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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years ago

Text

De(railed) +18

Summary: The canon episode "Derailed" reimagined where Reader is sent on the solo interview and Spencer, recklessly, decides to save her. Plus, the aftermath.

CW: mommy kink sub! Spencer x dom! female (she/her) reader, cum play, penetrative sex, light degradation, praise kink, light choking (mentioned), edging, calling him a slut (please let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 6 K (this is the longest thing I've ever written!)

Author's Note: Special thank you to @shemarmooresfedora for reading this for me because I was very nervous about the smut portion. And a very special thank you to @notanotherreidgirl for inspiring this idea! this was my ask so yeah, this is a little out there for me so be kind (*dips into the shadows*). Also I either really hate or really love this title :)

Taglist: You can join the taglist here!

De(railed)

Sitting on the train, headed towards Virginia for the custodial interview, you tried to remind yourself what Spencer said to you the previous night when you dropped him off at his apartment. You had his hands in yours and you could feel him shake with nerves when he spoke.

He told you that he believes in you. Even when you think that Hotch and Gideon are sending you out to the solo interview too early, Spencer believes in you. If only you’d believe a little bit in yourself, then maybe you’d be able to figure out a way off this train, but an armed man and innocent passengers proves that a little challenging.

The man passes the train up and down and you tell yourself to relax. In hindsight, it seems like a horrible series of events that lead to the man shooting the train attendant. You’ve done your best to keep him calm until the police can see him off the train. Looking outside, you see SWAT, local PD, and FBI lined up 50 yards from the train.

Continuing to wave his gun around the train, the unsub rants about wanting to talk to a higher authority. To yourself, to wish that Spencer was here with you. He’d have figured out exactly what was wrong with the man by now. For less than professional reasons, you’re forever grateful that he’s not here- that he’s safe on the other side of the train.

“He’s out of his mind,” the man holding a bottle of whiskey says, “You gotta do something, lady,” he says, taking a swig of his drink. Your eyes dart to him and back up the doctor, the unsub’s psychologist, looking for a way out.

You breathe deeply, hoping that the BAU would come up with a plan. Knowing FBI protocol, you expect them to try to initiate a line of communication. Glancing over at the unsub, you think that he’ll want to talk to someone who looks like they are powerful. That would be either Hotch or Gideon. Selfishly, you’re grateful that Spencer still looks like an underpaid TA with a toy gun attached at his hip.

“No! Please, don’t hurt me!” the young woman screams, trying to release herself from the man, Ted’s, grip. He releases her, throwing her to the ground when his phone rings.

Gideon.

On the phone with Gideon, the man demands for something to be removed. You can’t hear what he’s saying to the unsub, but you place the little faith you have left into hoping your team can save you.

***

His vest is much too big for him.

That’s all you can think of when you realize Spencer is the “technician” that they’re sending in. His tie and shirt stick awkwardly and there is a gap in his shoulders around the vest. The straps are pulled so tight that they nearly fold over. His hands aren’t shaking when he carries the small black box, but his eyes look terrified.

You want to reach out to him, maybe hold his hand or brush the strands of hair that have fallen into his face, but you can’t. You have to sit there and pretend that this is the first time you’ve met him. It’s excruciatingly sick and mildly amusing in an equally twisted way. The first time you’ve come to terms with loving Spencer, you both can very well die.

“I’m here for the chip,” Spencer says, holding his hands up, “the higher authorities sent me,” he claims, feeding into the unsubs delusion. You shield your glance, unable to trust yourself from launching yourself in between Spencer and the man with the gun.

“That’s far enough and drop your weapons,” Ted says, holding the crying woman by her neck, “and take that vest off. I want to see you,”

“I don’t have any weapons. They don’t authorize them for-”

“I said take it off!” the man shouts, throwing the woman to the ground.

Spencer complies, taking off the much too big vest and tossing it to the ground. He holds his hands up, playing the part of the unsuspecting underling well. He reaches out to Ted, showing him the tools that he’ll use to take out the “chip”. You wonder how Spencer will pull it off, but you know he will in the end.

Spencer digs into the man’s skin with the scalpel. You can’t catch the sleight of hand, but you know that’s what he used.

“I have to leave, the higher authorities need the chip-”

“Turn it on,” Ted orders, “Turn it on!” he screams, his voice booming in the small train.

Spencer’s eyes dart to yours thinking of ways that he can get out of here. He looks almost sorry, and you feel a wave of intense regret. The thousands of times you could have said those little words seem so simple now.

“I can’t turn it on,” Spencer says, “I can’t turn it on,” You hate how scared he sounds, and you hate even more how you have to pretend that you don’t know him.

“Why!” the unsub yells, thrashing the gun around, “You’re one of them!”

Thinking quickly when you see him point the gun at Spencer’s face, you jump to your feet. You push Spencer out of the way, terrified that he’ll do something rash. You can’t lose Spencer, not when you’ve hadn’t had the chance to have him yet.

“It needs to be implanted to be activated,” you say, “I know this stuff Ted, I’m a Fed. Only me. Everyone else,Ted is just innocent. Just let them go, Ted,” you plead, “Just let them go,”

“No!” he yells, shooting up into the ceiling of the train, “no!”

The windows are closed, but you suspect that Hotch and Gideon have the train surrounded by now. Spencer moves closer to you, staring at the man as he scratches his upper arm. He drops his hand towards yours and squeezes, like he’s saying sorry and saying goodbye all in one touch. You don’t realize this before it’s too late.

“Doctor Brier,” Spencer says, standing up with his hands near his head, “you’re right, there’s more-”

“Just make it stop!” the desperate man pleas, “Make it stop!”

“I know what it’s like, Ted. The voices, they’ve been talking to you since you were a kid. They don’t stop. I know what it’s like Ted,” Spencer says, inching closer and closer to him, “Leo? Why don’t you let him think for himself?” Spencer says, trying to use the man’s delusion against him.

“Don’t! Stop, you’re trying to trick me!” the man begs, whipping the gun around too close to Spencer’s face, “stop!”

You always listen to Spencer. Whatever he talks about, you listen. From Russian cinema to Star Trek to the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture, you listen to him. It’s not that hard and it’s easy to get lost in his eyes or the way his hands move when he talks. But the seconds leading up to when the gunshot goes off, you’re not listening.

Because without Spencer, there isn’t much worth listening to.

***

Your eyes are squeezed shut so when a large hand hovers over your shoulder you jump at the touch. It takes you all of ten seconds to realize it’s Spencer. You look him over, searching for signs of mortal wounds that will rip him from your clutches, but there isn’t any.

“You’re okay,” you say, wanting nothing more but to kiss him or yell at him, or maybe a mix of the two, “you’re okay,” you repeat, not fully believing it the first time.

“We’re okay,” Spencer says, hugging you tight as you collapse into his arms, not caring if the rest of the team watches.

“I haven’t been fair to you, Spence,” you say, breaking from the hug to caress his face. You stop, holding his face in your hands, soaking him in, “you’re not someone who gets strung along, baby. I fucking love you and you-you mean so much to me. And I hate-I hate that it took you almost dying for me to realize that,” you cry, unable to care anymore.

“You love me?” Spencer whispers, unable, himself to care that they have an audience, “You love me back, but I’m, I-I,”

“Spencer,” you tell him, pausing to kiss him fully, “I,” you plant another kiss, on his right cheek, “love,” left cheek, “you,” forehead.

“You do, don’t you?” he says, looking at you with a proud smirk, “I guess that’s good because, I love you, Y/N. I don’t go risk my life just for everyone,”

“Watch yourself, baby,” you remind him, channeling the surge of pure life that runs through your veins, “you’re in for it later, my darling,” you tell him, whispering into his ear so only he can hear.

***

You didn’t even give him time to breathe before you pushed him up against the wall. Spencer’s hands still held yours, you don’t think that he dropped them since you two safely exited the train. He whimpers through the kiss, his breathy moan only serving to spur you on. His hands broke from yours, clinging to your waist. Spencer tries to peel your clothes from your skin, but he's much too distracted by your lips that travel across his cheekbones and down to his neck. He’s breathless and panting, but you don’t let up. If he’s breathing, he’s alive and that’s all that matters now.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Spencer pleads, the desperation in his voice causing you to pause from your attack on his neck, “I-I, Y/N,” he stutters, feeling empty without your kisses.

“I’m not mad, sweet boy. I’m not mad at you,” you say, laying on a sweet voice as your fingers skim through Spencer’s hair. He’s shaking slightly and closes his eyes, looking like he’s grateful to be alive.

“You’re not, but I wasn’t good,” he whispers, “I wasn’t good for you, Mommy,”

You do everything in your power to keep your composure, but after a day like today, you’re ready to melt into him. He might be the one begging at your feet soon, but there’s no doubt in your mind that it’s you who's wrapped around his finger. He looks up at you, with his back leaning against the wall; his face flushed pink and marks littering his neck.

“You scared me, Spence. I thought- I just let me take care of you,” you request, dropping your hands from his hair and grabbing onto his hand as you lead him to your bedroom. You’ve made it a habit to go to your place after cases; Spencer claims that the sunlight that dips into your bedroom in the morning is more pleasant than his view of the street, but you know he just prefers your bed and the attention he gets at your place.

“Please, Y/N,” he begs, following you into the bedroom. He’s at your heels and burrowed deeply in your heart, exactly where you want him.

You drop his hands, guiding him so his knees hit the edge of your plush bed. He kicks off his shoes and starts to undo his tie and shirt, but you stop him before he gets the chance.

“Let me do that for you, baby. I’m taking care of you tonight,” you say, feeling your heart swell as he looks up at you adoringly, “Mommy’s got you, my brave boy,” you tell him, your fingers grazing over his cheekbones, his nose and eyes. His eyes close as you continue to draw shapeless shapes over his skin.

“Thank you,” he mutters, saying it like a pray as he relaxes for the first time today, “thank you, Mommy,”

You smile at the name, enjoying how pliant he is as you unbutton his shirt and loosen his tie. His flushed cheeks lead down his equally flushed chest. You place both your legs over his body, hovering over him as you straddle him. The proximity eggs him on and the minimal friction near his pants causes him to buck up words. Mercilessly, you chuckle at his attempt to get off. You want nothing more than to put him out of his misery, but watching him squirm for the tiniest bit of affection— your affection makes you nearly as desperate as Spencer.

“Patience, sweetheart,” you tell him, harshly pulling off his shirt as you nibble on his ear. He whimpers out in desire, already unable to form coherent thoughts even though you’ve so much as kissed him.

You stop touching him, sinking down to your knees before him. Spencer looks down at you, his pupils blown and his hair messy from being pushed up against the wall. His breathing is erratic and unmeasured, but he’s heart is still beating. You smile, unafraid and not caring that it breaks character as you give his thigh a squeeze. You bring his hands to his buttons, motioning for him to unbutton his pants for you.

“I can’t do all the work now, can I, baby?” You question rhetorically, quite self satisfied that he nods eagerly. He quickly undoes his pants, kicking the heavy corduroy trousers near your bathroom door. If the moment wasn’t so tense and erratic, you probably would have teased him for his excitement.

“I want to touch you, please? Mommy” Spencer starts, his hands holding your face as you kneel. He holds your face so delicately and gently, it’s a contrast to the sinful way he’s squirming above you.

“Not yet,” you tsk, slipping your finger under the waistband of his boxers. The bulge in his underwear looks very uncomfortable, but Spencer clearly tries his best to behave under your strong stare. You peel back the underwear and let it drop to Spencer’s feet. His cock, now exposed, is painfully hard. He concentrates on his breathing and trying to remain composed as your fingers travel up his leg and towards his groin.

“There’s my pretty boy,” you coo, grabbing Spencer’s jaw and making him look down at you. He lets pitiful whine at your words, “Come on, make my fingers nice and wet,” you order, sticking out two fingers that he sucks enthusiastically.

“What a good little slut I have, you’re sucking Mommy’s fingers just as if it’s my strap, aren’t you sweet boy,” you say, gently resting your other palm loosely around his neck. You don’t apply any pressure, but let it serve as a reminder of what could happen.

Happily, Spencer sucks your fingers, moaning around them and bucking his hips up in frustration. Marred by impatience, you remove your fingers from his mouth and kneel back down on the floor. Loosely, you grip his cock with your wet fingers. Spencer whines at the friction that’s nothing close to enough.

“Tell me how that feels,” you demand, “Tell Mommy how I makes you feel,”

“I-I feel,” Spencer starts, concentrating intently, but unable to truly articulate the passion you ignite in him, “Mommy, you make me feel so good,” Spencer says, finally finding the words, even though they barely scratch the surface.

“That’s all I want, baby. You deserve to feel good. So let me take care of you, my love,” you tell him, watching as he simpers at your words.

For a second there you let yourself think that maybe it’s calling him my love that prompted his reaction, not the promise of his cock in your mouth. You know after tonight there’s no tip toeing around it anymore: you’re unequivocally in love with him and you’re a little disappointed that it took the pair of you nearly dying to figure it out finally.

Looking back up at him, you abandon your plans for a moment. You kiss him hard. Normally, you’d hate the way your teeth clash against someone else’s and how the kiss isn’t really a kiss. It’s hard to pace yourself when he’s whimpering below you as you grind down hard on his crotch. The fabric of your pants provides much needed friction, causing Spencer to cry out in a twisted mix of pleasure and pain. He paws at your work short, silently begging for you to shed your layers as well.

“Good boys wait,” you tell him, kissing his forehead and sinking back down for the last time. You’ll never be done teasing him, but for now you intend to put his needs first.

“Such a pretty cock that only I get to see,” you coo, running a finger up his length, relishing in how he shudders at your touch. You’ve touched him so many times, yet he reacts each time as if it’s the first. He’s leaking precum as his breathing becomes more and more strained. This is far from your first time with Spencer and you’re well aware of the signs of his release.

Smiling up at him, you lazily wrap your hand around him, giving him the smallest bit of friction and attention that he needs to come. You drop him once he’s close to the edge, his pleading, begging eyes turning glazed over when he realizes you’re taking off your shirt. By the way he’s looking at you, you’d think you’d be wearing your best lingerie. Quickly, you’ve learned that with Spencer you could be wearing your ratty college tee shirts and he’d still look at you like you were dripping in gold.

“Mommy,” he pleads, “I’m a good boy,” he says, no trying to convince himself to hold back from his release, “please Mommy. I’m gonna-“ Spencer says, the flush on his face deepening as he throws his head back in ecstasy. However, he summons enough energy and will to reach out and palm your boobs. You don’t hide your moans as he rolls a nipple in between his thumb and pointer finger. It only encourages him, but nowhere can you find in yourself to care.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Spencer whimpers, unable to hold himself up anymore and collapsing on the bed. His chest heaves up and down as he tries to collect himself. He comes all over your chest, staining your lavender bralette and looking very proud of himself. Spencer learned quickly as well that coming before you’ve even touched him earns him quite the praise.

“Such a good boy,” you praise, choosing to ignore him coming without permission, “such a messy boy though,” you chastise, squeezing his thigh and crawling your fingers up his chest.

“Mommy, please, I want to make you feel good too. I love you,” Spencer begs, his eyes droopy with exhaustion from the long day and glazed over with his orgasm. His words slur together as if he's drunk off something potent. His eyes meet yours, but flit down quickly. He scans your soiled chest, licking his lips unconsciously as his eyes rank over your breasts covered in the lavender lacy and stained with his cum.

“Do you know what good boys do?” You ask, expecting Spencer to answer the question without hesitation.

“They clean up their mess, Mommy,” he says. In a moment of bravery, he grabs your hand, guiding you to lay down on the bed. He twists his hands around your back, unlatching your bra from your body and tosses it on the ground.

Above you, Spencer lowers his face so his chin barely grazes your chest. His tongue darts out onto your skin, licking up the messy cum that fell on your chest. You place your hands in his hair, gripping firmly. It’s not hard enough to cause any pain, but it’s tight enough to remind him to stay put. Spencer hums contently, lapping up your chest, but keeping his eyes trained on yours. You pull him up by his hair, pieces fall over his blissed out eyes. He smiles up at you, his chin glistening with cum, but looking pleased with himself.

“That’s a good boy,” you praise, pulling him up to kiss him deeply. His tongue swirls around in yours and his large hands cup your face. You can feel him moving in your lap, more and more desperate for attention and friction as you continue to hold him off, “I love you, baby,” you say, hoping that he’ll hear enough times for it to stick and for him to start living his life like he wants to stay alive.

“Just for you, Mommy,” Spencer mumbles, already sucking and marking the valley between your breasts, “Can you? Please?” Spencer asks, still embarrassed, after all these months to put to words his desires.

“What, baby? You need to use your words,” you tell him, scooting up in the bed and smirking to yourself as Spencer practically chases you up the headboard, “You need to tell him what you want me to do, baby,” you say, talking slowly as you rub circles into his skin. He’s still hot to the touch and flushed all over.

“I want to make you feel good,” Spencer begs, licking his fiery red lips that are swollen and bitten from your earlier treatment, “I want you to feel good,” he says, attempting to buck his hips against your legs.

“Are you sure about that, Spence?” you ask, teasing him with your wandering hands. One stays latching in his hair, exposing his criminally bare neck and the other sneaks down to his cock, but hardly satisfies his burning need, “Because it seems like you’re an insolent little slut who only cares if he gets off. Do I need to remind you that I have needs as well,” you chide, increasing your grip on his hair as your lips nip the sensitive skin of his neck. He shudders in response, unable to fully articulate a sentence.

“But you’re lucky, you’re beautiful, Dr. Reid,” you say, dropping his hair and letting his head fall onto your chest. Knowing your expectations, Spencer doesn’t hesitate to kiss and nip along your skin. You feel your panties dampen at the sight of him: his hair wild and messy, his neck marked with evidence of your mouth, and his chest is bright red, somehow still flustered and embarrassed by your affections. You find it bizarre that he still doesn’t fully believe just how head over heels you are for him. He’s too good and pure for this world, and you’ll happily spend the rest of your life reminding him just how deserving of goodness and pureness he is.

“I love you,” Spencer whimpers against your skin, his breath is hot as he pants, “but please fuck me,” he begs, flipping around on his back so you can be on top.

“Don’t worry, sweet boy, Mommy will take care of you,” you remind him, balancing yourself so you can hover over him, “Now, I’d normally want you to be quiet, but I want to hear everything. So use that pretty mouth of yours and tell me how you feel, sweetie,” you instruct, maneuvering yourself so you’re lined up with him.

“Give me a second, please,” Spencer asks, pushing himself up so his back rests against the headboard, “You make me crazy, I just need a moment to think,” he says, quietly, staring off nothing in the bedroom. You take the opportunity to grab his hand, that’s gripping onto your floral patterned sheets, and kiss his scars on his knuckles. Some are new and fresh, while others are old, from longer ago than working at the BAU. You kiss them over, as if your lips are able to help the evidence of his physical pain.

“You make me crazy too, Spencer,” You say, growing more and more unhinged as he moves underneath you, “I love you so much, darling,” you tell him, kissing his eyes, lips, nose, anything you can reach.

Slowly, so slowly, you sink down onto Spencer. You watch his microexpressions, but you know how he’ll react. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if he’s willing himself to hold off. He breathes in and out, teetering on the edge. You wait for his nod, for his sign of approval that you can move. He whines and peeks open his eyes. Spencer’s hands dig into your waist, his strong, large hands searching for any skin to grab onto.

“Please move, Mommy,” Spencer begs, burying his head into the crook of your neck as he starts to plead with you to have mercy on him, “I need it, Mommy,” he moans.

“Don’t be greedy, darling. You’ll take what I give you, but don’t you want to make me feel good too, baby,” you ask, guiding his nimble fingers to your slick core. His thumb and pointer finger begin to rub quick circles around your clit. You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you feel the pressure build. Between the heightened tensions of work and Spencer's hot breath against your neck, you know that you’ll come soon. Spencer’s breathy moans get more and more desperate.

“Are you already going to come again, love?” You ask, increasing your pace. His other hand grips your thigh, drawing shapes into your soft skin. Following suit, you match his sweet movements on his cheek. His breath is his shaky as you stroke his cheek lovingly, “Make me come first and then, maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you come inside me,” you promise, already knowing that you’ll let him come inside you.

“Watch you disappear inside me, baby. Watch your pretty cock slip inside my pussy. It’s just like you were made for me, darling,” you cry, your voice getting slightly breathy yourself. You watch yourself as his cock goes in and out, red with overstimulation. Spencer’s eyes, littered with small tears, looks transfixed.

“Fuck,” Spencer says, “I’m so close, Mommy. I-I, you make me feel so good. You’re so beautiful, I-I-”

“So needy, you’re so fucking needy,” you say to him. You can tell he’s growing more and more impatient by the moment. His hands lurch towards your chest, pawing at your boobs. Spencer’s sloppy movements bring you closer and closer to the edge.

“So good, so good,” he repeats, his sweaty forehead rests on your collarbone. You pull him up again his hair, relishing in the pitiful moan that he lets out. It’s raw and pure sin, it should make you want to fuck him more, but it only makes you want to love him more.

You’re drunk on him. Drunk on his moans and whimpers of pleasure. You’re drunk on the way his skin sticks to yours and how his hands roam around your body, always finding a spot on your torso and legs that makes you approach the edge closer and closer. You wonder, for a second, if you’re being too hard on him. If you should just whisper that little sentence and let Spencer feel the wave of pleasure.

“I need it, Mommy,” Spencer pants, kissing lined up your chest and collarbone. His face is pressed up against your face and moves up and down as you continue your pace, “I-I, Mommy, I want you to-”

“What do you want, baby? Hmm? Tell Mommy?” You ask, your voice sounding sickly sweet. The noise of moans fills the room, Spencer’s moan akin to whimpers and whines and your’s more like praises and words of approval, “you’ve been such a good boy, baby I’ll give you want whatever you want, my love”

“Please, please let me make you come, Mommy. I need you to come, Mommy. I need it,” Spencer whines, looking up into your eyes and latching onto them in the darkness.

It’s sinful how the filthy words contrast with his sweet, shy tones. He looks so innocent, but enthralling with his face between your hands, but his own hands rubbing small circles on your clit. His moans grow more high pitched. You kiss by his ear, ready to whisper the words of approval that you’ve neared your release.

“Oh god, Spencer. God. You have no idea what you do to me. My sweet boy,” you murmur, pressing Spencer’s face further into your chest. You can feel him heave and his breathing grow more and more unsteady, but he still has enough sense to continue rubbing your clit.

You kiss him, wanting to feel him everywhere when you come undone. Kissing him is desperate and full of gasps of air. His skin is so soft as you slide across his mouth, up his cheeks, and over his jaw. His helpless moans spur you on, giving you the strength and energy to thrust down on him another time before you feel yourself come undone.

“It’s your turn, baby. Come on, sweetheart. Come inside me and maybe I’ll have to call you daddy? Hmm?” you chant, halting your movements to torture him a little longer.

“Please, Y/N. Please let me fill you up,” Spencer begs, his voice hoarse and scratchy from being so vocal, “I’m yours. I love you so much,” he calls out, wrapping his arms around you so your chests are pressed up together. He holds you sweetly and you kiss his shoulders and his neck, choosing to leave a large red welt as a reminder for him.

“You like that? Hmm you like if I call you Daddy and let you fill me up? Come on, Spencer. You can come. Don’t you want to be a good boy for Mommy?,” you say, giving him the permission that he’s been desiring all night.

He tightens his grip on your upper half as he meets his release. Spencer’s strangled moans turn into sweet whimpers as he looks down into your laps. Quietly, you ride him through the rest of his orgasm, letting him come down from his high peppered with light pecks along his freckled shoulders and sharp jawline. Spencer smiles into the kisses, his eyes are shut and his cheeks are dusted with a light pink flush. For the first time today, he looks relaxed and safe.

“Thank you, Mommy,” Spencer says quietly, mirroring your motions and kissing your shoulders and neck as you slow your pace, “Can we stay like this. Just for a moment,” Spencer asks, burning for the feeling of being inside you for even a couple more minutes.

“Of course, baby,” you tell him, squeezing him into a tight hug, “you did so wonderful for me. Such a good boy. I love my sweet boy,” you tell him, brushing the stray hairs from his face. His neck is marked by your mouth and his eyes are glazed with sleep and desire.

“I love you,” Spencer says again, his forehead falling against yours and his breath hitching as you move slightly with him inside you, “and I’m sorry. I’m sorry about today,”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart and then we’ll talk about it,” you suggest, taking the opportunity to kiss his lips as you pull yourself away from his lap.

Spencer doesn’t say much in response, but nods silently. He groans slightly as you separate your bodies and he tries to chase your lips with his as you climb out of the bed and into your bathroom.

“Please come back,” Spencer says, sounding like he wasn’t sure if you’d keep your promise.

“I’m right here, Spence,” you reassure him, returning from the bathroom dressed in an old tee shirt and carrying a warm, damp washcloth and a pair of clean underwear for Spencer.

“Can you please hold me? Please, Y/N. I need you,” Spencer says, reaching out to you in the dark. That’s one request you know you’d never deny.

“Of course, Spence. Just let me clean you up and I’ll hold you,” you tell him, gently dragging the warm towel over his skin. He’s quiet as you clean him up, but his soulful eyes look lost and sheepish, making him look smaller and more vulnerable than he actually is. You drop the towel to the floor, not caring that the water isn’t good for the floor.

You lay back down on the bed and Spencer, like a magnet to another magnet, crawls in close. He’s still undressed, except for the underwear that you gave him. His eyes are droopy and his breathing is still shaky, but steadies out as your hands draw circles on his back. You pull the covers up to his chin, making sure he’s covered before you start what you know all too well is a difficult conversation.

“Spencer,” you croak, “Why did you do that? Why do you think that’s okay?” you ask, still trying to make sense of why Spencer would risk his life like that so recklessly. You hold him tighter, squeezing his arm as he breathes out, ready to tell you what he’s never told anyone before.

“Bec-, because- I don��t matter,” he says, the words choking out between cries of years and years of pain, “because it doesn’t matter to anyone if I don’t come home. I don’t have anyone to come home to,”

“You’ve always had me,” you say quietly, “I’m your person to come home with, Spence,” you tell him, hoping with all the faith in your body that he’ll believe you. You hold his hand, weaving your fingers in his. Looking at your hands intertwined together, you’d think that your hand was made for it. It’s a little cliche, but Spencer is the kind of man that makes all those cliches seem like wonderful possibilities.

“I-I, I never had someone before,” Spencer says, “I mean, I had my mom, but it’s gotten harder. But then, then, I met you. And I never thought you’d like me like that, Y/N. I never thought you could love me,”

“Spencer,” you say, twisting around so you can hold his face in your hands, “Spencer, I love you. You are so much more than your job. You’re worthy of being loved, Goose. And I’d spend the rest of my life making you realize this”

“You want to spend the rest of your life- the rest of your life with me?” Spencer asks, sounding like he can’t believe the words that you say.

“Spence, I’ve loved you since I’ve known you,” you say, dragging your hands through his curly hair that’s matted against his forehead, “You would have realized that if you weren’t too carried away with making me your future history,”

“I think I have a habit of doing that,” Spencer confesses, kissing your forehead sweetly, “You’re- I’m sorry that I worried you like that, but for so long, for so long this is all I’ve had. And before that it was school. I throw myself into academia or work because it’s all I had,”

“Had,” you repeat, “as in the past tense. You’ve had some much more than too, Spence. We all love you. Elle and Derek. JJ and Hotch. Penny and Gideon. We all love you, but I love you the most,”

“Good,” Spencer replies, turning his head down to kiss you, “because I love you the most,”

His lips glide across yours, moving slowly at first and faster as he grows more urgent. There’s no sense in rushing through. You could kiss him lazily in your bed all night and continue until it gives way to morning. There’s no time limit, no buzzer that’s going to go off and force Spencer to whole himself back up into his past. He smiles through the kiss, knowing well that there’s more to come tomorrow, or maybe even tonight. His lips were warm and soft, maybe still a little tender from before, but still eager to feel your lips against his. Breathing together, savoring that you both are breathing, you smile yourself, fully ready for whatever comes next.

***

Taglist (not my usual taglist because I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable bc this is smut. You can join the taglist here!)

@shemarmooresfedora @just-another-persona123 @folkreid @idonotexiste @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @fandomfriend33 @spencersrose @strawberryspence

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #no minors #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut fic #spencer reid x fem reader #sub spencer reid #derailed #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #no minors please

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whirlybirbs · 4 years ago

Text

( this chapter’s gif by @august-walker from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy!

( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh.

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #marvel imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #bucky/reader

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ghostbustermelanieking · 3 years ago

Note

AU of the Archives finding out Jon is being held by the Circus (while he’s still being held captive there?)

anon, thank you for giving me an excuse to write something like this; i am always looking for 101 h/c lol. warning for discussions/depictions of the kidnapping scenario in 101.

1. They only really find out by accident. More specifically, they find out because Melanie is snooping around the Institute (already searching for solutions to her being trapped there), and finds the tape, somehow, the one where Nikola talks to Elias. She only needs to listen through once before they put the pieces together: Georgie told her Jon left. They haven't seen Jon since—and sure, he wasn't in much before, but—this long? And that is Jon's voice on the tape: muffled and panicked and indecipherable, but still pretty obviously him.

Melanie shows it to the others, and the tape isn't even finished before Martin is demanding they have to find him, they have to find him now, panic flashing visibly in his eyes—he's been gone for WEEKS, and why didn't I notice, why didn't any of YOU notice, and don't fucking try to argue with me, Tim, Jon has been KIDNAPPED and they're going to KILL HIM— And Tim looks hurt, at this insinuation, is snapping back before Martin can even finish, I wasn't going to ARGUE, Martin, Christ, and he hasn't told them about his brother yet, but he immediately went pale when he heard Nikola's voice, heard her going on about skinning Jon, and they all saw it, and Melanie and Basira are putting it together before Martin is: Tim's in, too.

Basira's the one who says We need to find him in the end, but Martin and Tim have already decided by then.

2. In the end, Elias is the one who tells them where Jon is. (After some persuasion.) He hadn't intended to originally, but obviously they already know, and obviously no one is going to be focused on finding the ritual site, and sloppy work won't benefit anyone, much less the whole world. (And if the rescue goes messy, and it ends up benefitting the whole of his plan, well—)

They take a car and ride up there, the four of them. (There's some brief argument as to whether or not they all should go, but Martin's obviously going, and Tim doesn't back down, and Basira insists she can get them in and out, and Melanie isn't saying no…) It's a long, tense car ride, hours of mostly silence broken up by panic on Martin's behalf. (He's still berating himself, even if he won't berate the others—how could they not have known, how could he not have noticed, how has Jon been held prisoner somewhere for weeks and Elias didn't goddamn tell them, and it's been so long, and what if it's too late, what if they're too late, what if he's already dead—) And then, eventually, Tim breaks the silence. By telling them what happened to his brother. (It's NOT a statement, he says, but it feels like one anyway, and no one speaks until he's done. He sounds choked up by the end, furious and fearful and grieving all at once—I didn't think they would come for—I-I didn't think Jon would…)

The images from Tim's story loom over well enough, along with the half-remembered sounds of the tape sent to Elias. We're going to use every piece of you. I thought you'd make a lovely frock. The imagery is grotesque and Martin is sick with it, leaning against the car window, hoping with a fierce desperation that they aren't too late.

3. They aren't too late. And they get in without being detected, somehow. (Afterwards, Basira will keep saying that it was too easy, the whole thing felt too easy, and Tim will say tiredly, "Who the fuck cares? We got out.")

Jon's woken up by someone whispering his name—quiet, with a gentle subtlety that the Stranger more than lacks. It's Martin—this becomes clear as soon as he opens his eyes, although it takes a moment for everything to slot into place, the reality of Martin leaning over him, eyes wide with concern. "Oh, Christ, you're all right," Martin says, his voice shaking. "Thank God. I-I thought…" He stops then, and goes to work on getting Jon free.

"Martin?" Jon hisses as soon as the gag is gone, and then—Tim, working at the ropes on his legs, Melanie and Basira towards the door. "What—wh-what are you doing here?"

"What are you talking about?" Melanie says, her voice as muted as the others. "We found you, that's what we're doing here."

"Y-you can't be here," says Jon, still stuck in the panic of the past few weeks. "They'll kill you, you can't be here…"

"We're already here," says Tim. "We're not leaving you behind."

Jon's eyes jerk between the four of them frantically before landing back on Martin—Martin, who looks like he's nearly on the verge of tears, who says, "We're getting you out of here, Jon," and helps him to his feet. Jon grips at his hand as he's pulled to his feet, the relief washing through him in waves—he hadn't realized until then how much he'd expected never to be rescued or found—how much he'd thought he would die here.

4. They get hotel rooms rather than driving back—it's a long drive, and Jon looks nearly dead on his feet, and it makes sense. Jon sleeps for nearly sixteen hours straight after a long-running shower, and the others mostly alternate between sleeping and watching for agents of the Circus. (No one ever comes.)

Melanie calls Georgie to let her know. Tim leaves Elias a nasty voicemail. Martin goes to get breakfast from a store nearby, and take-out tea, and when Jon wakes up, they eat clustered in the hotel room to mostly silence.

Jon says, at one point, I didn't think anyone would come. He says it mostly to the floor, when the others are out of the room, and it's just him and Martin drinking tea that isn't nearly as good as the homemade stuff. He clears his throat and adds, Thank you for… for coming, Martin, I…

Martin tenses beside him immediately in immediate horror, says, Of course we came; of course we came, Jon, I don't know why—I-I am so sorry, I'm SO sorry we didn't come sooner, we didn't know… We didn't know, I'm so sorry.

It doesn't matter, says Jon. It doesn't matter, just… thank you. Thank you for coming, I… i-if anything had happened to you, I wouldn't have…

They're leaning together, almost unconsciously, their arms pressed together, and Martin says, I'll always come. If… I-I hope this never happens again, Jon, b-but I… I'll always come.

Sitting in the dim-lit hotel room, Jon believes him. He knows immediately that he's telling the truth, and he says, I will, too, and he means it just as much.

5. The whole experience is a catalyst to everyone talking more, because how could it not be? There's a difference between someone saying they were kidnapped and actually hearing about it—actually seeing it. The drive back leaves plenty of time to make peace, or something like it.

Jon starts spending more time in the Archives, in the weeks before he has to leave again. He and Martin have lunch almost every day; sometimes the others join them. Melanie calls and tells Georgie what's happened, and Georgie immediately reaches out to make sure Jon is okay. And Jon and Tim make their peace, more or less, gradually—not all at once, but gradually. (Tim hugs Jon when they get back and says he's glad he's okay. Jon offers an apology a few days later, for everything they haven't had the chance to talk about, and the recorders come on, and neither of them mention it. And nearly a week later, Tim tells Jon about what happened to his brother.) And it's something, some step in the right direction, towards healing.

#\ (ツ) /#tma au #tma fic #sort of #i wrote this

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dreamerstreamer · 4 years ago

Text

Slip Up

Pairing: Dream / Clay x f!reader

Summary: One literal slip up leads to another and, well—it isn’t pretty.

Warning: includes depictions of anxiety as a result of exposure

Word Count: 5.0k

A/N: requested by an anon who wanted something about a secret relationship! i hope you enjoy! on a more serious note though, don’t harass your creators and the people they care about. seriously, don’t.

With one last click, Clay let out a sigh, grabbing his headphones and setting them down on his desk. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the still clip on his monitor with a hint of a frown tugging at his lips.

After two long hours, he was officially tired of listening to George’s screams ringing through his ears. Sure, they were funny in the heat of the moment when he was recording, but having to listen to the same screams on loop while editing?

He shivered.

No thanks. He needed a break.

Grabbing his phone, he pushed open the door to his studio and headed for the stairs. I wonder where [Y/N] is, he thought to himself as he climbed the basement stairs two at a time. It’s been a while since I last caught a glimpse of her.

Surfacing on the first floor, he stuck his head into the living room, glancing around for a brief moment only to deduce that you weren’t there. With a huff, he spun on his heel. If she’s not there, he thought, his strides confident and full of purpose, then she’s definitely in—

He stepped into the kitchen, his gaze landing on your figure half-tucked behind the open fridge door almost instantaneously. He smiled. Bingo.

Slowly, he crept forward, slipping around the kitchen island to silently walk up to you. Before you even noticed he was there, he leaned down next to your ear and whispered.

“Boo.”

Letting out a sharp yell, you whirled, your wide eyes practically drowning in the amusement filling Clay’s emerald gaze as he let out a long wheezing laugh. “Clay!” you gasped, holding a hand over your heart. “You scared me, oh my god.”

His wheezing only grew louder in volume as he slapped his knee, still cackling at your distraught expression. Puffing your cheeks in a pout, you turned your back to him, staring back into the fridge. “Meanie.”

Struggling to regain his breath, Clay leaned in to wrap his arms around your waist in a hug from behind. You could feel his chest shaking against your back with laughter, beginning to slowly die down with each passing second. A moment later, he dipped his head down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Sorry,” he hummed. “I just thought it’d be funny to make you jump.” His eyes glinted with mischief. “I was right. It was.”

“Not for me,” you grumbled, and he let out the tiniest of wheezes next to your ear.

“Alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, kissing your neck. “How are you doing? I haven’t seen you all morning.”

You relaxed into his warm touch, melting into the feeling of his soft lips on your skin. Sending him a tired smile, you closed the fridge door and focused your attention onto him. “I’m alright, but I’m feeling kind of tired,” you admitted. “You get kind of sick of working on an assignment after the third, you know?”

He snuggled closer to you, smiling into your neck. “Well, I mean, I wouldn’t know, but I understand your point.”

You rolled your eyes at him, leaning back into his figure. “Right, I forgot that you didn’t go to college, Mr. Streamer.”

Clay laughed at your words. “You’re just that much smarter than me, then.” He poked at your cheek affectionately. as he cooed, “Look at you, my super smart college student girlfriend.”

You turned in his arms to face him, frowning at him. “Clay, you say that like you aren’t considered to be one of the best, if not the best Minecraft player in the world. Give yourself some more credit.”

He brushed a stray hair away from your face, his gaze fond as he held you a little closer. “Okay, but only because you told me to.”

You snorted, sinking deeper into his arms. “If your followers could see you now, I’m sure they’d be spamming ‘simp’ in chat.”

He chuckled. “They already do that whenever I hang out with George—I can’t even imagine to what extent it would increase if they knew about you.”

You offered him a smile, but it felt forced. The question had been swirling in the back of your mind for a little while now, and it was just sitting on the tip of your tongue, now. You had to ask now, or it would devour you alive.

“Hey, um, Clay,” you said, your tone shifting as you fidgeted slightly in his embrace. “Do you—do you think we’ll ever tell people and your fans about, well—” You gestured to the space between the two of you. “—about us?”

He paused for a moment, then let out a soft breath. “I want to,” he said. “Oh man, you don’t know just how badly I want to share you with the whole world and show them you’re mine.” You felt your cheeks grow warm, your lips instinctively curling up at his words.

“But I don’t think they’re ready for that just yet,” he added in a wistful tone. He pulled back, sending you a crooked smile. “How about we cross that bridge when we get there? I know that when we do get around to it, they’re gonna love you as much as I do, I promise.”

You bobbed your head, feeling the anxiety in your gut disintegrate. “Okay. Thanks, Clay.”

He reached up to ruffle your hair, cooing at the small whine you let out. “Anything for you.”

Knocking his hand off your head, you grinned at him. “On another note, what have you been up to? Instead of sleeping in late, of course, you lucky butt.”

He swayed back and forth, bringing you along with him. “I spent a lot of time editing some videos that are still in the works. I’m gonna be streaming for a few hours in a bit, though. If you need anything, you know where you can find me.” He grabbed your hand in his, fiddling with your fingers with a slight squeeze. “Are you still gonna be working on your assignment later, or will I be allowed to bother you?”

Your mouth twitched at his pouty tone, and you squeezed his hand back. “I actually might go out to the grocery store. Patches’s cat food is on sale, so I might stock up on that, and I kind of wanted some snacks for studying. Was there anything you wanted while I was gone?”

He hummed, thinking for a moment. “Not really, to be honest.” Slipping his hand into yours, he began leading you to the front of the house. “Here, let me see you off.”

You felt your heart swell with love as he handed you your bag from where it hung on the coat rack while you laced up your shoes. Clay was always so attentive to you and your needs, never failing to make sure you had everything you needed at the drop of a hat. You were really too lucky to have him.

“Do you have your mask?” he asked when you stood up.

With a nod, you fished it out from your pocket, waving it in your hands. “Mhm.”

He smiled. “Awesome.” Opening his arms, he pulled you in for one last hug, inhaling the scent of your flowery shampoo before swinging the door open and watching you step outside, car keys in hand.

“I’ll be back soon!” you cried, waving to him from the driveway.

He waved back, leaning against the doorframe. “See you!” he called back. “Take care out there.”

“I will!”

His viridian gaze trailed after you and your car as you sped off down the road, knowing all too well exactly which radio station you had inevitably turned on. Well, no matter. He supposed it was time to stream, now. Locking the door behind him, Clay strode down to the basement, sliding into his desk chair with his hand on his mouse. Slipping his headphones over his head, he rolled his shoulders and opened up Twitch.

Taking one last deep breath, he grinned and pressed the ‘start streaming’ button.

“Hey, guys!”

You grunted as you pushed the front door open, sliding your shoes off as you heaved the last sack of cat food onto the ground with a loud thud.

And that’s all three. Finally.

Pushing the door closed using your foot, you placed your hands on your hood in determination.

Now, to get them downstairs.

You grimaced, glaring down at the offending bags. This was going to sooo much fun.

Some things never ceased to amaze you. Like how smart Clay was, even as dorky as he could be. Like how fast he blown up. Like how much you loved him.

And like how much cat food Patches managed to eat without getting fat.

Seriously, you thought to yourself with a grumble, how does she still look the same even though she goes through a whole bag of cat food in like... two weeks? It’s just not fair.

“I wish I had your metabolism,” you muttered, shooting a glare at the feline in question. “You suck.”

Patches was perched on the stair railings a few feet away from you, grooming her paws. The moment you spoke her name, she lifted her head to look at you, her ears flicking. You stared at each other for a few seconds before she let out a soft meow, jumping down to rub against your leg.

“Oh, who am I kidding?” you murmured to yourself, your heart swelling in your chest at the feeling of her nuzzling her small head against your calf. “I could never hate you. You’re too cute.”

You turned your attention back to the three sacks of cat food you now had in your possession. Patches’s domain mostly consisted of the basement, where you kept her toys and costumes. Consequently, that’s where the cat food was also stored, albeit out of sight so that Patches wouldn’t get any ideas. Like her owner, she had a penchant for mischief, but you loved them both anyways.

The main problem here was getting the cat food down the stairs.

I’m a strong independent woman, you thought to yourself with a small smile. Also, Clay is streaming, so I can’t ask him for help even if I wanted to. Bending over, you hoisted the first sack into your arms. That’s okay, though. A few stairs can’t stop me.

Taking a deep breath, you trudged toward the basement, carefully taking the stairs one step at a time down. The last thing you wanted was to trip while carrying the cat food of all things.

Unfortunately, it seemed that you jinxed yourself.

Everything went fine for the first two bags, each sack having safely made their way onto their proper spot on their designated cabinet shelf. Each time you tread down the stairs, you would take a quick peek over at Clay’s recording studio, smiling to see him amicably chatting with his viewers while completing another speedrun. With a smile on your face, you climbed the stairs once more to come face to face with your final obstacle.

You grinned despite your arms aching from having done so much heavy lifting. Last bag. Let’s go.

Rolling up your sleeves, you began the same process you had been running with for the past two trips: pick up the bag and head down the stairs, making sure to step carefully.

What you hadn’t accounted for, though, was Patches’s presence.

You were just about halfway down the stairs when Patches darted in front of you. With a soft yelp, you stepped back to avoid her, letting her bounce down the stairs ahead of you. A brief breath of relief escaped your lips, but it was short lived.

Just then, your sock’s grip on the floor gave out, and you felt gravity wrap a hand around your ankle.

Oh, crap.

A shout tore its way out of your throat as as you tumbled forward, landing on the ground with a resounding crash. Beside you, the bag of cat food smacked into the wall and landed with a loud crunch.

That can’t be good, you vaguely thought, your mind fogged up by a cloud of pain.

Just a few rooms over, Clay froze mid-stream, his mouse coming to a halt as his entire body went stiff. Without even thinking to mute himself, he tore his headphones off his head, your name flying from his lips in a flurry of worry as he rushed out the room.

“[Y/N]! [Y/N], are you okay?”

On the ground, you winced, pain shooting up your side as you pulled yourself forward. In an instant, Clay was on the ground by your side—one hand on the small of your back helping you sit up, the other brushing your hair away from your face.

“[Y/N],” he breathed, panic seeping into his face as his eyes scanned every inch of your face for harm, “are you good?” You nodded, but it did nothing to ease the worry in his expression. “Tell—tell me.” He held three fingers in front of your face. “How many fi—”

“Three,” you replied immediately. You offered a pained smile, stifling another wince as you did so.

He leaned in closer to your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “How badly are you hurt?”

You shifted your spine, trying to gauge the pain. The ache was dull at most, minimal at best. “Only a little.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, his breathing ragged. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You let out a small sigh, sending him a reassuring smile. You appreciated his protectiveness, you really did, but sometimes he really did go the extra mile. “Clay,” you said softly, “I’m okay, really. I promise I’m okay. I just tripped and fell.” Then you glanced behind him, letting out a deeper sigh. “The cat food, on the other hand? Not so much.”

The bag must have ripped open when it fell, its own weight having collapsed on itself and tearing a hole right through the bottom. The individual pellets of cat food where strewn all across the floor, littering the ground like pebbles. And of course, Patches was already starting to nibble away. Pesky girl.

Clay stood up, reaching a hand out toward you. “Here, I’ll help you clean up.”

You took his hand, shaking your head as he pulled you to your feet. “No, no. You should get back to your stream.” Your brows knit together. “I interrupted it, didn’t it? Your followers will be waiting for you. You should go back.”

He shook his head, his expression resolute. “Contrary to popular belief, [Y/N],” he said, “you’re more important to me than just one stream. I’ll probably just end it when I’m done here, anyway.” He squeezed your hand, his gaze kind. “Let me help you. Please.”

With your heart fluttering in your chest, you squeezed it back.

“Okay.”

Clay grabbed the two of you a dustpan as you began to clean up the mess of cat food you had made on the floor. You whined about how you just wasted a sale by tripping down the stairs while he poked fun at your frustration, passing you Patches with the request of keeping her away from the food as he swept. In practically no time, you had nearly forgotten what had transpired at all, just happy to spend some time with your wonderful boyfriend next to you.

If only you knew just how much your little fall was going to blow up in your face.

You ran your tongue over your chapped lips, your gaze focused on your laptop screen as your mouse finally hit the submit button. Letting out a sigh, you finally let the stress seep out of your body as a small smile overtook your features.

Finally handed it in. Now, you didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

With a groan, you stretched your arms out above you, cracking your back. You’d been working away for a couple of hours now, but at long last, you were free for the weekend. Humming to yourself, you picked up your phone. You had set it to ‘do not disturb’ a while back, since it hadn’t stopped vibrating at one point. You hadn’t bothered to check why at the time, but you supposed you could spare some time for yourself before dinner.

Swiping your phone open, your thumb instinctively tapped on Twitter, a blue glow enveloping your screen before fading to dark. You hummed as you opened up the trending page, curiosity pawing at your backside. You had your bets on some trend going viral, but knowing the internet, it was probably some weird, random crap.

There were a handful of political memes topping the charts, as well as a #TGIF. You stifled a laugh as you scrolled a bit lower. Twitter sure was a weird place.

That was when a tag caught your eye.

#DreamExplain

Your thumb stopped, hovering over the screen. What? Explain what, exactly?

Then there—just few lines below that.

#WhoIs[Y/N]?

Your heart came to a screeching halt in your chest.

That was your name.

Trending. On Twitter.

Panic shot through your veins.

What the actual hell happened?

With a heavy feeling of disbelief sinking its claws into you, you tapped on your name, watching as hundreds of tweets shot past your eyes.

Who’s [Y/N] and how can I be her

dream explain?! oh mygood what was that !!!!

is [Y/N] Dream’s girlfriend or something

um ??? dream said the name [Y/N] on stream today then went afk for like 20 mins ??? then the stream just ended ???wtf ???

what’s @georgenotfound gonna do omggg nooo!!! his boyfriend!!!!!!

You felt sick to your stomach.

Oh god.

They knew who you were.

You wanted to throw up.

Stumbling to your feet, you made your way toward the kitchen where you knew you would find Clay, your phone clutched in a death grip between your fingers.

“C-Clay?”

He turned from where he was leaning against the counter, a smile lighting up his face at the sound of your voice. “Hey!” The moment his eyes landed on your face, his smile vanished. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Have—” You swallowed, your palms beginning to sweat. “Have you checked Twitter recently?”

“Nope,” he hummed, pulling his phone out from his pocket. “What’s trending this time? Did some politician say something or—”

“I am,” you said ever so softly.

He froze, his phone going slack in his hand. “What?”

You glanced up from your feet. “I’m trending, Clay.”

A beat of silence. “What?!” he repeated, louder this time.

You felt an odd sense of weightlessness sinking onto your shoulders, and you felt yourself begin to ramble. “Crazy, right? Little old me, trending? Wild. Insane. Like, just wow.”

With each new phrase that leapt from your lips, Clay’s brows furrowed further. You could see the wheels in his head turning at full speed. Then, they stopped, and realization set in. Then came the horror.

Oh, dear god.

“[Y/N],” he whispered, taking a step toward you, “oh my god.”

“You’re also trending, by the way,” you continued, barreling ahead as your hands began wildly gesturing. You swallowed down the panic rising up your throat at full throttle. “It’s a shame that I’m not higher than you, but I guess we can’t win them all.”

“[Y/N],” he said again, “this is serious.”

You nodded, your expression still blank. “Oh, I know. I’m—”

Something in you snapped.

You sucked in a ragged breath. “Yeah, I’m—”

And out came the waterworks.

You collapsed to the ground, the sobs escaping your throat in uneven bursts. Clay’s arms were around you before you knew it, his hand cradling your head for the second time that day.

“Clay, Clay, Clay,” you choked out, your entire being dissolving into him. “Clay, they know who I am. They heard you.”

His grip tightened on you, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear. You sobbed harder, your tears soaking into his hoodie.

There was nowhere left to hide.

You hadn’t touched your phone in days. It hardly took more than a few minutes for your Twitter feed to have absolutely blown up with messages about you. Some positive, some negative, some neutral. While you appreciated the kind ones, you only had to read a handful of the not-so-kind ones for you to turn off your phone and hide it in a drawer. It wasn’t like you were going to even use it properly, what with its cracked screen.

The more time passed, the more acutely aware of the public’s knowledge of you became.

Your name was everywhere, supposed drawings of you were everywhere, you—you were everywhere.

You felt like you were suffocating in your own skin.

Clay knew that the slip up had been rough on you, and he didn’t blame you one bit. He had asked you what you needed, if you wanted him to take a few days off to spend more time with you. You had declined, sending him a tired smile.

“I... I think I just need some time to myself to think things over.”

He didn’t push you anymore than that, instead holding you close and pressing his lips to your cheek. For the next couple days, he vanished off of social media—no tweets, no streams, no videos. Nothing. While you busied yourself with class work, he focused on editing and planning ahead for the future. You both knew you were stalling, but right now, you just needed time.

A knock came from your door, a soft voice following just after.

“[Y/N]?”

You rolled over on the bed you shared, your eyes flickering up to see Clay standing in the doorway. The book you had brought in with you laid untouched on the nightstand next to you. You haven’t been able to properly bring yourself to enjoy something without thoughts of doubt seeping into your head.

What do they think of me? Do they like me? Will they approve of our relationship?

You were terrified out of your mind.

Clay approached the bed when he saw you move, gently sitting down next to you. “Are you doing any better?”

He patted the space on his leg, and you twisted your body to settle your head on his lap. “Sort of,” you murmured.

A moment passed as he took in your words. “Have you eaten?”

You nodded, your head just barely moving. “Yeah. Ate some leftover pasta.”

You fell quiet once more, simply listening to the sound of his breaths next to yours. Despite having been hearing next to nothing but silence for days now, you felt better knowing he was next to you.

“Hey,” he said softly, grabbing your attention once more. You turned your head towards him, his hand stroking your hair. His emerald eyes bore into yours, focused and sad. “Tell me what’s on your mind. You seem so distant, right now.”

Your gaze trailed up to the ceiling as you opened your mouth, trying to connect the mess of thoughts in your head into coherent sentences. “It’s just all so overwhelming,” you admitted. “All they know about me is my name and that I fell down the stairs, but it already feels like it’s way too much. I didn’t even spend that much time scrolling online, and I already know that there are more than just a few people freaking out.”

You looked up at him, your sad gaze mirroring his. “I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to have everyone begging you for a face reveal.”

The sadness in his eyes only seemed to grow deeper, and you felt something warm and watery wrap around your heart. “It’s my fault,” he whispered, pressing a hand over his eyes. “I should have muted myself. I shouldn’t have been so reckless. I just moved without thinking and—”

You pulled yourself upwards, turning to sit face to face with him. “Clay, don’t say that.” You reached out to grab him arm, pulling it away from his face. His gaze was watery, and you wished you never had to see him with that expression. “It’s not your fault, not at all. When you heard me fall, you thought of me right away, and I appreciate that.” You held his big hand in between your smaller ones, interlocking your fingers. “That just shows you care for me. Please don’t beat yourself up over what happened.” You offered him a timid smile. “I know that I’m not taking this all too well either, but we’re in this together, right?”

His lips twitched to mirror yours, but his tone was still tinged with a low sadness. “I know, it’s just... I hate seeing you like this, like you can’t live your life normally anymore because of me.”

Your hand reached up to stroke his cheek. “Hey, it’s alright,” you crooned. “Remember, they only know my first name—not even my last name—and that I tripped. They don’t know what I look like.” Your lips twitched. “Heck, they don’t even know what I sound like. I think I’ll be able to live my life just fine. It’s just a little bit... much to begin with.” You shot him a goofy smile. “I might have to use Twitter less, but you know my screen time usage is way too high anyway.”

A chuckle slipped from his lips, his eyes curving into two crescent moons. You felt your expression shift to mirror his almost naturally, but then the smile slowly crept off your face. “And, um, Clay,” you added, fidgeting slightly.

“Yeah?”

“These past two days, I gave what happened some more thought,” you began, “and I think...” You gulped. I think I want to introduce myself.”

His eyes widened, and suddenly his hands were on your face, his gaze focused intently on your face. “Are you positive?” he breathed. “You know you don’t have to do this, [Y/N].”

You nodded, feeling your resolve harden like a stone in your heart. “I know.” You offered him a bold smile. “It’s scary and kind of hard to think about, but I don’t want to leave everyone in the dark. I want to be by your side through thick and thin, no matter what.”

He paused, then pulled his hands away from your face. That sadness in his eyes had returned, and you felt your heart crack at the sight. “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said quietly, almost remorsefully. “I know that being with me is already a huge commitment, and this is just taking another huge step...”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “Clay,” you said, staring down at your knee. “I’ve been here with you from the beginning, and I’ll be here until the end. I’m here with you for the long haul, okay?” You raised your head, shooting him a wicked grin. “You won’t be getting rid of me too easily.”

Just like that, his smile was back. “Oh, alright. Only because I love you so much, though.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair with a weary grin. “Well, if there’s anything that I’m sure is going to happen,” he said, “it’s that my fans are definitely going to call me a ‘simp’ even more than they already do.”

You flashed him a teasing smile. “Are they wrong, though?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners.

“No, they’re not.”

Swallowing, you stared long and hard at the microphone sitting in front of you.

You can do this.

“Are you ready?”

You sucked in a deep breath, feeling your hands shake in your lap.

“I—I think so.”

Clay pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, his left arm wrapping itself around your waist to pull you closer on his lap. With his right, he reached for the mouse. On his screen, he had his stream loaded up, with only a single mouse click standing between you and tens of thousands of viewers.

Feeling his eyes on you, you turned to look at him. With a small smile, he dipped his head down to press his lips to yours in a soft kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling back. Pulling back, he leaned his forehead against yours lovingly.

“You know, this is only about half as stressful as when I met your family,” you joked.

He snorted, the rumbling of his chest running along your back and into your thumping heart. “And they loved you just as much as I do. Once the rest of the world meets you,” he murmured just for you to hear, “they’re going to love you just the same. I swear it.”

You let your eyelids flutter shut, breathing in his scent of fresh linen and citrus. “I hope so.”

He shot you a cheeky wink. “Oh, I know so.”

You rolled your eyes at him, turning around to look at his monitor once more. “Cheese ball.” You didn’t have to turn to know that he was still grinning. Snuggling further back into his chest, you said, “Let’s start the stream, yeah?”

With a nod, he clicked the ‘start streaming’ button. Almost instantaneously, thousands of people joined the stream. You briefly glanced at the chat and felt yourself stiffen when you caught a brief glimpse of your name. Almost immediately, Clay’s hand was on yours, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb while you relaxed once more.

Sending you one last loving glance, he leaned towards his mic and began to speak. “Hey, guys! I know it’s been a little while since I last did a stream, and I know you guys have some questions. But first, there’s someone I want you guys to meet.”

His gaze flickered to you, and he gestured toward the mic. Taking a deep breath, you mustered up your courage and leaned forward.

“Hi there. My name is [Y/N].”

You felt his hand squeeze yours.

With a smile and a deep breath, you squeezed back.

“And I’m Dream’s girlfriend.”

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getlostsquidward · 3 years ago

Text

The gaps in your hearts (Part 2)

Lou Miller x fem!reader

A/N: You asked for part 2, and I shall deliver. I hope it's worth your wait!!

Summary: After your departure, an unexpected circumstance had you arriving back at the loft, back at Lou. Will the gaps in your hearts only become wider or will they be finally filled?

Part one

“Oh, bugger. Baby? I’m home.”

“Nice place.”

“Try heating it.”

“There’s a room for you upstairs. Your stuff’s upstairs too.”

Lou called your name a couple of times but she got no answer. Maybe you went out and got something from the store. She furrowed her eyebrows at the notion that you didn’t let her know you’ll go out like you usually does.

She can’t wait for you to meet Debbie.

The sun has set down and you weren’t at home yet. Lou was growing worried each minute that passes. She’d left you text messages, she tried to call you several times, but all of it went to voicemail. Where did you go?

Debbie had returned from her closure meeting with Claude. She had bought takeout for dinner but Lou wasn’t in any mood to eat. She was antsy but keeping it down so her friend won’t notice. Maybe you were called in at work? Maybe you went out with a friend and forgot to send her a text. The blonde knows you can perfectly take care of yourself but she can’t help but be worried.

“Where’s your girl?” Debbie asked, reminded of Lou calling someone ‘baby’ when they arrived earlier.

Lou just shrugged her shoulders, not really knowing what to answer.

“Maybe she hit her head and woke up from the truth,” the brunette joked.

Lou glared at her friend. “Not funny.”

“Tell me about her.”

The blonde started to tell her friend everything. From how you met, the ups and downs of your relationship, and how loving and wonderful you are. You were patient and understanding; you were perfect in every way and she hated how she’d managed to hurt the one person that did nothing but love her.

The day you moved out of the loft was the most devastating day of her life. It was way much worse than when Debbie left before.

She knew that you were checking in on her through Matt, and she was wracked with guilt. Even after what she’d done, you still care for her. Lou unconsciously checks her phone to see if you left a message but to no avail. You really honoured your word that you’d give her time, and she was thankful for that.

In your two-month break, she really had thought about it all. She used the time to sort out her feelings. Hell, she even opened up to some of her other friends for help, something she rarely does even with those who know her. Unearthing her feelings.

Lou had feelings for Debbie. She didn’t know if it was romantic or if it was just a deep affection. She didn’t really think much of it. Debbie was one of the few of the persons she knows she could trust with her life and in the conworld, such a person was like a rare gem. It was hard to find, and if you do, you’ve got to treasure it. And so she did.

“Maybe you’d mistaken the concept of love and affection. You told me you really didn’t think anything about it and that explains it. The moment you felt that that person was dear to you, you immediately equated it to romantic love.”

The words mentioned had hit Lou, hard. Once she realized that, she promptly had to find you. She called you, but you didn’t answer. She didn’t know where you were staying so she asked your friends, and that’s how Lou found you drowning in liquor in some alley.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Debbie berated, feeling rather guilty about how she was probably the reason you left for the second time around.

“I do. No need to remind me.”

“I’m gonna tell you to go find her, but I also need you to focus on the job. Can you do both?”

“Of course,” Lou sighed. She won’t know what she would do if she were to lose you for real this time.

You were feeling rueful for leaving Lou without a word. You knew she’d be worried sick, but it was the best for the two of you. Once again, you fell into your routine. It was incredibly helpful that an event was coming and you can spend all of your time at work. Though this time, the constant drinking was out of your to-do list.

Your mind often wandered to Lou. She said something about a job, maybe that’s what they’re doing right now. Has she been thinking of you too?

The messages and missed calls Lou had sent you were not in your knowledge as you’d let your best friend hide your phone, and bought a new one for you. At first, you thought that it would be ridiculous and childlike of you but maybe she had a point. The worst-case scenario would be Lou filing for a missing person’s case, but you knew she wouldn’t dare cross paths with the police.

“Oh my god, you guys. This party is nuts. I’m not kidding! If your dress is ugly, you can’t wear it, no shit! They will bower your wardrobe!” Tammy rambled and rushed to get into the loft where she got everyone’s attention.

“I love that!” Lou quipped.

“Oh I gotta pee,” Tammy continued to ramble. “Every table cost a quarter-million dollars that if they allow you to buy one! I mean not just any $250,000 check will be approved, I mean they literally have to tell you whether or not they’ll take your money, it’s crazy!”

Everyone was standing outside the bathroom, still listening to Tammy rant about the Met.

“And then you can’t bring anyone, that you clearly go by yourself. They spend a hundred grand on food and apparently no one eats, it’s really crazy,” the blonde finished as she went out, kind of out of breath from the continuous rambling.

“Did you get the seating chart?” asked Debbie.

“The what?”

“The seating chart.” Tammy handed the special glasses she was wearing to Debbie.

“If I haven’t said it, it’s really crazy. This one person that I’m working with maybe is the only saving grace of that place. Thank goodness for Y/N,” the blonde sighed, capturing the attention of Lou.

She shared looks with Debbie, hoping that it was you their friend was talking about.

After discussing the seating chart, they approached Tammy and straightforwardly asked about you, if you were the same person she’d mentioned. Apparently, you quit your last job and had started few weeks prior to Tammy. Lou asked if you’re doing well, and almost cried when she nodded. When Tammy asked why they are curious, Debbie answered. “Lou’s girl. Left because of this dumbass right here.”

The blonde had a surprised expression on her face, a bit amazed at how small the world is. The person they’ve been looking for was only at their reach this whole time.

“She’s sweet. If you’re planning to get her back, which I know you would, you better not mess up.”

Since that day, Lou was itching to contact you but inhibited herself. She’d finish the job first, then she would have you back. If she was lucky enough to be given a second chance, which she wouldn’t fucking waste, she can finally go to California riding with you on her new bike like you always wanted to do.

Finally, it was the first Monday in May. Lou was still in the van with Nineball, preparing food for her. She remembered you telling her she would look good in a chef’s uniform. She wasn’t actually a chef right now, but she still owes you a hundred bucks.

What if you weren’t gone? Maybe you would be in on the heist too, and you would be the most beautiful woman in her eyes, everyone else in the Met is damned. She knew you would have loved and drooled over the green jumpsuit she was wearing.

The heist was successful, and the ladies were lounging at the loft. Their dillydally was halted when an unexpected guest has stormed the loft. Daphne Kluger.

“You guys are fucked,” the actress huffed. “Wow, nice place.”

“Excuse me, you are trespassing-”

“No, we asked her to come,” Lou cut Tammy’s accusation.

Debbie started to explain how Daphne might have gotten a sense of what they were doing, so they roped the brunette in. Daphne then asserted how she was the one who was saving everyone from insurance fraud. Another revelation had caused panic to those who didn’t know, scared that they might be busted and imprisoned.

“We will not be the prime suspect.”

“Then who will be the prime suspect?”

Lou listed several people like the security guys and the busboy. Their attention was focused on Daphne that they didn’t notice another person coming in. You quietly opened the door in purpose, glancing at each of the women inside. You’d heard the last bit of their conversation and captured their attention by announcing your presence.

“The shady guy who put Debbie away,” you casually commented, walking towards everyone.

“Wow,” Daphne chuckled. “The boyfriend.”

Everyone but Debbie and Daphne was shocked, for the third time around. They didn’t really expect guests today. Lou looked like she had seen a ghost but didn’t take her eyes off you.

“Yup. If they were gonna be looking for somebody, just had to make sure it wasn’t one of us.”

You whispered a “Hi, Tam” to your coworker, and took a sit in the middle of her and Daphne. “The precision, right?” the actress turned to you. “The attention to detail, a little grace note that really makes something sing.”

While she was blubbering about how well-thought the job was, she scooted closer to you and put a hand on your thigh. Lou raised an eyebrow at the action, jealousy bubbling in her chest.

“Why are you doing this?” Tammy asked, referring to Daphne. “And Y/N? You were in too? How?”

You let the brunette answer first and when she finished, Debbie had answered for you.

“She was our other mole in the Met, aside from you and Nine.”

“Oh, you were an angel, Y/N. She made sure I was okay after hurling my guts out. Much much better company than my date,” Daphne preached, leaning her head on your shoulder. You rest your head on hers in return.

Lou’s jaw was gritted, it was too much for her and she couldn’t look any longer. She looked at Debbie and gave her a perplexed look, asking for further explanation.

The brunette just shrugged her shoulder, knowing it was up to you to talk to Lou. After all, it was the reason she approached you. At first, she had only talked to you about Lou, but later called to ask if you were willing to join in the job. You’d said yes right away.

That night, you saw Lou sitting near the shore. She was staring straight ahead as you sat next to her.

“Lou?”

“You know, I planned to talk to you after we got the money. But you got to me first,” she whispered.

“You have to thank Debs for that.”

Lou chuckled, “Debs? What, you’re on a nickname basis now? She doesn’t even let me call her that.”

“She told me everything. And, I- I’m sorry, Lou. I shouldn’t have left like that, left you worried though you had a job to focus on-”

Lou cut you off as she pulled you in for a hug. “No, Y/N. I should be the one apologizing.”

Her hand was running up and down your back, the touch soothing all of your troubles. You can finally feel at peace. There was no snarling voice at the back of your head, no heavy feeling. You feel like a sailor in the middle of a calm sea.

“I’ll make it up to you, for real, this time,” Lou pulled back, giving you a smile. You nodded in return.

“Although you may have to explain first what was that earlier,” her smile faded, and glared at you playfully.

You were about to ask what she was referring to when you suddenly remembered. You told her how you may or may not have told Daphne that you were on a rough patch and she volunteered to help make Lou jealous. Both of you shared a laugh as she commented on how effective it was that she had to restrain herself from tearing you apart from the actress.

There was no time to waste, you thought as you pressed your lips against Lou’s. The kiss was slow and passionate, the both of you pouring all your feelings out. Her hand entangled itself on the base of your skull as she deepened the kiss, tongue swiping on your bottom lip asking for entrance. You let her dominate you, a soft moan coaxed out of your mouth.

The only thing you could focus on was the feeling of Lou’s lips; your hammering heart and the waves lapping gently at the shore.

“I love you, baby,” Lou murmured, both of you breathless.

“I know, Lou. I love you too.”

#cate blanchett #cate blanchett x reader #lou miller x reader #lou miller #ocean's 8 #ocean's 8 fanfiction #debbie ocean #tammy #daphne kluger

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slasherscream · 4 years ago

Note

Hi I don’t know if you write for Thomas Hewitt or Vincent Sinclair but if you do you could you please make some headcanons about them and the other slashers like if they got into a fight with their s/o and how it would go, what it would be about, and how they would make up with their s/o please? It’s totally fine if you don’t want to. But if you do then thank you so much!

fighting with the slashers

A/N: i do write for vincent (on a related note i also write for bo and maybe lester i haven’t tried him out yet)!

vincent sinclair

You didn’t stay put when Vincent told you to and you got hurt.

You hadn’t planned to leave. Until the sun started to go down and no one came back to the house to check up on you the way they so often do when there are visitors in town.

You are Ambrose’s second best kept secret. Alive because Vincent took one look at you and couldn’t bare to hurt you. And though Bo gripes about you he couldn’t tell Vincent no. Not when Bo saw the way Vincent held you behind him, head lowered but shoulders set, ready to actually fight him on something for once in their lives.

So you’re kept in the house when there are people around. Other than not being able to leave it’s your only real rule. Vincent wants you to have no part in the more grisly aspects of the town and Bo and Lester honor his wish.

But the town is dead silent and no one has come to check on you. Most times Lester even comes to stay with you like some sort of babysitter. It used to irritate you, despite your fondness for the youngest brother. Now without him there your hands shake, and your eyes wander, and your ears burn as if pumping extra blood there will make you hear better. But there’s nothing to be heard. No screams. No cries. No Bo shouting. No guns going off.

So you leave the house, searching for one of them. Instead you’re found by a survivor and held hostage in front of the twins.

You all stand still for a long while, the victim not knowing what to do and the boys unable to move due to the knife digging into your neck, already drawing blood.

Lester had been the one to save you, sneaking up behind your captor and stabbing them. You ran to Vincent on shaking legs and he gathered you into his arms, moving to take you back home. You could hear the screams of the man who’d almost killed you ringing through the streets behind you and shivered.

Vincent had cleaned your cut in silence and somehow had managed to barely touch you. Before you could blink he’d shut himself into his workshop and you were left alone until Bo came home and chewed you out.

You kept yourself busy cleaning and then prepared for bed, knowing it would be awhile before Vincent would come and join you. The sleep didn’t come easy as you were still shaken up, but eventually it came.

You woke in the middle of the night to an empty bed and realized that if you didn’t go to get him Vincent wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.

You walk drowsily through Ambrose’s underbelly, the smoldering heat not doing you any favors, until you arrive at Vincent’s workshop where he’s hunched over his desk, unmoving.

Not wanting to startle him you call his name quietly and you see his head tilt in acknowledgement but he doesn’t turn to look at you.

Slowly you move until your front is resting against his back, even slower your arms encircle him and you kiss his shoulder, feeling guilty at the tension laying dormant in them. “I’m sorry, Vince. I was just worried about you so... so I left the house. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I won’t do it again.”

He turns and there’s a pause, and then he moves his hands, fluid but slow. They’re shaking despite how strong you know they are. He tells you how he can’t lose you. How he loves you. He asks you to promise him that next time you’ll listen and you do, and you mean it.

It’s only then that he pulls you into his lap and holds you tightly. You think he’s crying behind his mask but you just hold him back equally as tight and whisper I’m sorry against his steady pulse.

pelle

He doesn’t like the company you keep.

He has a plan. He has a plan to take you away from this strange, uncaring world that doesn’t deserve you. That doesn’t love you or care about you. If he sticks to the plan everything will be so easy.

But sometimes Pelle loves you too much to bite his tongue.

He can see it clearly, your perfect future where he takes care of you, and his family takes care of you, and you let them do it, and you’re happier for it; but you don’t live in that perfect future, you live in the frigid, imperfect present.

Here you stay up late in the night to help a friend finish a term paper when last week they didn’t even call when you were sick. You gave a classmate your umbrella to borrow a month ago, and today you come back shaking from the rain because they never bothered to return it.

A thousand little kindnesses that the world outside the Hårga spit on.

He knows that all these moments of careless apathy towards you will only strengthen the draw you’ll feel when you finally meet his family.

You have the heart of a Hårga and he knows that you’ll feel that connection.

Still, the way the outside world, the way your friends and family slight you at every turn, makes his blood run hot. He’s never felt anger like this before. It is all consuming and yet he must stomach it alone.

And so his tongue is careless sometimes. He asks in tones that he shouldn’t use with you “you’re going out with them again?” and “but didn’t they-?” and still he is angry. The words do not ease the feelings because they do not fix the problem.

Pelle must lead you into the arms of his family and their way of life. He cannot push you. But he doesn’t know how not to take care of you.

He wants to beat away the leeches and moths that cling to your light and whisk you away to home where the sun will warm you with its love.

Your fights are gentle, and so you might never refer to them as fights when people ask you if you ever argue with Pelle.

There is no yelling, or balled fists, or the animal sensation of fight or flight. He leads you to sit down with him and holds your face in his hands. Unthinkingly you mimic the gesture and he smiles at you lovingly. One kiss and he tells you that he doesn’t like your friends. Another and he says that you deserve better, deserve the world.

You try to get a word in edgewise, to deny the claims he makes, to tell him that they really do care about you, but the words are smothered by his soft lips. He kisses you until your brain goes somewhere loved and numb. He slips your coat off of your shoulders and pulls you close. He keeps you there until you forget that you had anywhere to be besides his arms.

You and Pelle don’t fight.

chucky and tiffany

Tiffany is used to Chucky being a piece of shit. You are not.

Upside to fighting with Chucky is that Tiffany is immediately on your side, even if you’re in the wrong (I’m joking it’s always Chucky’s fault.)

Downside is that the whole house is now up in fucking chaos.

chucky: tiff where are my fucking keys?

tiffany: in hell! why don’t you go and grab them?

You appreciate her fighting spirit but she’s really going in on y’all’s man.

Which is not to say that Chucky doesn’t deserve it. Because he does deserve it, but you know from personal experience that being on Tiffany’s bad side is scary.

Why are you and Chucky fighting? Chucky is an insensitive asshole, and even the toughest skin isn’t bullet proof.

The aftermath of whatever Chucky did is a lot of sullen silence from you; the sounds of a knife chopping a little too loudly in the kitchen from Tiff; and loud bits of huffing and puffing from Chucky as he stomps around the house.

At first he thinks he can just wait out your anger until you start missing him. It used to work with Tiffany all the time!

But this relationship involves three people. You’re not so quick to get desperately lonely, especially if Tiffany isn’t the partner you’re fighting with. Do you miss Chucky? Sure. Do you miss him enough to let him be an asshole just to get some cuddle time in on the couch? As if! Tiffany is the better cuddler anyway.

The man child is going to have to say sorry and mean it.

Of course this means that your relationship is going be sans-Chucky for at least a week.

Tiffany reaches the breaking point before Chucky does. Obviously more in-tune with your feelings she can tell how much the fight is getting to you and no one messes with her sweetheart! Not even Chucky.

You’re going to hear her delicately clearing her throat, look up from your phone, and find Tiffany holding Chucky at fucking knife point.

tiffany: do you have anything to say, chucky?

chucky, trying to decide if he’ll let tiffany kill him just to prove a point: ....

tiffany: i’ll start with your dick-

chucky: i’m sorry! are you fucking hAPPY?!

You’re gonna be like no!!! I do not accept the apology you gave me under extreme duress! At which point you turn over in bed and pull the covers over your head.

You’ll hear rapid-fire whispering and then the bed dips behind you. A knee presses into your back, and kisses are pressed carelessly to where your head should be beneath the covers. Then, finally, the quietest “I didn’t mean it, doll.” as he pulls the blanket back in order to look at your face.

You’re stopped dead by the softness on his face. By the softness he let’s you see, even if it’s only for a moment. It might not be the words I’m sorry but it sounds like them. It sounds like an I miss you, as well.

When you drop your phone and throw your arms around his neck, touching him for the first time in a week, Chucky sighs in relief.

Not ten seconds passes before Tiffany has thrown herself over the both of you, suffocating you in her loving embrace. Just like that, balance is restored in the Lee Ray-Valentine household. For now.

#vincent sinclair x reader #chucky x reader #tiffany valentine x reader #pelle x reader #tiffany valentine x reader x chucky #slasher x reader #charles lee ray x reader #bride of chucky #house of wax #not my first thing for vincent being sad adjifjd #the juxtaposition between vincent's part of this post and the poly tiff and chucky part??#fill.

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desyeuxdeluna · 3 years ago

Text

𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚 ↠ 𝐊.𝐒𝐖

pairings: gryffindor!rowoon x gryffindor!female reader

wc: 7.6k

genre: hogwarts!au, enemies to lovers!au, angst, fluff, comedy.

warnings: none.

summary → “you thought you were supposed to hate kim seokwoo forever, that was until the pink potion got to you.”

taglist: @junjungsunwoo @inseongsfoxybae @lovelyjungwoo98 @ariesserpent @jeonghannieangel @hanniihae410 @keoyaa97 @ksofthours

a/n: happy birthday to our best boy, rowoon💗 i worked so hard on this fic please appreciate my hard work by giving me feedback and reblogs so it reaches bigger audience. this is my way to celebrate our giant bear birthday, i hope you enjoy the fic, this is unedited, so please excuse me and tell me if there are any mistakes. thank you. 💖

The girl walked inside the Potions’ classroom, her eyes met black ones and gave a curt nod to Professor Snape who just looked ahead of him. She rolled her eyes and went to stand next to her friend, Nayeon. The Ravenclaw girl looked up and smiled when she saw her best friend arrive but frowned when she saw the scowl on her face.

“Hey, what happened? Why are you frowning like that?” Nayeon asked making you roll your eyes and glare at your professor who was too busy scolding some students.

“Have I told you how much I hate Snape?” you asked whispering and she chuckled nodding her head.

“Every day, where’s Chungha by the way?”

“She fell ill yesterday, she decided to stay out late during the Hogsmeade trip with Jennie, Chungha thought it was funny if she decided to dance in the rain, clearly it was miserable fail and she got sick. I tried to warn her but since when does she listen?” you explained shaking your head and Nayeon laughed softly.

You heard some squeals of the other girls from your class made you stop, you looked to see what it was all about and groaned internally when you saw the tall frame of the boy you hated so much, Kim Seokwoo. His face held a tiny smirk as he looked ahead of him and stood next to Juho and Sanghyuk at the table next to yours, when he caught your eye he glared causing you to glare even harder at him.

“The definition of if looks could kill.” Nayeon mumbled watching the two of you. She saw Snape coming towards your way and she nudged you with her elbow breaking the glaring contest between you and Seokwoo.

“I hope Sanghyuk blows his face up.” you hissed and Nayeon looked ahead of her used to you being like this when Seokwoo is around.

The class started as Snape told you to make some potions, and he was going to give points to the house that will make the potion right and succeed. He started the clock as it begins to count down. You were glad you were partnered up with Nayeon because she was a genius at Potions.

“What the hell are you doing, Seokwoo?”

You heard Sanghyuk curse the boy next to you, clearly, he was messing up and you smirked imagining how you were going to kick his ass and get the points by yourself. You copied what Nayeon was doing and some tricks you learnt over the year.

The clock ticked and Snape passed around the class to see who made the potions right. He stopped in front of you and looked at your potion and Nayeon’s potion, he gave no reaction skipping you and went to the table next to yours. You were fuming with rage as he held Seokwoo’s potion inspecting it and hummed in satisfaction saying.

“Looks like Mr. Kim managed to make the best potion. Three points to Gryffindor.”

Seokwoo smiled proudly looking at Sanghyuk as if he was saying ‘I told you so’. He caught your eye as he smiled in satisfaction at the fuming look in your eyes, he managed to win another competition between the two of you yet again.

No one knows the reason why you two hated each other’s guts, since day one you’d hated each other, no one knows if it was rivalry or hatred towards one another although both of you were Head Boy and Head Girl. It started when both of you got sorted into Gryffindor, everybody thought since you’re from the same house you wouldn’t fight, how wrong they were. You started fighting even more, your hatred growing with you as you grow, both trying to prove to the other that they’re better. It was 7th year, and you showed no sign of letting go of your rivalry.

“I hate him so much.” you said when you saw Seokwoo laughing and joking around with his friends at the Gryffindor’s table when you were having lunch. Chungha looked at you letting go of the chicken she was holding.

“Why do you hate him so much?” she asked genuinely, she never understood your hatred towards the tall Gryffindor, it seemed as if you two were born to hate each other for no reason.

You answered her question not taking your eyes off of him. “He’s rude, childish, cocky. I don’t even understand why girls look his way.”

“Maybe you should stop looking at him.” Chungha smirked taking a bite from her chicken.

Your eyes widened and before you could turn around, Seokwoo already caught you looking at him. He huffed when he saw you. “Take a picture Y/L/N, it will last longer.” he said and you smirked answering.

“I would but flash photography scares animals.”

Sanghyuk laughed loudly and Seokwoo glared at you, you just smiled teasingly taking a sip of your pumpkin juice. Seokwoo raised his wand as he made you spill juice all over your clothes. You gasped standing up trying to wipe your robes.

“What the hell, Seokwoo?!” you yelled glaring at him but he just ignored you and continued eating.

You huffed standing up and went to the doors of the Great Hall with Chungha by your side. You stopped walking and looked up and saw the pumpkins decorating the Great Hall for Halloween. You smirked and looked at Chungha who was shaking her head, you ignored her and turned to see if anyone is around, but you saw everyone was already busy. You raised your wand towards the chosen pumpkin and said.

“Melofors.”

You watched as the pumpkin fell on Seokwoo’s head causing him to yelp in pain and fall to the ground from the impact, you watched as Sanghyuk helped him up. Smiling in satisfaction, you left the Great Hall happy by the mischief you caused.

In the Quidditch field, red and gold capes of the Gryffindor Quidditch team flew around trying to stop the attacks coming from the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Juho, the captain and the Keeper of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team cursed loudly when he was late to stop the Quaffle from entering the hoop.

“Why the hell haven’t Y/N caught the snitch yet? We are losing!” Seokwoo yelled cursing when a Bludger was about to hit him and he hit it with his bat towards the other team.

“They’re throwing the Bludgers at us like crazy!” Chungha yelled throwing the Quaffle into the hop only to be blocked by the Keeper.

“Seokwoo hyung watch out!” Chanhee, another Gryffindor Beater yelled as Seokwoo turned around and saw the Bludger heading his way and managed to dodge it.

You were suffering to say the least, Taeyang, the Hufflepuff seeker kept pushing you trying to get to the Golden Snitch first, not just that you had another Beater trying to knock you off your broom.

“Bloody hell.” Seokwoo muttered as he saw Chanhee falling off his broom because he was hit by the Bludger. He caught the sight of you and yelled loudly, “Y/L/N do something useful and catch the Snitch!” he yelled angrily.

You heard him loud and clear and dashed towards the Golden Snitch, you were unaware of the Bludger heading towards you as it hit you in the side causing you to yell in pain and knocked you off your broom. You fell from the sky and landed with a loud thud, Taeyang using this to his advantage and managed to catch the Golden Snitch.

Madam Hooch whistled declaring the match was over, you close your eyes feeling defeated, you heard footsteps running towards you and you saw the yellow orbs of Madam Hooch looking at you in concern.

“Y/L/N? Are you okay?” she asked and you managed to sit up despite the pain in your side and nodded. You were lucky you weren’t that high when you fell from the sky, but your side hurt.

“Let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey to make sure you’re okay.” she said and helped you up but you stopped her.

“Please check on Chanhee, he fell from a high place,” you said and Chungha flew down helping you stand up, Madam Hooch went to make sure every player was okay.

“You okay?” Chungha asked softly as she helped you stand on your feet. You took a deep breath looking at the ground.

“Yeah,” you said huffing glaring at the floor, “We are already the last place and now it’s all worse because I didn’t catch the Snitch.” you said feeling yourself becoming more angrier.

“Don’t get angry, you’re injured.” she said and you winced in pain when you took a step.

“The audacity Kim Seokwoo had, he was able to yell at me but not preventing the Bludger from hitting me. I could kill him.” you hissed and your best friend rubbed your arm up and down and said.

“Stop this now, let’s go make sure you’re okay first, then kill him later if you want.”

***

Seokwoo entered the Gryffindor Common Room and saw you sitting on the loveseat with Chungha and Chanhee who had his arm in a cast, Juho standing next to the fireplace thinking of god knows what, and Sanghyuk sitting on the floor with a defeated look on his face. He was seeing red and seeing you glaring at him like this made him even more furious.

“This is all your fault!” Seokwoo started and Sanghyuk rolled his eyes knowing that there was a fight about to break out again between the two of you.

You looked up at the Head Boy glaring at him angrily standing up, the height difference was intimidating but that wasn’t going to make you back down easily.

“Wow, some nerves you have,” you started looking at him in the eyes with a cold look, “First, you didn’t do your job as a Beater to protect us from the Bludgers, second you accuse me of being the reason why we lost when you saw how I was hit by the Bludger when I was close to catching it and yet you didn’t anything about it. You really are an asshole.” you yelled.

Seokwoo was quick to defend himself, “Really?! You keep on accusing me every time we lose a match saying it was all because of me because I wasn’t able to protect you! When the truth is you don’t want to admit you’re just the worst Seeker to ever exist!” he yelled back and you gasped glaring at him ready to hex his ass.

“Who are you calling a bad Seeker?! Did you forget that I’m the reason why win every match?! Because I keep on practising even when you all leave?! If anything you’re the worst Quidditch player! And the worst Head Boy too!” you yelled.

“You’re just a brat and cannot accept the truth! You’re also a bad Head Girl!” he yelled.

Before you could say anything again a loud voice roared through the Common Room causing everyone to shut up.

“Enough!”

Juho turned around glaring at the two of you, you turned around and saw how angry he was and got scared, sure Juho was nice and all but Quidditch was his life and he hated whenever he lost.

“Can’t the two of you just shut up and let go of your ego for one freaking second?” Juho said his eyes darting between you and Seokwoo. “You both are the reason why we lost.”

You looked at him ready to argue but the look on his face made it impossible for you to even look in his eyes without getting scared.

“Seokwoo, you didn’t do your job as Beater, the Bludgers just kept on coming at us nonstop, and you didn’t help Y/N when the Bludger was heading her way.” Juho said and Seokwoo looked at the ground glaring.

“Y/N, you didn’t do your job as a Seeker, you had many chances to win and end the game but you wasted all of them, and you cannot throw your failure at Seokwoo. You didn’t train well either, and you were spacing out when I tried to tell you this you dismissed me.” Juho said looking at you with a disapproving look.

You looked anywhere but him, it’s not like he was lying, you know you barged about being the best Seeker because your father is a Quidditch player and he trained you too, he is a Seeker, the best Seeker in the world according to the Wizarding World. You thought you already had the talent and didn’t need to practise hard, but now you know you were wrong.

As for Seokwoo, he didn’t dare to argue, he just stared at the floor glaring at his feet. He knows what he did wrong, he is always busy trying to prove that he is better than you that he didn’t realise that he was already losing himself to the point where he didn’t think about anything but beating you.

Reality hit you like a truck, you looked up at the same moment Seokwoo did, you stared at each other for the first time not glaring, but it looked like you were having a conversation through your eyes. You didn’t realise that you both were too caught up in your rivalry that you didn’t notice you were bringing your house and your housemates down. You both weren’t really a good fit for being the Head Boy and the Head Girl, you didn’t deserve these titles, you messed up and it came to the conclusion that you were dragging your house down, you were already in the last place. The reputation of the House of Gryffindor is being ruined by both you and Seokwoo, you should be held accountable for this.

Juho took a breath trying to calm himself down, he didn’t want this to get ugly but he has to, as the Captain of the Quidditch Team he had to do it.

“If you two, don’t think about the team before yourselves, and didn’t stop being irrational and irresponsible, I will have to do nothing but kick the both of you out of the team, I don’t care you are the Head Boy and Head Girl, and that’s my final decision.”

With that being said, Juho left to go to his dorm.

The Common Room was dead silent, no one dared to move an inch, they were speechless by Juho’s words but they were glad he did that because for the first time Kim Seokwoo and Y/N Y/L/N, were in the same room and without fighting.

The following week was strange, there were no fights between you and Seokwoo, you didn’t even dare to look at each other, even during practice. You just practised alone and left without talking to anyone, even Chungha, your best friend.

Your days consisted of waking up going to classes, then in the lunch break, you stay alone far away then after classes are done your stay in the library studying when it’s bedtime you go to the dorm you share with Chungha and three other girls and sleep. When you have Quidditch practice, you stay away from everybody practising on your own pushing yourself past your limits.

Seokwoo was the same, he tried to avoid you as much as he can, he even stayed away from you in classes, for example, Potions. Your places were too close, he ditched Sanghyuk and Juho and went and partnered up with some of his Ravenclaw friends. And during Quidditch practice, not one Bludger got close to the team. He was determined to earn back the trust of his house.

Everyone wasn’t used to this behaviour and thought it was so strange and felt kind of scared, but they were glad you weren’t fighting anymore. Especially during times when you both were present in the same room, you never spoke a word, just listened intently giving your comments individually without speaking directly to the other. It was better this way. You both just worked hard to get back Gryffindor on the competition by earning points for the house and practising hard for the next Quidditch match with Slytherin.

***

It was time for the match against Slytherin, you stood next to Juho as he began revising the plan for you. You were determined to prove that you deserved the title of being a good Seeker, and you already had your mind made up that you weren’t going to miss any chances.

The same goes for Seokwoo, he was focusing on every word Juho was saying, he didn’t want Slytherin to win, they wouldn’t let it go, they would boast about it any chance they got. He refused to be a joke for the Slytherin’s.

Everyone took their position on their brooms, you locked eyes with Chungha and she nodded assuring you, you smiled back and waited for Madam Hooch to release the Quaffle. She released the Bludgers and the Golden Snitch first, your eyes followed the Snitch as it flew around you promising to catch it. The Quaffle got realised and Madam Hooch whistled declaring the game started.

Juho caught the Quaffle throwing it to Chungha who caught zooming towards the Slytherin hop, and with all her might she threw it scoring 10 points for Gryffindor.

Chungha managed to score another 10 points, and Sanghyuk scored 10 points making Gryffindor ahead by 30 points. The Slytherin’s were getting nervous about how the match was going, they knew their match with the Hufflepuff’s was a disaster, they assumed they were going to win this match too, but it seemed like Gryffindor finally woke up.

Seokwoo saw a Beater following Sanghyuk, his grip on his bat tightened as he hit the Bludger with all his might towards the Slytherin Beater causing him to fall to the ground. That was a little brutal he had to admit, but if Sanghyuk goes down it was going to be over.

You heard a whizzing sound and you turned your head quickly seeing the Golden Snitch flying in front of you, your eyes widened as you flew towards it but it was fast, your movement causing the Slytherin Seeker to come after you.

“Started without me, Y/L/N?”

You turned your head and saw Lim Sejun, the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team and the Seeker smirking at you. Ever since fifth year, he has had an obsession with annoying you, thus causing you to dislike him strongly.

You ignored his words zooming towards the Golden Snitch, Sejun flew next to you and kept pushing you with his shoulder almost making you fall down. You hissed flying around the audience trying to catch the Golden Snitch and end the game. You heard a loud thud and turned to see Sejun on the ground groaning, you looked up and saw Chanhee raising his hands up in defence.

“Chungha noona told me to do it!”

You laughed, happy that the Snitch was all yours to catch. A Slytherin Beater saw his Captain falling to the ground and he growled, he saw the Bludger coming towards him, he hit it hard with his bat causing it to fly towards you.

You reached your hand out to catch the Golden Snitch, you were so close but from the corner of your eye, you saw the Bludger heading your way. You gasped but before you could dodge, Seokwoo appeared in front of you, hitting the Bludger with his bat causing it to hit the Slytherin Beaters who threw it at you.

You turned around quickly reaching your hand out flying towards the Golden Snitch, finally managing to catch it. You cheered happily as you flew to the ground holding it up. Madam Hooch whistled declaring loudly.

“Gryffindor wins!”

***

“Good job, Y/N! You were shining!” Nayeon said happily giving you a hug, you laughed hugging her back.

“Thanks, Nayeon, I’m glad we won.” you said taking a big sip from your butterbeer.

Juho thought it was a good idea to celebrate today’s victory, especially that Slytherin walked out with zero points, that was a big win for Gryffindor. Everyone invited their friends from the other houses to come and celebrate the win in the Gryffindor common room.

You sat on the loveseat and watched as Chungha played a Muggle song and danced to it with the other people. You smiled shaking your head and went to refill your cup.

“Good job, Y/L/N.”

A deep voice said from next to you, you turned around and was met by the tall boy that saved you from the Bludger in today’s match, Seokwoo.

“Thanks, you did an amazing job too.” you said and he gave you a small smile shaking his head.

“Not really, you’re the star tonight. You’re the true champion you caught the Golden Snitch, Gryffindor is now second place in the House Cup Competition.” Seokwoo said and you smiled happy with the news.

“I wouldn’t be the champion today if it weren’t for you, you saved me when the Bludger was heading my way.” you smiled at him gratefully.

“Thank you.” he said and took a sip from his cup, he looked at you apologetically. “Listen, I’m sorry, all these years we have been fighting over the smallest things, but it didn’t matter as much back then. Now, the two of us are the Heads of this house and we were bringing our house down, that was very selfish. I’m sorry.” he apologised, you could see he was sincere with his apology, you smiled shaking your head.

“Don’t apologise, I am too was selfish and immature, I’m always the one that starts these stupid fights, I had too much pride to admit that I was wrong and foolish. Gryffindor comes first, I’m so sorry for being a pain in your neck all these years, Seokwoo.” you said looking at him in the eyes to show him that you meant every word you said.

Seokwoo smiled at how much you matured, it took you both a week to realise that you two were always fighting for nothing.

“Now I see why Dumbledore chose you to be the Head Girl of Gryffindor. No offence, but at first I thought he was joking, I hated you back then because I thought you were arrogant and wasn’t fit to be Head Girl.” he admitted and you smiled shaking your head.

“Don’t worry about it, because trust me I thought of the same thing when I learnt that he chose you to be a Head Boy.” you said laughing softly.

“Whoa, we hated each other guts so much, didn’t we?” he said and you nodded. “I’m glad Juho knocked some sense into us.” Seokwoo said smiling at you.

“Me too, I still cannot believe I’m talking with you right now without a fight breaking out.” you said and he chuckled nodding his head agreeing with you.

“Let’s not fight again,” Seokwoo said, “We don’t want Gryffindor to be a joke, this is our last year at Hogwarts, let’s spend the rest of it peacefully.” he said holding his hand out for you to shake.

You smiled shaking his hand agreeing to his words, “Absolutely, I like the sound of that a lot.”

And you stuck to your words, a whole month passed peacefully. You didn’t fight anymore, you actually helped each other a lot with the house, you could sit in the same room and have a long discussion about what’s best for Gryffindor without fighting. He was smart and you were impressed by that, you never gave him the chance to see how he thinks, he amazed you in the presentation McGonagall held and every Head Boy and Girl of each house was there, he managed to impress all of you.

Seokwoo also saw a new side of you he has never seen, sure you still weren’t the best of friends, but he could sense that you don’t hate him anymore. You and him studied sometimes in the library and you helped him with the subjects he had difficulties with, he was charmed by your intelligence, you were the brightest witch of their year. You were truly the winning card of the house, you earned Gryffindor points at every chance you got in classes, not only in classes but in Quidditch too.

Not only this, but Seokwoo saw a gentle side of you whenever you went to Hagrid’s hut to help him with the animals there. You were kind to everyone, every time someone picked on the first-year students, you would stand up for them against the bullies. Seokwoo didn’t understand how could his hatred blind him this much, you were an amazing person, and beautiful both inside and out.

“Hey, Seokwoo,” he turned around and saw you looking at him with a small smile, “Don’t forget today, you and I are handing in the ideas of the students to Professor McGonagall.” you said and he nodded smiling, a signal that he still remembers.

You left with Chungha to the dorms while Seokwoo kept watching you as you disappeared from his sight with a fond smile of his face he wasn’t aware of, but it didn’t go unnoticed by his mischievous friend, Sanghyuk.

“You have a crush on Y/L/N?”

Seokwoo turned around almost giving his head a whiplash from how fast he looked at his friend. He shook his head furiously to prove his point, but his blushed cheeks betrayed him.

“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t like Y/N!” Seokwoo said looking everywhere but Sanghyuk.

Sanghyuk smirked and said, “That’s a shame, I heard from Chungha that Y/N got drunk one day and admitted that she has feelings for you.”

Seokwoo smiled widely happy with the news he just heard, proving his friend’s theory blindly. “Really?! Did she tell you this? Y/N has feelings for me?”

“So you do have feelings for her.” Sanghyuk smirked causing the taller boy to lose his smile realising he fell into his friend’s trap.

Seokwoo kept opening and closing his mouth trying to say anything but he couldn’t, he just sighed defeated with an annoyed look taking over his handsome features and said.

“No I don’t, now leave it.”

You sat in the DADA class with professor Rakepick, it was a class you shared with the Slytherin’s. You were annoyed to say the least, especially when Lim Sejun was sitting behind you. He kept on whispering rubbish next to your ear to distract you, and you fought the argue to turn around and smack him.

Seokwoo watched how Sejun kept annoying you, noting how hard you were gripping your desk to restrain yourself from turning around and hexing him. He hated Sejun, he hated how he gets on his nerves with the smallest action.

Finally class was over and you left quickly before Sejun could open his mouth and earn you detention. But that couldn’t possibly happen because being the annoying person he is, he grabbed your arm yanking you back towards him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you screeched yanking your arm back glaring at him, but he just smirked.

“Calm down Y/L/N, I just wanted to ask you something,” he chuckled enjoying your suffering, “I want to take you out on a date, how does that sound?”

You chuckled humourlessly not surprised with his offer at all, “No.”

You were about to walk away again but he stopped in front of you, determined on his offer, you huffed feeling irritated and you could sense were losing patience.

Seokwoo watched from behind how insistent Sejun were to take you out on a date, although you said no, he still couldn’t help the feeling of jealousy he felt just because Sejun asked you out. So, he marched up to him.

“Run off, Lim, Y/N already said no, stop being an annoying git.” Seokwoo said as he stood next to you.

Sejun turned his head towards the taller boy, he was surprised to say the least, seeing the two of you together was a rare sight to him, he heard of how your rivalry had died down, he didn’t believe it at first, but now seeing him standing up for you, he knew it was true.

“So the rumours are true, you two have finally made up, ugh, I’m so happy for you!” Sejun said sarcasm dripping from his tone causing you to roll your eyes, but Seokwoo didn’t bat an eyelash.

“Thank you, no please if you excuse us, we already have plans. Let’s go, Y/N.” Seokwoo said taking your hand in his.

You felt your heart race at the sensation you felt for the very first time, you felt something like a spark run through your body from the feeling of Seokwoo’s hand on yours, you could tell he felt it too because he gripped your hand tighter as if to test the feeling. You were about to walk but Sejun said something that made you stop.

“Are you dating now? So it was a sexual tension all along?”

Seokwoo tensed when he heard these words visibly reacting to Sejun who smirked knowing he managed to get under his skin. You could feel something bad about to happen, you know how Seokwoo doesn’t usually give a reaction to anyone who bothers him but looks like Sejun succeeded in doing so. He turned around to look at Sejun glaring at him.

“Woo, he isn’t worth it, let’s just go, please.” you begged trying to stop him from walking to Sejun who was still holding a smirk on his lips.

Your pleadings fell deaf on Seokwoo’s ears as he walked up to him, he stood glaring at him and Sejun didn’t move, Seokwoo gave him a cold smile before throwing a punch at Sejun’s jaw.

You gasped as a fight between the two broke out, you didn’t know what to do, you were afraid that a teacher might come and give Seokwoo detention, maybe taking away the points you scored for Gryffindor. Thankfully, Juho who stayed behind to speak with Professor Rakepick came running when he saw his friend on the ground beating the living hell out of Sejun.

Seokwoo was seeing red, Sejun managed to land a few punches on his nose and his cheekbones. Seokwoo was gripped from behind by Juho, he watched Sejun’s friends pull from under him and scurried away before they get detention.

“What in Merlin’s beard were you thinking?! Did you want to be given detention this bad?!” Juho exclaimed looking at his best friend in disbelief.

“I couldn’t help it, he just angered me greatly.” Seokwoo muttered his nostrils flaring in anger.

“You know how he is, you shouldn’t have let him get under your skin.” you said softly and he looked at you his anger slowly dying down. “You know how he is, you gave him the reaction he desperately wanted.” you explained and he took a deep breath trying to compose his posture.

He knew you were right, he shouldn’t have let him get into his head, but he couldn’t help it, he shook his head trying to distract himself and said.

“Come on, let’s go before any teacher sees us and get ourselves in detention.”

***

You sat in your dorm narrating what happened between Seokwoo and Sejun to Chungha who listened closely to you, you kept on talking until she cut you off loudly saying.

“He has a crush on you!”

You looked at her weirdly laughing nervously, “What are you talking about? That’s not true!” you said feeling heat rush to your cheeks.

Chungha smirked crawling to your bed putting her hands over both of your shoulders, “Y/N, sweetheart,” she started and you groaned, “Seokwoo likes you, aside from the fact that you’re blind and can’t see this, see what he did to Sejun because he disrespected you! He defended you.” she exclaimed and you rolled your eyes.

“Uhm, just because he defended me doesn’t mean he likes me, that’s nonsense!” you said opening your book to read causing Chungha to scoff.

“You’re blind.”

The door knocked and Chungha opened it to see who was it, you heard her talking to someone before the door closes again and she returned with a box of chocolate in her hands and she had a smug smile on her face.

“An anonymous sent this to you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as she placed the chocolate in front of you, you saw a card attached to it and read it aloud.

“I hope you like the chocolates.”

“You can’t tell me this isn’t Seokwoo. That’s totally him, he is so cliché and it sounds like him.” Chungha said causing you to give her a pointed look that shut her up immediately.

You opened the box taking one of the chocolates in your mouth, it tasted heavenly, Chungha was about to take one but you slapped her hand and she winced.

“Those are mine.” you said taking the box hugging it close to you and she looked at you shocked.

“I’m your friend!” she exclaimed and you smirked taking another chocolate throwing it in your mouth.

“Still not gonna share with you.”

***

The next day, Seokwoo walked into the Great Hall with a smile, he has finally gathered the courage and was going to ask you on a date, Christmas Break was almost coming and he wanted you to be his girlfriend by that time. Juho and Sanghyuk encouraged him into taking that step, they knew he would never do it by himself and needed a little push.

He caught the sight of you, you had your back facing him, you were talking to someone but he couldn’t see their face clearly. He picked up his pace walking over to you, that’s when he saw the person you were talking to was none other than Lim Sejun. His blood was boiling, he was about to tell him off but you turned around with a love-struck smile on your face.

“Seokwoo! Nice for you to finally join us!” you said enthusiastically your smile was wide that it creeped him out.

Seokwoo turned around and saw Chungha looking at you with a look of disbelief on her face. He locked eyes with Sejun who was smiling calmly at him.

“Hey, Y/N,” Seokwoo smiled despite everything, “You want to go to the library with me?” he asked.

“Sure! But only if Sejun comes too,” you said hugging Sejun’s arm who laughed.

Seokwoo blinked not believing what you were doing, what the hell was wrong with you? Yesterday you hated him and now suddenly you were friends?

“What the hell Y/N?” he said through gritted teeth and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“What is it? Can he not come too?” you asked pouting which made Seokwoo’s blood boil even more.

“Y/N, yesterday he was disrespecting you! For god’s sake I fought him because of this!” Seokwoo exclaimed and you stood up coming to Sejun’s defence.

“He apologised and I forgave him! He said he was doing this because he liked me and didn’t know how to express his feelings, we are together now!” you exclaimed and Seokwoo stared at you in disbelief.

His heart broke when he heard those words leaving your mouth, he couldn’t believe his eyes and ears, you were with Sejun? When you were supposed to be with him? Sejun bullied you throughout the years and you forgave him easily? You hated Sejun, how is this even possible?

He looked at Sejun glaring who stood up next to you, “What games are you playing, Lim? What did you do?” Seokwoo demanded and Sejun just sighed.

“I’m not playing any games, I love her,” Sejun said and Seokwoo shook his head refusing to fall for his lies he was about to say something but you cut him off by saying.

“I love you too, Sejun.”

Seokwoo turned to look at you heartbroken, no, he couldn’t let you see him weak, he regained his composure and glared at you his face hard like how it used to be when the two of you hated each other and mumbled before walking away.

“I trusted you.”

The rest of the week was hectic, you were stuck like glue to Sejun, refusing to leave his side, you didn’t talk to anyone at all, you even stopped talking to Chungha and Nayeon, your eyes were set only on Sejun, your mind only consisted of him, he consumed you. You couldn’t believe he was all yours and had the same feelings towards you.

As for Seokwoo, he stopped talking to you, Juho and Sanghyuk didn’t know what happened and why you were with Sejun, but he couldn’t answer, because he didn’t know what happened to you. His broken heart was trying to mend itself but it was hard, every time he saw you with Sejun it broke him even more. He was miserable and drowned himself in the Quidditch Practice, Studying, and his Head Boy duties.

Chungha sat by the Black Lake doing her homework for Potions, she heard your giggle and she looked up seeing you and Sejun joking around. She made a disgusted face turning to look at the book in front of her.

“Why do you look like a wounded puppy?”

She heard a voice, she looked up and saw her Slytherin friend, Jennie, looking at her concerned and sat down on the grass next to her.

“That dumbass.” Chungha muttered glaring at you, Jennie turned to her side and saw you with Sejun.

“The potion hadn’t worn off?” Jennie asked and Chungha turned around looking at her friend puzzled.

“What potion?” Chungha asked, Jennie looked at Chungha with a judging look, not believing how stupid she were for not seeing this.

“Are you seriously this stupid? This is the effect of Amortentia! Sejun was talking about giving Y/N this since last week but I didn’t think he was serious, well until I saw her today.” Jennie explained and Chungha looked at her wide-eyed.

It was true, this was all the effects of Amortentia, how could she not see this? How could she not think of it? Ever since you at the chocolates ـــ the chocolates.

“The chocolates she ate! They had Amortentia!” Chungha said as she stood up running away not caring that she left all her things behind with Jennie.

She ran all the way to the Great Hall, she entered it and her eyes scanned the Gryffindor table where she saw Seokwoo sitting with Juho as they talked about something. She skipped to them almost tripping over her robes.

“Seokwoo!” she yelled and Seokwoo jumped in his seat alarmed by her loud voice. He looked at her startled putting his hand over his heart.

“Oh my God Chungha! What the hell is wrong with you?! You scared me!” he hissed.

“No time for this, you have to come with me now! There’s something you need to know!” she said and he furrowed his eyebrows looking at her puzzled.

“What is this?” Juho asked confused as ever.

“It’s Y/N,” she said and Seokwoo looked at her his eyes wide expecting to hear the worst news of his life. “Last week, she received a box of chocolates from anonymous, I thought it was from you, but turns out it was from Sejun.” she explained and Juho caught onto what was happening.

“The chocolates had Amortentia.” he said and Seokwoo looked at him finally understanding what was wrong with you.

“That explains all of her strange behaviour, that’s why she’s so obsessed with Sejun, I didn’t know he would step that low. I’m going to murder him.” Seokwoo hissed but was stopped by Chungha who shook her head.

“There’s no time for this, we have to tell McGonagall about this, Y/N must take the antidote.” Chungha said and Seokwoo sighed.

“How do we even get her away from Sejun?” he asked and Chungha smirked already having a plan in her head.

“Leave it up to me.”

You followed Chungha blindly whining about how much you missed Sejun, she almost turned around and punched you in the throat for how annoying you were, but she maintained herself remembering that it wasn’t you but it was the love potion. She stopped in front of the door of McGonagall’s office knocking on the door before hearing her professor give her permission to enter.

When McGonagall saw you with Chungha she looked at Seokwoo who was standing next to her anxiously. She emptied the antidote in a goblet and stood up, holding the goblet in her hands, she stopped in front of you.

“Why are we here? Where’s Sejun?” you asked confused and Seokwoo rolled his eyes crossing his arms over his chest his eyes shining with jealousy.

“He’ll be here any moment now, here drink this you must be thirsty.” McGonagall said handing you the goblet.

You looked at it weirdly before taking it from her hand gulping it down your throat. You felt weird, the world was spinning and you felt lightheaded, you almost fell but Chungha caught you in time. She knew the effect of the Amortentia was wearing off.

You gained your composure once again standing up steadily, you looked around in confusion not remembering why you were at McGonagall’s office. You saw Seokwoo standing there looking at you concerned and you felt nervous thinking of the worst scenarios.

“May I ask why am I here? What happened?” you asked and McGonagall gave a small smile.

“You were under a love potion, we gave you the antidote, how do you feel, Y/L/N?” she asked and you looked at her shocked. Did someone give you a love potion?

“I feel alright, but, who gave me the love potion? And how did I take it?” you asked and Chungha wrapped her arms around your shoulder.

“The chocolates you received had Amortentia.” she answered and you whipped your head towards Seokwoo looking at him angrily.

“You gave me those chocolates?!”

“No of course I didn’t! They were from Lim Sejun.” Seokwoo spoke defending himself.

“I’m gonna kill him.” you hissed but McGonagall stopped you looking at you pointedly.

“Now that would be useless, the Headmaster heard of what happened, and he demanded that 100 points taken from Slytherin on the behalf of Sejun, aside from that, he earned himself detention for the rest of the year.” McGonagall explained and you looked at her shocked but happy with the news.

“That means Gryffindor is in 1st place now?” you asked and she smiled nodding.

You let out a joyous laugh hugging Chungha, Seokwoo grinned happily, McGonagall dismissed you and you left with Chungha and Seokwoo to go the Great Hall together. Chungha told you all of the embarrassing things you did and said whilst being under the love potion causing you to almost throw up disgusted by your acts.

“Please stop, this is embarrassing!” you said in agony and Chungha laughed. Seokwoo looked at Chungha who understood his look and excused herself leaving you two alone.

You didn’t know what to do or say to him, he must be annoyed and you feel like you ruined your friendship all of this thanks to Sejun. You looked at Seokwoo who was looking everywhere but you and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” you said and he looked at you confused.

“Why are you apologising?”

“Because I have a feeling that I ruined our friendship, and honestly, I don’t want us to be enemies again.” you said and he smiled softly shaking his head.

“No, you didn’t ruin anything, don’t worry.” he assured and you smiled relieved.

You two stayed quiet for a few moments before Seokwoo looked at you finally letting all his feelings out.

“You know? I was going to ask you on a date that day.” he confessed and you looked at him, not believing your ears. He was blushing slightly but continued. “I wanted to ask you out for so long but I was scared of the rejection, but it’s not my fault that you’re just amazing and it’s hard not to like you. Everything about you is just perfect.” he said looking into your eyes.

You smiled when you heard his words, now you were sure that Chungha wasn’t imagining things when she told you that Seokwoo likes you. You caught feelings for him too, but you were scared because you didn’t want to be the talk of Hogwarts and have people assume that your rivalry was just sexual tension. Maybe it was, but either way, you would never admit it.

“Seokwoo, I don’t know what to say, you’re an amazing person, your love, kindness and selflessness drowned me into you, I tried to push these feelings away because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I like you, Kim Seokwoo.” you confessed looking into his eyes.

He smiled looking breathless, he brought you closer to him leaning down to kiss your lips. It was a soft, passionate kiss, it held all of your emotions, you could feel him smiling against your lips. You didn’t want to pull away, but you also needed to breathe.

“I like you too, Y/N. You don’t understand how delighted I am to hear you say this.” he said smiling pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I will take you to Hogsmeade tomorrow, how does this sound?” he asked and you pecked his lips smiling.

“Perfect.”

#ficscafe #kdiner #knet bakery #sf9 #sf9 imagines #sf9 reactions #sf9 scenarios #sf9 fanfic #sf9 rowoon #kim seokwoo imagines #kim rowoon imagines #rowoon imagines #rowoon fic #hogwarts au

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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years ago

Text

Heartbreak Ave.

When they’re in love with you but you have feelings for a different member (Hyung line)

→ tags/warnings: SFW, angstyyyyy (like, I’m sorry but at the same time I wanted to write something sad), no, there’s not a happy ending really idk so read at your own heart’s risk, but like really. I was listening to “Manos de Tijera” while writing this so it’s a wee bit heartbreaking

→ a/n: I don’t really write reactions very often but this seemed fun when @sierra-fics brought it up! I actually have one of your suggestions in my drafts, just haven’t finished it up yet. Thanks for the push, though! I love exploring different styles!

read the maknae line version here!

Kim Seokjin

he’s not surprised

it’s probably the worst part for him, the fact that he’s not surprised when your eyes light up as Taehyung waltzes in the room.

he had been in the middle of plucking up the courage to invite you to try out that new Thai restaurant you’d been chattering about when Tae walked in

and you tried - you really did - to pay attention to what Jin had been saying, but you faltered a bit as Tae greeted you warmly and plopped down beside Jin

and Jin just watched, not surprised.

although what does surprise him is how much it hurts

that pain where your heart literally, physically hurts? it’s an exquisite pain, one that takes his breath away

and it doesn’t go away

it doesn’t fade

so he ends up in Namjoon’s studio later that night, and Namjoon knows to wait for him to open up

Jin just stares for a while, blankly at the wall

“Does Tae like her?”

Namjoon already knows who he’s referring to. He’s known about Jin’s helpless crush on you for ages, he knew before Jin himself figured it out

but it’s the way that Jin asks the question so softly, so carefully, that Namjoon realizes with a start that this is so much more than a crush

and Jin looks at him, misery clear in his eyes but also clear resolve visible even as unshed tears glimmer

“Would you really let her go?” Namjoon counters gently. Because he knows. He knows that if Tae got the green light, you'd be swept up in a matter of seconds.

and it’s the way that Jin stares down at his feet, and the tears begin rolling down his cheeks, that has Namjoon sick to his stomach

Jin nods, and when he speaks, his voice shakes but he sounds so earnest that it breaks Namjoon’s heart

“I’d do anything for her.”

no words are exchanged after that for a long, heart-wrenching moment. it’s just Jin, staring down at his feet and quietly sobbing, and Namjoon, pulling him into an embrace.

“I’m sorry, hyung.”

it’s surprising to Jin, just how much that soft phrase cuts through him. It sounds so final.

because at the end of the day, it’s the only solace that can be offered to him.

he lost.

he loved, and he lost.

Min Yoongi

you’re sitting beside him in his studio when the realization hits him like a freight train

sprawled sideways in your designated swivel chair while you stifle a yawn and rub your eyes, Yoongi wonders when he let his emotions get so out of hand

because you’re offering him a shy smile and asking him a question that he numbly answers, but on the inside he’s a total clueless mess

when did he fall in love with you?

it’s something that will haunt him long after you leave that night, rushing out when you get a call from Hobi

for the second time that night, he’s hit with another realization

he’s still reeling from the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s in love with you, so when you gasp and grin when your phone light up with a call, he falters

it’s like being doused with a bucket of ice water, the way you whisper, “oh, it’s Hobi!” and politely ask if you can take the call before rushing out into the hallway

“oh,” he mumbles to himself as the door closes. “it’s Hobi.”

and he laughs.

quietly, darkly. he laughs to himself, at himself, whatever.

because of course it’s Hobi. his best friend, his vitamin. you two deserve each other. of that much he’s certain.

he doesn’t waste too much time feeling sorry for himself; he’s logical enough to see that you two are probably a better match. it’s nothing personal.

so why does he stay in his studio all night, ignoring any calls or messages sent his way?

he’s not sure when he fell asleep, but next thing he knows he’s sprawled out on his little couch and you’re gently shaking him awake

“Yoongo? Did you stay here last night?”

his eyes crack open at the sound of your voice, just enough to be met with your sweet smile

and he, in his half-asleep state, smiles back. he reaches one hand up to gently brush back a strand of your hair, and he swears you lean into his touch

and when you mumble something about Hobi bringing breakfast up, Yoongi is hit with the third realization in less that twenty-four hours.

it’s startlingly simple:

he wants to cry.

so he excuses himself to the bathroom, and cries. sets a five minute timer so nobody gets worried and comes looking for him, and allows himself that time to cry.

then, with machine-like precision, he washes his face and puts some eyedrops in, and goes back out to pretend like everything is fine.

and whenever Jin or Taehyung bring up acting, Yoongi knows. He knows, deep down, that he’s the best actor of all.

because he still loves you

and you will never know.

Jung Hoseok

hobi has never been the most forthcoming with his emotions

he keeps them on lockdown

monitors them with military-like focus

so he knows the exact moment he begins developing feelings for you

(it’s when you brought Bang PD a bouquet for valentine’s day, just to make him blush)

and he knows the exact second when he fell in love

(it was when, after a grueling day at work, you silently walked through his door with his favorite goodies and left without a single word)

(you were wearing a yellow cardigan that day)

(he’s never looked at the color yellow the same way)

if he’s completely honest, he’s sometimes trying so hard to stay on top of his own feelings that he forgets to watch out for where your attention may be drifting

to be fair, you kept your own little crush on Jimin a secret

so when Hobi decides to get over himself and just shoot his shot, he decides he’s all in

and when you arrive at his apartment that night for a movie, you’re shocked to see a bouquet of yellow flowers in Hobi’s shaking hands

“hey” he breathes

you stare at the flowers, then at him

“hello...?” then, with a sinking felling, you point at the flowers. “are those for me?”

hobi smiles broadly. “yeah, they are.” and he hands them to you, allowing his fingers to brush up against yours

it’s electrifying, that small touch

and again, he’s so focused on how electrifying it is that he misses the way you look like you might be sick

pale face, concerned expression

he misses it all, because he’s so nervous but so stupidly in love that he’s just barreling ahead.

gotta get this out of the way

ugh, feelings

and so when he leads you to sit with him out on the balcony, he takes a deep breath and looks at you with wonder in his eyes

and that’s when he notices the way you’re fiddling with your bracelet

not a problem, except for the fact that it’s the one he saw Jimin carefully choosing from an online collection

so when you keep fiddling with the bracelet and avoiding Hobi’s eye contact, he gets it

he takes a long look at all those emotions he keeps in check, and allows himself a moment of self-pity before reaching out and laying a hand atop your own

you immediately stop fidgeting and look at him with wide eyes. he can see with a pang how you’re trying to come up with the best way to let him down easy

so he does the job for you

“I just wanted to say thank you for the other day,” he says, forcing a light tone. “when you brought me those goodies after work. It really meant a lot.”

you blink, confused. “Oh. uh, you’re welcome.”

“and,” he drawls, a well-rehearsed smile clawing its way onto his face, “I wanted to snoop and get the inside scoop about Jiminie. I know he got you that bracelet. did he finally cave and confess to you?”

you look shocked, but you burst out into relieved laughter. “how did you know?”

he didn’t. “how could I not? he’s absolutely whipped.”

and you blush under the stars and begin to ramble, lost in your excitement and joy.

and Hobi watches. smiling. supportive. laughing at the right spots and asking all the right questions.

later, when you give him a tight hug and thank him for the fun night, he lets the words sting as you call him “such a great friend.” he lets them sting, relishing in the pain.

he reminds you to take your flowers home, and you begrudgingly admit that they’re your favorite type of flower.

he didn’t know. but that hurts, too. the fact that he got it right.

Hobi never looks at the color yellow the same way again.

Kim Namjoon

he’s told you he loves you a million times now

every night, in every dream, he tells you how much he loves you

adores you with everything he is

you manage to find your way into his music, his musings, every piece of artwork he comes across

he's never been like this before

never, he’s sure of it

and everyone knows, except for you.

it becomes a strange game for the boys to play, dropping hints at every opportunity, laughing at your confused expression

Jungkook and Taehyung especially enjoy the chaos that they create, making Namjoon groan and grow embarrassed

but you have no idea

or are you just willfully ignorant?

all Namjoon knows is that he’s swimming in his feelings for you, completely lost and on the verge of drowning

but, oh, what a way to die

he’s never been able to stop himself when it comes to you

and he considers himself rather disciplined, but the way you make him feel he could throw caution to the wind and give it all up

so when you end up staying late one night at the apartment, the boys manage to convince you to stay

“there’s plenty of room” Jungkook muses, feigning deep thought. “besides, it’s too late for you to drive back tonight. just stay.”

and while Namjoon wants to kill them all for the way they offer up his bed to you, he thinks he might actually die when you reluctantly agree with a yawn

he knows he should offer to take the couch, but something stops him

it’s like he physically can’t

“I don’t mind sharing the bed” you state, squinting at him while wearing his basketball shorts and oversized t-shirt.

you look adorable. he’s unsure of how he’s even functioning right now, to be honest. he’s melting.

“just keep your snoring in check, loser”

and he’s back to laughing, turning off the light and hopping into bed

you’re so far away

why are you so far away?

“hey” he whispers, the sound so loud in the quiet. the only other sound is the muffled voices of the other members, no doubt down in the kitchen gossiping about the events of the night

“hey yourself” you whisper back, turning to face him

he can see you in the moonlight, his eyes having adjusted just enough.

and he wants to kiss you so badly

so he smiles, heart leaping when you smile back

and he reaches out, gently tracing your jawline.

you say nothing, heart thundering in your chest

because to be honest, you’re confused

why is he looking at you like that?

but you don’t ask as Namjoon takes a deep breath, steadying himself before propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at you with an adoring expression

your eyes flutter closed as he brushes his thumb against your cheek, and he can feel your heartbeat racing

your reaction gives him all the courage he needs as he leans down, lips capturing your own in a long, sweet kiss

and he’s going out of his mind because he finally kissed you, didn’t he?! finally!!

but those are your hands on his chest, and instead of pulling him in closer you’re gently pushing him away

“namjoon.”

he’s never hated his name so much.

“I’m so sorry- I- I thought that maybe-” he stutters, pulling himself upright as you do the same, and he launches out of bed, hands in his hair “I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

“Namjoon.” you repeat, and he notices now how utterly distraught you look.

because you’re still confused, but there’s one name rolling around in your head even as you can still taste namjoon on your lips.

“I...” you shake your head, unsure of what to say. “It’s just...”

and he’s looking at you with big eyes, taking in every single word you say. and you want to take it all back, want to let him kiss you until you’re breathless, but your heart won’t let you.

“Just what?” he asks quietly, afraid of the answer. so afraid

“...Jungkook.”

two syllables, and his world comes crashing down around him.

namjoon is silent, avoiding your gaze as he grabs one of the pillows off of the bed and a spare blanket, heading toward the door.

“I’ll sleep on the couch. I’m sorry.”

and he’s gone before you can utter another word.

sure enough, the boys are still downstairs, and they all fall silent as Namjoon appears, throwing the pillow down on the couch.

“Hyung!” Jungkook asks, scrambling over. “Hyung, what happened? What are you doing down here?”

Namjoon can’t bring himself to look at the maknae, not when he can still picture how it felt to kiss you. not when those few seconds of paradise are still on his lips.

“Didn’t wanna wake her up with my snoring.”

because how could he ever be angry at the boy that looks at him like he’s his savior?

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#bts reactions #namjoon reaction #jin reaction #yoongi reaction #suga reaction #hobi reaction #bts hyung line #bts angst #bts maknae line #bts x reader #this is seriously a bummer of a post lol #bts fanfic #bts scenarios

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perlukafarinn · 4 years ago

Text

(ao3)

The day starts out pretty unremarkable. Dean wakes up at the crack of dawn to Cas slipping out of bed for his morning jog. He pulls him down for a good-morning kiss that turns into a make-out session that turns into them trading lazy handjobs and then falling asleep in each other’s arms again.

Their actual start to the day is around ten AM, when Cas finally gets up for his jog and Dean gets up for his cereal and a scroll through the morning news. He’s on the look for hunts, mostly out of habit since there’s been very little monster activity since Chuck went and fucked off for good. He doesn’t find anything this morning but that’s hardly a surprise. It’s been a couple of weeks since they’ve been out on a hunt and that inactivity, weirdly enough, is starting to bother him less and less.

Cas comes back from his jog about an hour before noon and with the mildest of prodding convinces Dean to join him in the shower. Afterwards, they throw together a lunch made from yesterday’s leftovers, taking their time eating and playing footsie under the table, because that’s apparently the kind of couple they are.

Usually by this time of day, Cas would be off in the Men of Letters’ library working on translations or cataloging and Dean would be on the phone helping Garth help out young, out-of-their depth hunters or in the garage, working on one of the beautiful but sadly neglected vehicles left behind there decades ago.

Today, both of them are seemingly feeling kind of lazy and so hardly any work gets done. It’s not until late in the afternoon that Dean feels the urge to do something productive and suggests they go out for groceries, which Cas readily agrees to.

The ride into town is quiet. Cas plays his mixtape - the damn thing should be worn out by now and Dean should long since be sick of it but for reasons too sappy to mention he isn’t - and they sit and listen in comfortable silence. It’s not until they pass the town hall on their way to the supermarket that Cas gets a contemplative look on his face.

“Should we get married?”

Only years of experience behind the wheel prevent Dean’s hands from twitching wildly and veering them into oncoming traffic.

“What.”

Cas looks over, frowning. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Is there any reason for us not to get married? We’re already planning on staying together for the rest of our lives.”

“Is there any reason-” Dean wheezes. “What the fuck, Cas? Is this your idea of a proposal?”

“Are you saying no?” Cas asks, mildly curious, as if they’re talking about the fucking weather and not getting married. “Because we don’t have to.”

Dean stares ahead, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Are you actually asking?”

“I suppose I am.”

“You ‘suppose’,” Dean mocks. “Gee, Cas, that’s real romantic.”

“Will you marry me?”

Dean pulls over. It’s far too sudden, probably leaving tire tracks in the concrete, and the driver behind them honks his horn loudly as he passes. Dean ignores him, taking a deep breath as he finally turns to face Cas.

“Are you sure?”

He doesn’t really have to ask - Cas wouldn’t have brought it up if he wasn’t sure - but he needs to hear it.

Thankfully, Cas seems to get that. “I want to marry you, Dean. Do you want to marry me?”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathes. “I mean - yes. Yeah, I do.”

Cas nods decisively. “Alright then. Now?”

“Now?”

It’s not exactly how Dean imagined this scenario would go (not that he - shut up) but it’s somehow the most romantic fucking thing that’s ever happened to him since Cas first told him he loved him. And hey, this time no one had to die!

They turn around, since there’s no point in going in without (forged) birth certificates. Once they get to the town hall, shortly before closing, they find out that it’s a three-day mandatory waiting period between applying for a marriage license and them actually being allowed to get married.

Cas suggests they use the interim time to pick up wedding rings. They wind up spending the next day driving to Topeka, where they find a couple of silver rings in a pawn shop. They’re tarnished but otherwise in good condition and once they get home, Dean spends the rest of the evening cleaning them while trying very hard not to think about just what they’re for.

The second day, Cas spends out back tending to his garden while Dean almost dials Sam’s number repeatedly before hanging up, torn between wanting to let his brother know that he’s getting married and not wanting to jinx it.

The third day, they head back into town. They arrive at the town hall just after it opens and it’s not until they’re standing in front of the clerk that Dean realizes they don’t have any witnesses. The clerk assures him that they don’t need one for civil ceremonies and the next ten minutes pass in a blur until Dean is being prompted to place the ring on Cas’ finger.

He does so with shaking hands, stilled only once Cas places one of his own on top and gives Dean a patient smile. He’s this calm for a reason, Dean finally realizes.

This doesn’t change anything.

Married or not, they’ve already promised themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. Til death do them part doesn’t even begin to describe it, and in sickness and in health is almost laughable at this point.

This really doesn’t change anything.

Dean’s own hand is still as Cas takes his turn, sliding the silver ring upon Dean’s finger. They say their “I do”s when prompted by the clerk, exchange a short, firm kiss, and just like that it’s over.

They’re married.

When Jody invites them to dinner about a week later, they still haven’t told anyone. Sam and Eileen will be there as well as Jack and the girls - it’s a regular family reunion and the perfect chance to announce the big news to everyone.

Dean has a better idea.

“Let’s not tell anyone,” he says. “At least, not before dessert. Let’s see if they notice first.”

They’re in the Impala, about half an hour away from Jody’s place.

Cas shoots him an amused look. “Is this because Sam claimed he always knew we’d get together when we first told him we were involved?”

“No,” Dean lies. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, seeing Cas still giving him that look from the corner of his eye. “Fine, yes. But he didn’t know, for the record. He just likes to pretend he’s always on top of this shit.”

“He doesn’t like to admit when you’ve surprised him,” Cas agrees.

The conversation ends there but Dean’s plan is apparently agreed upon since once they arrive at Jody’s, Cas doesn’t say a word about their recent relationship upgrade. Jody doesn’t seem to notice anything different, but then Dean didn’t expect her to. She’s not the one they spend most of their time around. Neither do Donna, Alex, Claire or Kaia, none of them surprises. Patience, Dean is less sure about, but she at least doesn’t say anything. Her eyes do linger unusually long but that could mean anything.

Damn psychics.

Sam and Eileen arrive half an hour after Dean and Cas, Jack in tow. This is the real test; Sam and Dean may not spend as much time together in the past few months as they did in the years before but he’s still the person who knows Dean best and would be the most likely to notice a difference.

And yet, nothing.

Dean tries not to feel too smug.

They go through dinner without anyone mentioning it. Dean makes a point of reaching across the table as many times as he can, showing off the ring glinting on his finger. Cas must notice him doing it, judging by the fond exasperation on his face, but he’s the only one.

It isn’t until dessert that Patience breaks, patience (hah) clearly run out:

“Is no one going to mention that Dean and Castiel are wearing wedding rings?”

And all hell breaks loose.

Sam is wounded - mostly over Dean and Cas not telling him before they got married, though Dean can tell some part of it is his pride at not seeing this coming - but he’s over it soon enough, once they explain that it wasn’t a big deal, not some proper ceremony, just a quick affirmation of what they already knew.

“See if I make you Best Man at my wedding after this, jerk,” Sam tells Dean.

“Your wedding?” Eileen asks pointedly.

Jody and Donna offer their congratulations before the conversation can get awkward, and Kaia, Alex, and Patience chime in with theirs as well. Jack looks confused at the whole proceeding, finally asking whether this means there won’t be any bouquet to catch, which only means Dean has gravely failed him in his pop culture education (oh, who’s he kidding, as if half the romcoms Jack has watched didn’t come directly from the recommended tab on Dean’s Netflix account).

Finally, with a pointed elbow from Kaia and a hangdog expression from Cas, Claire mumbles that she’s happy for them. While Dean doesn’t doubt that’s true he also knows that this is more complicated for her than the rest of them, and for the first time he kind of feels guilty about springing this news on everyone.

It doesn’t last long, not after Donna cheerfully raises her glass and proposes a toast to the happy couple and everyone else follows suit. They chant for them to kiss and, blushing outrageously, Dean complies, leaning over to press a quick kiss against Cas’ lips.

“So, who proposed?” Sam asks once the hooting and hollering has calmed.

“Cas did,” Dean says, slinging an arm around his husband’s - his husband’s - shoulders. “And it was the least romantic proposal of all time, you should’ve heard him.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “If I had left it up to you, we never would have gotten married.”

“He didn’t even give me time to pick out flowers,” Dean informs Sam gravely.

“There’s always the vow renewal,” Cas says, the casual statement managing to sound like a threat, and Dean shuts up.

The conversation moves on, the mood noticeably cheerier. As Jack and Sam launch into a story of their most recent hunt, Dean leans against Cas.

“We could have flowers, if you want,” he mutters.

Cas smiles at him, so bright and easy that it makes Dean’s heart stutter. He takes Dean’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the cool silver of Dean’s ring.

“That’s not necessary,” he says. “I’ve got everything I want right here.”

#deancas #destiel #spn fanfic #perlukafarinn writes #fluff #domestic #post-canon #established relationship #thank u to miriam who read through most of this #and assured me that it's plenty gay!

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 3 years ago

Text

Payback | Dean Winchester

✦ pairing — Dean Winchester x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2.2k

✦ request — I was wondering if you could do a dean winchester imagine that is like the reader is like young and has been with the boys since she was 18 and now she’s like around 21 or 22. She lives at the bunker with them and helps with research. So, basically she’s fallen in love with dean and has been in love with him for years. She never says anything because she watches him go after all these skinny girls and thinks she will never be good enough since she’s big and doesn’t think he’d ever like her. Then one day she basically just reaches a breaking point and it comes out to dean, and after some angst they get together. Then maybe some fluff or smut?

✦ warnings — angst, age gap (reader is in her twenties while Dean is in his forties), reader is kinda insecure at times, language, mentions of past sexual partners, mentions of a past ilegal relationship, a twinge of jealousy, suggestive stuff, some fluff.

════════════════════════

You heard laughs on the other side of the bar, right under the Bud Light neon sign. Unable to stop yourself, you looked that way.

A small friend group had erupted in laughter. There was a tall guy in the middle of two redheads — you couldn’t see very well, but you could tell he had caught you staring.

So you deviated your eyes to the right, where the bartender served one of your companions another beer. A couple of beers in fact. Dean was talking to a woman, undoubtedly charming her as he rested his elbow on the bar and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

You couldn’t look any longer, you would be sick if you did. He should’ve been doing that to you.

Realistically, you were probably twice her size or more, but you still could dream.

That was the problem, truly — you only could dream. Dean would quit hunting before even considering seeing you as a potential conquest. By this point, you should have been used to it.

Your eyes went back to the friend group from earlier. The tall guy held your gaze for a moment — you couldn’t figure out his eye color, or what his eyes showed under the uneven light, but you damn well could see he was handsome.

Not wanting to give him the wrong impression, you turned to your side and picked up your jacket.

Maybe you should also start to pay attention to the men who were actually interested.

But they weren’t Dean Winchester.

Comparing every man you met to him was a reflex, just like comparing yourself to the women he picked up at bars.

The Bunker was eerie every hour of the day, but there was something especially uncanny about an empty Bunker in the middle of the night. Devastatingly so.

Turning on the lights as you made your way towards the library, you made a beeline towards the kitchen. You weren’t in the mood for drinking anymore or for food, but you knew you needed to drink water.

Taking refugee in the library, you looked around a few news sites to see if you found something. It wasn’t difficult to find something shady or weird going on, but filtering out conspiracy theories was a pain in the ass.

Eventually, you found just what you were hoping you would. Dean and Sam rarely took you with them for hunts, but perhaps you could convince them this time to at least let you watch from the car.

Sam came home a little later, tipsy enough to be in a good mood. You told him about the case you had found, he said he would check it out in the morning and wished you a goodnight.

Dean didn’t come home. Why would he when he could have literally anybody he wanted?

You didn’t get any sleep. You had hoped that listening to an audiobook would lull you, but like most things, it wasn’t enough to even entertain you.

You were sick of this, of being into somebody who would never be into you. And who the fuck loses sleep for somebody who doesn’t see them as anything more than a sibling? You, apparently.

You needed coffee and a hug, but coffee by itself would have to do.

To your luck, Dean was already in the kitchen when you entered. His hair was wet which meant he was, thankfully, fresh out of the shower.

Instead of greeting you, he asked, “Where’s Sammy?”

You shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“He took the car.”

You didn’t even know Sam had brought the car home the night before. “He must have found the case interesting.”

“There’s a case?”

“Kind of. It’s not too far away from here,” you explained, “but I wasn’t sure it was something up our alley. I guess Sam thought it was.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you weren’t here.” You could tell your answer offended him. Good.

“You should have called.”

“Babying you isn’t my job, Dean.”

“Funny you say that when babysitting you isn’t mine and yet...”

“Can you stop treating me like a fucking child for two seconds?”

“Stop acting like one and I might.”

“God, you’re fucking insufferable. I can’t believe I’m in love with you!”

You didn’t know whose eyes were wider, if his or yours.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath.

He tried to be nonchalant, but Dean couldn’t even move. “Sweetheart, come on. It’s okay.”

You effusively shook your head. “It’s isn’t.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“No, you don’t get to tell me what to do or how to fucking react.” You were yelling now. Why were you yelling over this?

“I— well, I don’t know what to say.” He stuttered. “I mean, you are a kid. I could be your dad who had a kid at a young age, okay? This is fucking crazy.”

“You weren’t supposed to know. It’s humiliating.”

“I’m not going to give you shit about it.”

“No, you are. And then you’re gonna go and fuck somebody who’s actually hot and interesting and you’re gonna make me feel worse.”

“Hey, you’re interesting.”

“I’m not. And even then, you don’t go for them because they’re interesting, do you?”

“What do you want me to say?”

You wanted him to say that you were attractive too, that he would go for you in a heartbeat.

“Nothing.”

Both of you remained silent then. He had many chances to make it right, to have enough pity for you to at least apologize for not realizing you were in love with him sooner.

“ I’m gonna go,” you announced, having decided that this wasn’t worth it. The humiliation hurt, but his reaction stung.

He reached over and stopped you. “Wait, wait, wait.”

“What now?” Your voice broke and your lip trembled. Not now, you thought. But now it was.

“Don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it.”

He hugged you to his chest. “I hate seeing you cry.”

His arms were tightly wrapped around you, a hand on the back of your head and the other on your upper back.

“You’re making me feel even more stupid,” you admitted through tears.

Dean sighed heavily. His hand twitched against your clothed skin as he tried to keep himself from rubbing his face. “You know, maybe you need a break.”

“Are you really trying to get rid of me already?”

He didn’t deny it. So you pushed him off you and stormed out. You couldn’t even get a fucking consolation hug.

════════════════════════

You liked to think you were doing a good job avoiding him. It wasn’t like he spent that much time at home either way.

Expecting him to care had been too much, it seemed. You hadn’t wanted him to beg, or even fantasized about him chasing after you — you just wanted him to care, to at least told you he would forget about it or pretend you hadn’t said anything.

Sam entered the library, feigning interest in the stack of books you had piled on the table two nights ago.

He stalled, opening the one on top as though he hadn’t seen it before.

You shuffled in your seat. Waiting for whatever he would say.

He cleared his throat so you’d look up. You did.

“Dean and I are going out for a drink or two. Want to come?”

“No, I’m gonna watch something on my laptop and go to bed early.”

Sam gave you a worried look. “Well, if you need anything...”

“Have fun.”

Maybe Dean had been right, maybe you needed a break, and maybe —just maybe— this wasn’t the place you were meant to be at.

But you wanted to be there, and you wanted him. It fucking sucked that you would never get what you wanted just because you weren’t thin.

Story of your life.

You stayed in the library longer than you planned and eventually your tv marathon was held there. You had everything you needed and the chairs were comfortable enough.

Your laptop rested on the other side of the table as you leaned onto said table with your forearms and laid your head on your arm.

A knock on the thick door startled you. Looking up, you found green eyes.

“Did I scare you?”

You pressed the space bar to pause your show. “I wasn’t expecting you guys to come back early.”

“Sammy left with somebody so he’s not coming home tonight.”

You hummed, unsure as to what you were supposed to say. Should you say that you were happy for Sam? Should you ask why he hadn’t left with somebody too?

Dean spoke before you could come up with something. “Can we, uh, talk?”

Seeing you nod, Dean approached the table. He didn’t sit down, forcing you to crane your neck.

“I’ll find somewhere else to live,” you assured him.

He frowned, looking down as he searched for your now shifty eyes. “You’re leaving?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted to talk about?”

“No.” He rubbed his palm against his forehead. “I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

You twisted your mouth. “It’s a little late for that.”

He hurriedly said, “I don’t want you to leave. You’re part of the family.”

“I think I deserve space to move on.”

A groan slipped past his throat and lips, rumbling in his chest. He was growing desperate. “Look... I’m trying to be the responsible adult here because God knows you won’t be.”

“So now I’m an adult?”

“It was never my intention to treat you like a child. I just wanted to put some distance between us.”

“You could have said so.” You didn’t think you would need to state the obvious to somebody as smart as Dean.

“I didn’t want things to be weird or to give the impression that I could take advantage of you if you were too close. I would never do that.”

Not proud enough to pretend you knew what he was talking about, you admitted, “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“You’re pretty,” he blurted. “Really fucking pretty and interesting and so attractive that’s kinda unfair. And you’re also too young.”

“Dean.”

“Mmmh?”

“Kiss me.”

“Weren’t you listening to me?”

“Just kiss me,” you insisted. “We’ll forget about it if it doesn’t feel right.”

Dean took the chair beside yours out and pulled it to the side. His eyes didn’t meet yours as he leaned in, but they did when his nose brushed yours.

He softly placed his lips on top of yours. You saw his eyes screw shut before you closed yours. It was short and sweet, and when he parted from you, you feared you would have to go back to hide the way you felt about him.

Grabbing you by the waist, Dean made you stand up. He wrapped an arm around you while you rested your hands on his sides as a reflex.

He kissed you again, hard. So hard he unintentionally pushed you against the table. His tongue tasted of whiskey and those bacon-flavored chips you had never had the heart to tell him weren’t that good.

You brought a hand up to the back of his neck, kissing him deeply.

Dean took advantage of the fact that he had you trapped between the table and his body to caress yours. He started with your back and dragged his hands down to your ass.

His hands traveled to your torso, where he could surely feel your belly up, fingers toying with the hem of your black t-shirt.

You stopped his fingers from lifting your top and pulled away from the kiss. “Wait.”

“Having second thoughts?” he breathlessly asked.

“I’m not what you’re used to,” you explained through ragged breathing. “At all.”

”Really?”

You nodded, ashamed. One thing was him knowing how big you were and other was him seeing it for himself.

“Don’t take this the wrong way...”

“That’s a great way to let me know you’re about to insult me.” Fuck. You were getting defensive again — what a way to kill the mood.

“I’m not!” he defended himself. “I was going to point out that you’ve been around for a relatively short amount of time to know what I’m used to.”

“I’ve never seen you with a fat person before.”

“And I’ve never seen you with somebody older than you before.”

Was he playing dumb? “Of course you have.”

“Huh? When?”

“That guy in Texas was well in his thirties. And I dated somebody in their twenties when I was 16, I’m not too proud of that one, but—“

He interrupted you. “Nevermind. Shut up.” Dean kissed you again, bringing you flush against him.

You smiled against his mouth. “Is somebody jealous?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. Serves you right.”

“You’re evil.” He bit down your bottom lip and pulled on it.

“It’s just payback, I promise.”

Dean snorted. “Can’t say I don’t deserve it.”

You remained silent, allowing him to dissipate the tension. You would let him do whatever he wanted, regardless of the outcome, but you were too scared to say it.

You didn’t have to.

“Hey.” He cupped your face. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he assured you. His voice was uncharacteristically soft. “We can take our time.”

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x plus size reader #dean winchester

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1engele · 4 years ago

Text

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 9. hearts

Previous | Next

[warnings: mention of meth, swimming without pants on??, large body of water, momentary angst]

"why was it so easy for you to make it so hard for me?" —

You weren't drunk, but you were definitely not sober enough to comprehend how horrible the idea of being even relatively close to a large body of water whilst intoxicated was.

Ashley was not as much a lightweight as you'd proved to be, so she was virtually sober. the time you'd known her (just over a week) you'd come to know her as the most carefree of the group. She did things when she felt like it, and she did what she enjoyed.

Larry could be called carefree, as well—but he gave off more "I truly do not give one ounce of a fuck, and I will go along with any activity you want to do if I can smoke" vibes.

You hadn't figured Sal out yet. You tried not to think about it, but there were so many things you wondered about him. You'd seen his face. That had been your fault, and you were beginning to feel immense guilt for what you'd done.

You weren't going to inwardly speculate about what had happened to him—but you'd seen the look in his foggy blue gaze when he'd laid eyes on that dog at the party.

The car came to an abrupt halt, knocking you from your thoughts and lurching your body forward. Your eyes widened, and you look around frantically to figure out where you were or if you'd just had an accident—but turns out, you'd made it to Wendigo Lake.

"Well, you said you wanted to go to the lake," Ashley grinned, locking eyes with you.

You blink repeatedly, your pupils dilating to focus on the sight of the large body of water in front of you, glistening beneath the moonlight. A smile slowly etched into your face, and you reached to your right to open the passenger-side door.

It wasn't long before you'd reached the point where the slope began into a downward incline, your feet planted in the grass as you gazed down at the lake you knew had to be freezing—but the road-like reflection of moonlight on the water continued to call your name.

The breeze blew into your face.

You hadn't even heard the approaching footsteps and the crunching of grass when Larry, Ashley, and Sal walked up and joined you.

There was something melancholic about knowing that you were living in a moment you knew you'd miss.

"We should swim," you say, nonsensically.

Sal looks away from the lake and to you from his place on your right side. You turn your head to lock eyes with him.

"Y/N, someone's gonna get sick. I don't think you understand how cold this water gets-"

"Okay then," you mumble. "I should swim," you correct, "and if anyone wants to join me, they are more than welcome."

Larry and Ashley's laughter echoes into the dead air as you ambled down the slope, Sal standing there, watching—before following your lead.

"Let's think this over," he tries, matching your pace with ease. "You're going to regret it when you're shivering all the way home."

"Ashley can blast the heat."

"What if you drown?"

"I won't," you respond, "because you're getting in with me."

You're both stood on the shore of the lake now, locking eyes and regarding each other with your own equally stubborn determination.

"Hey!" You hear Larry's voice call from up the hill. The tension that's formed within the eye contact breaks once you've looked away from each other and peered up at the height of the slope.

"We're gonna go check out that forest over there," Ashley shouts, pointing towards the cluster of trees that were a measurable distance away. "Heard there's some gnarly satanic shit in there. Call if you need anything."

You exchange a glance with Sal.

"Alright," he yells back. "Don't get lost!"

"Can't promise that!" Larry sends both of you a grin before he and Ashley both head towards their destination, the sound of grass crunching steadily quieting as the distance between you grows.

When they're far enough away, you let out a quick sigh of relief. "Finally," you reach down to your shoes and began pulling them off, including socks.

You then reached down to the button of your jeans.

Sal yelps. "What're you doing?!"

You look up with raised eyebrows. "You think I'm swimming in these? I'll sink." You return your focus downward, pulling the zipper down and hook your thumbs around the waistband of your pants. "Nothing you haven't seen before."

It was almost excruciating to hide your sly smile as you bent at the waist to slide the denim down your legs. You stepped out of your jeans, pulled your phone from the pocket, and tossed the shed article of clothing farther up the hill, tossing your phone on top of it.

The device landed with a thud, resulting in an inward cringe on your part.

You didn't allow yourself to regard the fact that you were now standing in front of Sal with no pants on, so you just turned, stepped forward, and tested the water with a toe.

"Liar," you submerge a foot in, your body instinctively shivering against your will. "It's not that cold."

He scoffs, reaching down to rip his sneakers and socks off in your peripheral vision. "You're saying that now, but I'd like to hear the same thing when your bare legs are in there."

Sal tosses his shoes off near where you'd thrown yours along with his phone. He watches you submerge your other foot in, before following your lead.

Sal seems to handle it with a lot more ease than you, both feet now immersed in lake water. He doesn't seem to react physically, only standing with slack shoulders and his head tilted slightly upward. You watch the side profile of the prosthetic, and the way he lifts a hand and passes ringed fingers through vividly blue hair.

Moonlight illuminates the white face of the mask.

You can't see his real face, but you can picture him now. The tranquility of his expression, the curve of his dark eyelashes, his tongue passing over his lips...

The water is up to your calves now.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, angling your chin towards him. It's rushed, and sudden, and you momentarily doubt he even heard it beneath the rippling of water as he moves a bit closer.

"For what?" He asks, turning his head away from the moon and to look you in the eyes.

"I shouldn't have taken the prosthetic off without your permission. The guilt has been churning inside of me and I felt I needed to apologize for it eventually. I'm sorry."

Sal looks down, his eyes following the shape of your thighs before he locks gazes with you again. "You make me feel normal, Y/N. You'd never even asked about it before—and that means the world to me. I won't hold what you did against you."

"But..." you try, but he stops you.

"Y/N," he laughs sweetly. "Don't try and villainize yourself—you did nothing wrong. If anything... it was almost nice to know you weren't scared of seeing what was underneath."

You intake breath for the first time since the conversation began. You felt almost stupid, tears forming in your eyes as you stood within a freezing lake in just a crop top and your underwear.

"You should stop apologizing so much, too. You don't have anything to say sorry for."

"I'm sorry," you repeat, nonetheless.

He chuckles, fixing his gaze onto yours, an almost otherworldly perceptiveness burning in his striking eyes. "I understand how it feels to constantly find fault in yourself for something," he murmurs. "To live with it, to experience that guilt..."

You watch his Adam's apple bob. "It's hard."

A wave of despair washes over your body, and you don't even understand the context of Sal's statement. You're close to him now, and you can tell he's searching for an excuse to put an end to the topic—so you take his hand and divert attention elsewhere.

"Your rings," you utter, holding his hand delicately, looking over the silver and black rings that adorn his digits. "Where are they all from?"

He lifts his other hand for you so you have full access to every band that he's wearing on his fingers. Once he's shown you his right hand, two rings that seem to share the same theme catch your eye.

"I have a few more in my room," he replies, watching you trace a fingertip over the matching heart rings. "I don't know, I guess I collect them—some are gifted, some I've bought myself..."

"With whose money?" You tease, peering up at him through your lashes. The water swishes a little as Sal adjusts his weight.

His eyes squint a little, so you assume he grins. "I'm not dead broke if that's what you're insinuating."

"No, no," you trail off, looking back down at the rings with admiration. "I love these."

"Got them at the thrift store—something told me I would regret not buying them." He looks back up, stares into your downcast eyes for a long moment, and speaks again, "Why don't you have one?"

Your heart flutters. "You want to give me a ring?"

"Sure. Which one do you want?"

"Sal..." you can't help but smile, tracing his pale knuckle with the pad of your thumb. The swift breeze blows over your bare shoulders and conjures a shiver from your body. "You paid money for these. I don't want to take one from you."

"Don't you want a ring?"

You grin shyly. "Of course I do."

"Okay, pick."

You bite your lip nervously, sliding your finger over the silver ring with multiple black hearts engraved into the entire loop of the band. It didn't take much consideration—you'd fallen in love with the ring as soon as you'd laid eyes on it.

"This one," you audibly decide, meeting Sal's eyes anxiously.

Without another word, he eases the ring off of his middle finger and slides it onto yours. His hands are bigger than yours, and you fear it may not be small enough—but it does. It's a perfect fit.

"It was always kinda small on me," he began. "It's better for you."

You hold your hand out up and toward the moon, twisting it in different angles to examine the way the ring hugs your finger snugly.

You lower your hand back down to his, giggling. "We match now," you say softly, referring to the silver ring with the singular black heart that remained on his hand—the one that corresponded to the one now on yours.

As you absentmindedly turn his hand over, passing your eyes over his rings and the lines of his palms, you notice a faint bruising on his fingertips. Your eyebrows raise in alarm, and you meet his eyes and open your mouth to voice your concerns—but he beats you to the punch.

"It's from guitar strings," he murmurs. "Happens when I press too hard."

"Isn't that supposed to go away once you've played for a while? I've heard you mention once that playing the guitar isn't something new to you."

"Yeah, you're right. It is supposed to," Sal replies, intrigue on his tongue. "I don't know. I guess I'm weird."

You grin, stepping forward and submerged yourself further into the water—just enough so you were immersed up to your knees. You turned to face him. "I don't think you're weird. If you were weird, I wouldn't have gotten into a lake with you. At night... with no one else around. Oh, and with no pants on. That too."

Sal gestures his thumb over his shoulder. "Ash and Larry aren't far. If I were to murder you, they'd hear."

You shrug light-heartedly, bending just a bit to immerse your fingers into the water and flicking some towards him. "You could always cover my mouth and drown me. Effective and easy."

He raises his hands in poor defense, but the light splash still lands, lightly speckling his dark, long-sleeved shirt.

Sal bends just as you had (albeit a bit less, his arms were longer than yours) and splashes you gently. "After I've gifted you one of my prized possessions? Why would I do that?"

"That was only means to gain my trust!" You exclaim playfully, now using two hands to splash him.

"Splash me all you want, but I won't confess to something I'm not guilty of."

You stick your tongue out. "That's what they all say. You're only making yourself look stupid."

"I look stupid?" He laughs, pointing at himself before lowering his hand to splash you with a flick of the wrist. "You're the one with no pants on—in a lake, at night. If you die of hypothermia, it won't be anyone's fault but yours."

"All the more reason for you to murder me in cold blood."

"You're making no sense. Are you still drunk?"

"Ugh!" You groan dramatically, splashing him with much more vigor than the previous few times. He genuinely recoils this time, holding his hands out in defense before dropping them. A light shower rains down over his head, just barely dampening his hair and casting a wet sheen on the prosthetic.

"I'm not intoxicated! How dare you!"

Sal genuinely laughs from his chest, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting him. "I can't believe this," he says, running his hands through his hair.

You roll your eyes and move to immerse yourself in the lake water further, the questionable liquid sloshing around your thighs. That's when you hear a familiar two voices, laughing and yelling, and growing closer.

You and Sal turn to each other—Sal being a lot less concerned than you.

"Oh no," you murmur, looking down at yourself. "I have no pants on!"

Sal laughs (his laughter is normally a sound you genuinely enjoy hearing, but now it's obnoxious because it's not what you need to hear right now) and flits his eyes over you amusedly. "I can see that."

"Larry's a guy! He can't see me in my underwear!"

You look out at the open land, looking for your friends' approaching figures worriedly, but you see no one. You hear splashing as Sal continuously closes the distance between you both. "Yeah, I am too."

You roll your eyes, mutter something about boys never understanding anything, and start trudging through the water, back towards the shore.

Sal follows you through your efforts until you've stepped onto land, remaining perfectly patient even though the coldness of the water slowed your movements the entire journey.

He walks forward and tosses your jeans at you, along with your shoes, then sliding your phone in his pocket along with his device for safekeeping.

"I don't have a towel," you mumble. "My legs are too wet. I'll never get these on in time."

Sal blinks at you after somehow already getting his socks on. "Roll in the grass," he quips tightly like he's holding in a laugh. "That'll dry you off."

You scrunch your nose up and throw your shoe at him. It lands, bouncing off of his head with an audible thump, and then lands in the grass.

"Ow," he deadpans, placing a palm on the place the sneaker had just bounced from. "Geez, how hard can you throw?"

"Hard," you snark, wrestling your pants up your wet legs. Eventually, by the grace of whatever existential forces may exist, you managed to pull the denim up and over your hips.

You're zipping up your fly when Ashley and Larry finally appear.

"Dude," Larry gasps like he's been sprinting, bending to place his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. "Dude."

You and Sal stare at him curiously.

"There was a-a homeless guy!"

Ashley's laughing hysterically, and Larry doesn't evaluate, so Sal asks for context. "You're gonna have to evaluate, Larry. What do you mean there was a homeless guy?"

"Some dude was living in the woods! Had a whole fuckin' setup! I'm pretty sure he was cooking meth?!"

Sal just blinks repeatedly, like he was astounded, and couldn't believe that this was happening right now. "Did you guys bother him?"

"No," Ashley wheezes. "As soon as we saw him we bounced."

You're slipping on your shoes when Sal speaks again. "Yeah, maybe we should go..."

Larry finally stands up straight and starts up the slope, running his hands through his brown hair that's been messed while running. "Then in the name of the Lord, let's fucking get out of here."

You keep the seating arrangement you'd had on the way to the lake—girls in the front, boys in the back.

As soon as every door of the Ford Fiesta is shut, and the car becomes alive once again, the heat is immediately turned up. You breathe out a sigh of relief, leaning your head back against the headrest and allowing the hot air to blow against the cold flesh of your neck and shoulders. Your thoughts wandered as total relief washed over your body.

"Your jeans are dry," Ashley comments idly, startling you out of your reverie.

You hear what sounds like a laugh quickly concealed by a faux cough emanate from the backseat.

"Yeah," you reply dumbly. Ash stares at you, probably expecting you to say something else, but your mind goes blank, so she doesn't ask any further questions.

"Did I say he had no pants on?!" Larry suddenly blurts, clearly still mildly traumatized. "Everything was- it was just hanging out!"

Ashley cringes. "Don't put that image back into my mind, Larry."

"It wouldn't be the first person half-naked at Wendigo," Sal quips, locking eyes with you in the rearview mirror. No one questions his statement, most likely taking it as a reference to the infamous chaotic nature of that whole area—but you understand, sending him a contemptuous squint.

Ashley loops the car around to the exit path and it isn't very long before the vehicle is back on the road.

As heat sinks into your skin, reaches your cold bones, and the excitement slows down—your thought process de-thaws. You stare out of the window, watching the streetlights as they pass and listening to the sound of an acoustic guitar on the radio.

The music grows louder and drones in your ears. It's not even an electric guitar, but you still think of Sal, and his bruised fingertips. You twist his ring on your finger, running your opposite thumb over the heart-shaped indentations of the band.

Your mind wanders again. You think of that day in the storage room at the school, and that night in his father's car.

Eventually, you'd return the favor. You wanted him to feel as good as he'd made you feel. You owed it to him—and twice over.

But you'd have to wait. Patience was key—and all locked doors needed them.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader

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writeforfandoms · 4 years ago

Text

Merry Go Round of Life

Find my masterlist

Okay. This is a Howl’s Moving Castle AU. It’s going to be a mix of both the book and the movie because I adore both of them equally and for different reasons.

Also, no Din yet in this chapter. Sorry not sorry.

This will end up as Din Djarin x f!reader. At some point down the line.

Warnings: Uh. None? Light swearing maybe?

Chapter one: In which a curse is laid

In the land of Concordia, things such as three-league boots existed. Witches and wizards wandered the land. And, if rumors are to be believed, the moving castle has once again started coming down the hills towards Kalevala.

But you weren’t worried. Nobody had actually seen the wizard out and about. Nobody even knew his name, or spoke it. He was only ever the wizard of the moving castle. And nobody had a satisfying explanation for that, either. You’d stopped asking about him years ago.

You didn’t have time to be gossiping about some wizard, anyhow. Your mother-in-law was retired, and both of your sisters had their own lives, leaving the shop to you. Not that you really minded - you’d been raised in this shop, knew it better than anywhere else. You were content with this. Your sisters visited (indeed, Omera still worked in town, having taken over the bakery when the previous owners retired), the shop was busy enough to keep you busy and fed, and things were… calm. Predictable.

But really, you couldn’t complain. You were the youngest of three. You didn’t boast great beauty to match Omera, or great temper to match Cara. You were just… you. One of the best seamstresses in town, yes, but just you. And that was fine. That was… fine.

On this particular morning, you were humming a little as you carefully measured fabric for a dress. This was about the time of year when you were flooded with custom requests for parties and celebrations, and you often ended up taking your work home with you. You had some help in the shop, a young lady to man the front desk and chat with customers, but she was still in training. And you didn’t mind taking work home.

You tutted gently as you set two pieces of fabric together, checking the edges. “Very good,” you muttered to yourself. “You’ll be a handsome one indeed.” Chuckling at your own humor, you began to stitch the edges together. It wasn’t uncommon to find you chattering to yourself (and your sewing) as you worked. You got bored otherwise. The shop girl stayed out front, and you stayed in the back sewing unless you were needed to take measurements or consult.

It didn’t take long for you to have the skirt portion of the dress done. At least, done enough for now. You gently set it aside and stretched, rolling your shoulders and cracking your neck before you pulled the fabric over again to make the next cuts.

“At least the fabric is nice,” you murmured, gently running a hand along the rose-pink fabric to smooth it. “You’ll make a fine dress for the May Day dance.” You couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Your own dress (if you had time for it this year) was already squirreled away in your bedroom, and had been ready for a while. You’d made sure Omera was taken care of, too. Cara was on her own - you didn’t even know if she’d be home for the festival this year.

You heard the bell over the door of the shop ring, but paid it no mind. Someone would yell if they needed you. Humming again, you picked up your sewing scissors, the nice heavy pair, and started cutting fabric.

“Hey, Vee.” You could hear the customer from where you sat, but you still didn’t move. Did you sometimes listen to gossip while you worked? Sure. Not your fault they were gossiping in your hearing range. “Have you seen the castle?”

A gasp as your assistant, Vee, caught on to the subject. “No! I haven’t been out to the edge of town.”

“The castle is right out there!” the customer told her in an excited murmur. “You can see it clearly, just over the hill outside of town.”

“So close?” Vee asked in a hushed tone. “What’s he doing?”

“Don’t know,” the customer replied. “Mother thinks he’s looking for someone.”

You snorted very quietly to yourself. He was a wizard. You doubted anyone in Kalevala would hold any interest for someone like him. Not that you’d actually met many (or any) wizards but you’d read plenty about them. And this place? Probably didn’t have anybody of interest to an actual wizard.

“Maybe he’ll come to the festivities,” Vee said dreamily.

“Maybe,” the customer hummed, sounding unconvinced. On this, you sided with her - you doubted seriously the wizard would show up to May Day. Ha! That would be a sight.

“Silly girls, the both of them,” you murmured to the dress. “But they’re young, I suppose they’re allowed to be silly.”

It wasn’t long after that when the customer left, and Vee went back to her tasks. You shook your head and refocused on your sewing. If you weren’t interrupted, you could have this dress done in another day.

Vee left at her normal time, and you closed up the shop. Nobody else had interrupted you, and you let out a sigh of relief once things were locked up tight. You worked for another hour or so by candlelight in the shop, and then carried a couple little things upstairs to work on in your apartment. Your apartment wasn’t much - a bedroom, kitchen/living area combo, and simple bathroom situated above the shop. But it was yours, and you didn’t have to share with anyone.

As much as you loved your sisters, you had been more than ready to strangle them by the time they moved out.

A glance at the calendar on the wall showed that you had exactly one week left until May Day. Plenty of time to finish the last two dresses, and any last-minute adjustments that came in. You stretched briefly and ambled into the kitchen to make some dinner.

The week passed as expected. You got your last two gowns done. You fixed and rehemmed and tweaked dresses for other customers. You even dealt with the one near-hysterical woman who came in the day before May Day a wreck because her toddler had ripped off some of the fabric roses on her dress. (That one was not an easy fix, and you gently scolded the dress for giving in to some toddler.)

May Day was always one of the biggest celebrations of the year, full of flowers and bright colors. You donned your dress, the “closed” sign already hung up in the shop window, and ventured out into the streets.

Things got more crowded the closer you got to the center of town, and soon you were dodging folks out making merry. You didn’t stop to join any of them, intent on your goal: your sister’s bakery. You’d been craving one of the cream cakes for weeks, and you were determined to get one.

A group of well-dressed young men stumbled out of a tavern in front of you, and one of them made a teasing comment that you only half paid attention to. You simply looked at him and then away, dismissing him and striding on. Honestly. Boys.

Finally, you made it to the bakery and (more or less) gently pushed your way inside. Omera was at the counter, handling payments and handing over cakes as fast as she could. She paused for a moment when she saw you before she smiled widely and called your name.

“Do you have a minute?” you shouted back at her over the dull roar inside the shop.

“I can spare one,” she replied, ushering you along the counter until she could lift up a flap for you. Grabbing your hand, she pulled you into the back of the bakery, nabbing a cream cake with her free hand.

“How many proposals have you had today?” you asked, teasing her gently. She was beautiful, and widowed a few years ago.

“I stopped counting after five,” she replied primly. “Sit and eat that.”

Grinning, you took the cake and sat down. “The dress looks good on you.”

“You knew it would.” She obligingly twirled for you though, showing off the whole thing. You nodded to yourself. Some of your finest work, probably. You’d be disappointed if the day ended without Omera receiving at least a dozen proposals. “Your dress is a little more plain this year, sister.”

“Hmm.” You stuffed a bite of cake in your mouth to buy yourself a little time. Which might have backfired on you, as Omera raised an eyebrow at you. You grimaced, just a little, and she huffed.

“Are you content to run the shop alone, then?”

“Maybe,” you muttered. “I don’t know. I haven’t--it hasn’t come up, recently.” You shuffled a little where you sat, uncomfortable now.

Omera softened a little. “You could have just as many proposals, if you wanted,” she reminded you, reaching over to tweak your ear gently. “You needn’t stay at the shop by yourself.” Her smile turned teasing. “I’d even take you on as an apprentice.”

“Apprentice!” you shot back, mock-outraged. “I have spent more than enough time in your kitchen to do better than that!”

“I seem to recall someone eating all the cookie batter one day and getting sick,” she shot back. The two of you collapsed into giggles for a few moments, until someone shouted for Omera. Then she sighed. “That would be the end of my break. I’ll come see you at the shop, okay?”

“Sure,” you agreed, standing and pulling her into a hug.

“Just think about it,” she whispered in your ear. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

You released her and made your way out of the bakery. More revellers filled the streets now, and your feet were trod on more than once as you made your way back home slowly. As night fell, bright blue and green fireworks shot into the air from outside of town, causing a great deal of commotion. Certainly they came from the wizard, but why nobody knew. You didn’t bother yourself overmuch with pondering, either.

The week after May Day continued quietly. This was to be expected - hardly anyone would need anything except minor alterations and repairs so soon after a holiday. You’d given Vee two weeks off to spend with her family and her intended, and so you were stuck manning the store instead.

The bell over the door tinkled and you looked up from a pair of socks you were repairing, and then paused. The woman who walked in was… odd. Very, very odd. For one thing, she was carrying a helmet propped against her hip, and she wore armor in blue and gray. Her hair was red and short, pulled back from her face. Her clothing under the armor was dark and nondescript - trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, essentially.

You blinked at her, nonplussed for a moment, and then stood up straight behind the counter. “Can I help you?”

“That remains to be seen.” She stepped closer to the counter, giving you a quick once-over. “You are the seamstress who made the dress for the baker? Omera, I believe her name is.”

You blinked again. “Yes.” It wasn’t unheard of for customers to refer to your other work, but it wasn’t exactly common, either.

She hummed acknowledgement of that and looked you over again. You had no idea what she was looking for, but she must not have found it, because she gave you a rather derisive look. “You’ll do.” She murmured something too low for you to hear, although it didn’t sound like Common to your ears, and flung one hand towards you, as if flinging water at you. Something cold dripped down your scalp, and you blinked rapidly at a feeling almost like vertigo. “There. That ought to do it.” She turned away sharply, and paused just before the door. “You won’t be able to tell anyone you’re under a curse, in case you were wondering.” And with that she was gone, out of the shop as quickly as she’d entered it.

#merry go round of life #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #howl's moving castle au

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 4 years ago

Note

oooh may i request eren with a female s/o who doesn't put up with his bullshit? Like when he gets jealous n stuff

So I turned this into a break up fic because why not!? I live to hurt my own self while writing. I was listening to Noir By Sunmi while writing this hence the title.

Pairing: Eren/ Reader

Tags: angst, breaking up, seriously angst, modern au

Warnings: mentions of jealousy, angst, seriously. Just angst.

Noir

There is a despicable attire masking the way you're looking at Eren. The feeling that's boiling in the depths of your chest as you're sitting across from him on your kitchen table is indescribable. It's mixture of anger and determination, merged with heavy specs of remorse, whether it is for yourself or him, you haven't decided yet.

Your reflection in the glass of the kitchen table is mocking you. In it you can see a few of the cupboards behind you, you can see your inox fridge that's decorated in numerous small polaroids and you can see your hair, being messy and tousled, just like it always is when you're staying indoors. But you- no, your face. Your face looks deformed and blank, lost in the aggravating aspects of an angered expression.

Setting your eyes to any where but Eren isnt a simple task. Rather, you find no interest in looking at the borders between the marble tiles of the floor. They were plain and annoying to look at, but if you could you'd pretend they could calm you down. Keeping your huff in though, you alternate your gaze onto the top of the counter, onto the tap of the sink. You squint, pretending to take a good notice of the forms that light reflects into the object.

"I just don't want other guys being too touchy with you." Eren groans.

"Aren't we over this?" You roll your eyes.

"Yes, just pointing out that you wouldn't like that either."

There he goes again and you can't help but immediately snap your orbs to his direction. You have lost count of how many times he has mentioned it in only the span of five hours. He mentioned in while taking a shower, he mentioned it while working out, be mentioned it while cooking yet you've chosen to ignore him. Yet you know that ignorance doesn't benefit anyone, ever.

And you shouldn't act as if you're surprised, especially since you haven't addressed this. This is Eren. This has always been Eren. Expressing your concerns to Eren about how you feel he should trust you more has never worked, why should it work now?

"Eren, I can trust you that you won't let anyone do that!? Don't you trust me?"

"Yes, but."

"But?"

"I don't trust what others want to do to you. And what if you give in? Did you just wake up one day and decided to just devote ourself to me specifially?"

Eren is bitterly jealous. There's this spite that's hiding the aqua lines of his eyes, this sour mood that he always carries around when he gets in it. This stops him from being able to eat even slightly to normal; his hands are nervous and sweaty, his fork is abandoned to the side of his plate, his thumbs tapping onto the flat sides of his plate as if he's waiting for a response. There's not even the hint of a crump going down his throat, more so there's not a single bite taken off of his sandwich.

"Eren no one was touchy with me. Jean, Reiner, Armin, Marco... these are literally our friends since school!" You speak, munching onto your own food.

"I know."

"Then? Want to talk about it?"

You hate the way you make it sound like it's okay to casually be tender to him when he's judging you but you've been munching onto that bite of your cold noodles for a long time now. Your throat is refusing to take down bites anymore in result of you having stuffed your mouth to the full. It's an effort to shush yourself, to silence that voice that begs to come out and speak words you might regret.

"It's just." Eren pauses.

And you wait for his words to come out. By tapping your own hand onto the the glass of the table, you fixate your gaze onto Eren's uncomfortable form. You watch as his face gets buried to the palms of his hands, you watch as he refuses to face you while he clicks his tongue. His foot is rapidly tapping onto the floor, his hair is being pulled back by his fingers. The loud exhales he takes are indicators to the heavy weight that's sitting on his chest.

"It's so hard for me because I imagine you being with others, I don't want anyone to get their hands on something that's mine. And it's driving me crazy (y/n)."

Out of spite you push your eyes to the side. Facing Eren isn't something you feel like you're free to do at the moment. It's horrendous that you have to answer to that. Your heart is alternating between hammering inside your chest and dropping to your stomach. Your mind is confused as to what you should begin to think, or say. This is Eren, you keep repeating to your self, your spongy brain though is refusing to believe it.

It makes you wonder; Is this a time to be kind or is the last straw?

"Eren this is destroying you isn't it?"

Eren nods and then hides inside the neck of his hoodie, he pulls his sleeves over his palms and brings his elbows to the top of the table, setting them down as he leaned his face into his now clenched fists. You take it upon you to swallow that amount of food that's in your mouth up until now and when you do it goes down your throat dryly, painfully even. Your eyes are somewhat stinging, tiny little droplets are already starting to form in their corners.

"I don't want to feel like this anymore."

"It's destroying me too. Your jealousy."

Your chest rises and falls, your eye brows furrowing paid fully over your eyes as you look down. You can feel the gaze that's fixated on you; Eren is burning holes through your form with his piercing gaze, even if you can't see it it's a fact that you can't help but ignore. You heart the clenching of your teeth as your jaw locks onto place, trying to salvage every aspect of what can be saved between you and Eren.

"Then what did you suggest we do?" Eren quarries with a soft voice, his arm reaching out to wiggle underneath the grip you have of your face and hair.

"I-"

Maybe you can try. Couples try and fight for each other. And then things are supposed to get better. When you're down he's supposed to help you reach the top and you're supposed to do that too. It just doesn't feel like that with Eren anymore. You feel like Eren is holding you back, you feel like he's digging and delving into the past in such way that present doesn't matter to him anymore. You hate to think that it's not healthy to stay with each other anymore. If you weren't so exhausted by this being your new reality, you would be willing to try.

Your hands move reluctantly from their grip on your head, your thumbs shivering as you moved then down and along Eren's cubits. You trace imaginary lines over his slightly olive skin. Your fingers, shaking as much as your thumb work into taking his hands on yours, as you're pressing your palms onto his knuckles slightly.

"Maybe we should take a break from each other."

Your lips feel lighter than air as you mouth the words, still you're more concerned about how Eren is taking the sentence up. It's not easy to digest; you moved your eyes onto his form and suddenly they're stuck there, that pained expression is suppressing your lips in a puckered state, harsh lines spreading all over the volume of your lips.

"I didn't say this for you to tell me that."

Eren throws his hands in a orbit that's years of light away from yours. He's not touching you anymore, and you lose every ounce of affection in your body. The stinging tears that had threatened to fall are starting to vanish, hiding inside the sponge tissue of the corners of your eyes. A shiver runs through you as you watch Eren's nervous foot stop it's rhythm.

"I know."

"I'm sorry. I've talked about this with you so many times. And I'm just not feeling like I can do this anymore. I wish I could fight about us even more, but I can't be the only one fighting. I feel horrible for saying this but Eren, saying this sentence felt liberating for me. I feel free."

"There's no need to explain yourself. It's fine. Fine. I made you feel this way and yeah." Eren bit his lip as he spoke.

"I didn't think we'd end like this."

"Me neither." He snarls.

"I'm sorry"

"Don't be." His nose scrunches as he sniffles.

His eyes trace the uneaten sandwich in his plate, then they followed a forbidden path to you. But before he meets your eyes, he snaps his gaze back to what he was originally eyeing to distract himself. He wants to lash out, he wants to shout, but for what he doesn't know. It is rather odd to just sprout nonsense to someone who doesn't want to be standing across from him just because his devotions belonged to them up until second day ago.

Thus he bites on the inside of his cheek, pointy teeth digging into the soft flesh with fury, opening holes that he knows will be a pain in the ass before they heal again.

Without him, you'll be free. The phrase is a loop that's repeating into his head like a snap to reality.

Eren watchea as you bite your top lip and push your chair backwards, prompting your self up and away from the table, with your lips pushed into a thin line. He can see that it feels like a walk of shame, from your point in the kitchen to the sink, the way that your feet sound when clashing with the tiles of the floor indicate your need to not disturb him further. As if you're pitying him.

Eren grows to hate the way your pity presents it self. As if he is sick. But you are right.

"I'll go to sleep to Sasha's tonight and I'll come get my stuff tomorrow." You announced, without ever turning to look at him.

If he can work on himself he can try to get you back, he thinks and sighs. Nontheless he refuses to reply; he hasn't been given a right to reply to such statement. He can only let you go, and try not to be swallowed by the suffocating thought of you moving on without him.

At least now you can be free of that.

Taglist: @sasageyowrites @levisbrat25 @puredivinity @ackermans-freedom-inc @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore @berrijam @lzrers

#eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yeager #snk eren #eren jaeger #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #snk x reader #aot x reader #snk season 4 #aot season 4

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