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the12thnightproject · 1 year ago

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Chapter 50: Radiance -While waiting for the next wormhole, Shingen and Katsuko enjoy domestic fluff, birthday cake, and snowboarding… but an old video leads to an unsettling discovery.

Shingen x OC; Kenshin x MC (Mai)

Previous Chapter: Here

Logline - Disguised as a boy, Katsuko finds herself working for Shingen, but her dangerous masquerade becomes difficult to sustain when she falls for the man with a fatal secret.

With ten weeks until the next wormhole opened, modern Japan ended up being kind of a vacation for Shingen and I. Rather than join Sasuke in Kyoto, we elected to stay in Nagano since it was more or less home turf for both of us. Thanks to Aki’s generosity (I considered it an employee bonus and figured I had earned every penny – especially since he hadn’t ever paid me an actual salary), I had more than enough money to rent a decent furnished apartment for a few months.

Before the winter kicked in, we rented a motorcycle several times and toured through the countryside, riding down to the Yamanashi Prefecture, formerly Kai. After some discussion, we elected not to visit the Tsutsujigasaki historic site – it would be too strange and jarring. “When we go to Tsutusjigasaki Castle,” he told me, “it will be as it was, so I can introduce you to its people.”

In return, I showed him all of my old kid haunts – not that there were that many – and my favorite places to hike and climb. And of course, Shingen being Shingen, we created our own tour of Teahouses and bakeries around the city.

Sasuke came up from Kyoto every other week, mostly to hang out, but also to report what was going on with the wormhole and his investigation into the mystery of Aki. The latter was unfortunately stalled due to his parents having taken a sabbatical trip through China – they’d rented their house out to a businessman from India.

On my own, I was doing similar research on my old mentor, but to no one’s surprise, he kept an extremely low internet footprint. Nothing like putting your primary residence 450 years in the past to help you stay off the grid. Similarly, though I haunted the library and archive sites, I was unable to find a lead on “Hikosane.” If he had done something important during his lifetime, it wasn’t in the historical record.

The first weekend in December, Sasuke came up and took Shingen out for a man-bonding afternoon. That was how Sasuke described it. I described it as “get him out of the house so I can bake him a birthday cake.” The birthday meal itself, I would trust to delivery, but I wanted to at least make him something sweet.

Cooking and baking were not activities I had done a much of after my mother died, but prior to that, I’d been the primary cook, not just for meals but also desserts. I had gone through a phase where I baked the most decadent things I could find, hoping to tempt her to – Ah… maybe that was why I wasn’t a huge fan of sweets now? I jotted that down in a notebook my therapist was having me keep. I had decided to see a therapist for my claustrophobia and nightmares. They were never as bad when I was with Shingen, but I felt it wasn’t his job to deal with my mental health – I needed to take responsibility for that. Obviously, there wasn’t a lot I could accomplish before we headed back through the wormhole in the Spring (I told my therapist I was moving to Vancouver) but I hoped to at least have the tools I needed to keep moving forward.

I checked the temperature of the cake layers that were cooling on wire racks. Online, I’d found what looked like (per the number of stars the recipe had) an extremely decadent recipe for chocolate and strawberry cake. While I might never win any cake decorating contests, I was confident the cake would at least taste good. Just as I finished mixing up the buttercream frosting, Shingen and Sasuke came through the door, stomping snow off their boots.

“Sorry to bring him back early – the snow’s getting fairly deep.” Sasuke hates driving in snow. For that matter, Shingen’s not terribly fond of being a passenger when Sasuke is driving, so I ought to have expected an early return.

“No worries.” I’d been listening to the weather reports. Deep snow tonight meant this weekend I could finally take them snowboarding – an excursion that we’d planned for as soon as the weather cooperated.

“What’s all this?” Shingen eyed the cake and the bowl of frosting with the intent interest of a sugar fiend who’d been held hostage in a health spa for a decade. “If it tastes as good as it smells, then I’d say we’ve gotten back right on time.”

“I hope that wasn’t supposed to be a surprise.” Sasuke headed to the coffee machine that we kept out just for him, as neither Shingen nor I had ever developed a taste for it (though Shingen did have a fondness for those fancy caramel mocha lattes they sold at the chain coffee shop – go figure).

“No, it was to prevent… that.” Shingen had grabbed the bowl of frosting and a spoon. I took the bowl away. “That goes on the cake,” I said. He gave me an adorable little boy frown. I leaned closer and said to him quietly. “If there’s any leftover after that, we can have it later… I’ll take the role of the cake.”

Shingen had been stealthily reaching the spoon for a raid on the frosting, but upon hearing that hastily aborted the mission. I ran my finger along the edge of the bowl, scooping up a small amount of frosting on it, and held it out to him. “Will this hold you for a while?”

He sucked my finger into his mouth and licked away the frosting. “For dessert, yes. For you, my sweet Devil, not even close.” He backed me into the counter and dipped me into a kiss. He tasted of chocolate and snow and promises.

“Not a full wall, so I suppose that’s a half-kabedon,” Sasuke toasted us with his mug of coffee.

“Only the Russian judge will care.” I scooted out from under Shingen’s arms, then handed him my phone. “This cake will not frost itself. Why don’t you guys pick a place and order dinner. In this weather it could take a while to get here.”

Shingen opened up the restaurant delivery app. “Any preferences?”

“Your birthday, you pick. Just order something vegetarian for me.” I began putting the crumb coat of frosting onto the cake and pretended not to notice when Shingen stole another taste.

Sasuke rescued the cake from becoming a “naked cake” by taking Shingen into the other room to watch TV – they were working their way through the original Star Trek. I’m not sure Shingen was all that into the show, but it was fun to watch Sasuke watch it. Apparently, he and Gene Rodenberry had incompatible views on the science of space travel. Already I could hear him grumbling that spaceships didn’t need to ‘bank’ in zero gravity.

While I lost myself in the soothing rhythm of cake frosting (given the number of tiktok and youtube videos of people frosting cakes, I wasn’t the only person to appreciate the ASMR quality of cake decorating), I let my gaze wander from where I could see Shingen and Sasuke joking around in front of the tv set, to the window, where the late afternoon snow was lightly brushing against the window.

Respite.

There was that word again. Away from the stress and danger of the Sengoku, Shingen and I were cocooning in this little apartment, learning how to be together without distraction. Once we got back, we’d both have our battles to fight. I was determined to find Aki and demand an explanation, while Shingen was making plans to try to wrest Kai from Nobunaga. But until then, it was nice to have this comfort of daily living together, in order to strengthen what we’d need to face these challenges, both as individuals, and as ‘us.’

Later, after we’d finished dinner and a good portion of the birthday cake, the sugar crash hit, and we all sprawled lazily on the couch, good naturedly debating what to watch, without making any real effort to actually make a decision.

“Are you going to finish that?” Shingen indicated the remainder of the slice of cake that I hadn’t managed to eat.

Oof. Even if I thought I could move (too full), or wanted to move (too comfortable under Shingen’s arm) I didn’t want it. I’d made the cake to his tastes, not mine. “It’s about eighty percent frosting – go ahead. I’ve never liked that much sugar.”

He reached for it, then paused. “Except for the sweets from the Teahouse in Kasugayama – you liked those.”

I made a show of looking innocently at the ceiling and folding my hands penitently while Sasuke snickered quietly from his end of the couch.

Here came the forehead flick. “Really, Devil?”

“I never actually said I liked them. I simply didn’t correct your assumption that I did.” I resisted the urge to rub spot he’d just flicked. No need to encourage him.

“What am I going to do with her?” Shingen addressed Sasuke, who looked like he wanted to yeet out of the conversation completely. “She happily lies to me, steals my clothes” (oh yeah, I was wearing his shirt again), “-falls out of trees-”

“Alright, enough about that.” I gestured to Sasuke’s tablet, which was currently wirelessly connected to our TV. “Sasuke, go to youtube.” I gave him the address of the old youtube page that Toshiie and I had put up when we were still teenagers. Hopefully after so many years, it was still there. “We’re going to settle this tree thing once and for all.”

Sasuke did that ninja typing thing again. “Password?”

“Tony_Stark1610.”

“Ironman? Really Katsuko, you need better privacy settings than that.” He brought up the page. The freerunning videos were at the top, but we were going to go further back than that.

“Shut it, Spidey I was fourteen when I created this page.” No one would have been looking for it in any case.

He sighed. “At least you didn’t use your pets’ name or your birthday.”

“Sixteen ten is her birthday,” Shingen offered.

Also, Tony Stark had been the name of my cat, but I was not going to bring that up to Sasuke. “I’ll change the password later.” I directed him to the oldest video on the page.

It had been the last time I’d ever competed in artistic gymnastics – a small local competition. My mother, who normally was my biggest supporter had been having a bad week and that morning hadn’t left her bed. Toshiie had filmed the event so she could see it later. As far as I knew, she’d never watched. I’d quit soon after that – I’d only been doing it for her to begin with, and I didn’t have the funds -or the talent - to move up to an elite level. Not that that mattered now. What was on the video would likely look more impressive than it actually was.

Shingen and Sasuke watched my fourteen-year-old self tumble and flip across the balance beam. “There will be no more talk of me falling out of trees.”

“Can you teach me some of that? It would come in handy for a moderately awesome ninja.” Sasuke had a faraway look in his eyes. Likely imagining surprising Yuki or Kenshin with new tricks.

“Ah, now I understand what you meant about training as a performer from a young age.” Shingen watched teen Katsuko slide into a full split then dismount the beam with a flourish. “Are you still that flexible, Devil?”

Nobody with breasts and hips is that flexible. I was about to reply to that one with a forehead flick of my own, when the next video began. “I had no idea he posted this – Sasuke click stop.”

It was the freerunning video from the day of the wormhole – just seeing the view of the building that I was about to ascend brought back the feelings of restlessness and anxiety from that year.

“What’s wrong?” As usual, Shingen was tuned into my emotions and he picked up my hand and held it comfortingly.

“The day we got swept into the Sengoku, Toshiie filmed this. I was just surprised that he’d had time to put it on the page.” Discovering this was like time-traveling to my younger self in an archival wormhole.

“May I watch? I’d like to get a sense of the weather conditions that day – it’s a rare opportunity to have this type of data for analysis.” Sasuke had instantly become alert, ready to flip into Weird Science Mode.

“Um, if we play this, I need to warn you in advance – I was a lot more of a daredevil back then, and my brother and I fought about what I did here.” Which was why I was surprised he’d uploaded it. Maybe to try to talk me out of taking risks.

“So noted.” Shingen didn’t actually promise not to get upset, but Sasuke had already pressed start. I resisted the urge to watch Shingen, especially when I almost fell off a three-story building, but I could feel his tension at that point, and… what was that? “Wait, Sasuke, can you play that back?”

“I really don’t want to see you almost die again.” Yeah, Shingen sounded upset and his hand was almost squeezing mine too hard.

“Don’t watch me – look beyond that… left side of the roof.” Something had distracted me that day – that was why I had nearly fallen to begin with. “There.”

“I see it!” Sasuke paused the video and pinch zoomed. “What the hell is that?”

There had been someone else on the roof – a blurry, foggy figure who then vanished into the horizon almost as if they’d unzipped the sky and climbed in. “Now I am creeped out.” There wasn’t any way to tell who – or what – that had been. “Sasuke..?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He zoomed in some more, but that just added to the blur. “Permission to send a copy of this to myself?”

It might have been Aki.

It might have been Iekane.

It might have been someone completely unknown to us.

Who the hell were these people?

In any case, tracking down and confronting Aki suddenly became a lot more important.

The snowboarding expedition was a mixed success. Sasuke’s Ninja training had come in handy, and after a few basic pointers, he had left to try out his skills on an intermediate course… or more accurately, he’d wanted to further bond with a cute tourist he’d met on the ski lift.

Shingen was athletic, but this was one of the places his height was a disadvantage. With his higher center of gravity, he’d had some trouble getting into his knees. Eventually though, he’d picked it up, and soon was swooping down the training hill. He did fall a couple more times after that, but since both times he’d managed to take me down with him, I figured those had been on purpose.

After a couple hours, he noticed I was eyeing one of the half-pipes. “If you want to do that, I’m ready for a break.”

Hm. It had been seven (or, was it eight – I was never sure how to count the unknown amount of time I’d been stuck in the wormhole) years. Could I still manage it? But with Shingen voluntarily encouraging my daredevil tendencies – why not? I gave him a quick kiss. “See you at the bottom of the hill.

In no time at all, I’d dropped in and traversed the pipe. I’d kept it simple, without trying any of the tricks I used to do, aside from simple 180 turns at the top of each wall. But the rush was still there, and I zipped to the bottom with a whoop. Flying. Me and the sky. But the bigger rush? Seeing Shingen waiting for me at the base of the hill, smiling as he watched me skid to a stop.

“I once called you a moon goddess,” he said as I disengaged from the board. “I was wrong. You’re pure sunshine – made for daylight – the most radiant being I’ve ever seen.”

I smiled up at him and took his hand. “You keep that up and you’re going to melt all the snow.”

“What time are we meeting Sasuke?” he asked, while we were waiting to return our rented equipment.

“We’re not.” I pulled a hotel key card out of my pocket. I’d already packed some luggage for both of us in order to keep this a surprise. “Sasuke took an uber back to the apartment.” Or possibly he was furthering his acquaintance with the tourist he’d met earlier. “You and I are going to that hotel over there,” I pointed to the resort attached to the snow park. “Where we can celebrate your birthday by soaking in a private hot spring.”

Later, under the clear star filled sky, Shingen lowered himself with a sigh into steaming hot water. He leaned back against the natural rock formation and gazed out on the view of Mount Kosha. “This was a good idea you had.”

“I do have them, occasionally.” The combination of the snow kissed air and the hot water felt wonderful on my skin and ok- slightly – aching muscles. “I am a little sore after that… are you?”

“Given that I am close to five hundred years old, yes. These bones aren’t what they used to be.” In opposition to his statement, he swiftly pulled me onto his lap.

“I think you’re in great shape… for your age.” I ran my hands over his chest muscles.

“I fell a little bit in love with you the moment you said that. You had this challenging glint in your eyes.” He put his finger under my chin and drew my face up to his. “Yes, just like now. You hung onto that basket of pastry and acted like an insubordinate recruit.”

“In my defense, you had just set me up to be killed – hey!” Shingen removed my wet tankini top and tossed it aside. My nipples immediately tightened in the cold air. “That is not a place I want to have icicles dripping from.”

“Can’t have that.” He fastened his lips to my breast and warmed it with his mouth and tongue. “Hold still, Devil. I want to see if I can put the same look on your face that you had when you were zipping across the half-pipe.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him closer to me. “You do, Shingen. You might not always be looking my way when it’s there, but… you do.”

@bestbryn

#TBT12lies #throwback thursday #twelve lies i told shingen takeda #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen shingen #ikesen fanfic #ikesen sasuke #sasuke sarutobi

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scottysanchezs · 8 months ago

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Scotty couldn't stop thinking about the accident. Which one though? The one where the teenager got bit by a shark? Or the one where he lost both his wife and fourteen month old daughter? His mind felt like a jigsaw puzzle these days, trying to put the pieces together. Trying to keep their memories alive. He felt like they were slipping away. He felt like if he worked overtime, and kept himself busy then Scotty wouldn't spiral. Though clearly, clearly that wasn't the case. He was spiraling, again. This wouldn't be the first time within ten years he felt like he was loosing his god damn mind. Ten years? How the fuck has it been ten years since the day his World ripped out from under him? Scotty questioned himself and heard the loud music banging from the speaker. He was getting a migraine and the man wasn't in the fuckin mood for this. Maybe he should just go home and sleep, Scotty thought to himself as he started to rub his temples. The Chief Of Police decided to stay put.

Scotty wanted to know why. That's all he wanted to know. Why? Why did bad things happen to good people? Alyssa Conway was perfect. She was an angel sent from above, and now an actual one. Alyssa, the first women he's ever fallen in love with. The only women he's only fallen deeply and madly in love with. God he missed her, he missed his best friend, his wife. The mother of his child. And Violet. His precious little girl. That smile, that smile and giggle lit up the whole World when his went dark. The pain and anguish he felt daily consumed him sometimes. The thought of going home alone for the past ten years killed him. It should've been him. It should've been him instead of them.

"Well ya fuckin did." Scotty snapped at the stranger, he down the glass of Whiskey and asked the bar tender for another. Whiskey was his poison. Alcohol was poison. He should know. His parents were sober for an x amount of years because of the issues it had caused. Though how would he grieve without alcohol? As soon as the bar tender handed Scotty his third glass of Whiskey, the Chief of Police shook his head and scoffed "You fuckin got somethin to say to me? Stop fuckin lookin at me man." Now Scotty was acting out, now Scotty was being an idiot.

This stranger wasn't doing a god damn thing. Nothing at all, Scotty was just a mean drunk and he hated it. The forty-eight year old looked down at his phone, the photo of Violet sleeping tearing him apart and Scotty finally let out a bitter laugh. "What the fuck did you just say to me?" Scotty spat, turning to face him now. "We all got our ghosts? Is that some kind of a fuckin sick joke?" Scotty shook his head "Dont you dare fucking say weve all got our ghosts. You dont fucking know anything." He let out a breath, his words beginning to slur and the room beginning to spin.

Scotty felt like the room was caving in on him, it was hot and it was spinning and the man felt like he was going to be sick. "Tryin to keep your own peace? Youre the one that fuckin said we all have our ghosts. Is that all you got or you got more to fuckin say?" Scotty didn't realize it, but he as now standing face to face with the stranger.

The bar was alive with the kind of noise that fills every corner, pressing in with the laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the thumping bass of music that makes it hard to think. It was the kind of environment that used to serve as camouflage for Robby, a place to blend into the background. Tonight, however, it felt oppressive, reminding him how far he'd come and yet how close he remained to the person he used to be.

Robby recognized Scotty immediately, even before the confrontation. He'd researched his picture at the time, he'd followed him, he'd planned his death. And things had gone sideways and two innocents died in the aftermath instead. Robby never forgot his face. The tension in Scotty’s shoulders, the way he clutched his drink like a lifeline, it all spoke volumes. Robby had his reasons for being there, partly to reintegrate, to find some path back into the world he left behind, but seeing Scotty like this—it struck a chord. His grief, raw and unfiltered, mirrored back parts of Robby’s own past he’d rather forget.

When Scotty snapped, his voice raw with pain and anger, Robby felt that too. The urge to drown out memories with something, anything, that could numb the pain. Robby had been there, in that darkness, fighting invisible demons that cling like shadows. "I wasn’t looking to disturb you, Chief," Robby said, keeping his voice low, an attempt to not escalate things further. His gaze briefly flicked to the screen of Scotty's phone, the image of his family there—a punch to the gut reminding Robby of the consequences of his past actions, ones Scotty was unaware he was connected to.

"I’m not here to make your night harder," Robby continued, signaling the bartender for another drink. "Just trying to find my own peace, same as you. We all got our ghosts, don’t we?" he said, a rhetorical question, hanging heavy between the buzz of conversation and the music.

Turning slightly to give Scotty space, Robby took a sip of his own drink as it was served, the burn a familiar sensation, less about escape now and more about reflection. Maybe tonight wasn't the night for introductions or revelations—if there ever was a night for that in these situations. Maybe it was just about sharing a silent understanding with someone else haunted by their past, even if Scotty didn’t know the full story. Not yet. But soon, because some truths had a way of surfacing when you least expect them to.

#(everybody has a chapter they don't read out loud: conversations.)#(conversations.)#(robby martinez.)#grief tw #alcoholism tw

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rassvetsky · 2 years ago

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Steel Blue

bucky barnes x reader

"Without giving you a chance to fight, Bucky left. For your own good. But almost a year later, as it turns out, neither of you can handle being apart, and Bucky missed you too much to play it nice when you're moaning out his name like that."

[4.3k] exes to lovers, angst to smut to fluff hehe, alcohol consumption, smoking, unprotected sex, making out, cunningulus, spit kink, marking, choking, bucky's such a gentleman i love him

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated. not proofread.

Soft chatter blended into the background as you kept your eyes blandly on the football match playing, small screen not doing the players any justice with the bird's-eye-view. Your fingers trailed the brim of your glass, favorite drink prepared the second you entered the pub, as you were probably the only regular there. That bartender had been a silent secret-keeper of yours for years now, and judging by how quiet and mellow you've been for the past year, he probably knew.

"Hey," he approached you with a smile after serving his last customers, the group carrying their glasses over to their designated table. He had a warm personality, a bit mysterious perhaps, but the unknown didn't scare you one bit. He was the type of person to make others feel safe. "Everything's gonna be alright. Just wanted to remind you of that."

"Thanks, Colin." you sighed, a thankful smile playing on your lips as you took the last sip of your drink, reaching for your wallet since it was late already.

Immediately, he reached over the bar to stop you, shaking his head to both sides with a frown. "It's literally impossible to convince you when something's on the house, isn't it?" he joked, earning a scoff from you. "Join me for a smoke break, clear your head a little. You drank a bit more than usual today."

"Nothing out of the ordinary." you heaved a sigh, letting your wallet find its space back in your pocket as you got up, following his lead through the bar to the front entrance. You saw him fish for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket in the dark, and you reached for your lighter, igniting the flame and holding it against the tip of his tab when he placed it in between his lips, as he took in a long drag, locking the fire in.

You leaned on the wall and watched him as he took another cigarette out and replaced the other, using the already lit one to light that up before handing the one he had in between his fingers to you. You took it, swirled the thin roll between your fingers to get a read of the label, before taking a long, long drag.

It was a bit quiet after that.

"I saw Bucky last week," he admitted, tone soft, almost apologetic. "Asked me 'bout you. How you're doing, and all that."

"Should've told him to piss off."

"He's not a bad guy, Y/N. You know that better than I do." Colin's sigh pulled an eye roll out of you. "It's been, what, ten months? A year? Forgive and move on, sweetheart, it's the only way your heart could find peace."

"I forgave him the second he left, forgiving is not the issue." you shook your head, a bitter chuckle leaving your lips as you watched smoke leave Colin's, urging you to take yet another drag. Letting it burn through your lungs, you exhaled, closing your eyes momentarily. "Can't forget. The only peace my heart ever knew was him."

And how funny fate was, that a second before Colin started speaking again, your eyes met someone else's in a slight distance.

Those steel blue eyes that used to let you know where home was. Your safe place.

Colin followed your gaze through, offering a tight smile to the man, current subject of your conversation. He didn't see it though, too focused on the cigarette between your lips and the hurt in your eyes. Breaking away from the trance rather quickly, he looked ahead again, steps rushing but not towards you. And with that, he left. Not even sparing a hello.

It's been a year since you last saw him. And it hurt like hell.

It wasn't uncommon for you to wake up to an empty bed, the warmth of your boyfriend which you fell asleep with long gone, instead replaced by a ruthless cold that took over your entire body, the longer your gaze lingered on his side.

It wasn't uncommon for him to be apathetic at times. You knew what he went through and what his mind was still putting him through, but you always made sure to let him know that it was okay for him to approach you, seek refuge in your arms and close his eyes, only to think about absolutely nothing. No worries, no demons chasing him through; just you. Just the moment.

But that morning a year ago, the dread you felt buried deep within your chest let you know that there was more to him just getting up earlier than you when you woke up to his side being cold again. You could still feel the kiss he left by your hairline before he left in the morning, semi-asleep state not allowing you to pull him back to bed when your dreams sounded sweeter to go back to.

You could feel your heart beating by your fingertips when you blindly reached for the folded paper you noticed by the bedside drawer, unfolding carefully only to be met with Bucky's handwriting, hard to read for everyone but you.

You wished that you never ever learned how to read then.

You could tell by the crookedness of the lines and rounds that his hands were shaky as he wrote away, starting off his note with your name, lettering almost apologetic.

Thank you for making my life a lot more bearable, it read, as you ruffled through the lines with your eyes, unable to concentrate on one sentence at a time. I've always been a firm believer that love and respect are earned, and unfortunately, I never earned your love no matter how keen you were to give it to me. I loved you more than I could ever begin to comprehend, yet you deserved more than I could give.

You felt hot tears pushing through, creating a pathway through your cold cheeks, salt lines leading the way down to your neck as you blinked once, twice, trying to get rid of them as much as you could just so you could keep reading.

No matter how much I want to be selfish, I couldn't possibly do that to you. There's a lot of things in this world that you need to experience. You don't deserve to be staying up all night and ruining your tomorrow just so you can hold me through a nightmare. You deserve to be happy, unconditionally. And I know this isn't a good way of ensuring that, but at least this way I'll be sure that I'm not the one holding you back. The guilt of it is unbearable.

Bucky. A fair man. Yet he never gave you a chance to fight.

So, as petty as it is, you didn't try to get him back. As your fingers clutched the collar of the hoodie, borrowed from him; you set the paper down next to you, a heavy sob breaking through before you laid down again, knees to your chest.

I'm going to love you 'till the end of time.

Your legs worked faster than your brain could, as they led the way to the pub a week later. It was routine at that point, you never liked to drink all that much but not like you had anyone left to talk to. Most of your friends were busy with life, understandably, as you lingered over the same sore spot for god knows how long.

Colin's smile invited you in, he already had his jacket on as sometimes he left a bit earlier, leaving the bar to his cousin. The latter was still a student, thankful for every moment that Colin let him work there, as money was tight for everyone and it was hard to find a place for yourself in the job market. "Hey, love." pulling you into a hug, Colin patted your shoulder, head signaling towards the bar. "Someone's waiting for you."

Taken aback, you frowned. Not a lot of people knew about your little routine, and probably nobody in your life would show up at a random pub with hopes of you hopping by, without even a heads-up. "Who?"

"Go see for yourself. I need to go, though, please don't hate me when I'm back."

That sounded like you were about to have a real good reason to hate him once he was back.

Nonetheless, you waved him goodbye, before making your way over to the bar and scanning the people that sat by it. Spotting an empty stool, the figure next to it felt awfully familiar, quickening the beating of your heart and the intake of your breaths as you swallowed down a lump on your throat, slowly making your way over to it.

His eyes met yours again. Almost lit up, even.

"Baby."

You were bitter, Bucky was guilty.

Understandably.

As you sipped through the pint of Guinness he ordered for you, he kept playing with his fingers, gloves left on the bar long ago as if he was trying to show you that he was better.

And indeed, he was.

He pushed through.

And you couldn't help but feel like maybe that's because of the lack of you in his life, although it seemed to be far from the actual case. He was actually happy to see you, ecstatic even, as your sight was the only thing he wished for in the past year. Every night was spent ruffling through memories of you, snippets of how warm your embrace would feel, how your kisses would ignite a thousand fires on his soul and how you'd smile up at him as if he hung the stars.

He missed you enough to go crazy.

And you missed him too, but you were as stubborn as a mule. God, you were so bullet-headed that he could barely bring himself to look at you, guilt eating him alive from the inside, fear of never being understood laid deep within his chest.

But you understood him. Forgave him. Knew why he left, knew why he felt like he had to.

You were just so angry at him that he took your only source of happiness away from you.

"Sounds eventful." you muttered after he gave you a short recap of how his year went, chuckling to yourself a bit. Barely anything had changed for you except that you hated going home now, knowing that Bucky, your Bucky wouldn't be there to pull you into his embrace and keep you away from whatever was plaguing you all day. You used to love going back home to him back then.

Bucky kept the silence going for a little while, before reaching from under the bar to brush his fingers against yours. Even the slightest touch like that burned his eyes with tears threatening to escape, he was desperate, so desperate that he could get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness, for you to give him something, anything, perhaps a hug or at the very least, a shove.

"I can't do this anymore." he admitted, tone sheepish. "I came here a couple of weeks ago, asked Colin about you- and fuck, I hoped that you'd be happy, I prayed every night for you to already have forgotten about me-" a sigh left his lips. "But hearing that you were… It broke me. It broke my heart again and I- I'm sorry. I don't- there's no excuse, but I miss you. And I love you, so much."

His voice was breaking.

You couldn't help but sniffle, and grab his hand. Your hold was firm, determined, almost filled with passion, even.

"I forgave you long ago, Buck." you whispered, the nickname washing out quite a bit of his worries as he leaned in a bit, just to hear you better. To hear you closer. "But I don't think you understand what exactly you ripped apart from me when you left. How- How could you even begin to think that I'd be happier without you?" a single tear traveled down your cheek. "As if I'm as pure as the driven snow. As if I gave you anything remotely close to what you actually deserve."

"You gave me more than-"

"No, shut up," you snapped, shaking your head. "Seriously, drop that bullshit. We were perfect for each other and you- you were just-"

You couldn't bring yourself to say it. Because you knew that it wasn't what you actually felt, it wasn't what you actually wanted to say.

With a sigh, his gaze dropped to the floor. Thinking over everything the two of you had been through. Countless nights spent with you nursing him back to the present with quiet shushes, whispers of 'I'm here, you're with me, safe'. Countless hours of your gentle fingers working shampoo through his hair, massaging his scalp, patching up his bruises. You never mentioned it, never used it against him, instead talked him through the process by telling him about your day; about the flock of birds you saw by the port, about a cute snail you found stranded in the middle of the pavement and carried to safety.

About life.

You kept reminding him that there was a world around him, detached from his own bubble.

When he looked back up at you, his gaze held a thousand words that he didn't have the power to speak out loud at that moment, and a thousand stars. Which, again, you were sure that he hung, himself.

And a silent agreement surged through the both of you then.

Bucky could still walk the way to your bedroom with his eyes closed, or rather, occupied. You giggled at the realization, legs wrapping up around his waist a bit tighter but you knew that even if you let go, he'd hold you.

He was keeping you tight against him as if you'd disappear right before his eyes.

His lips didn't leave an inch untouched, shirt long gone by the living room, straps of your bra pushed down as he bit down on the thin skin near your collarbones. He imagined this moment at least a million times when he was alone, guilt seeping through his veins but even the thought of you kept him going, tight around his length as he fucked his fist, imagining, wishing, praying that it was you instead.

And although he promised himself that he'd take it slow and savor it if he ever got the chance again, that promise was long forgotten the second you pressed your lips against his.

He wasn't rushing, he had all night anyway but god, he was unhinged; uncontrollable with the way a low growl left his lips when he finally laid you down on the bed, a broken moan leaving your own lips when his clothed length pressed against your core. Your hips jumped up to meet his halfway through as you tugged on the end of his shirt to pull it up, and he allowed you to do that, discarding the piece of fabric somewhere on the floor before he reached in for a kiss.

It was wet, messy, sloppy even- but it had been way too long for any of you to care. You missed feeling his lips against yours, spit leaving a trail in between whenever the two of you parted to catch your breath. Your lower lip got caught between his teeth as he tugged slightly, not even bothering to play nice when his tongue grazed yours, hands all over your body as you squirmed under his weight. His lips traveled all the way down to your neck again, ruthless with the way he was abusing your skin, making sure that the reminders of that moment would stay for at least a day or two.

You were his, and he wasn't going to let his insecurities take you away from him this time.

Your fingers tangled through his hair, keeping him tight against your skin with a whisper of his name, body practically on fire with the way you were just so desperate to feel him against you, impossibly closer. It wasn't enough, and it felt like it'd never be.

"Baby, please," you breathed out, hardly able to even speak with how dried up your throat felt already. He only hummed against your skin, hands making their way in between the bed and your back to unclasp your bra, pulling it through your arms before throwing it elsewhere.

"Please what?" the look in his eyes made you feel like he'd give you the world at that moment if you asked, lips pink, swollen & wet. You couldn't find an answer- you were so ready to take just whatever he saw fit, mind buzzy with the way he kept grinding on you mindlessly. All those fabrics must've felt like a crowd to him too, as he pulled away a little to peel your jeans off, his own following suit. "Tell me what you want."

"You know exactly what I want, stop teasing," your tone was meant to be threatening but it came out more of a whine than anything else, as your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head when he landed a harsh spank on your inner thigh. "Fuck- sorry, 'm sorry," you slurred, already drunk with everything about him. "Just- please, anything."

"Been too long that you're not as vulgar as you used to be," he snickered, specifically slow as he tugged his boxers off, crawling right back to you just to trail soft & wet kisses across your abdomen, tickling you a bit but you didn't have it in you to complain. "You'd lay there for hours just begging for my cock, wouldn't you, baby?"

Your mindless nod pulled a chuckle from him as he reached further south, one kiss right above where your underwear ended before hooking a finger through the cloth, pulling it across your legs. "Kept thinking of you. Kept thinking about how wet you always got for me." he whispered, fingertips slowly leading the way to your core, now bare and drenched with expectation as you squirmed, nodding rapidly as if to confirm that.

A dragged out mewl finally left you when he ran his flesh fingers through your soaked folds, hissing out a curse before gripping your thigh and pulling you closer, face already level with your entrance. "Bucky, Bucky, baby," you mumbled, fingers treading through his hair when his tongue made contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves, wet fingers teasing your entrance as he savored the taste.

He wasn't as patient for much longer though, as he pulled away for a bit to let a ball of his spit fall and soak through your already damp core. Using that leverage to push two of his fingers in, he curled them slightly in the way he knew would affect you the best. The slight graze against your walls pulled a sob through you, as you threw your head back against the mattress, back arching when he trapped your clit in between his lips again, sucking and licking until you were reduced to a whimpering mess beneath his hold. Your cries weren't as silent anymore as you moaned out his name, louder than you meant to, the time spent apart definitely showing its effects as you could already feel a familiar coil forming.

The only thing that could be heard throughout your rather quiet apartment was the slurping sounds of his lips against your core, groans that left him when he grazed his clothed length against the mattress and your loud pleas, screams of his name with a few tears escaping. It was too much, it was too less, it was perfect and everything in between as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, abusing your clit in a way that you'd only let him.

That coil didn't take too long to snap, vision blurry until white, his stubble glistening under the dim light with your essence. He felt every single bit of his body taken over with primal urge, wanting to taste you and use you until you couldn't even form a thought, but good lord, he tried too hard to push that back and show you just how much he missed you. Your body was still shaky as he helped you ride through the high, sensitive to the touch, flinching and squirming without much effort.

The harmony between the two of you was impossible to miss when he pushed himself up and forward just to find you awaiting him there, lips parted and tongue out to be given what you deserve. Bucky let a mix of his spit and your wetness fall on your tongue then, as you swallowed it all down with gratitude, body melting against his when he wrapped his arms around you, giving you a moment to recover. "Tell me you love me."

You couldn't reply properly then, only a soft whine leaving your lips before his metal fingers suddenly wrapped around your neck, squeezing from both sides slightly to pull that answer out of you. "Love you so much," you dragged out, a bit woozy. "More than anythin'."

His smile was animalistic as he lined his length up with your entrance, running the tip along your folds to spread your wetness around, your shaky intake of breath indicating just how sensitive you got from only one orgasm.

He wanted more.

"Love you more, baby." he whispered before pushing the tip in, the stretch causing you both to groan in unison as he slowly bottomed out, pulling out a bit just to thrust right back in. "Fuck, still so tight for me. You were made for me, weren't you?"

You could only nod, unable to form any coherent sentences at that moment as your lips parted, gasps leaving through with every single thrust until he got a little meaner. Your gasps left their place for broken moans and sobs then, the force of him on top of you pushing you deeper into the mattress, the guttural groans leaving his lips jerking you further towards the edge of completely losing your self-control.

This is not where you expected to end up tonight, but you were so ready to thank every single supreme being you could think of.

His grip on your neck got tighter, free arm used to keep his body up on top of you as you held onto him for your life, nails definitely leaving marks through his back and shoulders when you dug in. He didn't mind, if anything, the pain only made him want to ruin you harder, keep you sore for days just to return to you whenever he saw fit. His hot breath rhythmically hit your neck as he gasped against the skin, hips drilling into you with so much force that the intensity got you shaking again.

Metal fingers trailed down in between your bodies to circle your clit, harsh material forcing a louder moan out of you as you spread your legs a bit wider for him, the stretch burning through your joints. You were dangerously close already, clenching around his length uncontrollably, intense enough to elicit dragged out and loud moans from him.

"Good fucking girl," he growled against your ear, soft pants leaving his lips as he took a deep breath. "Come for me, c'mon. Give me what I want." his words barely made any sense to you, as you were way too preoccupied with the loud sounds you let out, mind busy trying to fight off the fog that took over.

And that fog didn't dissipate until it was finally too much to take in, a heavenly sense of relief surging through your body with heavy tremors, breath held behind a gasp and eyes rolled close. He wasn't too far behind, pace already faltering when his moans got even more broken, unable to keep it together with the tight grip you had on his length as he pushed deep and filled you up- right to the brim.

With your neck free from his hold, and his weight no longer on you but next to you- you could open your eyes again. Both of you were still panting, trying to recover from what just happened- and speaking of that, Bucky's eyes were on your blissed face, looking for any sort of regret but all he could see when you finally looked up at him was pure happiness in your eyes.

You were still capable of looking at him like he hung the stars for you.

A smile broke out on his lips before he pulled you close, sticky bodies wrapping around one another but you were too high to care, especially when he ran his fingers all over your body and pressed his lips against yours. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," you chuckled wearily. "Really good."

"I'm glad." with his soft whisper, you closed your eyes again. "You can go to sleep if you want, I'll clean you right up and cuddle you."

You wanted to go back to sleep. Hell, you could sleep all day if left unsupervised but seeing Bucky under the morning light, fast asleep with soft snores leaving him was a sight to behold.

You couldn't take your eyes off of him.

Your fingers went up to caress his face, tracing his features as a sigh left your lips. He was so beautiful, looked so peaceful and you were really torn between wanting him to wake up and wanting him to get some rest. But the latter didn't seem to be happening anytime soon as he smiled, eyes still closed, just a sleepy hum leaving him. "Morning," he spoke, voice a little raspy from all that sleep.

"I love you." you whispered, smiling along when he opened his eyes and nodded. He knew, he never for once doubted your love- not because you were a master at reminding him that every day but because he always felt it in his bones when you were around.

"I love you too, so much," he whispered back. "And I'm never ever leaving the love of my life again."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

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chilumi-shipper · 3 years ago

Note

Hii!! i really liked your diluc x mute reader sm, that shit hurts a ton but i REALLY liked it😔‼️ anyways🏃🏻‍♀️ could you please write a childe x reader that is kinda similar to komi from komi can't communicate? i kinda want it to be angst to fluff cause I like pain👹 its okay if not ❤️❤️ please take a rest !! have a great day <33

The Weird Student

Childe x Shy!GN!Reader (School AU)

Warnings: Angst to Fluff, Anxiety, Mentions of Bullying, Breakdown.

Summary: He's throws away your relationship to get with the popular students.

(I've never watched the show before, but I did some research and saw that Komi is popular because she's mysterious? Yeah, that's now gonna apply here, you're just gonna be really shy and hides away from social contact and everyone thinks you're weird ･〰･ )

(Oh and if you're wondering what "Komi Can't Communicate" is, it's a manga where the main character, Komi, is very antisocial and tries to hide away from people because she's always nervous and scared of rejection, her behavior makes her look mysterious in other people's eyes and that's why she's sorta popular.)

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

He walked passed you...

Again, then again, and then again.

Like the connection between you two faded overnight.

Childe would always pick you up at your house so that you could go to school together in the morning...

He didn't pick you up today.

Childe would reserve a seat for you next to him in class so that you could share notes with him, or even just keep each other awake when the lecture is too boring.

There was another person next to him that day, in every class.

Lunch time, you and him would be outside eating by a huge tree because the cafeteria is always crowded and he knows how you get in those types of places, he also knows that you're too nervous to talk to the lunch lady so you prepare lunch for both him and you.

The other lunchbox remained untouched.

During his archery practice in the afternoon, you'd be at the bleachers, too scared to cheer for him, but you'd still be there to greet him after his game, tell him he did his best, despite only hitting the target once out of ten.

He just walked passed you...

Why does his silence make your chest feel like it's being shriveled up and torn apart? Why does it bring tears to your eyes?

It makes you want to go back to the good old days, Childe approached you even when people kept calling you the weird kid, he planted a place for himself within the walls of your heart, he spent months trying to get you to approve of the space he created, he didn't care that you were too afraid of human contact.

Your phone vibrated.

Hey, can you just... not go to my sparring tournament tomorrow?

You were walking home since he pulled out another excuse that he couldn't drive you. There was nothing to do but stare at that message, a message that felt like a smack to the face.

Why not?

You hoped it was just a joke, a prank, people in school like to do that, right?

It'll probably be too boring anyway, plus you'd get to catch up on that book you were reading.

You just finished reading that book, and you texted him about it too.

Sure, okay then.

...

"As long as I'm here, you'll never have to be alone." He said those words when you agreed to be his lover.

"I'm alone..." You broke down on the floor of your bedroom, hugging a locket with a picture of you and him on it.

Tears refused to stop falling from tour eyes, sobs fill the lonely space of your room. The space he created, did he regret ever letting himself in?

"I'll always be alone..."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

When he won the tournament, the first place that Childe's eyes landed on was the place you always sat in during his tournaments.

He smiled as he catches his breath and—

Oh... you're not there...

Well, his friends are still at the bleachers cheering and everything.

His friends... The once that always made fun of you behind your back.

Well, Childe will defend himself by saying that they're not all bad, it's just that... you're a little bit weird, right?

Being friends with them would mean that he can try out for any club that he wants, any sports he wants, get the respect from the other students that he wants, everything he could ever need in school.

All in exchange for... being with you.

...

Childe didn't like it...

He didn't like it when they would make fun of you in class as if you couldn't hear them. He didn't like the tears in your eyes that you refused to let go, your shaking figure as you exit the room.

He didn't like the sight of you throwing away a locket that he can recognize by heart into the trash can.

...Just like he threw away your relationship.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

37 messages, 10 missed calls

...and counting.

It was almost midnight, your phone was continuously vibrating and ringing beside you as you lay on your bed. You couldn't sleep, even if you muted everything, you could only stare at the phone.

One button away to talk to him again.

On the other side, Childe was in bed too, phone in hand, texting the words he wants to say, trying to get you to answer his calls.

43 message, 12 missed calls

The past few days, I know you noticed how I acted.

I really hope you can spare a little time to talk, even just a minute.

I actually read that book you just finished, it's pretty funny so far, hope it doesn't 'turn dark' like you said.

I won the tournament, maybe you can go out with me for a celebration, anywhere you want.

If you're asleep, I hope you have the sweetest dreams.

My siblings miss you, they probably like you more than me.

I miss you too, actually.

I was hoping that maybe you and I can talk in real life.

You don't have to do any of the talking, I just want you to listen.

None of them have been read, but he knows that you like staying up a little bit late, because sometimes, a few fireflies would fly over your room and you think that it's really cool.

With one last call...

Childe almost jumped out of his bed when you accepted the call. You didn't say anything, you didn't need to, he already had his cue to talk.

"Hey, lov– Y/N. I was hoping we could talk... uhh, not now, but–" Childe wanted to punch himself, his entire being was screaming at him as he was on the verge of screwing it all up.

"Tomorrow, maybe? Our usual spot... I mean, it was you're usual spot before I met you, and I don't know if you want me to refer to it as 'our', cause you're probably mad at me and all..." He just bit his tongue, stopped himself from talking before he makes it even worse.

You didn't answer.

"Oh, and I can bring lunch! Don't worry about me not showing up, I'll be there, alright?" He picked up the necklace that you threw away in the trash, clutching it over his chest.

"Even if you don't show up, I'll be there..."

...

The ginger felt like the world hated him at that moment, there was a long line at that cheesecake shop where your favorite cheesecake is, he wanted even the lunch to be perfect.

And he was basically speeding through the hallways just to get to the tree. You were probably already there, you probably think that he doesn't really care about you.

You hear heavy pants beside you and looking towards the sound, you see Childe trying to smile despite his heavy panting. "Hey..." That was his breathless greeting.

Looking at your lap, he sees that you've already had a lunch of your own. Yeah, he should've probably seen that coming, why would you trust him again when he tried to just throw you away? Still, it brings knives at his heart when you looked at him as if he was a stranger.

You quietly put your own lunch back in your bag as he sat and put the lunchbox he prepared in front of you.

Instead of rambling out his explanation and apologies like he practiced so many times throughout that entire morning, you both just sat in silence as you eat your lunch.

He watched your face as you eat little bites, you look cute!

His smile turned melancholy. "Y/N?"

You look back at him, a little bit of the powdered sugar on the cheesecake was on the side of your lip.

Childe wiped it gently, before caressing your cheek gingerly. "I promise that I will try my hardest to earn your trust again."

You looked down onto the food, sighing a bit. "...I'm weird." He took your hand in his, intertwining them together.

"You're special..." He raised your joint hands, kissing the back of your palm. "...amazing."

"And I love the way you are."

You happily ate your lunch after that.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

So.... I have a horrible stomach ache, and it made me a little emotional, a few tears have fallen during the making of this fic.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact angst #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact childe #childe angst #childe fluff #childe x reader #genshin fluff #genshin angst

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darlingshane · 2 years ago

Text

The Storm

Michael Berzatto x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2,5k

Content/Warnings: Addiction, Heavy Angst, Non-Explicit Smut, Break-Up, Tough Love, Making out, Reader has a tragic past linked to addiction too.

Summary: You go to Michael's place to pick up your stuff after breaking up with him.

-- Read below or at AO3.

You chose the worst day to pick up your belongings from Michael's place. It was merely drizzling when you turned on the engine of your car, but by the time you pull up at the end of his street, you’re caught up in the middle of a thunderstorm. It’s fitting. Much like the weather right now, Michael took your life by storm ten months ago. It poured hard, you fell quickly, there was lightning and thunder, and you absorbed it all.

It was as scary as it was exciting. And now you’re just cold.

Drawing a breath, you grab the backpack you brought, and muster all the courage to climb out of the vehicle and walk up the street to your ex's building as quickly as possible. You get drenched in seconds no matter what.

You still have the key and use it to help yourself inside the lobby. However, when you reach the 7th floor, you can't open the door to Michael's apartment.

Has he changed the locks after specifically telling him you didn’t want to deal with him again, and practically had you beg him to be out for you to come over?

Would he be that cruel to do that to you after the way he treated you the day he yelled at you and called you a bitch when you got rid of his stash?

Or was he lying when he said today he’d be working?

Cursing internally after trying for a third time, you give up. You'll have to do this another time, or just abandon the laptop, and pile of clothes you've been leaving here for months.

You clench your teeth and in utter frustration bang your fist against the door one last time. A second after, you hear someone opening it from the inside.

Michael.

“Hey,” he says casually, as if nothing ever happened, “can we talk?”

You cross your arms against your stomach firmly, and shake your head, “I just need my stuff. Either bring it out or leave for ten minutes, so I can come in.”

“I know you hate me right now, but you're being ridiculous. You know I'd never hurt you.”

“Actually, I don't know, Michael.”

“Would you come inside before you freeze to death?”

You sigh in exasperation. “I've had a long day and I wanna go home… just bring it out, and I’ll leave. I don’t wanna do this again.”

“Look, I have a problem, alright? You wanted me to admit it, and I couldn’t. I didn't realize how bad it was until you pointed it out and broke up with me.”

You roll your eyes and inhale deeply before stating, “one of the first things I asked you when we started dating was if you're addicted to anything. I know it's a very unusual question to ask right off the bat, but I told you why I needed to know that, and what I've been through, and you straight up lied to my face, and let me fall in love with you either way.”

“I didn't know that I was when we started dating. You gotta know that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from going into a full meltdown.

Unfortunately, this is not the first time you've dealt with addiction. Both your parents were addicts and both died tragically. One OD’ed, and the other got into a fatal car accident under the influence, leaving you an orphan at 13. They weren’t very nice to you either.

You got somewhat caught in that world too during your teens. Everyone kept saying that you got the gene too, so you just accepted that as your unavoidable fate. You drank for the sake of drinking and tried everything you were offered just to numb pain and forget about everything that hurt. All felt really good until one bad trip when you woke up naked in somebody else's bed without any recollection of what happened, or who was the person conked out on the other side of the bed.

It had to come to a stop. You cleaned up your act and made a true vow to yourself of not dating addicts to keep yourself from falling into that world again.

As cruel as it sounds– had you known that he was, you’d never dated Michael. While you believe everyone deserves seconds, thirds, and fourths chances… you can’t be caught up in something like that again, and now it’s too late cause you actually love him.

After ten months of dating, his reaction to you finding out about his addiction was pretty much text book, but what truly surprised you was yourself not realizing sooner that he had an opioid problem.

“I'm trying here, sweetheart. I already went to a couple of meetings. And I’m not gonna lie it’s been hard as hell… it's gotten pretty bad actually since you left me… “

You swallow the lump lodged in your throat, and respond bitterly, “are you really going to put that on me? It was there before I even met you, Michael, even if you weren't aware of it. It’s very unfair hearing you say it like that, you know? And I didn't break up with you because of it. I wanted to help you, and you yelled at me like crazy, and called me a bitch after I found out and flushed all of it down. Do you even remember that day at all?”

He shakes his head.

“Of course, you don't. You were out of it.”

“I know.”

“No, that's the problem, you don't know how much you scared me,” you chide, letting out a shaky breath, having your voice breaking every other word, “I thought you were going to hit me or worse. That’s how bad it was. That's why I asked you to leave the apartment… and you set me up for what, to revisit all this and hurt me again?”

You hear some neighbors talking and climbing down the staircase, and he waits for a moment to speak again after they’re down to the next story.

“Let’s talk inside, please? I swear I’d never put a hand on you.”

There’s a sting in the corner of your eye, and you look to the side for a beat, and out the window at the end of the hall, capturing a violent lightning striking across the sky.

“Just tell me what to do, baby. I’ll do anything, please,” he pleads, his voice cracking a little higher.

“A couple of meetings is not going to cut it,” you utter more calmly, “you need to get clean for real. And not because of me. If you’re gonna do it, it’s cause you want to. I can’t be the reason you stay clean. I can help you, but that can’t be solely on me.”

“Got it.”

“You said it’s hard as hell… you can’t do it on your own either. You need to find a center.”

“What? Like rehab? I can’t afford to go to rehab.”

“There are free centers.”

“No, I literally can’t leave the restaurant now.”

“Close it for a while. Leave it to Richie, or your siblings. I’m sure they can manage.”

“I can’t,” he swallows.

“Why not?”

“Cause if I do that, I’d have to tell them.”

“I thought you were serious about this. If you can admit to them or to yourself that you have a problem… this is not going to work out.”

“It’s just pills.”

“It’s not just pills if you depend on them every day when you don’t have anything to treat.”

There's a thunder that almost shakes up the whole building, and it begins hailing outside.

“Did you drive here?” He asks over the sound of pellets of frozen rain pelting on the window.

You nod.

“I can’t let you drive back home like that.”

“What I do is not up to you. Just give me my stuff back. I’m not gonna ask again.”

“Let’s make a deal–”

“No,” you say curtly.

“Stay until the storm winds down; you don’t have to talk or look at me if you don’t wanna… I’ll stay out of your way.”

You exhale through your mouth, staying firm in your position.

“I know you hate me right now, but don’t do something stupid cause of it. Please?” He adds.

“I don’t hate you.”

“No?”

You shake your head. “I wish I could. It’s not something you can control, I get it. It’s the lie, and that day…” you trail off, and inhale, “if I come in, you’ll really stay out of my way?”

“I promise.”

With some apprehension, you nod, and he steps away from the threshold to let you in. You walk past him, heading directly into the bedroom to gather your stuff from his dresser.

As promised, he keeps himself away while you shove your stuff into your pack and close the door to trade your damp clothes for dry ones. Absentmindedly, you put on Michael’s hoodies like you’re used to. You look around one more time to see if you’ve forgotten something, and your eyes land on the framed picture on his night stand– the one of the two of you when you went away one weekend to a cabin. That was the first time he told you he loved you, about one month into your relationship. A sigh falls from your lips, staring at it for longer than you should until the lights suddenly go out, not only in the apartment but as far as you can see out the window the whole block has blacked out.

You turn on your phone’s flashlight, pick up the picture, and step out into the living room, where Michael is lighting a couple of candles on the dining table.

“Were you on something that weekend?” You hold the picture up to the light, so he can see it, and then place it down on the table.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

“Yeah, that was all me, I swear,” he puts the lighter away, and braces his palms on the edge of the table, “I’ve meant everything I ever said to you, no matter what. High or not. I’ve always loved you.”

You hang your head down before tiredly sitting on the couch, tucking your knees to your chest.

“Truth is I never took anything when I was with you,” he continues, sitting on the coffee table in front of you, “I didn’t need to.”

“You gotta stop saying that. I’m not a replacement for your addiction, Michael. You can’t put that on me.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“Because you’re guilt-tripping me,” your voice comes out shaky again, “something happens to you … if someday you decide you’ve had enough and take a bunch of pills or whatever, and I’m not here, it’s like saying it’s my fault. That’s on me.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know how to do this,” he hangs his head down, “I promise that’s not gonna happen. Nothing I do will ever be on you.”

“When did it start?”

“I don’t know… a couple of years ago I think,” he rubs his eyes with his fingers before admitting, “I’ve done coke and used to smoke a lot of weed, but after my knee surgery they gave me all these meds, and I never stopped taking them… I felt really good when I did… and the more I took, the more I needed.”

“You know what you’re describing, right?”

“I know, sweetheart, I know. I just… Can you just let me do it my way first? If that doesn’t work, I’ll go to rehab. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. Just don’t give up on me.”

“I’m not giving up, but we can’t be together until you're clean and can prove to me that you can stay that way, and you can’t be with anyone else, either.” You pause and see him nod at your conditions, “I’m not setting myself up for a lifetime of dealing with this shit, like I did with my parents, Michael. I don’t mean to be callous, but for your own sake, you have to do this right.”

“Okay, baby, I know, thank you. Whatever you want,” he gets to his knees as an act of contrition, and tentatively grabs your ankles and places your feet down on the floor to hug your midsection. You let him. You push your knees apart, and he buries his face on your stomach, as you curl your arms around his head.

“I love you so much,” he mumbles against your clothes.

“I love you, Mikey,” you tear up smelling his hair, utterly heartbroken about having to be away from him for even one second to deal with all this alone.

It's not like you have a choice. You'll help him, of course, but you can’t force or push him constantly into it. You won't. He has to make that hard decision himself and choose to be clean for his own good.

As you wipe the tears off your cheek, he tilts his head up to look at you.

“Can I kiss you?” he exhales lower than a whisper, and you just sigh at his name, holding his face in your palms.

“One more for the road, baby,” he insists with such sadness it shatters your soul, “I need something to look forward to.”

It's time for you to admit that he's your weakness, too, as you swallow and shut your eyes for a beat before slowly capturing his lips in a chaste kiss of bubbling emotions that utterly terrify you. A part of you just wants to coddle him, enable him, be there to ease all his aches; and the other part is sick even entertaining the idea of it, and breaking that promise you made to yourself.

Everything you believe, and all the boundaries you've set, momentarily go out the window as you let your lips part to dive a little deeper into his mouth and grant him some mercy. Emotions run higher every second you touch his lips, and suddenly, your mouths are fused into a tight seal of love and hunger. A moment after, you find your body shifting on the couch to make room for him as he lies on top of you, nestling between your legs.

You can’t stop it. You don't want to, either. His lips, hands, and the weight of his body body feel too good for you to give that up right now. Especially that hand that moves in between to undo your jeans and slide beneath your underwear. You lightly bite his lower lip when his fingers slip along your folds, rubbing so damn deftly, and lovingly, you can’t help but moan into his mouth and send your own hand to fondle him over his jeans.

When you can’t take it any longer, you both get rid of your clothes, so he can fuck you.

Much like you thought, you’re a substitute for his addiction. You never realized until now. It was so obvious. It’s in the way he looks at you, and how he touches you and kisses you… It is pure joy and desperation masked with love.

#jon bernthal #michael berzatto #michael berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fanfiction #darlingwrites #i used a julian gif #cause someone pointed out in the tags that he looked like mikey in that ep #and he totally does

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 years ago

Text

chamomile, chapter ten

A/N: the gif in the moodboard is by @radioactive-creative-bug

summary: late night check in to see how the doctor is doing

warnings: references to 6x19, emo boi reid (someone please, I can't be the only one who just stared belting the Ayesha Erotica song💀), almost kiss, regency romance novel level yearning

word count: 873

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Finishing up the last bit of your ginger ale, you walked determinately out of your hotel room and towards the doctor’s door. You couldn’t fight the fact anymore that this case was hitting too close to home for him. You hadn’t been the only one on the team who’d noticed. Everyone had been staring at him, watching him, and even Morgan had not so subtly had a talk with him in the bathroom.

You had a vague idea of why it was getting to him. You had read his file and it did say a fair amount about his mom, who she was and what she was dealing with, so putting two and two together, you could see how this particular case was so difficult for him to get through.

Softly, rhythmically, you knocked on his door and it didn’t take long for him to answer.

“Y/l/n, hey,” he greeted, sounding somewhat surprised at your presents.

“Hi,” you flashed him a warm smile, “can I come in?”

“Um, sure,” he moved aside for you to enter.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he kept his vision low at your observation, staring at his shoes, “you have been quiet.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out and closed the door behind you.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, you looked up at him, “Reid,” cocking your head to the side, “are you okay?”

“Did Morgan talk to you? Is that why you’re here?” he buried his hands in his pockets, “to check up on me?”

“No.” you shook your head and then let out a heavy sigh, “Reid, I’m here because I’m worried about you.” Scooting to the side a bit more, inviting him to sit down next to you, “do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Do you wanna talk about Prentiss?”

“No.” he took a seat next to you on the mattress, “I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay, then what do you want? What do you need? We don’t need to talk, we can just sit here in silence and just be.”

For a moment he just sat there, staring at you, no doubt making a pro-con list in his head on whether or not he should open up his mouth. “I-… ever since what happened to Emily,” he started slowly, “I feel like I have no control over anything in my life. I feel like everything is falling apart. Everything I touch crumbles and dies and there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t sleep, I concentrate. I feel useless.”

“Reid, how could you feel useless? You sweep in and save the day on every single case. Without you, we wouldn’t catch a single unsub. You’re good at everything-”

“Not everything. Have you seen me out in the field?”

“You’re not that bad,” now that you think about it he was either as good or even a bit better than you were.

“Yeah, but I’m not good. I should be good, I wanna be good.”

“You can be if you want. It’s just a skill like any other.” Then quietly added, “If you want, I could probably get you a key to the gun range.”

“You could?”

“Have you met the guys who work down there?” you turned your body to face him more, picking one leg up off the floor and onto the bed, “Bill is nothing compared to the reporters I have to deal with on a day to day, so yes, that would probably be the easiest thing I’ve done all month.”

“Thanks,” you physically saw some of the weight being lifted off his back, “really.”

“You’re welcome. Just promise that when you become Annie Oakley you’ll teach me all your ways,” you joked, nudging him playfully in the side.

“Deal,” he chuckled lightly, catching onto your hand, making it stop its light teasing.

Then came this moment, this second where everything was calm. Everything was good. He was just holding your hand, and everything seemed possible. Getting lost in his dark eyes felt inevitable. You couldn’t fight it, not in this moment. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, coaxing you in deeper. It wasn’t till you saw him move closer, that you were ripped out of the honeycomb fantasy and back into reality. The reality where you noticed just how bloodshot his eyes were.

Things had just gotten good again. You couldn’t slip back. You couldn’t let him break your heart again. He was hurting a needed comfort, but in doing that you would just make his proclamation that much more correct. If he touched you again, you would surely crumble and die. Even if it would feel good for a moment, it wouldn’t last. You were his friend. He wouldn’t ever see you as anything more.

So right before his lips could touch yours, you placed your hand on his chest and whispered, “Spencer.”

Pausing, his eyes flickered up from their view of your mouth and looked into yours.

“We can’t,” your voice shook slightly.

It looked like you’d just poured cold water over him because he immediately straightened up, “I’m sorry…” he removed his hand from yours, “I should probably go.”

“Spencer,” you called after him as he practically bolted out the door, “this is your room.”

next chapter

#lea’s writing #chamomile #spencer reid #spencer reid series #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you

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seijorhi · 4 years ago

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Reminiscent

i’m (semi) back, y’all, and i come bearing a fic!! fhdjhfjdk it’s for oikawa i won’t apologise

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

TW non-con, drunk/drugged reader, forced infidelity, emotional manipulation, angst, past trauma, coercion, mild(ish?) smut, nsfw

“F-fuck, cutie! Just like – hah– just like that!”

You weren’t the clubbing type.

Not usually, at least – but exams were over and one of your friends was fresh off a bad breakup, one night letting loose wouldn’t hurt.

Walking is… difficult, your steps are sloppy – there’s an arm wrapped around your waist, your own slung over a stranger’s shoulders. Why are you outside? Where are your friends – they… they promised they wouldn’t leave you.

“She good, dude?”

A soft, pretty laugh rumbles at your side, “Yeah, she’s gonna be just fine.”

And you remember the bar, the overpriced cocktails and the saccharine sweetness of strawberry liquor on your tongue. The dizzying lights and the bass that thumped so loudly you felt it reverberate in your chest. You knew the rules; they’d been drilled into you since you were sixteen years old.

Stick together, don’t accept drinks from strangers, and watch the one in your hand like a hawk - it doesn’t leave your sight.

A tongue between the valley of your breasts, long fingers curling up inside of you.

“You like that, huh pretty girl? You gonna cum for me?”

They wouldn’t have just abandoned you, right? Maybe you told them to go. Maybe they thought you wanted it; to go home with the handsome stranger.

You never had the guts to ask them, never spoke about that night again. Not to anyone.

Pain. Something thrusting inside of you, splitting you open while he moans and pants atop you. It hurts so much and you want it to stop.

Please stop. Please. Please. Please.

You’re begging, at least you think you are, but the words come out jumbled and wrong, and he just laughs, hiking up your thigh so he can fuck you deeper.

Why won’t he stop?

When you wake up, bruised and sore and all alone in your bed, it feels like a bad dream. You know it’s not – not with cum still seeping from between your thighs, the scent of the stranger’s cologne clinging to your sheets.

And you scrub your skin raw in the shower, but it isn’t enough to rid you of his touch.

—

It’s nothing like what they show on tv.

There’s no sympathetic detective to pat you on your shoulder while you break down, swearing that they’ll find the man who did this and you’ll get your justice.

You don’t go to the cops because you’ll know what they’ll say. You were drunk, drugged, and even if you could remember what he looked like (his eyes were brown, you think, and there’s a flash of a smirk in your head but the moment you try to focus on it it slips away like smoke) any evidence of rape washed down the drain the moment you stepped into the steaming shower.

At least… that’s what you tell yourself. It’s easier than admitting you’re terrified of judgemental eyes.

Or worse; pitying ones.

So you pretend that nothing happened. You show up to your classes and throw yourself into studying, make the time to get coffee with your friends, you even pick up a part time job – it’s good to keep busy.

The nightmares are just that; nightmares.

And things are fine, until they’re not.

—

“Baby, you’re here!!”

There’s barely time to drop your bags before she’s pulling you into a warm hug. “Hi mom,” you reply, squeezing her back.

When she draws back to take you in, one hand cupping your cheek, she frowns, “You look tired sweetheart. Have you been sleeping enough?”

“Yeah, just tired from exams and stuff.”

She looks unconvinced, but mercifully doesn’t push the issue. Of course, you don’t tell her that you missed your last two exams because you’d walked past some guy wearing that same cologne and just choked – that instead of finishing off your semester strong, you’d spent the day alternating between throwing up and crying in bed.

She doesn’t need to know that, because of that, you’ll probably fail both classes and have to retake them again next semester on top of an already full course load. It’s fine; you’ll figure it out.

For now, you work on matching her enthusiasm at having you home, grabbing your bags to bring them inside and into your old room.

“Oh, wait–”

Abruptly, you pause, gazing in confusion from the doorway of your bedroom. There’s a duffle bag lying open and empty atop your bed, a tangled jump rope, some weights, an empty bottle, a sweat towel – even what looks like a spare workout tee scattered haphazardly across the sheets.

“… I didn’t take you for a gym junkie, mom.”

She stops behind you, sighing. “It’s not mine it’s– Tooru said he was going to tidy it up, sorry sweetheart.” She sweeps past you to start tidying it up, but not before you catch sight of her wide eyed, deer in headlights expression.

And you can’t help the lone eyebrow that rises, falling back against the doorframe, arms folding across your chest. “Tooru, huh?” you grin, “And who might Tooru be?”

The flustered, almost guilty look she sends you makes you want to laugh – this is easy, comfortable, this you can do – but you restrain yourself. Just. “Tooru is… he’s– well, he’s the man I’m… seeing.”

She admits it like she’s confessing to a crime, eyes all wide and nervous; anticipating your reaction. And you suppose it’s not unwarranted. As far as you’re aware, she’s been alone ever since the day your dad walked out on you both – raising you was always the priority, or maybe the excuse. But you’re not fourteen anymore, you don’t need another father figure or every spare bit of her time and attention, and she doesn’t need your approval for this.

So you smile at her, “Is he nice?”

She lights up, her features – almost a mirror image of your own – softening as she beams, “He’s amazing, honey. I honestly don’t know how this whole thing really happened, or why he’s even interested in someone like me but… I lucked out with him.”

And so it goes, you prying little bits of information about the mysterious Tooru as the afternoon passes.

She tells you that they met a few months back, at the bakery she likes in town – and how she kept running into him; at the grocery store, and then at the park, and then on her way back from yoga that one night.

She tells you that he’s a terrible flirt, all smooth and charming with warm, pretty brown eyes, but he’s a good man beneath it all and she’s never met anyone like him.

It strikes you, as you watch your mom animatedly talk about him, that you’ve never seen her look like this before.

Happy.

She can’t stop smiling, and when you look at her, really look, she’s almost a different person – younger somehow, a bit more care-free. It suits her, and you wonder with a slight pang in your heart how you never noticed how lonely she was before.

And she’s adamant that they’re taking things slowly, that he still has an apartment of his own in town – which to be honest, you really aren’t gonna judge her on either way – but it is kind of funny simply because whether your mom realises it or not, it’s clearly a lie.

The subtle reclaiming of your bedroom aside, there’s traces of Tooru scattered all around the house; the extra toothbrush and aftershave you’d spotted in the bathroom, the men’s shoes and the jacket by the door, red wine in the cupboard when your mom’s only ever indulged in white.

You haven’t been into her bedroom, but at this point you’d hazard a guess that there’s at least one drawer full of Tooru’s clothes, probably half her closet cleared out for him as well.

“He’s coming for dinner, but I just wanted today to be just us,” she says, reaching across the couch to squeeze your hand. And you’re grateful for it, because you’re happy for her – you are – but you’re not so sure how you would’ve handled meeting the stranger holding your mother’s heart first thing. At least, not after the last few days.

Not when you still feel all… brittle.

—

Tooru arrives a little after seven, and to say that he’s not entirely what you were expecting is kind of an understatement.

She’d gushed about how tall and handsome he is – though personally, you think pretty’s the more accurate word, what with his soft, delicate features, perfect cupid’s bow lips and all. What she’d neglected to tell you was that the man in question, stepping through the front door with a faint smile on his face, has to be at least ten years younger than her, mid-thirties at most.

Suddenly, your mom’s initial reluctance to bring him up starts to make sense.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he murmurs, stopping by your mom to drop a fleeting kiss to her cheek before warm brown eyes turn to you.

Your heart stutters.

“Sweetheart,” your mom begins, slipping an arm around his waist and relaxing into his side, “this is Tooru– Oikawa,” she corrects herself.

He smiles at you, friendly and charming, “It’s great to finally meet you, your mom’s told me so much – all good things, of course!”

You force yourself to smile in return, “Yeah, you too.”

There’s nothing overtly wrong with Oikawa, age difference aside – your mom’s clearly head over heels in love with the guy and on a surface level he seems nice enough, but you find yourself glad for the fact that he doesn’t make a move to step closer, try to shake your hand or god forbid hug you or something like that.

He’s nothing but a gentleman as your mom steps back into the kitchen to finish off dinner, setting the table without being prompted, pouring a glass of wine for your mom and one for himself before he offers a glass to you.

“Oh, no I’m alright, thanks.”

You don’t drink so much anymore. He shrugs, like it’s no big deal but your mom pouts at you from the kitchen. “C’mon, sweetie. We’re celebrating tonight! One drink won’t hurt.”

“We’re celebrating?” you ask.

She throws you a wink, gaze softening as she turns to glance at Oikawa, already diligently pouring you a glass, “Of course we are. It’s not every day my girl comes home, and it’s nice having you both here with me.”

Oikawa’s fingers brush against yours for a fleeting second as he passes you the glass, and you have to fight to keep yourself from ripping your hand away. It’s nothing, you just– you’re not good with strangers touching you, and as nice as he is and as much as your mom might be infatuated with him, he is still a stranger.

“Absolutely,” he agrees, a playful twinkle in his eye as he clinks his wine glass against yours. “So you’re at uni, right? What are you studying?”

Uni’s the last thing you want to be thinking about right now, but whether or not Oikawa genuinely cares, he’s obviously trying to make an effort to get to know you. For your mother’s sake, grinning innocuously in the kitchen as she adds the last little touches to dinner, you suck it up, plaster a smile across your face and ignore the twinge of discomfort in your gut.

You can handle one night of small talk.

—

You wake the following morning to the sound of voices carrying down the hall.

Not your mother’s – both are too deep, and your mom left a few hours ago for work. Figuring that one of them at least is likely Oikawa, you pull on a thin, satin robe over your pajamas, tying the sash in a loose knot before you slip from the room.

Those suspicions are proven correct; you round the corner to find Oikawa sitting up at the kitchen counter, a warm cup of coffee in his hand. There’s another man, a touch shorter, but imposing with dark, spiky hair and olive green eyes standing on the other side, hands braced on the marble top, glaring at Oikawa.

They both look up at the sound of your hesitant approach, the stranger abruptly straightening up, while Oikawa merely grins.

“Ah, you’re up,” he observes cheerfully, taking a sip of his coffee.

Your eyes flicker between him and the stranger – clearly comfortable enough in your home and with Oikawa, despite the faint, lingering irritation still visible on his face – and as your cheeks warm, you find yourself wishing you’d put actual clothes on before coming out to investigate.

“I- I heard voices…” you trail off, awkwardly folding your arms over your chest. “Is mom–”

“At work,” he supplies. “Do you want some breakfast? Coffee, maybe?”

You risk another glance at the other man, watching you now with an unreadable expression, dark eyebrows furrowed. You swallow uncomfortably, shifting slightly as you shake your head. “No, I-I’m okay.”

And in an instant, a flash, something like recognition passes through those olive eyes.

Oikawa chuckles smoothly, finally tearing his eyes away from you to address his friend, “Iwa, stop being so rude. You’re scaring the poor thing.”

The stranger, Iwa, just scoffs. “You’re a real piece of shit, y’know?”

If he’s bothered by the scathing insult, Oikawa doesn’t show it, merely shrugging before turning his attention back to you with a smirk. “Ignore him, he’s just pissy this morning.”

You’d have to be a complete idiot not to sense the uncomfortable tension between the two of them – and now you. This is your home, but it feels like you’re intruding, like you’ve stumbled into a conversation you have no business hearing, but even if you wanted to leave your feet are rooted to the ground.

“Besides,” Oikawa continues, “he was just leaving anyway, weren’t you, Iwa?” It’s almost a purr, the way he speaks, but even the silken words can’t entirely mask the razor sharpness that lies beneath.

Goosebumps prickle along your arms.

Staring at you, Iwa opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but seemingly thinks better of it, snapping it shut with an audible click. He huffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, fine, whatever.”

He spares you another glance on his way out, standing frozen by the hall. For a split second he slows, his scowl softening just a fraction–

“Iwa.”

It sounds like a warning, but he only rolls his eyes and huffs again. You think he’s going to walk out without another word to either of you, but he pauses once more, lingering by the entryway.

“You look a lot like your mother, anyone ever tell you that?”

He’s out the door before you can even think to reply, letting it slam shut in his wake. And you flinch at the harsh sound, something uneasy settling into the pit of your stomach–

“Hey,” Oikawa’s there by your side, his fingers entwining with yours. You hadn’t even heard him move. “Come sit, don’t worry about Iwa. He’ll get over it.”

His voice is soothing, you don’t pay attention to the words themselves, the implications there. You forget for a moment that you’re still in your pj’s, that you really don’t know him that well either, and mindlessly follow when he leads you to the couch and sits you down, taking the seat next to you.

And while your head’s still spinning, an uncomfortable feeling gnawing in the pit of your gut, Oikawa seems entirely unbothered by the turn of events, sighing contentedly as he stretches his long legs out, one arm sliding along the back of the couch behind you.

“Do your… friends usually just drop by like that?”

You don’t know where the words come from, or why that’s the first question on your mind, but when you glance over at him, Oikawa’s just watching you, an odd little half smirk playing on his lips. “Sometimes.”

His answer does little to soothe your unease. It’s really not a big deal, you know it’s not. Officially or not, this is his home too – you’re the one out of place. And if he wants to have people over when your mom’s not around, that’s fine, he can do whatever the hell he wants, but…

You came home for peace. To hide away for a few days and pretend that everything’s just fine and you’re not one breakdown away from shattering entirely. You wanted your mom and the comfort of your old bedroom and safety and it’s fine – great, even – that she’s found somebody who makes her happy, but this– him and the weirdness with his friend and everything is just too much, and–

You don’t realise that your leg’s bouncing until Oikawa’s hand comes to rest on your bare thigh. It’s enough to make your stomach flip, an icy chill trickling down your spine as his thumb slowly strokes across the soft, plush skin. “Relax, cutie,” he coos, chuckling softly when you visibly flinch and squeeze your eyes shut.

“P-please don’t call me that,” you choke out, fighting against the wave of nausea rising up your throat. And it’s just like last time, his cologne, notes of vanilla and cedar and spice, swirling thick and heady around you. That phantom touch, the warmth of hands gripping too tight, unwanted kisses hot and eager against your skin.

“No?” he asks, cruel amusement dripping from his tone. “Why not? I think it suits you, cutie.”

You want him to stop, to push him away, slap him – do anything really, but you’re frozen in place, shaking as the memories you’ve fought so hard to shove down come bubbling back to the surface. You can’t think straight, not with his hand sliding between your thighs, the warmth of his body pressing too closely against yours.

“Iwa was right, you know,” Oikawa murmurs, smoldering brown eyes drinking you in as you childishly shake your head, willing him away. His other hand catches your cheek, drawing your face back to him as tears well in your eyes, stubbornly clinging to your lashes. “She does look so much like you, the same eyes even.”

He whispers it like a secret, nuzzling his nose against yours like a lover would as he sighs sweetly, “It’s the only reason I could stand it.”

And then he’s kissing you, the tenderness of his lips belied by iron fingers digging into your jaw when you whimper and try to wrench yourself free.

It’s not like the nightmares that startle you awake in the middle of the night, gasping for air; hazy, broken recollections that fade the moment you try to reach for them. No, every touch, every moment of his assault passes in stark clarity.

The feel of Oikawa’s mouth as it trails greedily down your neck, his hand sliding under the cotton of your sleep shorts, even his pleased little hum when he realises you’re not wearing panties. “Such a good girl for me. Fuck, I’ve missed this.”

This time there’s no drugs in your system keeping you pliant and helpless, but that doesn’t make a difference. Not when his words echo in your head, playing again and again until every awful, sickening piece falls into place.

Long, nimble fingers stroke at your folds, and you can’t help the shivery gasp that leaves you when the tip of his middle finger sweeps over your clit.

“Please– please don’t do this,” you sniffle.

Oikawa presses another fleeting kiss to your shoulder, “Shh, none of that. Let me help you, baby.”

“N-no, I don’t, I don’t– Stop!”

Knocking away the hands that try to push him back, he hooks his fingers over the hem of your shorts and slides them down your legs, your pitifully weak struggles only making things easier for him. It’s only when Oikawa reaches for his own zipper that panic truly strikes home.

You can’t just lie here and let this happen again. You won’t.

And like a switch flipped, you start to trash like a wild thing beneath him, the scream you’ve kept buried inside of you for months ripping itself free from your throat–

Only for the fingers that had been toying with your pussy to be shoved down your throat, cutting you off with a choked gurgle. As you gag, fruitlessly try to tug yourself free, Oikawa leans in nice and close – except this time there’s no gentleness to his expression, nothing but viciousness as he grins and bares his teeth.

“You wanna yell, pretty girl? Want the neighbours to come running, let them see me fuck you?” He grinds his hips against you, his breath shivery as he pants at the friction of his half hard cock against your side. Nausea twists at your gut, acrid and bitter – you want to be sick, to cry and beg with him to stop but with his fingers still stuffed in your mouth, his thumb digging into the soft underside of your jaw all you can manage is an unintelligible whine. He hums, kissing away the single hot tear that spills down your cheek, “You think if you cry loudly enough, mommy’ll come home and save you?”

And it’s like time stands still as he laughs, cruel eyes glinting when he presses down on your tongue, warm saliva pooling around his digits. “Such a little whore, trying to seduce her poor, innocent boyfriend the very moment her back’s turned. Tell me, cutie,” he coos, “who do you think she’d believe?”

Your breath hitches, another sob catching in your throat – even if you wanted to answer, you can’t and he knows it. “She’s in love with me, you know. It’s almost a little pathetic how easy it was to manipulate her into bed – so lonely… desperate for love, for somebody – anybody – to pay attention to her, take care of her,” he sneers, distaste curling at his lips. “Wouldn’t it just break her fragile little heart to know she’s fallen for the man who raped her baby girl?”

Another garbled cry slips past his fingers and you can only watch in frozen horror as his other hand drifts back to his zipper. “You want to protect her, don’t you?”

His grip relents just enough for you to jerk a shaky nod.

“Pretty girl, so good for me.” Another kiss pressed to your cheek as the quiet hiss of his zipper fills the air around you. “It’ll be our little secret, hmm? She doesn’t need to know just yet, let her be happy a little while longer…”

Sliding down his briefs just far enough for his cock to spring free, he strokes it for a moment with slow, leisurely movements, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watches your eyes widen.

And when he pulls you forward, guides your mouth towards it, pre-cum beading at the tip, withdrawing his fingers so you can quickly gasp for air, you just… let him.

The fight’s gone, as quickly as it had come.

You let his fingers curl through your hair, use it as an anchor when your lips part to force his cock between them. And he moans, low and shivery as your tongue slides along the underside of his shaft and you try not to gag around the sudden intrusion.

You think that there’s no room left inside of you for shame, but as his other hand creeps back between your legs, teasing at your cunt, you burn with it, clinging to the pyre of your own humiliation and disgust.

And still, you kneel on the couch, letting him fuck your mouth, letting those long, pretty fingers curl up inside of you – moaning around his cock when they stroke that perfect little spot.

“I wanted to – shit – take this slow,” he tells you as his hips jerk upwards, shuddering in breathless delight when his cock hits the back of your throat and it convulses around him. “I wanted to make you want me.”

Wet, messy, gags sound with every unwitting thrust – you’ve no choice but to swallow him down, let him fuck your throat like you’re nothing more than a toy for his pleasure. There’s saliva coating your chin, dripping down the length of his dick, pooling around his balls. You can barely breathe, a task made even harder when Oikawa decides to add his thumb into the mix, teasing your clit while he fucks you apart on his fingers.

It feels so fucking good, and you’ve never hated yourself more.

Your throat burns, hot tears stinging in the corners of your eyes, and yet he’s intent on driving you to the brink of your sanity with every calculated flick of his wrist. Something tightens in your belly, a spring coiled too tight, ready to snap, and you can’t help it when your hips chase his fingers, the needy, shameful little whimpers that leave your lips (still wrapped around his thick, twitching cock) as you search for the pleasure to temper the discomfort.

“You don’t have a clue what you do to me, do you? I could barely sleep last night–”

You choke back a moan, your pussy clenching around his digits, sucking them deeper as white spots pepper your vision and you shudder out a moan.

“So pretty when you cum for me,” he pants, but you don’t care – can’t, not when you’re riding his fingers, tongue lolling out as he gives you a moment’s reprieve to bask in the rippling afterglow of your orgasm before everything comes crashing back down around you.

Oikawa lets you fall back against the cushions, breathless, trembling and dazed. You’re not stupid enough to believe that’s the end of it, not when his cock’s still hard, throbbing against his toned stomach when he gives it a slow, cursory pump.

“Lie back, cutie,” he whispers, keeping his eyes fixed on you as he pushes himself up off the couch to shed the rest of his clothes.

And as you shuffle obediently downwards, heart hammering in your chest, you find you can’t tear your eyes away from him either.

Tall and handsome, she’d said, but the words truly don’t do him justice. A body corded with lean, powerful muscle, golden, sun-kissed skin, a light smattering of dark hair trailing from his navel down past the well defined V of his hips…

“See something you like?” he teases, smirking when you squeak and childishly jerk your face away, cheeks burning. “It’s okay to look, you know. I don’t mind the attention.”

It feels too soft, too intimate for what this is.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. He’s not supposed to be attractive, or to make you enjoy your own assault, and you– you’re supposed to fight it, fight him instead of just lying there and taking it…

But when he climbs back onto the couch, easing your still trembling thighs apart to settle himself between them, his touch is nothing short of reverent, dark eyes wide and adoring as you squirm uneasily beneath him.

With one hand braced on the cushion beside you, his cock resting just above your aching sex, he leans forward, easing your top up past your tits. “Perfect,” he murmurs.

And it’s enough to make a fresh bout of humiliated tears spring to your eyes. Your hands curl into useless fists at your side as he settles back onto his knees and takes his cock in hand, hissing in pleasure when he glides the flushed, leaking head along your slick folds.

“Fuck, cutie. I don’t think I’m gonna last,” he laughs, biting down on his bottom lip as he watches hot, fat tears slip down your cheeks. With an agonisingly slow pace, Oikawa lines himself up with your cunt and presses in – even with how wet you are, one orgasm already wrung from you, the stretch burns and you can’t stop the choked gasp that leaves you.

His eyes flutter shut, head thrown back back as inch by inch his cock sinks into your pussy until finally he bottoms out with a satisfied groan. “Perfect for me, so fucking good,” he pants, and you barely have time to drag in a breath before his hips are drawing back, another desperate, strangled mewl escaping you.

Bruising fingers dig into your waist, Oikawa cursing as your plush little cunt flutters maddeningly around him– before he eagerly slams his cock forward, stuffing you full once more.

And as you sob and whimper between every wet, obscene squelch of his dick fucking into your soaked pussy, that all too familiar, shameful heat begins to pool in your core.

“Gonna cum for me again, cutie?”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #tw: noncon #tw:dubcon #tw: drugged reader #tw: infidelity #angst #pain #manipulation #fun times ahead

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canyonmooncreations · 3 years ago

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Depression is Hard

Depression Is Hard

Summary: When y/n doesn’t show for work, Spencer goes to her apartment to find a very depressed someone.

Characters: Spencer x reader

Word Count: 1181

Author’s Note: If you are ever struggling with depression, please please please get help. You’re amazing and you mean so much to ME. Thank you for being you.

Warnings: Depression

Silence. That was the sound that filled the room today. Spencer walked in and he knew something was off. Y/n. She wasn’t anywhere in sight. Spencer wasn’t greeted with his normal “good morning my love”.

“Where’s y/n?” Spencer asked.

“We assumed you would know.” Luke chimes in.

Y/n and Spence had been dating for months now. They bonded so quickly and fell for each other so fast. Spencer planned on asking her to move in soon and he was beyond excited. Y/n never missed work unannounced, especially without telling him.

Emily makes her way down the stairs. “Y/n is taking a sick day. We have a local case. Conference room.” Emily shot Spencer the *she needs you* look and hoped he would take the hint.

“Emily, I will be on call. Y/n needs me. Can you send me the case files and brief me over text?”

“Yes, of course. Tell y/n we are all here if she needs anything.” Emily nodded before heading to the conference room and Spencer quickly made his way to his car.

Y/n lived about ten minutes away from the bureau in a small, cozy apartment. He always loved visiting her there and seeing Mellie, her adorable kitten she adopted not too long ago. Spencer was lost in his thoughts and was brought back when he felt the familiar metal of the key she had given him months ago.

He opened the door and was greeted with something he had never seen before. The apartment was a mess, trash overflowing, dirty laundry scattered, curtains closed, lights off. The complete opposite of how she normally kept her space.

Spencer makes his way to her room, seeing her door cracked. He peaks in to see y/n deep in sleep with her hair a mess, in day old clothes. There was untouched and half eaten food scattered here and there. He could tell she hadn’t showered in days. He instantly regretted leaving her here over the weekend as he traveled to see his mom. It looks like it's been bad since he left.

Not wanting to wake her just yet, he closed the door and made his way back to the living room. He started with collecting all the dirty laundry, the dishes, and then the trash. He opened the blinds and watered her plants. He chuckled when he saw Mellie’s food bowl. While everything was crumbling around her, y/n made sure Mellie was not going hungry.

Spencer made his way to the bedroom after he had cleaned for y/n. He wanted to help her as much as he could because he knew she was struggling with so much right now. Spencer quietly opened the door and climbed into bed with y/n. Mellie stirred and nudged his leg, while y/n cuddled into him. She was still for a little but he was shocked when he heard little sniffles coming from her.

“Oh, honey, what’s a matter? I’m right here. Come here.”

Y/n cuddled more into Spencer as the sniffles turned to sobs. He just held her and whispered sweet nothings.

Spencer has never seen it this bad. He’s seen her on her bad days and always tries to be whatever she needs. Y/n struggles with depression and some days are better than others.

The sobs were broken as she spoke quietly.

“I’m so sorry you have to see me like this. I never meant for you to. I hope you don’t hate me”

“Y/n, please do not apologize. I love you and every part of you. I will never hate you. You mean so much to me. Do you want to talk about what’s going on in that little head of yours?”

Spencer sat her up and softly moved the hair from her face. She nodded.

Unable to meet his gaze, she stared at her hands and spoke softly. “It was really hard this weekend without you and having no cases. I didn’t want to call and bother you. I wanted to call you this morning but I figured the team needed you. I didn’t…”

“You will always be my number one priority, the team can wait.” He interrupted her rambling.

“When was the last time you ate, y/n?”

Y/n felt her stomach sink. She always skipped meals until the lovely Dr. Reid came into her life and insisted on healthy habits.

This was answer enough for Spencer. He stood and reached out a hand to y/n. He was met with grabby hands and a small smile asking to be picked up. He just chuckled and obliged. He began to carry her to the living room.

“I am so sorry Spence, it is such a mess…” she fell silent as she saw a clean and welcoming main room. “Spence, you didn’t have to.”

“I know. I wanted to.” He spoke as he sat her on the kitchen island. “Chicken noodle or tomato?” He rested his hands on either side of her legs and kissed her softly.

“Ummmm, tomato… but can you make me grilled cheese too?” She looked down, a little unsure of why she was nervous to ask. Spencer grabbed her chin and pulled her to meet his gaze.

“Of course, my love. Anything for you.” He smiled and booped her nose.

Y/n reached over and turned on the record player. She smiled as soft classics came on and filled the room. She took a second to bask in the happiness Spencer brings into her life. He is like the sun and she is forever loving him. The smell of tomato soup, the sunlight, the soft music, and the presence of her lover was enough to make her smile. Something she hadn’t done in days.

“Spence, can I ask you something?”

“Always.” Spencer continued to mix the soup and flip the grilled cheeses.

“Can we move in together?” She asks quietly.

“Y/n, I would love that.” Spencer turned around smiling and brought her into a passionate kiss. Y/n was thrilled and hugged Spencer tightly. They stayed like this for a moment until the smell of something burning met their noses.

“SHIT” Spencer quickly turned around and plated the grilled cheese. Y/n couldn’t help but laugh hysterically, Spencer soon joining her laughter.

“Well, time to restart. You are a distraction, my love. A good one, but if you want dinner tonight…” They both broke into happy laughter. Y/n hadn’t felt this good in days.

“Here Spence, let me cook it.” Y/n smiled as she started the sandwiches over. She felt as Spencer pulled her away from the oven and brought her into a slow dance.

“Let’s just get carry-out and watch a movie. I’ve missed you.” Y/n nodded and leaned up to kiss his cheek. The night carried on with the air filled with love and y/n feeling better than she had in days.

Later that night

Emily: How is she?

Spencer: She’s better. She’s smiling now. I love her so much Em.

#spencer reid #spencer x y/n #spencer x reader #spencer #reid #soft #criminalminds #criminal minds #fanfiction #fanfic

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angry-geese · 3 years ago

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Nanami Kento x Reader

Warnings: sfw. pregnancy mention, death mention, minor injury mention. mild angst. jjk manga spoilers/shibuya arc spoilers

Summary: some pregnancy fluff with nanami

Word Count: 2.2k

jjk masterlist

Greys dot at his temples, and the sides of his beard. There's a permanent line between his eyebrows from scowling. Nanami always kept his face shaved in the past. Nowadays he hardly bothers shaving. You like it when he has a little bit of scruff, and he's often too tired to shave. His cheeks are far more gaunt. He lost a considerable amount of weight he never really gained back. You’ve been trying to get him to eat more. And it's working, but recovery isn't a short process. It was a long road that sometimes it feels like you take one step forward, only to take ten back.

He finds himself questioning if he'd rather wear a glass eye, or an eyepatch.

Nanami hardly sees the point in either. So the answer is neither. He rarely leaves his house, save for the rare times you drag him along to the grocery store, or down the street to the bakery. Even then, he wears his hat low on his head, keeping his eyes on the ground in a feeble attempt to make himself as small as possible.

Shibuya left scars on everyone who had the misfortune of being there, ones that never quite healed right. You were the same person; torn apart and put back together wrong. Age has not been kind to you, your wounds taking longer to heal, an ever-present ache in your bones. Past injuries have never quite healed, only laying dormant, waiting for the weather to sour so they can ache. He guesses he can consider himself lucky. He's alive. That's more than a lot of people can say.

But sometimes he thinks the real lucky ones were those who didn't survive.

Sometimes he thinks he's dead. In the twilight between sleep and his waking moments, he wonders if he actually made it. He wonders if he really survived, or if this is just some last ditch attempt by his brain to make sense of things.

He doesn't understand why you stay. He finds himself wondering why he bothers. Most days he doesn't see a point in continuing. But he doesn't want to leave you alone, reaching out to the empty space where he used to be.

For a long time he struggled to find purpose to all this. He wanted a reason, or at the very least answers. But he never would get them. It's unfair to say there’s an order to the universe. There's no reason why things happen the way they happen, they just do.

In the end he came to terms with it.

He remembers the glint in your eyes. A mischievous look- you were always trying to cause trouble. It's never really left. You were younger than him. Not by much. Two years. You were adamant he recommended you to become a grade one sorcerer. For months you pestered him, hounding him for that recommendation. As a Jujutsu High first-year, you looked up to him. When you got into trouble, you found yourself asking 'what would Nanami do?' And as time went on, you still did.

After months of pestering he eventually caved. You're nothing if not persistent. It was a little alarming at the time, and equally as irritating. But when you were finally a grade one sorcerer, he was there alongside you to celebrate.

At first glance, you two were far from compatible. The two of you couldn't be any more different. He was stoic and stern, and you were a known troublemaker. Your cursed technique worked well with his, and as a result, you went on many jobs together. As time went on you grew close.

And after years of working together, he finally realized he wanted more.

To everyone around you, your feelings were obvious. The two of you were hopeless. Between your stubbornness, and Nanami’s refusal to believe Gojo, neither of you wanted to be the first to confess. It was up to Gojo to help. Neither of you asked for his help, he took it upon himself. Little did he know, Nanami had a confession planned.

Nanami never got to have a proper confession. Gojo would spoil the surprise. Nanami was pissed, but your reaction was worth it. He doesn't think he’s ever seen you that happy.

Slowly things got better. Your more visible wounds healed and scarred. You went back to work. Nanami settled into domestic life better than he thought he would.

The transition wasn't the easiest. Settling down was far from an instantaneous change. He took on work around the house. For a short time you kept a ‘normal’ job. Even when you were younger, such work never suited you. Between the money you had saved up from your years as a sorcerer, and the money you got from odd jobs, you had enough to live comfortably. There was no need to work.

Slowly he started to look forward to getting up in the morning. Having a routine helped. It gave him a sense of normalcy.

He often finds himself unable to sleep. Nanami falls asleep late in the afternoon, and sleeps until either his phone, or a nightmare rouses him.

Today it's neither. He was a light sleeper before. Now even more-so. When he’s next to you, sleep comes to him easier. His arms find the swell of your belly, wrapping around it protectively. Your presence is a reminder that you’re still around, that you're not going anywhere. His shoulder aches. He finds sleep impossible. He’s too sore to move, but too sore to sleep. Even before everything, he found it easy to sleep on his couch, and hard to sleep in bed. You’d constantly pester him that sleeping on the couch wasn't good for his back. But that wouldn't stop you from staying there until you both inevitably fell asleep, and he carried you to bed.

It took you years to convince him to have one. He wanted to settle down and have children, but he couldn't be both a sorcerer and a parent. And neither could you. Shibuya only set things back. The world had to heal first. Things had to get better. The two of you had to heal before others could rely on you.

You weren't actively trying, but if it happened, it happened.

You've long since fallen asleep in the crook of his neck. He hardly left bed all day. Things were getting bad again. Sometimes months would go by where it seemed things were improving, only for them to take a nosedive. He’s still getting better, but recovery isn't a linear process. You didn't have anywhere to go that day, so you stayed right by his side. You took it upon yourself to make him feel better. Or at least bother him until he got out of bed. Much of your morning was spent watching movies on your phone, and stealing blankets from each other.

Retirement was nice. Granted, you retired rather young, but if the rest of your life was spent with him, you’d be content. He’s still the same man you fell in love with all those years ago. Aside from the occasional, safe-ish odd job, you were done with sorcery. Those days were past you.

He’s grown tired of staying still. Sometimes moving helps the aches. He never was the earliest riser before, but now he can hardly stay in bed past seven. Everything hurts. No matter when he goes to sleep, he’s usually up by 7:30, and you can count on him making coffee in the kitchen.

It's hardly past nine. The sun has completely set over the horizon. Stiffness has set into his limbs. He takes great care to not disturb your sleeping form, tucking the blankets back around you.

You nuzzle into the warm spot where he once was, a frown burned into your face. You never liked sleeping without him. Nightmares struck you frequently. Often you'd wake up from a dead sleep in a panic, calling out for him, convinced that this was some sick dream and he died years ago. He’d often wake up to you clinging to his arm, face buried in his shirt.

But he was always there.

You find it easier to fall asleep when it's light out. You don't like falling asleep in the dark. He makes sure to keep a light on in the hall. The power bill you could care less about. Nightmares came to you in the dark. Your logic is that, if there's no dark, you won't have them. To some extent it works.

It's a bit late for dinner, but he finds himself in the kitchen anyway. He wants udon, but the shop you normally go to would be closed at this hour. Their mushroom udon is the best. He’ll try to recreate it.

He sets some water on to boil, along with some frozen gyoza to thaw that you always insist on going to this one specific market in Tokyo for. Chicken and leek, with lots of ginger. Your favorite. You go through so much of the stuff that you have to get it in bulk, and freeze the extras. He thinks you’ll want tea too, so he sets the kettle on to boil.

He doesn't hear you walk in. Between the clanking of pots, and the whistling of the kettle, your soft footsteps go unheard. Nanami’s hearing was never quite the same. But he senses eyes on his back, and turns.

“I didn't mean to wake you, love.” He says.

“You didn't. I was having a hard time staying asleep anyway,” you say, “what’re you making?”

“Mushroom udon and gyoza,” he says, “it’s gonna be kind of a late dinner, but I thought it sounded good.”

“Smells good,” you say.

One of his hands finds your much smaller ones. Your fingers lace with his. His hands are warm, and calloused from years of using his weapon.

“Remind me to get more tea when I head into town tomorrow,” you say, “oh- and rice too. We were getting low the last time I checked. Do you want to go too?”

He nods. He makes a silent note to add those, along with laundry soap to the shopping list.

Before, he hated going into town. Strangers poked and prodded, and asked about his scars. It's gotten better as time goes on. If cravings struck you in the middle of the night, he would be up and ready to bring you something. Craving the mochi only sold by a specific shop in Tokyo? It doesn't matter if he had to take the train all the way to the city, he’d do it. Your arms wrap around his waist from behind. He’s a bit too tall for you to rest your head on his shoulder from behind. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He smells faintly of laundry soap, and shampoo. His stubble brushes against your lips. You always liked when he grew it out.

He pulls you so you stand in front of him, your back against his chest. His hands find the swell of your belly, wrapping around you protectively. Nanami plants a kiss on the top of your head. It's one of the few moments you feel truly normal. You’re no longer sorcerers, but a couple sharing a romantic moment, one building a life together.

He’s hardly allowed any distance between you two. Nanami acts like you’re made out of glass. He’s almost afraid to touch you. God forbid you try to lift something too heavy, or help out with the housework. He’s on you in an instant, trying to get you to rest. He’s a bit overbearing when it comes to things that aren't good for the baby. No alcohol, no caffeine, no overexerting yourself. You didn't miss alcohol all that much, but you really miss coffee. At times his presence can be suffocating. He means well, even if it gets on your nerves.

When the noodles are done, he gathers two bowls- part of a set given to you as a wedding gift. You only brought them out to use when your parents would visit. Much of the time they spent gathering dust. You always talked about using them more, but never got the opportunity to. He figures now is as good a time as ever. You set the table, setting out a few candles. He’d break out a bottle of sake if you could drink, but you just settle for tea.

"Retirement looks good on you," you say.

“It looks good on you too,” he says.

Conversation carries on while you eat. The topic falls onto mundane things that make his heart flutter only when you talk about them. You make plans to go shopping in the morning. You need groceries, and there’s a new shop opening up in town that you want to check out. When you’re done eating, you help him clean up. You clear the table while he gets the dishes.

He’s finally found his place. Not in jujutsu or human society. Not among sorcerers or regular people. His place is beside you.

And each day, he finds himself falling more hopelessly in love.

#jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #nanami fluff #nanami kento #fluff #jjk manga spoilers

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dreamwritesimagines · 4 years ago

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Twisted 27 - When The War Comes [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, guns, knives, sharp objects, stabbing, hallucinations.

Word Count: 7500

Summary: Who will you become?

You had to control your anger. You had to control the fire in your veins until you were sure that your niece was safe, that your family was safe, then—

Then you would handle this situation. Until then, it had to wait.

All the training your father had given you was basically screaming at you to attack the threat, but you managed to keep yourself from doing so while you followed him through the woods, paying close attention to your surroundings.

The cabin. This was the way to your father’s cabin in the woods.

You had counted ten armed men on the way here but you had to assume there were more scattered along the woods. You stepped over a tree root before you looked up at the night sky and quickly found the stars that would help you. Thankfully it was a clear night, and your father had taught you long before how to read the sky for direction, in case you needed to-

Hunt.

A shudder went down your spine but you quickly shook your head, you had no time for that fear lurking in your head.

Fear could wait until you made sure you and everyone back home survived.

Considering how your family had no boundaries when it came to you, you were one hundred percent sure that by the time tonight was over, they would arrive at your apartment to see where you were.

“So what is your game here?” you moved your wrists that he had bound the moment you two had reached the end of the road and got off the car to walk into the woods, “You take me there and what? You’ll kill me?”

He looked over his shoulder, “How can you ask me that?” he said and you raised your brows.

“How can I not ask you that?”

At least you could leave a note. Lincoln was just that stupid.

“They’ll come looking for me,” you told him as he rolled his eyes, still pointing the gun at you.

“Who, your boyfriend?”

“He works in the FBI, you fu—“ you had to remember to stop yourself. He had access to Lily, so you knew you had to play it along, even if you barely felt anything other than anger. “Yeah. My boyfriend.”

“You broke up with him once, you can do it again,” he said and pointed at the pen and paper on the kitchen island, “Just write you need some time or whatever, he can see it when he gets here. Less suspicions.”

You grabbed the pen and paper, then clenched your teeth, your mind working nonstop.

“I’m waiting, Y/N.”

You stole a look at him, then leaned in to write on the paper;

Hamlet,

I need some time alone.

Ophelia.

Ophelia died in a lake, and you hoped that Spencer could make the connection between that and the time you had told him about Lincoln pushing you into the lake by the cabin.

He took a look at the note, then made a face.

“You call him Hamlet?” he said, shaking his head, “I never really liked that play. Let’s go.”

“Do you seriously think I would harm you, in any way?” he asked when you got to the stone stairs leading to the cabin, “I will explain everything once we sit down.”

“Will you untie me?”

“I’m not an idiot,” he answered as you climbed the stairs after him, his grip on your arm almost too tight and you gritted your teeth to stop yourself from coming up with a comeback. You looked up at the cabin, the memory of the last time you were there hitting you out of nowhere and churning your stomach, but you managed not to throw up as he slightly pushed you through the open door.

Don’t be scared, you commanded yourself in your head Fear is useless.

That was one of the things your father had taught you during those predator and prey games. Prey always got scared, which led them to panic, which led them to making mistakes that would cost them their lives.

You were a predator. You had always been a predator, since you were a child, and there was no fucking way Lincoln of all people could turn you into a prey.

He pulled a chair, then motioned at you to sit down.

“Remember, if you try anything…” he said, “If I don’t send the code to my friend—“

“Yeah, you’ll hurt my niece,” you spat, “Some man, aren’t you? Threatening a kid.”

He untied your hands, then pulled them behind the chair and started tying them again, and you raised your brows slightly.

Rather than wrapping the rope around your wrists separately then pulling them together, he was just tying them together, which was a terrible rookie mistake your father would never have done. Escaping from those, especially with a rope was almost easy with enough knowledge, and you slightly widened the gap between your wrists by pressing your thumbs together, not wide enough to make him suspicious but wide enough to give you enough space to move your wrists when you wanted to get rid of the ropes.

Almost everything was automatic at this point, you were following everything your father had made sure to engrave into your mind.

“There, that’s better,” he said and let out a breath, a small smile pulling at his lips, “Hi.”

You tilted your head, looking at him silently.

“That was a bluff by the way. I would never hurt anyone you love, I thought you knew that by now.”

That seemed to distract you from the fury, “What?”

“Everyone that I killed,” he pulled a seat for himself so that he could sit across from you and leaned in slightly, elbows on his knees, “Everyone, that was for you. I did it for you. Don’t you see that? From that childhood friend to your douchebag ex?”

Oh God you were going to be sick.

Spencer was right. You were sitting with the copycat killer back there, at the charity auction.

“I can’t believe you don’t remember,” he ran a hand through his hair, “You told me what was happening, when we were kids. You told me a week before that night in the graveyard, that’s how your father let me come with you both. My parents had drunk too much at your parents’ party— you don’t remember any of that? I was the one who you shared that sacred secret with, no one else, not even your family. It was me.”

“Sacred?” you repeated, “My father was a monster, Lincoln.”

“Don’t say that,” he shook his head, the glare in his eyes sharpening, “Never say that. He…he is way ahead of all of us, if he didn’t get caught he’d be an even bigger legend than he already is. He brought us together.”

“You brought me here by threatening me and you tied me to a chair. My father is a terrible person, but this right here is your choice you fucking asshole.”

“Because I need you to understand,” he nodded to himself, “You will understand.”

“I will understand what?”

“That I did this for us!” he snapped and he swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath, “That I love you.”

A hysterical laugh escaped from your lips and you gawked at him.

“You love me,” you repeated, “You— you have been terrorizing me for months, you killed people, you fucking destroyed my life because you love me?”

“I’ll set you free,” he said, “Free of all these bounds everyone else put you into. I’ve seen your potential back when we were still kids, then after your father was arrested they turned you into something else, some shadow of what you’re capable of. Then I came back and you…” he ran a hand over his face, “You decided to get into an agent’s bed.”

“Don’t even—“

“He would try to change you,” he cut you off, sniffling, “He would, Petal. He would smother you with these stupid ethical rules and all that bullshit, but I’ll— we’ll be free together.”

If your last encounter with your father had taught you anything, it was that delusional killers didn’t exactly react well to a reality check. You moved your hands under the ropes, pulling at them just a little.

You would just have to play along until you were free, then you could be out of there.

The more you know about your prey, your father’s voice echoed in your ears, The easier it will be to take them down.

“How about your girlfriend?”

His head shot up and he shrugged,

“I mean,” he trailed off, “She thinks she’s my girlfriend.”

You gritted your teeth. “Erica,” you said, “Right. My girlfriend doesn’t have the same financial status as we do, huh? My fucking assistant, Lincoln? What did you offer her?”

“Offer her?” he asked, “I didn’t have to offer her anything. Who did you think your father’s outside source was?”

You pulled back slightly and he scoffed a laugh.

“I know,” he said, “She wants to kill you, not that I would ever let her, but she can believe that for the time being. I know you feel betrayed honey—“

“Don’t call me that.”

“But we only need her until a point, after she makes a phone call to get your family off our backs, she will be my gift to you.”

You dug your fingernails into your palms to remind yourself to focus, “Your gift?”

“There’s nothing like killing someone you know,” he dragged the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, “It’s not like strangers, not at all. That shit’s special, Petal. You’ll see when the time comes.”

Before you could even think of an answer, you heard the footsteps coming closer and the door opened, making you turn your head to see Erica who almost looked intimidated for a moment upon seeing you, but she managed to pull herself together.

“You might want to check out the west team,” she told Lincoln and he paused.

“Can I trust you with this?”

Erica frowned, “You can trust me with anything, you know that,” she said softly and you closed your eyes for a moment, pulling at the ropes tight enough to hurt before you felt it get loose just a little. The rough material of the ropes almost burnt your skin the more you kept moving your hands, but you gritted your teeth, trying to ignore it.

You heard the door close and the lock sliding into its place as you opened your eyes, and saw Erica putting the key into her pocket.

“I like your dress,” she said as she sat down, “Too bad it’ll get bloody.”

“You were my father’s outside source?” you asked, trying to ignore her comment, “You?”

She gave you a bright smile, and rested her arm on the back of the chair, making herself comfortable.

“That’s right.”

“Whatever he’s paying you—“

“He’s not paying me,” she spat as if she was insulted at the implication, “You ungrateful little bitch. I’m doing this because I want to, because I respect him. I believe in what he stands for, not like you would understand.”

“Jesus, you’re one of those freaks,” you muttered to yourself, tugging at the ropes around your wrists, “Serial killer groupie huh?”

“I’m not a groupie,” she spat, “I respect your father, not just any serial killer. It’s him. No one in your family deserves him, much less you, and—“ she shook her head, “The way you disrespect him and his name…”

“Disrespect him?” you let out a laugh, “Oh that’s rich.”

“He was right, you know?” she said, “Only the smart and strong is supposed to survive in this world, not weak. And he tried to raise you to follow in his footsteps, but you were too weak to do so. He just doesn’t see that.”

You clicked your tongue, “But you see that?”

“If he were my father,” she leaned in, gritting her teeth, “It doesn’t matter. By the time this is over, after I get rid of you and prove myself, he will see me as a daughter. Not you. You’re not strong enough to survive in our world. Lincoln agrees—“

“Lincoln is using you,” you cut her off, “He’s going to get rid of you as soon as he’s done. Let me guess, he told you you could kill me?”

“We’ll make you regret disrespecting father’s name first, then I will kill you, yes.”

“Yeah that’s not gonna happen,” you said, “Face it, you fucking idiot. He’s using you, just like my father is using—“ you didn’t get to finish your sentence when she lunged from her seat and slapped you across the face, her ring splitting your lip. You made a face, and spat out the blood filling your mouth, trying to ignore the sting on your tongue upon biting it.

“You know what?” she asked, “Lincoln always said no for some reason, but if you keep going like that, I can make you hurt really bad.”

“Aw sweetheart, you don’t have enough training for that,” you cooed, “What, you did some google search, looked up my father’s methods and now you think you can torture people? You think that’s how it goes?”

“I didn’t say it’d be physical,” she curled her lips, “You wouldn’t want your family to get hurt, do you?”

Your eyes snapped up to hers, that fire awakening at the pit of your stomach. She tilted her head, obviously pleased with your reaction.

“I suggested Lily instead of your ex….Anthony, was it? I said we should kill her and put her in the middle of your living room back then, but Linc said no. He said it’d hurt your father too.”

A numbness spread over your forehead, then went to the back of your head, reaching your spine as you blinked a couple of times.

“You were going to kill my niece?” you heard yourself ask and Erica crossed her legs.

“I bet that would’ve made you think twice before you disrespected John.”

You could almost feel it. Feel the fury taking over, that anger your father had always insisted you possessed roaring through you until it reached your heart, wrapping itself around it tighter and tighter.

Let the predator come out Petal, your father used to say Let it come out.

You rolled your shoulder back and cracked your neck with your eyes closed, an exact copy of your father as you twisted your hands under the ropes before you opened your eyes again to look at Erica.

“You don’t deserve him,” she insisted, “You all—you all just locked him away and forgot about him until Linc came back, until we started this. He will see soon that blood means nothing, me and Linc are going to be his legacy, not you.”

You tugged a little harder around the knot, then turned your wrist and managed to pull it out of the tight rope even if it scratched the skin over your wrists, making the burn spread over your arm.

“He taught you some stuff, big fucking deal,” she said, “I learned by myself. Without anyone to help me. Without someone else holding my hand.”

You clenched your fists, trying to ignore the throbbing as you slowly pulled your other hand out of the knotted rope.

“Yeah you missed a rule though,” you asked, dragging the tip of your tongue over the dried blood on your lip, “You’re not supposed to make them bleed unless you can kill them.”

Erica pulled her brows together, then a shriek escaped from her lips as soon as you let the rope fall, raising your hands in a mocking manner so that she could see.

“You chose the wrong victim, baby,” you said and she kicked the chair at you, then darted for upstairs, screaming while you just raised your brows, rolling your eyes.

Panic always led to mistakes like these, like rushing to somewhere one couldn’t escape from.

Upstairs was always a bad idea.

You made your way to the kitchen and pulled open the second drawer where your mother used to keep the knives, then grabbed a huge knife before you flipped it in your hand.

“Erica,” you called out, “Get back here, you’re fucking fired!”

She slammed a door upstairs and you scoffed a laugh, adrenaline pulsing through you as you dragged the tip of the knife over the walls, climbing the stairs.

“You know, if you give me the key I might make it quick,” you flipped the knife again, playing with it before you ran it over the steel staircase finial, letting her hear the sharp noise, “No promises though.”

Silence.

“I know you’re in here,” you sang, looking into the dark. Your father had taught you this long ago, if you couldn’t see, you had to make sure how to listen in the dark to find the location of whoever you wanted to hunt.

You took a deep breath and held it, not even moving a muscle and sure enough, a very faint creak reached your ears and you turned your head.

Second door to the left.

It used to be Mina’s room.

You let out a whistle echoing in the otherwise silent hall, disappearing into the dark before you stood in front of the door and ran the tip of the knife over the wood, almost relishing the slight whimper coming from the other side of the room.

“You were going to go after my family?” your voice rose as you kicked at the door, and Erica let out another scream.

“Lincoln!”

“Oh come on, where’s that strong survivor you’ve been telling me so much about?” you taunted, kicking at the door again but it didn’t open. “Hm? I thought you were going to prove yourself?”

“I-I swallowed the key, I can’t give it to you!”

“Ah well, I guess I’ll have to cut you open!” you shouted and kicked at the door once again and at last, the lock broke with a click and the door swung open, hitting the wall. Erica grabbed the chair closest to her, holding it up.

“Don’t!”

You flipped the knife in your hand, the grinned and took a step to her, so focused on adrenaline pulsing through your system that you didn’t even notice her eyes focusing on something over your shoulder until it was too late. Before you could even turn around, someone pulled you back, expertly avoiding the knife by bending your arm back and pressed a cloth over your mouth and nose, that sharp scent making you gag.

Chloroform.

Lincoln.

A tingling reached your head and that fuzzy warmth reached the back of your head, then closed your eyes shut.

***

You had no idea how long it took you out, but when you opened your eyes, it was still night. You grabbed at the side of your head and sat up in the bed, the whole room spinning around you.

Your childhood bedroom. You were in your childhood bedroom in the cabin.

“Hey,” Lincoln’s voice reached you and you turned your head to see him leaning on the doorframe.

Shit.

That was a mistake. Of course that was a mistake, and you couldn’t even believe yourself just how stupid you had been to act so careless.

“Easy, chloroform messes you up,” Lincoln said, “I’d stay in the bed for a while if I were you. You can’t attack anyone like this, you know?”

You weren’t supposed to follow your dad’s example in a situation like this. There was a reason why he was locked away, a reason why people had caught up with what he was doing, he was way too impulsive, way too destructive in terms of physical means. You had been so focused on protecting your family and going after the nearest threat that you had forgotten who you were.

You weren’t just your father’s daughter, you were also your mother’s.

And this right here? It wasn’t your father’s expertise yet, his time would come when you would have to fight your way out.

It was your mother’s.

Manipulation.

It was time to channel her, not your father.

“What happened?” you asked and Lincoln heaved a sigh, then pushed himself off the doorframe.

“You went after Erica,” he said, “She’s pretty shaken, but I told you Petal. You need to be patient, we just need her up to a point. After that, she’s all yours.”

You narrowed your eyes and slowly swung your legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through your hair.

“And how much longer will I be subjected to this humiliation of yours? Can you give me an exact time or should I just wait here?”

He stared at you for a moment, trying to understand what you meant and you just arched a brow, a look of completely nonchalant sneer flashing over your face, the exact same expression you had seen on your mother countless times.

“I’ll take this silence as a no.”

“Humiliation?” he repeated, “When- how did I humiliate you?”

“How did you humiliate me?” you scoffed a laugh, “Are you serious right now?”

Jesus, your head was absolutely killing you but you had to focus.

“I’d never humiliate you, I love you.”

“Yeah yeah,” you waved a dismissive hand in the air, “You love me, we’re supposed to be together. I guess I’ll have to take your word for it while ignoring your actions, is that it?”

“My actions? Y/N—“

“So you bring me in here,” you cut him off, glaring at him, “You give me this whole speech about how you’d do anything for me, how we’re—we’re meant to be, and then you leave me in the same room with your ex so that she can boast about you? How you two are in love, how you two are together?”

“I told you, we just need her until—“

“That’s your love?” you interrupted him again and pushed yourself to stand up, crossing your arms while looking him dead in the eye, “Is that the proof of your love? Rubbing your girlfriend on my face? All the while she talks about how you two are going to be my father’s legacy together, like I don’t exist?”

“She just thinks that, I made her think that so that we can use her—“

“And then,” you said through your teeth, “You stop me and knock me out while I’m going after her to get rid of her?” you clapped your hands slowly, “Yeah. Proclamation of love right there Linc, congratulations.”

He licked his lips, obviously taking aback. “Y/N, we need her for now.”

“Mm hm, exactly,” you shot him a sweet smile “Looks like you need her a lot.”

“Not like that,” he shook his head, “Not what you think, I swear. She’s nothing.”

“No, I think she’s not nothing,” you clicked your tongue, “I think you formed some sort of attachment to your prey—“

“I didn’t!”

“Because you grew soft for her, and now you’re confused whether you want me more or her.”

He strode to you in three steps and pulled you closer, tilting your head up, and you had to command yourself not to make a face.

“I want you,” he said, “I always have, you know that.”

“Bullshit.”

He groaned, “Y/N-“

“No, it’s fucking bullshit.” You pushed his hands away, and searched your mind for the final nail on the coffin.

“Did you sleep with her?”

The expression on Lincoln’s face shifted and he averted his eyes.

Bingo.

“Did you? While you were in love with me, while you knew that we were meant to be, did you or did you not sleep with her?”

“You slept with that agent,” he shot back and you shook your head.

“I didn’t know you would do anything for me,” you insisted, “I had no idea—you said you had a girlfriend, I barely remember anything from my childhood let alone sharing so much with you and you didn’t tell me. But you knew,” you dug your finger into his chest, “You knew everything and you kept it hidden from me, so answer me this, did you sleep with her? While you knew you were in love with me?”

He swallowed thickly and opened his mouth, then closed it again, and you took a step back, trying to look heartbroken.

“Wow.”

“Y/N.”

“Wow. You actually did.”

“Listen to me, she doesn’t mean anything, I swear to you. It was just to manipulate—“

“Get out of my room.”

He frowned, “What?”

“Get the fuck out of my room and leave me alone until you’re ready to show me you actually love me.”

“You don’t mean that,” he started and took a step towards you, but you grabbed the nearest object which turned out to be one of your old dusty plushies and threw it to him.

“Get out!” you yelled and he took a step back, raising his hands.

“I’ll… I’ll come back when you’re calmer,” he said and closed the door behind him, and you lost your balance, falling on your knees.

People were just so easy to manipulate, thanks to your mother.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “Thanks mom, time for dad’s turn.”

Weapons.

You reached under your bed to take a look at the secret compartment that your dad used to make you put your knives, but it was of course empty. Lincoln was stupid when it came to you, but he wasn’t a complete idiot, apparently. You pushed yourself off your knees and stood up, then closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, trying to clear your mind.

Your father had taught you this long before, in every room, there was something you could use as a weapon or turn into one.

You took a deep breath, exhaled it and opened your eyes.

It would have to be something precise, Lincoln had a point, you were in no shape to get into an actual fight with him. So you would need something sharp, and something that you could hide in either your sleeve or somewhere easily reachable. Something that Lincoln wouldn’t see until the next time.

You could tear down the bed to get to the bed springs, but it would take a long time and there was the danger of him walking in on you.

There was a chair and your post-its, some tape, small notebooks by the corner, hair ties and a music box on the desk in front of the window—

The music box.

The music box had a mirror.

“There you are,” you muttered to yourself as you took the music box, then grabbed the tape and your hair ties. You checked the door, then sat down, covered the mirror with the long skirt of your dress, then pushed on it with your elbow until you heard the small noise of the mirror breaking. You pulled back and uncovered it, then grabbed the longest shard, ripped out a couple of pages from your notebook and started taping it around the shard before you wrapped your hair ties around it so as not to let it slip or hurt your hand.

By the time you heard Lincoln’s footsteps coming upstairs, you had spent almost an hour preparing your weapon. You looked up, then closed the music box and put it back before tucking your newly made weapon under the lacy sleeve of your dress, and got on the bed, leaned your back to the bedframe and crossed your arms.

“Petal?” Lincoln called out and you gritted your teeth and turned your head when he peeked his head in.

“Hey, do you want to join me for some food downstairs?”

You narrowed your eyes, “Depends. Will your girlfriend be joining us?”

“I knocked her out and put her in your dad’s basement,” Lincoln said, “She will stay there until you feel like getting rid of her, and I won’t stand in your way this time. Okay?”

He offered you his hand and you eyed it, then pushed it away and managed to stand up on your own.

“Still dizzy?”

“A little,” you confessed, “Still angry too.”

Lincoln chuckled and heaved a sigh, “We need to talk about this jealousy of yours babe.”

You managed to control your expression and ignored him as you went downstairs. The rug was pulled to the side so that you could see the hidden door to the basement, but it was closed. You looked at the table in the middle of the living room that was covered in food, and there was a vase of jasmine flowers between the lit candles. You were still sure that you couldn’t engage in an actual fight until the chloroform was completely out of your system, but you didn’t have to worry about it since Lincoln seemed not to put any knives on the table. Your dad’s old vinyl was playing by the corner, the soothing melody creating a complete contrast with what was happening.

“A dance before dinner?” he asked you, “Come on. That dress needs to be used in a dance, don’t you think?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders and took his hand, then wrapped your arms around his neck as he pressed his hands to the small of your back, pulling you closer before you started swaying with the melody.

You just needed an exact time for him to lower his defenses completely, because you only had one shot at this.

Stab the prey, twist the knife, pull it back and watch them bleed.

“You have no idea how much I waited for this,” he said, “When I was in Italy, I would….dream of this at night.”

You didn’t answer, you just made sure to keep your wrist at an angle so that the mirror shard wouldn’t slip.

“And when I came back and saw you for the first time in that red gown…” he murmured, “I thought I would drop dead. You were even more beautiful than I pictured.”

“Why didn’t you tell me back then?” you asked absentmindedly and he shrugged.

“I didn’t know how you would react.”

“And all those people who died?”

“Some of them were diversion,” he said, “Some of them were chosen. I promised myself no one could make you sad, ever. I would’ve killed that agent too if he was the one to break up with you, but then you said it was your choice, and… I don’t know. I thought it’d raise suspicions.”

Spencer.

He had considered killing Spencer.

Goosebumps rose on your skin but you reminded yourself to stay calm and focus, you had already slipped once because of your anger, you wouldn’t get a second chance.

“What about Anthony?” you asked, “You killed him… was it to frame me?”

“God no,” he said, shaking his head, “Of course not. Erica thought it was revenge for how you were treating John, but I wanted to make you remember how it felt to be in the scene of your father’s doing, how….how powerful it made you feel. I thought that would make you see how everyone around you was trying to make you into something you’re not. Deep down, Y/N, you’re just like me. That’s why we will be legends.”

A bitter taste appeared at the back of your throat and you swallowed thickly.

“And my father?”

“He knew we were supposed to be together,” he said, “He knew you would need a…companion in this. Us, free together. That’s why your father failed, because he couldn’t share who he was with your mother. It won’t happen with us, ever.”

Stab the prey, twist the knife, pull it back and watch them bleed.

You moved your wrist so that the shard could slip low enough for you to hold it and Lincoln leaned in slightly, his eyes closing.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips and you smiled.

“Oh Lincoln,” you murmured, your heart beating in your ears, “You should’ve known better.”

With that, you drove the shard right into his stomach, making him gasp and open his eyes. Betrayal was written all over his face, it was very clear he hadn’t expected it as you twisted the shard, making him lose his breath before you pulled it back, blood splashing over your face and your dress. You shoved him, making him lose his balance and fall down, taking the coffee table with him, causing some noise and as if on cue, Erica started screaming his name from the basement.

“Erica, shut up before I come down there and break your fucking neck!” you called out and the screaming stopped.

“Thank you,” you said and turned to grin at Lincoln who was breathing hard, his face pale.

“Y/N—“

“Oh don’t worry, you won’t die right away,” you said, “Dad taught me that one, ages ago. I stabbed you in the stomach, and it’s a pretty thin shard, so it’s not the blood loss that will kill you. It’ll be the toxic shock, because right now everything in your stomach including acid is contaminating your system. Should be fun, huh?”

“Why did you—“ he coughed, and you snapped your fingers.

“Hold that thought, I gotta get something from the kitchen,” you said and walked to the kitchen to open the drawers, then grabbed some knives and scissors before you want back to the living room, “Yeah, you were saying?”

“We’re meant to be,” he managed to say, trying to breathe and you hopped on the table before you cut the floor length skirt, ripping it out.

If you were going to run through the woods, you needed to be in something you could easily move and fight in.

“Nah we’re not,” you said, “You’re delusional, that’s it.”

“Petal—“

“See, I could’ve gone easy on you,” you said, wrapping the cloth around your injured wrist, “Really. I could’ve just escaped and handed you to the FBI and be done with it, but no. You two had to bring my family and Spencer into this so now,” you tut-tutted, “Now you get to suffer.”

“He doesn’t understand you,” he said, pressing on the wound and leaning his head back to the wall, “He never will, not like I do. We’re meant to get rid of every weak person in the world, everyone who deserves to die.”

You let out a laugh, now wrapping the cloth around your knuckles, “Uh huh.”

“You’re meant to be the legacy.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just meant to be a wedding planner,” you pointed at him with the knife and walked to him to grab the key from his pocket, then you pulled his boots off his feet, took off your heels and started getting into his boots.

“Petal, we’re supposed to be together.”

“Because my insane sadistic father said so?”

“Because I know you.”

You looked up from the boots you were tying as tight as possible, “Hm? You know me?”

“I do.”

You put two of the knives in each boot and jumped down to rock on the balls of your feet, trying to see if you could move well.

“That’s your first mistake buddy,” you said, now wrapping the rope over your boots, “See if you knew me, you wouldn’t be so careless, would you? You took me here and what? You didn’t think I’d kill my way out? You didn’t think I’d turn you and your serial killer groupie partner into my prey?” You pulled at the rope, “Honestly, you two fucked with the wrong legacy.”

“I don’t—“

“My father raised me to be unstoppable,” you said, “And apparently you know that. So you should’ve considered that it’d take more than two copycats to take me down, and—“ a manic laughter escaped from your lips, “Did you seriously think you could beat me at my own fucking game?”

He coughed, making a face and closed his eyes.

“You have hours until you die, but if I make it out on time, maybe I’ll send some medics here. Maybe. Depends on if I feel merciful, who knows?” you grinned, “Your survival depends on my mood, isn’t that ironic?”

“There are ten men between here and your weekend house, you’d never make it out.”

“I’m not going north,” you said and Lincoln frowned.

“South? That’s just woods.”

“No, it’s a longer way than north, but there’s a road at the end. Dad once made me find my way through the woods.”

“You can’t leave me behind,” he coughed again, “We’re meant to be together. We’re meant to work together and kill together, that’s our love story.”

You pursed your lips, then grabbed a jasmine from the vase and walked towards him.

“Even if I wanted to follow in that monster’s footsteps,” you said, looking down at him, “Even if I wanted a companion, it wouldn’t be you. You’re fucking dead weight, Linc. You don’t have what it takes.”

With that, you let the flower drop on him, unlocked the door and stepped outside, the chill air filling your lungs. After looking around to see whether it was safe, you went to the back of the house, and looked up at the stars, calculating which way to go.

Then, you tied your hair up and started running.

***

As it turned out, Lincoln had fewer men on the south of the woods, but there were still people. You had gotten rid of two of them and tied them up with the rope you had taken with you, but it would take one mistake for them to drag you back to the cabin, so you couldn’t take any risks.

You heard the faint noise of a radio and looked over your shoulder, then climbed up to the nearest tree, keeping as silent as possible. The light of a flashlight soon lit up under you and a man came into your view.

“South number five is clear,” he said into the radio and as soon as he put it into his pocket, you jumped down silently, standing behind him for a moment before you smacked his head into the tree, making him pass out. You unwrapped a part of the rope and tied his hands and feet before you stuck the cloth around your arm into his mouth so that when he woke up he wouldn’t be able to ask for help. You let out a breath and walked deeper into the woods, but as soon as you jumped over a tree root, someone grabbed you by the hair and slammed you head first into the tree. A ringing echoed in your ears, getting louder and louder but you managed to pull the knife from your boot and drive it into his leg, making him grunt and you used your whole body weight to turn around with his arm around you, popping it out of its socket and he dropped you with a yelp, kicking you in the ribs and a fire spread from your ribs into your whole body, making you stop the scream at the last minute.

“You fucking bitch-“ he said but as soon as he grabbed you again, you managed to push yourself up and grab the rest of the rope you had left. You kicked him back and jumped on his back, wrapping the rope around his neck as he tried to get you off.

“I’m not killing you you fucking idiot!” you grit out as he slammed back into the tree to get you off, “I’m making you pass out, that’s all!”

Soon enough, he dropped to his knees and fell to the ground while you tried to catch your breath, but everything hurt. You wiped at the blood that was seeping from the cut on your forehead, drenching your face and your dress but managed to tie him up and get away from him.

It didn’t take you long though. It felt like the whole forest was spinning around you and you felt someone pulling the ground from under your feet before you fell back, your eyes closing.

You had no idea how long you stayed there unconscious but the unmistakable sound of a shot being fired made you open your eyes with a gasp as you winced at the pain pulsing through your whole body.

“It doesn’t sound so good.”

You slowly turned your head to see your father sitting by the tree, his arms crossed and you let out a groan.

“Is this hell?” you asked, “I just died and it’s hell, right? There’s no way I’m hallucinating about you.”

“You didn’t die yet,” your father said as he looked at the way the shot was fired. “I assume you didn’t search for Lincoln’s gun before you walked out of the cabin?”

“Lincoln can’t move,” you said and your father tut-tutted.

“Erica could move just fine the last you saw her though.”

“Shit.” You closed your eyes for a moment and your father heaved a sigh.

“So what do we have here?” he said, “Head injury, concussion, loss of blood, and that guy over there just broke a rib or two, right?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, you wouldn’t stand a chance against someone coming at you with a gun when you’re like this.”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes burning.

“I can’t move,” you managed to say through your teeth, “It hurts.”

“Does it hurt enough to kill you? Because that’s what will happen if she and her men find you here.”

You tried to blink back the tears, “What if it’s supposed to end this way?”

“Supposed to end this way?” your father stood up and glared down at you, “Petal, I didn’t spend years to train you just so that you could die in a forest in the middle of nowhere. Get up.”

“Dad, I tried to survive, okay?” you said, “I tried—”

“Well, that’s not enough right now, is it though?” he asked and snapped his fingers, “You’re a survivor, your mother and I made sure of that. Stop acting like a prey, get up.”

“Dad-“

“Get up!” his voice shot through your head and you opened your eyes again, coughing, that ringing in your ears due to the pain blocking out everything but the gunshot that sounded much closer than before. You dug your fingernails into your palms and pulled yourself up by grabbing at the nearest tree, then wiped the blood off your face again.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, “Okay, Stop acting like a prey. Which way to go?”

You looked up at the night sky and found the star you were looking for before you started making your way through the forest, even if it felt like you could pass out any second. You had no idea how long you had been walking when all of a sudden the brightness of flashlight entered your vision, making you hold your breath and grab the handle of your knife tighter, thinking that it was Lincoln and Erica’s men.

It was only when you saw a very familiar face wearing an FBI vest that you let out the breath you were holding, the knife slipping from your grip.

“Spencer?” you rasped out and he just stared at you before he started running to you.

“You’re alive,” he managed to say before he pulled you into a tight hug, making you wince in pain. He pulled back immediately, his hands cradling your head.

“Are you—“

He didn’t get to finish that sentence. It happened in less than a second, but the sound of a gunshot that rang through the forest echoed in your ears before blood splattered over his face, making you stumble as if someone pushed you from behind.

“Why is there blood?” you managed to ask before a fire spread through your chest, taking your breath away and Spencer’s eyes widened as he lowered them to the gunshot wound bleeding on your chest. Everyone ran past you, yelling something into the radio and shooting their guns at someone behind you while the fire made its way through your whole system, the ringing in your ears getting worse.

The last thing you remembered was Spencer catching you before you hit the ground but whatever he was saying to you got drowned out in the loud noise of the helicopter flying above you. The lights of it got brighter and brighter before a warmth pulled you out of the pain and surrounded you.

Then everything went black.

Chapter 28

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer #reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #twisted

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years ago

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Bad Dreams - Bucky Barnes x Avenger (f)reader

Summary: You and Bucky are adjusting to civilian life after the Blip, some nights he needs you more then he realizes.

Warning: bit o angst, soft Bucky, fluff

Masterlist

It had been a long fucking five years alone, sure you had Nat and Steve around at the Avengers Facility. But no matter how much time you spent with them doing whatever to keep your mind busy, at the end of the day, you were undoubtedly alone. You liked it that way at one point in your complicated life as an Avenger, but after the blip, you absolutely despised it.

No one had expected what would have happened to be so terrible and tragic, or it to even go the way that it did. You had never even heard of Thanos or what the fuck kind of weirdass monsters could exist from other parts of the galaxy until they showed up knocking. How rude huh.

Life was peaceful before hand, well for the most part; you were an Avenger, someone who was part of the team. A conjurer of flame and ash, a Phoenix held within that was not afraid to use your power, and you used it well.

Then as per usual, shit went down and low and behold you met the one and only James Buchanan Barnes, Steve’s old friend with the metal arm and troubling history. Not to mention a face to die for, or at least one that would cause a bit of a chaotic scuffle between your two friends. They clearly had other priorities apart from yours at the time which was keep Steve out of jail, don’t burn anyone, and refrain from flirting with his 90 something year old friend. You tried your best in most of those areas. Most of them.

Nonetheless, you fell hard and fast for the blue eyed man, and him the same for you, his feisty little firecracker with a heart as big and bright as a dragons. So when he went to Wakanda to lie low and get some much needed help. You followed.

With a heartfelt goodbye and a lasting kiss, he went under for a couple long weeks until Shuri and her expert team of scientists were able to fix what those bastards at Hydra had done to him.

For a short yet blessedly peaceful amount of time did you and your dark haired lover live safely within the Wakandan borders. In a small and beautiful little village by a lake, a hut all your own to shelter you from the heat and rain that poured hard onto the earth, and most wonderfully of all you had Bucky.

Life was simple for the first time in a long time, you spent the days helping out the locals and teaching the children how to properly swing a stick in defense, you know completely normal leisure activities. Spending the evenings making a big fire to tell stories under and cook the best food in Wakanda.

And the nights? You spent those wrapped up in Bucky’s arm, although most times you would be the big spoon which he loved more then anything in the whole world. Telling you it’s not just because you’re naturally warm, but that he’s been admittedly a bit touch starved from the years alone and lost. And for that you would always hold him closer.

Then that fateful day came crashing into your lives like a waterfall against rock, your friends had shown up claiming some being called Thanos was coming to take a stone out of Vision’s head. Yeah that was a new one.

The battle wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great either, you were able to save many lives by scorching the beasts that pursed onward. Letting whips of flame slash hard against the enemy with great skill and force from your bending. Then the world seemed to still, and the wind swayed the trees oddly.

Then HE came, the Titan from another world, he threw down all in his path without an ounce of mercy or remorse. You and Wanda were so close, so damn close to stopping him, but then he threw you back with the whole force of the gauntlet and a moment later Vision was dead.

Your head was bleeding and a fresh scar had marked your jaw in a bloody red slash from the impact. Though your mind didn’t have time to register nor care as Thanos abruptly disappeared into oblivion, leaving a confused Thor in his wake. Much like the rest of the Avengers.

Then to your horror, one by one, your friends began to turn to ash and dust. Gone. You raced for Bucky nearby, praying to who’d ever listen to spare him or you for that matter. You just needed ten more seconds and then you could have held him one last time, touched his precious skin, ran your fingers through his long dark locks.

Looked into his ocean blue eyes, but no, the universe laughed as you gasped in panic, then it snickered as you screamed. Cheering you on as you sobbed in a cyclone of your own fire until the ground was scorched to shriveled dry earth. And no more tears could fall, your throat raw and heart broken in two.

Your world was gone, a memory forever kept locked inside your heart and soul. He was gone, he was your world, Bucky made your life better and you his.

For the coming months you were a mess, an angry and frustrated wreck of a person. Functioning by sheer will power and Natasha to keep you afloat in your new dreary little world of nothingness. You envied Steve for his ability to keep most of his shit together, and where almost enraged by Tony who had everything still intact. Pepper and a child on the way, how cruel the universe appeared.

You would wake up in the middle of the night sweating, your heart racing a mile a minute and usually part of the wall behind you would be burnt and blackened. You never set fire to anything thank god, but fuck, your heart hurt so much.

You wanted to scream most days, but as one year rolled into two and then three, the dull dreary ache in your body subdued to a tiny flicker of sadness. It became almost nonexistent during the day as you went about Avenger business, only to burn hot and angry at night.

You wanted to move on and forget, but you couldn’t, he was too important. They all didn’t deserve to go like that, none of them. And so another year passed, then it was year five since the blip, more months passed on. Until out of nowhere something or perhaps someone miraculous lit the way into a new sense of hope.

Resulting in the return of everyone who had been lost before, including your Bucky. And from that moment after the battle, when at long last you had finally found him, you knew life would never be the same.

——

Rain pours relentlessly from outside your apartment window, a rhythmic pitter patter near your bedside that aids in keeping you asleep and unbothered for the time being. No sooner do you reach the climax of your dream that consists of you being chased by a giant monarch butterfly with no weapon but a sandbox plastic shovel, do you wake. Strange dream.

All your senses flooding back into you as you feel for your lover in the darkness, your eyes still closed as you do so. Your hand slides across the crinkled bedsheets to no avail, the spot next to you is undeniably empty and rather cold.

oh, Bucky.

Cracking one eye open you glance at the alarm clock where it reads 1:10am in big red letters, illuminating the nightstand that it sits on. You take in a deep breath and roll onto your back to stare up at the ceiling, this has become a reoccurring event with Bucky in the following months since his return.

In Wakanda things were different, it was like a nice prolonged vacation away from all your problems and responsibilities of the world. Now, you two have an apartment somewhere in New York City all your own. Bucky goes to therapy and does his best to integrate back into his new role as a civilian while you work as an Avenger part time. The other half used for being a supporting loving girlfriend to Bucky and a hacker on the side for extra cash in the bank.

You get it though, he’s adjusting the best he’s able to manage right now, and even when he swears the nightmares are gone for good. You know him too well to believe that shit, you can see it in his eyes, he may have been a master assassin at one point. Now he’s with a skilled and almost equally as weathered Avenger who’s seen her share of people really going through it.

It’s not like you were doing any better, you’d wake up screaming in the dead of night from another nightmare involving losing Bucky again. That only lasted for a month or so, but still, it sucked and hurt every damn time. So you get it, nightmares can be a bitch.

Blinking the bleariness out of your eyes, you yawn into the darkness and take a moment to listen to the sound of the rain. It’s peaceful and calm, and though you’d like nothing more then to roll over and fall back into the dark comfortable void of sleep. You long to see Bucky again, even if you saw him not even two hours ago.

Pulling the blanket off of your body, you slowly sit up and face the blurry window that overlooks the glowing city, well more so the park close by. Pushing some hair out of your face, you stand and take a brief moment to stretch before letting your right hand emit a beautiful blue flame.

It proptly lights up the dark room into a shadowed yet still visible one, with a lazy proud smile, you move for the opened bedroom door. Your flame lights the way down the hall until you wander past the tiny kitchen and stop in your living room to the sound of heavy breathing coming from the far end.

You give a lopsided smirk to no one in particular as you pad over to the man who’s sweaty and shirtless on the wooden apartment floor in nothing but his boxers and a single blanket that’s not covering much. Well he sure looks like a hot mess, your hot mess that is.

He gives you an apologetic glance before staring tiredly back at the nearby wall. You extinguish your flame and gently nudge his leg with your sock, “How’s the floor?” You ask with a tinge of humor to lighten the mood.

He lets out a breathy laugh before looking back up at you, “Solid.” Quips Bucky in reference to the hard floor and perhaps his take on the makeshift bed, always one for a bit of humor huh.

Chuckling you crouch down to better meet his shadowed gaze, “I guess so,” You mutter with a shrug, “....afraid I might burn you in my sleep?”

Shaking his head, he gifts you the flash of a smile, “No. Not this time Y/N.”

You smile back before sitting down next to him, you look down at his hand before reaching out to take it without any resistance, “I know it’s the nightmares Bucky.” You whisper softly, your eyes sincere and true, “You don’t have to hold it all in okay, I don’t.....I don’t want you to do that.”

Letting out a reluctant sigh, Bucky frowns, “I know Y/N....I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I just love you too much to see you hurting. I’ve missed you for what feels like a hundred goddamn years and I don’t want you to slip away from me..” You add with a sad smile, “Never again.”

Squeezing your hand gently, Bucky nods, “You’re not going to lose me okay. I promise you that much alright. I love you Y/N.” And he means every word.

“That’s good then. Can you at least tell me something to ease your mind from what’s bothering you?” You ask with a hopeful smile, “Please. Remember what the therapist talked about with speaking your thoughts and feelings....it’s like emptying a treasure chest or some shit.”

“Right.” Laughs Bucky, “Can’t say you’re going to find any gold in here.”

“Shut up I don’t care.” You muse with a shrug, “I’m here to listen.”

“As the lady wishes.” Retorts Bucky with a half-assed bow that caused you to break out into a small smile at his cheekiness.

“Wait.” You pause.

“What?”

“Can we sit on the couch for this I wanna lay next to you.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky fakes his annoyance as you patiently await his answer, “Fine.” He confirms, quickly standing up and taking you with him, “But you gotta lay on me I’m kinda cold now.”

Bucky falls onto the large comfortable couch with a dramatic huff as he pulls you onto his shirtless body, “Weren’t you just all sweaty?” You wonder with a raised brow as he quickly wraps his arms around your waist.

“Yep.”

“Gross.”

Bucky chuckles, “Well you’re making me talk about my feelings.”

“That’s because you won’t talk about them with your actual therapist.” You sass back.

“I hate it when you’re right.” Mutters Bucky into your cheek as you snicker at his adorably dramatic self.

“I think your brain short circuited and misplaced the word hate for absolutely love and adore.”

“Maybe.” Adds Bucky as he steals a sweet kiss, “I’m still working through things you know.”

“Okay smartass. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

His chest rises as he takes a deep heavy sigh, he stares out the nearby window that keeps the rainy city from being bothersome. You can’t completely see his face due to the darkened room, but you’re close enough to see the way his face turns into a frown.

Suddenly you think maybe you shouldn’t have bugged him to speak about his nightmares. Until he purses his lips together and glances those big beautiful blue eyes down at you, the flash of a smile revealing itself in a split second.

To give him a bit more confidence and perhaps to calm his nerves, do you reach a hand up to gently caress his stubbled cheek, “Was it the Starks again?” You whisper softly in question, knowing how much it still haunts him. Among all the others.

Closing his eyes, he leans into your touch, “Not this time.” Mutters Bucky before taking that hand in his as he rests his head against the couches puffy arm. “Someone else.....Someone who got in the way. Wrong place wrong time.”

“oh.” Slips from your mouth quietly, you’re not sure what else to say, but you’re still hoping he’ll speak a little more about it. “Do they have anything to do with your list?”

It’s a shot in the dark, but you’re well aware of Bucky’s goal to make amends with his past and the people tied with it, maybe someone might be linked to it by chance.

Bucky takes another weighted breath, you can just sense how terrible he feels about this person. “Bucky take your time, it’s okay I’m right here.”

Looking for a positive sign you watch as he closes his eyes once again before moving his head a little bit so that it rests against yours, “I know....it’s just, difficult.”

“Always is.”

“Yeah.”

Kissing your forehead, his flesh arm wraps around your waist as he makes himself more comfortable before continuing, “I was in some government building at night.....tasked with eliminating some special high end target. I finished the mission in under a minute, but uh....there was a civilian who saw everything.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.” Mumbles Bucky against your skin as he takes a moment to gather himself, soon he shifts underneath you once more before letting out a soft breath, “I shot him.”

A bang of sadness washes over you in that brief second and then a sparking anger for what Hydra had forced him to do. You keep silent and wait for Bucky to continue on with his story.

“That guy I killed. He um....he uh, he didn’t deserve that....but I had to.” Bucky’s voice is shaky as he puts his words together, “And you know what’s the worst about this?”

“I’d like not to imagine it but I know you should tell me.”

“You remember Yori?”

“Of course, he takes us to that great sushi place sometimes.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut as he hugs you tighter against his bare chest for some kind of comfort, his voice nothing but a regretful whisper, “I killed his son.”

Your eyes soften as he reveals who this mystery civilian was, “Damn.”

“Out of all the people in this world and I meet the man who’s son I murdered for Hydra.”

“That’s almost a sick joke.”

“I know. God I’m so fucked up.”

“No.” You protest softly while he hides his face in your neck, “I know you’ve heard this a thousand times but that wasn’t you. It wasn’t the real James Buchanan Barnes alright, you didn’t have a choice. Those fuckers took that away from you.”

“I know Y/N, but I still did it.”

“Bucky look at me.” You ask kindly, to your genuine surprise he lifts his head from your neck to look into your determined gaze, “You’re not the only one here who was manipulated and had their freedom taken from them by Hydra. I’ve done terrible things too, but you know what? We were never truly ourselves then, they molded us into their weapons and now.....they can never touch us again. You understand me?”

Tears whell up in Bucky’s shimmering eyes at your truthfully honest words, he had temporarily forgotten that you were once an unwilling participant in Hydra’s mind stone experimentations many years ago.

“I understand....” Mutters Bucky as he swallows hard, “what would I be without you?”

Giving him a small tearful smile, you gently wipe away a stray tear from his cheek, “A little bit more alone I’d say.”

“You’re a hundred times braver then me you know that? I couldn’t image five years without you and these fucking nightmares.” Admits Bucky as he moves to rest his head in the crook of your neck, “I’d go insane.”

Appreciating this close proximity and his heartfelt confession, you smile into the darkness, “I think I did. Thing is about shitty situations like that....life moves on and finds a way. I have you now, I thought I would lose you forever.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Me too.”

#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #Bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #marvel x you #marvel #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier

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maximotts · 3 years ago

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♡ 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘵. 𝘪𝘪 ♡ {𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵}

pt. i || pt. iii

a/n: ahaha remember when I said all would be fixed in this part? Turns out I lied. Part 2 was getting way too long and I didn't want this to feel rushed so part 3 will be the final part, but fret not, I'm finalizing part 3 as we speak because I didn't want to leave y'all at another painful cliffhanger. That'll be up right after this one before I go to bed tonight

warnings: angst, another semi-argument, Wanda reading Natasha's thoughts, a gallon of hurt feelings, panic attacks (Wanda)

summary: Natasha can't give Wanda space anymore after an Incident. aka the Secret Softy finally realizes she misses the Small Sunshine

words: 3.1k

masterlist. || navi. || request info/rules. :open

𝘮𝘰𝘺𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘬𝘢𝘺𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘬𝘢 = 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭

𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘬𝘢 = 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺

𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘰𝘺 = 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

✣ ✣ ✣

It’d been three weeks. Three weeks since she’d seen Wanda, eaten any meals with her, watched her dark hair fall gently over her shoulders as she laughed, or felt her soft hands brush against her fingers for reassurance or in a silent request to be held. Safe to say, Natasha missed Wanda terribly. Even more so, the guilt from how deeply she’d hurt the person she cared about was eating her alive. She saw Wanda’s wounded face almost as frequently as she blinked and she longed to reach out and hug her until it was all better.

She had made attempts. The night of her blow up, Natasha knocked on Wanda’s door for a good five minutes. It was obvious she was in there, sitcom laughter emanating from her television. After a while it was clear she wasn’t ready to talk and Natasha understood; she wouldn’t want to talk to her either. She resigned herself to seeing Wanda at breakfast the next morning, hoping maybe a friendly smile from across the room would let the girl know she wasn’t mad at her. But Wanda was nowhere to be found. Two days of missed meals later and having tripped over a dirty sandwich plate in front of Wanda’s room and Natasha realized she was purposely avoiding even the possibility of having to sit next to the redhead when she ate. Again, Natasha couldn’t blame her.

Now three weeks in, Natasha settled on just walking in. Wanda rarely kept her door locked when she was inside, she and Natasha were the only ones with permanent rooms on the female residence side and there was never an issue with Nat coming in unannounced- until now of course. An hour’s worth of hyping herself up behind her, she took the ten steps next door to where she’d hopefully be able to fix her awful mess. Still she hovered outside, hand outstretched, hovering as she took one last deep breath.

Her hand never reached the doorknob.

Before Natasha could make contact with the metal, a hot spark of red zapped her hand and she jumped back to avoid further attack. “Wa-”

“Don’t even think about it, Natasha Romanoff.” The first time she heard that voice again, she didn’t expect it to sound so dangerous. Natasha expected anger, but she didn’t know Wanda could sound so threatening.

She’d be a fool to try the knob again, it’d only upset her further. Nevertheless, it was important she at least got part of her message out. “I know you’re upset, Wanda. I’m upset with myself too. I was wrong, so wrong. I never should have hurt you like I did, I should have just talked to you. That’s on me. I want to prove to you I’m sorry, maybe even earn your trust back eventually? Whenever you’re ready.” Natasha sighed, twisting her still tingling hand in the other. “I miss you, but I ruined us. Not you. I’m sorry, Wanda.”

Unbeknownst to Natasha, Wanda had wandered closer to the door as soon as she noticed the other pacing outside of her doorway. She wasn’t ready to talk to her; she couldn’t find a way to face her yet without fear of looking like she was coming crawling back without having heard an apology, but before she could think too hard on it, Natasha was speaking. Her heart grew heavy with the weight of Natasha’s words. She wasn’t one for feelings or true emotions and although fairly clumsily uttered, Wanda knew sincerity when she heard it. Swayed as her heart was to run into the arms of the woman she missed for the past week, her brain instantly reminded her of other words.

You still want her after she told you how clingy you are? She’s right. You are pathetic.

The ache was back, stinging just as sharp as the day she’d first heard. She couldn’t yet.

Wanda’s back hit the wall, sinking to the floor with her knees huddled close to her chest. She knew Natasha had just been angry when she lashed out, that she wouldn’t typically be so public with her outbursts, much less direct them towards her, but there were some true feelings within those poison laced words and Wanda didn’t want to have that conversation yet.

“Well.. you know where to find me.” Wanda hated how sad Natasha sounded; she must’ve been tearing herself apart. She despised not being able to fix things. Soft footsteps told Wanda she was fully alone again and although that should have let her relax, she groaned with how empty she felt once more.

✣ ✣ ✣

Another week went by with no exchanged words and Natasha was beginning to give up hope. She’d ruined everything between them seemingly irreparably; asking any of her teammates yielded a non-committal response, none of them were spending tons of time with her either. She’d given up on knocking, having only met silence or words of warning. All she could do was wait.

For Wanda’s part, she felt like she was going to burst. Her skin felt like it was on fire, nervous energy sparking right under the surface. She’d closed herself off to everyone, opening herself up to Natasha was a mistake, it must have been. Her last words to her had been apologetic and kind, but the hurtful ones still lingered and she felt stuck. It was tearing her apart. Even more so, today’s training left her disoriented- earthquake simulation. As the fake ground shook under her and buildings fell, Wanda was spiraled back to childhood and more recently, Sokovia, and although she played it off as nothing with others, as soon as she was back in the safety of her room she fell apart.

Before she would seek out Natasha, whisper her worries against her skin from under the safety of a warm blanket. She couldn’t do that now, couldn’t ask such a thing from Natasha after what she said and after near radio silence for a month. Wanda huddled in her own bed, tired eyes staring longingly at the wall separating her and Natasha’s room. The person she wanted -needed- was so close, but so far. “You’re fine. You’ve dealt with this alone before.”

✣ ✣ ✣

Natasha couldn’t sleep. Not for lack of exhaustion; she’d been training longer these days in hopes of catching more glimpses of Wanda, just to make sure she looked okay. It was working and thankfully from what she could see, Wanda was alright. The past few days were different though; she looked more tired, dragging along more and more, and now today she’d survived the earthquake simulator. To anyone else, Wanda looked like her normal self, quiet and to herself, but Natasha saw the girl’s hands shake, watched her stance go slack in a way she’d warned Wanda against many times. Afterwards, Wanda was off to her usual seclusion before Natasha could reach her from across the room so she settled for giving Bruce a stern talking to instead. He should’ve known better than to shove Wanda in that simulation, especially by herself.

She left a properly admonished Bruce, heading in the direction of Wanda’s room. Arguments be damned, she wouldn’t let Wanda explode alone, even if she hated her for intruding after. If her repeated self-reassurance weren’t enough to convince her by the time she reached her destination, the moans and whines from within set her mind. Natasha hovered again, weighing the consequences, but Wanda let out such a sob that she couldn’t ignore. “Wanda? Can I come in please?” Her hand landed safely on the door, an improvement from last time.

“It’s just me, I wanted to check on you after training.” No response, but no rejection either. She turned the knob, grateful Wanda seemed to have forgotten to lock the door. Whether it was a mistake or a silent hope for Natasha’s intervention, she didn’t know, but she would use the opportunity. She could barely find Wanda in the dark room, but her eyes settled on the small form in the middle of her large bed and Natasha was by her side in an instant.

“Wanda? Sweetheart, hey, it’s me. What’s wrong?” Her eyes were unfocused, pupils blown wide with fear. Natasha longed to scoop her up, but she couldn’t startle her; she didn’t even know if she’d want her there once she realized who she was. Still, it hurt so deeply to have let her get this bad; she could’ve helped if Wanda trusted her enough to reach out. Natasha waited for what felt like hours until Wanda noticed her, crouching by a bed was rough on her tired knees, but she’d stay like that forever if need be. When Wanda finally made eye contact, she only stared at the redhead, as if figuring out whether the woman in front of her was real or not. She took a daring step, holding her hand out to Wanda, keeping it in her eyeline as long as she could until her palm reached her head. Her thumb moved, ever so softly, over her scalp as a test. Anything she could do to soothe her. “I’m here, Wands.”

If Natasha weren’t so strong, Wanda would’ve knocked her over. She’d thrown her full weight onto her in an instant, clinging to Natasha for dear life while her lower half still hung from the bed. There were so many things tearing at her, so much emotion she needed to unload, but she was too overwhelmed. Natasha had come to her. Had ignored their month of silence and hurt feelings to try to aid her and it left her stunned. “Tash- Natasha.. I-I’m so sorry..”

“Ah, no none of that,” Natasha stood with a grunt, taking Wanda with her to set them both on the bed. She navigated her way to the top of the bed in the dark, only stopping when her back hit the headboard, letting Wanda hold onto her, “This is my fault, I’m sorry. I should have been here for you.”

Wanda shook her head slowly, burying herself as far into the crook of her neck as deep as she could. “No. I should’ve been able to handle training today. You were right, I can’t do anything myself. I’m weak and pathetic and..” Sobs took over any chance of coherent words, shaking against the warm body she’d missed so much. Part of her screamed to move away, to suck up her tears and prove to Natasha she was just fine on her own. But she couldn’t pretend. She was fine on her own, she could handle it, but she needed the comfort of someone she trusted too. Someone she could relay her thoughts too instead of bottling them all inside until they got the best of her.

Before she knew it, Natasha felt tears rolling down her cheeks as well. She hated crying, couldn’t stand being so outwardly vulnerable with someone else, but if Wanda could be with her then she owed her the same trust. Toned arms pulled the small woman trembling against her closer, pressing frantic kisses to the crown of her head, anything to show her apologies. “You’re not weak for your emotions, detka. It’s one of the strongest things you could do to allow yourself to open yourself up and trust me.. I should have given you that same trust and been honest from the start.” Natasha cradled Wanda’s head to her chest, rocking her as sweetly as she could. She knew she was holding her a fraction too tight, but she couldn’t help it. Reassuring fingers brushed through long brunette hair, keeping her as close as possible.

“Can you forgive me?” The muffled voice from below temporarily shook Natasha from her waterfall of revelations and she remembered why they were in this situation.

“Moya sladkaya detka, you were forgiven weeks ago. You were trying to help me and yes, we need to talk about how I deal with the aftermath of long missions because I do sometimes need time to myself, but nothing, nothing you did warranted how I hurt you.” Wanda froze and for a moment Natasha was scared she would pull away, but she nodded slowly. “Can you forgive me?”

That was a loaded question. Wanda fought to clear her thoughts, organize them in any way that could possibly make sense. She wanted so badly to simply accept and stay in Natasha’s arms. It wasn’t that she thought Natasha was lying to her; she truly believed she was sorry for what she did, but that didn’t mean those words didn’t still swirl through her head everyday since she’d first uttered them. It was hard to think so close to her. Wanda pried herself away from Natasha, not missing the way Natasha kept hold on her hips as if letting go meant she’d lose her forever. “I want to forgive you, Natasha.”

It hurt, but it was fair. She didn’t expect an easy apology and didn't deserve one either. “There’s a but coming, right?” Wanda couldn’t meet her eyes; she only avoided eye contact when she had more to say and was biding her time. “You don’t have to forgive me, Wanda. I’m willing to do whatever you need to make you feel safe again, no matter how long it takes.” And she meant it. Natasha would put in the work for Wanda, she was more than worth it.

She knew what she needed. It was the only way she could think of easing her mind. Still, Wanda promised she wouldn’t do it again unless she had to, but… she had to. “I need to feel you.” A hesitant ring-clad hand reached out, tapping Natasha’s temple to finish the thought she couldn’t speak. “Nothing traumatic, nothing too deeply buried.. hopefully, at least.” Rarely was it hard for Wanda to search out thoughts in someone about a particular person who crossed their mind regularly. She hoped it was more than wishful thinking that Natasha had her in her thoughts with some frequency. “Please, Tash… I need to know you feel more for me than just ‘clingy, weak puppy.’”

Natasha opened her mouth to retort, to try to take her harsh words back, but she knew it wouldn’t help. The thought of Wanda searching through her mind again scared her still. Last time left her shaken for weeks, months, after what she’d dug up, but back then Wanda was looking to hurt her and damn, she was great at it. She had to trust she wouldn’t do that now. Trust was so hard. A promise was a promise, though. Natasha took Wanda’s free hand in both of hers, a lifeline to hold while she gave herself to the woman she cared so much for. “Okay.. be gentle?”

Wanda let out a chuckle; Natasha’s sensitive side was so very cute. “I would never be anything but, dorogoy.” Natasha nodded, swallowing her fears with reassurance. Wanda was only ever kind to her, too much at times; Steve and Sam never missed an opportunity to poke fun at Natasha when in the early days Wanda was practically exploding with nerves around the redhead. Eventually they figured out it was less that Wanda thought Natasha was going to beat the pulp out of her and more that she wished the older woman would crush her with her thighs- but the two men waited for Natasha to figure that one out on her own.

“Go ahead, Wands. Just be quick about it, alright? I don’t want to spill all my secrets right now.” Wanda agreed with a quiet hum, shaking her head and straightening her spine before moving her fingers alongside Natasha’s head. It reminded her of the first time they’d officially met; a bittersweet memory of how stunning she felt her then enemy was, but bringing her trauma to the surface before those steadfast blue eyes caught sight of her. Now though, Wanda was careful. Only going deep enough to look at Natasha’s memories and thoughts about her. How surprised she was that Wanda was as powerful as she was. Her instant and ongoing distrust of her when she and her brother came to aid the Avengers in Sokovia. Natasha’s annoyance at her stolen red jacket, with an added and apparently shocking sense of possessiveness brought on by seeing her in her clothing. Interesting. Wanda would note that little fact for the future.

Red ringed eyes shone in the darkness, both locked onto Natasha’s and staring far past her. She wanted to be open and honest, that was the whole point. Consequently Wanda let Natasha see what she was seeing and with every twinge of irritation her past self felt towards Wanda and her initial attempts to gain trust with her new team, specifically with herself, her current self cringed at her behavior. But slowly things shifted. Resentment shifted to reluctant endearment, then care and protection and finally into where she longed for Wanda’s calming presence when she was stressed or wanted a confidant. The weight of vulnerability felt like being flayed alive and despite the hand Natasha held using one finger to stroke reassuringly at her palm, she squirmed as they approached that night Natasha came home a month ago.

“You’re fighting me.” The brunette’s eyebrows furrowed, pushing harder at the memory Natasha was keeping away from her. “Stop it.”

Red curls shook as Natasha hung her head; she didn’t want to live through it again. Every night it haunted her. She should’ve just talked to her, given her credit for being one of the most understanding people she’s ever met, having her see it again would just push Wanda further away- “I can still hear your thoughts, Natasha.” Her racing concerns rang loud in Wanda’s own brain, blocking out any hope of unlocking that dreaded outburst until she could get her to calm down. “Trust me, please. You have to let me in.” True, Wanda could forcibly rip the memory from her with ease. It would take such little effort, but she wouldn’t- couldn’t. She needed Natasha to let her see, allow herself to be this forthcoming with Wanda. That would speak louder than anything.

It took everything in Natasha to take her next breath, “Okay, do it.” Wanda breathed a sigh of relief, Natasha’s agreement giving her hope of progress. She slipped her hand from Natasha’s warm grasp, ignoring the small sad noise she was sure Natasha didn’t want to talk about. Instead her hand went to the back of Natasha’s head and brought it forward to rest on her shoulder, her nose promptly burying itself in the crook of Wanda’s neck. Her gentle floral scent settled Natasha’s worries; it’d been too long since she was allowed so close. “I trust you.”

#wandanat #scarletwidow #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wandanat fic #wandanat angst #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #marvel fic #my writing #angst

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 4 years ago

Text

A rogue Druid’s “please join us” speech to Merlin triggers a few things:

Gwaine tries to commit regicide, Leon confronts his (understandable) fear of Dragons, and Merlin has a full on mental breakdown.

The knights are left to pick up the pieces and all of them consider following Gwaine’s lead.

ANGSTY ANGSTY

TW: Blood, death, nightmares. Physical and verbal abuse. A very brief implication of potential suicide/self harm.

Everyone notices the sudden changes within the group, it would be hard not to notice.

No one has any clue what happened though.

One day, everything is fine. If they think back, they realise Merlin had seemed a little... nervous? Maybe? But other than that, everything was fine, normal.

But the next day? From then until now, a month later? Everything was different.

Arthur seemed much angrier. He flew off the handle over the smallest mistakes, he worked the knights so hard in training that at least three of them had to go to Gaius for treatment everyday, and he didn’t seem like he planned on letting up any time soon. He snapped at everyone, even Gwen and Gaius, which was unheard of.

Merlin seemed... quieter. The knights, Gwen, and Gaius barely saw him, but when they did, he flinched at even the slightest noise; his eyes constantly darted around, looking for a way to escape, and he wouldn’t let anyone touch him.

They were worried, but Arthur was so constantly furious that no one dared bring it up with him, and the one time they tried to ask Merlin, he came up with some ridiculous excuse and ran away. They thought they had barely seen him before, but after that they didn’t see him at all for at least four days.

They also noticed how both of their worrying moods seemed ten times worse when they were with each other. Even just being in the same room, made Arthur angrier, and Merlin... they didn’t want to think it but... more scared.

After three weeks of this, they gathered together, and put into place their emergency plan. Leon would speak directly to Arthur, and Lancelot would speak directly to Merlin.

Of all of them, they were the most trusted by each target, and were the most likely to get answers, and the least likely to get a bad reaction if answers were refused.

They were... pretty wrong. Merlin reacted in the same way as he had to the group two and a half weeks ago. Which is odd, because he normally tells Lancelot everything, and not only did he not tell him, he lied and came up with excuses.

Leon was much worse for wear. He showed up a while after Lancelot, pale and miserable. Arthur had just yelled at him a bunch and assigned him extra patrols.

A few days later, they were all still struggling with what to do when Arthur informed them of a quest that was to be undertaken. They were... nervous, to say the least. Going on any sort of dangerous trip with Arthur in this state was bound to go badly, but they could hardly refuse, and they definitely couldn’t bring up the issue again.

So they resigned themselves to it. Gwen wished them luck, and made sure to give Merlin an extra tight hug before they left, and Gaius slipped a few extra medical supplies in each of the knights packs, just in case.

Apparently, patrols of Camelot Knights kept going missing. Whole groups of soldiers, in one very specific area near the border, were just not coming back.

Arthur could hardly justify sending more patrols out, so despite his foul mood, and his desperation to stay away from everyone, he took himself, his five best knights, and his manservant.

Elyan could’ve sworn he heard Arthur mutter something along the lines of “As if I’d leave you here unsupervised.”, to Merlin, the tone far less jesting that it might’ve been a month ago, but he kept it to himself. They were travelling and camping together, there would hardly be an opportunity to share without Arthur and Merlin there.

And like they were all expecting, the trip was hell.

Awkward silences that not even Gwaine could fill, Merlin looking close to tears the whole time, and Arthur constantly looking like he’s considering extreme violence.

Merlin even rides at the back of the group (unheard of), doesn’t complain even once about anything (even more unheard of), and the few times he does speak, he addresses all of them by their titles (down-right panic inducing).

They, of course, realise it had been a trap far too late, and before they even had time to shout and draw their swords, the camp fades around them.

When they wake an indiscernible amount of time later, they have been stripped of armour and weapons, and have been shackled.

They appear to be in a circular, one-room hut, the knights spaced equally and chained to the wall. Their cloaks remain, but any chainmail or armour they had been equipped with was gone, leaving them in the thin clothes they wore underneath, completely unprotected.

Merlin stood in the middle of the room, looking very confused. Once he noticed the knights stirring, he tried to take a step towards them, but frowned when he realised he couldn’t get within a arm’s reach of them.

Once the knights came around fully, they realised that whilst Merlin couldn’t move all that much, they couldn’t speak.

Arthur looks to Merlin with fury written all over his face, and pulls violently on his chains. Merlin flinches back and gasps out:

“This has nothing to do with me, I swear!”

Before the rest of the knights have time to change their expressions to one of confusion, a man walks through the door. Everyone’s gazes turn to him quickly, and they take in his appearance.

He looked like a Druid... but not quite right, like he hadn’t actually been to a camp in a while. He wore neutral colours, browns and greens, but despite his calm demeanour and gentle face, he looked a little crazed.

Where Druids stand calmly and walk softly, this man rushed in and fiddled with his hands, eyes darting around the room at everyone’s faces.

When Merlin goes to demand he introduce himself, the Druid holds a hand up, silencing him (no magic, just a gesture), and begins to speak:

“Who I am, does not matter. But I do know who you are, Emrys. I shall explain it your friends first, so they don’t get too lost.-”

The Druid smiles sadly, and turns to the knights, all of whom (apart from Lancelot) stare on in confusion at the melancholy resignation on the Druid’s face, and the dread on Merlin’s. Still unable to speak, and with very limited movement, they reluctantly resign themselves to listening to whatever speech the villain of the week had come up with.

“-Emrys has been being seen in prophetic visions for centuries. Whilst Uther Pendragon was destined to start the purge, Emrys, or as you know him: Merlin, is destined to stop it. He is said to be the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, past present and future. He can bend the very elements of the world, bring down armies, turn cities to ash with a flick of his wrist. But destiny also foretold of The Once and Future King. Most have accepted that Arthur Pendragon, is said king.-”

Merlin was stiff but panicky during the Druid’s explanation, having realised that for whatever reason, he didn’t have access to his magic right now.

He could feel it buzzing under his skin, but every time he tried to pull it forward, it abandoned him, burrowing deep into his soul and hiding.

Merlin was tense and angry, angry that the chance to tell his friends the truth himself had been taken away, but his statue-like stillness is broken as he frowns and flinches slightly at the thinly veiled disgust in the sorcerer’s voice as he says Arthur’s name.

The Knights look confused, and very much shocked, their gazes flickering between the Druid and Merlin, but he refuses to meet their eyes.

“-Together, Emrys and the Forever King are destined to bring harmony and peace to the world, to restore magic’s place alongside the non magic, to inspire compassion, and stop the unjust genocide that Uther started.-”

Arthur and Leon shuffle uncomfortably at the mention of the late King and his sins, but are more focused on the other shocking revelations. The other knights (again, bar Lancelot, who is staring at Merlin apologetically) seem invested in the story, though they’re clearly confused.

Arthur was made aware of Merlin’s magic a few weeks ago, but despite Merlin’s choice to tell him willingly, he had reacted badly, and in his rage, hadn’t allowed Merlin to explain himself. The other knights were, of course, unaware of this, though they quickly put two and two together.

Despite Merlin’s best efforts, Arthur had stayed in the dark about the whole Emrys-prophecy-destiny thing.

The Druid gives each knight a short assessing gaze, seemingly to make sure they were paying attention.

He turns his attention back to Merlin, who is trying very hard to keep his expression blank (and failing) as he listens:

-”And how long have you waited, my friend, for Arthur to play his part in destiny. Ten years, of having the prophecies shoved down your throat by idealists, being told that you have no choice but to serve a man who would see your head on a spike should he know who you truly are. Ten years in the service of a man who has caused you nothing but pain, given you nothing but nightmares.-”

Merlin flinches and looks away. Every magic user in, or even near Camelot shares the same nightmares, all caused by the Pendragon Reign. There’s no need for a discussion about it, no need for a denial.

“-His father ripped your family apart. He himself stood at the grave of your best friend and told you he was evil, he himself killed the woman you loved-”

Arthur frowns in confusion at this. Merlin had never been in love. But he quickly doubts himself when he hears Merlin gasp quietly, and looks to him to see a tear slip down his cheek.

Fury flashes quickly across Lancelot’s face, obviously knowing the story, but he covers it quickly, and no one is the wiser to the anger slowly growing in his chest at what this so-called Druid was putting his friend through.

The Druid speaks his next words quietly, though still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, as he lifts a soft hand and gently wipes away Merlin’s tear:

“-I know what you see when you close your eyes. I know why you are so exhausted. But do they? Have you told them?-”

The Druid nods his head in the direction of the knights, but doesn’t break eye contact with Merlin, who sniffles slightly before looking to the floor in shame.

“-Of the smoke and flames that you choke on when you sleep? You dream of pyres built just for you, built by the people you care most about. Even when you are awake, every second you have your eyes closed, every time you blink, you are forced to picture your so-called King with a sword at your throat, as if the scene were painted onto the back of your eyelids.-”

His voice had risen as he spoke and he had begun to pace, anger growing at the pain his Lord had gone through. He practically spits the word “King”, like just saying it disgusts him.

Merlin remains quiet, but he has a steady stream of tears down his face as he looks back at the Druid with despair. The knights watch on in anguish as they see the way he is suffering.

Arthur stops feeling angry and confused, and starts to feel a little guilty. Not that he would let it show; he stares on blankly.

Everyone wanted desperately to believe that the Druid was lying, manipulating them, that Merlin would deny it. But he didn’t. And that told them all they needed to know.

The Druid stopped his pacing, coming to a stand still in front of Merlin and cupping one of his cheeks softly with his hand. The knights pretend not to see Merlin lean into it slightly as his tears continue to fall.

The Druid begins again, speaking softly once more:

“-Were those fears unfounded? Were those nightmares irrational? I see the terror in your eyes. I see how petrified of your King you are.-”

Merlin lets out a shaky breath and glances quickly to Arthur, before looking back at the man in front of him.

The King is taken aback, and the knights are furious at the flash of fear on Merlin’s face when his gaze had momentarily met Arthur’s.

“-What did he do, when he found out? When you bared your soul and gave him nothing but honesty, and undeserved apologies. What did he do?-”

Merlin lets out his first audible sob, and the Knights pull at their chains slightly, desperate to comfort their friend. Arthur slumps back, remembering his actions as if they were mere hours ago.

One of Merlin’s hands lifted to cover his mouth as he chokes back a second sob, but the other lifts subconsciously to tug at the scarf around his neck.

The Druid lets a single tear escape his eye as he waves his hand gently, the scarf disappearing with the gentle golden glow of his eyes.

Merlin seems too distraught to notice; and moves both hands to clamp tightly over his mouth as tears stream down his face. His shoulders hunch, but not enough for any of the knights to miss what the Druid had clearly been trying to expose; a thin, barely healed scar along the base of his throat. As if a sword had been pressed there.

The Druid’s eyes lose focus slightly and he frowns as he ghosts a finger over the scar, seemingly asking the next question to himself:

“-Nightmares on the back of your eyelids, or visions of the future, hmm?-”

His eyes refocus, and he cards a hand through Merlin’s hair, trying to calm the man’s heartache as the knights stare on in horror.

Arthur resists the urge to look towards his knights, not wanting to see the disgusted glares he knows they’re sending his way.

The Druid pauses for a moment in his speech, waiting for Merlin to calm slightly before he quietly continued:

“-And what has he done since then? Has he allowed explanation? Has he seen the error of his ways and tried to understand? Or has he called you a liar, and a traitor. Has he called you a monster, whilst demanding that you continue to serve him?-”

Merlin’s breathing grows deeper as he struggles to control his sobs. He lowers his hands to be clenched at his sides, shaking, as the Druid softly places his hands on his shoulders.

His next words are spoken even quieter, though the knights can still hear him and the deadly anger that’s barely concealed in the man’s tone:

“-Has he laid hands on you, and called you a beast, while you cowered in fear, knowing that if you defended yourself he would see himself proven right?-”

Merlin let’s out loud, gasping sobs once more as the Druid’s hands travel softly down, from his shoulders to his wrists. There, he looks down, sorrow on his face as he carefully lifts Merlin’s sleeves, bunching them around his elbows.

The knights decide then and there they are going to protect Merlin no matter what, no matter from whom, as they each see the handprint shaped bruises littering Merlin’s arms.

“-He has hurt you, over and over and over-”

As he speaks, the Druid hovers his hands over the bruises, his eyes glowing softly golden as they heal.

“-And you despair, believing yourself worthless-”

Merlin flinches, and his sobbing grows more intense as his face is taken in soft hands.

“-waiting on a Golden Age that he refuses to bring. He is cruel, and unjust, how many more times must he hurt you? How many more of our people will the Pendragon line slaughter, out of misguided hatred? How much more sleep must you lose? How many more nightmares must you endure? You have stood loyally by his side for a decade, and had to stand and watch as he continued his father’s legacy, forced to believe it was destiny.-”

The Druid says “destiny” as if he hates the taste of the word in his mouth, the bloodshed of the past almost thirty years clearly having made him lose faith in the prophecies.

Merlin’s breathing has calmed slightly, and the knights aren’t sure whether to be relieved or frightened, as the Druid desperately continues, clutching Merlin’s hands in his own:

“-Too many lives have been lost, too much innocent blood spilt. Haven’t you yourself been forced to kill your own people to protect this False King from the consequences of his own actions?-”

The knights think too soon as Merlin’s breathing and sobs grow erratic once more. The manservant almost falls to the floor, his eyes clenched desperately shut, and only the Druids hands on his shoulders keeping him upright:

“-I was young, and naïve once. I too, believed in Arthur Pendragon, I believed in the prophecies, I believed he would a great king and a good man-”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s as he gently says:

“-but he is not. He has failed you, and failed our people.-”

The Druid steps back, but still holds Merlin’s shoulder tightly as he gives him a pleading look.

The knights know what’s coming before it is said, and with the anguish and desperation and grief on their friend’s face? After they learned what their benevolent King had done? Well... they wouldn’t have blamed Merlin for saying yes.

“-I ask you to join me, Emrys. I know it’s difficult, to give up on a man you gave so much of yourself to, but there is too much Uther in him. It’s time, and you know this, to rewrite destiny. Dig your own path, liberate your own people, bring magic and compassion and harmony back to the world yourself.-”

Merlin, though distraught, still looks doubtful, and the knights hold their breath as the Druid continues, becoming more and more furious at their inability to speak.

All of them have tears in their eyes, if not falling already, even Arthur, though he has remained still and blank through the tears.

“-I know the flames you fear, the sword’s edge, the gallows’ drop, the axe’s fall. Do not let our kin continue to fear those things, do not stand by, waiting for the Pendragon tyrant to change, and allowing sacrifices to be made in the mean time.-”

Merlin’s sobbing begins again, and the Druid kisses him softly on the forehead before kneeling to the floor, gripping Merlin’s hands and looking up at him desperately:

"-You are Emrys, Lord of the Druids, and Conduit for all magic of this world. Not some servant that an entitled brat can toss around and treat lesser than the dirt he walks on. You are my King, our King. Not him.-”

He stands again and grips Merlin’s arms tightly, most likely leaving more bruises in place of the ones he had healed.

Merlin doesn’t notice the pain, but shakes his head stutteringly, still crying.

“-Do not let your people lose you to Arthur, as Arthur lost himself to Uther. To give up on him is painful, but the screams of your kin, burning for their gifts, echoing in your skull day and night?-”

The Druid’s hands move up to grip the sides of Merlin’s head, and he shakes him ever so slightly, his tone frantic and pleading:

“-That is worse. That is pain he will never understand, and certainly never care for. Join me, please my Lord I beg you, for our people.”

One of the Druid’s hands slides lower, to softly cup Merlin’s cheek again, but the other drops entirely.

The knights have never resented being magically gagged more than in this moment. They could do nothing but watch on in horror as the man summons a dagger behind his back.

The Druid is clearly waiting on his response, and Merlin is too distraught to notice the consequences of a wrong answer, tears flowing quickly down his face and ugly sobs forcing their way out of his throat.

Arthur watches in terror, knowing that this was his fault, that every shitty, selfish decision he had ever made had to led to this point. And the knights knew it too.

All they can do is pray to every deity they know the name of, that Arthur has done enough damage for Merlin to say yes. And oh, what a terrible thing to pray for.

The Druid softly strokes Merlin’s cheekbone with his thumb as the Warlock takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He looks up, meeting the gaze of the man opposite him before croaking:

“I... I can’t. Arthur is a good man, I have faith that he will-”

Before he can finish his sentence, the dagger is thrust up into his chest, his words stuttering to a stop and his red-rimmed eyes growing wide at the sudden, agonising pain spreading throughout his body.

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights pulling roughly at their chains, but he pays them no mind as blood gurgles up his throat and he frowns, struggling to hear what the Druid was whispering in his ear:

“Then you have forsaken your people, and so I shall forsake you. Traitor.”

With that, Merlin is dropped roughly to the floor, dagger still imbedded in his chest as he lands on his side. Blood spills from both his mouth and the wound, eyes unfocused but heavy as the tears continue to overflow.

The knights are silently screaming, thrashing against their chains as their friend chokes, but Merlin ignores them in favour of smiling gently at the soft feeling of nothing, growing outwards from his chest.

He frowns once more, as though remembering something, and his eyes go glassy as two words escape from his mouth, barely a whisper:

“I’m... sorry...”

An apology to whom, no one knows, but with those last words his body goes completely still, the pool of blood still expanding beneath him, and his eyes unseeingly staring just to the left of The King.

No one in the room can tear their eyes from Merlin’s pale corpse, face now a mess of tears and blood.

The Druid looks down at him with an odd mix of contempt, and genuine sorrow. He had obviously waited long enough that his resentment of Arthur had bled into his feelings for his so-called saviour, but still grieved for what could have been.

The Knights look at him in horror, all understanding that they had never been lucky, they had just had Merlin. He had never asked for thanks, or recognition, or reward. He had kept them all safe, at great expense to himself, and now he was dead.

Lancelot seems the... calmest, though he still cries like the rest of them. He had, in theory, known of the pain Merlin was in, but had he known it was plaguing him to this extent... well perhaps he wouldn’t have been so loyal to Arthur.

Arthur himself stares at Merlin with nothing but terror and agonising grief. He had done this. If he had just let Merlin explain, if he had just given him five minutes, instead of bruises and nightmares and fear, then he would still be alive.

If he hadn’t been so selfish and cruel, perhaps hundreds of people, just like Merlin, just as scared and innocent as Merlin, would also be alive.

Merlin had spent his entire time in Camelot trying to convince Arthur that he wasn’t his father... and Arthur had gone and proven him wrong at every turn. And even then Merlin still had faith, still called him a good man.

The silencing spell still has hold over the knights, so they cry and scream and thrash soundlessly as the Druid finally rips his gaze from the body at his feet.

He steps carefully around Merlin to stand in front of Arthur. The sorrow clears from his face, leaving only contempt and rage left to be directed at the man in front of him. Arthur does not look up, keeping his tear stained face focused on the floor, even as the Druid begins to speak:

“You see what you have done, Arthur Pendragon? You think magic is the thing that corrupts, but it is not. It is you. Emrys was meant to be a saviour, a God, a guiding light to help our people to safety, but you tainted him, reduced him to nothing more than a sad, scared boy, and then reduced him further, to a corpse. My hands are clean of blood Pendragon, but yours?? Oh, yours are drenched in it.”

Arthur slowly lifts his distraught gaze to the Druid, but quickly widens his eyes at what he sees.

Merlin stands behind the Druid, eyes glowing golden, tears once more streaming down his face as he grips the handle of the dagger, still buried in his chest.

The bloodstains grow even larger as he grimaces slightly and pulls it free, before wordlessly forcing it through the Druid’s back.

The man lets out a sudden gasp, and looks down to see just the tip of the blade poking out where his heart should be. He gargles something, words that no one can make out, before Merlin pulls the dagger out again, and his body crumples to the floor.

The knights and Arthur can feel the silencing spell release them, but none of them make even a noise as they stare in shock at their tormented, but very much alive, friend.

Merlin drops the dagger from his hand and it lands with a splash in the mixing puddles of blood, before he himself falls harshly to his knees.

The others finally break out of their stupor, once again pulling towards their friend. Their cries and shouts of his name can be heard by everyone but him as he leans forward, placing his forehead against that of the lifeless Druid.

His cries grow erratic again as he whispers apology after apology, and every heart breaks even more at the sight before them.

They know why he apologises, they know why he grieves, even over a man who had tried to... had succeeded in killing him. The death of yet another of his own kind who was sick of waiting, who was rightfully angry, was not something to be celebrated.

They had thought, at the beginning of this, that they would get through whatever the Druid threw at them, they always did. But this, the brokenness of one of their dearest friends, was not something that looks fixable.

Merlin finally sits up again and he sobs louder, still deaf and blind to those around him. Lancelot has just enough time to yell at the others to cover their eyes, as a gut-wrenching scream escapes the Warlock.

They’re almost blinded, even with their eyes tightly shut and their arms thrown up. The scream is the loudest, and most anguished they’ve ever heard, and the force in which Merlin releases his magic completely eviscerates the hut they had been chained in.

Each of them is thrown violently backwards, and their chains crumble to the floor with the rest of the building as they try to find purchase on the ground. None of them are hurt too badly, and they’re grateful for the fact that even in this state, Merlin’s magic seems incapable of really causing them any damage.

The scream ends, and the knights look up to see Merlin sat in the middle of the crater he had created, staring blankly into the middle distance. Tears still stream down his face, but he doesn’t move and he makes no sound, just kneels there with his blood soaked hands on his lap, palms towards the sky.

It takes a few moments for the knights to regain their senses, but once they do, all hell breaks loose.

Gwaine immediately gets to his feet and makes a rush towards Arthur, fully intending on throttling him, screaming obscenities as he went, but Percival and Elyan jump forward, grabbing an arm each and dragging him away as he curses the King and the Sky and the Gods.

As much as Percival and Elyan were not impartial to killing Arthur right now, Merlin was the priority, and as much as he may have deserved it, Merlin would never forgive them if they hurt the King.

Arthur seems to be unaware of the attempt on his life made by one of his most trusted knights, and just stares blankly at an equally blank Merlin.

Lancelot and Leon make a bee-line for the Warlock, but stop just short of touching him, not knowing how he would react.

Leon nods gently at Lancelot, clearly having picked up that this knight had already known at least part of the story. Lancelot returns his nod, before moving forward slowly. The body of the Druid lays untouched at Merlin’s knees, and the knight removes his cloak, laying it over him, before reaching a slow hand towards Merlin’s shoulder.

He finally makes contact after a little hesitation, whispering his name as gently and as comfortingly as he is able with tears still leaking from his eyes.

Merlin doesn’t react at all to Lancelot’s touch, not even when he takes his bloody hand, or shakes his shoulder slightly; just sits and stares and cries.

Leon gulps before reaching forward himself. He grabs the dagger from besides Merlin and tosses it behind him (he didn’t like to think about that action too much. He has no idea what state his friend is in right now, best to not have any sharp instruments within his reach when he came to.) before lifting his hand to wipe away the man’s tears.

Arthur stares upon all of this in horror from his position sprawled on the floor a few metres away.

Elyan and Percival have just about managed to calm Gwaine, and they begin making their way to Leon, Lancelot, and Merlin, but before they get even halfway there, Arthur finally speaks.

His voice breaks, and is barely audible, but everyone hears him nonetheless as he murmurs:

“I did this...”

Gwaine makes another run at him, regaining his anger, and Percival and Elyan just about manage to grab him before he commits regicide.

Lancelot and Leon look up at him sharply, but when Lancelot lowers his gaze and continues to try and rouse Merlin, Leon holds the King’s gaze, and says strongly:

“Yes. Yes you did, My Lord.”

Arthur’s face crumbles even more, and Leon glares at him with venom for a few more seconds, before giving Lancelot a soft pat on the back, and walking towards the other three.

He mumbles a few harsh things that only Gwaine can hear, who responds at first with more anger, but then resignation. The First Knight gives the man a pat on the back and nods knowingly at Elyan and Percival. No one, not even Gwaine, pretends to miss the meaning of “be ready to catch him again” in the gesture.

Arthur stays in his position on the floor as the four of them walk softly towards Merlin and Lancelot, but before they get there, everyone’s gazes are drawn to the shadow in the sky, getting closer and closer.

It moves with an alarming place, and their anger at Arthur is momentarily forgotten as he scrambles up and screams:

“DRAGON!!”

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival and Arthur rush forward to stand between the beast and the other three. They have no armour or weapons, but like hell were they just going to let it get to them.

Lancelot looks up to see the white, horse sized beast land heavily in front of The King, his eyes widen and he jumps up, rushing forward to push between the others.

Leon moves to hold a still unresponsive Merlin behind his back protectively, but frowns in confusion when Lancelot yells at Arthur (who had been about to run at the beast):

“NO! No don’t hurt her! She’s Merlin’s, don’t hurt her!”

Everyone looks at him in confusion and fear as he slowly approaches the Dragon, she had been growling lowly at first, but seemed to perk up when she saw Lancelot.

Lancelot gives her a small smile, and holds his hand out, allowing her to come to him, before quietly saying:

“I’ve never been more glad to see you, Aithusa. Merlin is over here.”

He turns back towards the others, and calmly, but forcefully says:

“Move. She needs to see him.”

Gwaine nods after a moment, trusting Lancelot, and moves out of the way. Arthur goes to argue, but Elyan and Percival roughly shove him to the side, clearing a path to Merlin and Leon for Lancelot and the new, slightly terrifying, arrival.

Leon looks up fearfully, still in front of Merlin protectively. He stares at the Dragon for a few moments, breathing deeply, before looking up at Lancelot. Lancelot gives him a weak smile, and a nod before saying quietly:

“He’s a Dragon-Lord. She can help him, it’s ok.”

Leon gulps, before nodding, and stepping out of the way. He doesn’t move too far, obviously still affected by his last encounter with a Dragon, and watches with unconcealed suspicion as Aithusa prances around Lancelot at his nod.

The others crowd closer as well, looking on in confusion, awe, suspicion, as Aithusa slowly approaches Merlin.

She lays down at his side, gently pressing her head onto Merlin’s hands, still in his lap. Her mouth opens and Leon gasps as she blows a gentle mist up into his face. Merlin’s back straightens and the knights can see his eyes come back into focus as he blinks.

They all stare with bated breath as he gulps, and begins to notice his surroundings; looking in fear at the crater around him.

Merlin is broken from his growing panic as Aithusa chirps softly from his lap, and his head whips down, only now noticing her.

The knights let out a collective breath as he smiles, very slightly and very briefly, but still; after what they had just seen him go through they would take anything. He leans his head down, and wraps his arms around the creature. She chirps once again, louder this time, as she uses her tail to push away the forgotten Druid’s corpse.

She curls her body around Merlin protectively, and he collapses even further into the semi-embrace she’s giving him. The knights smile slightly, relieved that Merlin seems responsive, and safe, before they take slow steps towards the two of them.

She whips her head up quickly and growls at them, digging her front claws into the ground. They take in sudden breaths and stop moving, wary, but she stops growling when she looks to Lancelot.

The others stare on in shock and confusion as she tilts her head slightly, and Lancelot nods as he quietly says:

“They’re friends, it’s ok.”

The creature seems to nod, and the others follow behind Lancelot as he begins moving towards Merlin again.

He crouches down, and gives Aithusa a well-received scratch on the chin, before he gently places a hand between Merlin’s shoulder-blades.

Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and finally Leon follow suit, sitting carefully next to the Dragon, but unlike Lancelot, they don’t touch her, or Merlin. She may seem safe and loving and on their side, but she was still a Dragon.

Arthur moves a little slower, not sure if he’s welcome (he’s not) but when he gets within five feet of the group huddled on the floor, Aithusa lifts her head and growls again.

Elyan and Percival are shocked at the sudden movement, but Gwaine smirks, and Leon nods his head approvingly (though he’s still understandably... nervous). Lancelot looks back at a shocked and still tear-stricken Arthur, and speaks. His voice is quiet, but his tone is vicious:

“They have a mental link; she sees what he sees. It might be best, Your Majesty, for you to stay away.”

He doesn’t bother to watch Arthur’s reaction; he turns back and begins carding a soft hand through Merlin’s hair. He flinches only slightly before relaxing under the soft ministrations, and Aithusa gives Lancelot an affectionate lick on the arm.

The other knights do see the way that Arthur flinches, before he gives a shaky nod and takes a few steps back. He goes to say something, but the tears in his eyes overflow, and he turns to walk away.

Gwaine’s smirk grows slightly before he drops it entirely and turns back to the others, no longer caring what Arthur got up to. He is the first of the knights, other than Lancelot, to be brave enough to reach a hand forward and stroke Aithusa gently.

Elyan and Percival hesitatingly follow his lead, and Aithusa chirps happily at the attention. Leon’s gaze follows Arthur as he walks towards the horses.

They were far away, well out of the way of Merlin’s blast, but even with the distance Leon could see they were shaken. Thankfully they had been tied to the trees, otherwise he’s certain they would have bolted.

Leon finds it only slightly surprising that he feels no sympathy for the King. There’s only so much you can forgive a man for. When Arthur finally reaches the horses and begins untacking them, he looks away, back to Aithusa and Merlin.

Everyone can tell that Camelot’s First Knight is still rather shaken at the presence of the Dragon, but when Merlin looks up slightly to see him still sat there, unwilling to leave him, his heart swells a little.

Leon meets his gaze and gulps, but returns Merlin’s shaky smile.

The other knights smile as well, glad that Merlin was feeling at least a little better, and Percival speaks quietly, not wanting to spook him (or the Dragon):

“Hey, there’s our lucky charm.”

The other knights give him questioning looks but Merlin just chuckles slightly, before sitting up properly, and focusing his attention on running his fingers over Aithusa’s scales, picking out grass and mud.

Percival looks indignant before replying, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world:

“What? You honestly thought that tree branches only fell if there was a fight happening, and then only fell on the enemies?? The rock-falls? The fires even when it was pouring with rain?? The miraculous solutions to end-of-the-world type problems?? Come on, guys.”

The others look taken aback at that, but Lancelot just smiles knowingly. They all look to Merlin, who has managed to wipe the blood from his face with his sleeve, and he just shrugs slightly.

The rest of them, bar Leon, let out small huffs of laughter, and continue to stroke Aithusa, knowing that Merlin almost certainly isn’t ready for an actual conversation yet.

Merlin looks at Leon’s pale form assessingly, before a look of realisation crosses his face. The knight is tense, and staring at Aithusa’s sharp teeth with worry, but his gaze is quickly drawn to Merlin when he reaches a shaky hand towards him.

Merlin gives him an understanding smile, and crooks his fingers, encouraging the curly-haired knight to take his hand. Leon does so, and his breath hitches as Merlin lowers their intertwined hand to rest on the top of Aithusa’s head.

Leon lets out a slow breath as he feels Elyan’s supportive hand on his back, but relaxes fully when he sees the sparkle in Merlin’s eyes. Anything to make their Warlock happy in this moment. And forever, probably.

Gwaine looks at Leon out of the corner of his eye, and says lowly:

“I’m fairly certain I’m going to try and kill him if I look at him again, so what’s the King up to?”

Merlin tenses slightly, but Leon squeezes his hand and he relaxes again. Lancelot raises and eyebrow and before Leon can reply, he says:

“What, no princess?”

Gwaine narrows his eyes before gruffly saying:

“Princess was an affectionate nickname, and I’m not feeling all that affectionate towards him right now.”

The others nod knowingly, turning their attention back to Merlin and Aithusa. Leon leaves his hand in Merlin’s, but looks at Gwaine before saying lowly:

“He went to deal with the horses. Now we know we no longer need a quick get-away, they need untacking and feeding and watering. They were pretty spooked by... they were pretty spooked.”

Leon looks back at Merlin when his hand gets squeezed, to see him frowning slightly. Leon catches his eye and gives him a small smile, but Merlin just gets teary-eyed again, before sniffing and muttering:

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to I just... I’m sorry.”

Only a single tear has time to fall before Lancelot has his hand on Merlin’s shoulder again (comfortingly), and Elyan has his hand on Gwaine’s shoulder (forcefully). Leon shakes his head softly, and responds in a gentle voice:

“You don’t have anything to apologise for Merlin, we are the ones who should be sorry, for not being able to protect you.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and he goes to retort, but Gwaine beats him to it, obviously trying to keep the anger out of his voice:

“From the so-called Druid and from him. We should have done better.”

Leon can feel Merlin’s hand begin to shake, so he squeezes it once more as Merlin shakes his head and speaks, his voice sounding stronger already:

“It’s not his fault. He was just shaken and scared and I should have-”

Gwaine clenches his jaw, struggling to keep control of his rage, but Elyan grips his shoulder tighter in warning, and replies in his stead, interrupting Merlin:

“There’s no excuse Merlin. All of us have been attacked by magic, but equally, all of us have been attacked by swords. I mean look at Leon, giving Dragons a second chance after what happened. I would perhaps understand brief anger, but there is no way to justify laying his hands on you in such a way that leaves bruises, and certainly no justification for putting a blade to your throat.”

Merlin frowns, and looks like he wants to argue, but once again, a knight beats him to it, Lancelot this time:

“No, Merls. We know how much he means to you. But what he did was wrong, there’s no rationalisation. We all know that you’ve already forgiven him, and that’s why we can’t yet. Probably not for a while.”

Merlin sighs, looking pained, and Leon uses his other hand to tilt his chin up:

“Not to say that we won’t ever forgive him. But someone has to be angry at him for what he’s done, and Lord knows you aren’t gonna do it. Consider us your stand-ins.”

Merlin smiles slightly, and Leon considers that a win, returning the smile and nodding slightly to himself, before looking back down at the Dragon, now seemingly asleep, and purring, on Merlin’s lap.

Elyan releases the death grip on Gwaine’s shoulder, when the now much calmer knight, with a smile on his face, says:

“So... you have a Dragon??”

Merlin chuckles fondly, before looking to him and saying quietly:

“Yeah. Her name is Aithusa. I’m surprised she came alone, Kilgharrah usually doesn’t like it when she runs off.”

Lancelot winces slightly as the other knights look shocked, before Percival says:

“Kil-what-now? There’s another one??”

Merlin grimaces slightly, before looking to Leon worriedly and tightening the grip on his hand:

“Uhh... yeah. Kilgharrah is the name of the Dragon that... attacked Camelot a few years ago.-”

Leon straightens his back and gulps, but doesn’t remove his hand from Merlin’s, nodding at him to continue:

“-I didn’t have control over him until right at the end. I told him to leave and never come back, unless I called him-”

Lancelot makes a noise of realisation as he nods, and interrupts Merlin:

“That’s probably why Aithusa came alone. You didn’t call for her, and technically we’re still within Camelot’s borders. He couldn’t come even if he wanted to. Poor sod is probably clomping around at the edge of the border freaking out.”

Merlin looks to Lancelot and nods, satisfied to feel Leon relax a bit, before looking back to the First Knight apologetically:

“-He does feel really bad at that. He just wanted to get back at Uther for the whole... genocide thing I guess. But that’s no excuse. I just didn’t want to be the one to be responsible for killing the last Dragon, even if Kilgharrah personally might’ve deserved it at the time. That was all before Aithusa came along.”

Everyone nods in understanding, before focussing their attention back on Aithusa. She really was like a giant puppy, even if they had to be wary to avoid her claws as she twitched in her sleep.

Merlin sighs, looking forlorn once again as he realises how exhausted he is, knowing that they’re going to have to get up and make camp at some point.

He can cope with an awkward, tense silence between him and Arthur easily enough, that’s what the last few weeks had consisted of. But an awkward and tense silence between everyone? Elyan and Percival inwardly fuming? Gwaine outwardly fuming? Leon and Lancelot being all protective? He’s not sure he can deal with that.

At Merlin’s sigh, Lancelot tilts his head to catch his eye. His brow creases as he says softly:

“What is it, Merls?”

Merlin looks up, still squeezing Leon’s hand, before quietly replying:

“Nothing, I’m just tired. We have to re-make camp at some point and I’m not sure if I can deal with everyone being so...”

He waves his free hand around loosely, and Lancelot huffs out a laugh, before kicking Gwaine, getting everyone’s attention:

“We have to go make camp. But Merlin is exhausted, and doesn’t want to deal with any of this shit tonight, so we’re all going to have to play nice for the time being.”

Gwaine growls, and quickly retorts:

“Like hell am I gonna treat him with-”

Lancelot kicks him again, harder this time, and Elyan replaces the harsh hand on his shoulder before forcefully saying:

“Right now, it doesn’t matter what Arthur deserves. Merlin needs peace and quiet, and that’s what we’re going to give him.”

Gwaine grumbles, but begrudgingly nods, and Merlin gives him a grateful smile.

The knights all stand up, and Merlin shakes Aithusa awake, giving a small chuckle when she stretches like a cat.

Once she takes her weight off of his lap, Merlin follows the knights to stand, almost falling over at the weakness in his legs. Leon and Lancelot catch an arm each, steadying him as he shuts his eyes tightly, willing the dizziness away.

He feels a hand wipe the hair from his forehead, and opens his eyes slowly to see Percival checking him over with an assessing gaze:

“I’m fine, just tired, a little dizzy.”

Lancelot nods in understanding, humming slightly:

“Hmm. I’m not surprised, you haven’t done anything this big in a while, and I doubt you’ve slept well in the last few weeks.”

Merlin gives him a sheepish look as he shakes his head, but it’s Elyan’s questioning gaze that Lancelot responds to:

“I found out by accident when I first met him. Our Warlock isn’t very good at keeping secrets.”

He says it with a small smirk as he looks back down to Merlin, who’s looking indignant:

“Hey! I managed to keep everyone else from finding out.”

Gwaine looks guilty as he raises his arm quietly:

“Actually uh... I knew. I mean not about the whole Emrys, prophecy thing. But the magic stuff, yeah.”

Merlin looks at him, shocked. The other knights share his expression for just a moment before they laugh at the look on Merlin’s face:

“How?!”

Gwaine puts his arm down and laughs again:

“Mate... we met in the middle of a tavern fight, in which shit started literally flying about the moment you joined in.-”

He shrugged, before casually continuing:

“-I figured you would tell me when you wanted to. Until then, it wasn’t my secret to know. You also have me to thank for backing you up every time The Prick asked if I saw you at the tavern.”

Merlin laughed and nodded his thanks, before looking over to where said Prick was setting up camp, a few metres beyond the edge of the crater.

His face fell slightly and the others follow his gaze, tensing slightly in anger when they saw what he was looking at. Merlin takes his arms from Leon and Lancelot, finally feeling steady on his feet, before quietly saying:

“Come on, we might as well get this over with. I’m starving, and tired, and Aithusa will get bored if we don’t start entertaining her.”

Everyone turns around to see Aithusa (now she was sure that her Lord was ok), prancing about in the crater; chasing birds and digging holes.

Merlin raises an eyebrow and everyone else chuckles slightly. Gwaine pushes Lancelot out of the way and takes Merlin’s hand, beginning to walk determinedly towards camp. Everyone catches up quickly, Leon taking Merlin’s other hand when the man had reached out to grab his cape.

Gwaine looks down at Merlin, seeing how nervous he is, and says:

“So. How long until she’s big enough to be ridden? I want you to take me flying, Merlin.”

Merlin chuckles, and looks back to see Aithusa happily trailing them:

“Not for a while. Dragons grow slow, so it’ll be another few years at least. Plus she’s got some issues with bone growth that we’re still trying to fix. She’ll be fine in the long run, but her development is taking a lot longer than normal. She still can’t speak.”

Everyone stops at that, and Merlin’s arms get yanked back when he continued walking. He turns to see Leon giving him an incredulous look:

“Dragons can speak?!”

Merlin tilts his head in confusion, before laughing and tugging them forwards again:

“Yeah. I forget that Uther basically erased all knowledge on Dragons, but they’re just as intelligent as we are. Kilgharrah would like to think that they’re more intelligent, but he’s always been a cryptic, egotistical bastard.-”

The others follow his pace and nod, but the mood darkens as they almost reach the camp. Merlin continues faintly, but quickly:

“I’ll tell you everything I know when... when we get back.”

Leon squeezes his hand, knowing that he was about to say “if”, assuring him that “when” is the right word.

Arthur looks up at the group and gulps from his place next to the fire. He straightens up, the anxiety showing clearly on his face, but before anyone can say anything, Aithusa jumps in between him.

He falls back at the sudden movement and she begins to growl; he widens his eyes as she stalks slowly towards him.

Gwaine smirks again, the others managing to keep their faces blank, but Merlin looks shocked, before he jumps forward and puts a hand on the Dragon’s back:

“Aithusa no. He’s a... friend. It’s ok, he’s-”

Arthur jumps to his feet and interrupts him:

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll... go... sit over there.”

He gestures behind him, and walks quickly away from the fire, sitting just within the fire’s light, the evening dimming around them.

Aithusa tilts her head, snaps her jaws at him once more before completely changing disposition. She begins bouncing around the fire, chirping happily and playfully trying to catch floating embers in her claws.

Merlin smiles slightly and the other knights (bar Gwaine, who is glaring very pointedly at Arthur) chuckle at her antics, before they all sit in a semi circle on the opposite side of the fire to Arthur, Merlin in the middle.

The Warlock is once again wedged protectively between Leon and Gwaine, and he fiddles softly with Leon’s cape in his lap as he stares fondly at Aithusa.

Elyan moves to the packs, unloading food and water and cooking pots. Merlin gets up to help, but Gwaine pulls him back down by the hand and holds on firmly as he says:

“You’ve been through enough. We can put up with Elyan’s shitty cooking for a couple nights.”

Merlin tries to pull away with a “But I can-” but Leon grabs his other hand, holding him down and interrupting:

“Absolutely not. You said yourself that you’re tired. If Elyan needs help, he can ask one of us.”

Merlin huffs sulkily and Leon laughs, stroking the back of his hand protectively.

Leon had known Merlin just as long as Arthur had, and whilst they had virtually nothing to do with each other the first few years, they were still friendly acquaintances, even then. Leon knew full well that it was Merlin who would have a hot meal left in his room after a late patrol, and Merlin always appreciated how Leon kept as many weapons in the armoury in as good nick as possible, so Merlin didn’t have to deal with it.

Besides, even before they knew each other’s names, Leon always found Merlin’s reactions to Arthur’s stupidity funny. He could hardly say it out loud, being the Perfect Knight and all, but he always thought it was a good thing that Arthur had someone at his side keeping him humble, and calling him out in ways no one else would.

Of course they had gotten much closer over the years, as did all of the knights, thanks to Merlin. Currently, Leon was feeling just a tinge of regret at being so grateful for Merlin’s presence at Arthur’s side; he had never really thought about how difficult being that man’s babysitter would be, especially now he knew Merlin had magic. And some sort of destiny.

Time passes fairly quickly whilst Elyan cooks, the others taking to heart what Lancelot had said and trying to keep a quiet, but easy conversation going.

They ask Merlin various questions about Aithusa, Kilgharrah, the Druids, the weird name that he had been called. He answered them all easily enough, but they notice the way he hesitates when they ask about his magic specifically or the prophecies, so they steer clear of those topics.

They’ll definitely want to know the whole story eventually, and they’re practically buzzing with desperation to ask Merlin to show them something magical, but they know that now is not the time.

Dinner is finally served, and despite Gwaine’s statement, it wasn’t actually that bad. Mainly because every time Elyan went to add something to the pot, he would look back desperately at Merlin, and took into account the shakes and nods of his head with a grateful smile.

He did struggle to cover the scowl on his face when he delivered Arthur’s bowl to him, replying to The King’s quiet “thank you, Elyan” with an even quieter “don’t mention it” .

Dinner was eaten quickly and in silence. They hadn’t been unconscious for long, and hour or two at most, but they had all worked up an understandable appetite, Merlin especially. He would never ask for seconds, but knowing that, Elyan gave him an extra big serving without a word.

They entertained themselves after dinner by throwing the last scraps of meat to Aithusa, watching her jump and flip and fly about the camp. Merlin had objected at first, but gave in when he saw the small grin on Leon’s face, and heard the way the others were laughing. The City was only a few days ride away, they could always hunt on the way back.

It didn’t take long for her to tire out and curl up at Merlin’s feet to sleep. Like Merlin had mentioned, Aithusa was developing slowly, and she normally couldn’t fly very far; it must’ve taken a huge amount of energy and effort for her to get all the way here. But like the Knights, she was very protective, and there was no way she could not check on her Lord, after she and Kilgharrah had felt the anguish he was in.

As Kilgharrah once again crosses Merlin’s mind, he sighs, and makes mental note to call him in the morning, when he had more energy.

Merlin is distracted from his thoughts when the camp goes silent all of a sudden, and Gwaine reaches over to squeeze his hand. He looks up in worry, to see that Arthur had stood, and walked a little closer, though he made sure to stay the other side of the fire.

Merlin tenses slightly. He tries not to let it show, but he can knows that he failed when he feels Leon’s hand firmly in the middle of his back. Hidden from the others, but a silent reassurance.

Arthur gulps, obviously nervous, but he meets Merlin’s gaze, flinching at the slight fear in his eyes:

“Merlin, I know nothing I say will-”

He’s interrupted by Gwaine growling and standing suddenly, stepping in front of Merlin protectively, but it’s Lancelot’s harsh words that cut him off fully:

“Not tonight, Arthur. We’re all tired and angry so just... not tonight.”

Arthur clenches his jaw, and blinks away tears before nodding:

“Yes, I... I understand.”

With that, he sniffles slightly before taking a step back. He looks to the floor as he mumbles something about checking the perimeter, before slowly walking away from the camp, into the night.

Merlin lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and relaxes slightly as Leon runs his hand over his back. Gwaine stares after Arthur for a few moments, deliberating on whether or not to follow him (and presumably, kick his ass). Merlin reaching up to take his hand and pull him back down makes his mind up, and he settles back into his seat, Merlin’s small hand clasped between his two larger ones.

Percival speaking up breaks the tense silence:

“It’s late and Lance is right, we’re all tired. If we want to make quick work of the journey home, and have time to hunt, then we should get some sleep.”

Murmurs of agreement float up around the group, and Gwaine, voice still tense and angry, says:

“I’ll take first-”

But he’s quickly interrupted by Elyan, softly laughing:

“Absolutely not, Gwaine. If you’re left alone we’ll all wake to find the King dead in the morning.”

Gwaine raises a challenging eyebrow, not denying anything, and Elyan huffs, Percival muttering:

“Fine. But I’m taking it with you so you don’t get a chance to smother him.”

Gwaine gives a sarcastic looking smile, before ruffling Merlin’s hair fondly and walking towards the fire. He adds another log, grabs his bedroll, and settles down against a tree, Percival sitting at his side.

Everyone else gathers their rolls, and whilst normally they spread out, they all seem rather desperate to stay as close to Merlin as possible.

Normally he would complain, they all snore, and Merlin is definitely expecting nightmares tonight, but he can’t find it in himself to send them away, and to be perfectly honest, he's certain that they would just move back the moment he closed his eyes anyway.

The Warlock finds himself tucked under Lancelot’s arm, with Leon a respectful distance away on his other side, though still within arm’s reach. Elyan settles somewhere below his feet, and for the first time in weeks, Merlin finds himself fully relaxed.

Aithusa sleepily moves from her spot by Merlin’s feet, to curl up with Gwaine and Percival, and Merlin smiles at the thought that she not only trusts his friends in general, but trusts them enough to leave Merlin in their care. Dragons are protective and possessive creatures, and that trust speaks volumes.

Merlin is still a little miserable, and he almost resents himself for still being scared of Arthur despite his obvious regret, but... with all that happened... well. You can’t really blame him.

He’s got a gaggle of very protective knights around him, one of which he can vaguely hear trying to persuade another to commit regicide when no one was looking.

He has time to huff out a small laugh as Lancelot pulls him closer, before he drifts off; much quicker than he thought he would. He was comforted by the warmth behind him, the presence at his feet, the guardians watching over him, and the hand reaching towards him in the dark, just about close enough to lay fingers over Merlin’s heartbeat.

No nightmares plague him that night, and he doesn’t even wake to the warning growls sent Arthur’s way when he eventually returned to camp.

The next few days, hell, the next few months would probably be difficult, but he finds himself not as anxious now he knows he won’t have to face it alone.

THE END

I don’t think I’ll write a part two to this, but if someone wants to extend it, feel free, same as normal: credit and tag me :)

I’ve had the whole speech written out in full in my phone notes for like two months, but only recently got round to actually turning it into anything. I hope ya’ll enjoyed it!! I wanted to write something hella angsty so....

I’m fairly certain whatever I write next will be the dead opposite of this (FLUFF fluff) but honestly who knows.

Let me know if there’s anything specific you want my thoughts on :)

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