashes. 

He’d seen it before many times. It was just one of the many things he’d noticed about her before.

“I’ll personally escort you.”

Ethan wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her towards the stage. They were briefly off camera for a moment and Spencer couldn’t help but feel the jealousy tugging at him. He wouldn’t even be in this position if—well it wasn’t important right now.

They appeared back on camera, near the stage. He sat her at one of the tables at the front.

“I’ll try hard not to mess up. It’s a bit nerve wracking when you have such a beautiful girl in the audience to cheer you on.”

Spencer fought the urge to roll his eyes. 

Y/N actually giggled in response.

“Reid, you’re seconds away from snapping that pencil in half,” Rossi said.

He peered down, not even realizing he’d picked up a pencil to worry in his hands.

“Anything you’d like to share?” asked Rossi.

Spencer looked at the three expectant faces staring back at him and grimaced.

“Not particularly,” he grumbled.

“Reid’s just mad that his friend is making moves on his girl,” Luke stated, nonchalantly.

“She’s not my girl,” Spencer replied.

“Dude, come on. We all know that you like her and just refuse to make a move.”

Spencer glanced at Rossi and Emily who seemed in agreement to Luke’s statement. A glance at the monitors showed that nothing exciting was happening anyway, so there was no way to avoid this conversation with his teammates.

“It’s like a game of chess,” Rossi said, steepling his fingers together.

“What is?” Spencer asked.

“You and Y/N,” he replied, “But it’s like you’re both stuck in a stalemate waiting for the other to make a move.”

He had no reply to that. What was there to say? Rossi was right and it was all his own damn fault.

“Take this as a lesson, kid,” Rossi advised.

“A lesson how?”

“Let this be your motivation.”

-

Ethan had left you since he was up next.

You sat at the table, sipping on your drink when you heard an unfamiliar voice to your right.

“Looks like you’re awfully lonely tonight.”

You turned to see an average looking man dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. He seemed out of place in such a casual outfit. That didn’t qualify him as the unsub though.

“Maybe I like to be alone?”

That stopped the guy in his tracks. He quite literally backpedaled and left you alone again. You heard a muffled snort in your earpiece.

“You sure know how to tell ‘em,” Luke scoffed.

“Yeah, well, if our unsub is picking up women with lines that bad, we’re in even more trouble than we realized,” you muttered.

You knew from the profile that this unsub was full of himself and egocentric. He would have to be smooth enough to actually lure a woman back with him. 

“We’ll keep watching,” Emily said.

You sat alone in peace as Ethan played. He was rather good and you had to say you were impressed. 

Your drink eventually disappeared and when you caught Ethan’s eye, you held up your glass just slightly, nodding towards the bar so he knew you were getting a refill. You stood, heading towards the bar, deciding you’d just go for a simple water. You were on the job, after all.

“I’ll take a water, please,” you told the bartender.

He was young, maybe early 30’s with dark hair. He seemed put together, even for a bartender. His outfit was neat and mess free and not a hair was out of place.

“For a beauty like you, you should have a drink, it’s on the house. It’s my specialty.”

He leaned forward to you, giving you a sly wink, as he reached for a glass without even hearing your answer.

“No, that’s okay, really.”

“Oh come on. One drink won’t hurt. I make the best drinks in the city,” he said.

Something in your mind was trying to piece together, but you couldn’t get it to completely form. Shaking it off, you reluctantly relented.

“Okay, I’ll take one then.”

He mixed the drink, poured it in the glass and slid it towards you.

“Now tell me that isn’t the best drink you’ve ever had.”

You took a sip. It was too strong for your taste but you smiled anyway.

“It’s very good,” you lied.

“So, have you heard about these weird ax murders happening around here?” he questioned, wiping the bar.

“Mhm,” you hummed, “Scary stuff.”

“It’s amazing these deadbeat feds can’t seem to catch him,” he shook his head, as if it were a real tragedy.

Neurons in your mind were sparking and there was something about him that was setting you on edge.

“What did you say your name was, again?” you smiled, flirtatiously.

“I didn’t.”

His grin was icy. 

Red flags were going up. If he wasn’t your unsub, then this guy surely wasn’t someone to mess with.

“Oh my bad,” you giggled, playing the part of a flirty, young woman, just there for some fun.

“Anyway, all I gotta say is, is that this guy is really proving a point.”

“How so?” you asked.

“You just gotta give the ax to some people,” he replied, slamming his palm down on the bar top, making you jump, “You know what I mean?”

You nodded, seeming interested, but goosebumps were forming on your skin. It was too much to be a coincidence that this guy wasn’t the unsub and he sure had the ego to match the profile.

“Oh excuse me,” you said, reaching for your phone in your purse, pretending like you were getting a phone call, “It’s my boss. She can’t leave me alone even on a night out.”

You smiled apologetically and put the phone to your ear.

“Hello? Yeah, just a minute, I can’t hear you.” 

You covered your other ear as if you were trying to hear as you headed towards one of the side doors. 

Once you were out of the building, you pulled your phone away, hitting the speed dial for Emily.

“Prentiss.”

“Emily, it’s me. Did you hear any of-”

Before you could finish your question, you felt a hand over your mouth and you were jerked backwards. You kicked and screamed in tandem as your phone hit the pavement and you were dragged back into the darkened alley.

-

“Y/N? Y/N?!” Spencer yelled, panicked eyes looking at the others.

“Everyone move. Now. We believe the suspect has a federal agent,” Emily barked into her walkie talkie.

“Cover the parameter. We have no idea which direction he could’ve taken her,” Luke added over the radio.

Spencer was out of the door before anyone could stop him.

“REID! REID!”

He heard Rossi yell out after him, but he didn’t stop running.

If that son of a bitch dared to hurt a hair on Y/N’s head, he was going to leave here tonight in a body bag instead of handcuffs.

Spencer would make damn sure he’d see to it.

•

Your back hit the brick wall, the nearby streetlight hitting something metal just right that it gleamed for a split second. 

Your heart stopped when you saw the blade of a hatchet in the bartender’s hands.

“I knew the feds had been around here snooping for me,” he sneered.

“How?” 

You tried to act cool. This was part of your job, to be in dangerous situations. But truth be told, you were terrified.

“Your little boyfriend Ethan mentioned seeing you and your partner here the other day asking around about me. Little did he know he was really doing me a favor by letting me in on that little piece of gossip.”

Ethan. He had just gotten back from a tour of the world. He was innocent in all this, yet somehow he still ended up mixed up in it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you scowled, wriggling against his grasp.

He held you tight with one arm across your neck and shoulders, his arm almost to the point of choking you. You had to stall, had to do something. Where was Emily and the team?

“Where were you that day anyway? I never saw you here.”

“That’s because it was my day off. Lucky break huh?” he snorted, “Besides, I was in search of victim number five.”

Lillie Newton. She was victim number five. She had a name, she wasn’t just a number. 

Anger boiled within you. Pure hatred for someone as evil as this man that stood before you.

“Why? Why do it? Were you just trying to be another copycat?”

“You know, one of the things said about the Axeman of New Orleans was that his crimes were mostly ethnically motivated. He killed mainly Italian-Americans or Italian immigrants. For some reason, he must’ve hated them. I found it...inspiring. Of course, I have nothing against the Italians. Unless they’re women, that is.”

“Oh so that’s it? You hate women? Talk about typical psychopath 101,” you spat.

A sharp sting came across your cheek as he slapped you, hard. Hard enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“Listen here, bitch. I’d watch my mouth if I were you, because this baby?” he lifted up his machete for you to see, “This can do a lot of damage. I can’t wait to strike it into you and chop you up so your FBI friends won’t even be able to recognize you.”

You swallowed hard. Your brain was scrambling for a way to escape. You were just about ready to kick him in the groin when he was suddenly yanked away from you, his hard grip leaving your body.

You blinked quickly, not understanding what had just happened until you saw Spencer a few feet away, punching the guy. It wasn’t just one punch either. Two, then three came. You bounded into action then.

“Spencer! Spencer, stop!” 

You tried pulling him away as the rest of your team came running into the alleyway. He managed to get one more hit in before you successfully pulled him away and Luke had pulled the unsub up, slapping cuffs on him faster than you realized he even could.

Spencer grabbed you and pulled you close, holding you tight. His head went into the crook of your neck as he clung to you, all of his apparent fear and worry being transmitted from him to you through the hug. No matter what tiff you both may have been in the middle of, he still cared about you.

“I was so scared something happened to you,” he mumbled.

He pulled back, looking over you, assessing you to see if you had any injuries.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I promise.”

His finger brushed your cheek lightly and you winced.

“Did he hit you?!”

“Slapped me, but I’m okay. It’s just a little sore,” you told him.

“You might have a nasty bruise there in a few days.”

“Least it’s just a bruise, huh?” you smiled a tiny bit.

“Yeah.”

He was gazing directly at you as if no one else were around, as if there wasn’t a bustle of activity around you. In that moment, it was just the two of you.

“Spence.”

You both turned to see Emily, motioning for him, needing his help.

Spencer let go of your arms, stepping back a bit.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” 

With a nod, you watched him head in Emily’s direction. It had been a long day. A long week actually. But the murderer had been caught and there would be justice for the poor families who had lost their daughters.

That wasn’t all though.

Something had seemed to shift between you and Spencer. Sort of like a chess piece in it’s hesitant movement to another square.

•

By the time you’d handed over the unsub to the local precinct so he could be their problem, it was well past midnight.

Everyone had been way too exhausted to even think of boarding the jet tonight, so it was mutually decided that they’d spend one more night in New Orleans and head home tomorrow. Everyone had gone their separate ways once back at the hotel.

You headed to your room, managing to score an ice pack for your sore cheek. Unfortunately, after all the excitement, there was no time to talk to Spencer and he’d left the precinct before you had anyway. You made a mental note to check in on him tomorrow and maybe even see if things were okay between you two.

You’d changed out of the dress and into more comfortable clothes—sweatpants and a t-shirt. You were sitting at the small table in your room, icing your cheek and pretty much about to fall asleep when there was a knock at your door. Sitting the ice pack down, you walked to the door, opening it. You were surprised to see Spencer standing on the other side.

Before you had the chance to say anything, he grabbed your face and kissed you.

After your brief initial shock, your lips moved with his so fluidly it seemed natural, like you did this every day.

Minutes may have passed, or it might just have been seconds as you kissed him back, your hands naturally finding a spot to rest against his chest.

You were so stunned when he pulled away, that it took a moment for you to realize he had said something.

“Huh?” you asked, still dazed.

“I asked if I could come in,” he repeated.

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

You stepped aside and let him in, closing the door behind him. Your head was still reeling from the kiss as you turned around and saw him sit down on your bed, his hands running through his hair.

“Come here,” he whispered.

You walked over to him, standing in front of where he sat.

“I’m so sorry,” he began.

Your confusion deepened. Was he sorry about the kiss? About you getting hurt? About being mad?

He said nothing else as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him and holding you tight.

“When I saw the unsub had you…” he mumbled into your neck, trailing off as his voice cracked.

You pulled out of his embrace to look at him. You now stood in between his legs, even closer than you had been before, your body mere inches from his.

“I was so afraid I might never see you again. Suddenly, me being angry at you was the least important thing in the world.”

“Why were you mad? If I did something I’m so sorry, I-”

“Shh, no,” he mumbled, his finger covering your lips gently to silence you, “It was my own fault, I’m so sorry.”

You waited silently, seeing if he was going to elaborate. His eyes closed, his expression looking pained and even a bit embarrassed.

“I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” you questioned, your brows furrowed, not understanding.

“Of Ethan flirting with you,” he sighed, “And you flirting back.”

“I,” you paused, your mind racing, not being able to piece everything together quick enough, “I was just being nice to him, then just playing the part earlier. Why would you be jealous?”

He gave a half laugh, almost a humorless one.

“Because I’m crazy about you, Y/N,” he whispered, his gaze finally meeting yours.

His hand cupped the side of your face, his other hand resting lightly on your waist. You didn’t move from his touch nor did you make a move to push his hands away. 

“And seeing you with someone else made me see red. Just the thought of you being someone else’s and not mine because I’d been too scared and stubborn, locked in this chess game, if you will, with you, not making a move. I was afraid I had been too late and I was mad at myself.”

“I’m not interested in Ethan. I only have eyes for you,” your eyes slid to his lips, unable to stop yourself.

You were still thinking of the way his lips had felt against yours. The softness of them, the passion in the kiss, the way his hands had cupped your face and held on firmly like he himself was afraid the moment was just a fluke.

“It’s always been that way.”

Your voice was barely a whisper now as your eyes slid closed and your lips found his again.

This time, the kiss was more heated. Your feelings for one another had finally been laid on the table, igniting a need to act on them.

Your hand tangled in his curls as you kissed him back fervently, suddenly feeling like you couldn’t get enough of him. You had spent years not knowing what kissing him would be like and now it felt like you were simply making up for lost time.

You smiled gently against his lips when he moaned into the kiss. Apparently, he was just as eager for your touch against him, as you were for his against you.

His hands reached for the hem of your top, pulling away to pull it up and over your head. His tongue moved out and over his lips slowly, his eyes taking in your newly exposed skin. Your own hands pulled at his loosened tie, dropping it once it left his body. 

Spencer’s mouth met your neck, leaving soft kisses down it as your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. The simple task seemed so much harder as you were distracted by the feel of his lips on your skin.

In one fell swoop, he’d picked you up and turned, tossing you in quite a gentle manner against the mattress of your hotel bed. His hand ran over your exposed stomach, his kisses moving lower. You chewed on your bottom lip as you watched him, unable to control the growing desire forming between your legs.

You were so caught up in the sensation, it didn’t even register what he had been doing until you felt the slight tug of your waistband being pulled downwards. His fingers gripped the material and pushed it down over your raised hips until it was completely off.

You wasted no time in ridding him of his own pants as well.

Left in only your undergarments, you and Spencer laid practically skin to skin, taking a moment just to enjoy one another. He kissed you again, his slight scruff tickling your face, while his hands roamed your body.

You, also, took your sweet time exploring the new found territory of his bare skin underneath your hands. They ran over his back, his chest, his arms, his sides before finding their way back to his face, your lips moving in a fluid dance with his own.

He reached behind you, unhooking your bra, pulling the straps down until the item had completely left your body. You were almost positive he held back a groan as he took in your naked top half. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Your legs inadvertently clenched at his cursing. It wasn’t often he did it, but something told you that in bed it was a good possibility that he could be a completely different person.

His hands cupped each breast, his lips kissing your throat as he massaged them. His fingertips briefly moved over your peaked nipples, making you moan softly. 

Spencer wasted no time though, his touch quickly retreated downwards to the only item left on your body. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties and pulled them off, leaving you completely exposed and turned on beneath him.

Maybe it was a mixture of how close you came to death tonight and your feelings for him, but you didn’t want this moment to end. You wanted to hang on to it forever. That’s why you took your time, hands pushing off his underwear, your eyes meeting his.

It was like he could read your thoughts. Being as close as you two had been previous to this, it wasn’t surprising, but knowing you so well in this instance was just on a whole other level of mind blowing. He nodded, wanting to enjoy this for as long as he could too.

His hand covered yours, interlocking your fingers together as he pushed into you. The new feeling of him inside you was overwhelming but really good.

Your hands stayed laced together as he kissed you and moved within you. Your body met his rhythm and soon instead of two, your bodies moved as one.

Breaking the kiss, your head fell back against the pillow as you moaned. You couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that he felt so incredible. His teeth bared into his bottom lip as he gazed down at you, his desire written plainly on his face.

“Spencer,” you whimpered, pulling your legs up his sides, allowing him a deeper access.

His movements quickened as your pleasure heightened, fulfilling the need for more. You couldn’t help but smile, even as you moaned, at the curl that fell over his brow, moving with each thrust.

“God, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, his forehead falling against yours, eyes closing, “Fuck.”

You briefly registered the other noises in the room besides both of your moans: the bed creaking and the headboard hitting the wall.

“Spence,” you mumbled, whimpering as he hit a sensitive spot, “You're gonna wake up the entire team.”

“Let them hear,” he grunted, “Let them know who you belong to.”

“Whatever you want,” you mumbled, pulling him towards you once again.

Your fingers dug into his back as your high built deep within you. He moaned against your lips, his hands gripping your sides as you both moved frantically, desperate to reach complete ecstasy.

“Fuck, Spencer,” you moaned, your noises suddenly higher in pitch and volume, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He kissed you as you came apart, the fire in your veins shooting through you as quick as lightning. Luckily, his kiss muffled most of your loud moan. 

He buried his face in your neck as he soon followed, his own moans filling your ears, much to your delight.

Your fingers tangled in the back of his hair as you panted, starting to come down from the high. His body was slick against yours as he finally turned his face to yours, kissing you once again.

The cool air of the hotel room hit your sweaty skin, cooling it gently, but your insides still felt red hot, both in reaction to the sex and the fact that it was Spencer, the fact that he was as crazy about you as you were him.

The fact that both of you no longer played this complicated game you’d inadvertently been involved in for so long.

It was only after he’d stilled, his body still flush against your skin that he smiled one of his heart stopping grins, before finally speaking.

“Checkmate.”

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[highfaelucien]

Heyy

90. Dance for Rhycien?

Please send me whump Prompts

(Heck yes, it's time for The Gay. Have some Under the Mountain Angst. Slight warning for mind control/influence (Rhys to Lucien) It's short-lived, demanded by Amarantha, and doesn't last long)

Old Time's Sake

"Ah, Lucien, nice of you to finally join us," Amarantha drawled from her place upon the carved throne, sitting above the writhing fae bodies, watching with that grim pleasure Rhys had come to loathe so intensely.

Turning, he spotted Lucien, long red hair gleaming in the dancing faelight, barely concealed loathing etched in every line of his angular face.

The exiled Autumn prince hadn't been seen for several days now. Not since the brutal whipping at Tamlin's hand that had left him unconscious and, if rumours were to be believed, near death.

From the look of spite in Lucien's remaining eye, it seemed he had spat in death's face for the simple pleasure of being able to glare at Amarantha once more.

"You're looking a little grim there, princeling," Amarantha crooned, "Why don't you join your little human friend? Dance with her."

She gestured towards Feyre, who had drunk the wine Rhys had provided her and accompanied him to the dance as he did each night. Her body moved with surprising grace, considering she was human.

A muscle feathered in Lucien's jaw as he watched Feyre. He turned that simmering hatred on Rhys instead, fire blazing in that russet eye. Rhys just smirked at him and winked. Lucien's hands balled themselves into fists at his sides.

It was clearly an effort for him to project even a facade of civility as he turned his gaze back to Amarantha and said, "I fear my skills are not equal to those already here. I wouldn't like to offend you with my display, lady."

Amarantha tapped one sharpened nail on the arm of her throne. Few caught the suppressed flinch in Lucien's body at the sight of it, but Rhys saw, and looked away, disgusted.

"You will offend me deeply if you refuse me again, Lucien," she said, voice soft and dangerous now.

"I'm sure we both know how much I'd hate to do that," Lucien growled, and Rhys found himself closing his eyes.

Lucien never had learned to keep his mouth shut. There seemed to be some self-destructive part of him that enjoyed snapping at those who could snap him in half with a wink.

Silence enveloped the hall for a few, pounding heartbeats. Then Amarantha turned her head sharply, all the false air of a pleasant queen amongst her court banished.

"Rhysand," she said, darkly, "Make him dance for me."

"It would of course be my pleasure," Rhys said smoothly, nudging Feyre to one side and rising from the plump cushions he'd been reclining on, keeping an eye on her as she reveled blindly.

Lucien turned to him, his jaw set, his eyes hard. There was no fear in those eyes. Many here underestimated Lucien, as he didn't possess the same power as his father or brothers. Rhys thought they were fools. It took an extraordinary level of strength and courage to face him that way. Not to mention his return here in the first place.

"Little Lucien," he clucked, aloud, shaking his head, "You know it's not polite to refuse a lady."

Inside his head, he murmured, I'm sorry.

Lucien's eyes flashed, almost giving him away with his moment of confusion. Then Rhys swept away his will, and forced him to perform for Amarantha. Just as he was forced to perform for her.

At once, Lucien's face contorted with pain. He shouldn't have come here tonight. Tamlin had no doubt ordered him, the cowardly bastard, unwilling to come himself to see Feyre. Lucien's magic had been suppressed, and he had been denied any kind of healer. His body had been forced to heal at the rate of a human.

It didn’t take long for the wounds to re-open, blood staining the handsome tunic Lucien wore.

Amarantha underestimated Lucien, too. Rhys could sense he would refuse to give out until this killed him, just to spite the bitch. But she wouldn’t know that. Once Lucien was breathing heavily, and finally cracked to let out a whimper of pain, Rhys enveloped his mind in darkness and allowed him to slump to the floor, unconscious.

“Pathetic,” Amarantha hissed, as Lucien’s brothers, clustered around her throne as usual, sniggered and jeered their approval.

She waved a dismissive hand at Rhys, “Get him out of my sight,” she commanded, already bored, turning away to watch Feyre with amusement.

“At once, lady,” Rhys said.

Snapping his fingers, he lifted Lucien’s limp form into the air then carried him down to the cells, where he would return Feyre to in a few hours.

Setting him down far more gently than he would have dared to under Amarantha’s watchful gaze, Rhys gazed down at the fae male he had almost let himself love, once upon a time.

His fingers traced the scar over his eye with sadness. Then gently unbuttoned the blood-stained, ruined tunic, and examined the mess of his back. Torn, raw flesh, weeping fresh blood once more after Amarantha’s forced dancing.

It would have been worse if you hadn’t put a stop to it when you did, he tried to tell himself. Anger flared as another thought crept into his mind, And it would have been a lot better if Tamlin hadn’t sent him to that fucking party.

The High Lord of Spring had to know how much Amarantha enjoyed using Lucien as her plaything. Torturing him was becoming something she enjoyed almost as much as she enjoyed torturing him.

Sighing, Rhys reached out a hand, magic flaring, but-

Slim, hot fingers wrapped around his wrist, surprising him, which was impressive in itself.

Lucien, remarkably, had fought his way back to consciousness.

Stupid, stubborn bastard, Rhys thought, with fondness.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Lucien demanded, spitting blood from a bitten tongue out of his mouth at Rhys’s knees.

“That’s really no way to speak to a High Lord of Prythian, Lucien,” Rhys said, tutting, “I see you haven’t improved your manners since last we met.”

“I see you haven’t stopped being a prick, either,” Lucien shot back, weakly.

“I’m overwhelmed by your wit,” Rhys said sardonically.

“Fuck off and let me bleed, Rhys,” Lucien muttered thickly, body starting to tremble with the pain.

“Is that what Tamlin would do?” Rhys asked, unable to stop himself picking at that old wound between them.

A muscle feathered in Lucien’s jaw, but for once he restrained himself from answering. Perhaps Amarantha’s eye gouging had changed him, after all.

“No,” Rhys continued, folding his arms across his chest, “No, Tamlin doesn’t even know your bleeding out down here for his foolish command. Or, more appropriately, he doesn’t care.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Lucien snapped, some of that fire flaring in his remaining eye again.

Rhys still wasn’t used to the mechanical one. He’d spent a long time, previously, getting lost in that blazing gaze before. It wasn’t the same now.

Rhys tutted idly, rocking back on his heels, peering down at Lucien, “He doesn’t deserve your loyalty, you know.”

“And you do?” Lucien shot back, an awful disdain twisting his face.

Rhys’s jaw tightened, “I didn’t say that,” he said, smoothly.

Lucien laughed bitterly, even though it made him convulse with pain, “You meant it, though.”

He rolled onto his side, snarling with pain as he did, so that he could look Rhys full in the face as he spoke. Lucien had always been far too skilled at reading him, and he looked away, unable to bear that burning gaze.

“He didn’t deserve the sacrifice you made to stay with him,” Rhys breathed.

“Sacrifice?” Lucien repeated, “You mean you?” He laughed, the sound raw and humourless, echoing in the cavernous cell around them. It degenerated to coughing before long. “I owed him. I still do. He saved my life. He took me in after Jes. I pledged my fealty to him. You thought I’d turn away from that for your fucking dick?”

Rhys met his furious gaze once more as he said, softly, “I thought you might have turned away from it for the chance at happiness.” He rose to his feet, staring down at Lucien, something tightening within him, “But you could never let yourself have that, could you? It’s always been your most fatal flaw, Lucien. You don’t know how to let yourself be happy.”

“And you do?”he shot back.

“I could have learned,” Rhys said, very quietly, and he knew Lucien felt the sincerity in it, “For you.”

That actually shut Lucien up, for once. The only times he’d managed to achieve that before had been with decidedly more creative applications of his tongue.

“Don’t return to the party tonight,” he said, “I’ll be back here in a few hours with Feyre, and you can visit her yourself. Lie there and try not to drown in your own blood until then, won’t you?”

He turned, cloak covering Lucien in black for a moment, before pulling away, leaving him trembling on the cold stone floor.

Despite the anger that pulsed in his chest, he couldn’t leave him like that. He waved an idle finger, and Lucien’s wounds sealed themselves. Not fully. Not enough to leave Amarantha suspicious, but enough to ease his agony for now.

Lucien blinked and sat up as Rhys turned away again.

“What will she do to you if she learns of this?” he asked, very quietly.

Rhys forced himself to smile, “I doubt she’ll think of anything new. She’s not particularly creative, you know.”

“It’s still a risk,” Lucien said, gazing at him with suspicion, as if he expected some bargain, some demand for recompense.

Rhys shrugged in response, “Perhaps I think it’s worth it.”

“Why the fuck would you think that?” Lucien asked, sounding genuinely, heartbreakingly, bemused.

“Maybe I think you’re worth it,” Rhys said, more softly still.

Lucien eyed him for a long moment, pregnant with heavy silence, words they’d never spoken to one another echoing up through the lonely decades they’d spent apart.

“I’ll never understand you, Rhys,” he muttered finally, shaking his head.

“Isn’t that part of my enigmatic mystique and irresistible air?” he replied slyly.

Lucien smirked at that, “Enigmatic ego and insufferable ass, more like.”

“You found my ass quite sufferable, if memory serves,” Rhys smirked.

Lucien grinned. For a moment they weren’t trapped in this foul pit of a place. They were on the borders of Spring, Lucien’s mouth hot and insistent against his, fingers roaming beneath dark Illyrian leathers with surprising knowledge of buckle placement.

“Thank you,” Lucien said, a little too stiffly.

“I do believe that might have caused you more pain than the whipping,” Rhys quipped.

“It certainly is now, with you gloating in my face,” Lucien scowled in response.

“Take care, Little Lucien,” Rhys said, waving an idle hand back towards him as he moved to the door of the cell.

“And you, Rhys,” Lucien said, very quietly.

There was such emotion in that deep russet eye of his, that Rhys forced himself to winnow back to the party, before he did something incredibly stupid. Like kissing him.

***

Thanks for the prompt!! I hope you liked it!

[phinksimp]

Jealous phinks headcanon please!

Oooooo I love jealous Phinks! Hope you enjoy my little drabble!

You sighed as you walked to the restaurant with your best friend and her boyfriend.

"Y/N, are you sure you don't want to wait for Phinks?"

You shook your head. "I'm pretty sure he won't be coming."

Small arguments were a common occurrence between you two. There was often a lot on Phinks' plate, and he tended to take his frustration out on you. While he wasn't one to get physical with you; he often disregarded your feelings and would say things he didn't truly mean.

To you, it was just "Phinks being Phinks", most of the time. But the last argument over spending too much time at your job had crossed the line for both of you.

"Why do you need to work anyways?! If you ever need anything, all you have to do is tell me and I'll get it for you!" Phinks went to grab your hand, but you quickly slapped it away.

"By 'get it for me', you mean steal it, right?!" You pushed past him to grab your purse. "I don't know what the hell you're doing most of the time...but from now on; I don't want anything from you if it's stolen." You glared at him before walking out the door. "I can't blame you though. What kind of real job could you get with your qualifications? All you're good for is hurting people."

You replayed the argument in your head over and over as you made your way to the restaurant. Part of you knew you had to apologize eventually, but part of you knew you may have gone too far.

"Y/N!"

You turned to see the son of your boss waving as he walked towards you and your friends. He had recently moved from another country to learn under his father, as he would be the one to take over in a few years.

His blue eyes contrasted against his dark black hair and fair skin. His black suit with a slightly unbuttoned white dress shirt showed off his figure. There were several people in the office who had developed a crush on him.

"Oh, hi Charles! Grabbing dinner?"

You hit your friend discreetly on the leg as soon as you felt her nudge you. She whispered out the side of her mouth;

"Woah Y/N, who is this guy?!"

Charles smiled once he caught up to your group. "Yeah, I don't really know this area yet though. Do you have any places you can recommend?"

Your friend chimed in before you could speak.

"We're actually heading to a really good izakaya right now. You're more than welcome to join us!"

You screamed internally, praying he'd say no.

"Why I'd love to!"

You shot your friend a glare as she replied with a wink. She never really took a liking to Phinks, saying she could tell he was "no good" despite anything you would tell her. Of course she would take this opportunity.

You looked back as Charles walked beside you, hoping Phinks would show up.

---

Phinks groaned as he stood outside the restaurant, his hands in the pockets of his tracksuit.

Why the hell am I here? Is this even the right place?

He was still upset over your last argument, but he hated to drag things longer than they needed to be.

He shot up slightly when he saw your friend and her boyfriend step out of the restaurant for a smoke.

Phinks went to approach them, but something told him to keep his distance. He hid behind a wall, listening intently.

"Wow Y/N's new boss is a real catch! Handsome, rich and super nice...unlike no brows." Your friend laughed as she took a puff of her cigarette. "I think he likes her too. I hope she wakes up. It's not like Phinks is the type to get married, and it's what she's dreamt of since we were kids! 3 years and not even a hint of anything happening. I don't know how she tolerates him!"

Phinks clenched his fists as his blood went cold. He pondered for a minute; debating whether or not he should bother looking.

He took a deep breath before glancing through the window.

There you were, and there he was; his arm casually draped along the back of the bench seat behind you.

Phinks had half a mind to kill him right there and then.

He peeked at the window once again, his heart dropping when he watched you laugh.

It had been a while since he had seen you smile like that..

He grit his teeth, thinking about what to do. His jealousy was beginning to grow, and he knew he would go off in a blind rage if he let it get to him..

His body instinctively began to wind his right arm, but he stopped immediately. Instead turning back home to your apartment.

Phinks remembered you mentioning your new boss in passing, but never took much notice to it.

The man was successful, handsome, well mannered and well dressed.

Everything he was not.

All you're good for his hurting people.

Phinks looked up at the sky, your words repeating in his head.

You're right, Y/N. That's all I'm really good for...

-------

You did your make up in the bathroom as you checked your cellphone for the time. Charles would be picking you up for a corporate meeting in 20 minutes.

It had been 3 months since your argument.

3 months since you last saw or heard from Phinks.

It drove you mad that there was no way for you to contact him. He had left his cellphone at the apartment and you didn't know anyone he worked with.

You hoped he had just been called away for a job suddenly.

But you figured that what you said was unforgivable. You knew that despite his tough and cold demeanor; Phinks was a sensitive soul.

Maybe he wasn't coming back this time.

You wanted to apologize for what you said. It wasn't true. There was so much good to him that even he failed to see at times.

You quickly packed your purse as you made your way outside, not wanting to make your boss wait.

Your heart dropped as soon as you walked out the doors of your building.

There he was.

He wore a grey suit with a white dress shirt.

You panicked when you saw his arm in a sling, and his black eye.

Your body shook as you approached him, mixed feelings of guilt, relief and worry overwhelmed you.

"Phinks..."

He adjusted a duffle bag along his shoulder as he shot you a soft smile.

"Where are you going, Y/N?"

The question took you by surprise. "I'm going to work. My boss, well the son of the boss is picking me up."

Phinks felt his blood begin to boil. The images of you laughing with Charles in the restaurant making his jaw clench. "Like hell he is!"

Phinks made his way over to you, wrapping his uninjured arm around your waist as he pulled you into a kiss. He had missed you over the past few months, his motivation being the goal of never wanting to see you with Charles or any other man again.

He finally pulled away, allowing you to catch your breath.

"Quit your job, Y/N."

You pulled away completely in a knee jerk reaction to his words. "No way! What's wrong with you?! I don't even know where you've been! I still have bills--"

"I've got enough money for us."

He placed the duffel bag in front of you.

Your heart sank, expecting to find wads of cash.

What did he do this time?!

Instead, Phinks pulled out an envelope with a book.

You took it hesitantly, your eyes widening as you read the pages. Several deposit entries filling each page. "What the... you were--"

Phinks nodded his head. "Yupp. Heaven's Arena." He laughed. "None of that money was stolen. So you can save your breath." He made his way over to you, flipping to the first page of the bank book as he held your left hand. "The account is under your name, just in case anything happens to me. I'm sure there's more than enough in there." He placed his hand on your face. "You were right-- hurting people is all I'm good for."

"Phinks..."

The blonde haired man smirked. "Would your new boss give you all this?!"

Just as he said that, Charles pulled up in his car. He got out immediately as soon as he saw Phinks. "Y/N! Is everything alright here?!"

Phinks stepped in front of you, his uninjured hand now in a fist. "Who the hell are you?" Phinks lied, knowing exactly who this man was.

Charles cleared his throat. "Well, my name is Charles and Y/N is one of my associates."

Phinks huffed. "Never heard of you." He went to wrap his arm around your waist. "And besides, Y/N doesn't work for you anymore."

Before you could say anything, Phinks pulled you in closer. "Sorry for the inconvenience, pal. If you'll excuse us; we've got a wedding to plan."

You gasped as Phinks turned you towards the apartment, holding your left hand as the large diamond on your finger shimmered in the sunlight. "I'll make sure to send you an invite, Chuck."

"Phinks, when... what..." your mind was in shambles as you tried to process everything that was happening.

Is this his way of proposing? Are we engaged?!

Phinks spanked you, snapping you out of your trance. "You know, I'm still not over what you said. You're going to have to make it up to me, like a good little wife."

The tone of Phinks' voice made your temperature rise, as you knew exactly what he meant.

Charles stood there dumb founded as he watched the two of you walk off.

"Wow, that's one hell of a man if I ever did see one."

[lexi-evans]

He loves you | Draco Malfoy imagine

Summary: Everyone says he loves you,he says he loves you but why is it so hard for you to believe it?

Harry and Draco are friends? Wolfstar? Check it out.

Follow for more💚

"AAAHHHHH!!" both Ron and Harry shouted. Currently,everyone is watching The shining movie. (Horror movie) Hermione and You sat on the floor in front of the couch as the boys argued they sat last time.

Both of you turned around and gawked at them. Ron is holding a pillow hiding his face behind it, Harry is covering his face with his hands. Hermione returned her attention to the movie but you caught sight of Sirius.

He's hugging Remus like his life depends on it.and Lilly,James? They're just chilling. Harry invited the three of you to stay at Potter's for summer which you Glady accepted.

It's always fun staying here. Today is Friday which is movie night. Unfortunately,Mr.potter I mean James picked the shining movie. Bad choice.

You focused on watching the movie. Another Scarry scene came and both Harry, and Ron....Sirius? screamed. Hermione looked very annoyed this time. "Kids" She muttered causing you to chuckle.

You looked around and saw Lilly and James already fast asleep,Remus too. You don't blame them,though. They're the one's who is looking after the kids. I mean Harry, Hermione,Ron,You,Sirius.

"so much braveness for being a gryffindor." You said,riled. Hermione snickered.

After finishing the movie 4 of you stumbled to their rooms. Trying to as quiet as you can. Harry is sharing room with Ron as you and Hermione sharing the room next to Sirius and remus. Opening the door you and Hermione walked lazily towards the bed. Falling on to it.

"good night,Mione" you said,sleepy. "Night,Y/N" she said,yawning. After sleeping peacefully for an hour. *Knock knock* you squinted your eyes. "Who is it?" Hermione asked,Raging.

They opened. Ron???!! "Ronald Weasley!! What do you think you're doing??here???" She asked, sitting up. Ron looked,scared. "I..I had a nightmare,sweetheart" He replied, calmly. "Can I sleep here tonight?".

Hermione looked at you for permission. You nodded. "Har...I know you're outside,come in! You can sleep here" you said, knowing all well. He showed up smiling sheepishly. You moved to your side a little giving him space to sleep.

He settled down and smiled at you. But you gave him a bitter look. Moving closer getting him to cuddle with you. "You know Draco would be pissed if he knows I have you in my arms like this. Even though I don't mind because you're like my little sister" He said, laughing.

You looked at his face. "You think so?" You asked, hopefully. "Very" Ron replied from other side of the room. "He loves you,Y/N. So much" Hermione said with a joyful voice feeling fully awake.

" I don't know...." You said,gloomily. "Do you like him,Y/N?" Harry asked, excitedly. "...No?" You said,sadly. "He loves you,you know? I don't know what's stopping you...Y/N. You're amazing,talented, cheerful and kind.. there's there's no reason for any one to not like you" he looked down at you only to find you sleeping peacefully. Little did he know you're just pretending to be asleep.

He sighed. "Good night,N/N" he said,placing at kiss at top of your head. Harry was like you're big brother. And you as his sister plus best friend. It's only a week before the first term starts and you guys will be attending you're 6th year.

After a few minutes later you heard soft snores. You're mind wandered around thinking about all the things everyone says.

Reasons why you don't date him:

He's a bully. (In his younger years but not now at least not as much as he used to before)

He flirts with other girls. (To make you jealous)

You think he's just playing with you're feelings.

Things he does:

Never gives up on you.

Asks you out every weekend only to get rejected.

Flirts all the time.

Sends love letters.

Makes first years to give you flowers.

Ridiculous Cheesy pickup lines.

Overprotective

Doesn't let anyone near you except you're friends.

Always makes sure you're healthy.

He always takes the little opportunities to be with you.

It wouldn't hurt to give him a chance.. Right? You sigh slowly falling into deep slumber.

He may be anything in your head but for him you're:

cute, shy, innocent.

Amazing at what you do.

You let him sit next to you because he makes you smile.

He loves how adorable you look when you blush.

That cute little smile you give when you're excited.

He loves how much you like chocolates.

He always notices little things you do.

He loves how you act all goofy with the twins trying to make others laugh.

He knows how much you like flowers.

Whenever he gives you flowers he sees how you cherish them.

Always giggling when ron does stupid things.

Easily getting distracted but somehow getting the answer right when professor calls on you.

No matter how many times you rejected him he would never give up on you.

He knows how you feel bad when u say no to him so you offer him to hang out with you're friends.

He loves how you make first year's cheerup making them feel better telling them it's going to be okay.

You didn't know why you don't accept him.. There's no reason for u to say no to him. Except maybe because he flirts with other girls right in front of you trying to tick you off.

After thinking maybe a little too much you fell into deep slumber.

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Roses

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"Roses?" You stated with a huge grin looking at all the flowers on you're desk with a little note on it.

I just wanted to see you smile

-Draco

You smiled reading at the little note. You made sure the note isn't scrambled in your pocket. Hermione nudged you're side and gestured towards Draco who's staring at you. You turned to him and gave a him a genuine smile. Like it meant to say thank you.

In Malfoy Manor:

"I miss you, Y/N" Draco said, staring at the empty ceiling above. You were the last thing on his mind before sleeping, After waking, hell you were the only thing in his mind everyday. "Good night, darling" He whispered closing his eyes falling asleep.

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Snow ball fight

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"Draco!!!" You squealed as he picked you up and spun around. He laughed at you're cute giggles. "where do want to go, love?" He asked putting on you're feet. "Oh what's that?" Who pointed something behind him making him turn around. You took the chance and picked up the snow and threw at him.

"Owww, Y/N?!!!" He exclaimed before attacking you and started tickling you. You wiggled around trying to escape from him which somehow caused both of you to go Outbalance and you landed on top him. "Ouch" He said, clearly not hurt. "well, luckily I had a soft landing" You winked. "Come one lovebirds it's time to go" Ron replied, smiling at his best friend. "You guys look so cute!!" Hermione cooed. Harry rolled his eyes smiling.

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I'm cold

┗━━━━°❀���°✮°•❀°━━━━┛

"Draco~~" You sang shifting around trying to some warmth. It's really cold outside and you didn't like. At least not when you feel like freezing. "Yes, Darling?" He asked putting down his book. "I'm so cold" You said rubbing you're hands together.

"Aww, baby is cold? Come here" He opened his arms. You hesitated but finally gave in. You smiled, he's warm. Draco noticed you're red cheeks and smiled.

Next day morning:

You woke earlier than Harry, Ron and hermione. You quietly got out of bed trying not to make any noises on your way down stairs.it's not a surprise for you seeing Lilly is already wide awake.

"Morning, Mrs. Potter" You purposely call her that because it annoys her. She prefers to be called Lilly but you do this sometimes for fun. She gave you a 'really? ' look before turning her attention to what she's doing.

"Morning, Y/N! Did you sleep well? " She asked placing the bowl she took out side the kitchen's cupboard. Just then Remus walked in with sleepy sirius and James trailing behind him. And sat in the chairs next to you. You laughed at James face because he his hair looked like a Birds nest. Remus took the newspaper that's laying on the table and started reading it. Sirius leaned on the table and watched his boyfriend reading the paper.

"I don't know how to answer that question" You said, dramatically placing you're head on the table. She turned around and saw the sad expression on you're face.

Sirius (who's still sleepy) gave you confused look. James already fell asleep in the chair snoring, his glasses almost falling off his face. Remus stopped reading the newspaper and tuned his attention to you. It is very unusual for you to be this quiet and sad.

Sirius knocked off james glasses causing him to stir awake. James scowled at Sirius but quickly shut it down when Lilly threw him a glare. So, now everyone sat in silence. Until Lilly finally decided to break it.

"what's wrong, Y/N? " She asked Worriedly. Taking a seat to your left placing her hand on you're shoulder. Lilly always cared about you. Like her own daughter. "Lilly, you said you rejected James many times, right? How come he hasn't given up on you? Sirius also said James used to bully,professor snape... And how come you liked Him? I mean from what you said Snape is you're friend,right? " You can hear remus chuckle. As Sirius let out a muffled laugh. James smiled at the long memory.

"That N/N..let me tell you" James said still searching for his glasses. Sirius finally gave him them to him. "Yes, I used to bully you're so called professor for fun. And I'm not nice to lilly at the beginning either. But as the days went by I started to like her" He gestured towards lilly who's smiling.

You smiled a little as he continues "Of course she didn't like me because of the way I used to behave. I asked her out many times, tried to make her jealous by flirting with other girls in front of her, course she always said no" He let out a laugh. Remus and Sirius giggled.

Watching lilly roll her eyes. "You know why I never gave up on her? " He asked as you shook your head. "Because I knew I genuinely liked her not just for fun. she's a kind person in the whole hogwarts you know" He bragged. You laughed. "Likewise"

"I still remembered the time she finally gave me a chance. That day, I remember I couldn't be more happier. The day I knew she's the perfect woman for me. When i ran and told Sirius and Remus they didn't believe me, you know." He said with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Remus laughed. Sirius frowned "Of course I wouldn't believe you! She never said yes to you! I thought you were just making it up!"

You turned to Remus "How about you two, Remus? How did you and Sirius ended up together? " You asked, curiously. "It was Sirius who made the first move" Remus chuckled.

"I certainly did! I'm more confident than moony" Sirius said, proudly. "Well, you're confidence is stupid! You told me you kissed first in the shrinking shack! " James huffed. "wait? In the shrinking shack? " Lilly asked, confused.

Lilly didn't knew? "By first move? You mean directly going and kissing him?" James snickered. You were surprised but laughed when you saw Remus face. "It was on one of my days" Remus explained to you referring to full moon day.

"Ooooh, On full moon night in the middle of shrinking shack where no one else would bother you? How romantic Sirius" you said,teasingly. Remus blushed tried to hide his embarrassed face infront of the younger.

"but seriously,Y/N? What's actually bothering you?" Remus finally bought back the topic which was now completely forgotten. "Is it about,Draco?" James asked since they all know about you're situation.

You nodded. "You wanna talk about it?" He asked but you shook your head. "Definitely not in front of those two" you pointed towards Sirius and James. "What? Why not?" "why us?" Both of them spoke at the same time.

"you'll tease me endlessly" they both sat in silence knowing it is true. "Fine" Sirius dragged out james who's still complaining. "Y/N, Do you love him? " Remus asked for which you chuckled. "Using word love is kind of maybe a little bit too early, don't you think Remus? " He shrugged.

"I feel like a mess, really. I'm not gonna lie. It's like... I'm stuck? Between it's right or it's wrong?... I don't even know anymore... I'm just- I'm confused, I can't even express how I'm feeling right now. These feelings he makes feel like I want him but... Somewhere deep down I have a tiniest feeling if I'm maybe wrong?" You paused. Honestly, you felt like you're a mess.

Remus and Lilly carefully listened everyword you said. "I like him but I hate him? Or maybe... Maybe I'm just mad that he flirts with other girls like he does with me?" You said, frustrated.

"Y/N...Listen. He maybe chose the wrong way to get you're attention but maybe he's got a reason. He does love you but he's made a wrong choice showing it how" Remus explained gently. This made you remember how he's gentle with all the kids in the class.

"Y/N, remember what James said? He did flirt with other girls too but why? So he could make me jealous and go out with him. But when I Confronted him about everything wrong with his behavior? He changed, hasn't he? Does he still look like the James they described? Sometimes boys are soo stupid" Her soft motherly voice spoke.

"Do you think he'll change? Draco?..for me? " You asked hopefully. She smiled "why don't you try and find out? " With that you feel you're confidence coming back, again. You nodded happily smiling. "Maybe I'm just scared getting heart broken... I hate feeling... Weak" You huffed.

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Make you mine

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"Y/N, please, love. Just one time? " He asked desperately wanting to go on a date with you. But you still continued to walk with Harry on you're side who's laughing.

"Y/N, please" He grabbed you're hand turning you around making you bump into his chest. You lifted you're head looking at his face. "Just once? " He asked, added. You tried to keep straight face. "will you ever stop? " You acknowledged. "No! Not until I make you mine" he stated smiling.

You opened you're mouth but nothing came out. You stared at his face for a second before pulling your hand out of his turning around grabbing Harry's hand walked away with a smile on you're face.

Sirius and James have been listening the entire conversation between you three from behind the door grinning like idiots.

Later you helped Lilly prepare breakfast for everyone. And it is no surprise Ron and Harry haven't woke up, yet. Hermione is already downstairs trying to get James read a book with her.

"Y/N why don't you and Sirius go and wake up Ron and Harry? " Lilly asked placing the dishes on the table. You grinned looking at Sirius who nodded. "I'll wake Ron" You said to Sirius. "Y/N,dont scare him" Hermione sang you giggled. Both of you made you're way to the room and saw...

Ron snoring loudly, no surprise. Harry sleeping with his mouth open almost falling off the bed while hugging the pillow you placed before you left.

You walked towards the desk before the night stand and pulled out a temporary marker. You looked at Sirius grinning widely. He understood what you're doing and asked for another marked which you gladly gave it to him.

You crawled on Hermione's bed where Ron is sleeping. You slowly started to draw on his face but he's still fast asleep. You drew fake glasses just like Harry's and wrote 'idiot' on his cheek.

You giggled. Putting the pen away and started shaking Ron "wakey wakey ronnie" You sang. He groaned turning other side falling asleep. "Oh.my.god! Hermione what is victor krum doing here? " You acted dramatically. Ron shot up looking around searching for krum. Ready to throw hands on whoever touches his mione.

You burst into fit of laughter watching his reaction. "Ugh not funny, Y/N" He threw a pillow at you. But you continue laughing.so he threw another one. Harry is already awake watching Ron throwing pillows at you. When you saw his face you laughed even harder.

Sirius drew a snitch on his forehead. And dog paws on his both cheeks."morning sleepyhead" Sirius ruffled Harry hair. "Come on guys breakfast is ready" You said grabbing Sirius hand running downs stairs. Both of you started laughing when you reached the kitchen.

Ron stared at Harry's face then burst into laughter same went with Harry. "Since when do you have glasses, mate? " Harry asked still trying to contain his laughs. "I have glasses? Why's there a snitch drawing on you're face? " Ron pointed Harry. Both of them stared at each other before running downstairs.

"why are you guys laughing? " Hermione asked looking at you and Sirius who is still laughing like crazy. "SIRIUS!! Y/N!!! " everyone's attention turned to Harry and Ron who's standing in the doorway looking like idiot's. With drawings all over their faces.

"HaAHA" James is the first one to react then everyone started laughing. "It's not funny guys" Harry said, gloomily. "It's quite funny actually" Hermione laughed.

Next week: in Kings Cross station

"You guys ready to back? " James asked, smiling at the four of you. "God I can't believe you guys are starting you're 6th year.. It's like yesterday you guys were starting Hogwarts" Lilly said, smiling like a proud mom.

After saying goodbye's the four of you made you're way into the train searching for an empty compartment. Sirius and Remus are long gone on their own.

After sitting together for a good 30 minutes you left the compartment and started roaming out. Harry went to search Ginny leaving you alone with Ron and Mione. Not wanting to be a third wheel you left em alone.

Fortunately, you found Draco all by himself, looking out side the window staring off into space. He didn't even notice you. You slowly made you're way next to him and boomed "BOW!!" he jumped gripping his ropes tightly. Looking like he just saw a ghost.

You laughed "Aww, you got scared!! It's just me, Dray" You plopped next to him. "Y/N don't ever do that again" He breathed. "whatchu doing alone?" You asked because usually he would sit with his henchmen. "Just wanted to be alone. What're you doing here??" He asked letting you rest you're head on his shoulder. Taking you're hand into his.

"Oh I was third wheeling but then I got bored" You said, giggling. He laughed playing with your hand. "Dray... Why do you like me? I'm not anything like other girls" You said in low voice. "That's why I like you, silly. You aren't anything like those girls. That's what makes you special, Y/N. And I love you, everything about you" He spoke in soft voice.

"Then why do you flirt with them? " You're voice sounded a little bit hurt. "It did got you're attention, didn't it? " He joked. When you looked at him with hurtful expression his face immediately fell.

"Y/N" He cupped you're face. "I never meant to hurt you, Y/N. I thought maybe if I flirt with them you'd get jealous and go out with... Me? " He explained. "Do you know it's also the reason why I always say no? " You asked staring into his icy blue eyes.

"what? " His expression changed. "I like you, Draco. I really do but I just don't like it when you flirt with other girls right in front of me or when you pick on first years when I'm not there. That's why I never said yes to you even though I like you" You remarked.

"Y/N if you just said so I would never do any of those. You could've said it? I promise, Y/N. I'll never pick on first years and hell, I wont even talk with those silly girls" He said, holding you're hands.

"Promise?" You asked,hopefully. "Promise" He leaned down and kissed you're lips. You wrapped you're arms around his neck pulling him closer. He waited for this moment, for years. You wondered how much patience he's got waiting for you all these years.

The promise sealed with a kiss. You felt happiness Radiating over you. All because He Loves you.

♡ ∩_∩

（„• ֊ •„)♡

┏━∪∪━━━━┓

♡ The end ♡

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a/n: I don't even know what to say... These exams are killing us. I have exams till this Sunday and they said there's still upcoming exams and I'm ready to die. Also I have few other stories coming up and maaaaybe smut fics too.

[btsfaris]

exes and oh’s

summary: sometimes you feel like San is too good to be true.. or maybe he’s too good for you? length: 1,758 pairing: choi san x insecure reader genre: angst, fluff, suggestive smut

-

San was such a bright and happy soul, despite his chiseled features and muscular frame, he was such a happy pill inside. He was the type of person to make new friends or talk to anyone randomly like they were close pals. That was one of the reasons you loved him so much, and you’re forever grateful that he has that sort of character–as you would probably not be dating had he not approached you first.

You were simply walking through downtown where all the shops were, to buy a few things you needed and the sweet scent of coffee coming from an open door to a cafe caught your attention. Not thinking too much of it, you walk in and look at the menu, deciding what you wanted to reward yourself with; after such a long day of shopping.

“I usually go for an white chocolate mocha–not too bitter and not too sweet,” a figure beside you speaks up and you jump slightly at the sound.

He gives you the sweetest smile, his eyes nearly closed and dimples on his smooth cheeks. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, just thought you needed a bit of help,” he continues to grin and you can’t help but to smile back.

“That’s okay.. I was going to get a caramel latte though, but thank you for the suggestion,” you give him a nod and he hums.

“So you like your coffee sweet? Guess it’s true what they say; you are what you eat,” he says, and a blush rises on your cheeks at the sudden compliment. Before you can get another word in, he is next in line and orders for himself. He turns around, handing you the receipt and you look at him confused before reading the small paper and seeing your order on there as well. When you look up, he gives you a soft wink and you bite back a swoon.

You bow at him thankfully, before turning to sit at the end of the cafe, far too shy to sit next to the handsome boy who just bought you a drink. Besides he seemed like he was nice to everyone, you really shouldn’t think much of it.

That is until the guy once again stands in front of you a few minutes later and places your coffee on the table before sitting down. “Kinda hoped you’d sit next to me,” he sighs playfully and looks at you with practically sparkling eyes. Seriously, could this guy get any cuter?

“I’m San by the way, I hope I’m not being rude and you’re just trying to get rid of me. It’s just that you’re very beautiful and I was hoping to get your number?” He gives you a hopeful look while you give him a confused one. This incredibly attractive person wants your number? Is he blind?

“O-Oh,” you blink repeatedly before nodding, and he takes out his phone almost instantaneously, handing it to you. You punch your number in before he gives you a quick call so you can have his number as well.

“Great, what’s your name love?” San smiles.

“It’s y/n,” you say softly.

From that point on, you texted daily and even went on a couple of dates. By the 5th date, San walked you to your door just like any other time but this time, finally asked you to be his girlfriend officially. Surprising you in all honesty, you never thought someone as perfect as him would be interested in someone like you. He was all around an amazing guy, with a bubbly personality and very dedicated to his career as an idol.

So here you are now, a few months into the relationship and at a friend’s birthday party with a bunch of other people you don’t really know. Originally you wanted to stay at home and watch movies on San’s only night off in weeks but after hours of begging, he managed to convince you to go out with him. You’re a couple drinks in and chatting against a wall with a childhood friend of his when a female voice cuts him off.

“Choi San? Is that you?” A pretty girl walks up and has a shocked look on her face.

“Lee Nari? What are you doing here?” San exclaims, a smile growing on his face.

“I came for (friend’s name)’s birthday of course? Did you forget we all went to the same high school as you?” She teases and you’re confused at the two.

“Ah, well it has been a long time,” he blushes, and for some reason it doesn’t settle well in your stomach at the sight. He seems to remember your presence before clearing his throat, “this is my girlfriend y/n,” he introduces you and she gives you a polite bow.

“And this is Nari, my uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “friend.”

“Just a friend huh? Wah, is the idol life finally getting to you? I didn’t date you for that long so I could be a friend,” she nudges him playfully and it seems to go over his head that she’s his ex when he retorts. “Yah, I’m still the same country boy I was years ago, I just dance and sing a little better.”

You keep quiet as the two interact for the next hour, wondering the real reason they’re not together anymore. They seemed like the perfect pair, she was equally as bubbly and energetic as him. Not to mention she was prettier, with a nicer smile that almost reminded you of San. The only thing you can come up with of their break up is that he left for his training and split, no loss of feelings necessarily and the thought is what makes you go at your breaking point.

Rather than telling San, you walk away from the pair and head outside for some air. Sitting on the curb of the sidewalk outside the apartment complex, you analyze your relationship with your sweet boyfriend so far. What exactly could you offer to him? He was far out of your league, a freaking idol of all things! Maybe this was your wake up call. That you weren’t meant to be with San after all.

It’s been a while since you’ve sat outside, and it only furthers your sadness since he hasn’t noticed your absence yet. Probably too busy flirting with Nari. You pull out your phone and sniff as tears start to roll down your cheeks, typing a message to San.

you: let’s end this 11:36pm

You’re about to walk home when a pair of hands pull you back into a hug. You know it’s San when he rests his chin on your shoulder. “Where have you been honey? I’ve been looking for you!” He chuckles, turning you around. When he sees your red eyes, his expression softens and he reaches out to pull you into an embrace. You swat his hand away and he looks shocked, “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“Go back inside San, I don’t want to ruin the party for you,” you mumble, wiping your cheeks with your hands and continue walking.

“Wait, hold on,” he’s quick on his feet and pulls you back, “did I do something?”

“Can you just please leave me alone,” you huff, crossing your arms, “please check your phone too, maybe it’ll help.”

He’s confused, but pulls his phone out. “Y/n..” he whispers, looking up at you again with now watery eyes.

“I’m sorry San, this just isn’t going to work out,” you mumble, “tonight made me realize we’re just too different people, we just don’t belong together..”

“Y/n.. come on, you don’t mean that. W-We’re perfect, you’re perfect, you get me better than anyone!” His voice cracks, making your heart wince, “what can I do? how can I show you how much I love you?”

“Wouldn’t you rather be with Nari?” You mutter quietly, looking at your feet.

“Nari? Is this because of her?”

“San.. come on now, don’t tell me you don’t still have feelings for her. I saw the way you looked at her! You ignored me for an hour and flirted with her..” your eyes water again at the memory, “you guys just seemed to click, we’re not the same.”

“Of course we’re the same!-“ he throws his hands up in frustration with brows furrowed, “y/n I’m in love with you, not her! She’s my ex for a reason!”

“And you guys probably broke up because you left to Seoul right? Because of the distance? Don’t tell me I’m wrong,” you give him a look and he frowns.

“Partly yes–but she didn’t want me to go. She hated that I wanted to be an idol, she wanted a normal relationship and told me I was ridiculous for trying to follow my dream. How could I be with someone who wanted to hold me back?” He explains, a serious expression on his face that you’ve never seen before, “but with you it’s different, you support me 100%, you don’t care if I’m miles or countries away. You give me so much love and care that I’m so grateful for.”

He comes closer until he can hold onto your hands and you feel his body tremble, like he’s terrified to let you go, “I don’t think I’ve loved anyone more than I love you, so please don’t doubt yourself. Please don’t leave me, I need you.”

You’re sure your makeup is ruined completely at this point and black is covering your cheeks but you don’t care. “What if I’m not good enough for you? What if you’re wasting your time on someone like me?”

He sucks in a breath when he hears you finally voice your insecurities, “Baby, don’t you ever say that. If anyone is not good enough, it’s me,” he pulls you into his arms and pets your hair, “I’m always gone, and you’re always waiting for me. Sometimes I worry that a normal guy will walk in and take you away from me, give you the kind of relationship that I can’t give you. The kind that you deserve. But I’m a selfish man, and I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

“I want you anyway I can have you San, I love you,” you mumble into his neck and he lets out a shaky sigh as his embrace tightens at your words.

“Then please don’t ever think that you’re not enough for me, because even I don’t deserve you,” San gives you a kiss on the forehead.

“Okay,” you say softly and lift your head to look at him.

He gives you the familiar sparkly eyes that you’ve grown to adore and his lips meet yours in a passionate kiss. You stand there for minutes, holding each other close until you finally need air.

“Now let’s go home, so I can really show you how much I love you.”

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

Masquerade (Moonflower pt.2)

Part 1 - Moonflower Part 3 - Magical/Misery/Massacre

Warning: Harassing, Reader kinda suggest that she wants to have a meaningless One-Night-Stand, I kinda somewhat specified the height of the reader (by saying that you have to put your neck back to look at people over 6ft) so if your a tall boy/girl/dragon/human please just pretend you’re not thank you very much, swearing, again there are Yandere vibes (this time even more), also murder, but only in the Yandere Addition... Word count: 4k (sis snapped again) Summary: When the Riddler keeps ghosting around in your mind you know that you have to do something about it, that you couldn’t keep on harboring feelings for him, so you put on your mask and make your way to find distraction, but sometimes the things we see when we wear masks are not the things we expect... 

Two months. It took not even two months for the mayor to forget the disaster of a Gala that he had organized last, even though it was a rather interesting experience for you, but for a completely different reason, and decide that it would be a great fucking idea to throw a masquerade ball. A MASQUERADE BALL?!? Who, in their right mind, thinks that it's a good idea to throw a ball where the people come in masks and costume-like dresses in a city WHERE MASKED LUNATICS ARE FIGHTING AGAINST OTHER MASKED (slightly less) LUNATICS??? Well, seemingly, it was the man who should, in theory, know best and somehow always proved you that he did, in fact, know just about nothing. So yes, after a long discussion about whether it was a good idea or not and Bruce somehow managing to convince Jason and Dick to come along (the party was only for grown-ups - much to Damian's, who hasn't left your side for longer than he had to ever since the last Gala, dismay), you were sitting in a car driven by one of Wayne Inc's chauffeurs in a deep violet dress that clung to your curves like a cosset, before blossoming into a wide skirt, beside Dick in a black and Jason in a very dark red suit. The fact that they both had worn these suits countless times before already while you had to buy this dress especially for this event pissed you off to no end. And not only that, no, because it was custom for males to wear simpler masks, Jason had a phantom of the opera-like mask, while Dick had decided to try and be funny by wearing a cheap Zorro-mask he had bought in a dollar store. You, on the other hand, looked down at the gold mask that Alfred had had custom made for you. It was incredibly beautiful. It was extremely filigree and looked like a complex mandala of golden wire which formed a fascinating swan over where your right eye would be.

"Are you okay?" Jason's voice from your right ripped you out of your thoughts and you looked up at him beside you. He eyed you somewhat concerned and you just slightly smiled and shrugged. "Yeah, everything fine, I was just lost in thoughts." He nodded unconvinced but turned forward again, not even budging when he felt you carefully leaning against his shoulder like you have done countless times since the two of you officially became siblings. You also felt Dick's eyes on you, but you just held your hand out to him and let him take it. Jason shifted a bit under you and you could've sworn that you heard him sniff at your hair, making you narrow your eyes in confusion. As if to confirm your assumption, he nudged you a bit and asked: "Are you using a new shampoo? Or is that a new perfume?" You had to physically restrain yourself from tensing up, your mind filling with the memories of the little gift the Riddler had left you and about how often you had packed it out again - thinking about what you should do - before putting it back, ever since the night you had found it. "It's a new shampoo, Cass gave it to me: Peonies and gold, not sure how gold is supposed to smell though," you told him truthfully, meeting your brothers' expectation and allowing them to get back to what they were doing, Dick playing on his Phone and Jason reading a pocket novel you had given him earlier this week. But you couldn't get back on your train of thoughts. Like so often these past eight weeks. You had no idea why, but ever since that kiss, the rouge just wouldn't leave your mind for longer than an hour at the time. You just couldn't understand how it had come to this. You didn't know him, he was basically a villain, he had kidnapped you and the kiss was only a distraction... And still... The kiss filled your dreams ever since, the scene just playing on repeat in your head. Maybe it would've been different without his little gift, without you knowing that he was thinking about you too. God, what were you supposed to do? You knew that what you were feeling had to be some weird sort of Stockholm syndrome or something like this, something that would go away after a while, because if not...what would you do if not? You couldn't realistically think that he and you would ever have anything close to a future together. You just had to forget him, so ever since you had seen the invitation for the Gala, you had made a plan. This party would be full of eligible bachelors who would have no idea who you were (or at least not at first), some of them had to be good enough for you to try to forget about your unlucky crush. "We're here," filled the voice of the chauffeur the car and you sat up straight, looking out of the darkened window to see the red carpet and the paparazzi that were taking pictures of the masked celebrities walking towards the city hall. "Here we go," you tightly smiled and put the mask on, securing it with the black ribbon behind your head. The man who had driven the car got out and opened the door, making space for Dick to leave the car and walk forward, greeting the Cameras with his trademark smile. You had agreed earlier that you would leave a minute between every one of you exiting in a cheap attempt to make it less obvious who you were. It was clear that everyone would recognize Jason and Dick by their height and the suits, but you - due to a good mix of make-up, hair styling and the mask - still had hope left that you would get through the evening unrecognized. When Dick had disappeared inside you nodded at Jason and took your chauffeur's hand as he helped you step outside, trying to smoothen the skirt of your dress in the process. Immediately flashes off light filled your eyes and you tried your best not to blink and keep the smile on your face. For a few seconds, you struck a few poses, presenting the beauty that was the dress, before you followed your brother, giving the space up for Jason to do the same.

The inside of the Hall was filled to the brim with people in all kinds of dresses and suits with just about every kind of mask on a face somewhere. Groups of people were scattered around the room and you could see that Dick had already made his way over to a small group of girls who wore matching black dresses with white carnival-like masks. You rolled your eyes, but smiled and turned away to decide what to do next. That was the problem with Galas like these. Even if you knew people, you couldn't be sure where they are or if they were even here, so it was like a college party only days after you moved to a new town. Well, you got through your college parties by drinking so why not give that attempt a shot now too, right? So you sashayed over to the bar that had been constructed on the side opposite of the entrance and gestured the bartender over to you. He nodded and quickly made his way over, taking your order before turning around and getting started on your Old fashioned. "Well, hello beautiful," a dark, hoarse voice rang through your ears from beside you and you turned into the direction it came from, your eyes landing on a man that looked like he was as sure of himself as it could get. He was wearing a metallic-silver suit with a black shirt below it and, even though you yourself wouldn't necessarily go for it if you had to choose, you had to admit that it looked good on him. On his face was a mock-batman-mask and he had a five o'clock shadow that looked just groomed enough to be handsome. He will do, you thought and forced yourself to smile at his cheesy 'not-even' pick-up line. "You don't look too bad yourself," you shrugged and bowed your head slightly in thanks at the bartender who handed you your drink. "Ah, a girl of good taste," he smirked, trying to be smug and funny by not clarifying if he meant the drink or your comment. The physical restrain you had to put yourself through to not roll your eyes almost surprised you and you took a big sip of the drink, hoping it would loosen you up enough to make you look over the comments. You welcomed the burn in your throat but inwardly damned yourself for having a high alcohol tolerance that would make it impossible for you to get drunk from under at least thee drinks. "So," you sighed and leaned against the bar, "What's up with the mask?" "Don't tell anyone, but I'm really Batman and I'm just here undercover," the man said just slightly too serious to make you believed he was joking, bringing whatever attraction you had towards him down. "Does that line ever work?" "You'd be surprised, but you look like the kinda girl who doesn't need a pick-up line for some fun," he winked and came uncomfortably close to you. Welp, so much for that guy... "You know what-" you downed the drink, put it back onto the bar and turned to go, "-I'm not really in the mood for some fun, so if you'll excuse me." That was when you felt a hands on the side of your torso, just inches below your chest, and a sense of Terror filled you. Terror not for you, but for the man that had been foolish enough to touch you without permission in a room with any of your siblings. Your eyes quickly flew through the room, searching for your brothers to find out how long the douchebag had before his arms would be ripped out (figuratively) and you spotted Dick on the dance floor with a girl in a sparkly pink dress, but Jason - even though he should be visible alone by the sheer size of him- wasn't anywhere to be found. "Listen, buddy, you really don't wanna-" "Here you are!" a voice interrupted your warning and both you and the man that was behind you looked to your right to see a tall man, towering over you even more than Jason usually did,  in a sharp, expensive-looking, green suit. He stood out like a sunflower in a field of tulips, not only because of the outfit but because he was the only one in the room who wasn't wearing a mask, and something about him made your breath hitch slightly. He seemed eerily familiar, but you couldn't place his face with anyone you knew. It was like time was frozen while your eyes wandered his body up until you reached his face, having to put your head back a bit, and you took in his neatly dishevelled brown hair that looked like it was always this way, but others would try for hours to replicate it before they ended looking into his blue ones. Suddenly time started again and the sounds of the room, that had been drowned out by your thoughts, came crushing back and you had to slightly shake your head to keep your composure. "I've been searching for you all over, you've promised me a dance remember?" the man smiled and you quickly realized that he just might be your (and with that unknowingly to both of them also your harasser's) saviour. "Oh, right, sorry, I was otherwise occupied, but I have the next dance reserved for you," you played along and removed the Hands on your waist, they had been wandering downwards when the man had realized he was in a tricky situation, stepping forward to take the hand the maskless man was holding out towards you. "You can't just-" the man behind you, that seemed to have snapped out of the trance he had been in, started to shout, but was almost immediately interrupted when your saviour put the hand that wasn't (very gently as you noted) holding yours onto his shoulder. You could see the fabric of the silver suit wrinkle notably under his seemingly forceful grip and the look on the face of the man in said suit twisted in pain confirmed your suspicion that the hold he had on him had to be way harder than necessary, not that you complained. "I think the lady just said that she had the next dance reserved for me, right?" his voice was polite, but even the most social clueless person would be aware of the threatening undertone. Your harasser could only nod before his shoulder was released and he hurried away, trying to hide that he couldn't move his arm properly anymore. When he was completely out of sight your saviour let go of your hand and eyed you as if he was making sure you weren't hurt, before smiling at you with something like fondness. "Thank you for that," you smiled back and smoothed your dress down before holding your hand out again, ignoring that he had let it go only seconds earlier. He looked down at your hand with confusion and you couldn't help but chuckle a bit, not noticing how his eyes seemed to widen and his cheeks seemed to redden just the slightest. "I told you I have the next dance reserved for you and after you saved me that's the least I could do to thank you. Only if you want of course." It was like that flipped a switch inside him because before you could blink you were standing on the dancefloor with the arm that wasn't holding his hand around his neck and his on your waist, high enough to not be sexual, but low enough to not be completely innocent. "So-" the two of you swayed to the rhythm of the classic song playing in the background and you couldn't explain why you felt the urge rise to lean against his chest "-what's up with the lack of the mask?" He slightly tilted his head to the right as if thinking about what to answer, while simultaneously spinning the two of you around. "Maybe this is my mask," he simply stated and you knew it was just supposed to be a humorous comment, but you couldn't shake the feeling like it was more cryptic than you thought, "And I got invited pretty short term and didn't have time to get one." That was more like it.   You giggled and couldn't help but play with the hair on the back of his neck, glad that he didn't seem to react to it. "Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad you're not wearing one because if you had been, I'd be deprived of that face," you smirked slightly and decided to take the initiative. You had no idea what it was about that man, but the two of you dancing so close to each other, his eyes gazing into yours and his hand on your waist, made your heart beat out of your chest, it was like the kiss you had with the Riddler all over again and for the first time in weeks the thought of that kiss disappeared again seconds after it came into your mind and you couldn't help but think that maybe this man was just what you were searching for. For a few seconds, the two of you just looked at each other, your eyes having the conversation that your heart wanted and it was like a bigger power was in control of your bodies when both of you started to lean in for what was supposed to be a kiss if it hadn't been for someone tapping at your shoulder. It was like a spell dispersed and you couldn't help but flinch away, even if all you wanted was to continue what you were doing, not noticing the slightly angered tint that made its way onto your dance partners' face. "Uhm, are you Y/N?" the girl, which you recognized as Dick's companion from earlier, asked you shyly, clearly aware that she had interrupted a situation. "Yeah," you sighed, thinking that this was Dick's attempt at being a protective older brother without actually being at blame. "Your brothers said that they have something to talk to you about, they are waiting outside." You turned to look at the exit to the garden, flashes of memories of being drugged in front of your eyes, before turning to your partner and smiling apologetically, "I'm sorry, I just have to quickly go, but I'll be right back, don't move okay?" He returned the smile, but it didn't seem as genuine as it was earlier and nodded.

When you stepped into the cold night air you couldn't help but sigh at your lack of luck. You looked around and saw your brothers at the outer wall that parted the garden from the street seemingly talking in hushed voices. Jason was the first who noticed you and soon the two of them started walking towards you, the three of you meeting in the middle. "So? What's going on?" you asked worried, recognizing the look in their eyes, the same look they always had when there was an unexpected mission. "Bruce just called, there's a Joker attack a few blogs from here and he needs all the help he can get." "Okay, I'll excuse you if anyone asks where you are and recognizes me," you just shrugged, not sure why they had to meet you outside for that. It was surely not the first time they randomly disappeared during an event and you had to make up excuses. You had expected something more 'serious'. "I'm afraid that this won't be how it'll go tonight-" Jason sighed and petted your head slightly, "-Bruce clearly stated, that he wants you to go home, he already sent the driver. He's still a bit shaken up by what happened last time." "What?" you exclaimed questioningly, "But that-" "No discussion," Dick stopped you and gave you a small peck on your forehead before he and Jason hurried to the gate that would bring them to the ally where they had hidden their costumes beforehand. For a while, you just kept standing there, the cold air crashing down onto your skin and making goosebumps appear. You tried to think of all the ways that you could just get back to what you were doing before, how you could get back to the man that had your heart beat quicker just minutes after having met him, but all your thoughts just went right back to the fact that you couldn't. That you had to leave now. Your thought process was disrupted when you felt something smooth cover your shoulders and arms. A quick look down your body showed you that a familiar green suit jacket had been laid onto you. Swiftly you turned around, hoping your dance partner would stand behind you but there was no sign of him anywhere near. Confusion filled you and you hurried over to the doors leading back inside, thinking that you may see him going back in, but he was nowhere to be seen.   Before you could start to search for him further your chauffeur from earlier caught your attention, waiting for you at the entrance. There was a war being fought inside you, your heart wanting to go back into the crowd and find him, your brain knowing how hopeless the situation was.

One of the side-effects of being raised by Bruce Wayne was that your brain won the fights it had against your heart. That was why, a few minutes later, you were sitting in the car on your way back to Wayne Manor, the jacket still around your shoulders despite the confused look your chauffer had given you. It was basically pooling around you, multiple sizes bigger than you and you couldn't help but relish in the sense of security it gave. You leaned against the backdoor, your forehead against the cool darkened window when you felt something solid pushing against you. A bit perplex you straightened up again and started to tap around until your right hand landed on something that was slightly budging out the right Jacket pocket. Curiously you put your hand into the opening and pulled out its contents. You stared down at the little green, velvet ring box that was laying in your opened hand besides a black business card. Even though you couldn't rip your gaze away from the box, your left hand grabbed for the card and turned it around before you ripped your eyes to it for the fraction of a second before your heart figuratively stopped. The only thing that was printed onto it was the image of a green Questionmark, leaving the origins of the card without any ambiguities. But that means... This Jacket, the man you had danced with, the man you had almost kissed... Well, seemingly almost kissed again... It was him all along, he had saved you and had let you flirt with him right in front of your brothers, without knowing how risky it had been. Your mind was starting to get fogged with all kinds of thoughts, but they all scattered again when you looked back to the box. Your movements were slow as you laid the card down on the seat beside you and opened the velvet cap. Every blood cell in your body stopped moving when you saw the vast Amethyst that was embedded into a ring that looked tiny in comparison with the stone and for the second time that evening it was like you weren't in control of your body as you took the ring out of the case and brought it up into the light to look it over. It had to be extremely expensive, something that even Bruce would think about twice before buying, and it wasn't just that, no, your eyes landed on an engraving on the inside of the ring. For my one and only Moonflower -Ed.

[Yandere Addition]

Trevor Beck's night was far from great. At first, the hot chick he had tried to chat up on the party his dad had dragged him along to had rejected his advances even though she had clearly been interested before and then this creepy dude had grabbed him so hard that he had surely dislocated his shoulder. With pain running through his arm, he decided that this stupid Gala wasn't worth it and called a cab to bring him home. He didn't realize that what happened before was not even close to the worse that would be happening to him this evening, because when he came home, he wasn't alone in his apartment. When he came into his bedroom, there were bags filled with stolen money and jewellery lying on the floor. And when he wanted to call the police upon seeing the letter that was lying on his dresser, a letter written in his handwriting that confessed to his family having had money problems and that he couldn't live without this lifestyle and decided to take matters into his own hand, only to regret what the letter said he'd done, a single shot through the side of his head kept him from following up on that action. Edward was careful as he planted the gun that Trevor had kept in his night shelf for protection into his palm to make sure his fingerprints were on it, before making sure no traces would suggest that he had help with ending his life. He knew that besides the lack of evidence they'd have for it to be murder, the GCPD would be happy enough to have found the one (allegedly) responsible for one of the biggest and unexplained jewellery heists and even if it was suspicious that Trevor had no prior criminal record beside harassment, they wouldn't investigate further. Ed tried to tell himself that he only did this to avoid gaining the attention for the heist, but deep inside he knew that he had many options on how to do that that wouldn't include killing. Deep inside he knew that he had done that because Trevor had dared to touch what was supposed to be his... Had touched his moonflower...

A/N: This was one of - if not the- most requested things I’ve ever had on my blog! Thank you all so so so much! This also inspired me to try my hand at Aesthetics and I’d be happy if you guys would let me know if you like it! And....maybe, if people like it, there’s still some inspiration left for a final part three....who knows? Also, here are the non-anons who requested a second part: @sirkekselord​ @redhildatodd​ @nate-sakura​ And for all of you who are wondering, the Yandere addition at the end is not really relevant to the story and most likely won’t be picked up again, but I just had that thought in my head while writing and thought people might like it.

[wkemeup]

The Other Side of the Door

summary: Bucky would do anything to keep you safe. Even if it meant sacrificing himself. Even if it took him to the bottom of the ocean.  pairing: Bucky x reader word count: 8.8k warnings: canon level violence, drowning (again? yes) a/n: this was written for a writing challenge for a user who was exposed for plagiarism sooooo.... but anyway..... this is based off the score of Taking a Stand - Henry Jackman (Captain America TWS). 

Bucky never wanted to hurt you like this. He never wanted to be the reason for the tears burning on your cheeks or the violent trembling of your hands as you so desperately tried to reach him through the steel lock of the door between you, to change his mind before it was too late.

He didn’t want to do this. It was imperative that you knew that, but you were so furious, so pain-stricken and terrified to see that he didn't have another choice. He’d lost his recklessness, his willingness to throw himself headfirst into flames and bullets the day he met you. He had something to fight for now, something to live for, and he had no desire to throw it away. It was the last thing he wanted, and still, here he was.

Trapped in a cold, empty control room aboard a sinking cruise liner with his hand on the lever holding open the only door to your escape. The handle broke in the fight between him and the dead man currently laying at his feet; the ricochet of a bullet rendering the lever useless without a hand to keep it latched. Everyone else got out in time, but not you. No, you rushed back into the flooding halls, dripping wet with ocean water in search of him.

He was the one to lock the door, trapping himself inside. A barricade between you. A lifetime.

The devastation in your eyes, the betrayal, nearly crumbled his resolve, but he held his ground. He’d break your heart a thousand times over if it meant you survived this. He’d done so much evil in his life, saving yours might be the one decent thing he could do before the water took him under, back to the ice where he belonged.

***

T W O  H O U R S  E A R L I ER

“I don’t like this,” Sam grumbled into his headset as he gripped tight to the strap above his head, glancing down out the open door of the helicopter to the rocking of the ship below, sitting upon unsettled waves and shockingly forceful gusts of wind.

“You don’t like much of anything, do you?” Bucky shot back. Sam rolled his eyes at him, though the moment he turned back to the ship, Bucky winked at you, smile spreading over his lips.

“There’s a reason I wasn’t in the Navy, Barnes,” Sam frowned. “Don’t like water.”

“Well, don’t get wet,” Steve laughed, clapping Sam on the back and causing him to flinch and grip onto the handle above him tighter.

You held your laugh under your breath, eyeing Natasha as she smirked in amusement from her seat behind you, completely unphased by the crash of the water below. You reached out to Sam, laying a hand on his shoulder encouragingly.

“No one is going in the water, Sam,” you reassured him, nudging Bucky in the side as he was clearly mouthing the opposite and threatening to throw Sam in himself.

Sam pursed his lips, nodding at you in appreciation, before he shot a glare at Bucky.

“You should lay off of him,” you warned quietly, curling up against Bucky’s side as he held onto the beam above with his left arm, securing you to his waist with his right.

Bucky chuckled. “He’s knows I’m messing with him.”

“Well, be careful about it before you two might start another civil war,” you teased.

“We certainly don’t need that again,” Nat commented from her corner, legs crossed and sharpening a knife casually as the helicopter swung with the wind. She winked, tapping Steve with the toe of her boot, only to laugh when he turned around, not having heard either of your comments, causing you both to laugh.

Steve narrowed his eyes, glancing at Bucky for support but only earned a shrug in return.

“Alright team,” Steve said in his ‘captain voice’ as Bucky often referred to it, “we all know what the plan is here. Get the hostages and get the hell out.”

“And the bad guys?” Natasha inquired, the flicker of the reflection on her knife clear as day.

“We’re not taking prisoners,” Steve responded shortly. You all knew what that meant. He turned to Sam. “You’ll go in first, get a good read on the heat signatures. Bucky and I will follow and clear a path for Y/n and Nat to get to the hostages.”

Nat held her hand out and you slapped her palm down against hers, grinning at one another. You always did make an exceptional team.

It was rare Steve assigned you to work directly with Bucky, but neither of you minded that much. It was hard to see him in the field and though you knew he was more than capable of handling himself, it didn’t ease the worry you felt as enemies charged at him with knives and guns with the intent to kill.

Once, when you’d been partnered, he nearly compromised an entire mission after an assailant almost got a knife into your stomach. Thankfully, you swerved away from the blade at the last second and brought him down yourself. Bucky’s intervention wasn’t needed but he’d left his post to help you and he had Steve berating him for weeks for that mistake.

“So, I’m thinking when we get home, maybe I take you to that place out in Queens you like so much,” Bucky said casually, as Sam jumped out the door of the helicopter, wings out and flew down to the ship below.

“The one with the spicy calamari?” you asked excitedly, stomach growling at the thought.

Bucky nodded. “’Course. We have an anniversary coming up, you know.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms tight around his waist as he held you secure against him in the unsteady movement of the helicopter. “Do we now? How long’s it been again, Sergeant?”

“Don’t know,” Bucky shrugged, “could be seconds, weeks, decades. Can’t tell how fast time is moving when I’m with you.”

“Oh my God, will you two saps turn off your coms if you’re going to be that disgusting?” Sam’s voice came through the speaker, following by a gagging sound that had you and Bucky doubling over in laughter. “We all know it’s been three years. Three years of hell!”

“That’s very kind of you, Sammy,” you replied, struggling to contain your laughter. Nat was smiling to herself as she holstered her knife and even Steve was shaking his head, grinning over at Bucky as he waited for the signal from Sam.

“Maybe I’ll turn off the noise dampener in our room tonight and show you what your hell really sounds like,” Bucky shot back, winking at you and dipping down to kiss your lips, his right arm still snaked around your waist and holding you flush against him.

“Someone restrain that man before I personally fly back up there and toss him in the ocean!”

“Sam, focus,” Steve warned, though he was smiling, trying to suppress it with no use.

Sam grunted, though the muffle of the wind on his mic had stilled. He must have landed down on the ship. “We’re clear. Cap, you and the massive pain in my ass can head down.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, reluctantly stepping away from you to line up at the open door with Steve. He turned back over his shoulder.

“See you in a second,” he smirked, leaning over to kiss you again before he jumped out the door, Steve close behind him.

You watched as they blended into the dark of the ocean and the night sky. Natasha came up beside you, trying to get a decent look herself.

“You think they’ll ever learn to use a parachute?” Nat smirked, handing you a backpack to shrug up over your shoulders. You shook your head, laughing.

“Definitely not. They enjoy the adrenaline too much.”

Sam’s voice coughed through the coms, alerting you and Nat to make your jumps. Without a second of hesitation you threw yourself out of the chopper and into the open air. It was cold against your face, but your suit as designed by Tony Stark and he had more than a few alterations to ensure that while the material remained breathable, it also shielded you from the impact of the wind. The churn in your stomach through the freefall was an exhilarating rush.

You released the parachute, looking over to Nat who had just done the same, and began to steer the cords to lead you down to the deck.

From above, you spotted Bucky and Steve fighting in hand to hand with a few watchmen out on the deck while Sam made his rounds in the shadows to ensure your cover was secure. It was nothing they couldn’t handle. You knew Steve would have his back without fail, so you worry for him decreased significantly when they were together.

By the time you reached the deck, the last of the guards were taken out and lying unconscious on the ground. Bucky reached up and steadied you as you landed and planted your feet to semi-solid ground. Wasting no time, he kissed you again because he simply could, and helped to unclip the buckles of the backpack to free you of the parachute.

“Hey Sammy,” you laughed, glancing over Bucky’s shoulder to find him standing with his arms folded over his chest and his eyes rolled so far back to his head, you wondered if they might get stuck there.

“We’re on a mission. Can you not make out for like, ten minutes?” Sam groaned, waving his hand at you. Though as he was turning to make his way back to his rounds to watch for threats, you spotted a smile on his face. He was all talk and cared a lot more for Bucky that he’d ever admit aloud, and though he said it once to you and swore he would deny it to his grave if it came to it, he was happy you and Bucky found each other. It was just simply more fun to constantly berate the two of you.

“You ready?” Steve called back quietly, preparing himself by the door.

“Coming, pal,” Bucky replied. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and jogged his way over to Steve. He turned back to you and gave a single wink before Steve opened the door and the disappeared behind it.

“So, three years, huh?” Nat smirked, arms folded over her chest as the two of you waited patiently listening to the soft grunts of the boys as they made their way through mercenaries to clear your path.

You shrugged, smile burning in your cheeks. “Yeah, seems that way. Went by fast.”

“Glad he finally learned to accept some good in his life,” Natasha said, nudging your shoulder. “You’ve really made such a difference in his recovery since he’s been out of Hydra’s control and, maybe it’s selfish, but I’m glad we all got you out of the deal, too.”

“Guess we should all thank Sam for calling out sick all those years ago and giving me the opportunity to sneak my way into Bucky’s heart,” you laughed, thinking back to the mission in Kiev where Fury had assigned you to take over Sam’s position alongside Bucky.

He was still quiet and reserved and working on earning the trust of the Shield agents on his team outside of Steve, and your wit and charm and inability to tread lightly while others kept purposeful distance started to crack at the ice on his heart. You trusted him without question and treated him like he was actually a crucial part of the team, and he was, though most of the agents largely ignored him at the time. Steve saw how well you worked together and started insisting you join their ops more often.

Over time, Bucky started to edge of out from behind the wall he constructed around himself and started falling into you. You started to seek one another out in the gym during training, started coming up with excuses to go out for food or to run into one another in briefing rooms.

It evolved to rushing down the hall at two in the morning when his mission came back later than scheduled and crashing into his arms because you couldn’t still the race in your heart until you felt the pulse of his heart beneath your fingertips. It became phone calls in the dead of night and crawling into one another’s beds to fight off the nightmares together. It went from timid touches and stolen glances to kisses in the shadows of the halls and laying bare upon his chest, wrapped under the thin layer of sheets on his bed.

“I cannot believe this is all my fault,” Sam grunted, the breeze of the wind picking up in his mic as he soared overhead.

“Thanks, Wilson,” Bucky chuckled, slightly out of breath. “We’re ready for you, doll. Shouldn’t be too much trouble on your way.”

“Got it, heading in now,” you responded, rolling your eyes at the way Natasha was practically beaming at you. She got too much of a kick out of your relationship with Bucky, and maybe if you weren’t so terrified of how she’d retaliate, you’d start poking holes at her less-than-subtle-more-than-friendship relationship with Steve.

Making your way down the hall, you stepped over a series of unconscious bodies left behind by Bucky and Steve. It certainly wasn’t as though you and Natasha couldn’t have handled the influx of guards yourselves, but sometimes it was nice to let someone else get their hands dirty for a change.

At the end of the hallway sat a single door. Bucky and Steve had already moved further into the ship to work on taking down the rest of the crew to avoid further catastrophe once the hostages were running loose. Tony was supposed to show up sometime in the next few minutes with an escape plan big enough to cart forty terrified passengers to safety. It was the moment between leaving this room and getting to the escape, that worried you. Civilians were... unpredictable.

You signaled for Nat to shoot the lock on the door and it snapped off with in a single bullet. The two of you pushed your way inside only to be with three guards waiting for you, all armed and ready to fire. Expecting resistance, you and Nat charged at the men, tossing aside their weapons they so clearly used as a crutch and overpowered them quickly in hand-to-hand. All three men were on the ground in a matter of minutes.

You panted, glancing up to the room full of hostages huddled together in the corner, all with tape pressed over their mouths and rope securing their hands. You tapped Natasha’s forearm, nodding to the group of people watching the two of you with wide, fearful eyes.

“We’ve got the hostages,” you said quietly into the mic, not waiting for a response before you addressed the crowd. “My name is Agent Y/l/n, this is Agent Romanoff. We’re here with Shield. I need everyone to remain calm and we’ll get you out of here safely, okay?”

Quick nods came in waves through the crowd and you and Nat rushed to start working on the ropes around their wrists. The first woman you met had tears on her cheeks and a child no older than four sitting contently in her lap. Thankfully, he wasn’t gagged and bound the way she was, and he was playing mindlessly with a toy airplane, seemingly unbothered.

It didn’t take long to release the hostages and once you did, Nat started to direct the crowd to the exit. She took up the front and you held the rear, explaining to the stragglers in the back that they needed to stay ahead of you, even though their legs were worn and tired and aching.

“We’re moving out to the deck,” you said into the coms, eyeing the open hallways every time you walked past.

“Guess I made good timing then, kid,” Tony’s voice came through and you could hear the whirring of his suit through the mic. “I’ve got a getaway docked on the side of this monstrosity so get those hostages here as quick as you can before the waves start getting higher.”

“On it, Stark,” you confirmed, smiling ear to ear and checking over your shoulder for company.

Your movements were slower on the way out then coming in, seeing as you had forty people to watch over. You started to wonder where Bucky and Steve had disappeared to, when suddenly you heard a door slamming behind you. You spun around to find a guard charging in your direction and those in the back of the crowd began to scream and push their way to the front.

“Nat! I’ve got--” you dodged a punch from the guard, swinging under his arm to kick at the space between his shoulder blades until he stumbled forward, “-- company back here!”

“Me too!” she shouted back, clearly out of breath and the commotion of the hostages separating the two of made it difficult to hear the coms at all.

You yanked the gun from your holster and attempted to fire at the assailant but he was too fast for that and knocked the weapon from your hand.

“Shit!”

“Y/n! You okay? What's going on?” Bucky’s voice echoed in your ear and you could hear the strain behind it, the panic, and you knew he was struggling to keep his position with hearing your distress through the mics.

You grunted, thrown to the wall in the impact of the hit you sustained. “Nothing I can’t handle, baby.”

Before the man could take another swing, you grabbed the gun draped at his hip, released the safety, and fired two shots at his chest. He dropped to the ground with a heavy thud and you exhaled a breath of relief, wiping the sweat from your brow that turned out to be blood.

“I’m clear back here. Nat?” you called up and she confirmed that she had taken care of her end as well. You turned back to the crowd, hand on a young man’s shoulder and trying to calm a teenage girl who had burst into tears at the sight of blood on your face. “It’s going to be alright. We’ll get you out of here. You just need to--”

A sudden jolt ripped through the ship, shaking the floor like an earthquake as a thunderous echo bounced through the walls. The lights turned out suddenly, replaced by a soft red glow of emergency strips along the linings of the halls. The hostages were screaming. Panic was spreading.

“What the hell just happened?” Steve shouted, his voice breathless and it sounded like he was running.

“Some idiot set off an explosive in the engine room!” Sam replied, frantic. “It’s taking on water fast. Gotta move quickly or we’ll--”

Silence. You tapped on the edge of your com placed security on your ear. You froze dead in your tracks, not able to even hear the soft undertones of the buzz of the coms, and trying to ignore the concerned stares of the hostages as they turned back to you, unsettled by your obvious distress.

“Sam?” you called, but there was no reply. “Nat? Bucky?”

Nothing.

Shit shit shit.

Natasha would know to continue forward. She wasn’t that far ahead, but shouting up to her over the chaos of the hostages would only make things worse. You steadied yourself and with one firm grip on your weapon, and another urging the crowd to continue moving, you tried to ignore the shaking in your legs and the painful twist in your stomach.

You only had one directive. Get the hostages out. Meet on the escape vessel.

You could only hope the rest of the team did the same.

***

Bucky was going to lose his damn mind if he didn’t get off this boat soon. He could barely see a few feet ahead of him and the glowing red light did little to help his perception as he trailed behind Steve, picking off mercenaries like they were fish in a barrel.

They were heading to the control room to try and delay the emergency procedures the ship would automatically begin to route the moment the lowest desk flooded. The doors would start to slam shut in an effort to contain the water, trapping the hostages, along with you and Nat below deck. The fact that the coms had gone out completely didn’t help to ease the panic in his veins.

He was never a big fan of improvising.

The carpets were already starting to soak wet with water under his boot, which meant the floods of water wouldn’t be far behind. Bucky couldn’t think straight, trying to concentration on the center of Steve’s back as they raced through the halls towards the stairs.

By the time they made it to the stairwell, taking three steps at a time as they bounded up to the higher floors, another ten minutes had passed. Ten minutes of silence, of not knowing where you were or if you were out on the loading deck like you were supposed to be, not knowing if the water had already taken you. Bucky’s hands were shaking.

Steve pushed open the door out into the hallway, and suddenly, without warning, the coms came back on.

“What-- hell ar-- we suppo-- to do?” you voice came through in scattered connection, laced with panic, and Bucky could hear the frantic cries of the hostages in the background. You must have slammed your hand against something solid because you hissed at the impact.

“Y/n!?” Bucky called out; a finger pressed tightly to his ear in hopes of hearing you clearer. “Y/n, can you hear me?”

He exchanged a look with Steve, who only nodding in encouragement. They both paused, hoping that the position they were standing in would give a better signal to you.

“Bucky!” you exclaimed, relief aching through his name. “Bucky, the doors shut on us! We’re trapped and we’ve already got water at our knees.”

A jolt swept through his chest and he tried to contain the shaking in his hands as he urged, “okay, okay, baby listen to me. I don’t know how long we’ll have the coms on for, but I’m heading to the control room. I’ll get the doors open but I need you to keep me updated on where the water is.”

“I can do that,” you replied and though Bucky could hear the smile in your voice, he could tell it was forced. Your tone was too tight, too tense. You were scared and it wasn’t something that sat well in Bucky’s chest. It was unlike you.

Bucky tapped Steve on the shoulder, gesturing for him to follow down the hallway leading to the control room and the two of them sprinted as fast as their legs would carry them. It shouldn’t be too far, he told himself, but that didn’t seem to ease his stress when your voice came through not even two minutes later warning him to was up to your hips. Ocean water in the dead of night and you were half submerged and trapped behind locked steel doors. The temperature would take you before you even had a chance to drown.

“It’s cold,” you whispered, teeth chattering, and he wasn’t sure if he was even meant to have heard that but scared him unlike anything else.

“Five minutes, doll. Give me five minutes,” Bucky urged, shooting a terrified look over to Steve with an urgency that ran like ice in his veins. That was, until they came upon an adjoining hallway where dozens of the ship’s mercenaries stood in wait, clenching onto weapons and holding their ground.

Steve froze instantly in his tracks. “Shit.”

One by one the mercenaries started to aim their weapons at the two of them, and Steve shoved Bucky hard in the chest, throwing him out of the line of fire.

“Get to the control room!” he shouted, charging at the closest of the guards he could get his hands on. Yanking a gun from one of the men beside him, Steve shot a single bullet at each of the two men in his path before he moved onto the next. “I’ll take care of them! We need those doors open, now!”

Bucky nodded frantically, not wanting to leave Steve on his own but knowing he had no choice. He rushed down the hall, spotting the control room door and a shaky breath of relief in his chest, even as he heard the echoes of gunfire and hoped it was Steve on the right end of the weapon.

“Bucky,” your voice cried out, and Bucky knew he was losing time.

“I know, I know, I’m almost there,” he replied, shoving his shoulder against the door and thankful it was unlocked. He scrambled up to the control panels, skidding on his boots from the excess water on the tile floor until he located a lever. “Found it.”

Hand gripping onto the latch, he moved to yank it back when suddenly the discharge of a weapon fired and a sharp burn scraped his right arm. Bucky dove back, hissing at the scrape of the bullet as his hand latched onto his arm, holding back the blood as it seeped through his fingers.

“I’ve got company,” Bucky muttered into the coms. “Give me a second.”

“We're running out of seconds, Barnes!” Natasha replied, out of breath, and panic coursed through his veins wondering why it wasn’t you that answered him. “Water’s at our shoulders. We’re swimming in it!”

His eyes shot over to the lever, knowing it would only take a second to lift the hatch but the guard stood in his path; larger than the others with thick Kevlar securing his frame against the raid of bullets and a dozen weapons strapped to his chest. He was twice Bucky’s size with scarring on his face and evidence of previous injuries healed over crudely.

Knowing he had little time to waste, Bucky charged at him, knocking the man to the ground. He tried to reach up for the lever while he pinned the guard to the ground but it slipped from between his fingers as he was yanked back by the straps of his jacket.

Neither you or Nat were coming through the coms anymore as he threw fists and dodged blocks from his opponent. Part of him hoped the signal had died out again but he could vaguely make out Steve’s grunts from his own fight a few halls down and the breeze of Tony’s and Sam’s mics in the wind outside.

The guard fired his weapon several times in Bucky’s direction and he was able to escape all but one of the shots, leaving him with a second hit, this time on his thigh. Bucky yanked the knife from his holster and swung it at the man, panting and exhausted by the time it implanted itself in the man’s neck and he slumped down to the floor in a mess of blood.

Bucky hulled himself back up to the control panel and yanked hard on the lever. Relief surged through him as it pulled back and he could hear the steel doors on his own floor opening.

“Good work, Barnes!”

Bucky felt no relief at Stark’s voice.

“Where’s Y/n?” he replied, breathless.

“Her and Nat must have lost their coms in the water. I can see them beyond the door now,” Tony confirmed.

Bucky nodded, trying to convince himself this was over, it was going to be okay and he’d get the hell out of here soon, but as he released his hand from the lever, it snapped back down to the panel and the doors slammed shut along with it.

“What happened!” Sam shouted. He must be with Tony now.

Bucky shook his head in shock, panicked, only now noticing the fray of the wires left behind in the damage down in his fight with the dead man on the ground beside him. It was preventing the lever from staying open on its own. A startling realization rushed through him and he swallowed back the bile in his throat.

“N-Nothing! I’ve got it,” Bucky replied, thankful your com wasn’t working because you’d be able to detect the lie in his voice, the fear, and he couldn’t have you knowing what he was about to do.

***

Cold didn’t even begin to describe the trembling ache of ice on your skin. The toddler in your arms was crying, clinging onto you with wet hair dampened and sticking to the sides of his face. Rushing over to the edge of the ship where Tony managed to arrange for a SHIELD cargo vessel to load the hostages onto, your legs were numb under you and you nearly stumbled and collapsed if it wasn’t for Tony’s sudden grip on your shoulders.

He took the boy from you, though the child’s hands were gripped anchor tight to your suit and it broke your heart to pry him away. Breaths burning in your chest from the cold, you spun around looking for your team.

Nat was helping hostages onto the boat, winging out her hair in the free moments between holstering terrified passengers aboard. Sam was flying above and taking out stray mercenaries before they even had a chance to cross the deck of the ship and get within range of you. Meanwhile, Tony was shouting orders to the few SHIELD crew members he brought along.

Then suddenly, Steve raced through the open door, blood covering most of his face and with several open cuts and wounds on his suit. He was limping, deep red seeping from a wound on his stomach. He looked like he’d been through hell and you noticed instantly that he was alone.

“Steve!” Nat called, rushing towards him and checking for damage.

“I’m fine,” Steve replied, brushing off the bullets lodged in his body as if they were nothing. He glanced around the open deck before he spotted you, worry filling his eyes. “Where’s Buck?”

You froze, heart skipping a beat. It wasn’t a question he was meant to ask. “He’s not with you?”

Steve shook his head. “N-No, we had to split up. He was supposed to get the doors open and get the hell out. He hasn’t been responding on the coms for the last few minutes.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest and with a single look in Natasha’s direction, your name on her lips in a plea to not do what she knew you were about to, and you sprinted back into the heart of the ship. No hesitation. No concern for the water that awaited you.

You could hear Steve and Tony calling your name, but you had disappeared into the ship’s halls before they had a chance to restrain you to the deck.

***

“What the hell do you mean she ran back inside?!” Bucky shouted, gritting his teeth and wiping away the sweat that had started to fall onto his forehead. Ice water was at his ankles and he was burning hot.

“Oh, so now you respond to me!” Steve snapped, more panic in his voice than anger. “She ran back to get you, you idiot! Where the hell have you been? This ship is on its way under!”

“You don’t-- Steve, you don’t understand,” Bucky shot back, hand shaking. He glanced down to the water at his feet, knowing it would only take a matter of minutes before it was at his waist. “Someone needs to come get her. I can’t-- I’m not leaving, pal.”

There was a pause on the other hand. Bucky’s hand was cramping from how tight he was holding the lever.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve’s voice was small, afraid.

“Doors won't stay open without me,” Bucky replied as flatly as he could. Any trace of emotion in his voice and he would have broken down on the spot. He had to be stone cold or he’d never get through this. “I let go of this lever, the doors shut. Someone had to stay behind.”

“Bucky, you know she’s not going to let you do that.”

Suddenly, the echo of footsteps splashing through the water in the hallway alerted to your closeness and in a panic, he slammed the emergency button on the end of the panel. The door to the control room closed on itself, locking behind several steel clasps.

“She won’t have a choice,” Bucky exhaled, wincing as you rushed up to the door with a relief etched into your smile that burned like lit gasoline in Bucky’s chest. As you tried to get the door open, only to find it lock, your smile quickly faded, brow furrowing, confusion in your features.

“What are you doing? We have to go!” you shouted through the door, shouldering it in an attempt to get it to budge though it would do no good. The door was made of solid steel and you were so incredibly human. Exceptional and skilled beyond most, but still human.

Bucky didn’t know what to say. Was there anything he could say to you to make this any easier? Was there anything that could possibly convince the love of his life to leave him behind?

“Sam,” Bucky choked out, clenching his jaw in an attempt to will the tears away. You hadn’t made the connection yet. You didn’t know what he was about to do. “Sam, I need you to get Y/n out of here.”

“On my way,” Sam replied without hesitation.

You shook your head, still working at the door you’d never be able to open. “Bucky, let’s go! I don’t need Sam to get me out of here if you’ll just come with me!”

“Sweetheart, I’m-- I’m not leaving.”

You froze, movements stilling, though that only lasted a second before you shook it off, switching yourself back into combat mode because Bucky knew you well and you couldn’t stand to hear what he was trying to tell you.

“Shut up,” you argued back, yanking hard on the latch of the door. “Don’t say that. I’ll get you out of there.”

“I’m the one that locked the door.”

The flash of heartbreak, confusion, anger, that ran across your face almost made Bucky’s knees give out.

“What did you say?” you voice was barely a whisper and it stilled echoed throughout his chest.

“This lever is the only thing giving you a way out of here. I let go and you’re trapped. The emergency doors all come down again and you’ll drown.” His voice wasn’t as strong as he needed it to be, not with the way you were looking at him like your whole world was collapsing around you.

“So what? You want me to leave you here?” you snapped and when Bucky didn’t respond, too afraid of the broken cracks in his voice, your eyes widened in shock. “I’m not leaving you here to die! We’ll figure something out, Buck. We always do!”

You pulled out your gun when Bucky only shook his head in response, defeated, and you fired an entire round of bullets into the window of the door. He flinched as it cracked at the glass, but it remained solid as steel.

“Y/n, please, you have to go. You don’t have much time,” Bucky pleaded, growing desperate as the water rose to his shins. He could see you shivering on the other side, already soaked wet from the water you escaped with the hostages. Your lips were turning a shade of blue that set a stone deep in his stomach. Hair was clinging to the side of your face. Your breath was fogging the window and he was losing sight of you.

“Sam, please,” Bucky begged, voice breaking. “Get her out of here.”

“I’m on my way buddy, hold on--”

“Bucky! Don’t do this. Open the door,” you begged, slamming your palms against the glass window, your only connection to him. Your voice was breaking, cracks in the ache of your tone and despite the fractions in the glass, it remained impenetrable.

“Baby, I need you to run,” Bucky urged, shaking his head and willing the tears from his eyes. The water was at his hips. “You can meet Sam out by--”

“I’M NOT LEAVING YOU!” you screamed, tears blurring your vision and burning down the sides of your face, mixing with the ice-cold water dripping from your hair.

He glanced over to a vent in the corner of the room to find water dripping out from the cracks, like a damn about to explode. The room would be flooded in a matter of minutes.

“I love you,” Bucky said suddenly, knowing it might be the last time.

“N-No! Stop, just--- just come with me! We’ll-- We’ll get out in time,” you cried, shoving your shoulder against the door and Bucky was certain you’d find dark blue and purple against your skin by morning.

“We won’t,” he said softly, longing to reach out and hold you. “Let me save you, baby. Please. Let me do this one good thing.”

He’d never seen such fear in your eyes before.

“B-Bucky, please--”

He couldn’t tell if the cracks in your words were from the cold or the lump in your throat, but Bucky could hardly gather enough willpower to look at you. He couldn’t stand to see the tears on your face and the red in your eyes, the devastation, the betrayal. He loved you, more than he’d ever loved himself or anyone else, and he needed to do this. He needed you to be safe, to be alive.

“I love you so much,” he said again, spotting Sam in the distance flying above the water. Relief ached in his chest and he closed his eyes, letting the tears blink from his lashes and fall to the pools of ocean water rising below him. He could hear you crying, hear the pants of your breath and the thud against the door as you so desperately tried to reach him.

You wouldn’t be able to.

“Bucky, d-don't—don't do this,” you begged, scratching at the window. You were losing energy fast, the cold of the water aching in your muscles. Sam touched down into the water behind you and you didn’t even notice. Your eyes were falling heavy.

“I love you. I love you,” Bucky chanted like a prayer as you fell back into Sam’s arms, weak and losing consciousness. He met Sam’s eyes through the window, a startling devastation he wasn’t quite prepared for.

Sam was at as much of a loss as he was. “Buck--”

“Go,” Bucky urged. “Get her out of here. Please. Just go.”

With a single nod, knowing a man’s last wish when he heard it, he kicked off the floor and held you tight to his chest as he flew above the water further down the hallway until you were out of view. Bucky’s hand was cramping on the lever, but he only needed to hold it for a few more seconds. He could hear the wind on Sam’s mic and the crash of rushing water below him.

“We’re out,” Sam reported dejectedly. None of this felt like a victory.

Bucky nodded, releasing the lever and stepping back into the room, sloshing water around his waist. He was shivering.

“Buck,” Steve called out gently, “Bucky you still there?��

Bucky nodded, though he knew Steve couldn’t see that. Everything was numb; his legs, his arm, his brain. It all felt fuzzy.

“Is she safe? Are you--” Bucky clenched his jaw, trying to keep the sob from breaking through him completely, “Are you all okay?”

“We’re-- We’re fine, Buck, but--”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky confessed, eyes focused on the cracks in the walls leaking water down into the pool slowly rising up to his chest. It wouldn’t hold much longer. “Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I lov--”

A rush of water.

Ice on his skin. Then, in his lungs.

Burning. Aching. Fire within his chest.

Darkness.

***

One week later and they still hadn’t found his body. He wasn’t locked in the control room where he had been the last time you saw him, hand clenched on that lever, body shaking from the cold of the water, and tears in his eyes. The divers had come up empty, searching the entire ship without a trace of the man you loved.

You tried not to picture him surrounded by the crashing of violent currents and impossible darkness. You desperately pushed away the image of him sinking into the endless abyss, hair floating around him in a halo, skin pale and blue. You couldn’t stand to think of him so alone.

This was worse, your decided, to lose him in this way; to lose him to a cruel and impossible choice to trade his life for yours. He had always thought he’d die on the end of a bullet in the field, in the line of duty. It was something you accepted for yourself, as well, though you always hoped the two of you would make it long enough to retire and let your age pull you under.

With no body, you had nothing to bury. A funeral felt pointless and you didn’t think you could stand to see the protesters outside the gates of Arlington. There would always be those on the fringe who would never accept Bucky as he was, who would only ever see him as what Hydra made him to be. He had learned to deal with it, often took it as he penance, but it was never something you got over. It hurt deep in your chest and the idea of those people ruining your final goodbye was unthinkable.

So, you didn’t give them the chance.

You sat in a black dress, legs folded under you, upon the grass overlooking the lake in the back of the compound. It was a quiet place, one Bucky often found himself in. He used to find peace in the water, watching the subtle ripples at the slightest disruption to the surface, the clear endless tranquility, the reflection of the trees above. You weren’t sure you could find beauty in it anymore. Not knowing that it was water that filled his lungs and suffocated him until his body gave out.

Steve arranged for the team to gather and just talk; a memorial of sorts amongst only those who truly knew him. You stayed silent the whole time, clinging onto Sam’s hand and staring off into the space between Natasha’s and Tony’s shoulders. You couldn’t focus on much of anything, couldn’t listen to their stories or the way Steve tried to hold back the sob etching through his chest.

Amongst the memories, you could only picture Bucky on the other side of that damn door. The look in his eyes as he watched you, knowing you’d never reach him in time. The shake in his hand and the tears on his cheeks. The defiance in his voice and the rush of heat and fire in your veins at the realization of what he was trying to do.

You hated him.

You loved him.

But everything burned in your chest and all you knew was he wasn’t here with you.

“Y/n?” a voice called behind you, urgency in tone. Sam.

You closed your eyes, though you didn’t move a muscle. You weren’t sure you could face anymore of your friends today. You couldn’t take another ‘are you alright’ or ‘can I get you anything’ because the answer was always ‘no’ and ‘Bucky.’ They weren’t answers anyone wanted to hear.

“Y/n,” Sam called again, relief upon his voice. He must have spotted you. You could hear him jogging towards you, slightly out of breath. He must have been looking for a while.

“There you are,” he exhaled, reaching down to grab you hand and tug you to your feet, but you remained still. “Come on, kiddo, you need to come with me right now.”

You shook your head. “Just let me be alone, Sammy.”

“You don’t understand,” Sam urged and when you looked up at him, he was smiling wide, with teeth. It was almost unsettling as he was still in his black suit from the makeshift memorial earlier that day. “Y/n, just follow me.”

You clenched your jaw. “Sam, please. I can’t--”

“They found him.”

You heart ached. It burned and broke. Was this better? To have a body to bury? You weren’t sure anymore. Tears slipped past your eyes before you could stop them and you brushed them aside. Sam kneels down beside you, but he was still smiling. You wanted to punch it off his face.

“I don’t-- I don’t think I can see him like that,” you muttered out, envisioning discolored skin, sunken lids, blue lips. It wouldn’t be Bucky, not anymore.

Sam exhaled, relief and joy in his voice you couldn’t understand. “Y/n, you’re not hearing me. They found him. He survived.”

“What?”

You couldn’t have possibly heard him right, breaths coming in fast and shallow, heart pounding, and Sam was smiling so wide it nearly stretched to his ears. He nodded, tugging on your hand again and your whole body was so light with shock, he pulled you to your feet easily.

As Sam led you back into the compound, keeping a steady hold with an arm draped around your waist because your legs were like Jell-O under you, he told you that Bucky was found by a fishing vessel not long after the ship sank. The men had pulled him aboard, administered CPR and brought him to a hospital off the coast of Portugal where he’d been recovering for the last week.

No one knows how he was able to get out of the control room or through any of the locked doors, but he had burn marks on his face so Tony believed another explosive went off right before Bucky’s coms cut out, flooding in water at a rapid pace but also opening a gaping hole in the side of the ship. The current must have pulled him out, sending his body to the surface long after your team disappeared.

He’d apparently been trying to get ahold of you, of the team, since he’d woken up but without a secure line and only able to access the Shield inquiry phone number, no one would patch him through, believing him to be a fraud as they were all certain he had died. He jumped on a plane over to the States the very second he was cleared by the doctors.

Sam pushed open the doors to the med bay with you still in his arms. Agents parted like the sea for you with every step, all eyes scanning you for a reaction they wouldn’t find. You were too numb for that. Nothing felt real and you wouldn’t believe Sam’s story until you saw him with you own eyes.

Leading you a room at the end of the hallway, you spotted Steve, Natasha, and Tony through the open windows of the room, huddled around the bed. Steve was sitting on the edge of the cot, laughing, while Nat stood just over his shoulders, hands running along his back. Tony was pacing, clearly lost in thought.

“Sam, wait,” you said suddenly, planting your feet before you could enter the room. Sam paused, turning to look at you with nothing but a gentle kindness in his eyes. “You’re sure? You’re absolutely sure he’s alive?”

“Go see for yourself,” Sam smiled softly, giving you a slight push into the room.

You stumbled in, arms folded around your waist and trying to ground yourself with handfuls of the black fabric of your dress. Steve stood up instantly upon seeing you, retreating back to the edge of the wall as he gently pulled Nat along with him. Then, Tony looked up, a brief moment of clarity amongst the dozens of equations running through his mind, offered you a smile and moved to the corner by Sam.

Sure enough, sitting at the center of the bed with one leg tucked under him, the other swung over the edge, was Bucky. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the burn marks Sam had told you about, discolored and slowly healing thanks to the serum in his veins. He wore a light grey t-shirt supplied by Shield, exposing the reflection of his left arm, and sweatpants from his room. He looked like he just rolled of out bed and so incredibly normal, as if you hadn’t just spent the last week grieving and crying and in agony over him.

A smile lifted the corners of his lips as he started to stand, taking a step closer to you, but you stepped back away from him, holding a hand up.

He froze, concern etching in his features as he shot a glance over at Steve who couldn’t offer him any help.

“Baby?”

“Can I get a minute?” you asked quietly, looking over at Sam from the corner of your eye and he ushered for everyone to leave the room, giving you space to be alone with Bucky. The moment the door closed behind them and you were left alone, you surged forward, shoving Bucky’s hard in the chest.

“You self-sacrificing asshole! What the hell is the matter with you!?” you shouted, throwing another hit in his direction that he took with ease. He held his ground, trying to grab onto your hands before you really did some damage, but gave you the release you needed. “How could you do that to me?!”

“Y/n,” Bucky started, and the sound of his voice alone broke the damn in your chest, sobs shaking their way through you as tears burned down your cheeks.

“I thought you were dead! Do you have any idea what that did to me!?” you cried, your closed fisted hits to his chest losing energy quickly. “This-- This is a fucking funeral dress, Bucky! B-But we didn’t have a body so— so—”

“I know, baby, I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered, pulling you into his arms and without the will to fight back, you fell against him with ease. He still smelled the same, though you weren’t sure how that was even possible. He was warm under your touch and you could hear his heart beating behind his chest.

“D-Don’t ever do that to me again,” you exhaled, gripping tight around his waist and you sighed against his lips as they pressed to the crown of your head.

“You know I can’t promise that,” he confessed and you squeezed him tighter, knowing he was right. “I’d choose your life over mine. Every time.”

“Well,” you sniffled, pressing your face tight to his chest so you could clearly hear the thumping of his heart under your ear, “try really hard to not be in a situation where you have to, okay?”

Bucky chuckled at that, the soft vibrations of his chest like heaven against you. He kissed your forehead, hands running in soothing motions down your back.

“Done,” he agreed, tracing patterns on the zipper of your dress. A few moments of content silence passed before he said, “I missed our anniversary, didn’t I?”

You nodded, unwilling to tell him that you’d spent the day holed up in his room, hiding behind the sheets of his blankets and crying for hours on end.

“You still want that spicy calamari?” Bucky asked sweetly, a slight laugh in his voice. “I’m sure I can convince Stark to get them to do takeout for us. I might have some extra leeway for a while after the whole self-sacrifice-coming-back-from-the-dead thing.”

You pulled back, swatting at his chest with tears in your eyes. “That’s not funny,” you whined, though you were laughing. “But, yes.”

Bucky grinned and you almost forgot about the burns on his skin and the ice water that had filled his lungs. He was warm and soft under your touch and his hands were running in patterns along you back.

“Thought we could spend the next day just eating food and watching movies,” he said, gazing down at you with the kind of radiance in his eyes that made your stomach swoon, “but without clothes, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” you laughed, pressing up to kiss him against his lips, the image of them cold and blue gone from your mind, because he was here. He was warm and alive, and in your arms, and you’ll fight him until your dying breath if he pulled something like this again.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[anonthenullifier]

Hiii!!! I just finished reading your Snapshots fic on ao3 and they're all amazing!!! I love how you write the family dynamics between the kids and wanda/vision, they're all vv sweet and I'm here for it!! Do u think tommy and billy ever did a parent trap kind of switch for some reason?

Thank you so much! 😁 This was a fun ask and I hope you enjoy! 

***

The sizzle of butter in the skillet provides a lively accompaniment to Wanda’s aggravation about the morning’s latest headline - one claiming that Tony Stark was personally responsible for the matchmaking that brought Vision and his lovely, currently scarlet eyed, wife together. It’s a claim not without some merit, if not for Tony’s involvement in Ultron’s creation and then in Vision’s own birth, he never would have been alive to fall so deeply in love with Wanda; however, as with most claims involving Tony it is also inherently hyperbolic. Had the billionaire actually been involved in Vision’s romantic pursuits, there is a very high probability that Wanda would have run the other direction.

“And you know what else it said?”

Vision scoops the pancake batter carefully into the buttered skillet as he responds, “What?”

“That he’s the reason Billy and Tommy want to be Avengers.” The only reason Wanda’s tea does not spill over the edge as she gesticulates out her anger is because she has wrapped it in a sheen of red. “Him!”

Grandiose sense of self worth is a rather glaring fault in the Stark family, a symptom Vision thankfully bypassed, no doubt due to the humble yet confident influence of Dr. Cho. “It is an unfair and misleading statement,” this diffuses her ire enough for her to take a sip of tea, “all that truly matters,” momentarily he turns from the stove to wrap his fingers around her upper arms and stare intently into her eyes, “is that we continue encouraging our sons to be their best selves, even if our work is never publicly acknowledged.”

Finally her face softens, the disdain etched into the lines of her forehead smoothing out with the roll of her eyes, “Fine.” Vision lays a peck to her forehead before turning back to rescue the almost burnt pancakes, “but wouldn’t it be nice if someone praised us for once?”

“It would.”

“Morning mom, dad.”

“Good morning Bil…” Vision’s mouth stops mid-greeting, brain a bit frenzied at the mixed signals he is receiving. The voice that just greeted him registers as Billy and yet the boy in front of him is sporting Tommy’s signature snowy hair and athletic clothing. “Um…”

“Tommy,” Wanda’s acknowledgement of their son should clarify everything, yet he can sense an odd amusement in the way she says the name, “why don’t you sit down, your father’s almost done with breakfast.”

To further add to the confusion of the moment, Tommy merely flashes them a grin (no snarky comment nor demands for it to cook faster) and then slides into Billy’s seat at the table.

Wanda’s hand comes to rest on Vision’s back, her voice low and a bit giddy, “This is going to be entertaining.”

“What is?”

“Just wait…” No further information is provided other than a wink.

Vision attempts to shove his curiosity and need to ask for more clarity down, instead channeling all of his energy into the pancakes and not burning them. Success at this repression endeavor is fleeting, the moment he turns to put the plate on the table, he cannot help but ask a question. “Where is your brother?” A glance up confirms it is three minutes past their usual breakfast time. Billy, like Vision, believes in punctuality and that being five minutes early is on time and being on time is late. For him to be late by normative standards is concerning. “It is unlike him to be late.”

Tommy chokes on his orange juice, eyes a tad wild as he twists around to look at the clock. “Um, I’ll go-“

“Good morning everyone!” Billy waltzes in with a cheery grin, his overall presence gregarious and brash, neither a word typically associated with him. His unusual mood  is highlighted all the more by  the uncharacteristically sloppy way his sweater is buttoned. “I’m famished.” A sentiment rarely shared by Billy.

Vision is torn between staring at his sons and seeking out Wanda’s reaction to whatever is happening in their kitchen. “Tommy,” his brother's name is overly enunciated, and the question, “Why are you in my seat?” asked with annoyance.

“Oh, sorry,” Tommy apologizes quickly, a first for sure, and then slides over to his normal chair.

This is, for want of a better word, weird.

Wanda, somehow, is making everyday small talk with their sons but Vision doesn’t process what is said, too focused on studying his children and the bevy of possibilities for why they seem so off. The initial fear is that they are Skrulls or some other shape shifting creature, a possibility they have sadly lived through before, not with the boys but on a mission with the Avengers. A vitals and physiology scan disconfirms this hypothesis (thankfully), the two bodies across the table are his sons. Despite this Tommy is eating at a snail’s pace, knife and fork working with precise movements to portion out perfect sized bites while Billy is going fast and loose with his fork, each bite different from the last. It also seems like Billy’s hair is a slightly different shade than usual, a tinge of cinnamon in his typically chestnut hair. Perhaps they have wandered into the multiverse yet again, though Wanda is his Wanda, he is certain of that and she seems to be more amused than concerned. Which means there must be a logical explanation.

Vision decides perhaps listening to the conversation at the table will better aid him. “Are you ready for the big math test today?” This is directed at Tommy, a pre-algebra exam Vision has spent several nights helping him study for.

Contrary to the numerous breakdowns that informed Vision that his son was going to fail so why bother trying, this morning Tommy seems...optimistic. “Yeah, dad’s prepared me well,” and overtly gracious.

“And Billy,” Wanda nudges Vision’s foot as she talks, always a sign he needs to get out of his head and pay attention, “today’s the mile run in gym, right?”

“Yep,” Billy answers while shoving a pancake into his mouth, continuing to talk while he chews, “gonna beat my record for sure.” This comment, and the smarmy confidence behind it, sets a new hypothesis into motion.  

Vision runs a second vitals scan, this time focusing on heart rate and brain waves. The results are surprising yet informative, but just to be sure, he recalibrates his sensors, scans again, and re-analyzes it, not wanting to make an erroneous conclusion if his sensors were off. The results match his last scan and the oddities suddenly make sense. Finally figured it out? He turns towards Wanda, her face set with impish victory typically reserved for when she bests him at training. A dip of his chin affirms her telepathic comment though his own mood is nowhere near as bubbly as hers because despite knowing the truth now, it does not actually alleviate any of his concern, in fact it breeds several other pathways of uncertainty. Follow my lead.  

The devious undertone of his wife’s comment transforms into an innocent smile as she addresses their sons. “Well boys,” both of their sons look up, “since it’s such a big day, we should celebrate later.” A shared look occurs between Billy and Tommy, one that Vision can’t quite label appropriately, a mix of excitement, bafflement, and victory.

‘Billy’ prods for more, his fork tapping the plate at roughly 200 clinks per minute. “Like what?”

Wanda is so natural at uncovering their lies that Vision can only sit back in awe at the way she effortlessly teases out the truth, “I need to meet with Strange later today, so Billy you can come along and we can ask if he’s finally willing to start training you to be a sorcerer.”

The current Tommy stares mouth agape at the offer, while the current Billy seems unimpressed, “Oh, um yeah, that’d be cool.”

“And Tommy,” Wanda reaches out to grab Vision’s hand, a gesture that is blissfully common but is right now no doubt meant to really drive home the offer, “Your father was going to do some speed trials this afternoon, maybe he can call the school so you can leave a period early and join him.” Vision was not going to do this but he withholds that knowledge so he doesn’t hinder his wife’s plan.

Tommy and Billy turn towards each other, no verbal words exchanged but Vision can easily recognize one of their telepathic conversations—bodies tense, their faces fluttering through a range of emotions, and eyebrows moving in emphasis of whatever comments they’re making. They break and ‘Tommy’ addresses the offer, “Billy has gym in 8th period.”

“Which is why he and I are going to meet with Stephen after school.” Wanda takes a deliberately long sip of her tea to let the information really settle in.

Their tactics switch to the other offer.“Isn’t uh truancy a pretty big deal, you know, if I,” ‘Billy’ catches himself, “Tommy were to leave early.

Vision decides he should aid in some way, voice matter of fact as he responds, “I do believe Tommy has a free period at that time. Plus,” thankfully this next part is not a lie or else Vision would feel guilty saying it, “I have to attend the PTA meeting tonight so we cannot wait until school is out if we would like to get a full session of training in.”

Another deep, very animated mental conversation occurs across the table, one that leads to an exaggerated roll of his wife’s eyes. “What if…”

Wanda cuts off the next suggestion, clearly done with the game, “Just accept that you’ve been caught.”

The two faces across from them are polar opposite, one shining with defiance and the other defeat. With a sigh, Tommy’s white hair darkens into chestnut, the real Billy slouching deep into his chair. His brother is not amused, “Are you really breaking that easily?”

Vision checks the time, noting their bus will arrive in less than 10 minutes. “Boys,” there are several things he wants to say, from questioning Tommy’s brown hair to why they thought they’d get away with it, but he decides those can wait, “perhaps instead of our planned celebrations tonight, we have a discussion on the harms of deception.”

Tommy, the real one, executes a perfect Maximoff eye roll, never one to appreciate the life lesson evenings that correspond with poor behavior. “It was just a joke.”

“I do not find it humorous.” And Vision does not, a deep despair blossoming in his chest at what his sons have attempted and what it means for how their sons view them, whether they think they are not loved enough nor noticed enough to be recognized by their own parents. “You intended to utilize this...joke for personal gain.”

Wanda cuts in, hand coming to rest on Vision’s thigh with a light, reassuring squeeze. “Why don’t you both change. The bus will be here soon. We’ll talk more tonight.” Muttered yes, mom s are lost in the scraping of their chairs against the wooden floor. “Tommy.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you dye your hair?”

“Yep,” Tommy runs his hand through his darkened locks, “the box called it chili chocolate.”

Wanda smirks, finding this far more endearing than Vision. “Just promise to use it responsibly.”

A not fully convincing salute goes along with Tommy’s, “Roger that,” and then he runs off in a blur.

“Wanda,” Vision waits until she looks at him, a bit unnerved that she does not seem to show any of the same concern for what just happened. “Are you not troubled at their flagrant disregard for honesty?”

Her eyebrows arch up, lips pursed the way they are whenever he has misassessed human nature and she needs to find a way to gently talk him through it. “It’s kind of a twin rite of passage.”

This is not forthcoming nor satisfying. “Did you and Pietro do this as well?”

“Once or twice.” His confusion must be evident, her lips curving up into a reminiscent mischief. “We weren’t good at it, especially once we were older. But you have to try.”

“Do you?”

A nod confirms the apparent necessity of such an experiment, though no further explanation is provided for Vision to comprehend why it is required. “You’ve never seen the Parent Trap, have you?”

“I have not.”

Scarlet energy entangles itself around the dishes at the table, floating them into the sink and away from their responsibility for now. “Come on,” Wanda stands and tugs on Vision’s hand, drawing him up out of his seat and then leading him into the living room. As she lightly pushes him to sit in the couch, a rush of feet, a banging door and a quick bye! marks the start of the school day, leaving them alone until this afternoon. “Want to watch a movie?”

“I suppose,” he wraps his arm around her shoulders after she sits next to him, pulling her closer and relishing the comfort of her head on his chest, “if it provides adequate research to understanding this cultural necessity of deceit, then yes.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Vision considers the comment a touch longer than needed, just enough for her to look up at him in anticipation, “if it means a day spent with you,” he kisses her deeply, mirroring the soft curve of her lips as he pulls away,”then it is still a yes.”

“Good.” The tv turns on and his education begins.