#the discovery was several days later so he was having a real bad time about it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uvobreakmylegs · 4 years ago

Text

30 Seconds

This one might get a sequel but I’m not sure yet

Bodyswap Soulmate AU

Warnings: gore, graphic depictions of violence, threats of violence, kidnapping

It was like something out of a horror movie.

Several men lay before you in a darkened room, pieces of their bodies – their heads even – completely gone, the marks that were left around the gaping wounds that had an odd white glow to them, akin to something having taken a bite out of them.

Something like the fish that swam in the air above you.

A million questions flew through your mind, of what the hell this was; who these people were; how was there no blood despite the obvious carnage - you were literally just in the bathtub, how did you even get here?! Then you remembered that humans needed to breathe in order to live, and your lungs hadn't taken in anything since this nightmare scenario started.

You let out a breath, and along with it escaped a small, sad whimpering noise as you tried to process the scene in front of you. And then you froze again.

“What....”

You were speaking, but the words that were coming out of your mouth were not in your voice.

For the first time, you looked down at your body.

This was not your body.

You were in the body of a pale, bare-chested man wearing a long black trench-coat with fur on the lining, holding a book in one hand.

Your discovery was so jarring that you almost forgot about the men and the fish.

“Y-y-you..... Phantom Troupe monster!”

The words were just about screamed at you and you jumped back. The man laying closest was facing you, the entire top half of his head completely gone. He had to have been missing most, if not all of his brain. How the hell was he still talking? Glancing at the bodies of the other men, you saw that, to your horror, they were still alive as well. Groaning and moving as best as they could despite how the severity of their wounds meant that they should not still be alive. One of the fish came down close to your head and you flinched, stumbling backwards until you fell to the floor.

“Damn you, Chrollo!” the man from before yelled.

“Even if you don't die tonight, someone will get you someday! You'll pay for your crimes, you Meteor City piece of trash!”

His last words were spat out before one of the fish dipped down and bit off the remainder of his head, leaving behind the stump that was his neck and more of that white glow that came from the edges of his skin. His body began to flail, with what remained of his arms and legs banging against floor. Maybe in an attempt to crawl to you, or maybe it was simply all he could do at that point.

Your breath started coming out as short, harsh gasping as you began to hyperventilate, your eyes going back up to the monstrous fish that still moved about. They didn't seem to be paying attention to you, but you had no idea when that could change. Nothing about this made sense, but you did your best to reign in the terror that kept you immobile. The single rational thought of “get out of this room” pushed through your panic, and your eyes darted about the space as you tried to find an exit. But a glance at the large mirror on the wall that reached up to the ceiling made you pause once more.

The man who's body you inhabited sat next to you in the reflection, his eyes - your eyes? - wide as you took it all in. A smooth pale face, slicked back dark hair, an odd tattoo on the forehead and gray eyes that filled with tears before they began to trickle down your - his - cheeks. Breath came in harsher and you could hear a heartbeat thundering in your ears. You were in someone else's body and you had no clue what to do or why this was happening. And that didn't even factor in the deadly fish or the men currently being eaten alive by them.

In the mirror's reflection, you saw a door open behind you, a strip of artificial light coming from it that grew larger as it opened wider. You snapped your head back to see a a blonde woman in a purple suit standing at the door. The neutral expression she wore morphed into one of shock as she looked at you, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

“Chrollo?” she asked.

And suddenly it was all gone.

You were standing by the hanger that held your purse, holding your wallet in one hand and your ID in the other. A shiver ran through you, and you realized that you were naked and dripping with water, like you'd gotten out of your bath without drying off first.

You stared ahead at the wall blankly for a few moments. And then, like a car smashing into a concrete slab, the utter shock and fear of what you had just experienced hit you, and you fell to the floor crying, holding yourself as you tried to understand what had just happened.

You didn't get any sleep that night. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see were those men lying in pieces and the nightmare-fuel fish. Hours later, when you had finally calmed down, you took to the internet to try and figure out what had happened and what the hell you had just seen.

A Google search on “swapping bodies” brought up a few results, but they all seemed questionable to you. The most common claim was that it was how you found your “soulmate”. An enthusiastic blogger had detailed her experience with finding her current husband in this way, of how one day she and her husband unexpectedly swapped bodies for thirty seconds and later found each other. The blog post quickly devolved into the kind of romantic mush that was only fit for the most asinine of rom-coms that included how the blogger and her husband spent months trying to find each other on opposite ends of the continent because they knew they “were meant for each other”. Other posts that didn't appear outwardly fake told basically the same thing with much less flair, and the term “soulmate” came up several times. You weren't sure how willing you were to believe in such a concept. If everyone was supposed to have a soulmate, shouldn't such a phenomenon be reported on in the mainstream? Wouldn't there be people trying to figure out how such a thing was possible? If it was real, you wouldn't need to dig through personal online testimony from anonymous users to read about it.

And yet it had happened to you. Your consciousness had entered the body of a man who, if these posts were correct, was the person you were meant to be with. The only other option was that you were going crazy, and if you were really just having delusions that felt that real, then you needed to get yourself checked into a mental hospital.

Speaking of that man...

The words that had been yelled at you were still fresh in your mind. Phantom Troupe. Meteor City. Chrollo. The woman you saw near the end had also used the word “Chrollo” when referring to you, so it seemed likely that it was his name.

While looking up body-swapping had produced mostly questionable results, the next few terms brought up practically nothing.

Google didn't recognize the name “Chrollo” and kept trying to autocorrect it. “Phantom Troupe” brought up a few conspiracy forums talking about an underground criminal group that had allegedly slaughtered thousands, but the posters claimed that if you wanted any more information you would need to pay to get it on the “dark web”. The only one that gave you something of a lead was “Meteor City”. You found an article from a few years back reporting on some government official speaking out against the city's existence and announcing plans to have it destroyed, though the words he used to describe this process were a bit more diplomatic. But when you tried looking for a follow up to the article, you only found various reports of how the official and his entire team vanished overnight.

Meteor City: A place populated by undocumented inhabitants and a hub for criminal activity.

The Phantom Troupe: A group of criminals allegedly responsible for countless deaths but with no official record of any of their crimes.

Chrollo: A person who was somehow connected to these things and, if what you had read earlier was true, was also your “soulmate”.

The term still seemed ridiculous to you, but if that really was the case, and the Phantom Troupe really was as bad as the things you had read, then you were in danger. And you had no clue where to start to try and protect yourself.

The sky was tinted with the pink and yellow hues of sunrise when you finally fell into a dreamless sleep, exhaustion finally taking you. The laptop remained open in front of you, Google once more showing you no results for the name “Chrollo”.

The next few weeks passed by with you on constant high alert, always looking over your shoulder and triple checking the locks on your door at night. You were jumpy, and every time you came across someone who looked even remotely like the woman or “Chrollo”, you had a hard time breathing. The only upside had been that your fear left you exhausted most nights, and your subconscious was too tired to conjure up the images of those fish in your mind while you slept. Any time you did dream, that scene played again and you often woke up with a start.

Several of your friends had noticed the change in your behavior and had approached you privately to ask what was wrong. As much as you wanted to tell them everything, you doubted they would believe you. So you had made up a story that you were worried that you were being stalked, citing that you felt like you were being watched and that you had come back once to find items of yours displaced (which the second part wasn't technically untrue).

Most of them tried to insist that you go to the police, but begrudgingly backed down when you told them that there wasn't enough evidence for anything like that. Their plan B was then to stay around you as much as they could, at least one person escorting you from your apartment to you job, and several nights a week a few people would stay over. Having them around you and just hanging out with them calmed you. The time you spent with them were brief moments of levity that took your mind off of what you were actually afraid of, and when you were alone after, terrible thoughts of them being ripped apart and eaten plagued your mind.

The moments of peace you had with them lasted for about a month, where you had all agreed that the “stalker” wasn't an issue anymore since there had been no trace of such a person. As much as you wanted them to stay with you, you weren't about to try and push it for fear of them thinking you were lying (which you technically were). They all made it clear that you could go to any of them if something came up again, and one of them, Harrison, gave you a taser, just in case things took a turn for the worse. Carrying such a thing was nerve-wracking, but at least it wasn't a weapon that could do permanent damage to you if you somehow managed to accidentally use it on yourself, and it gave you some comfort that you were no longer walking around completely defenseless.

It had been over two months since that incident, and you had yet to see anything of that man. It wasn't lost on you that when you had returned to your body, you had been holding your ID with your full name and address. Given the state you had found yourself in, he'd wasted no time finding out who you were, having gone straight from the bathroom to where you kept your purse to find your identity. He was calm enough in that situation to know he had limited time to find out about you and had managed to do just that. He was planning on tracking you down, you were certain. And while you wanted to run as far away as possible, it wasn't so easy to just pack up and leave.

Your lease renewal had been coming up, and you needed time to find new housing in a different area. Somewhere away from here where he hopefully couldn't find you. It wasn't what you wanted, but you needed to get away. Whatever it was that Chrollo wanted, whether it actually because of a “soulmate” connection or if he just wanted to kill you, nothing good could come from meeting him. Of that you were sure.

As your final day in your apartment came closer and more and more of your belongings were packed into boxes, the weight of the anxiety that had been on you began to lift. There had been no sign of that man, and as that date approached you felt a sense of relief, that you really were going to leave and he wouldn't be able to find you after that. You'd deactivated all of your social media accounts and once again asked your friends for help, this time to just keep quiet about where you had gone to in fear of the “stalker”. If a random man approached them asking questions about you they would know better than to answer, and your landlord legally couldn't discuss the whereabouts of former tenants.

You paused in the middle of packing up some of your clothes.

Legally.

A man who fed people to monster fish probably didn't care about what was “legal” or not. And he probably wouldn't accept any stories your friends gave him if he was to go to them.

The fear that had been in the back of your mind since you'd opened up to your friends had been growing stronger. That Chrollo's response to you running would be to take it out on them. That they would deny knowing you when he asked and he would bring out those murder fish and make them pay for lying with their lives.

'I should warn them', was your initial thought, to tell them everything. But telling them the whole story would make things more difficult. They'd probably keep you from moving away and try to make you seek psychiatric help. Getting out of the area after that would likely be impossible. And it didn't help that you had no proof that he actually was coming after you; only a strong feeling that he definitely would be closing in on you sometime soon.

Your friends didn't deserve whatever horrible fate he could bring upon them, but you weren't going to stick around to see what happened to you if he found you. The best bet for them was that he would just leave them alone.

You continued with your packing, telling yourself over and over again that he wouldn't do anything to them and that there was no shame in running to save yourself, doing your absolute best to ignore the part of you that repeated that they wouldn't survive.

Maybe deep down you were just as terrible of a person as your soulmate and this connection to him was your punishment.

Everything that wasn't packed away in a moving truck had been stuffed into a suitcase that waited for you at your now empty apartment. Just one more night here and you would have successfully uprooted your life and moved on to one that was hopefully better.

You were walking back after your last shift at work, thinking of the things you might do after your move while also wondering how far you would need to go to protect your identity, maybe look into changing your name and dying your hair. The afternoon sun was beating down on you and the sidewalk was filled with other people who were likely also just getting off of work, the level of noise fairly high.

Being in a crowd of people had always made you feel safe. You had reasoned that there was no way anything would happen if you were surrounded by potential witnesses; no matter what sort of things your soulmate was capable of, there was no way he could do anything that could hurt dozens of people all at once. That was what you had told yourself all this time.

But the next time you glanced up, you froze.

He was there.

That man whose reflection you had seen in the mirror, whose body you had inhabited for that brief period of time, was standing in front of you, his hands in his pockets and his head tilting to the side with a small smile when the two of you made eye contact.

Your hands rigidly gripped the strap of your purse while your legs stayed stiff. You wanted to run, you desperately wanted to run away, but like that night when you had swapped bodies, your limbs felt like lead and you couldn't bring yourself to move more than a few inches.

He started to approach and you tensed. You'd only managed to take a single step back before he was on you, his hand firmly gripping your arm and pulling you with him to the side.

“It would be rude to stand in the way of all of these people, don't you agree?” he asked, motioning to the people who now passed the two of you by.

You didn't answer, and all you could do was hope that someone would notice that something was wrong with you two and raise some sort of alarm. Remembering the taser Harrison had given you, your free hand slipped down to your purse, trying your best to remove it without him noticing.

“It's very nice to meet you,” he continued, “I'm Chrollo.”

His hand stayed on your arm, and he clearly had no intention of letting go.

Words didn't want to leave you, instead blocking up in your throat. All you really wanted to do was scream and get away from him. The man you had been stressing out over for the past few months found you just as you were about to leave and had casually came up to introduce himself. As if the circumstances surrounding your swap weren't any issue.

Taking in a few deep breaths, you composed yourself enough to speak, all the while he waited for you patiently.

“This.... This isn't a very nice meeting for me,” you said, “actually, I really wish you didn't come to see me.”

Surprisingly he nodded, seemingly understanding why you didn't want to meet him.

“Our switch happened at a very unfortunate time; I can't blame you for being apprehensive.”

..... Apprehensive?

This man made you a witness to that horror show and he was brushing it off as just apprehension?

“That's kind of an understatement, don't you think?” you snapped, the fear that had kept you petrified breaking for a moment.

“I understand that you're afraid. But you shouldn't be. I'm not going to hurt you; I'm here to take you with me.”

“I don't want to go with you,” you said.

“I won't make you witness anything else like that. You'll be taken care of for the rest of your life,” Chrollo continued, ignoring your statement.

“You made me watch those men die.”

You then hissed in pain as his grip on your arm became tighter. Evidently your voice was raising too much for his liking.

“There isn't much that can be done about that now,” said Chrollo, “I'm sorry that you needed to see that, but in time I'm sure you'll forgive me for it.”

He remained nonchalant, that small smile still on his face while he spoke of those dead men and what you had experienced as if he was talking about the weather. Below, you found the taser in your purse and gripped it, readying yourself to bring it out.

“I want nothing to do with you.”

Chrollo sighed.

“I'm afraid you have no choice. Soulmates are meant to be together,” he answered. His other hand gripped your chin, raising you up as if to pull you into a kiss.

“You were meant to be with me,” Chrollo whispered.

He stopped suddenly, his expression changing to one mild surprise as he looked down to where you had jammed the taser beneath his ribs, your thumb hovering over the ON button.

“Get the fuck away from me or I'll turn this on. I'll scream for help and tell everyone here that you're trying to kidnap me,” you hissed.

With the way the two of you were positioned, none of the passersby could see the taser you held against him. So there was still a way to get out of this with nothing happening, which would be the best option for him. If he left you now, you would be able to escape and leave all of this behind in favor of your new life. Chrollo was bold, you would give him that, as you had been so sure he wouldn't approach you in public. But being in public gave you an advantage: a young woman yelling about a man attacking her would instantly draw attention, and Chrollo would have all sorts of scrutiny on him. A man who officially didn't exist wouldn't want dozens of witnesses to any sort of crime. He had to leave you alone.

Chrollo stared at the taser for a few moments, and then looked back to you, his expression neutral. Despite your threat, he wasn't letting go, though his grip had lessened.

“This is a surprise. With what Pakunoda said and what we saw on our observation of you, you seemed like a much more compliant type. Where exactly is this fight coming from?” he murmured.

The way those gray eyes seemed to look right through you made you more uncomfortable the longer you kept eye contact, and you glanced back to the people around you. No one had noticed what was going on between you two; even if they couldn't see the taser, you had been hopeful that at least one person would have seen that something was wrong and would have come up to investigate. You had broken out into a nervous sweat, and your anxiety only got worse the longer he stared at you.

“Do it.”

The words that he spoke so calmly caught you by surprise, and once more you couldn't speak.

“If you're that desperate to try and get away from me, then turn that thing on and call for help,” he said, “but know that if you do that, all of these people will die. And you won't be getting away from me.”

You looked again to the crowd of people.

“You.... You can't do that. There's too many..... You'd never be able to...”

That smile returned to his face.

“My dear, much like how you know very little of taking yourself off the grid, you also know very little of what I am capable of. I assure you, I can kill everyone here within a matter of minutes. Of course, I would rather you didn't drive me to that point; it would be much easier for all of us if you just came with me.”

The hand on your jaw slid downwards until it was gripping your own, and he pushed the taser harder against himself as if to encourage you to use it.

“Do it, but know that it won't change anything. All you'll be accomplishing is killing these people and making things unpleasant for yourself once I take you to your new home. Cooperate, and you won't be responsible for anyone dying.”

Despite his slight smile, his eyes were cold. He meant it when he said he would kill everyone. You recognized what he was doing with the way he worded it: that you would be responsible for the deaths of these bystanders, as if you were the one willing to murder just to make a point. But you also recognized that you had no way of stopping him – no, that wasn't correct. You had a way of stopping him, and that was to do as he said.

The crushing defeat you felt snuffed out the fight that had been sparked within you, and your head hung low when he pulled your hand away and slipped the taser out of your loosened grip.

“Smart girl,” he said, placing it in his coat pocket.

Chrollo wasted no time in taking you away, pulling you forward and placing an arm across your shoulders, ensuring that you couldn't pull away from him. The two of you walked in silence, making your way past the other men and women in the street. So many people around you, and not one of them was aware that you were being taken against your will.

“You don't need to hold me like this,” you mumbled.

Chrollo didn't answer, nor did he look at you, his eyes staring straight ahead as you turned a corner down a smaller side street. There weren't as many people down this way, and as you came towards the end, you saw two people standing next to a van waiting for you and Chrollo. One of them was a blonde man in light purple clothes that you had never seen before, but the other one you recognized: the woman in the suit who you had seen just before you left Chrollo's body that night. Their gazes were heavy on you as you got closer.

“No trouble then, boss?” the man asked Chrollo, his tone lighthearted.

“Not much,” Chrollo answered. He finally pulled away from you and, to your surprise, pulled out your taser that he had pocketed earlier, tossing it to the man.

“Get rid of that, will you?”

Neither of them said anything: the man inspected it before laughing a little while the woman raised an eyebrow at you. You kept your gaze on your shoes, not saying anything as you were guided to an open back door of the van. You were sat in the middle of the back seat, in between the woman and Chrollo while the other man climbed into the front passenger's seat. Another woman was already sitting in the driver's seat, this one older, most likely middle-aged. She was staring ahead blankly, and you noticed a strange needle with a bat on the end sticking out of her neck.

“Don't worry about it,” said Chrollo, as if reading your mind.

“Let's get going. How far to the next town?”

“With this traffic, it'll likely be about fifteen minutes,” the woman said.

“Alright. Drop us off there; I'll find a car and take her the rest of the way myself. You two shouldn't have too hard of a time taking care of things here,” Chrollo replied. The man and the woman nodded, and a silence fell over all of you as the van began moving.

The man in front looked like he was playing on his phone while the woman in the driver's seat moved like a robot as she drove, and the woman on your left stared out of the window, occasionally glancing at you, as if anticipating an attempt to escape. As much as you wanted to, you weren't stupid enough to try that. The doors on either side of you were blocked off, and any attempt to get out through the back door would be stopped easily. You were trapped and there was nothing you could do.

You stared down at your hands while you gripped your knees, your fingernails slowly digging into your flesh while you silently berated yourself for getting caught, for not doing enough to prevent this, for not telling anyone the truth. Because of your preparations for your move, it would take your friends a long time to figure out you were missing, and by that point who knows where you would be. This was your fault and you were paying for it.

A hand suddenly covered one of yours, and you glanced over to Chrollo. He pulled your hand into his, lacing your fingers together while he smiled at you again, as if sensing your turmoil and trying to calm you down. It didn't feel genuine, however, and you wanted to pull your hand away from his.

It's a better idea not to, a voice inside you said, and you turned your gaze back downwards, leaving your hand in his and trying to ignore the way he chuckled at you.

#chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere x reader #chrollo #reader insert #chrollo x reader #yandere hxh #shalnark #Pakunoda #yandere #shal killed a woman but it's okay cuz she was just a karen

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iamnotparticularlyproud · 3 years ago

Photo

PPB Square: Kink Discovery | @peterparkerbingo

word count: 2.7k rating: mature warnings: none ao3 link: https://bit.ly/3xpiBdx

Summary: Bucky and Peter have been together for a while, but Peter can’t bring himself to talk to his boyfriend about how their sex life is a bit - uh, well, boring. Instead, Peter searches Bucky’s laptop while he isn’t home for any sign of kink whatsoever. To say it doesn’t go as he planned would be an understatement.

Bucky’s amazing. So, so amazing, and Peter could go on about it for days - about his silly nicknames, the way he makes the Brooklyn drawl sound adorable, his unexpected dorkiness and razor sharp wit, how his hands are so calloused but he holds Peter so softly--

Days, Peter could come up with these for days.

So, it’s not like there’s anything he wishes he could change about their relationship. It’s - they’re - perfect, everything’s been perfect. Bucky’s just so nice, and after Beck, Peter wasn’t sure he’d ever be in a relationship again, let alone one so - so good. So healthy, and so supportive.

It’s just--

Their sex is so vanilla. Painfully vanilla. The most unconventional Bucky gets is with his dirty talk, and, yeah, Peter loves how his boyfriend will call him his sweet lil boy, and tell Peter how good he takes a thick cock in his tight ass, but that's about as far as Bucky ever goes.

And that - that isn’t a bad thing, Peter knows that, it’s just. Boring, sometimes, is all.

Peter wishes he could talk to Bucky about it, because the man always stresses communication and talking problems out, but it’s just so embarrassing. Peter’s just thinking about it and he’s flushed, so how could he say the word kink out loud?

He can’t. He really, really can’t.

So Peter does the only other thing he can think to do.

He steals Bucky’s laptop and rummages for any signs of kink - anything to suggest his boyfriend isn’t as vanilla as it seems. Peter knows he doesn’t have long - Bucky’s out getting takeout from their favorite Thai place, and it isn’t too far - so he doesn’t waste time as he searches all the keywords he can think of in Bucky’s unorganized folders, his internet history that’s never been cleared, the hard drive Peter got him because he complained about memory but Peter was 99% sure he never touched - he was right - and then tries his luck with the recycle bin, but--

There’s not just no sign of kink.

There’s nothing. There’s no porn at all.

Peter’s mind is blown. He hadn’t even considered that he wouldn’t find porn, he thought that everyone watched porn - and unless Bucky knew how to delete specific pages from his browser history, which Peter heavily doubts, because, c'mon - but apparently, Bucky doesn’t.

He considers that, maybe, since Bucky is nearly a decade older than him, he consumes his porn in a different way. Maybe physical movies or, godforbid, magazines.

Peter’s considering looking through Bucky’s drawers and closets until he finds proof of pornography consumption, but then someone’s clearing their throat behind him.

“Jesus, how do you--” Peter exclaims, because it’s nowhere near the first time this six foot hunk of a man has snuck up on him. Then, he glances at the clunky computer in his lap that is obviously not his, and back at Bucky, who’s looking at the laptop, and then at Peter.

“What’re you doin’ with my computer?”

Peter panics, not because Bucky seems upset, because he doesn’t, just - confused, but it’s such a weird thing to be doing, and he can’t lie at all, and this isn’t--

“Does that say porn?” Bucky asks, suddenly leaning over Peter’s shoulder, and he just sounds amused, but Peter goes on the defensive anyway.

“I-It’s just, you never, and I - this isn’t me wanting you to change, or--”

Bucky moves quickly when Peter starts that familiar stress-ramble; he circles around the couch, puts the plastic bag filled with food down on the coffee table and sits next to him, wrapping an arm around his back and shushing him kindly.

“Slow down, doll.” Bucky smiles, sincerity etched in his crow’s feet, “Can’t understand you when you’re talkin’ too fast, remember?”

Peter stops. He nods, then he takes a breath. When he lets it go, Bucky tells him to take a deeper one, so he does, and as he breathes it out, he feels the alarm fade.

Not completely, though. Not with the evidence of his snooping in his lap.

With a glance back at where porn is still typed out in the recycle bin’s search bar and a chuckle, Bucky asks, almost laughing, “What were you doin’, sweetheart?”

Peter doesn’t expect it, but the fight drains from his body. It’s him accepting his fate, he realizes belatedly.

“I, uh,” Peter pauses, because it’s still so difficult to say the words, “was looking for porn.”

Bucky laughs for real this time, and Peter closes his eyes with a sigh. That wasn’t what he meant to say, at all.

“No - I was looking for y-your porn, like, what you watch,” Peter explains, and Bucky is still laughing, but he waves a hand.

“Yeah, I got that.” He says, making an effort to curb his laughter, “Why, though?”

Peter bites his lip. "Do you watch porn?”

He was scared that meeting Bucky’s question with a question would frustrate the man, but he only looks more amused.

“Why would I?”

Huh?

“What?”

“Why would I watch porn?” Bucky sounds genuinely confused, “We have sex almost everyday.”

Almost, Peter nearly stresses, but catches himself. Obviously, he’s dramatically misread the situation.

“Y-Yeah, but,” Peter tries to come up with something, anything, “like, maybe, before we dated?”

“I know it’s kinda old, but I got the thing not too long before we met, actually.”

That bit of information also sends Peter reeling, and he almost argues about it - because the laptop isn’t 'kinda old,' it’s ancient - but Bucky speaks before he does.

“Were you lookin’ for the kinda porn I’m into?”

Peter nearly sags with relief. How does he always manage to get it before Peter has to explain?

“Yeah.”

Bucky’s smile shifts, and it’s - he likes that, Peter notices, and, it’s - it's sexual.

“What, did you wanna tease me?” Bucky licks his lips, “Rile me up?”

Oh. That works, and it’s pretty true, even. Peter can work with that.

He nods. Bucky continues, and he looks so pleased.

“It’s you, sugar,” Bucky brings his hand to Peter’s cheek, and his hold is so gentle, but the calluses are rough, and it’s such a satisfying dichotomy that Peter can’t help but lean into it, “You get me wild.”

If only. Peter’s never seen him be wild.

But he couldn’t say that. Not when Bucky sounds like he absolutely means it, and it makes Peter’s heart flutter.

Peter has been a bit weird lately.

Well, Peter is always a bit weird, but it’s a part of his charm. He’s been acting extra weird lately, Bucky’s noticed, and while it’s just as endearing, it’s confusing, too.

He almost calls Peter out on it after he’s found him searching for porn on his computer - more than he had already, anyway - but he just gets so tense when Bucky tries to make him really talk about something. He doesn’t want to bring up that energy - not so late, anyway.

So Bucky plans to talk to him about it tomorrow.

And Peter thwarts that plan as soon as they wake up. Usually, he’s eager to spend the last day of their shared weekend off together, but before they’ve even had their coffee, Peter’s rushing out the door with the excuse of meeting up with his college friends at a cafe. Not too long later he texted they were going to do an impromptu study group for an upcoming quiz, then, after five hours, texted him they were going to hang out more.

Bucky tries not to be suspicious of or retaliatory to Peter even more than he’s learned to be with his partners, because the kid’s not had a great track record with boyfriends, to say the least, but this is ridiculous. When he’s been gone for a whole seven hours, under the guise of shoddy excuses, Bucky decides his curiosity needs to be sated more than Peter needs to be coddled, and his new plan is to snoop into Peter’s computer like the kid tried with him. Obviously, if he assumed Bucky would have porn on his laptop, Peter’s got some on his.

Bucky doesn’t plan to look until Peter texts that he’s on his way home, though. He thinks it’ll be funny if the kid finds himself where Bucky stood last night.

So, after Peter texted that he’s omw, Bucky pulls out his computer. It’s so sleek, thin and light, yet wide, and he hates using it, but he’s dying to know. How much porn could Peter possibly watch, considering how much they have sex, and how busy he’s kept as a student and part-time employee?

Not very much, Bucky assumes.

And holy fuck is he wrong.

He takes a wild guess and searches porn in the convenient - but too bulky, and ugly - search engine in the toolbar, and a stupidly obviously labeled folder, not porn don’t look, comes right up. There’s several subfolders - distinguishing the videos by kink, dear God - and dozens of videos in most of them, over a hundred in a few.

What the fuck.

Bucky’s surprised - Jesus Christ, so surprised - at so many things, but - where the fuck does Peter find the time to watch so much porn? What does it mean that he’s amassed such a collection? How has Bucky never walked in on him watching it? Is there a way to see how many hours of it there are, because it’s a stupidly high amount, definitely--

Bucky takes a breath. He leans back, too, because the little previews are too much to look at, and he takes a moment to appreciate just how understandable it was that Peter was so confused yesterday. It must be unthinkable, to not watch porn, to him. But - Peter’s never even mentioned porn before, not in the half-a-year they’ve been dating, so what was so different about yesterday?

The question has Bucky sitting back up, ready to delve deeper. He starts by reading the names of the folders closer, finding it’s not just organized by kink, but by his favorite pornstars, too. The kid’s got several, all with typical pornstar names, and according to the previews, he’s got a type for big and buff. Checks out.

With another deep, grounding breath, Bucky clicks on the folder name Ultimate Favorites. It’s only got thirteen videos in it, but all the titles are a fuckin’ doozy. It’s shit like Small Twink Fucked Hard, and Daddy Pounds His Boy Until He Cries, and - Jesus fuck - Dom Verbally Abuses Sub While Anally Abusing Him.

Bucky’s nauseous just reading that last one. He never would’ve guessed Peter was into such rough sex. Not just because the kid gets all wide-eyed and stuttery whenever sex is even mentioned, but because Peter’s just so - soft. In all the ways a person can be, really.

Bucky doesn’t know how to reconcile what he knows Peter to be like with this new information about him. He distantly knows that he doesn’t have to - that Peter’s kinks don't reflect anything about his personality, and acting like they do is only reductive - but the instinct is so strong, he can’t help but fruitlessly try.

Before he can reconsider, Bucky’s clicking on one of the more mildly titled videos - not that any of them are mild at all - just to understand better what Peter’s so into.

The video loads almost immediately, and it doesn’t waste time with any kind of introduction - there’s suddenly two men on the screen, their size difference resembling Bucky and Peter’s to a ridiculous degree, and the larger one pushes the smaller onto a bed carelessly before climbing on top of him. It’s a bunch of shoving and aggressive groping along with cruel words and name calling, and Bucky’s never been more turned off in his life. He can’t believe this porno is among Peter’s favorites - his boyfriend’s never once let on that this is the kind of sex he’s into.

While he’s staring, Bucky’s on screen lookalike finally quitting with the rough teasing and moving onto the brutal fucking, he hears Peter enter his apartment. Bucky doesn’t mute the video, and Peter’s light footsteps stop immediately. Bucky can just see the look on his face - that caught-in-the-headlights one that makes Peter look more like a deer than Bucky thought a person could - and he stifles a laugh as the steps pick back up, this time much more hesitant. When Peter’s a good foot into the living room, Bucky turns around, acting as if he hadn’t heard him coming in.

With the computer filling the room with sounds of slapping and exaggerated moans, Bucky greets, struggling to keep a smirk off his face, “Hi, honey. How was your day?”

Peter doesn’t answer him and - yep, there’s that look. Instead, he gapes like a fish at where his computer is steadied on Bucky’s lap, eyes wide and frantic.

“Why’d you never mention this, doll?” Bucky asks, dropping the act as Peter keeps looking like disaster is seconds away. He pauses the video and sets the laptop to the side, motioning for Peter to join him on the couch.

Peter does join him, albeit uncertain and his eyes still trained on the graphic image on the computer screen. He’s quiet as he sits as far as he can from Bucky.

“I--” Peter starts, gaze transfixed on the laptop. “Can you - close that?”

Bucky does. Peter keeps looking at it.

“You okay?” Bucky asks, chuckling.

Peter finally looks at him. He seems scared, Bucky realizes. He closes a bit of the distance between them, leaving some incase Peter feels suffocated, and puts a hand on the back of his neck, a touch Peter always leans into.

He does this time, too. He relaxes some, and Bucky prompts, “Were you scared to tell me?”

Peter relaxes even more, his shoulders falling. He nods. “I know you probably don’t care--”

Bucky interrupts to confirm with a nod of his own, “I don’t.”

“But it’s just--” Peter huffs, eyebrows furrowing, “Embarrassing.”

Bucky nods more. “It doesn’t change how I think about you.” He reassures Peter, “At all.”

“That's good.” Peter breathes, and Bucky can’t help but laugh softly. “I was starting to think it would gross you out.”

It kinda does, but Bucky doesn’t say that. It isn’t important how the porn he’s into makes Bucky feel.

“No, baby. It doesn’t.”

Peter leans into his side, and Bucky shifts to embrace him. Silence attempts to settle around them, but Bucky can’t help his need to tease.

“So… where’d you find the time to make such a collection?”

Peter cringes. “I, uh, started it years ago.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t know why he didn’t assume that - it’s a seriously massive collection - but thinking of how far back years suggests, and how Peter is just twenty-two, he can’t help but ask for clarification.

“How many years you talkin’?”

“Uhh…” Peter trails off, seeming to really think about it. Bucky can see the moment he finds the answer, and his expression closes. “...several.”

Bucky decides to wager a guess. He doesn’t really know why he wants to know this answer, but he thinks it might help him understand just how into kink Peter is.

“Sixteen?”

Peter whines. “Jamie.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Fifteen?”

Peter pulls away a bit to cover his face with his hands, and he whines unintelligibly this time.

“Christ, it wasn’t younger than thirteen, was it?”

Peter shakes his head. “N-No, I--” His words are muffled by his palms, “I was fourteen.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Peter can’t lie for shit, so Bucky can tell he isn’t just appeasing him.

Then it hits him just how long Peter’s been fantasizing about this kind of sex.

“You’re really into this stuff, huh?”

Peter burrows further into his hands. Bucky rubs his back, and considers his next words carefully.

“If you want, we could explore some of the tamer stuff you have in there.”

Peter drops his hands from his face and he looks excited for all of two seconds. Then, his expression falls. “None of it’s… tame. I mean, I guess--” Peter cuts himself off to cough, wincing as he tries to get the words out, “uh, im-impact play isn’t, you know, hardcore, I guess.”

“Spanking and stuff?”

“...and stuff.” Peter says with a flush.

“We’ll start with spanking,” Bucky laughs, adding just in case, “if you want to.”

But it wasn’t necessary, because Peter brightens immediately.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

Peter smiles wide, and Bucky can’t help but return it with one of his own.

#peterparkerbingo2021 #winterspider #peter parker #bucky barnes #peter parker x bucky barnes #peter x bucky #nff #im pretty sure no warnings anyway #if u think i should add one jus tell me #for some reason i feel the need to defend myself for making bucky not. like. good with technology #bc thats not canon #but i dont have a reason i just think its funny #also for some reason im really embarrassed to post this #uhhhh #my writing

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pokedash55 · 3 years ago

Text

ULTRA LONG TIME TWIN HEADCANNONS

@sippin-on-waterfalls your post is ready

From Pokedash and Purplefern

Ooooooookay here we go.

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-Krux perceives time slower than others so he is easily late to events (plus he gets distracted and way into projects so he can easily lose track of time, ironically) so he could end up missing a lot of Elemental Alliance meetings

-Acronix made sure he informed Krux it was time to go (whenever he remembers, anyway) otherwise he’d be uber late all the time. Good thing they always go together

-Acronix is super early all the time because of his powers and he and Griffon Turner’s grandfather got along really well

-All the same, between lack of attention span, focusing on other things, and not caring for the meetings in general, Krux and Acronix miss a LOT of meetings

-Before alliance meetings Wu is training little Morro and the Twins and the Master of Speed just waltz in the monastery doors an hour early

-Acronix teaches Morro some sick fighting moves (some rather underhanded)

-Krux advises him to never let people get away with harm cause you are the most important thing in your life. (Revenge!)

-Wu be like plz stop encouraging my kid into violence and dishonorable tactics.

-Krux brought refreshments to an EA party exactly once. It was pickled beet tea and nobody liked it. He took it very personally.

-Back during the war, the love triangle with Misako was actually a love rectangle. Krux had a crush on her too but he literally had no idea how to act on it so his part of the rectangle was staring at her longingly from afar and not saying anything.

-Yes Acronix teased him immensely about this. And tried to act as a wingman several times but Krux swore if he did he would murder him

-Pre-series, Misako would do work for the museum a lot, so she ended up working with Sanders Saunders quite often. Despite her relationship to Wu and Garmadon and their “history”, he did like working with her ok

-They both also worked with the Explorer’s Club a lot, and have equal disdain for Cecil Putnam and Clutch Powers

-Krux hates Cecil’s stuffy rules (even though he couldn’t show it while being Dr Saunders) and Clutch’s….everything

-Krux’s doctorate is real, and he has a doctorate in History and and Master’s degree in Museum Studies

-He’s the Curator of History at the museum, and the other curator is the curator of natural sciences

-Acronix is a big nicknames guy. He doesn’t usually call people by their actual names. Only the people he actually cares about or that he super hates.

-But he also generally despises nicknames given TO him. The only people allowed to call him Nix/Nixie are his brother and mother (and later Shannon).

-Krux only calls Acronix "Nix" if he's feeling particularly vulnerable/scared/etc (so like, when being the older twin isn't feeling that fun and he decides to ignore those 3 minutes and be more like the "younger" twin.) So this becomes a lot less as he becomes more arrogant.

-(Based on how he describes Dareth getting beat up by the Vermillion warrior) Krux likes watching wrestling. It’s a guilty pleasure of his

-And of course Acronix loves it once he learns about it, so the two watch it together

-Krux occasionally plays strategy board games. He tried to get Acronix into them but he found them boring.

-(Sometimes he’ll suck it up and play with him anyway, though.)

-Both are sass masters

-Both also like science

-But like completely different facets of science.

-Krux of course likes the more stable and earthy sciences. Biology and geology, ecology. Those elemental science that have always existed but we just haven’t yet understood them

-Krux is also a total history nerd. Things like paleontology and anthropology are also really interesting to him

-Yes he was a dinosaur kid. (Especially since dinosaurs had just started to be discovered back in his day.)

-Acronix of course likes advancement and the otherworldly sciences. Technology, Astronomy. Sure we build upon the discoveries of the past but what about creating something new for the future?

-Acronix does like bioengeneering since it is a new advancement but he knows saying so would make Krux grin with “I told you bio was cool” vibes

-Krux can engulf himself into his work or his schemes for days. As he is very patient.

-Acronix is less so. He sees time constantly moving forward so sitting idle to “Plan” seems a ridiculous waste of time.

-He jumps from activities quickly as the novelty of it wears off and he is always on a quest for what's new and what may work, not really what has been confirmed to work

-Krux of course sees this as a fool's errand. We need to respect the knowledge we have and use it and plan with it.

-But when they are in sync you should be SCARED

-Both thinking in the Present can make them in perfect harmony, Both in fighting and talking.

-Their different planning methods can help eachother get things done. So yes, when they work together you should be scared

-Krux can get really fixated on an idea, and get into major creative blocks. Acronix helps propose out of the box solutions that keep his ideas moving forwards that he wouldn’t have thought of himself.

-But as we see they can also be reeeeallly different and fight over the miniscule things.

-Krux lingers on Grudges easily as he physically cannot not put value to the events of the past.

-Acronix’s main grudge with the alliance came from his ego and arrogance, not his element. I think he feels very internally about wrongs to him in the moment but if he sees nothing really changed a couple of days later he loses interest in holding such a grudge easily

-Each of them have the ability to not be affected by the other’s powers

-Acronix has no patience to listen to anything he doesn’t want to hear. Back when he had his powers he COULD and WOULD just “skip” peoples’ dialogue if he got bored of it.

-Krux has a bad habit of “freezing” people if he feels like they’re interrupting him. Like, he will freeze people who are trying to get him to stop working on something while he’s trying to get something done, and then get back to them when he feels like it. Everyone has to work on his time. (Annoyingly, this does not affect his brother, which is why Acronix is the only one who can actually get him to stop working on his projects.)

-Whenever Krux & Acronix would hang out with Chen, Acronix loved messing with Clouse. Clouse reminds him of his brother, but even more stuffy and annoyed somehow, so he just has an instinctual urge to annoy him as much as possible.

-(Clouse does not appreciate this, but Master Chen says they’re “important” to his plan so Clouse just suffers quietly.)

-Acronix likes the Master of Speed, but also finds it annoying that he can resist his slo-mo powers by going really fast. (On the bright side, though, this does make him the closest thing to an equal he’ll get for a sparring partner, if Krux doesn’t want to train with him for whatever reason.)

-Because of his element, Sound is one of the rare people who doesn’t really mind Krux but REALLY dislikes Acronix. Acronix is just so loud all the time and it physically pains him because he is so sensitive to vibrations and volume. Krux is generally pretty quiet so doesn’t bug him as much.

-Acronix is an Entrepreneur (ESTP) and Krux is an Architect (INTJ)

-They have no Feeling whatsoever

-Otherwise, they are complete opposites

-Both of these personality types hate rules, regulations, and micromanaging restricting authority figures (hmm, wonder why they broke away from the alliance…)

-Acronix is arrogant in the way that he doesn’t care about his flaws, because obviously he is awesome and everyone else is just jelly, Krux is arrogant in the way that he hates people pointing out his flaws, because shut up he doesn’t have any

-Their mother is Polaris, they take after her physically

-Father is Kronos, they got their powers and ego from him

-Their father actively encouraged them to have immense pride in their element -- being the former master of time himself

-Ordered them the sweet matching armor

-He was a samurai back in his day, which is why the Twims wore samurai helmets.

-Between their two loving parents, the Twims were nearly spoiled

-Krux and Acronix grew up pretty rich, Kronos was pretty much high society and Polaris was too

-They went to a fairly fancy private school growing up

-But everyone there were snobs so they didn’t get along well with their classmates (what a surprise)

-Their parents died in a skirmish with Serpentine, leading the Twims to join the alliance full of vengeance.

-Acronix has a battle scar from being grazed by an anacondrai sword on his left pec cause I said so

-Also a lot of misc snake bit scars and a burn scar from that one time (Ray’s got a bad temper and Acronix likes pressing people’s buttons, so that went super well)

-Acronix super cares about his looks so has a ton of, like, haircare and beauty products. Krux has a single bottle of 3-in-1 and a bar of soap and says that that’s sufficient.

-Back in the day Acronix had a bunch of oils and whatever for his hair, and when he’s in the present he’s got a bunch of fancy shampoos and such. He’s definitely the vain one of the two twins

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A collection of Neurodivergent Twims HCs

-Acronix has ADHD and Krux is autisitc

-Acronix is early, but only to things he remembers. He often forgets dates. And Krux will get involved with something else, and has a warped sense of time. Together, the two miss a lot of EM meetings

-And when they’re at them, neither of them are good at conversations. Acronix talks a mile a minute and doesn’t let anyone get a word in edgewise. Krux either doesn’t talk to anyone or similarly dominates conversation and doesn’t let anyone else talk.

-The two also get sent on solo missions alot

-They don’t focus well in a group setting (Acronix generally ignoring the plan for what he prioritizes as the better option and krux simply not being popular with the others and only really battling well beside his brother)

-They are generally strong enough to protect a village by themselves

-The other EM work better with them out of the way since they are “annoying” and no one really likes their arrogance, pride, or entire personhood

-They seem to be happier working only together than with the whole group

-Once during a group charge on a collection of Serpentine races Acronix notices a horde heading in a different direction and follows them impulsive

-All of these things together make them especially unpopular with the other EMs

-Especially with the Master of Ice, who considers their actions disrespectful and often scolds them on their behavior

-Krux and Acronix can BOTH get hyperfixated on things they are interested in, and can also forget to eat and sleep.

-Acronix struggles with insomnia a lot because his brain doesn’t shut up. Luckily his brother never really sleeps either. They spend a lot of long nights talking about nonsense

-Acronix tries to use time skip powers to not waste time while sleeping. He skips the night, but he still didn’t get sleep. He crashes after a few days of this and Krux tells him that he’s a moron

-Acronix has a fidget spinner, which he got for the memes but ended up finding unironically helpful, and gives Krux a fidget cube (which Krux reluctantly accepts and actually does use pretty often.)

-Before learning what a fidget spinner was he would flip his phone a lot. It was both an easily accessible stim and assurance he knew where it was cause he tended to leave things around at random.

-Krux used nail-biting as a stim, mostly because it can appear pretty neurotypical

-Acronix is “annoying” around the ninja during his lil redemption arc, but instead of reacting like the elemental masters, the Ninja actually do research and come to an understanding (especially Zane, who is perceptive, understanding, and has an instantaneous link to the internet).

-Altogether he’s a little surprised when they actually put effort into tolerating and understanding his differences. Huh. How’s bout that?

-Jay is also pretty understanding, he’s got a lot of nd cousins and has ADHD himself so it’s kinda just *shrugs*

-Modern dyes and preservatives really trigger Acronix’s ADHD to be even worse than usual.

-Zane picks up on this, and like the mother hen that he is starts to put in a special effort to keep dyes away from Acronix (or to keep Acronix away from dyes, as the case may be)

-Jay has a similar problem with dyes (which Edna let the Ninja know about, thanks a lot ma ) so Zane works double time to keep them both away from dyes

-Makes special dishes that are “ADHD safe”

-Neither appreciate it (well Jay does but will complain openly at every chance he gets)

-Acronix got into a lot of trouble with their dad when he was a kid, because he just couldn’t pay attention

-Has bursts of anger a lot, oftentimes this happens during things like parties or pre-meeting conversations. (which easily leads to him getting a label of “aggressive” or “hotheaded” by the EMs)

-DEFINITELY struggles with Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria

-Ninjago history is Krux’s special interest

-Krux freezes people around him when he needs a sec to destim

-Krux is pretty high-functioning, but is on the borderline. He's high-functioning enough to be aware of himself and mask, but not enough to avoid things like shut/melt downs

-Acronix is fiercely protective of his brother whenever he shuts down. Messing with Krux while he's like that (whether the antagonist is aware or not) is a one way ticket to his wrath as well as physical punishment.

-Whenever things got too intense at a meeting/party type thing, Acronix would ditch and sneak them both out whenever Krux was heading towards a shut down. Being the awesome supportive twin that he is, he learned to pick up on the signs of one and was certain to prevent them pretty much whenever possible.

-Acronix failed in his efforts only once (he was kind of sick that day and wasn’t at the top of his game to be keeping a watchful eye on his bro), and Krux kind of ended up time freezing a few of the EMs in the process. It was something the elemental masters (or Krux himself) did not soon forget or forgive.

-He'll go nonverbal sometimes, to the minor aggravation of the alliance. Sign language isn't a thing yet so anyone trying to understand him when he's like this are pretty much reliant on Acronix and his twin sense to translate.

-When their parents died Krux went nonverbal for a little over a month.

-Krux was pretty delayed in learning to speak, he didn’t say his first word until he was 3 ¼

-Even during his redemption arc, Acronix does not tell the Ninja about Krux's autism, from a built in fear that the knowledge would be used against him in possible future battles. (Also because he knows Krux wouldn't want them to know.)

-Krux doesn't just hate phones because “ugh technology”, he also just hates talking on the phone because it’s super difficult

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OK there are way more that we have but... did you know there is actually a word limit on Tumblr? Heh heh... If you want more Twim goodness you can read our extensive fanfic collection... or maybe we’ll make a part two (That’ll probably consist of Home life pre-war stuff, post-canon AU junk, Vermillion family nonsense, and more random stuff)

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helpinghanikan · 4 years ago

Text

Hot Date

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Sum: It shouldn't have to be said that SHIELD researchers aren't allowed to date their wards. But that doesn't stop the romantic tension from forming between you. The real question is, whose feelings will be most affected when the tension finally boils over?

Anomalous weapons supervisor was typed out on your paychecks, but babysitter would be a better description. Diplomas, experience and more resulted in your butt on bleachers. Watching the important people play around with powers few in this world understood.

Whoever designed this area probably didn’t know who exactly would be using it. It had the basics; a track for running, mats for sparring and weights for lifting. With more off the wall items thrown in that might be useful to the superpowered individuals using it. Like the massive metal balls being lifted and lowered by the red magic of your charge. Or one of your charges at least.

‘Wanda seems to have complete control of her powers. Whether these powers are coming from her mind or some sort of muscle in her hands has yet to be known.’ You type out just intime to get a guest sitting to your right.

“Can I get an autograph when your book is finished?” Pietro has been working on his accent, so had Wanda. As much pride as the two had they were still looking to adapt. But there were still hints of it on certain words. Especially when he’s this close not really trying.

“Only if I get to sign those tits.” Obviously, a joke, but you still had to take a quick glance to the camera. Just in case you get dragged into a meeting and this comes back up about your unprofessional comments. Not that it would stop your work.

“I can live without the signature,” Wanda’s voice, although distant, echoed in the wide space. “You’ve spelt many things wrong anyhow.”

Few people could say they were as close to the Maximoff twins as yourself. Even after the discovery of an alien/god, of the defrosting of a super-solider and the destruction from a billionaire people were wary of the twins.

It was through simple respect that Wanda had warmed up to you. You hadn’t talked to her with artificial kindness, didn’t look to the guards when her voiced raised even the slightest. No, you had asked how she was (the room was too hot for her), if she needed anything (just wanted to know how much longer she was going to be questioned), if she liked coffee or tea (tea is preferred), and how she was doing, really doing (she was tired, you all were).

It was another story for Pietro. Only trusting you after Wanda obviously saw you as a friend. Taking his own time to warm up after getting the same genuine experience you offered rather the blunt questions and stupid statements. It was the dinner you invited them to that sealed the deal. Nothing brings people together more than a lot of meat, the warm feeling of alcohol and a quiet afternoon with a food coma.

“What have you written?” Pietro asks, your laptop now in his hands.

There’s no point in trying to stop him when he snatches things. A child who had to move fast for food and safety makes petty theft a hard habit to beat. Not to mention Wanda already knew everything that went into your daily reports with a blink of her eye, it was seemingly only fair that Pietro got to know to.

“Same stuff I was doing yesterday, and the day before and the day before that and the-.”

“Yes, yes, thank you!” Pietro says, used to the child like taunts and knowing to stop you early.

With nothing of interest on said laptop he turned it back over to you. Taking his place leaning against your shoulder as you begin to work once more. Only speaking up to ensure you add in the correct description of his improvement.

These reports were supposed to be done without the twins knowledge. You were supposed to be a spy on the side of the government. Although it was blamed on Wanda’s mindreading in reality you had never tried to hide them. These friendships were genuine, resulting with the man practically putting himself in your lap to try and keep your attention.

"How much longer do we have to do this ‘training’?” Although a grown man Pietro could act like a little boy sometimes. When he’s done, he’s done. Taking whatever actions needed to get through his current situation and move on.

“For as long as the door is closed, Pietro.” Wanda has set the metal down. Taking slow steps to reach her brother and friend. “She would likely go faster without you hanging on her.”

There is no smooth way to say this; Pietro is a big spoon. Any chance he gets a hug or to hold someone results in being overwhelmed in lean muscle. Pietro was the only warmth during those impossible cold nights as newly orphaned children. His legs and arms creating a shelter that protected his chosen from any harm from ever happening. You were one of chosen now, which explained the face made at having to get up.

“Alright kids, let’s head home.” You say, slapping the laptop closed for effect.

You were one of several who kept an eye on the twins throughout the day. Wanda and Pietro pretended not to notice how certain employees just happened to always be in the hallway when walking through. Or the little cameras that were hidden in plain sight among the decorations in their quarters. And that’s not including all the mom aged agents “just checking in” at random times, complete with the sing song voice and overuse of the word “sweetie”.

On any other day you would have followed them into their quarters. Give them a recommendation for the TV and even stay awhile to watch it with them. A chime from your phone changing the day’s proceedings. It’s only a second-long hesitation that announces this change to the twins.

Pietro says your name in a tone different than the one earlier. It’s a tone of concern that snaps your head up at him. Wanda hanging around the quarter’s entryway, staying close enough to be apart of the conversation.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, now with your attention.

“What? Yeah, yes, I just got a…you know, a hot date.” You turn your phone to face him. Not long enough for him to read the entire message but enough to know that you weren’t completely hiding anything “I’ll see you guys later. Brush your teeth before going to bed, I’ll know if you don’t.”

Before Pietro or Wanda could give a retort the door slid shut.

“Who were they talking to?” Pietro asked the only other person in the room.

Wanda didn’t answer. Rather tilting her head towards her brother. Rolling her eyes when he asked “what? Wanda, what?”

Although officially a desk agent there were times the field required someone of your talents. When this happened, all other duties had to be dropped in exchange for an outfit change and a fancy car shared with your accompanying field agent. Natasha has been your designated agent since the first field mission and could now be considered a friend.

It would seem the babysitter had become the baby. Including having your clothes laid and being helped into them before reaching the car.

“You’re an heiress looking for some expensive decorations and I am your lovely assistant and translator for the evening.” Natasha says, holding the under-suit’s legs open for you to slip into. “We’ll show up fashionably late. You are incredibly rich and important and better than all of them. So, don’t make eye contact with anyone, and try not to say anything, they’re below you.”

Unlike fulltime field agents you weren’t trained enough to go without serious protection. Not just in the form of an accompanying agent but also in a (jokingly called) bullet proof onesie. So, fitting it was essentially a bullet-proof wetsuit that stopped at the knees and elbows. Making the clothes to wear over it something with long sleeves, past the ankles and covers the neck. Sunday school appropriate for this event.

“Can I fake an accent? Like, German?” It was a dumb question for you to ask, but the ride to the gallery was already taking longer than it should.

“Hmm, Let’s hear it.” Natasha doesn’t look up from her phone but still sounded interested.

“Vell-,”

“Stop.”

Very special pieces were being auctioned off tonight. Invite only without any advertisements to say what’s up for grabs to outsiders. Although the windows were blacked out and authorities were paid off (but obviously not enough) supposedly nothing for sale was illegal. But if that were true you wouldn’t have found a seat in the front row.

The language of the night was deeply European. One or two words you could maybe guess what they meant but there was no way you could name it. Nat knew it though; it kept her ears perked to the room and her mouth right next to your ear for most of the night.

First items up were the typical rich people arty stuff; vases and paintings that probably represented something to someone if you squinted. Those went for a year’s paycheck in minutes. It was after the third portrait of some lady now long dead that Nat placed a hand on your back, just below the neck.

“Next up is ours,” she whispered. “you’re doing good and you’re doing great.”

The entire night was spent with better manners than an office setting could ever be. Back straight, eyes forward, and no one is allowed to make eye-contact. It’s only when the target was wheeled in that your mask was starting to slide.

Genuine HYDRA blueprints for a titanium prosthetic. White ink on blue paper with decades old coffee stains and tiny tears, spread up and out under protective glass like a butterfly. Although Mr. Barnes had a serious upgrade with the Vibranium he now used. But these blueprints showed just how advance the original was for the time.

Sitting forward as it’s wheeled by wasn’t enough to authenticate the prints. Something you easily communicated to Agent Romanoff with just a look.

It was a bad idea, it called why too much attention, but Agent Romanoff whipped her head towards one of the several employees of the auction. Curling her finger at them to get them over and in her speaking line.

She speaks quickly, and with an edge to her voice, to the employee. With only a few words back that same employee returned to his post and spoke to the next man in charge.

“They going to invite a few of us up to inspect the piece,” Agent Romanoff whispers, “You’re going to have to be fast, we’re going on stage.”

Others in the audience made their way onto the stage when invited. Agent Romanoff ensures that you are somewhere in the middle of it. Heels and heavy shoes making creating white noise for your work to be done.

In all HYDRA’s documents, blue-prints and almost everything else their symbol was hidden throughout it. A little game of where’s the octopus in two places. A large, but translucent, icon covering the center. And a smaller one in the bottom right-hand corner, hidden behind the creator’s signature. Reproductions never had the smaller symbol, but the stains and fingerprints ensured you were right.

Later, during the debrief, you would be lectured about the importance of subtlety and espionage. But how was the look you gave Agent Romanoff any different than how others were looking at their people?

After that (completely natural and not at all suspicious) nod Natasha’s arm was around your back. This was part you were suddenly feeling ill. This was the part your assistant/translator/arm-candy would escort you out with just enough urgency and demands for the bathroom that you’d be gone before everyone was in their seats. Apparently this was also the part a sudden security guard fires twice into your chest.

“Watch your head.” Although not yelling Agent Romanoff’s voice was firm.

It's hard to say which was scarier; the bullets aiming firing for your death or how calm and professional Agent Romanoff was about it all. Although, few rounds were actually fired inside the auction hall.

Agent Romanoff shot an arm out to the first security. Pushing his gun up and inward quick enough to catch his jaw and take him out of the game. Agent Romanoff keeping the downed man’s sidearm for herself.

That was really the only bit of action you clearly saw that night. When things go wrong in the field it’s the agents job to remove their ward from the situation with minimal injuries. As the researcher your job was much simpler; don’t die. “Keep your head down, use your arms to protect yourself and trust your agent.” Was hammered in during field training. With this mantra running over and over you weren’t in the position to watch the mess happening all around.

“Someone, call the police!” It takes a second to realize it’s Agent Romanoff yelling this. In a panicked, almost shrill, voice that practically screamed ‘we’re being victimized!’

With all the guests now properly riled up it was easier to exit the building. Allowing the oncoming mod to carry the two of you out of the building without much more fuss from security. Trying to kill an agent was one thing but killing a rich connected person (or worse their spouses) would be on an entirely new issue.

Someone stepped on your foot. Another put an elbow in your rib harder than the bullets. And a third open hand pushed you, and your agent, right out the door and onto the street. It was only through the strength of Agent Romanoff, and your handling of flats, that this mission could be considered successful.

The blueprints were already being tracked and followed by the time you’re stripped down to underwear. The pretty clothes had to be taken removed, the makeup wiped off, hair undone, and the bullet proof onesie had to be taken away. Simple tank-tops, shorts and a coat were worn on the journey home. By the time it’s all off, and you’re finally walking into the apartment, it shouldn’t be surprising how you looked to others.

“Have a good time?” It takes a second to realize it’s just the roommate asking the question.

It’s expected that any roommate a SHIELD employee takes on would also be with SHIELD. The two of you weren’t in the same division or even security level part of why living together worked out so well. She was in the know enough to hear you complain but enough in the dark to keep any secrets from getting out.

“Yep, had a real banger of a night.” Although a friend and technical coworker you couldn’t disclose too much about the missions. At least not until the green light is given by the higher ups. Instead, you can only give the people something to speculate about. “Can’t wait to see what the bruises are going to look like tomorrow.”

Spoiler alert: the bruises looked like hickeys. Something noticed by Roommate but keeping quiet about it in exchange to heading out early. Ready with the latest thing to share with the office mates.

Just like any working environment gossip is always somewhere underfoot. After being dragged in by someone who couldn’t leave it at home it’s then latching onto everyone who came close enough to hear it. Most ignore it, others listen then forget and others drag carry it further into the workplace. Until researchers leaning against the wall talk too loudly and Pietro catches a few too many words.

“Who were they talking to?” Pietro asks once the housing area’s door shut. Quickly clearing things up with the use of your name.

“I’ve haven’t seen them yet.” Wanda doesn’t care enough to close her book but does enough to look up.

“No, yesterday. Before they left, someone messaged them. Who was it?”

Wanda shrugs and returns to her book, but there’s a smile there.

“You know who it is,” He says, now on beside her. “Tell me.”

“I can’t say for sure,” She’s smiling again. Only a slight glance at Pietro. “but I think he may be very handsome.”

The siblings argued as siblings do. With Wanda teasing as sisters do. All of this could be heard before you even made it to the door. Standing at its threshold to listen as the two go at it.

“Natasha will tell you the same, Pietro.” Wanda says, probably aware that you were in hearing distance. “And she says he can do more than simply be handsome.”

Although you say nothing Wanda grins at you.

The gossip overheard is just words without evidence. Just enough to get Pietro thinking but not enough to create any serious emotions. But the “evidence” to create those emotions was now standing in the room. Small marks darker than your natural skin was peaking out from the lower neckline.

To you, they were simple bruises, nothing worth trying to hide, even something to brag about to the other desk workers. To Pietro it was marks of another person, something that pursed his lips and marched away from. Doing so slowly, to be sure that both you and Wanda were aware of how upset he was.

“I missed something.” You say, setting everything down on the counter.

Wanda has a habit of sneaking into other people’s minds. The mission, the shots and the everything was slowly being filed through in the back of your head. A pressure at the base of your neck screaming that there was an intruder.

“Stop it.” You snapped, but Wanda only smiles back.

“How was your ‘hot date’?” She finally asks.

“Is that what he’s…sonofabitch. Pietro!” There are only three rooms in this section of the compound. One being Wanda’s, another Vision’s and the third Pietro. Making it easy enough to find the pouting grown man.

“What?” He asks upon your entering.

There isn’t a response on your part for moment or two. Spending that time going to the room’s corner. Standing on tiptoes to find that switch that definitely doesn’t exist on the camera. Shutting it down for the time being before turning to start your explanation.

“You can turn that back on.” He says from his place on the bed. “There’s nothing bad we need to talk about.”

“So, you don’t wanna hear about how I was shot in the tit?”

Manners were out the window at this point. Pietro openly looking towards your chest. Back up to your face, and back down to your chest. “You were shot? They look more like…”

“They’re not hickeys, I was shot a few time through a suit.” Frustration was starting to build up. It was overflowing when you finished with “You really should know about being shot.”

The hurt on his face screamed. He didn’t look away but stayed staring forward right at you. “Pietro, I’m so…I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“It hurts,” He says. “Being shot, it really hurts.”

“I’m sorry.” Even as you walk around to sit beside him Pietro stares at where you were. Listening to your apology but not saying much else. Until he dares to lean against you. Something more than cuddling with a friend this time around. “I get it, I get you’re scared and all that. And I really like you, Pietro, I like you more than I am allowed to.”

It’s hard to say who started the kiss, but it doesn’t really matter. It was happening, and it was so much more than a something between friends.

“When that camera comes back on this didn’t happen.” You say in a moment of separation for air.

“What happens when the camera goes off again?” He asks, thumb rubbing over the bruise.

#reader insert #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #quicksilver x reader #Pietros' alive au #One shot #Fluff kinda #Angst kinda #This is based on that window between 2012-2016 when everything was happy for the Avengers #Requested on my AOW #Not used to writing these kind of stories

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thequeensbastardenglish · 3 years ago

Text

of whisky, witchcraft and what lies between

When Lena walked into Peggy's bar she'd been ready to tear shreds from her. Elizabeth Walsh was out of Peggy's reach, there was no way for her to pay for what she'd done, she she'd been prepared to hae the daughter pay for the sins of the mother.

But Lena just looks too sad. A couple of drinks couldn't hurt or lead to something more, could it?

read on A03 or please continue...

There was a momentary sense of satisfaction to popping that entitled rich bitch’s idea of her fairytail reunion with her mother’s memory. But it had only lasted a brief moment. Five minutes after Lena Luthor had left the regret had set in. The feeling of unease lying heavy in her gut and the second guessing rattling around in her mind. Now Peggy was pulling pints and serving customers with a churning stomach and knowing that she’d never get the chance to apologise for her harsh words.

Not that she would apologise. Elizabeth Walsh had been rotten to her core and it was better for the Luthor woman to know that then continue to believe her mother was a saint. But she still felt bad. That was her own mother’s fault for raising her to be empathetic. Still. The guilt was eased by the knowledge that someone with Lena Luthor’s money would likely be sleeping on the finest cotton sheets and returning to her life of wealth and luxury. She’d hurt for a bit but what did someone of her stature know about real suffering? So Peggy continued to work and tried to put it out of her mind. It wasn’t like she was ever going to see her again.

Life sure did like its little jokes.

It was later in the evening when Lena Luthor walked back in.

Peggy dropped her bar towel across her shoulder and placed her hands on her hips and watched as Lena approached the bar meekly. Her head lowered, shoulders up, and a definite drag to her steps. For someone so neatly put together she looked a mess.

“Ya look like yer’ve seen some stuff.” It was impossible to hide the nasty satisfaction. Her dear departed mother would be so disappointed. She didn’t remember him well, but she knew her father could hold a grudge, and well, maybe the vindictiveness came form him.

Lena stopped at the bar and placed her arms across the top. She raised her head and it was immediately apparent that she’d been crying. Peggy fought down the urge to immediately try and soothe her.

“You could say that,” Lena said then laughed wetly. She wiped her hand under one eye. “Sorry, I don’t usually — no. Actually I cry a lot these days.”

“Really? Doesn’t come across when I see ya on TV.”

“Public persona’s aren’t real. They’re just carefully crafted fantasy.” She drew in several shaky breaths and finally, once satisfied that she was under control, looked up to meet Peggy’s eye. “I’m surprised you’re not kicking me out.”

Peggy smirked. So, whatever it was Lena had found out it had corroborated what Peggy had told her. That was satisfying. But Peggy wasn’t one to gloat. She could be magnanimous in her grim satisfaction.

“You got cash?”

“More then I know what to do with.”

“Then you can buy yourself a drink. I’m not gonna kick ya out.” Peggy cursed her dear old dead mum and her stringent teaching on hospitality. It’s old magic Peggy, there are rules. Peggy barely resisted the urge to huff in annoyance. “Whisky neat?” she guessed.

Actually…” Lena stared at the pumps. “I’m trying to be better about drinking and wallowing. Whisky is too contemplative. What beer would your recommend for someone who rarely drinks it?”

“YellowBelly’s Fighting Irish is the most popular.”

“That is…” Lena blew out a breath eyeing the pump warily. “Strangely apt. I’ll have that.”

Lena took her half of ale and retreated to the far corner, sliding into a booth and pulling out her phone to make a call. Peggy went about her work. She served customers, took orders, piled dirty glasses into the drawer for the wash, and wiped down tables. Lena remained at her table slowly sipping her beer and talking softly on the phone.

Peggy resolved to ignore her but her eyes were continually drawn to the woman in the corner. She hadn’t even taken her coat off. She sat stiffly, chin tight and head held high. She cut a strange and lonely figure. Dark coat and dark hair stark against her pale skin. She must have burn on overcast days with a complexion like that. She looked smaller in person than she did on television. Maybe it was standing next to Supergirl that made her look taller, more in control, maybe it was just camera trickery and a great stylist team. Whatever it was, Lena Luthor hadn’t brought it with her. SHe looked tired and defeated.

Her call finished her phone lay on the table before her and her glass was finally empty. Peggy walked over.

“Another?” she indicated to the empty glass.

“I’ll take that whisky now please.”

“Thought ya didn’t want to wallow.” Peggy picked up the empty glass and stared down at Lena. She looked tired, and not just the usual jet lagged tired that tourists did around here but a bone deep tired hat she’d be carrying about for the rest of her life. Weary with life as her dear departed mum would say.

“I didn’t but I just chickened out on a phone call so now I do want to wallow.” She smiled sardonically and rolled her eyes. “A bit of whisky to help with the self-deprecation.”

“You rich folk have it so rough.” Peggy marched to the bar and poured Lena her drink, making it a double because she looked like she needed it. On a whim she poured herself one. It was coming up to the end of her shift and she didn’t need to be the one to close up. Perks of being the boss. She went back to Lena’s table where the woman was staring down at her phone as she picked at her finger nail.

Peggy clunked both glasses down loudly and Lena jumped. She stared wide eyed as Peggy sat opposite her and slid her drink across the tale to her. She sipped her own.

“What are you..?” Lena trailed off. Then she closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. When she opened her eyes again her gaze had hardened. “I’m not in the mood for a fight.”

“Yer sure? Yer look like ya gearing up for one.”

The muscle along Lena’s jaw twitched. She had a hell of a jawline on her. One that could probably cut steel. That maniac of brother of hers must have been right jealous. He was clearly hiding a weak chin beneath his beard.

“I’m being neighbourly. Didn’t want ya drinking alone.”

Lena finally picked up her whisky and took a sip. She put the glass back down and murmured a thank you.

“Saw yer on the phone before. Take it that wasn’t the phone call ya chickened out on.”

“No. That was my friend Andrea. She’s been instrumental in my taking this journey or self discovery.” She rolled her eyes again.

“Then who yer trying to call? “

“Just… A friend. A former, well…” She exhaled, her jaw working. She rubbed her finger against the wooden table top, following the pattern of the grain. Finally she looked up. “She is a friend but for a time I wasn’t a very good friend to her. We fell out. And I did some awful, terrible, arguably unforgivable things to her.”

“But she still calls yer a friend?”

“She’s very understanding. Even to those who least deserve it.”

“Then why aren’t ya calling her? Sounds like if she forgave yer after all that then the least ya could do is call her.”

Lena’s eyes flickered fearfully towards her phone.

“It feels selfish to waste her time with my worries,” she said. She licked her lips nervously. Peggy followed the movement of her tongue and took a long, slow sip of her whisky. She set her glass down gently.

“Sounds more selfish to not call her.” She tapped her fingers against the side of the glass. Lena’s eyes widened and she drew back. Her pale skin going whiter by the second. She was the spitting image of her mother and it made Peggy’s blood boil. She was staring into the face of her father’s murderer and offering her friendly advice when she should have been throwing her drink in her face and cursing her out. “She cares about yer as much as yer make it sound then ya should call her. She’d want to hear how it’s going.”

“You’re right.” Lena picked up her phone and stood up. She stepped out from the booth, paused, turned and grabbed her whisky. She downed it in one swift gulp, lips twisting at the taste. It was a sipping whisky and that was a waste. She wanted to do that then Peggy had some cheap shit behind the bar she could have given her. Lena set the glass down and hurried outside, thumb already moving across her phone.

Peggy sipped her own whisky. With a huff she stood up, took Lena’s empty glass to the bar and refilled it, bringing it back.

From what Lena had told her it sounded like the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. Elizabeth had been a terrible friend as well. She’d abandoned Peggy’s mother when she’d needed her the most. Left her to shoulder the looks of pity and incrimination. Peggy had been forced to watch her mother wither under the stress of what had happened to her husband, under the guilt, until she hadn’t been able to stand it anymore and she had given up. She had as good as killed Margaret Bishop as she had her husband.

She swirled her whisky. It wasn’t true what they said, children were stained by the sins of their parents. Elizabeth’s Walsh’s selfishness was written deep into Lena Luthor’s blood. That was also old magic.

She looked up from her drink as Lena returned, shoulders still hunched and her coat still on. She paused when she reached the table, no doubt surprised that Peggy was still there.

“Well. Don’t keep me in suspense.” Peggy raised both brows at Lena. Slowly Lena slid back into the booth. She placed her phone down on the table.

“She was busy. But I gave her a quick rundown of what I’d found out.”

That her long thought exalted mother was a liar, a murderer and a gold digger. She’d probably already known the last one, being the product of an affair and all.

“And?”

Lena looked uncomfortable. “And she was happy that I was getting answers. But she was busy and couldn’t talk for long.”

Maybe Lena wasn’t quite as forgiven as she’d thought.

“Honestly, I’m amazed she’s taking my calls at all.” Lena smiled sadly. She picked up her glass and took a sip. “Thank you. I think after this I’ll try and find somewhere to stay. If anywhere will have me.”

“Might have to go a few towns over.” Elizabeth’s crimes were well known in the area. “Didn’t think you’d be staying.”

“There’s some more questions I want to ask Florence,” Lena said.

Peggy slammed her hand down on the table top. “Y’what?”

Lena had found Florence Abbott. She’d found the other witch that had made up her mother’s coven. Who had left her mother to die.

“I — I have more questions for Florence. Assuming she’s willing to answer them.”

Peggy dragged her nails across the table top. All these years. All these years and Florence had apparently just been hanging around waiting for Lena Luthor to show up. Where the hell had she been Peggy’s entire life? She remembered her vaguely from when she was a child. That she’d been kind, a little stern, tutting when Peggy had begged for sweets but giving her them regardless. She’d left after her father’s funeral. Left rather than face justice.

There were so many things she wanted to say to Florence Abbott and every single one of them would be far harsher then what she’d thrown at Lena.

“Peggy?”

She looked up at Lena’s curious watery gaze. This woman cried at the drop of a hat.

“Enjoy yer drink.” Peggy pushed her half finished drink towards Lena and stood up. She stalked back towards the bar and went back to work guilrt replaced by the old familiar burning twist of anger.

More fool her for ever speaking to Lena Luthor again.

Last orders came and went and Lena Luthor was still at her booth only just finishing off her whisky. Peggy stomped over and stood by the booth, fists on her hips.

“Drink up, settle up and get out.”

“Right.” Lena startled. She slung back the last dregs of her whisky and stood, following Peggy to the bar. She dropped her card on the bar top and Peggy ignored the name of the bank printed on it as she swiped it. To her immense surprise and annoyance Lena dropped a hundred dollar tip.

“Yer driver waiting outside?” Peggy asked. She didn’t really care but it was a force of habit to make sure her patrons made it home safe.

“He’s back at the B&B. He was tired so I told him to get some rest. Use the room I was meant to be staying in.”

“Sounds real smart. Guess that’s why you’re the scientist and I’m just pulling pints. Where you sleeping, genius?”

Lena smiled and shrugged. “I’ll work something out. It’s a nice night for a walk.”

She left. Not that Peggy cared where she slept. It was none of her business. City girl wanted to curl up beneath a tree then more power to her. She had an alien who could fly on her frequent called log, she’d be okay. She probably had the keys to a spaceship in her pocket.

Peggy cashed up, wiped down the bar, said goodbye to her staff and stepped out front to lock up. As she was turning the key she felt the prickle on the back of her neck, the fine hairs rising.

“I’m gonna tell yer now, attacking me would be a serious mistake.” Her voice didn’t tremble. Her fingers tips did. The magic humming beneath her skin.

“Good job that’s not what I’m doing then.”

Peggy spun round. Sure enough Lena Luthor was waiting for her, eyes bright in the light from the bar. “What is it yer want?”

“To talk.”

“Think we talked enough. I’m going home to get some sleep.” She stomped down the steps and brushed past Lena. She was rounding the corner of the bar to the steps for her apartment when Lena called out.

“Florence Abbott had a lot of interesting things to say. Some of them corroborated what you told me.”

“Oh, aye?” Peggy turned. Jaw clenched and fingers curling to fists. “What was it old Florence had to say?”

“Much the same you did. Witchcraft and cauldrons. Hopping over brooms and running naked in the moonlight,” Lena sneered. “I’ve seen a lot of strange things. Even what aliens have passed off as magic but there always a scientific explanation.” She took a step towards Peggy. “What I find interesting is that you believe in it. Even with Supergirl and Superman flying around you still get those that deny the existence of aliens. Why would you ever believe that your mother and mine were witches? Unless…”

“You’re chatty. Where was all this when we were enjoying our drink?”

“I’ve…” Lena tipped her head side to side, wrinkling her nose in thought. “I’ve had time to contemplate. To put some things together.”

Peggy tilted her head back and stared up at the night sky. It was a small town with little light pollution so she could see the stars. For all of her guilt and shame, for all of the blame she took on herself and allowed to grind her down, her mother had always preached kindness.

“Damn ye mum,” she hissed at the stars. She dropped her head, sighing loudly. “Where yer staying tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on. The couch is a pull-out.” Peggy turned and went to the stairs leading up to her apartment. She didn’t look back but knew that Lena was following. She put her keys in the door and unlocked it. Behind her she could hear Lena breathing heavily, her teeth nearly chattering even though it wasn’t all that cold. She pushed the door open and stepped in, flicking the light on and kicking off her boots. “Shoes,” she told Lena not waiting to see if she complied.

She walked through to the kitchen and turned on the lights there as well. Lena wandered in after her, looking about the small apartment. She froze in the kitchen door way, her eyes widening.

“You have children,” She said. Peggy followed her gaze to the toys that had been left on the floor.

“Two boys,” she answered. She filled the kettle and placed it on the stove not lighting it yet. “Don’t worry. It’s the holidays and they’re with their father. Tea?”.

“Yes, please.” Lena finally stepped inside the kitchen. “You have a very nice home.”

Peggy snorted. “Ya taught to say that at yer fancy schools?”

“Yes.” Lena unbuttoned her coat, slipped it off revealing a black blouse. She hunger the coat across the back of one of the kitchen tables before pulling it out and sitting down. She rested her forearms on the table, fingers lacing together.

“What did Florence tell ya?”

Lena met her gaze steadily. “That she and my mother and yours were witches.”

“You believe her?”

“I believe what I can see.”

“Can’t see atoms but you believe in them.”

“You can see — of course you can seem atoms.” Lena screwed her brows up, confused. Peggy had never claimed to be good at science. It was one of those subjects that had never clicked for her. “You can’t see magic.”

“You feel magic,” Peggy told her. “Why are yer here?”

“Because.” Lena heaved in a breath. “Because Florence says that I have my mother’s…” her lips twisted into a sneer. “Gift.”

She made the word sound dirty rather than something to cherish. Like it was a shackle she would have to bear always chafing at her flesh. Irritation flashed white hot through Peggy. This woman. With all her money and her airs, with her super powered friends, was looking down on one of the last connections Peggy had to her mother. She saw it as best a joke and worst something to turn her nose up at.

“Doesn’t explain why yer’ve come crawling to me.” She crossed her arms, glared at Lena. “I don’t have answers for ya.”

“Sounds like this ‘gift’ is hereditary.”

“So yer wondering if I have it? Even though you don’t believe in magic.”

“I’m not going to believe in something without evidence.”

She should kick her out. Tell her not to darken her doorstep ever again. Instead without breaking eye contact, Peggy turned the gas on for the stove top and put her finger to the ring. Lena’s brows drew down, her lips parting. It took so little effort. No will at all. Just the barest hint of a tingle in her fingertips. It was more a parlour trick than real magic. A small flame flickered from Peggy’s fingertip lighting the gas.

Lena twitched but to her credit didn’t leap from her seat. Didn’t start screeching for the villagers to get their pitchforks. She raised her eyes to meet Peggy’s and exhaled slowly.

“I suspected,” she breathed. “It passes from mother to daughter?”

“Not always. It’s dying out, there aren’t enough of us left.”

Lena nodded, absorbing the information. “I don’t want it,” she said finally.

“Tough shit.” Peggy turned to her cupboards and pulled out two mugs. She set about preparing the tea pot as the kettle on the stove started boiling.

“I won’t do anything with it. It doesn’t matter if it’s… there. I don’t want it and I won’t use it.”

The kettle boiled and Peggy poured the water into the waiting pot. She set it down on the table before Lena, ignoring the frown and pout she was sporting. She pushed one mug towards Lena and kept the other for herself.

“I don’t have any fancy china to break out for ya,” she explained. Lena curled her long fingers around the empty mug, seemingly not caring that it was chipped. “Good news for yer is that it’s probably too late for ya t’learn. Normally mother teaches daughter. That usually happens young. Yer mother not being here, yer age, well…” She shrugged. “You might have the gift but I doubt you’ll ever learn to use it.”

Not more then cheap tricks anyway. Very few learnt instinctively and without a teacher Lena’s power, whatever it might be, would eventually wither.

Lena seemed troubled at the news. She shrunk down, shoulders up again and head lowering. Biting back the umpteenth sigh for the night, Peggy poured both their teas. Much like Peggy, the gift was probably Lena’s only real connection to her mother. Her real mother, not the Luthor matriarch who spoke in syrupy sweet tones on the television but couldn’t hide the cold contempt in her eyes.

Peggy poured them both half a cup of tea. Lena lifted it and inhaled the aroma, closing her eyes.

“Its fennel and ginger,” Peggy said. “It’ll soothe ya and help ya sleep. Good for the bowels too.”

“Thank you.” Lena smiled at her over the top of her mug. The stress lines around her eyes melted away, the hardened edge of her lips softened, and she looked like she should. A beautiful young woman. One who likely shouldn’t be looking like she was trying to carry the weight of the world on her shoulder.

“You got no luggage?”

“I left it in the car,” Lena admitted. Her smile turned a little sheepish as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

They sat in a not completely uncomfortable silence drinking their tea. Finally Peggy drained the last of her mug and stood up.

“I’ll lend ya a shirt or something.” She quickly cleaned up. Pointed Lena in the direction of the bathroom while she went to the den and pulled out the couch and found some blankets that didn’t smell too fusty. She’d just finished making up the couch when Lean reappeared, her face freshly washed and hair out of it’s neat braid.

Without the make up she looked softer. Younger. Less fake and more like a real person. Even more like her mother. She favoured the Luthor’s colouring but the eyes and the jaw line were all Elizabeth.

Peggy hated her.

Lena pulled at her own fingers as she approached. “Thank you for this. It means a lot to me.”

Peggy pulled a shaky breath in through her nose and held it.

Magic was a strange and unpredictable thing. Peggy hadn’t always been the best student of the craft, her mother had only shared enough so Peggy wouldn’t hurt herself, and anything else Peggy had taught herself through painful trial and error. But she knew that when magic called you answered. And she was drawn to Lena. Felt it in every moment where she’d wanted to turn her away but had pulled her in. Had anted to cast her out but invited her into her home. Served her tea and invoked old magic that meant she couldn’t kick her out.

Her eyes dropped to Lena’s parted lips.

“Fuck.”

Lena’s eyes widened a fraction just before Peggy kissed her. Her lips were soft. They parted further, a surprised “oh,” breathed against Peggy’s mouth. She stumbled back, her fingers going to her mouth.

Peggy’s heart was thundering. What was she thinking? What the actual fuck was she thinking? This woman was everything she despised and yet Peggy wanted her.

Lena stepped back into her and pressed her lips to Peggy’s. They stood in the low light of the den, hands y their sides, bodies apart, but leaning into one another, lips moving against and with one another. Lena tasted like her tea and whisky, with a hint of mint that suggested she’d slipped a mint at some point. Peggy brushed her tongue against Lena’s and the small whimper that Lena emitted made her break the kiss.

She stared into Lena’s eye. The faded moss green of one and the gentle washed out blue of the other.

“This way.” Peggy walked past her, not waiting for a response. Lena followed behind her as she led her to the bedroom.

Peggy switched on the bedside lamp and pushed the door closed behind Lena. She didn’t reach for her but she turned, stepping back till her knees met the edge of her bed. Lena swallowed, eyes tracking over Peggy.

It wasn’t about romance. Certainly not about love. It was something older and more primal than that. It was about the pull that Peggy felt and that she was sure Lena felt too. Old magic drawing them to one another.

She didn’t go to Lena and Lena didn’t come to her. They stood apart and each stripped off their own clothes dropping them to the floor until they were both bare and only then did they close the gap between them. Only then did Peggy curl her hand around the back of Lena’s neck and draw her towards her, capturing her lips in a heated kiss.

She pressed Lena down atop the sheets on her bed. Kissed her as she cupped her breasts, thumbs skimming over already stiffened nipples.

Part of her wanted to wrap her hands around Lena’s exquisite neck. To throttle her the way someone should have done her mother. But Lena gasped and trembled beneath her like it had been age since she’d been touched with anything resembling kindness so the urge was smothered. It had been a long time for Peggy as well. Not for the kindness, but the gratification of sex. So she kissed Lena and let her hands roam over soft skin, she rolled her hips and moaned at the feel of long strong fingers exploring the length of her body. They gasped wetly into one another mouths, legs twisted together as their hands delved between on anothers legs.

Then it was a race to the finish. They breathed hot and wet, fingers pressing, hips pushing. Messy and beautiful and heart pounding.

Lena came first. Her hips shuddering against Peggy’s hand and letting out a small broken cry. She shook, twitching away from Peggy’s touch. She gulped down several breaths. Just as Peggy was starting to suspect she was going to have to finish herself off, Lena rolled her over to her back, lowered her head and took a nipple in her mouth. She pressed two finger inside her and ground down on her clit with the heel of her hand and — <em>oh!</em> — She had impressively long fingers.

Peggy’s orgasm was almost overwhelming. It rolled white hot through her, liquid heat and all those over used flowery imagery, with stars bursting behind her eyelids. Really she came so fucking hard that she yelled and slicked wetly against Lena’s hand.

When she opened her eyes Lena was leaning over her. Eyes wide and shining, red blooming in her cheeks and chest, her hair in disarray.

She was beautiful. And broken. Peggy could see the cracks running though her and the way she was desperately trying to hold onto herself.

“Well that was something.” Peggy wiped her own hand down her stomach and settled back on the pillows.

Lena laughed. The smile curling a the edge of her lips a little shy. She dropped onto the bed next to Peggy and stared up at the ceiling.

“This wasn’t what I was expecting when I followed you home,” she admitted.

If she had a better understanding of her gift then she would have seen that it was inevitable.

“Come with me to see Florence tomorrow,” Lena said.

Peggy shook her head. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Maybe one day she would be ready to face that woman but she refused to be part of it now.

“I’ll just get in the way,” she said. She turned her head so she could watch Lena, took in the frown pulling at her lips. She wanted her again. To touch her. To taste her. Sex was a kind of magic in it’s own way. People never really understood how much of themselves they gave away in the act.

“Right.” Lena licked her lips. She sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

“Stay,” Peggy said. Lena looked back at her, surprised. Like she thought Peggy would kick her out. Which to be fair was probably exactly what she was used to in these situations. She knew nothing of the old ways. Peggy reached out and trailed a finger down her spine. “Stay and make me come like that again. I’ll make ya breakfast in the morning.”

The smile that broke across Lena’s face was the best yet. Her cheeks dimpled and eyes squinted closed. She turned and leaned over Peggy, buried her face to her exposed throat and pressed her lips to her pulse.

She wouldn’t go with Lena to see Florence. She already knew this was a fleeting moment not meant to last. That Lena would leave, go back to her friend whom she had hurt and work on her forgiving herself. Likely she would rarely think of Peggy.

She didn’t know it but she had smoothed the jagged edges of Peggy’s hurt. Made the ache where she kept the memory of her mother that little bit less.

But it didn’t hurt to hope that Lena might think of her again one day.

#lena luthor #peggy bishop #supergirl #fic #you ever write something that you know noone is going to read?#I do it all the time!#hoo boy do I hate this witch business #witchcorp?#pegcorp?#I refuse to write out that accent phonetically #femslash

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chrisevansgoodgirl · 4 years ago

Text

you got a fetish for my love, i push you out and you come right back

summary: the softest man in the world is in love

warnings: nick is a warning. how dare he. smut. smoking (but we’re trying to get him to stop). some of that daddy shit bc ugh, that beard.

word count: around 5,320

pairing: nick vaughan x reader

a/n: let me tell you, it is weird writing nick one second, the softest, sweetest man, and then switching over to ransom, aka satan.

“You shouldn’t be smoking.”

The man with his back to you turned around, arching an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

You brought your hands up to your waist, looking as confident as you could possibly make yourself look. You didn’t have a mirror on you, but you would bet it wasn’t very convincing. “Um, second-hand smoke. Third-hand smoke. Not to mention what it could do to you.”

Moving closer, he took another brief drag. “And what’s that?”

You huffed. Really? You were going to reach way back into your 8th-grade health class memories for that. “Lung disease, it can cause cancer, like, everywhere, heart disease—”

“But you’re already taking care of my heart, angel.”

You fell silent at that, frowning.

He continued to close the gap between you. “What else?”

“It’s bad for your skin,” you asserted, tone firm despite how close he was getting. “Causes wrinkles.”

“That so?”

You nodded, refusing to step back as he stopped mere inches before you. “We wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re my father.”

He smirked, dropping his cigarette on the floor and stepping on it with the toe of his boot. Boots that were far too expensive to be stepping on cigarettes with. Hell, he shouldn’t even have been outside with them. “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

Your gaze moved off to the side and finally, you stepped away to create some distance. ‘You said you were going to stop, Nick.”

“I know, I’m trying.”

“Try harder. I’m being serious, okay? People die—”

He moved back in front of you and took your chin in his hand, forcing your gaze up to his. “I’m working on it.”

“If you really care about me, you’ll stop.”

“I’m gonna stop,” he promised. “Soon. Come on, don’t give me those eyes.”

He loved your eyes. He had to have told you about a hundred times by now, claimed he liked the innocence in them that never seemed to die out. No matter how many times he took you up to his hotel room and fucked you in every filthy way he could think of. Sure, it was pretty sick sometimes, but he always touched you so softly, whispered the sweetest things to you, and held you afterward.

Your eyes could make him do just about anything, he would often declare. Except, apparently, stop smoking.

“Come on, I’m sorry.”

You crossed your arms, pulling out of his hold. “You’re only sorry you got caught.”

“No, I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“And don’t be sorry to just me, be sorry to yourself. I think you need healthy lungs for your music career, right?”

He lifted his eyebrows, still amused at how serious you were being. No one in New York took smoking seriously.

“Also, you ever stop and think about what would happen to me if you weren’t here?” That was a little on the sneaky side. You knew that there was the overall scenario of you being lonely, but he would soon start to think about how that would mean you would be with other people.

He scoffed, feigning calmness. “No, I don’t. I don’t want you to, either.”

You didn’t need to hear it, you knew he could connect the dots. “You are forcing me to.”

“Angel, what’s all this about?” he wondered. “Why are you being such a brat?”

“I’m not being a brat,” you immediately protested. Even though you knew he didn’t mind, there was just something in you that twisted at the thought of being bratty. You were not trying to be argumentative even, you were just worried.

“You want daddy to spank you?”

You looked around with wide eyes. Not that anyone in New York had the time or interest to listen to anyone else’s conversations, but still, this was private. “Nick.”

He tsked. “Nick?”

You sighed, casting a look around. “There are too many people here.”

He chuckled. “No one’s listening, angel.”

“I’m not being bratty,” you muttered. “I’m just concerned about you. Since when is that a crime?”

He smiled, reaching his hand out for you. You didn’t waste any time nearly wrapping your entire body around his arm. “What do you want?”

You were not getting away this time, he was also in a mood. Evidently, since he usually spoiled you to the point of letting you get away with “misbehaving” if you apologized or feigned discomfort.

“Take me upstairs, daddy.” It was hardly above a whisper, but it thrilled him to no end that he’d managed to get you to call him that outside of the absolute comfort of the bedroom.

Nick liked you feeling safe with him. He’d never met a more trusting soul, someone almost naive. However, it had taken him a long fucking time to get that sincere trust from you. He picked up on the body language, the things you wouldn’t say. That was why he could give the date for the night you finally let him fuck you with the lights on, the night you finally stayed with him until morning, the night you finally gave him your number because he had convinced you to sneak away from your dad to meet him at the hotel and you had to get back home but you still wanted to talk to him. He could give the date for the first morning you woke up and put on one of his shirts, the morning you let him eat you out for the first time, the morning you let him fuck you against the hotel window.

He wrapped his arms around you and started to lead you inside. It had been almost a year now and you were obsessed with Nick. He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, and he was kind and gentle, but also passionate and sometimes a little rough when he knew you wanted him to be. It was never mindless, hard fucking. Even when he made it hurt, he held you so close, so tight, his eyes would remain on yours the whole time. He would wipe away your tears and continue bucking his hips. He would whisper to you, coo at you, and make you fall apart until you were so exhausted you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

You were pretty sure you were in love with him. He would be the first. Sure, there was your first boyfriend who you had wanted to be your first for everything. He’d given you a promise ring and told you that he wanted to wait until you were his wife. That one didn’t end well. Your third boyfriend, you thought that one was real. You’d had sex with him, and then he completely disappeared. To this day, you had no idea where he was. But you knew now, those things you’d felt for them, they were so small, so weak. What you felt for Nick was consuming, you felt like every inch of you belonged to him, like you were made for him.

In the elevator, with an elderly couple, an older man, and a party of four younger women that looked like they were on their way to a club, Nick had his lips to your ear. “Angel, I’m gonna fuck you until you’re crying. You know I love those sounds you make and the look you give me when you just can’t take anymore. When your beautiful, little cunt is used and aching and dripping with my cum. But that’s only after I have you on the bed, wet, squirming, begging daddy to make you feel good.”

You felt like you were on fire. If anyone heard, you would be mortified, you would never be able to leave your house again. Things like this were supposed to be private, between the people who were doing it. Nick had the audacity to make some of it almost public. You would admit that there was the tiniest bit of thrill, but most of it was fear and panic.

He touched the side of your face and you startled a little, one of your hands coming up to settle over his forearm. “Jesus, you’re beautiful and so fucking…innocent.”

You were not innocent. You weren’t even sure what he meant by that. Ever. When he said it, you were confused each time.

“The thought of your gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock, trying to take all you can because you’re so good to me, those eyes staring up at me…”

You swallowed thickly, eyes moving to the elevator buttons. How many more god damn floors were there? The elevator stopped again seconds later, and the elderly couple got out. Fewer people but you still didn’t feel any less nervous.

“Afterward, your sweet, tight pussy will be dripping. You know how wet you get after you suck my cock.”

Embarrassingly wet. He was fascinated the first time you’d done it, then he laid you out on the bed and when he made the discovery, he ate you out until you could barely remember what year it was.

“Then I’m gonna have you on top of me, angel. You’re so good at it, I swear you were made just to ride my cock. Remember what you were begging me for last time?”

You remembered and instantly felt your skin burning all over again.

“Maybe I’ll fuck your—”

The elevator stopped on your floor and you rushed out. The group of girls was also getting out, creating some time for you to get away from Nick and breathe. He was always intense, and he never stopped pushing you. You didn’t necessarily hate it. Really, you knew you liked it, but you could never admit that to him, his behavior would just get worse.

He found you with your back pressed against the door, waiting patiently for him. He’d been staying here for several months; he had the same room because he’d wanted to give you a key. For emergencies, he claimed. If you ever needed a place to get away, even if he wasn’t home. It had only happened a few times, he wouldn’t say a word when he would find you bundled up in his bed. He would just join you under the sheets and make you come several times, at least.

He set his hands on your hips and you looked up to him. “What’s on your mind tonight?”

You woke up that morning just knowing. You were in love with Nick and you were terrified. You didn’t want to be in love, not with him. With his music career taking off, he couldn’t want something serious. You figured this was just him wasting time. When he was an established name, he would go out and find himself a proper partner. It wasn’t you, this shy, small thing with no backbone, terrible parents, and no solid plans for your future.

But why ruin a good thing? You wanted to let it last while you could. You smiled at him and shook your head. “Nothing, really. I missed you.”

He smiled back. “I missed you, too.”

You didn’t live in New York with your father, but you had been visiting a lot more frequently. Your father was thrilled about it, thrilled enough not to want to question it. Your mother took it as an insult and didn’t ask a single question about why. It was honestly the perfect crime.

It had only been three weeks since you’d last been with Nick, you were allowing for less time to pass in between the nights you spent with him. You once went a month and a half, how unimaginable that felt—you knew you wouldn’t be able to do that anymore. You would go crazy without him being able to touch you for six weeks.

“You could stay,” he pointed out. “Here. With me.”

You scoffed. “No, I can’t.”

“You could apply to NYU, I’m sure you’ll get in. You could start building your life over here. If not with me, why not live with your dad?”

This was getting serious and you were worried this conversation would wreck everything. Nick thought he wanted something, but only because he was scared. You didn’t want to uproot your entire life for something fleeting.

“I don’t want to talk about this tonight,” you said quietly.

“Okay. But we will. Later.”

You nodded—a lie. You wouldn’t even be with him much longer. You had breakfast you’re your dad and then you would be on a flight back to your mother’s. “Yeah.”

Smiling, he asked, “Well, what do you want to talk about?”

You shrugged. “I don’t want to talk.”

He hummed. “No? You don’t have more scolding to do?”

“I can wait,” you teased. Your eyes flit to either side just to make sure no one was around. “But right now, I just want you to touch me.”

He bent down just slightly to pick you up by your thighs. You eagerly wrapped yourself around him and pressed your lips to his, kissing him like it’d been years.

He struggled to open the door, but you didn’t seem to mind that you could get caught at any moment, you seemed completely distracted by him. That was his goal, make your time here so good that eventually, you just wouldn’t be able to leave him.

Finally, he managed to get you inside the room. You had it all memorized, even with your eyes closed you knew exactly where he always was. He was leading you down the hallway, past the kitchen and the living area, to the door at the end of the walkway. Past the bathroom, past the dresser full of sheet music and records.

He laid you out on the bed delicately, pulling away so he could stare at you. You moved to pull your skirt up, but he caught your hands in his. “Not yet.”

He started at your feet. He pulled off your shoes and began kissing your calves, a touch that felt so distant through your tights.

You whined. “Daddy.”

“You’re going to be patient, angel.”

And that was that. You never argued with him, rarely disobeyed. You were perfect, you were good. You were, as he so fondly called you, an angel that did everything she was supposed to do. Not just for him, but for everyone. He knew that about you, knew that you never liked to make trouble for anyone. Even your dad, who had been almost completely absent during your childhood, off chasing his current wife. Even your mother, who was mean, unsupportive, and childish. You were sweet as could be, well-behaved, soft-spoken, bright-eyed, and glowing. He thought you were perfect.

Biting your lip, paying close attention to how much you were moving, you watched in near silence as he continued to press his lips up your legs. As soon as his eyes flickered up to yours, your heart was pounding. There was a lot about Nick that you just didn’t understand.

You could look at yourself in the mirror and understand why people thought you were pretty, but of course, you did not think as highly of yourself as Nick thought of you. Alternatively, he could not do the same. He could not understand why you liked looking at him in the mornings, why you liked to trace his features with your fingers, why you spent so much time just kissing his face whenever you got the chance. You were baffled that he could look like that and not know what he did to people.

He blushed a lot. When you accidentally told him, the first time, that you thought he was beautiful—never again would you drink wine with him—and now, all the deliberate times after that. Because unintentional or not, you meant it and you wanted him to know. When you would take him in your mouth and he had his hands at his sides, leaving you to control everything, and when you took so much of him that you would gag and choke, he was permanently flushed. When he played for you, forget it.

He was at the hemline of your skirt and started pushing it up, kissing at the insides of your thighs. You bit down harder on your lip as he continued up, up, up until he kissed your pussy. Over tights and your panties, it was still good enough that you shuddered. You could feel his beard, some random hairs managing to poke into the open spots of your tights. It was a feeling that reminded you of being home, not with either of your parents now, but when they were still together in your first home. Nick was comfort and security, he was warmth and so much raw emotion.

You brought one hand up to press your fingers to your lips. You were so wet that you could feel the material against you was damp. He always knew how to do that to you, how to get you so wanting. And the neighbors always knew when you were there, they would play music because you were so embarrassingly loud, not that he was ever considerate about that. You just wanted to pretend you had some dignity, at least for a while.

He kissed across your thigh and up the side of your hip, back across until he could kiss down the opposite side. You remembered you used to hate when he would do this, when there wasn’t a part of you that he wouldn’t at least devote a moment of attention to. You didn’t hate it now, you noticed it made you a lot more confident. You didn’t care how tight a skirt was around your hips or that a skirt was so short that everyone could see your thighs touching. It wasn’t even his goal and it wasn’t dependent on his interest in you at all, but you knew he was the cause.

You often wondered if he looked at everyone like this. It really hadn’t been long, but sometimes you swore he might feel the same about you. You’d always wrote it off as your age, but how would someone his age honestly fall in love with you? And if he wasn’t, why the hell did he look at you the way he did?

“How many lives have you ruined?”

His eyebrows rose and he pulled his mouth away from you. “I’m sorry?”

“You look at me like that, you kiss me like that—”

“Like what?”

You rolled your eyes. Honestly, you weren’t sure how to put it into words. The last thing you wanted to do was accuse him of acting or pretending. That was one of the few boundary lines with Nick that was quickly established—he didn’t like analysis of his emotions. They were his own and he didn’t want anyone to presume that they knew them better than him. You truly didn’t mind. You’d come from a toxic environment of men who would sooner die than cry and couldn’t healthily express their anger if the world depended on it. “You know like what.”

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.” He leaned back down, kissing either knee once. “But I won’t make you, I want you to want to say it.”

First time he’d ever taken that route. He teased you a lot, like challenging your views. And he liked those rare times you could challenge his. You’d both talked and talked until you managed to get to this place where you were both completely comfortable with what you were. He had to compromise on how casual this could seem at times, and you had to compromise on how obscenely intimate it was to you sometimes. And though you both compromised, it was still hard to see the other’s point of view. What was he so scared of with ‘casual’? You, on the other hand, dreaded falling for someone who couldn’t reciprocate.

He reached for your tights and slowly pulled them down. Again, he moved to where he was exposing skin and scattered kisses all over you. He deliberately got as close to your pussy as he could without ever touching you, several times, and enjoyed that you gasped and shivered each time.

He didn’t pull your underwear out of his way before he finally kissed you there. He went on like this, curious to see just how much you could take. You tried not to ask for more, to feed into his ego, and you succeeded for several minutes. You could feel his tongue and his lips, the texture of your panties was slight stimulation, but as time went on, you craved him more.

When you finally broke, your eyes were filled with tears, your hands were shaking as you reached for him, and you couldn’t form a single coherent word. Instead of pulling your panties down and eating your pussy, he moved up your body and removed your sweater and your bra. Again, he was kissing you all over, but you could hardly focus on anything other than your throbbing pussy.

“Daddy, please,” you whimpered.

He moved his mouth up until he could kiss your lips. He settled down on the bed beside you and pulled away, sitting you up a little. You took his cue and shifted up on the bed until you could rest on the headboard.

You watched as his hand reached for you, holding your breath until he was sliding one finger into you. “Fuck, daddy.” Your hips bucked almost immediately, silently begging for more. He added a second finger and you turned to hide your face against his chest.

He curled his fingers slowly, focusing on the sounds you made, the way your body would tense and shudder, and soon enough, he’d found that blissful spot that he knew made you see stars.

You clumsily reached for his pants, taking far too long to get your hands on his thick cock. You felt yourself get so much wetter, remembering just how big he felt inside you. Not that you were experienced when he’d found you, but taking his cock had been so delightfully painful and you kind of liked that he was the first man really stretching you out like that.

“Fuck,” he breathed against the side of your face. “Watch my fingers, angel, watch me fuck you with them.”

You turned down, paying attention to how they moved, and the wet sounds from your pussy. You slowly moved your hand along his cock, wanting—but too shy to ask for—him to cover your body with his cum. He preferred finishing inside you, he liked letting it drip out of you and then filling you back up all over again.

When your breaths turned shorter and your moans became louder, he knew you were so close. He moved his fingers faster, brought his thumb down to your clit. Your whole body was shaking, and he could feel how desperate you were because your hand around him tightened.

“You wanna come, angel?”

“Please, daddy,” you blurted out. “Please, please make me come.”

He pulled your hand off his cock and kissed you when you made a noise of protest. His opposite hand never even faltered as he explained, “Daddy’s coming inside you. Keep begging.”

“Please, I want to come, daddy. I want to come on your fingers, I want you to get me wet enough so my tight, little pussy can take your huge cock.”

“What a filthy mouth, angel. Where’d you learn to talk like that? Been watching the videos I’ve been sending you?”

“Yes, daddy. I watch every single one and I touch myself, thinking about how much I miss you inside me.”

“You have no idea how much I miss having your pussy wrapped around me when you’re gone.”

You finished with a sharp cry, using your free hand to try to push his touch away, but he was so much stronger than you. Add to the fact that you really didn’t want him to stop, if you could stay there in bed with him, feeling that for the rest of your life, you would.

You almost instantly rolled over on top of him, kissing him as you moved up his body until you were straddling him. He set his hands on your hips, holding you steady as you slid down on him. As you adjusted, he let his hands wander to your breasts. You were still shaking, panting, trying to come down from your high but you were addicted to pleasing Nick.

You rolled your hips, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. You needed to see him naked, coming here without seeing all of him would be an absolute waste. He helped you get the shirt off after a moment and your hands roamed all over his torso.

He took your hips again, using his hold on you to pick up the pace just a little. You let your head fall back, he would want to watch your body anyway. You brought your arms back and rested your hands on the mattress around his legs. He had to fuck you just a little harder from this angle to see your breasts move with every thrust, but you were okay with that.

You always knew when he was close because his fingers would dig into your skin and he always did everything he could to get as close to you as he possibly could. This time, he sat up and pulled you up so your chest was flush against his. You continued bouncing up and down on his cock, mewling and whimpering because you knew he loved those sounds.

“Are you close, daddy?”

“Yeah, angel, keep going just like that.”

“Tell me when you’re really close.”

He faltered for just a second, processing your odd request, but did not argue.

You set your hands to his face, dragging him in for a kiss, open-mouthed, tongues, moaning obscenely for one another. As he was distracted, you unwound his arms from your back and held them flat on the mattress by his forearms.

“I’m close,” he informed after turning his head just slightly, breathing heavily on your skin. “I’m so fucking close.”

You started moving quickly, pulling off of him and crawling back down the bed. He was stunned silent until you bent down and took his wet cock, messy from your pussy, in your mouth. You’d only just closed your lips around him when both of his hands settled on the back of your head to hold you down. He only needed to jerk his hips up a few times before he was filling your mouth.

He kept you there until his high had drifted away, and you never once complained. You swallowed the cum that you could, but some of his had slipped out of your mouth, and sucked softly until he let you up.

As soon as you were sitting up, he was wrapping his arms around you and pulling you on top of him. Still trying to catch his breath, it was clear that he wasn’t letting you go for quite some time. Because no one would expect Nick to want to cuddle after sex.

And because his brain was not functioning at its best, he was simultaneously attempting to kick off his pants and pull the sheets over the two of you. But you weren’t there to be unsupportive, you simply laid on his chest and tried not to laugh.

After he’d managed it, which had to have taken about five minutes, he turned off the lamp on the bedside table and stretched over to do the same on the other side. He once again wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head. “Fuck, I love you.”

You weren’t sure how to respond, so all you did was lay there. He didn’t miss a beat, he just started running one of his hands through your hair and then nothing. Not another word.

Fuck.

You only woke up because Nick was moving around so much. As quiet as he tried to be and as softly as he tried to move out from under you, he always failed at it. When he realized he’d woken you up again, he froze.

You grabbed one of the pillows and yanked it over his face as you climbed out of bed. You didn’t want to have to get up because that meant that you would soon have to leave. You grabbed your phone out of your bag on the way to the bathroom, not bothering to get dressed. Nick loved seeing you walk around the room naked, and that was why you always ignored that nervous nagging feeling that told you to cover up.

“Sorry,” he called out.

You didn’t respond.

After you brushed your teeth, you opened the door. You heard him moving around the bedroom as you were performing your simple morning skincare routine. He always did that, just waited until you were done so he could get in. He liked making you watch in the mirror.

And right on cue, Nick entered the bathroom, stopping just inches behind you. You didn’t turn, you merely watched him in the mirror and waited. He wrapped his arms around you, and you noticed the single red rose he was holding. He started at your lips, letting the flower trail down, then over your nipples, and down just above your navel.

You shivered when he pulled it away, offering it to you. With a smile you were looking down to hide, you took the rose from him.

He kissed the side of your face, arms wrapping loosely around your waist He pressed one hand to your stomach, and you were reminded of how much you loved his stupid hands. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“I’m sorry about what I said last night. I know it was…a lot.”

Yeah, it was. You’d built it up in your mind as some terrifying thing that you would never want to hear, especially from him, but when he said it, it just wasn’t like that. When he said it, it made you feel safe. It made you feel loved. “But did you mean it?”

“Only if you’re not going to run away.”

You finally looked up in the mirror, meeting his gaze. “Maybe I won’t.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“And maybe I love you back.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe,” you confirmed. “And maybe I’m even considering staying.”

He perked up at that, turning you around quickly to face him. “Tell me what I need to do or say and I will.”

You brought the rose up and set it to his lips, smirking again.

He narrowed his eyes.

All you did was shrug. “Not sure yet, but you have all day to convince me.”

“I thought you were leaving today.”

You set the rose down on the counter. “Changed my mind.”

He was beaming as he picked you up and sat you on the counter. “That means you’ve already decided to stay.”

“I never said that.”

“I’m not letting you leave. Ever.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop your smile. “I have to go home, you know…and pack.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smiled. “Probably a good idea to let my mom meet my daddy.”

“Please don’t make those jokes in front of your parents.”

You snorted. “Oh, now you want to be a gentleman?”

“Always am, angel. Open your legs and I’ll prove it.” He spread your thighs wider as he got down to his knees. He pulled you to the edge of the counter and with his eyes on yours, he took your pussy with his mouth.

“Fuck,” you gasped. “But this means you have to stop smoking.”

He pulled back, narrowing his eyes at you. “Now, seriously?”

You buried both hands in his hair and pulled him back in.

chris tags:

@onetwo3000 @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @donutloverxo @kleohoneyao3 @cevans-fics @gotnofucks

#nick vaughan x reader #my writing

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silkling · 3 years ago

Text

And here is the next installment of my Falsely Accused AU! I hope everyone likes it.

Falsely Accused: The Discovery

Ultra Magnus was not often a mech of regrets. He couldn’t afford to be. He led a planet. If he regretted too many of his decisions, it would lead to indecision and uncertainty that might cripple him. He had more than just his own pride riding on his shoulders. He had the lives of every Autobot, be it civilian or soldier, weighing him down even more harshly. So no, the Magnus did not often allow himself to regret. But as he stared at the painfully familiar helmet on his desk, he felt the unfamiliar emotion settle heavy in his spark, alongside guilt so strong it almost choked him.

He did not regret often. The few times he did, it was usually because he had made a very severe mistake.

This time, it had been no different.

———

Ultra Magnus sighed as he set aside Jazz’s report, scrubbing a servo down his face. The loss of their informant was blow indeed, but he was mostly relieved that his subordinate had escaped Lockdown unharmed. The bounty hunter was a formidable foe, and for all of Jazz’s skill, the rogue cyber-ninja had managed to offline many mechs both stronger and older than the young bot. Quite frankly, Jazz was lucky to be alive. It was with relief that he signed off on the report, setting the data pad it was on aside to be collected and filed later.

Next, he picked up the data pad that contained this quartex’s reports from Trypticon. The first few were routine inventory reports. Nothing about them sparked much interest. Another was a report on an altercation a Decepticon prisoner had had with a guard. Not surprising, though it was a shame the ‘Con had been offlined in the attempt to subdue him. It was the final report on the data pad that made him pause. It was a medical report from the medic stationed at Trypticon, about the small two-wheeler who had killed Yoketron. The former cyber-ninja had gotten caught in a fight between two other prisoners, and guards had assumed he had been one of the instigators and thus subdued him aptly. It was only after other prisoners had spoken up and the security tapes had been observed to discover the start of the fight that the truth had been revealed. But that wasn’t what the medic raised concerns over in the report. No, they wrote that they believed something was wrong with the young mech’s optics. They’d attempted to treat him, but when they’d gone to remove the visor in an attempt to repair wound to the young bot’s face, he had shifted away. The medic had been unable to convince the mech to let him treat him properly before it had been time to return him to his cell. Magnus paused, his brows furrowing. That was certainly odd. Though, he couldn’t bring himself to be too invested. He simply signed off on the reports and set the data pad aside.

It was hard for him to care much about the mechling who had offlined his oldest friend. He had known Yoketron since before he’d been Magnus. It had felt like a stab to the spark to learn that the Ninja Master had fallen. When he had learned it was Yoketron’s own student, the hot flash of betrayal had only fueled his rage. It had only grown when the report came in that the youngling had also stolen the protoforms. Given all the information and evidence, Ultra Magnus had not had much hesitation when it had come to stripping the youngling of his badge and casting him from the ranks of the Autobots. He’d had even less hesitation in sending him to Trypticon. He may not be a Decepticon, but a traitor of his caliber deserved no other fate. As such, the Magnus could not dredge up concern for the two-wheeler’s odd behavior. He was likely just being anti-social, as reports from the guards suggested him to be. Medics were notoriously soft-sparked, so the Magnus took that particular report with a grain of salt.

His comm. unit buzzed with an incoming call, and the Magnus accepted it. Few mechs had access to his personal comm. link. Only his friends and those on his personal team. Sure enough, Jazz’s voice came over his audials. “Ultra Magnus, sir. You got a minute? I gotta talk with you. It’s about my last mission. It’s…it’s real important, sir.”

“Jazz. Is it about your report? I finished reading it, everything seemed to be in order.”

“It’s…not about the report sir. It’s about somethin’ else that happened while I was on Lockdown’s ship. I didn’t put it in my report. I thought it was more important that I tell you first.”

That was certainly odd. Jazz was not one to ignore protocol, so why would he withhold information from his report? The young ninja was a reasonable bot, with a good helm on his shoulders. A clever youngling. Ultra Magnus didn’t think he’d keep information from the report unless it truly was important to discuss it first.

“Very well. You may come meet me in my office.”

He did not have to wait long. The youngling arrived quickly, and Magnus sent the command for the door to lock behind him. Jazz took the seat in front of his desk, and there was a deeply troubled look on his faceplates even past the visor. He was quiet for a moment, and Magnus was about to prompt him to speak, before he looked up to meet his leader’s gaze.

“Master Yoketron’s last student….did he ever graduate, sir?”

Ultra Magnus startled, a severe frown twisting his lips. “Jazz-“

But the youngling actually cut him off. “Just humor me for a mo’, sir. Please. I promise I’m goin’ somewhere with this.” he said, sounding desperate.

Magnus forced himself to stop and think. He frowned, processor turning over the question. He had always allowed Yoketron to manage the Cyber-Ninja Corps as he saw fit. He had never seen it as his place to infringe on his friend’s domain, so he had kept himself out of his business.

“I do not know.” he said carefully. “Jazz, what does this have to do with your mission?”

Jazz looked away, still looking so troubled. “I’m gettin’ there, sir.” he said. “Just bare with me, please.” He looked back at his leader. “See, I’m pretty sure he didn’t graduate. Master Yoketron only ever took one student at a time, and whenever his student completed their training and graduated, he’d host a formal celebration. It was an event open only to former students, so that the graduated cyber-ninja could meet and forge bonds with their newest brother. Cause all the cyber-ninja saw each other as brothers in arms, see. There ain’t too many of us, so whenever a new one joins the ranks it’s a big deal.” he explained. “I was Master Yoketron’s student before….well, before him.” Ultra Magnus knew who he meant. Though he didn’t know where Jazz was going with this. “I remember my ceremony. But I never attended the ceremony of another. Which meant he didn’t actually complete his trainin’.”

Now, Magnus was starting to get a bad feeling. He frowned, looking his subordinate in the optic. “Jazz. I do not understand what this has to do with your mission.”

Jazz shot him a rueful, bitter grin. Magnus was startled by the uncharacteristic expression. “I don’t think that a bot who hadn’t finished their trainin’ would have what it takes to defeat and offline Master Yoketron, steal the protoforms, and hide them so well that none of our top agents could find them. I don’t think he’d have the means to send them off planet either. He wouldn’t have had the time or resources.” Jazz met his gaze head on. “I don’t think he would have been able to do what he was convicted of.” his voice was soft as he spoke. “But I think there is someone who could do all that and who has the resources for it. An ungraduated cyber-ninja couldn’t,” Here, he reached into his subspace. Magnus’s bad feeling grew worse. “But a graduated, disgraced and exiled cyber-ninja probably could.”

And Jazz put Yoketron’s helmet on the desk in front of Ultra Magnus.

Magnus’s systems briefly stalled, and his spark felt like it froze in his chest. He lifted his gaze from his old friend’s helmet to meet Jazz’s visor.

“Yoketron’s student didn’t offline him, sir. Lockdown did.”

———

After that, Jazz had left the office. He had been called away by another duty, and Ultra Magnus had been left behind with new information, an old friend’s helmet, and regret settling heavy and hard in his tanks. His processor warred with itself, one half desperate for Jazz to be wrong, but the other knowing his was right. It was true.

An ungraduated student would not have the skill to kill his Master. Nor would he have the ability or resources to steal the protoforms. There was also the corrupted security feed, which Magnus had never insisted on de-corrupting. If he had, would it have shown Lockown’s presence at the Dojo that day as well? Even the youngling’s presence at the scene could be explained. As Yoketron’s student, the Dojo would have been his residence at the time. If he hadn’t been there at the time of the attack, then he would have returned to see the Dojo’s ruins…and his Master’s corpse. His discovery at the scene could easily be explained as little more than unfortunate timing. Which meant…

Which meant Ultra Magnus had sentenced an innocent youngling to a fate typically reserved only for the most dangerous prisoners of war and for traitors.

He saw the report from Trypticon out of the corner of his optics, and dread settled in his spark. He had had convicted a youngling of a crime he had didn’t commit, and he had spent mega-cycles paying for it. He had sentenced a youngling for a crime he didn’t commit, and he was still paying for it.

Oh Primus, what had he done?

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delimeful · 4 years ago

Text

taking the fall (2)

warnings: fear, injury, mild blood

It was Roman’s love of the arts that did him in.

He was loath to admit it, but Virgil had been right. He’d always been enchanted by the musical productions he’d seen on human teevees, always finding a spare moment to perch on a dusty shelf and take in as much as he could.

So, when he overheard a musical chorus while scavenging for extra paper from the apartment with the newly-moved-in tenant, there was simply nothing else he could do except to investigate further!

One trek and several hiding spots later, he’d found the perfect angle to eavesdrop on the human’s computer. Even better, once he was unpacked, the human was consistent. There were schedules and calendars and sticky notes all over his desk, and he adhered to them strictly, making his apartment the perfect place for Roman to borrow for their little community.

And if he happened to make a return trip and perch himself on the shelf above the human’s rolling chair at the perfect time to see whatever stage production the man was watching this time? That was nobody’s business but his own.

He certainly wasn’t about to tell Virgil, who seemed to get secondhand stress from Roman’s accounts of past riskier borrowing trips. The outie was more than accustomed to the dangers of living outside, but ‘human beans’ were a whole different story.

No, Hot Topic would never get the odd almost-longing that Roman sometimes felt when he saw the amazing things that humans could do. On the tiny laptop display, he could almost pretend those wonderful theatrical productions were actually done by people his size, that they could perform without worry of discovery or capture.

It was a combination of indulging such thoughts and knowing the human’s schedule back-to-front that made him so bold.

When Logan came home with an armful of art supplies, Roman was immediately intrigued, though he justified it as checking for useful materials to borrow. He spent that afternoon watching as Logan methodically glued, hammered, and painted wood into the shape of a miniature house-- no, a set!

It looked just like the stage for the most recent musical Logan had (unknowingly) played for him. Roman was enchanted, coming back every day between borrowing trips to see how more tiny furniture and stairwells had been carefully crafted with the help of a magnifying glass and precise tools. The set came together piece by piece, until it was as complete as any Broadway production.

And then, the downfall. It was during one of these little visits that he overheard Logan on the phone, reassuring whoever was on the other end that the ‘scale model’ was finished and ready to be brought in tomorrow afternoon. Roman had felt a tightening in his chest, and after probably too little time spent deliberating, he was settled.

He was going to stand on that stage, at least once.

It took some doing to cover his tracks-- Mari had been oddly antsy lately, and it had been making everyone else jittery as a result. He’d been playing up his own glittery-ness in order to reduce the tension, and had volunteered to take another shift borrowing at 2B, the apartment with the snakes and the human that had been eerily perceptive lately.

It wasn’t lying, really. He would go borrow from there, just… after he’d made a quick stop to fulfill his newfound dream!

Logan always slept heavily until his alarm went off, so Roman felt no fear sliding down to the floor at the early hours of the morning. He remained alert, of course, throughout his entire trek over to the table that the human had spent so many hours hunched over, but as he predicted, there were no unusual sounds from the human’s bedroom.

From there, it was only a swift climb up with the help of his hook, and he left it nestled there in the wood, just in case he needed a swift getaway.

Finally, he was before it.

The strangest part about it all was the way that everything seemed to fit just about right for someone his size. He was used to cobbling together chairs and beds out of whatever material was at hand, repurposing anything and everything that came customized for humans.

These chairs were like real ones, human ones that fit together and had all their pieces, and Logan had been so meticulous about making sure everything was to scale that there wasn’t any awkwardness to sitting down on it. Overcome, he nearly sprinted up the model’s stairs to the bedroom terrace above it, flinging himself onto the bed-- perfectly matched up linen, pillows and pillowcases, just like a real bed-- and muffling his delighted squeak into his hands.

The instruments on the dresser were light and easy to grab, though Roman was disappointed to find that the ornate hand mirror didn’t have very high quality glass and was a bit hazy. The hairbrush seemed to be handcrafted, however, and Roman ran it through his own hair once, twice, immersing himself in an imaginary scene.

He had the dialogue mostly right after Logan’s obsessive rewatching of scenes-- pausing often to jot down set reference-- and he wasted no time in pacing around the room and ranting in a whisper, detailing an imaginary conflict in an aside to the audience. He mocked slamming the hairbrush down on the dresser, and turning, the anger drained from him, to walk to the terrace and look out longingly.

He hesitated.

In the scene, the character would be staring up at a night sky. In a play, the actor would be looking out over an audience hanging off their every word.

In reality, he was staring out at a world that was and always would be too big for him.

His soliloquy trailed off to bitter silence, and Roman backed up, shaking his head. He hadn’t a clue why he’d thought this would help him, rather than just rub his nose in what he couldn’t ever have.

Carefully, steps silent, he readjusted the bedding, removed a stray hair from the hairbrush, placed everything neat and right where he’d left it. He would leave no evidence of his presence, just like always.

When he turned around, he met the gaze of a human, standing only a few feet away bedecked in a bathrobe and fluffy unicorn slippers.

It was like Roman had been suddenly drenched by an icy downpour, his whole body going cold with shock. His muscles locked up, and even when the human took a step closer, he couldn’t seem to wrench himself free of the mental paralysis.

Talk about stage fright.

Normally a boon, his imagination was working against him now, spinning elaborate visions of what was to come. He’d been seen, and now not only would he be doomed to die by a human’s whims, but he’d also put every borrower in and around the building in danger. All borrowerkind, even, if this human was bad at keeping secrets.

“So, how are the proportions?” the human in question asked, leaning forward slightly with an excited glint in his eyes.

Roman blinked, befuddled.

“Are they to scale? You seem to be able to manipulate them easily, which bodes well, but I’m not sure the dining room chairs have short enough legs to make sitting at the table feasible…,” Logan trailed off, looking between Roman and the lower level of the model as though measuring him mentally. “Would you mind sitting in one?”

He reached out for something on the set, and Roman’s instincts seemed to kick back into high gear, sending him skittering back across the scaled-down room, grabbing his bag as he went. He remembered seeing a window cut into the backing of the room adjacent, there—!

Heart racing in his ears, he barely registered the human’s voice raised in alarm as he swung himself over the miniature window ledge. The landing jarred his bones, but he was still all in one piece, and that was good enough for him!

There were only moments before the human leaned around to see where he’d gone, so he wasted no time in sprinting to where the desk met the wall. Logan’s laptop charger trailed down in the small gap behind the desk, the closest thing he’d get to a rope down with his real hook on the other side of the table next to the human.

Logan seemed to be a bit slower than usual, since Roman managed to slide down out of sight before the human could move to even catch a glimpse of where he’d gone.

His hands stung slightly as he descended much faster than advisable, already trying to come up with his next step. All his entrances were higher up, but if he could get under nearby furniture, he could cut into the fabric and hide in the hollow underbelly until the coast was clear--!

The only warning he got was a barely audible click from above, and then his ‘rope’ gave out and he was in gut-churning freefall.

Roman fell for three fluttering heartbeats, just enough time to realize what was happening, and he hit the ground feet-first.

His right leg gave out with a dull crack, and the pain-- impossibly overwhelming-- reached him only an instant later. He bit down on his arm to muffle his cry, tears forming as the slightest shift of his leg sent ripples of agony through him.

Well. No longer in one piece, then.

He struggled to come up with a course of action as his head swam. His entire body had gone cold and sweaty, his vision darkening despite his best efforts to stay alert.

An enormous shadow fell over him, and his one last attempt to move was enough to finally make him succumb.

---

Logan allowed himself one very heartfelt swear, watching as the tiny person under his desk slumped over, limp and boneless.

This was not what he had expected when he’d shuffled into his living room to go make some celebratory coffee for managing to finish both the last touches on his latest set model and his ridiculously elaborate statistics midterm all in one night.

Perhaps he could have handled the situation better, but to be fair to him, upon spotting the miniature person, Logan had honestly assumed that he’d either started hallucinating, or had fallen asleep after all. He figured that if he was going to imagine such things, he might as well try to soothe his own concerns about any imperfections in the scaling.

The spike of fear and guilt that he felt hearing that tiny, muffled cry of pain meant that there was no way he was heading to bed anytime soon. He sent a few texts to Patton, informing him that he wouldn’t be able to bring the model to the theatre today and asking him to smooth over any ruffled feathers.

He was well aware that this was completely unprofessional-- he would surely be getting an interrogation from his friend later-- but for the moment, he needed to focus on more important matters.

From the injury he was sporting, the tiny person hadn’t landed on his back, so it would be alright to move him as long as he acted with care. Logan carefully slid a plastic folder under the stranger, muttering apologies when that tiny face crinkled up slightly even in unconsciousness. He lifted the folder up slowly and moved to the kitchen, where the first aid kit was stored under his sink.

From there, he quickly assessed the injuries he could see.

The leg was expected, and it seemed to be swelling rather severely. Unexpectedly, there seemed to be bleeding along the arm, and Logan had to retrieve his magnifying glass to see the injury in detail.

Upon closer inspection, the wound was in the shape of a tiny bite mark, indicating that the stranger had bitten down on himself to avoid screaming. Logan felt his heart sink a little further at the continued confirmation of the terror he’d seen in the stranger’s face before he fled. He’d really frightened the poor creature by moving so thoughtlessly.

He took a deep breath and pushed the feelings aside, flipping the lid of the first aid kit open. He could worry about potential reactions to his presence after he made sure the tiny stranger would at least wake up with less pain than before.

It was his fault this had happened, after all, and so he would do his utmost to fix all that he could.

#sanders sides #g/t #ts roman #ts logan #ttf #borrowers #writing #My writing #taking the fall #bthb #injury tw

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waywardrose13 · 4 years ago

Text

Deliverance From Evil

Pairing: DARK!Dean Winchester x Reader (?), Sam x Reader (platonic)

Word Count: 11,054

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING: Non-con, rape, physical and mental/emotional abuse. Ages 18+, virgin!reader, language, mentions of depression/anxiety, curse, purgatory, purgatory!Dean, hateful remarks, negative self image, mentions of suicidal thoughts, not enough editing to satisfy me. Please let me know if I missed any triggers/warnings.

Rating: Mature- 18+!! If I find that you are under 18, you will be blocked. Go read some of my minor friendly stories.

Summary: Dean Winchester had two sides; the selfless, caring man who loved his baby brother, car, and pie; and the cruel, sadistic man who was hell bent on making Y/n’s life a living hell. When Dean, Cas, and Y/n are sucked into Purgatory, things take a turn for the worse. Two years later, Y/n finds herself face to face with the man who broke her. A new discovery leads to Y/n finding out the truth, yet sometimes, the truth is better left unsaid.

A/N- This story is very dark and can be triggering to some readers. Please do not read if any of the above warnings are triggering to you. I have also listed some resources below if you are in need of help. I love you all!

Bingo squares: @spndarkbingo (Purgatory!Dean) // @badthingshappenbingo (This is for your own good) // @spndeanbingo (Soulmates AU)

U.S. National Sexual Violence Hotline: 800.656.4673

U.S. National Domestic Abuse Hotline: 800.799.7233

The idea of Purgatory wasn’t what put me on edge. It wasn’t the monsters constantly down your throat, or the blood, sweat, and tears that somehow never seemed to stop. It was Dean Winchester’s sinister stare and cruel remarks that put me on edge.

I didn’t hate the man. If I was being honest, I felt quite the opposite, but it was more of a feeling of distress. Ever since meeting him, something about me had made him loathe me. I wasn’t sure what it was, nor have I ever asked, but whatever it is, I have never been able to make him at least tolerate me.

Sam and I had met in college. I was a freshman when he was a senior, and he tutored me for a while. We became friends, and soon we found out the both of us had gone to college to escape the hunting life. We grew apart for years, naturally coming back together on a hunt.

I had been at the bunker with the Winchesters ever since, much to the elder brother’s dismay. And ever since then, Dean had made it his job to make my life a living hell.

It started out as small jabs at me; little comments that had an underlying, cruel meaning to them. Or forgetting to pick me up from police stations, houses, etc, or not bringing back food for me. But slowly, it evolved into something more. He began openly being cruel towards me, saying things that made me cry in bed at night. He’d shove me when Sam wasn’t looking, he’d purposely break my things, bleach my clothes, point out my insecurities for a laugh.

I honestly thought the bullying ended in high school.

I hadn’t fallen in love with the person he was towards me. I had fallen in love with the person he was to others. He was selfless and caring. He was brave, intelligent, and had a killer sense of humor. And the simple sight of him made me weak at the knees. But whenever his words were spoken to me, or his glare was pointed at me, I sometimes forgot who he was when he wasn’t hating me.

Something must have been wrong with me. How could I love a man who was so ruthlessly callous to me? Although I had tried to stop the feelings, it was like an inexplicable pull vehemently caused me to fall into a confusing love with this man. It was unstoppable, and however much I prayed or wished for it to leave, the feeling never ceased.

“Hey, Y/N!” I jumped as Dean barked at me, and I snapped myself out of it, looking towards him. “Get your head out of the damn clouds and move your ass.”

I sighed, hoisting my makeshift bag onto my shoulder, trudging after him and Benny.

After Dean killed Dick Roman, he, Cas and I were swallowed into Purgatory along with the Leviathan, too close to the impact sight, apparently. I immediately knew I was fucked when Dean looked at me dead in the eyes when we landed and told me he’d rather go to hell than be stuck with me in a place like this.

“We need her, Dean,” Cas had said. Dean had rolled his eyes, scoffing.

“We need her like we need the plague, Cas,” he snarled. I flinched at his words, and I closed my eyes for a moment to keep the tears at bay. “I mean for fucks sake.”

“Look, the way I see it, I don’t care if you hate her, but we need all the help we can get. And she’s a good hunter despite everything else you, for some reason, hate about her.”

It was the first time someone had stood up for me. It wasn’t long, however, before Dean and I were on our own, Cas seemingly taking off after a particularly rough fight. He ignored me the whole time, not saying any words to me, but using his shoulder to roughly shove me out of his way from time to time. The way I saw it, he wasn’t verbally abusing me anymore. I could manage a few shoves.

When Benny joined our team of two, Dean began speaking again, and we continued the search for Cas.

So here we were now, walking through the dense forest of Purgatory, eyes and ears constantly alert. It was like the start of a bad joke; two hunters and a vampire walk through purgatory…

“Don’t mind him, Cher,” Benny murmured to me. “He’s in a mood.”

“He’s always in a mood around me, Benny,” I said. “Nothing I do will ever change that.”

“Benny, quit gossiping with her and get over here,” Dean said, voice hushed. He was crouched down over the edge of a cliff, Benny and I making our way to crouch on either side of him. Dean shot me a dirty look, and he turned slightly towards Benny.

“What is it?” The vampire asked. Dean nodded his head to the valley at the bottom of the ridge.

“Leviathans,” Dean said. “Took out a small pack of wolves a few minutes ago.”

I shivered, watching as one of the leviathans picked up a severed limb, inspecting it before tossing it to the side.

“Shit. That was our path, wasn’t it?” Benny asked. Dean nodded.

“Yeah, and I’m not really in the mood to get into a fight with a bunch of leviathans right now,” he said.

“I don’t blame you, chief,” Benny agreed. “But what are we going to do now?”

I glanced to the left, eyes roaming the cliff side. It was high above the creatures below, and it fed to another cliff edge on the other side. It would be above our path, but most likely would run parallel alongside it. There seemed to be good footwells along the cliffside, and I struggled to get the courage up to speak.

“I have an idea,” I said. Both men looked over at me, interest on Benny’s face and annoyance on Dean’s.

“The adults are talking,” Dean said.

“Let her talk, chief,” Benny said, patting his friend on the back. “Go ‘head, cher.”

I swallowed. “The side of the cliff: it’s hidden by the tops of the trees. But-” I pointed to the other edge- “if we are careful enough, we could climb across and get to the other landing. I’m guessing the otherside runs parallel to our original path, it’ll just be higher.”

“Smart,” Benny said, giving me a smile. “Real good.”

“How the hell are you going to climb across the side of a damn cliff?” Dean asked, raising a brow. “You can barely hold up your axe.”

I bit my lip. “I’ll manage. And I can, too, hold up my axe. I’m not weak.”

Suddenly I was being shoved onto my back, my hands being pressed into the dirt as Dean held my wrists. He straddled my waist, his face inches from mine.

“Push me off,” he hissed, eyes furiously burning through my skull. I struggled beneath his hold. I was strong, but Dean was stronger, and no matter how much I bucked and pushed and pulled, he wouldn’t budge.

He let go of me for a moment, and I shoved at his chest, quickly being held down again with one hand while his other held a knife to my throat.

“You know, it would be so easy to end you right now,” he growled. My eyes widened in fear. “I wouldn’t have to hear your whiny, sniveling voice anymore and see your pathetically hideous face.”

I couldn’t stop the tears from pooling in my eyes.

“It would put us all out of our misery.”

“That’s enough, Dean,” Benny said, now on his feet.

“The bitch needs to be taught a lesson,” Dean said, pressing harder. I whimpered, fear clutching my heart in its grasp as he smirked darkly at me. “Don’t you… bitch?”

“Get off me, Dean,” I said, bucking beneath him again. He laughed, hand squeezing my wrists tighter. “Stop it.”

In a blink of an eye, he had reared the blade back, bringing it shooting back down until it stabbed into the ground beside my head. I flinched away from it, eyes squeezing shut as he was being pulled off me.

“What the hell is your problem?” Benny asked, pushing Dean against a tree. “What the fuck has she ever done to you?”

“What do you mean? Just look at her,” Dean said.

“Give me a reason, chief,” Benny snarled. “Give me one good reason why you terrorize that poor woman.”

Dean hesitated, his mouth agape as he thought for a moment. I was sitting up, hand on my throat as I watched carefully as he closed his mouth and set his jaw, eyes casting downwards.

“That’s what I thought,” Benny muttered, letting him go. Dean took a deep breath, looking up at me for a moment.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way.” He bent down to pick up his sword, slinging it over his shoulder onto his back before making his way to the cliff side.

Benny helped me to my feet, hands cradling my head as he inspected my neck. There was a small nick from Dean’s blade, but I was relatively unscathed.

“Alright, cher,” Benny began, hands gently resting on my shoulders. “You stick with me, okay? I won’t let Dean touch you again.”

I swallowed thickly, nodding my head as he patted my back. He pulled me in for a quick hug before following after Dean.

***

The next three days had gone by in a blur. We had yet to find Cas, and Dean was getting impatient. It was a constant surge of monsters and a constant physical battle with ourselves as we pushed through the fights, trying to swallow back our bile at the blood and guts that inevitably found itself onto our clothes.

I was washing up in the river, a little way through the trees from a camp we had set up for the night. I had carefully peeled off my bloodstained clothes, washing my body as best I could with the river’s water before attempting to clean my jeans and shirt. I scrubbed at them until the blood was simply an ugly stain, tossing the garments onto a nearby rock to dry. I was midway running water over my hair when suddenly arms were lifting me up, eliciting a squeal from my lips. A hand clamped over my mouth and I was dragged back behind the rocks. I struggled in the arms of my captor, rearing my head back and bashing it into their nose. They grunted, and they let go.

I spun around, fists raised, eyes widening.

“Dean? What the hell?” I asked, covering my stomach. My chest was still covered by my bra, and the water was deep enough to cover the bottom half of me, but I felt naked under Dean’s intense gaze. I glance around, spotting my clothes on the boulder. I grabbed at them, pulling the shirt over my head before my jeans were ripped away from me and thrown to the side. “Hey!”

His lips crashed against mine in a bruising force, hand tangling in my hair as he snaked an arm around my waist, crushing my body against his. My hands flew to his chest and I tried to push him away, confusion and fear coursing through my veins as he wouldn’t let go.

I bit down on his lip, and he reared back with a small yelp, touching where blood began to seep from the bite. I pulled my shirt on as he was distracted and backed away from him, arms curling around my torso.

“What the fuck was that?” He asked, wiping away the blood. I stared at him, mouth dropping.

“What the fuck was that?” I yelled. He raised a brow. “You don’t just come onto a girl like that! Especially after treating her like you treat me!”

“I… huh?”

“Are you seriously playing dumb right now?” I asked, brows drawing together. “You can’t be that fucking idiotic.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? For everything. But here’s the thing,” he said, moving closer to me. I moved back until I was pressed against the rock. “We’ve been here for almost a year, right? Neither of us have gotten any within that time. You just looked hot down here in the water, and I see the way you look at me sometimes so I just thought, ‘hey, why not?’”

How long had I dreamed a moment like this would happen? Too many times. More than I’d care to admit. But did I really want to be with Dean for the first time like this? With him hating my guts, simply wanting a quick fuck in Purgatory pf all places? Fuck no.

I scoffed, shaking my head. “You’re shitting me.”

“No.”

I ran a hand through my damp hair. “I… I can’t believe a word that’s coming out of your mouth right now. You think I’m hideous! You’ve said so multiple times, so you’re full of shit! And just so you know, you don’t just jump onto a girl and assume she wants the same thing you do. Besides, who wouldn’t be attracted to you, for fuck’s sake? It doesn’t mean I want to fuck you! God, Dean! You hate me!”

“I don’t hate you…”

“Yes, you do! You’ve bullied me like a damn middle schooler since the moment you met me!”

He sighed, jaw clenching. “Fine. You know what? Forget it.” He moved past me, stopping for a second. “And all have you know, it’s not that I hate you. It’s just that I can’t stand to be around you for more than ten minutes without wanting to put a gun in my mouth. And you’re right, I do think you’re hideous, and my god does your personality make you fucking ugly inside and out. If you don’t want work done on your face, at least work on that. Maybe then you could find someone willing to put up with you.”

He left then, leaving me speechless. I collapsed against the rock, silent sobs racking my body. I hated myself, and Dean thrived on that fact. I had no idea what I had ever done to him, nor did I understand how someone could be so cruel. But there was one thing I did know for sure; Dean Winchester was absolutely hell bent on breaking me.

***

I combed my hair out with my fingers, eyes staring out over the water.

It was nearly a week after my confrontation with Dean, and he had gone back to ignoring me. I was okay with it, not minding the silence after the cruel words. I always relied on my friendship with Benny to get me through, but it seemed as though he was pulling away from me, too.

I sighed, my hands finding themselves on the dirt beneath me. They were filthy, no matter how many times I scrubbed at them with moss and water, the blood and mud wouldn’t rid itself from my skin.

Suddenly, something went soaring through the air in front of my face, a blade lodging itself in the tree beside me. I fell back, flattening myself on the ground as I looked to the side, seeing Dean standing twenty feet from me, a dark smirk on his face, Benny shaking his head behind him.

“What the hell, Dean!” I shouted, scrambling to my feet. “You could’ve killed me!”

“But I didn’t,” he said, walking towards me. He reached past me, eyes locked on mine as he retrieved the knife from the bark. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Don’t be so… are you fucking with me?” I asked, watching as he turned around and shrugged off his jacket.

“Just drop it, cher,” Benny said, rolling his eyes. I set my jaw and turned away, swallowing back the anger brewing inside my chest. I folded my arms over each other, biting down on my tongue until I drew blood. “I’m going to scout the area. See if I can’t find a better place to set up camp.”

I inwardly groaned at the thought of being alone with Dean, and watched from the corner of my eye as Benny made his way through the trees, Dean leaning against one to stare at me. He was twirling his blade around in his fingers, his smirk not fading from his face. I shifted uncomfortably.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Dean began.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” I muttered. He stopped twirling the knife, smirk fading to replace his expression with a stoic, hard one.

“I’ll give you one more chance at this, Y/N,” he said. He walked toward me slowly, and I backed away a bit.

“At what?” I asked, now pressed against a tree. Dean didn’t stop moving until he could press his palm against the tree, leaning into it as he bent down until he was eye level with me.

“I think you know.” His eyes flickered down to my lips, his tongue running out to wet his own. I shivered as he lowered his face to the side of my head, nose pressing into my hair to take a deep breath in.

“Dean, please, I don’t-”

“You know, I bet you’re still a virgin,” he interrupted, ignoring my words. I tried pushing against his chest but he took my hands in his, bringing them behind my back and crushing me further into the tree. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with anyone. Although, I’m not surprised.”

“Dean, stop it,” I said harshly, but once again my words went unheard, and he nipped my collarbone.

“Fuck, a virgin pussy sounds so good right now.”

“I said stop, Dean!” I cried, pushing harder against him. He retaliated, quickly holding both of my hands in one of his in order to press against my throat with the other.

“I don’t give a fuck about what you said,” he hissed. “The only reason you’re alive is because of me. Face it, you wouldn’t have made it on your own, and the only reason that I haven’t killed you myself yet is because Sam would kill me when we get back.” He crushed his lips to mine, all teeth and rough pressure as he shoved his tongue into my mouth. He rolled his hips against me, and my stomach churned. “I haven’t had any in a long time, Y/N. I need to let off some steam, and you owe me.” He pulled back to look into my teary eyes. “Answer me this… are you a virgin?”

I clenched my jaw. “Let go of me.”

He growled and slapped me, a yelp escaping my lips as he gripped my chin, bashing my head back against the bark. “I will find out one way or another, I’m just curious.”

I swallowed, teeth sinking into my tongue. I’ve had two boyfriends in the past, if I could even call them that. I had only gone on a few dates with both of them, but never went further than second base. I was twenty-four and never worried about still being a virgin.

Until now.

I didn’t want my first time being like this; raped in purgatory by the man who hates me, and who I was utterly afraid of; raped by a man I had unwillingly fallen in love with.

I gave a short nod, and he smiled darkly. “Not surprising, but definitely exciting.”

“Dean, please don’t do this,” I said, struggling against his hold. “Please.”

“Benny will be back soon, so we need to make this quick,” he said. And suddenly, his hand was off my throat and on the button of my jeans.

“No!” I snarled, trying to kick at him, but he wedged his knee between my legs, and I was completely trapped.

His hand was inside my pants and down the front of my panties without hesitation, and I cringed at the thought of the dirt and blood that coated both of our skin. His fingers ran through my folds, thumb finding my clit quickly. I squeezed my eyes shut as nausea washed over me, and my body went rigid at the alien feeling of someone else’s hands down there. A tear trickled down my cheek, and Dean bent forward to lick it up.

“Come on, baby,” he cooed mockingly. “Just go with it. There’s nothing you can do to stop it anyway.”

I reared back as far as I could to spit in his face. He flinched back in surprise, his face morphing from cocky and dark to menacing, and I was thrown to the ground roughly within a second, Dean quickly hovering over me and holding me down before I could move away.

“I was trying to make this better for you, I truly was,” he said, beginning to undo his belt. I shuddered and squirmed beneath him. “But now, you’ve just pissed me off. So I don’t give a fuck if you’re ready or not.”

He shoved his jeans down far enough to free his cock from his boxers, moving back to tear at my own jeans and panties and drag them down my legs. I flipped around and began crawling away, but he gripped my ankle and turned me around onto my back.

“I want to see you,” he grunted, hands spreading my legs enough for him to fit between them. I looked down at his prick, eyes widening as I saw the size of him, and he laughed. “You’re in for it now, sweetheart.”

He stroked himself a few times before lining up with my entrance. I didn’t stop struggling, hands trying to claw at his face, my eyes blurring from my tears. He gripped both of my wrists in one of his hands while the other held himself until the tip was resting against me, and then he moved his hand to grip my waist harshly.

He forced himself inside me in one painful thrust, and a scream of pain was ripped from my throat. Dean smirked, relishing in the fact he had just torn through my virginity with such cruelty and violence. He groaned as he began to move. My hands slumped against him, knowing it was no use. He was much stronger than me, and he had already gotten what he wanted.

“I knew you’d like this,” he hissed in my ear, pulling out just to snap back in. “A bitch born to take a cock. My cock.”

The last shred of my innocence was taken within a second, and each time he shoved himself inside me, it took everything in me not to burst into tears. I turned my face away from him, eyes squeezed as tight as I could in order to try and disassociate myself, praying that this was simply but a dream.

But as he hiked up my leg around his waist to angle himself deeper inside me, I knew it wasn’t a dream, but a nightmare, one born to tear down my walls and shatter the last of my will. I knew Dean Winchester was intent on breaking me, but I didn’t know he’d take it to such extremes.

“Shit,” he cursed, plunging himself deeper and deeper with each thrust until he couldn’t go any further. I bit my lip to keep in my cries of pain, nails sinking into the palms of my hand.

His hips began to stutter, his movements choppy and I knew he was close. I dug my nails in deeper until I felt blood trickle from my fingers. His hand gripped my jaw, turning my head.

“Look at me,” he growled, holding himself to the hilt inside me until I complied. He smirked at the tears that trickled from my eyes, and slammed himself home once, twice, three more times before he came. He held his hips flush to my pelvis, eyes still locked with mine as he spilled himself inside me.

He gave a few more lazy humps, making sure he didn’t waste a single drop of his come before slipping out, sitting back on his haunches and taking a deep breath. “Wow.”

I sniffled, scooting as far away as possible as I pulled up my panties and jeans with shaky hands, trying to hold back the sobs and failing. I brought my hand up to my mouth, biting my sleeve to stifle the cries threatening to echo off the trees, and brought my knees up to my chest.

“Shit, sweetheart,” Dean said smiling. He laughed, shaking his head. “You felt better than I thought.” He sighed, standing up then and looked down at me. “Benny will be back soon. So pull yourself together before then. Say one word to him about this, I’ll kill you.”

I nodded in understanding, and he grunted.

He grabbed his axe and turned away, trudging off into the woods for his usual search for firewood.

In the five minutes he was gone, I took the time to pack up the few belongings I had, and without turning back, I ran for the hills.

Two Years Later

The nightmares never faded.

They had become less frequent, yet every few days or so, I’d run from the images inside my own head, battling demons within me instead of on the battlefield. Being scared of someone or something is one thing, but being scared of your own mind, your own dreams, was an entirely different thing, and it took strength to lay down and risk the possibility of reliving old trauma.

Yet, it was inevitable, after everything that had happened. Therapy helped, so did the anti-depressants and anxiety pills I took each night. But the truth of the matter was, the memories of Purgatory were always there, and the guilt and shame never faded, it simply turned into a dull ache that never truly went away.

Running from Dean, I was sore and bleeding, and all I cared about was keeping as much distance between him and I as possible. I listened to the whispers of the monsters, making sure I was never too close.

Dean got out before I did, just two months after I ran, and it was only a few days later that I found the portal. I didn’t even try to contact Sam, because where Sam went, Dean went.

Instead, I changed my name and set up a life for myself in a small town up in the mountains of West Virginia. I got a job at a police station as a victim advocate, got an apartment, and never once looked back.

Quitting hunting wasn’t easy, and every once in a while I’d take a case close to home. But I typically stayed within the state, not wanting to risk running into the brothers on a hunt.

Over those two years, I slowly began to rebuild my walls. However, in a split second, it all came crumbling down again.

It was a Monday afternoon in October. A cool front had washed over the Virginias and Maryland, finally carrying a crisp, sweet wind to cool our skin from the sweltering heat of the summer.

I was walking back to the station from lunch, having ran to a sandwich shop a block away. I was chewing on my lip and thinking about a particular case when I saw it; the sleek black coat of the Impala.

I felt my stomach drop, and I felt like I would be sick. Surely it couldn’t be the brothers. Other people had this particular car, too. But my fears were confirmed when the door to the station opened, and Sam walked out into the wind, leaves scattering around his feet, Dean right behind him.

I was frozen with fear. All the progress I had made had diminished in a second. I wanted to turn and run the other way. I wanted to duck into the alley and wait until they were gone. But I couldn’t move. My limbs were suddenly planted and my body lost the ability to move as the man who had made my life hell for years and haunted my dreams stepped into the sun.

Sam looked around as Dean led the way to the Impala. There was nothing I could do as his eyes landed on me, the surprised look on his face making me wince, the fearful one on mine catching him off guard.

“Y/N?” He asked. I saw Dean stiffen at the sound of my name, and I suddenly regained the ability to move. I spun on my heel and rushed into the alley, hoping to make it around to the back of the station and slip inside unseen. But Sam’s long legs made it so he was faster than me, and no amount of sprinting could keep me far enough away. He stepped in front of me, and my eyes widened. “Y/N… I… You’re alive.”

I swallowed thickly, looking over my shoulder. I tensed as I saw Dean at the end of the alley, his face hard and jaw clenched as he met my eyes. I looked back at Sam, shaking my head and stepping around him.

“I have to get back to work,” I said, trying to push past him.

“Wait!” He said, gripping my arm. I flinched, and he let go immediately.

“Sam,” I said, looking up at him. He tilted his head in confusion at the look of defeat on my face. “Please.”

“I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Dean said you were dead. That you died when you were in Purgatory.”

“A part of me did,” I admitted. Sam’s face darkened at my words, and I looked away. “And if you love me, you’d stay away from me. For good.”

“I thought I lost my best friend, Y/N,” Sam said. “I can’t just let you go now, knowing you’re alive.”

“Sam, please,” I begged. “Please.”

“Why?” He demanded.

“Just let her be, Sam.”

My breath hitched in my throat, and I looked back over towards Sam. Dean had caught up to us and was standing beside his brother now, a dark look on his face. His stare was icy, and it sent shivers down my spine. I shivered when he licked his lips, eyes raking up and down my body and suddenly I was back in Purgatory, his predatory gaze sending me reeling to a time of pain and misery.

“Y/N!”

I jumped, realizing Sam had been trying to get my attention for some time now. I looked up at him, worrying my lip, tears filling my eyes. “Sam, I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what? Why did Dean lie? What the hell happened in Purgatory?” He asked.

“Dean didn’t…” I trailed off, rolling my eyes with a scoff. “No, I guess he wouldn’t tell you what happened.”

“Y/N,” Dean warned, stare turning deadly.

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam snapped. “Y/N, you can tell me anything.”

“No, I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. “Your brother will kill me.”

“No, he won’t. I won’t let him,” Sam said. “Now please, I miss my best friend. Let me help you.”

“You can’t help me,” I said. “Not anymore. Purgatory was shitty in itself, but Dean…”

I was suddenly pushed up against the brick wall, a yelp escaping me as Dean’s hand wrapped around my throat, his body pressed against mine. I shivered in fear, visibly shaking as his lips curled into a snarl.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, trying to pry his brother off me.

“What did I tell you would happen if you told anyone?” Dean hissed. I beat at his hands, trying to kick out at him.

“Dean…”

“I’ll kill ‘ya,” he said. “I’ll do it right now. Don’t. Say. A. Word.”

Tears trickled down my cheeks, and Sam was able to tear Dean off me, pushing him up against the opposite wall.

“What the fuck?” He yelled. He pushed off his brother, turning towards me, placing his hands gently on my shoulders. His voice softened then. “Are you okay?”

“I really need to… to get back to work,” I whispered. I was still shaking, and Sam’s fingers tightened slightly, almost as if he was trying to steady me.

“Can I come see you after work? I’ll meet you here and walk you home?”

I glanced over Sam’s shoulder towards Dean. His jaw was set, and he gave a shake of his head.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I murmured. I watched a smirk grow on Dean’s face, and I shivered.

“I’m sorry. But I don’t care. I’ll meet you here, okay? At five?”

I nodded.

“Okay. See you then.” He turned slightly. “He won’t be coming, don’t worry.”

The brothers stared at each other intently, and I scurried off as quick as I could, clutching the brown bag in my hand to my chest, not trusting my hands not to shake.

It was my luck that they would end up here, out of all the towns and all the cases in the continental U.S., they had to end up here. There was one thing I was sure about; I wouldn’t be meeting Sam, nor would I be going back to work. I forgot all about my few belongings in the office, beelining to my car, readying myself to pack and be out of town by tonight.

***

I didn’t have much in terms of belongings. It didn’t take long to pack, and I had no set destination. If I had a set destination, I could be found.

I was taping up the few boxes I had, picking up a few odds and ends, figuring I would leave the furniture and have the building owner sell it. Just as I was finishing, three sound knocks were rapped on my door.

I froze.

I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I hadn’t made any friends since moving to town. No one would be coming here unannounced. No one except the Winchesters. They had their ways of finding where I lived. Sam probably asked around the station.

“Fucking Sam,” I muttered to myself. I pushed myself up off the floor, stalking to my front door. “So not cool.”

I unlocked the door, keeping the deadbolt in, before opening it.

My heart jumped to my throat.

“Dean?” I asked. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You didn’t show up to your meet-up with Sammy,” he said. He glanced around my door, stuffing his hands in his pockets, nodding. “Simple and plain. It suits you.”

“Go away, Dean,” I said. “I have cop friends and I’m not afraid to call them. Just go.”

Dean laughed. “Please. We both know you’re not friends with any of them. Besides, what would you tell them? You know what will happen if you say anything.”

“Fuck off, Dean,” I hissed. I went to close the door, but Dean was quick to stick his foot out, wedging it between the door and the frame.

“Nuh uh uh,” he tsked. “Won’t you invite me in, little pig?”

I swallowed. “No.”

“Oh, but why?” He asked, smirking. “You scared?”

I lifted my chin, standing up straighter. “No.”

He chuckled darkly, bending slightly to meet my eye level. “I think we both know that’s a lie, little pig.”

“Get the fuck away from me, Dean,” I hissed. I kicked at his foot sharply, unwedging it, promptly slamming my door shut in the process, turning the lock. I backed away from the door, feeling under the small table near the front door for my gun.

I screamed as my door was kicked in, wood splintering off the frame. Dean laughed, stepping past the threshold, kicking the door closed behind him. It didn’t quite close all the way, but enough so Dean could slip the chain into its lock.

“Here’s Johnny,” he teased, smiling. My eyes widened, and I gripped the gun, ripping it from its confinement, lifting my arm to shoot. Dean moved quickly, knocking the gun from my hand, pushing me back against the wall. He thrusted forward, crashing his lips to mine in a sloppy kiss.

“Miss me?”

“Get away from me!” I screeched. “Help! Somebody please help me!”

I sobbed as he fisted his hand in my hair, bashing my head back against the wall.

“You fucking bitch,” he hissed. “Almost telling Sammy about our little roll around. What did I tell you, hmm? Have you told anyone else?”

My eyes were blurred from the tears. Somehow my nightmares were coming true. Somehow hell had shown up at my front door, rearing its ugly head and laughing as fear twisted my insides and made my head spin. What had I done to deserve this?

“No,” I said. “I haven’t told anyone. I won’t tell anyone. Please just leave me alone.”

He ran a hand down my face, thumb smearing my tears across my skin. “Oh, but I can’t do that. You disobeyed me. You made Sam skeptical. You must be punished.”

“No,” I cried. “Please, Dean. Please don’t do this.”

He gripped my hair tighter, jerking me down the hall, my fists beating against him the whole time, fighting, kicking, screaming. He simply bent down, picking me up, and carried me into my room. He threw me onto my bed, hands gripping my thighs as he flipped me over onto my stomach.

“Now, bad girls must be punished,” he said. He reached underneath me, fingers unbuttoning my jeans. I kicked back at him, my heel meeting the fleshy part of his thigh. He grunted, and I clawed away from him, but he simply pulled me back down. “Well, that just made things so much worse for you.”

He yanked my jeans down, throwing them somewhere in the room, hands tearing at my simple cotton panties. Tears blurred my vision, and I desperately tried to crawl away. I fisted my hands on the mattress, trying to somehow escape from his hold.

I cried out as his palm collided with my ass.

“Tell me, have you been with anyone else since me?” He asked. I sobbed, screeching behind clenched teeth as he hit me again. “Answer me, bitch.”

“No,” I said. He laughed. I hadn’t heard him take off his belt, but I heard the snap as he pulled it taut. “No, no, no.”

“Oh, yes,” he laughed. He brought the belt down, letting it smack against my bare skin. The sting radiated through my back. Dean was strong, and each time his arm was brought down, the belt would send another striking shot of fire through my body. I was frozen with pain and fear. Dean didn’t have to hold me down after a while. I couldn’t move. “This is for your own good, Y/n.”

I didn’t know how long he struck me. Over, and over, and over he striked, and I lost count after twenty. My hands were clenched in the mattress cover, tears soaking the fabric beneath me, clouding my vision.

I finally heard him throw the belt aside, and his hands curled around my hips, lifting my bottom into the air gently. He softly caressed my skin, and I jumped when I felt his lips touch the welts.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He rubbed my lower back slowly. “I’m so sorry.”

I sunk my teeth into my lower lip. I froze, not sure what I was supposed to do. I knew moving was out of the question. I was in too much pain to move. Confusion sunk into my bones as he slowly kissed up my back, until he was hovering over me.

He turned me slowly, gently placing me on my back, eyes looking down at me. He tilted his head, thumb wiping away my tears. “Hey, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”

“Don’t cry?” I whispered. “How do you expect me to be okay with all of this, Dean? You broke me in Purgatory. You’ve haunted my dreams for the past two years. Then you do this? Just kill me and get it over with. Please.”

He shook his head, furrowing his brows. “I’m not here to kill you. I actually, believe it or not, came to apologize. But as soon as you opened the door I just… I don’t know what came over me.”

“Like I believe that,” I hissed. “Just get the fuck out.”

His jaw ticked, and suddenly his resolve faded. For a second I saw remorse, and now? Fire raged behind his leaf green eyes. I felt his whole body tense against me. I felt him… grow… beneath me.

“Fuck no,” I said. A rush of adrenaline coursed through me. I rolled away from him, landing on my back on the wood floor. I cried out as my raw skin made impact, but I pushed myself up quickly. Dean was up now, his eyes hard and piercing.

“Come here, little pig,” he snarled. I spun and dashed towards the bathroom. He leaped over the bed after me, but I was already inside, locking the door quickly. I heard shuffling, and I knew I needed to think fast. I spotted the window and yanked my robe off the hook, slipping it on. I stepped onto the toilet, pushed the window open, and peered down the three flights my apartment was up. I swallowed thickly, glancing back at the bathroom door. The doorknob was jiggling, and I knew he was picking the lock. Mustering up the courage, I hoisted myself up and swung my legs over. The door suddenly burst open, our eyes locking.

“Don’t you dare,” he said. I took a deep breath and looked down again. Just as he lunged forward, I let go, feeling the rush of air and my heart plummet to my stomach. My eyes were wide as I watched the ground rush up on me all too quickly. I tried ducking my shoulder to attempt to roll, hopefully saving my legs and head in the process, but I couldn’t quite get there. I felt something snap as I hit the ground, a sickening crunch sounding in my ears as I landed on my side.

“Y/n!”

That voice was different. That voice was angelic... kind. Sam.

“Oh my god,” he said. He bent down, hands cradling my face as he looked into my eyes. “Hey, stay with me. Are you alright? Jesus- of course you’re not alright, you jumped from a fucking window to get away from my brother. God, Y/n I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why does he hate me so?” I whimpered before everything went dark.

***

“Should she be asleep this long?”

“Her body is healing. It’s up to her now.”

***

“Get the fuck out.”

“Sam… I don’t know what happened.”

“Don’t you dare say that. Don’t come up with these-these lame ass excuses. I saw what you did, and I have an idea about purgatory. Now, for the last time, get the fuck out.”

***

“She will stay with me.”

“And you are?”

“Her brother.”

***

I jolted awake. My body was on fire, my head pounding with a dull ache. I opened my eyes slowly, adjusting to the bright light above my head. A beeping sound came from my right, and a quick glance showed an EKG meter. A fucking hospital.

My shoulder was bandaged and arm in a sling. My knee had a brace on it. My behind felt raw as shit.

“Fuck,” I muttered as I tried to sit up.

“Y/n! Thank God.”

I jumped at the sound of a voice.

“Sam.”

“God, Y/n… I’m so sorry. So, so, so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I told him.

“No, but I should have known. I should have done something. God, I can’t believe it.”

I sighed, fiddling with a loose thread on the scratchy blanket that was laid over me. I furrowed my brows.

“Sam… did Dean tell you what happened in purgatory?”

Sam swallowed thickly. “No. But I can guess.”

I nodded slowly. “He told me he’d kill me if I ever told anyone.”

“Have you?” Sam asked.

“My therapist,” I replied.

“A therapist?”

“Yeah. I needed one,” I said. “I was… broken when I got out. I was getting so much better, Sam. I felt like me again. Sure, I still had the nightmares sometimes but… I wasn’t always looking over my shoulder.” My lip wobbled as I fought back tears. “Damn him.”

“God, Y/n/n. I can’t believe it. It just seems so… not Dean,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sam, I know you mean well, but please stop saying sorry,” I said. He smiled and blushed.

“Sorry.” He cringed. I laughed.

“Stop it,” I told him, pushing his shoulder lightly. He laughed too, grabbing my hand. He kissed my knuckles.

“I’ve missed you,” he said.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I told him. “But I knew that where you went, Dean went.”

“I understand,” he said.

“Oh good, you’re awake!”

Sam and I both looked at the door, a plump woman in a white lab coat standing in the doorway. Her dark hair was piled high on her head, glasses pristinely balanced on her nose, lips lined with deep red lipstick. She looked like a T.V. doctor, not a doctor in middle-of-nowhere West Virginia.

“How are you feeling?” She asked. She checked my vitals and IV bag.

“Sore,” I replied.

“Your brother here has offered to take you home,” she said. I looked pointedly at Sam who shrugged sheepishly. “Look here.”

She shined a light into my eyes, checked my bandages, and determined that I could go home as long as I was supervised for 48 hours. I silently wondered where Dean was, hoping I wasn’t going to see him. If Sam was taking me home, who knows what would happen? Dean knew where I lived. But if Sam was there, perhaps he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything.

***

“Are you alright?”

Sam gently placed me onto the motel bed, careful not to hurt me. His brows were furrowed in worry and his lips were pursed into a frown. I let out a shaky laugh.

“No,” I said. “But I’ll get there.”

“Y/n, I’m so-”

“Stop it!” I scolded. “What did I say?”

“Not to apologize anymore?” He said slowly.

“That’s correct,” I said. I laid back onto the pillows, which were worn, but on my sore shoulder and back, they honestly didn’t feel too bad. “Now, mama needs to rest.”

Sam snorted. “Okay… mama.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t mock me, Samuel.” He raised his hands in defense.

“Okay, okay. Sorry, mama,” he said. “I’ll call Cas. He can heal you.”

I perked up at Castiel’s name. The gentle angel and I had been good friends. I heard whispers about him too, while in purgatory that is. I shivered at the thought of that place and…

No. I wouldn’t think about that now. I was safe with Sam. Surely Dean couldn’t find us here. Right? Sam would have taken measures to keep him from doing so.

“Hey, Cas. It’s Sam. Listen…”

Sam’s voice trailed off as he stepped outside the room, closing the door softly behind him. Suddenly, the room turned eerie. The air conditioner hummed loudly under the window, producing some sound in the empty room. It was confining. I shifted on the bed, wincing as my shoulder moved in an odd way. I adjusted my sling to a more comfortable position. I hated these things.

I sighed deeply, glancing towards the door again. I blew a piece of hair out of my eyes. Alone. It wasn’t an odd sensation to me. I had been alone for the last two years. But I had slipped so easily back into the comfortable familiarity that was once me and Sam. I had missed him so much. He was my best friend, my confidant. Being around him again was liberating. It lifted a weight off my shoulders.

Telling someone what had happened in purgatory, besides a therapist, lifted a weight off my shoulders.

Of course, Dean would kill me if he knew. But it felt good to get it out, not have it bottled up. Dr. Ramirez was great, of course. But she wasn’t Sam. Wasn’t a friend.

However, now that the room was empty apart from me, the only sounds of the air unit and the springs of the old bed creaking, I was left alone with my thoughts. Vivid images of Dean flashed before my eyes. Of purgatory, across the street at work, the alley, my apartment. Damn him. Damn him for abusing me so. Damn him for not caring. Damn him for giving me a false sense of hope when he spared a silver of remorse. And damn me for loving him.

Did I still? No, I didn’t think so. Not the Dean who hates me. Who hurt me and raped me and tormented me. Not that Dean. Perhaps the Dean who loved his little brother beyond comprehension. The Dean who would throw himself in the line of fire for a stranger. The Dean who sacrificed everything for the world, the world that was so cruel to him.

Fuck. Of course I still loved that Dean. It was like two separate fucking people. A Dean who would light up at the sight of pie and tell you everything about a band he liked simply because he wanted to share something he loved with you. A Dean who was so selfless, you would need to make sure he wouldn’t go off and get himself killed for absolutely no reason but to save a fucking dog. He would have one look on his face, and then turn to me. That look would turn cold. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes, would turn to ice in a split second. That voice that dripped of rum and sticky honey tore through my heart like daggers in ice. How could someone be so cruel?

A sob escaped my lips. I was so tired of crying. I hated crying. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand from my good arm. I didn’t want to cry anymore. I didn’t want to think anymore.

Luckily, Sam opened the door then. It made me jump slightly. Castiel was behind him. I grinned.

“Cas.”

“Y/n,” he said warmly. He walked over to the bedside. He rested a hand on my good shoulder. Cas wasn’t one for touchy-feely shit. But with me, he was always more comfortable with it.

“I’m going to heal you,” he said matter-of-factly. I gave him a nod, a light shining from his hand. A warmth filled me, starting from my head and reaching to the tips of my toes, and suddenly I felt better. I gave him a grin, which faltered at the look on his face.

“Cas?” I asked. “What is it?”

He gave a small shake of his head. “It’s… it’s a curse.”

“What is?” Sam questioned. He stood up from his seat at the small table by the window. I glanced at him.

“You have had a curse placed on you. An old one. I’ve seen it before, though. In heaven,” Castiel said. “I’m not sure why I hadn’t seen it before now. Perhaps since I hadn’t had to heal you before.”

“A curse in heaven?” I asked.

“It was designed by the archangels. It was to keep soulmates apart.”

“What?” Sam said. “Soulmates? Surely you’re joking.”

“No, I’m not joking,” Cas said. “And don’t call me Shirley.”

Sam furrowed his brows at that. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

“Okay, so a curse. What kind of curse?” I asked. “Who’s my soulmate?”

“The curse is complicated. It can only be placed on one soulmate, and the cursed mate would need to be an interference with a plan from heaven or God himself. ”

“What sort of interference?” Sam asked. Cas hummed.

“Y/n must have stood in the way of her soulmate’s destiny. Her path must cross with them, meaning that she would have altered the path chosen for her mate by heaven. The curse makes it so one of the soulmates hates the other for no particular reason. They can be downright evil towards them. Y/n’s soulmate, if she ever comes across them, may even want to kill her. The curse causes one of the soulmates to do terrible things to the other. They can act one way, and their soulmate walks into the room, suddenly they are filled with an unexplainable rage. There are times where the soulmate can feel remorse or even come to love the one who was cursed. However, the second they lie eyes on the cursed soulmate, their hatred returns.”

Holy fuck.

“If you don’t mind, Y/n,” Cas continued. “Would you mind letting me touch your soul? It should tell me who your soulmate is. I know every path for every human soul. I should be able to see.”

“I… I think I may know who it is,” I said softly. Suddenly my blood ran cold. It felt as if the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees in a single second. Soulmate may want to kill me. They will hate me. Do terrible things to me. They are suddenly remorseful, but once again turn evil once they lie eyes on me. Fucking hell.

“Who?” Castiel asked. I looked to Sam, who was staring at the ground. I saw it dawn on him, saw the realization flash across his face. His head snapped up to mine.

“Dean.”

***

“Are you fucking joking?”

I flinched at his words. Dean stared- no, glared- at me from his chair. He was chained to a chair in the dungeon. “Precaution” Sam had said. Dean wasn’t too happy with it. I sat in a chair about six feet from him, right outside the devil’s trap. His lip curled into a snarl.

“I’ll fucking kill myself if this bitch is my so called soulmate.”

“I’ve already touched her soul, Dean,” Castiel said. “Just to be sure.”

“Okay? And?” Dean prompted.

“Not only is she cursed, but she’s your soulmate.”

“Fucking hell,” he groaned.

“The archangels placed the curse on her at birth. When they found out she was to be your soulmate, they cursed her in order to keep her from interfering with their plan to have you as Michael’s vessel. If she wasn’t cursed, they foresaw the two of you already together; married and two children.”

My heart ached. I could have had that? Instead, my soulmate had abused, raped, and threatened to kill me on multiple occasions. Great.

“Gag,” Dean said. He spit at the ground towards me. “You told them. You know what would happen if you did. You’re fucking dead.”

“Sam,” I said quietly. I looked up at him. He gently placed a hand at the back of my head in a comforting gesture.

“It’s alright,” he said.

“Now, there is a way to remove the curse. It is painful, and tedious, but it may allow you two to venture forth into a soulmate’s relationship.”

“Fuck that.”

“I can’t.”

Although said at the same time, all eyes turned to me.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Cas asked. Sam sighed.

“Cas, not now.”

“I mean I can’t be with someone who-who was so cruel to me. You don’t know the specifics of purgatory,” I muttered. I squeezed my eyes shut at the thought. My lip threatened to wobble. I sunk my teeth into it. “When this is done, I don’t know if I can be here anymore.”

“Y/n,” Sam said. “When this curse is lifted, the Dean who did those things to you will not exist.”

“It’s true,” Cas said. “The curse alters your soulmate in a way that they’re unrecognizable. It turns their personality completely sour, turning them into a new person. The Dean that will be shown to you when this is over will be the real Dean, the Dean you saw when you weren’t near him. When you’re cursed, it’s like he’s possessed by an alien body.”

“But it’s still his face. His hands. His… everything.” I shuddered.

“That was fun, wasn’t sweetheart?” Dean said. “I still remember how you felt. Tight virgin… Mmmm. Once I’m free of these chains, I may take you again. Maybe I’ll claim your ass this time.

“Enough, Dean!” Sam barked loudly. “Cas.”

“You ready, Y/n?” Castiel asked. I looked up at him, to Dean, and back again.

“Yeah, just one thing first-” I looked at Dean, right in the eye- “Go to hell you son of a bitch.”

Then Castiel’s hands were on the sides of my head, a blinding pain searing behind my eyes, and all I saw was black.

***

“Sam, how am I supposed to live with it?”

“You just do. It wasn’t you. It was the fucking archangels. They did this to her. Not you.”

“It was still… me. I just couldn’t stop it. God, I can’t believe I…”

“Hey. Stop it. I mean it, okay? You beating yourself up with it will not help you in the end. When she wakes up, she’s going to need us. Okay? She’s going to have to re-learn trust and-and love and learn to trust you.”

“If she wants to leave, we need to let her leave. I don’t blame her if she hates me. You heard what she said, Sam. She said she can’t. And I get it. I understand. I don’t want to put her through anymore pain, okay? She needs to live without fear and without pain and suffering. She’s a good, beautiful person inside and out. She didn’t deserve anything I did to her.”

“It wasn’t you!”

“It was, dammit! It was my hands, my body, my fucking words. God, Sam. We may have been cursed, but it was still me. Okay?”

“You heard Cas. It’s like you were possessed. It wasn’t you. Fucking get it through your thick skull.”

“Tell that to her then. If she believes it, I will. This is about her. Not me.”

I could register their conversation. Feel the dull ache in my head. Smell the faint smell of the lavender incense I used to like to burn. The issue was getting my eyes to open.

With heavy lids, I opened my eyes slowly, struggling to keep them open. The brothers stopped talking and I could feel them staring at me. I groaned as I sat up, rubbing at my temple.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Sam said slowly. “You feeling okay?”

“If you consider feeling like you’ve been hit by a train ‘okay,’” I said. “Fuck.”

I looked up at them both, Sam’s eyes warm and lips curled into a sympathetic smile. I forced myself to look at Dean. His eyes were focused intently on his hands, but I could see his jaw clenched and chest moving quickly as he took rapid breaths. His leg bounced repeatedly. He was nervous?.

He looked up at me finally, taking a deep breath, holding it a moment, before letting it back out. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I replied lowly.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Sam asked.

“No,” I said quickly. Dean winced, but I ignored it. Like hell I would be left alone with him. “Cas did it? The curse is gone?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, yeah it’s gone. Dean um… Dean’s fixed, I guess you could say.”

“Is he?” I asked bitterly.

“Y/n,” he said hesitantly. “I don’t have words. I can’t express how sorry I am.” I looked down at my hands. “There aren’t words to describe the guilt I have. I don’t know what to say or do. I’m just so, so sorry.”

I took a deep breath before responding. “At least I know why I loved you for so long.”

That clearly was not what he was expecting to hear. “W-what?”

“Before purgatory, when things didn’t… escalate… I loved you. I loved the you that wasn’t around me. I thought I was fucked up, loving someone who was so cruel to me. But now I know I couldn’t help it. You’re my soulmate. What are the fucking odds?”

His lip quirked slightly. “I… I loved you too. The me that wasn’t around you. It honestly was like two different… me’s essentially. I loved you, and every time I wasn’t around you, I told myself to apologize and fucking fix myself. But then I’d see you and… this anger just consumed me. I couldn’t understand why. And then in purgatory, being around you 24/7, it’s like everything was heightened. I just wanted to make you hurt.”

I flinched and his face softened.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Y/n.”

“No, I want to hear this. I want to understand what you were feeling,” I said. “Maybe it will help me… differentiate you from, you know… cursed you.”

He nodded before continuing. “Like I said, being around you constantly made everything worse. It was like the anger and hatred all heightened. So the night that I… hurt you… I wanted to cause you such profound pain. But I didn’t want to kill you. I think deep down, even cursed, I couldn’t bring myself to kill you. Although the curse hated you, I loved you. You were always so gentle and kind. You’re easily one of the smartest people I know. You’re beautiful and funny and innocent. I fell in love with you, and the curse despised that. It wanted to hurt you. And it did. And for that, I can not apologize enough. What I did… it’s unimaginable. I am so sorry, Y/n.”

We simply sat looking at each other for a moment. Sam sat uncomfortably beside Dean. He glanced between the two of us.

“You’re stressing me out, Sam,” I said finally.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking anywhere but Dean and me.

I cleared my throat and fiddled with the edge of the blanket laid over me. “I… I don’t know what to say, Dean. I really don’t.”

“Don’t say anything, then,” he murmured.

“I want to forgive and forget. Lord do I want to forget. But this isn’t something you can overcome so easily,” I said. “I was so close to being fixed. I was so much better, but you showing up at my apartment and beating the shit out of me like that… it tore down the foundation I had built back up.”

“I had come to apologize,” he said. “And then I saw you and it all went away.”

“I know,” I told him. “It confused the fuck out of me, your fucking mood swing.”

He whistled. “No shit. It confused me.”

We sat in silence for another moment. I wasn’t scared per se, just uncomfortable. If he was “fixed,” I had nothing to fear. I knew I had nothing to fear from Dean now. However, I would never forget the malice and callousness he showed me for years. That night in purgatory was forever seared into my brain. That trauma and heartache and pain would live with me forever. It didn’t matter if he was fixed or cured or whatever the fuck you want to call it. It still happened. It was still at his hands. That’s not something to simply get over.

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he said softly. “If someday you somehow find it in your heart to forgive me, then that’s your business. I don’t deserve it and I’m not expecting it. But maybe, if you’ll let us try, to start over, someday we could become friends.”

I swallowed thickly. “I don’t know, Dean.”

I watched his face flash with an emotion I couldn’t quite explain, before masking his emotions. “I understand.”

“Maybe,” I told him. “Don’t bank on it.”

Dean gave me a small smile. “I’m in your hands, Y/n. I’ll be here if you want. And if not, then I respect that.”

I yawned then and Sam stood slowly. “Let’s give her some rest, Dean. She’s had a long week.”

Dean nodded at his brother and gave one last look at me.

“I really am sorry, Y/n. I’ll live with this guilt until the day I die. I hope… I hope you find the happiness and peace you deserve.” He gave me a tight lipped smile and closed the door behind him, evidently taking all weight in the room with him. I let out a deep breath that I had been holding and rubbed at my temples. I laid back onto the pillows, letting my eyes trace designs on the ceiling in the dark of the room.

Sleep found me not long after, and no matter what knowledge I had now, or the safety that was Sam across the hall, I had no control of the nightmares that plagued my dreams and danced behind my eyes. Dean Winchester may have been cured. He may be himself around me now. However, what he did will forever live with me, and no angel cure or spell undoing will ever change that.

And so, I walked through the valley of darkness that were my dreams, and I battled the demons caused by the man who stayed down the hall from me. Yet I slept, knowing that what tormented me behind closed eyes was no longer alive, and the man who had broken through the chains around my heart all those years ago was back and in the foreground. Though I wasn’t sure what my feelings were towards him now, knowing that what he did to me was the result of an archangel curse, I did know that perhaps someday, once we tread through the tumultuous ground that was fear and contradiction, we may learn to live in peace with one another, even if he had loved me and hated me; even if I had loved him and hated him. Yet the most important thing, the thing that allowed me to rest, if not soundly, but at all, was the fact that he no longer wanted me dead, nor did he want my blood on his hands.

So though nothing was back to normal, and I didn’t plan on being around Dean anytime soon, perhaps I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder anymore. Maybe I could finally find the solace and peace that I deserved. I think the world at least owes me that.

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elen-aranel · 3 years ago

Note

Hii! Disco Sarek is making me feel things. I never thought I’d ask for this but could you maybe write a Sarek x reader?

Dear Anon, thank you for the request! I am so sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy. I have set this in the past relative to Discovery, when Sarek is just getting to know humanity. Thanks to @starfleetstgmgr for some really helpful ideas!

Regard

Pairing: Sarek x Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: Moderately frank discussions of human relationships, Diplomacy, gratuitous detail of Paris WC: 4.3k Rating: Teen

You have always watched people.

When you were a child, you watched your classmates as they fought and made up, sometimes finding you had a better memory for who was friends with who than they did.

When you were at college, you watched people go by through the window of your favourite coffee shop. And you messaged your friends, as you sipped your latte in breaks between reading, if you spotted any of their tutors going by looking like they were in a bad mood.

These days, as a Federation Attaché, you watch people negotiate. Sometimes it’s just a formality – the nitty-gritty of signing a treaty. Ambassadors, professionals, everyone on the same page, little details to hammer out. But the more interesting times are when the stakes are higher: people negotiating to protect their way of life. People negotiating who are personally affected. People who care.

This is your first time on a negotiation with the new Vulcan ambassador, Sarek. You’ve worked with Vulcans before, and you generally appreciate their logical approach to a situation. Unlike some other Federation diplomats, they don’t try to make everything about them themselves. But still, Sarek is different, somehow, and you watch him, trying to put your finger on why.

You’re on a Federation colony planet, Omicron Aquila III, trying to negotiate between the two factions of humans that live there. The land is very fertile, and the original colonists grew crops for export. But 10 years in there was a disagreement, and now the humans live in two separate settlements. Everything was fine until last year when a volcano, thought to be extinct, erupted, damaging farmland and water supplies. The colonists from Hebden and Longridge don’t agree on much, but they did agree that they wanted a Vulcan to mediate their issues, because they knew a Vulcan would use logic and come up with a fair solution.

Sarek remains unruffled as Representative Jackson Walker gets increasingly angry about Hebden’s south well. His voice stays deep, slow, and calm as he re-iterates the logic of allowing Longridge to use it, and you realise that unlike the other Vulcans you’ve met, he doesn’t treat humans like they’re inferior because of their emotions, even if he doesn’t seem to understand them. Representative Laila Patel from Longridge sits there with arms crossed, a grim smile on her face. But you’ve been watching her, and you’re pretty sure that when you get to the issue of land borders, she’s going to kick up a fuss.

“I hear your objections, Representative Walker. I think we should take an hour’s recess to consider next steps.” Sarek says, and both humans stand and leave, without so much as a goodbye. You stand, too, gathering up your PADDS.

“Ambassador, may I have a word?”

“Yes of course, Attaché. Please join me.” He leads you through into a corridor, then to a door you haven’t been through yet. You make a point to give him space as he holds the door, letting you take it from him; Vulcans are touch-telepaths and contact is frowned upon. You follow him through into a garden. It’s beautiful, with pink and white roses in bloom, perfuming the air. You think it must have been one of the first things the colonists built because the plants are mature, and you’re touched that in establishing a new home they put beauty at the heart of it.

Sarek leads you toward the middle of the garden, so you can talk and be sure you’re not being overheard.

“What is it you wish to say, Attaché?” He regards you, curious, and you notice his eyes. Stormy, grey-blue – how had you not paid attention to them before? You shake yourself, mentally. Now is not the time.

“Your proposal is fair and logical. But I—I don’t think you will be successful with it. The colonists think they want a logical solution, but they cannot stop their emotions coming into play.”

Sarek raises an eyebrow at you. “What is your evidence for this assertion?”

“The way Representative Walker gets particularly aggressive when you bring up the south well. According to their database his grandfather, John Walker, dug it personally, and for some time at the beginning it was the colony’s only source of drinking water. Representative Walker probably remembers his grandfather telling stories about that time. His family derives status from that well. I think you’ll likely find something similar if you challenge Representative Patel on this land.” You get out your PADD with a map of the colony. “When Hebden split from Longridge, her family grew the first crops here.”

“Yes.” Sarek looks thoughtful. “This does explain the behaviour we have seen, and provide a hypothesis which we may test going forward.” He looks at you again, something in his expression you can’t quite read. “How do you suggest we proceed?”

The bronze plaque reading “John Walker Memorial Well” is being installed as you leave aboard the USS Jemison. Sarek isn’t with you, since he’s returning to Vulcan on his own ship, and you find yourself thinking about him as you review the agreement between the settlements and prepare for your next assignment. He hadn’t been what you had expected, and after your talk in the garden he had checked with you over several other points of negotiation. You had enjoyed watching him work, and you wish you were able to spend more time with him.

And – you couldn’t really let yourself think about it on the planet, but he was attractive. His eyes. His face. His voice. Very attractive. But a Vulcan isn’t going to be interested in a human, you tell yourself. And who knows when you’ll even see him again?

Again is months later. There’s a Federation summit on Earth and almost the entire Federation Diplomatic Corps has descended on Paris. You’re supporting the Zaranite delegation. You wouldn’t admit it to anyone but you feel a little creeped out by their masks; you understand they can’t breathe in an oxygen atmosphere but you don’t really see why they have to cover their eyes, too. The black slits are intimidating and narrow, and you think intimidation must be the point since their field of vision must be constrained. Regardless, you can’t watch them, not in the way you like. You can’t tell how they feel.

You tell yourself, however, that you are a professional, even if you don’t understand them. And even if they aren’t especially influential they still deserve competent support.

But the work isn’t terribly interesting: there’s nothing personal here, no real stakes, just checking language, ensuring the Zaranites have the correct paperwork – well, PADDs – to hand.

Socialising with your friends in the Corps is more fun. You’ve always loved Paris, from the first moment you looked down on it from the Eiffel Tower, and it’s good to catch up with Mark, Kelechi and Evan who joined the service at the same time as you, over good food and wine. But when, at the bottom of one-too-many bottles of Côtes du Rhône, Evan hits on you... you just aren’t interested. He seems a little juvenile, honestly. But you let him down gently.

On the third morning of the summit, though, you are summoned to see Consul Galea.

“So, I’ve had a request for your services,” she says, without preamble, as her aide waves you straight into her office. Her dark eyes are slightly incredulous, you think.

“From who?” At least the Zaranites don’t appear to have complained, which is what you’d been worrying about since receiving her message.

“Ambassador Sarek,” she says, raising her brows. “Apparently you made a good impression on that backwater colony. He finds his current assistant insufficient and would ’value your organisational skills and clear thinking.’”

“Wow, okay,” you say, feeling your skin warm a little. He had made an impression on you, but you had not thought you would have made one on him.

“Naturally I can’t say no to the Vulcan ambassador. You’ll be supporting him for the rest of the summit. I’ll assign someone else to the Zaranites.” She taps a control on her desk. “You’d better get going; Sarek will need you at 09:00. I’ll make sure all the paperwork is waiting for you.”

“Attaché,” Sarek says as you sit by him.

“Ambassador Sarek,” you say, nodding. You’ve had half an hour to get up to speed on his part of the negotiation, and you hadn’t let yourself think about... him. But there he is, with those blue-grey eyes, handsome face, deep voice. But no. This is emphatically not the time.

You don’t have the time, anyway. You would love to know which of your colleagues left Sarek’s paperwork in such a mess so you can have a word about it; just because he’s a Vulcan and logical doesn’t mean he can do both his job and yours at the same time. But you apply yourself and get everything sorted, and by midday you’re on top of it all, and able to properly support the ambassador. There may not be personal stakes to this but Sarek’s part of the negotiation is a lot more interesting.

“Thank you for your assistance today, Attaché,” he says as the session winds up. “I have found your presence to be...” he hesitates. “To be... most helpful.”

“You’re welcome, Ambassador.” You nod and smile, stowing your PADDs in their case. What had he been going to say? He doesn’t give you time to speculate, however.

“I was wondering if you could be of further assistance to me this evening. I have been... struggling... to find appealing sustenance. I am unused to using the synthesiser for an extended period of time, but I am having difficulty finding alternatives in Paris which are compatible with my dietary requirements.”

You nod, understanding. Traditional French food is not known for being vegetarian friendly.

“Of course, Ambassador. May I ask – are you happy to eat non-meat animal products, like eggs and dairy? If the animals’ welfare is assured?”

You take him to a little galetterie that you and Kelechi had happened upon a few years ago, during your second time in Paris together. It’s small, on a back street near the Bastille. The sort of place that locals go rather than tourists. It’s one of your favourites, and you try to go back every time you visit Paris. You enjoy the traditional Breton food, and the atmosphere – it’s friendly, quiet, and unpretentious. And you’re confident they will have plenty of vegetarian options for Sarek, as you sit opposite him at a dark wooden table covered in a crisp white tablecloth.

You both have the galettes – thin savoury pancakes freshly made with buckwheat flour – folded round cheese, eggs, mushrooms in cream and garlic sauce, and vegetables. You enjoy your food, alongside Breton cider served in a delicately painted bowl. You think Sarek relishes his, too, although he drinks the non-alcoholic fresh apple juice instead.

You find his conversation very interesting. He tells you of the planets he’s visited, and some details about Vulcan and its culture. You have to hold yourself back, a little; you don’t want to pry but you can’t resist asking a few questions about him personally. He tells you his father translated Surak’s teachings into English, and you make a mental note to get a copy.

He asks you about your life, too. Nothing overly personal, but he asks about the town you grew up in. What human schools are like. Details about Earth from a human perspective.

It’s later than you expected when you leave the restaurant.

“Thank you. For the meal and the enlightening discourse,” Sarek says as you prepare to part ways.

“Thank you, ambassador. I enjoyed this evening.”

He looks at you, then, something appraising about his glance. You can’t tell what conclusion he has come to, though. He nods. “I will see you tomorrow.”

As a mere attaché your accommodation is out towards the suburbs, and you have time to think on the metro-shuttle back. You had enjoyed yourself, a lot. If you were being honest with yourself, you had a better time than you had with your friends. If Sarek were to hit on you...

But he’s a Vulcan. You know nothing about their relationships, and the first lesson you learn about Vulcans is that those are questions you do not ask. You sigh, staring out the window at Paris rushing by. It’s not like you’ll see him again after this week, anyway. He’ll probably go back to Vulcan, and Consul Galea will have your next assignment ready.

First thing the next morning you send a message to Marin, Consul Galea’s aide, and just after your lunch break he delivers. You hope Sarek doesn’t notice you quickly checking your personal PADD, but he’s busy in conversation with a member of the Tellarite delegation.

“Ambassador,” you say, as you pack away your work. “Have you made plans for dinner this evening?”

“I have not,” he replies, grey-blue eyes looking at you with interest.

“I took the liberty of doing a little research, and I have a personal recommendation for a vegetarian restaurant from an aide who works in Paris full time. Would you like to try it with me?”

“I would. That was very... thoughtful, Attaché.”

The restaurant, near the Place Charles de Gaulle, specialises in North African food, and you enjoy flatbreads with hummus and baba ganoush, tabbouleh, and a vegetarian tagine with harissa and apricots. But better than the food is Sarek’s company, once again.

You wish, as you stand at the end of the Champs-Élysées and look through the Arc de Triomphe at the angular Grande Arche de la Defence almost glowing in the distance, that the summit was going to last longer. But the signing ceremony is tomorrow, followed by the official dinner, which as an attaché you are too junior to attend.

The following day you work as normal, highlighting last minute changes to the treaty’s wording for Sarek to review and uploading his edits as he debates with the Andorian representative. But somehow you get the impression that there is something on the Ambassador’s mind. You think he’s watching you when he thinks you aren’t paying attention, and you’re not sure what to make of it.

You put it out of mind instead, and as the work winds down as preparations begin for the signing ceremony, you think about what you might do this evening. Perhaps go up Montmatre and look down on the city by night.

“That’s the last of them,” you say, as you had a PADD over for Sarek’s signature. The signing ceremony will be old fashioned with pens and paper, mainly for the media, but the actual agreements are signed off digitally.

“Once again I thank you for your support, Attaché. I believe we work efficiently together.” He pauses for a moment, giving you one last appraising look. “I am leading a seminar on human relationships on Vulcan next week, and I would like to ask for your assistance.” You blink at him, surprised, but he continues. “It seems logical to have a human present, and from our time working together I believe you would be a good choice to educate other Vulcans. I have sought permission from Consul Galea. She is willing for you to go, but wanted me to ask you since it is not strictly within the remit of your job.”

“Uh, yes. Having a human there would be logical.” You nod, trying not to sound too eager. “I will... assist.”

The seminar room in the Shirkar Academy is large and airy. There are floor to ceiling windows down one side, looking out over the city of Shi’Kahr, and there are two rows of pale wooden desks curved into a semicircle around a large screen. You can just see the desert in the distance.

Every desk is occupied, and as you watch the assembled Vulcans, you are nervous.

You have done your fair share of talks – to colleagues, and sometimes in negotiations. You could do the one on the Advantages of Federation Membership in your sleep (and according to Kelechi, who had been sharing a room with you the night before the first time you’d had to give it, you actually had). But this is different. You resist the temptation smooth your clothes; you may be nervous but you don’t need everyone to see it.

You had to admit that Sarek has done a good job with the presentation section. He goes through a through a brief history of types of relationships on Earth, including times and societies where women had been treated like property, and relationships and marriages were often treated as a property transaction. He also covers some things even you are not too familiar with, like societies that practice polygyny and polyandry. The audience seems engaged, taking notes.

He spends a little longer than you expect on arranged marriage before handing over to you.

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that the Vulcans are aliens who probably don’t have many preconceived notions on the subject so there’s no need to feel awkward, and begin.

“Thank you Ambassador. I’m going to speak to you today on the types of relationship you’re most likely to encounter in the humans you meet, and then open up for questions and discussion.

“These days humans will most often enter into a romantic relationship with one other human at a time. These may be casual, as in the case where the two partners are getting to know one another, or sometimes because they have other things going on in their lives like work or travel which preclude the formation of a more serious relationship. It could also be because they enjoy sex with each other and don’t want anything more...”

You go on to discuss love and long term relationships, marriage, negotiating things like exclusivity and cheating, and a brief discussion of the two parent family as a common basis for child-rearing.

“Finally, it is important to note: not all humans are in or even desire to be in a relationship. Some humans are uninterested in the concept of romance or sex altogether. Others wish to pursue careers or other time-consuming activities and do not feel they could give a relationship proper attention. And some humans would be open to the idea of a relationship, but haven’t found someone they would like to enter into one with.”

You look round the room. You can’t really gauge how things are going; they seem attentive, at least.

“Does anyone have any questions?” You nod at a older Vulcan on the back row who has raised his hand.

“Are there specific ceremonies for humans wishing to undergo marriage?”

You relax. A safe question to start. “At its most basic form marriage is a legal contract, so can be performed by someone with legal standing to do so, the couple wishing to marry and a witness. It can be as simple as signing a document. However, there are a lot of traditions surrounding marriage. A more common ceremony would involve the exchanging of vows, and often rings to be worn as a visible sign that a human is married.”

You go on to cover traditional ceremonies, elopement, wedding clothes...

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yes. I note that you do not wear a ring. Are you married?”

“No, I am not.”

He nods, and you gesture to a younger female on the front row.

“I have read about virgins and virginity in human literature, but I do not understand the concept. Can you explain it please?”

Oh gosh. “The most basic definition of a virgin is someone who has not had sexual intercourse. In the past in some societies a woman primarily but sometimes a man too would be expected to be a virgin when they entered into a marriage. This isn’t the case anymore but losing one’s virginity, having sex for the first time, can be... uh... important, to some people. And there may be a perceived stigma around humans who are older than say... mid twenties, who have yet to have sex.”

“Thank you. You said you were unmarried; do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend? Are you a virgin?”

You blink, resisting the temptation to look at Sarek for support. You should have expected this, you think, feeling a little weak.

“There are some questions that it is... inappropriate... to ask humans. Asking whether a human is a virgin is always inappropriate, even for another human, unless you know each other incredibly well. So I will not be answering that, and I would recommend that you don’t ask another human. But no, I do not have a—a partner, at the moment.”

Safer questions follow, on things like how long it’s appropriate to be in a relationship before marriage, and divorce and how that’s accomplished. Questions about how partners are chosen, and even one about love at first sight. Then—

“How would you know if someone is interested in pursuing a relationship with you?”

“You—uh... it’s difficult. Someone might hit on you,” you say, wincing mentally, thinking of Evan. “That is, they may say something to express an interest. But a lot of the signs are physiological, and difficult for us to recognise consciously. Like... someone’s pupils may dilate when they talk to you. Or they may lean in toward you, mirror your actions. They may ask you questions, try to get to know you. Find opportunities to spend more time with you. But it can be difficult.” You shrug. “Sometimes it takes a friend to tell you they think someone is interested in you. But if you want a relationship, and think they may too... sometimes you just have to ask.”

You are relieved when the seminar is over, and gratified when the organiser at the academy makes a point to thank you, both for the presentation and your willingness to answer questions candidly.

Afterward you think Sarek will take you to the Federation Embassy, but instead he steers his desert flyer out of the city. Part of you wants to ask where you’re going, but you trust him, so you enjoy the ride as the city gives way farmland, and forest. You skirt the edge of forest and desert for a while, then Sarek turns the flyer through the trees and stops in an open area.

Your eyes widen as you exit the speeder; you have always heard of Vulcan as a desert planet, but in front of you is a large body of water, waves gently lapping on a sandy shore. You turn to Sarek.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, and you think you see satisfaction in his expression.

“This is Lake Yuron. This part of the shore is quiet and I frequently come here when I wish to meditate. I... appreciate the calm.”

He walks toward the water and you follow. You stand together, watching the waves as they go in and out. The water looks different, somehow, to lakes on Earth, as it reflects the more orange tint of the Vulcan sky.

After a while, Sarek speaks. “Today during the the seminar, you described some of the ways one can tell if a human is interested in pursuing a romantic relationship. I have observed you over the past few days, and I believe you have displayed many of these signs.” He turns to you, stormy eyes reflecting the lake water.

“Are you interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with me?”

You look down at the sand, and swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. But you have to be honest with him. “I am. I find you fascinating. I enjoy your company. And you... are very attractive.” But there’s just no way he can reciprocate, you think. “I’m sorry if I have made you uncomfortable. That was never my intention.” You look back up, hoping he can see the apology in your eyes.

“Although I am an adherent of logic, of Surak’s teachings, it would be... inaccurate to say that I do not experience emotion. I control and suppress the emotions that I feel, and generally that is... satisfying, to me.” He takes a step toward you, closing the gap between you both. He’s close enough to touch.

“I find you... compelling. I lack the proper language to express emotions, but… perhaps I can show you?”

You nod, mutely. You know about mind melds, even though you’ve never seen one performed, much less participated. Your eyes track his hand as he reaches up to touch your face.

“My mind to your mind. My thoughts... to your thoughts.”

The touch of his mind is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and you gasp slightly at the extra dimension that opens up for you, in a direction you couldn’t even have imagined. But you feel safe; you can feel that he is keeping you from being overwhelmed. And then you for a few moments you see yourself as he sees you. Feel an echo of what he feels, even as you share what you feel for him.

As he breaks the connection the only thing you can do is bring a hand up to his face, and kiss him. It’s gentle, almost hesitating at first, but it feels so right as you press together, as the kiss deepens.

You have always watched people; you have never really thought about people watching you. You know they will, though, as you ride back to Shi’kahr: the human partner of the Vulcan ambassador. You won’t be putting on a show, but you find, as you think it over, Sarek at your side, that you don’t mind.

#sarek #sarek x reader #ambassador sarek #s’chn t’gai sarek #Star Trek Discovery #writings of the girl from outer space #regard #ask #request #nonny #fanfic #fanfiction #star trek fanfiction #sarek/reader #sarek x you

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therianimal · 3 years ago

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My System’s Experiences: switching hosts and a disconnected past

It took years before we realized that the complete personality shifts we experienced at various points in our life was us switching between hosts. Before I was host (or even existed at all), there was Lucas; a few years before him, Eren. The earliest host we know of is 4 years old and was the host during our preschool years. It seems inconceivable that we wouldn’t know - but as a system that has no amnesia, experiences the world as “different people sharing a single consciousness”, experiences switching less like “stepping back” and more like changing perspectives, and exists in a place between median and multiple, these changes disguised themselves as life phases.

It made sense to us that being 16 would feel different than being 12, and we were aware that changing over time was a normal experience for children and teenagers. Sure, it seemed weird that as a child we were definitely a girl, during our early teen years we were likely nonbinary and during our late teen years we were a trans man - it was never really clear to us WHY we changed so much.

That is, until I realized that we were plural, and that we have always been different people who simply passed the mantle of Host along like some kind of hereditary monarchy. It seems somewhat obvious now - the fact that I used to say things like “back when I was Lucas”, that I didn’t have childhood memories of being a therian, and that each “life phase” involved a completely different personality, set of interests, and sense of self were all signs. Even my dad is prone to saying things like “You’re a completely different person now than you were when you were 16″ (I really get a kick out of the double meaning). But it wasn’t until I started to consider that I (we!) might be plural that the truth about our past hosts came out into the open.

Our obliviousness can be accounted for by another issue: the specifics of how we switched hosts. I like to compare the scenario to mitosis - one member gradually becoming two. It would take months before the two people were distinct, at which time the new member would usurp as the new host and the previous one would go into dormancy. Because it’s so gradual we can't pinpoint an exact moment when each switch happened, and it's sometimes hard to clarify whether a past event happened to one member or another.

I’ve started to refer to the mid-mitosis host as “proto”, thqe in between of Lucas and me being “proto-Blue”. Lucas was a trans man and emo, and I’m a mascfem nonbinary person who isn’t particularly alt - our mid-self was still trans but more gender nonconforming and no longer 100% male, and they still listened to emo and rock music but had moved away from the clothing style. This "self" doesn't exist in our system as an actual person - it was simply an in-between stage. This host change (and all the others as far as we can tell) was fluid and not at all a sudden switch.

When Lucas returned from dormancy, it was chaos. He had been functionally asleep for three years - in the meantime, I had broken up on bad terms with his best friend/girlfriend, socially detransitioned (he had worked hard to come out as a trans man), and thrown away most of his old clothing and possessions. Trump had even become president, which was honestly one of the most overwhelming things. And he suddenly had to confront the fact that we were plural, that he had not always been host, and most of all that he had lost several years of (what he thought was) his life. I had to confront similar issues, but for me it was gradual while for him it was all at once.

Since then, several of our past hosts have reawakened - but not all. There are large unaccounted for periods of time, presumably involving still-dormant system members. It’s difficult to talk about our/”my” past, because when referring to things that occurred between the ages of 15 and 17 I can usually say “Lucas did X”, but how do I refer to the incidences that happened to unknown hosts? On top of that, due to years of assuming we were one person and each of us claiming past events as “my past”, it’s not that easy to say that X event belongs to one person and Y belongs to another. Things that happened to Eren while she was host often feel just as relevant to me, personally, as things that happened while I was host.

This all creates a confusing communication barrier, and risks creating conflicts between members - for example if I say “I got a perfect score on the reading portion of the SAT when I was 12!” would that be unfairly taking credit for Eren’s accomplishments, or simply describing an element of our shared narrative that feels relevant to me? There has been at least one conflict with another member where I was accused of selectively taking credit for their good deeds and accomplishments while disowning failures and negative actions - I believe that was a misunderstanding, but clearly it’s complicated.

I, as an individual, have only existed for four years. It sounds strange to say that as a 22 year old, but it’s true. This sometimes makes it alienating to spend time in identity-based communities like the therian, otherkin, transgender, and other LGBTQ communities. I once attempted to join a trans Amino, only to find that I was required to explain my “trans self discovery story” in an introduction post - it wasn’t even optional! How do I explain “In our teenage years, Eren felt disconnected from gender but couldn’t put it into words. Then we learned about trans people, and Lucas discovered over the course of a few months that he was a trans man. I knew I was nonbinary from day one (four years ago), though figuring out the details has taken a few years.” To someone who knows nothing about plurality, it’s incomprehensible.

Of course I could have made something up or oversimplified things, but at the time I was on Amino to discover my truth, not hide my truth. Due to the “born this way” narrative, saying something like “I identified as a trans man in my teen years, but later on identified as nonbinary” would imply that our experiences as a trans man were fake or the result of a confused misnomer, when they were very real. Directly undermining our experiences and our reality for the sake of community really sucks; I quickly left that Amino.

I’ve had similar issues in the therian community. I first realized I was a therian/nonhuman before realizing I was a member of a plural system, which caused all sorts of confusion for me. I joined the Therian Guide forums and learned from their posts and resources that “If you didn’t have therianthropy related experiences as a child, that means you’re just a confused human who’s been influenced by the internet and is having a wishkin phase." I wanted to believe that wasn’t the case, but the argument made sense and I had no counterargument to make against it and no way to explain why that rule wouldn’t apply to me.

Even now it sometimes feels alienating to encounter online threads and posts centered around the question “What signs did you experience as a child?”. I know that other people’s experience don’t invalidate mine, and vice versa, but it still sometimes makes me feel out of place. Rationally I understand that nonhuman experiences are highly varied and that's okay! - but insecurity isn't rational. I’m still acclimating to the idea that as a pluran my nonhuman experiences will probably never be the same as a “stereotypical” otherkin or therian (if such a thing exists).

I went into this essay expecting to write a short post about how my lack of childhood/teen years has sometimes caused me to feel alienated in the therian community. But as I was writing I realized I had a lot to say about my system, and felt compelled to change angles and truly discuss our host history. It might be a bit random, but I hope that at least some people will find it interesting.

#plurality #SYSMEDS AND ANTI ENDO DNI #alterhuman #alterhumanity #therian #otherkind #blue speaks

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runningdownthatroad · 3 years ago

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I just have to get this off my chest after seeing some very disturbing posts about 9/11 floating around on my dash as well as some truly crude commentary. A lot probably won't agree with my sentiments but I feel like this needs to be said.

I've seen a lot of things on Tumblr in the past that maybe I consider to be in poor taste or don't agree with but I usually just scroll past, sometimes block for curating sake, but today is the first time I truly was shell-shocked. To see the memes and blasé jokes people are making about this day are just absolutely horrific and appalling.

I get that a lot of people on this site now may not remember what happened that day and only learned second hand through school or media or other people telling them. I get that a lot occurred after this that wasn't right which we definitely should be learning from. I also get that there is a lot of anti-American and anti-white sentiments going around currently, especially on this site.

But here's the thing:

Not only Americans died that day. Not only white people died that day. That's the thing about terrorists and what these hijackers did: they don't care about your skin color, your culture, your religious preference, your sexual orientation, your gender orientation, your age, your economic status, your personality, whether you support them or not, your political persuasion, your job, or any of it. Everyone is fair game to them. For crying out loud, look at what the Afghani people are currently going through and how the Taliban are treating their own country's people, women especially. If you think this is bad (which it truly is), have you seen how things went under their rule before 9/11 even happened? Do you know their terrifyingly violent and brutal history? Women had acid thrown in their faces if they didn't wear a full hijab. People were mutilated or executed if they didn't fall in line with the law of the Taliban. And this doesn't even begin to go into Al-Qaeda or Isis. But I'm not here to talk about that or delve into that topic too much.

My point in mentioning all of this is that white Americans weren't the only ones that were killed that day. People of all faiths, of all colors, of different countries, died that day, too. And the unity that is consistently discussed every 9/11 anniversary is in regards to us being aware of that fact, us mourning all of their losses together, and the collective desire to come together and help once the planes hit and after the towers collapsed.

So when people say "why am I supposed to cry over white Americans getting killed that day" think about that. Not only white Americans died that day. And regardless of their color, their nationality, their culture, their religion, etc. anyone dying is always sad. Whether it be a jetliner being used as a weapon that crashed into their floor or someone dying of cancer or someone being killed in a mudslide or someone dying in a car accident -- it is always sad. And empathy should always be shown in response, even if it doesn't impact you personally. Let's not forget these people have loved ones that got left behind, that are still here.

So when people say "if something knocks into a cow and knocks it over, I'm not expected to care, but if something knocks into a building and knocks it over, suddenly I'm supposed to care?" think about that. People aren't grieving two large pieces of steel architecture. People aren't saying "always remember those two towers". The WTC Towers were a symbol (yes, for American wealth, I get it) but became so much more of a multi-faceted powerful symbol after 9/11. The towers represent a way of life before 9/11 happened, but more importantly they represent the people lost that day, who were in the towers when they collapsed. For all of the first responders who were stuck on those floors still trying to help evacuate people to safety when the buildings finally gave. The two footprints and two blue lights aren't a symbol of American wealth or a naivete and simpler way of life pre-9/11 - they are a symbol of memorialization for that day. The Freedom Tower was erected to show that despite the loss of that day, we stood united (even if there seems to be more and more division these days). It's a message to the world that yes, destruction and death happened that day in NYC, but so did rebuilding and life carrying on. It's a symbol of strength, resilience, and unity - something that was everywhere you looked days after this event occurred. The two towers (aka NYC) may have gotten knocked down but the city got back up. They weren't kept down - that's the point of the Freedom Tower.

When people say "I don't understand, what is it that I shouldn't be forgetting since I can't remember it anyway" here is what we all should be remembering despite our age or our connection (or lack thereof) with this event:

2,997 innocent civilians died that day. Among them were 343 firefighters, 37 police officers, 23 Port Authority police officers, 8 EMS workers, and 4 other first responders. Also among them were 246 people on the four planes that crashed.

The passengers of United Flight 93 made a choice to fight back against the hijackers and saved lives that day by sacrificing their own.

Many children lost parents. Many parents lost children. Many brothers lost sisters, and many sisters lost brothers. Many spouses lost their significant others. Many lost friends, family, and loved ones.

For those who want a better connection to this day who didn't experience it and/or don't remember it, and for those others who are seriously lacking in empathy: yes, it was a highly publicized event due to the hundreds of cameras (including media outlets) watching that day, but if the horrific images aren't enough to garner some of your empathy, then there are plenty of other resources at your disposal. Documentaries like 9/11 by James Hanlon and the Naudet brothers, 102 Minutes That Changed America (which shows you not only all of the first-hand eyewitness accounts that day but also lets you hear 911 calls, radio transmissions between firefighters, and people's reactions to the event and each other who were there), 9/11 Firefighters (on Discovery Plus) and even more recently, 9/11: The Turning Point (on Netflix) which provides a 360 degree view of the events that led up to 9/11, 9/11 itself, and what came after, displaying all different viewpoints. You can read the 9/11 Commission Report or there are several books and memoirs out there like Wake-Up Call by Kristen Breitweiser, or even historical accounts in books, newspaper articles, and online. But most importantly, listen to people's stories. The ones who were there, the ones who saw it happen, the ones who ran in to help, the ones who lost loved ones. That is the most important part and the most powerful. On Hulu, ABC News ran segments of 9/11 Twenty Years Later, "Women Of Resilience" being especially powerful. It's hard not to feel a human connection to these stories or any kind of empathy.

For those who are making these jokes and memes, if you like shows like 9-1-1 and Chicago Fire, etc, imagine those first responder characters rushing into those buildings to save lives and losing theirs in the process. If you don't remember 9/11 or feel any connection or empathy, imagine hundreds of Bucks or Eddies or Bobbys or Hens or Chimneys dying that day as they worked to save so many. Sorry to be so blunt because I love those characters too, but do you get a little bit of the connection now? Do you feel any empathy? I'm not trying to equate real life heroes and sheroes with fictional characters of course, but if it helps you to understand a little better in some way, well...I'm throwing it out there.

I myself lived in the Tri-State area at the time of the attacks. I remember seeing the second plane seconds before it crashed into the second building. I remember the devastation I felt watching the first tower collapse knowing that a loved one was most likely inside and how hard I cried thinking he was dead. (thankfully, he had been late to work that day and he got out of the area before the towers came down) I remember the relief and gratefulness we all felt hearing from him to assure us that he was alive when he finally was able to get to a phone, stating he was covered in dust and ash from the buildings. I remember the panic and fear we all felt, thinking the world was ending and we were all going to die, that this was it, this was World War III, after it was confirmed that the Pentagon had also been hit and there was also a downed plane in Pennsylvania. I remember the grief another loved one suffered because she lost her entire floor (she had been out sick that day) and every single one of her co-workers. I remember the race to pick up children from school and get them home as soon as possible. I remember the rage that coursed through us seeing the footage of some people in certain countries celebrating the attacks in the streets, enjoying the deaths of so many Americans, a couple of these countries who lost citizens themselves in these attacks. I remember the camping out in front of the televisions night after night for a week straight afterwards, watching the news 24/7, worrying that there might be more attacks. I remember the feeling of sheer terror anytime a plane was heard overhead or seen appearing low enough in the sky that you could practically make out which airline it was for months afterwards. I remember seeing the lights the first time they were lit from our home. I remember feeling pure fear not only for what happened that day but also what came afterwards (not yet understanding that these weren't practitioners of Islam that did this but radical extremists who had literally hijacked the religion). I remember seeing the devastation at Ground Zero through a tear in the fabric over a fence as we walked through the city months afterwards. I remember not wanting to fly for years. I remember the anger I felt that our government had failed us due to political bs between agencies and countless others (which we found out especially when the 9/11 Commission Report came out) and that because of this horrific and absurd failure, thousands of innocent people had died. I remember seeing the crushed ladder truck, and the toy of the little girl who was on one of the planes at the 9/11 Memorial Museum and all of the pictures in that room that just floored me. (I also remember being pissed off that many were treating it as a selfie op where they were allowed to take pictures, completely missing the point of the museum's existence) But most of all, I remember feeling that life would never be the same for any of us ever again, and that the feeling of safety we had naively enjoyed on September 10, 2001 would never return.

But I also remember the compassion and unity we saw rising in the country after those attacks. I remember the gratitude for all of our first responders, those we lost that day and those who were still with us, actively working to recover those lost and to clear Ground Zero. I remember the feeling of collectiveness, that we all shared grief and showed support to one another in those days afterwards. I remember the fallen heroes and sheroes who ran into those buildings, who were off duty but raced from wherever they were that day to come and help. I remember The Man In the Red Bandana aka Welles Crowther (and many like him who worked to save others) who has become another important symbol of that day. I remember hearing all of the stories of people helping one another before and after the towers collapsed. I remember the good that this day represents. That while we may have seen some of the worst of humanity that day in the form of violence, death, weaponized airplanes, and devastation, we also saw the very best of humanity in the form of our first responders and people helping one another.

Look, did Islamophobia happen? Yes. Was it right? No, absolutely not. As I stated above, I myself feared the idea of the religion until I was educated by a friend of mine about the difference between the religion and extremism. This form of hijacking ideology can be seen in examples like the Westboro Baptist Church or even Hitler. Terrorists do not represent the true spirit of Islam no matter what the former tries to force people to believe. Just as the WBC is not the true spirit of Christianity, and so on and so forth. But even during the time I had feared the religion before gaining understanding and clarity, I never confronted or mistreated any practicing Muslim or Arab-American. Ever. I never posted hate or spewed vitriol against them. Just like with the current pandemic, I still cannot believe there are people out there attack Asian-Americans as if this whole thing is their fault. That's still mind boggling to me and it is absolutely 100% WRONG. It should not be happening. Same with Islamophobia. And it breaks my heart to read that many Arab-Americans and practicing Muslims still worry when this anniversary comes around that they may be attacked. It might not mean much, but I just want to say I am truly sorry for that and you have my full support. Always.

Did we go to war and was it just? Yes we did go to war. Was it just? Afghanistan? I need more information in order to have a fully-formed opinion but there are plenty who say yes and plenty who say no. Plenty who say we made things better over there (before we exited and the Taliban advanced) and plenty who say we didn't and only made it worse. I truly cannot say which assertion is correct and I think it would be narrow-minded and completely moronic (and possibly arrogant and presumptuous?) of me to speak on a subject I know so little about, one way or the other. Iraq? No, I don't think it was just and I honestly wish we could go back and do things differently.

But coming back to 9/11 and what this day means for so many, the people who died, the people who rushed headfirst into danger, the people who lost their loved ones. We saw incredible bravery, selflessness, and compassion for your fellow human that day despite what happened. We saw the strength within ourselves despite the fear and anger. We saw resilience. That is what the anniversary is meant to be a reminder of. The sacrifices, the loss, the courage, and the strength. Black, White, Gay, Straight, Christian, Muslim, Man, Woman, Young, Old -- it didn't matter. We all came together.

So regardless of whether it's the cool thing to do right now on this site (or elsewhere) to hate on America or 9/11 or white Americans or the anniversary itself on the very anniversary of these attacks, I ask that you please consider when posting these hurtful (and frankly harmful) words of hatred and vitriol such as referenced above that there are people out there who lost their loved ones on 9/11, that yes some of them may be on this very site and going through the 9/11 tag, and that some of them may have even lost a loved one in either war and are again on this site reading your words. Regardless of what you think or feel, please consider them and tag appropriately if you're going to post. Please consider that some of these people are currently losing their loved ones due to 9/11-related illnesses because of the cleanup at Ground Zero. Please consider that there are children who lost a parent or loved one, or who were orphaned that day (yes, they exist, we had some in our school district) who are also on this site reading your words. Basically, please just consider and be considerate. Please stop spreading hatred on a day that happened due to hatred; please stop perpetuating that cycle.

Like Martin Luther King Jr. said, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that."

TLDR: Love and light, my friends. Love and light. ✌️❤️

#9/11 #never forget #remember 9/11 #9/11 isnt a joke or a meme

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