#who go through absolute hell and trauma and angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sharky-teeth · 5 months ago

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anyone looking for more wincest fic recs?? nobody?? okay here you go anyway. i have a bunch of fics i couldn't fit into the other list, so i needed to make a brand new one with more variety this time around. i organized it by wordcount to make things easier, however i rarely read long fics, so these are mostly pretty short. once again this list got way out of hand...

(for mature or explicit rating, you can assume it's [sometimes implied] bottom sam, or it isn't discussed. for bottom dean or versatile samdean, i made a small separate section of my favorites.)

1k~5k

Remember the Mountain Bed by nigeltde (G, 1k): post canon. sam and dean jr. one of the only fics that have ever made me cry and with only a thousand words! this one is so very dear to my heart, heartbreaking in its details, yet warm and soothing at the same time. just gorgeous.

Are You by lovetincture (G, 1k): one of my favorite gen fics. i adore second person POV and this is a great example of how it can maximize impact.

I Was the Dirty Little Boy (E, 1k): a quick weecest sparring session turning into spanking... you know. the good stuff.

Stealth Run by LaughableLament (E, 1k): late seasons + established relationship + possessive dean + slutty sam. i love this author a lot.

State of Mind by lovetincture (M, 2k): the summary goes "It's legal in the state of Ohio." yes it is as good as suggested. the tension in this fic mwahh

The Euphoria Emporium by Laughable_Lament (E, 2k): sam and dean visit a sex shop and dean gets jealous. quick and nasty.

Be Mine by De_Nugis (T, 2k): first part of a short series. for people who love silly, goofy samdean. this is no plot, pure crack. the kind that actually makes you laugh out loud.

Dating for Dummies by sevenfists (M, 3k): there's not enough first time aftermath fics. this has ruined me because it is the exact level of lighthearted i love, where the brothers continue being brothers first and foremost, even after boning.

We Are Drinking Beer at Noon on Tuesday by whirlpoolsleep (M, 3k): neat outsider POV. always love seeing the brothers through normal people's eyes.

With Mercy for the Greedy by whiskyandoldspice (E, 3k): unmatched weecest pwp. the amount of hits/kudos doesn't always mean quality but for this one it absolutely does. this is pretty much flawless in my eyes.

August 5th, 2001 by coricomile (M, 4k): established weecest! this was cute and tender with the right amount of angst surrounding sam's imminent departure. bittersweet ending.

Run It All Over by runawaydr3amer (E, 4k): first part of a series. the classic "brotherly handjobs" scenario, but it immediately stood out to me. really on point voices and hot atmosphere.

Dean's palm would be rougher by FrancesHouseman (M, 4k): hand kink! i think we can all relate to sam here. this has a scene that's hotter than many pwps i've read lol

Know when to walk away and know when to run by deirdre_c (E, 4k): brothers playing strip poker goes too far... set in s3. great sexual tension and a super satisfying first time.

At Least It's Only One Song by ADeedWithoutaName (E, 4k): dean-gifting-sam-a-lap-dance fic. another outsider POV with an instantly likable OC. she can tell there's something off about those guys...

sticks and stones and weed and bones by aeroport_art (M, 5k): sam seeing a therapist at stanford. really great character study and winchester family dynamics. the conclusion to this story is just... crazy. so well done.

Shadows on the Sun by Linden (M, 5k): soft weecest first kiss! the thing i liked most in this story is how protective they both are. nice brotherly feelings.

wretched creation (M, 5k): one of my favorite reads of last year! criminally underrated work with less than a thousand hits. angsty feels and an unsettling atmosphere. dean facing a demon who knows more about his feelings toward his little brother than he'd like.

Forty-One by themegalosaurus (E, 5k): angsty unnegotiated kinky sex with lots of hell trauma. the kind of porn that's so nuanced and well written it doesn't get me horny (that's a compliment!)

Monumentally Stupid by strive2bhappy (5k): dean helps sam shave and it was hotter than i could ever imagine. great banter, tension, and emotional weight.

Double Solitaire by objectlesson (M, 5k): post mystery spot. amazing character study through a very creative concept. this is one of the authors who really knew how to write dysfunctional wincest.

6k~10k

this bullet inside me by missroserose (E, 6k): who's up for angsty first time in a long time? if you enjoy hathfrozen (i'm sure you do), this will definitely hit a similar spot.

Belonging by strive2bhappy (6k): wifey sam. i repeat Wifey Sam!!!

Lucky Streak by merle_p (M, 6k): thirsty pining done so right. incest that gives you butterflies in the stomach, believe it or not.

You Can't Lose What You Never Had by nigeltde (E, 6k): nigeltde is an incredible writer. from beginning to end this fic is insane. angsty, desperate, emotional, shameful, this takes you on a rollercoaster of emotions. top notch characterization.

How it Works by Dyed_Red (M, 6k): this is probably in my top ten fics of all time, peak codependent, obsessive, dysfunctional samdean. this particular fic really nails their dynamic and the most delicious, fucked up aspects of it.

Taking to Give by Dyed_Red (M, 7k): lovely character study. this one is a bit softer than most Dyed_Red works, it offers an emotional view of sam and dean growing up. heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time.

Wire Inside Me by merle_p (E, 7k): the sam-is-carrying-lucifer's-baby fic. this story is great for how it deals with the pregnancy pushing dean over the edge. the first time tension here is excellent!

Dean is badass. Sam has always known it. by FrancesHouseman (E, 7k): very interesting dynamic with sam and dean playing mind games to see who gives in first. i like this cocky sam a lot.

Hush Little Baby by hellhoundsprey (E, 7k): CNC weecest. sam and dean go to a haunted house and get up to some nasty freaky shit. it's even better than you can imagine. fyi there's dean in a clown costume.

they said it was the fall of man by jukeboxhound (M, 7k): set in s6, the aftermath of sam getting his soul back through dean's POV. pure angst and overwhelming emotions, beautifully written, it hurt so good.

Man of Steel by glovered (T, 8k): THE lighthearted incest fic for me. along the lines of paxlux's 'Artery', at least to me. this borders on crack, a hilarious, feel-good story that always makes me smile when i think about it.

Disney Princess Hair by Dyed_Red (T, 8k): gencest/weirdcest in its best shape. sam as sleeping beauty! and obviously dean being very very very weird about handling the curse. i loved how this touched on the obsessive aspects of their relationship while keeping the tone light.

Architecture of Choice by Dyed_Red (E, 9k): yes another Dyed_Red work bc they're my favorite author. this one has one of my fave tropes (fuck or die) and it deals with sam's lack of bodily autonomy in a visceral way.

Pull over by jjtaylor (E, 9k): for my piss play enjoyers! this has lots of great tension and it goes way beyond kinky sex.

This Is All Very Meta by road_rhythm (E, 10k): loss of virginity roleplay fic. except it's sooo much more than that. i thought this would be fun and lighthearted, couldn't have been more wrong. the emotional depth delivered here caught me by surprise, but it shouldn't have, given the author. flawless characterization as usual.

God will forgive me but by sammyatstanford (E, 10k): weecest with lots of pining!sam and angsty yearning. brothers who need each other in sick, twisted ways. there was also a great amount of actual brotherly feelings, which is always a plus in my book.

>10k

Acid by Goshen (E, 12k): to this day one of the most insane things ever written. this fic is a classic, it's a surreal experience, a fever dream. dissecting the brotherfuckers, no stone left unturned.

Baby Blue by Edwardina (E, 13k): sam gets hit with a curse that makes him need to suck on a pacifier 24/7. it turned out to be way less sexual than i expected, this is for caretaker!dean lovers.

Learn to say the same thing by glovered (T, 14k): great case fic. sam and dean go to a singles' retreat in the mountains for a case and eventually have to confront their incestuous feelings. every glovered fic just fills me with joy.

Supersize Me, Sammy by awabubbles (E, 16k): sadly one of the only size queen sam fics ever written, but it is absolutely perfect so i made my peace with that.

Only Natural (Be My Hands) (E, 17k): sam manages to break both his wrists so dean steps up to take care of his needs. and i mean all of his needs.

Relapse by ani_coolgirl (M, 21k): lebanon AU. i adore this fic, i'm in love with it, i think about it all the time and will think about it forever probably. everything here was done incredibly well, one of those fics that feel specifically made for me lol

Edges by glovered (M, 23k): amazing banter and lots of UST. set in stanford era but it's not really angsty. the tone was just perfect for me, this fic had me GIDDY.

Driving Down the Darkness by Nutkin (M, 39k): one of my faves in terms of Brotherly Feels. extremely well written and thoughtful, super slow burn. outstanding early seasons getting together fic that everyone should read.

Like a Ghost with Two Voices by Dyed_Red (E, 46k): my favorite demon!dean fic. some of the wildest scenes i've ever read. pretty disturbing and incredibly delicious. if you're into fucked up consent stuff, this is a must read. it has a happy ending!

Burn the Witch by urchinesque (E, 80k): very solid case fic, set in s10, with sam and dean trying to work through their issues. slow sloww burn, witch!sam shenanigans, mild pining. really enjoyed their voices here.

bottom dean and versatile samdean recs:

Take Backs by saltandbyrne (E, 2k): swesson + switching. hands down one of the best PWPs i've ever read, which was to be expected from saltandbyrne. it really doesn't get filthier than this.

How to Wear Polka Dots by homo_pink (M, 6k): swesson. this one is so so weird. and so charming. interesting and refreshing writing style, i had so much fun reading this.

Here's Your Future by autoschediastic (E, 7k): weecest with teasing!dean for a change. loved the power dynamics here, and the intensity throughout the whole fic. desperate, guilty first time, badwrong at its finest.

Enduring Love by oschun (E, 7k): really enjoyed the relationship study here, insightful and well written.

there will be better days by deadlybride (E, 9k): my favorite heaven fic! so warm and peaceful and emotional, full of love and longing and happy reunited soulmates. just thinking about this story makes my heart ache in the best way. really really beautiful.

Yeah, I'm a Back Door Man (E, 22k): established relationship. dean's hell trauma. this was a rollercoaster, great character study, good mix of angst and schmoop as well. probably the best bottom dean i've read so far (along with a couple Goshen works)

Yesterday, minnesota by Goshen: (E, 29k): speaking of applecrumbledore... this fic truly rewired my brain. the queen of "fucking for years without talking about it until one of them snaps". brilliantly executed, one of my favorite deans ever.

yay it's finally over! still i wish i had more long fics to rec lmao do check tags carefully before reading! enjoy the wincest goodness! do also check out this tiny list i've previously made for 3 of the best angsty fics set in stanford era!

#fic recs #samdean #wincest #bottom sam

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yeonmuse · 1 month ago

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In which our Alice finds the man she loves so dearly in a place the people call underland

Request from anon: Chosen Journey [ red king guide, pocketclock tether, traveling to through wonder forest and to the red kings palace]

✧ tw. smut & angst (18+ mdni!),readers first time, heeseung worshipping reader, unprotected sex warning mentions of death and ss attempt

Authors notes: req 7 for musies 1k req event. Its been so long since ive got to write some angsty stuff I really hope you enjoy this read, i feel like im a little rusty with the angst but if you love it thats all that matters.

Other reqs can be found here

You’d been fast asleep for god knows how long, back resting against an old willow tree, lips parted as soft snores spilled from your lips with every breath. It wasn’t until you felt someone's hand clasp upon your shoulder and shake you awake that you realized you’d even fallen asleep. As you finally peeled your eyes open you could make out two voices whispering amongst themselves. “Isn’t that-” “it can’t be her she’s not meant to be here yet” “well i’m looking at her right now and it’s definitely her”. Slowly you’d started to adjust your vision until it was no longer a blur, and it was then that you realized you weren’t home? If you were being completely honest you had absolutely no idea where you were.

“You’re awake.’’ the stranger kneeling before you spoke softly, seemingly letting out a relieved sigh before turning to look at another guy that stood behind him. You look around, taking in your surroundings out of hopes of feeling some sort of familiarity or recognition of where you had been but you feel nothing. If this was somewhere you had been before the memory was long gone, buried beneath all the trauma and pain that had slowly started plaguing your psyche for as long as you could remember.

“Who are you…? Where…where am I?’’ you ask, the two standing before you look at one another before the one standing the furthest from you shakes his head as if disencouraging the one kneeling to say anything that mustn’t be said.

“I’m Sunoo..and this is Sunghoon….right now you’re in Underland.’’ the blonde responds, both of them staring at you cautiously as if they needed to walk on eggshells around you, as if there was more to be said yet each of their mouths remained sealed shut in that regard.

“Underland?’’ your reply, brows creasing together in confusion. You’d never heard of the place your entire life, not on any map or through gps, hell you’d never even heard of anyone speak about it.

“It’s where..this is where you go wh-’’ before the man kneeling before you could speak another word, the other that stood behind him all this time finally feels the need to chime in. “Sunoo don’t, if it really is her we should let him see her, he should be the one to talk to her.”

“Okay what’s going on? Can someone just explain how I got here..one moment im…” your voice slowly drifts off and you let out a breathy laugh. “I get it now.. I’m sleeping right now. Lucid dreaming again?’’

Sunoo and Sunghoon share a brief glance, one that had gone unnoticed by you because you had been far too busy trying to convince yourself that what you had been experiencing was not your reality.This was simply your psyche playing tricks on you, something that would happen of since, well since you’d lost someone dear to you. The only difference was this didn't feel like a dream, it felt like a purgatory almost, like you’d been trapped between a world of reality and surrealism.

“You know what i’m probably resting good for once in my life..i’ll just enjoy this while I can.’’ you finally surrender looking over to the two men that were staring at you as if you’d grown two heads.

“Well, are you going to take me to this guy or not?’’ you glance at the both of them expectantly, as if waiting to see which one of them would make the first move.

“Right…come with us.’’ The blonde you knew to be Sunoo turns on his heels and walks away, and Sunghoon follows, both beckoning you to follow them as they disappear past the conglomerate of trees.

It felt like you had walked for hours until the three of you finally stood on the other side of a moat, murky black water, water that looked so dark you were sure if you jumped inside you’d meet no end if you sank to the bottom– and right at the top floating to the surface..severed heads. Your blood ran cold and your body stiffened upon the realization of what it was, this dream was turning out to be more of some kind of nightmare. ‘This isn’t real yn’ you’re forced to keep reminding yourself as the bridge drops down before the three of you and you follow the two men across. You knew this was probably the furthest thing from a smart decision, your mind had been screaming at you to turn around and run away, but oddly enough your body betrayed you, you didn’t feel any fear, nor anguish..you felt oddly calm.

“Do you think he’ll be mad we brought her here?’’ you could hear Sunoo whisper to Sunghoon in front of you. Sunghoon simply sighs and shrugs him off. “It’s not like we’re the ones that brought her to underland..if she’s here then that must mean something is wrong.”

You weren’t sure what any of it meant, who were they talking about and what did it have to do with you?

As the three of you stepped into the castle a cold chill ran up your spine, the place felt cold and daunting. In contrast to its vibrant colors and obnoxious decorum..this place felt oddly lifeless and lonely. Though still you continued to follow them, through the twisted and never ending hallways, up a spiral staircase and into an empty bedroom.

“He’ll be out soon, just wait here.’’ Sunoo says, before he and Sunghoon disappear from the room leaving you unable to utter even one word in response. Once the door shut you were engulfed in complete silence, the type of quiet that seemed so empty it was almost chilling.

You allowed yourself to wander, taking in the minimization of the room, other than a bed, a mirror and a few dressers the room housed nothing else, not a photo or knickknack in sight, not one sense of essence or personality of whoever this guy you were meant to meet.

A sigh spills from your lips as you take a seat on the couch furthest from the bed, placing a pillow in your lap you found yourself absentmindedly fumbling with its loose stitches. Then the sound of a door cut through the silence grabbing your attention, throwing the pillow off to the side you bounced back up onto your feet almost immediately.

Then he walked in, slowly your eyes trailed from the red towel wrapped snug around his waist, to his chest and eventually as your eyes finally found his face amongst your gawking and you completely froze in your place. Eyes glued to him as he stood drying his damp hair with a smaller towel, seeming to not yet have noticed you standing there. Your eyes began to burn with tears, and before you knew it they'd come pouring down your face.

As you let out a sharp inhale heeseung finally seemed to realize there had been someone else other than him in the room. When his eyes fell upon you, eyes locked to him while tears came spilling down your cheeks he’d become lost for words. There was no way that you were here, you couldn’t have been…you weren’t meant to be. Yes he’d been waiting for you there, he promised himself that he would wait there for you forever, but you weren't meant to join him so soon.

“Heeseung..’’ his name fell from your lips and sent a wave of pain through his chest, your once cheerful voice was tainted with despair and disbelief.

“What are you…how are you here.’’ his eyes scanned over every part of you, as if he were capturing a photograph with his eyes, as if he’d never see you again if he didn’t take in ever detail. And then you ran to him, eyes full of tears and nose a complete mess as you wrap your arms around him, completely enveloping him in your warmth.

He wasn’t sure what to do at first, was he to be happy or upset that you were here? Did he comfort you or reassure you?

“I missed you so fucking much.’’ you choke out in between tears, your voice barely coherent as you’d been in between sniffles and coughs.”i don’t care what kind of dream, i don’t care if it’s a nightmare or the weirdest dream possible i won’t wake up. I won’t’’

“A dream?’’ the words spilled from his lips so softly that they’d gone amiss by your ears. So you thought this was a dream.

“Yn..” he calls softly, his breath getting caught in his throat as you stare up at him all doe eyed, with your tear stained cheeks. Even with your face a mess you were just as beautiful as the last time he’d seen you. “Yn do you know where you are right now?’’

“Underland..your friends they told me, well they didn’t really tell me what this place is but i'm sure since it’s my dream that it’ll come to me eventually.’’ you respond, seeming so sure yet so clueless that it broke his heart. It was just as he thought, you had absolutely no idea where you were

“Yn there's something I have to tell you.’’ you stared at him expectantly, he was staring into the eyes of the one person he’d longed to be next to for quite some time now, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth. “You can’t you can’t stay here.’’

Then the smile on your face faded.

“What? What do you mean i can’t stay here it’s it’s my dream..’’

“Just, you need to go. The fact that you’re saying those words tells me everything I need to know you don’t know what's going on here. Who brought you here?’’

“It- it doesn’t matter Heeseung i’m not going.’’ you step back, staring at him with a gaze that burned through him, and he knew it wasn’t going to be easy to get you to go without revealing the truth to you.

“Yn..i’ve missed you, i did but this place you can’t be here?’’

“And why can’t I..? Every passing day all I've wanted to do was see you, you're the only person that keeps me from falling to pieces and if I wake up now, who knows when I'll see you again. I don’t care if I sleep until I breathe my last breath. I won't go. I won’t wake up.’’ and then you looked at him, you looked at him with those eyes that had once made him melt everytime he stared into them, the eyes he fell in love with right before you slipped through his fingertips.

He knew he should have fought harder to send you back, but when he had you standing there staring at him he couldn’t bring himself to yell at you, or scream at you or tell you no. Not when you were standing here before him moments after crying your heart out about how much he’d missed you. His gaze shifts to the clock near the window and a sigh spills from his lips.

“6 hours, you can stay for 6 hours, but then promise me…promise me that if you really think this is a dream you’ll wake up.’’

Then you jumped into his arms, this time as happy as ever, clinging to him as if he’d disappear if you’d dare let him go. “I promise.’’

Then you both pulled away, his hand fell to your cheek and he took his time drinking you in, admiring every part of you that he’d missed.

“I really missed you.’’ he whispers softly, fingers ghosting over your skin through the fabric of your clothes as he rubs gentle circles over your waist.

There was something different in your gaze in comparison to how you once looked at him. Some sort of hidden desire swimming beneath the surface of your doe eyes that he wanted to explore. He’d loved you for years, though the words had gone unsaid by him and eventually he lost his chance.

“Can I..Can I touch you?” he spoke softly, lips only an inch away from your ear. You respond with a nod, his breath against your neck making it hard to form your words into actual sentences. You didn’t care if it was blurring the lines between what was real and what was simply just a lucid dream , all you cared about was that you had him back here, with you. Holding you, touching you, wanting you.

You and Heeseung had known one another for years, since diapers to be exact, your mothers had thought it was the cutest thing how protective you were over one another. Over time that only worsened though, you weren’t sure when the lines of friendship and love had become blurred between the two of you but eventually you’d stopped looking at him as just a friend. By the time you’d gotten ready to tell him that you loved him it had been too late, time had taken him away. But now here he was so lifelike and real, that it made you want to never wake from this dream.

His lips finally attached to your skin, so loving and hot that it made you melt in an instant. With every kiss it was like he was worshipping your body, savoring it in a way that even with time the feeling and taste of you would last forever on his lips.

“Heeseung..”

“Don’t.. just let me..I love you, I’ve always loved you. I may never get this chance again tonight so let me in…let me worship every inch of you as if it’s the last time I’ll ever see you again.” You sucked in a breath at his words, the weight of them crushing you as if gravity had come crashing down from the sky.

“Okay.” The word spilled from your lips so quietly, it was obvious that he’d completely melted you with his words. You were taken by him, completely and utterly taken.

He took his time, leading you to the bed and sitting you down so that he could strip you bare and leave sweet and loving kisses on every inch of you.

“Fuck you’re so pretty my love.” Butterflies, butterflies are what he made you feel, along with the flutter in your chest at the praise and sweet nickname. Then he dove in trailing kisses from your legs, to your thighs, your waist, stomach, breasts— any place you could name even those going unseen even by yourself he’d made sure to love and appreciate.

“Want to worship every part of you like you were always mine.” He whispers, standing up from between your thighs so that he now hovered over you. His fingers tracing circles on your soft skin before he removes the towel from his waist and throws it off some sort of other party of the room.

You let out a sharp breath, this was really happening, you and your best friend, the man you’d loved md for years and never realized loved you back.

“Tell me..tell me if it hurts okay?” And then he eased his way in, splitting you open with every aching inch that made your nails dig deeper and deeper into his skin until he ‘d bottomed out completely.

“You alright angel?” He asks, peppering soft kisses on your face, smiling when you give him a nod.

“I’m fine, I think..I think I’m ready.” You reassure him, and that was all he needed before he’d spend his time completely ruining you.

“So fucking perfect.” he says, eyes struggling to focus on just one part of you. his hands hover just over your waist, tracing circles over eager skin. He didn’t care what the circumstances were after this, all that mattered was that he had you.

The sound of you moaning and panting beneath him, thighs wide spread, knees pressed to your chest, was all enough to throw and sense out the window. Your back arches, lips parting when he sucks lightly under your ear.

You moan his name, soft and shaky, and he absolutely loses it. he leans in, mouth dragging hot and open along your neck, kissing and breathing you in, his lips trembling against your pulse like he’s drunk off you. He murmurs something there, a soft, almost desperate, “my pretty girl.” Before thrusting into you so hard you were seeing stars in the daytime.

His hips rock into you, slow and deep, dragging along every sensitive inch inside you until you’re trembling, mouth parted in helpless moans. He kisses you through it, messy and uncoordinated.

he doesn’t hold back anymore. Every inch of you has been touched by him, his hands, his mouth all have ravished you completely. He has you falling apart entirely, clenching around him with strangled moans, whole body trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, and he follows, grinding into you with desperate and melodic moans, holding you close as he spills into you.

Even as he’s struggling to catch his breath he doesn’t let go. He stays buried deep, fingers tracing over your cheek giving loving strokes.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers softly, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist before climbing into bed, lying you on top of him.

The two of you lied there for hours, talking for hours on end, watching the sun slowly fall from the sky outside of his window. Then the clock had finally whined down. You lie resting against his chest, his fingers in your hair as you trace circles on his arm with your fingertip.

“You’ll have to leave soon.” He spoke softly, suddenly turning the mood sour and evidently somber.

“Why.. why can’t I just stay here with you.” You respond, at which he sighs and stops combing his fingers through your hair.

“You promised me.”

“Promises are meant to be broken sometimes.” You respond playfully, a sentence he doesn’t find funny in the slightest.

“Yn you need to go.” He responds sternly, suddenly raising his voice which catches you completely off guard.

“You know what no. I won't. Why do you want me to go so badly!?” You yell in response.

“Because I don’t want you to end up like me!” He responds by making you fall silent.

“What..what do you mean end up like you?”

“You know what I mean yn.” That was it, was all he had to say for you to hang your head down and the tears to come flowing in again.

The crash, Heeseung had been gone for quite some time now, it had been exactly two years since he had died and as much as you’d force yourself to try and get over it you never did. You’d found the worst ways to cope, alcohol, pills, weed, you’d even gone as far as trying to down a bottle of alcohol and your pills at the same time, though that didn’t get you very far.

“Don’t make me.. if I wake up now then that means accepting it, accepting that you’re gone..I just..i never felt so alone. Without you with me I don't know what to do or who I am.” You spoke, your voice cracking with each word and it was putting Heeseung through hell to see you fall apart like this.

“You don’t need to be here..I know it’s hard, I miss you too, I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known how to love someone but it's not time for you to be here.” He spoke, an edge of disdain laced within his time as he forced himself to hold it together. “You have people waiting for you, you still have your life to live.”

“No..i don't. My life ended when I lost you. When you left me my life did end right there.”

“You have to move on, angel you can’t.. you can’t do this to them. They’re waiting for you. You need to go back. To move on and find a way to be happy. Eventually you’ll find your way back to me. Even if you don't, I'll find you in any lifetime.” He reassures, wiping the tears from your face which only makes you cry harder, his touch something you’d longed to feel since before you could remember. This would be the last time you felt that.

“You have to wake up angel.” He whispers softly, pressing loving kisses against your lips and cheeks, ignoring the salty taste of the tears that stained them, “please wake up.”

Then as you close your eyes to rest your forehead against his something shifted, you feel the warmth of a blanket wrapped around you and the softness of sheets below you. As your eyes fluttered open you could hear the faint chime of a heart rate monitor fill the room and the silent him of an air conditioner. Through blurred vision as you turned to your right you could make out the silhouette of a person fast asleep sitting up in a chair. Your mom.

“No..no no no.” Tears sting your eyes, you screw them shut in a desperate attempt to force yourself back to sleep but it was of no use you were wide awake.

Giving in and surrendering to the fact that you’d already lost those moments you stare up at the ceiling tears spilling from your eyes.

“Please, please don’t leave me here alone.” You choke out, your words so faint that they hadn't gone unheard by your mom that immediately jumped from her seat. Tears poured from her eyes as she ran to call the nurse.

Two months , you had been in a coma for two months, what felt like 6 hours to you had been 2 long months for your family. The doctor had declared you as dead at one point, your heart stopped for 30 seconds and in that time you’d fell into some sort of purgatory state.

“She’s not supposed to be here yet.” Sunoo, Sunghoon and Heeseungs words hit you like a truck. You’d finally realize what they meant by those words, you weren’t in some sort of lucid dream state, you’d died and if it wasn’t for Heeseung forcing you to wake from the dream you were so eager to remain in, you’d have been lost…just like he was lost to you

PERM TAGLIST : @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @sol3chu @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @jwonistic @getoxo @nithxhoon @lakoya @iichuuo @letmein2urheart @mitmit01 @hollxe1 @tinyteezer @jkslvsnella @manobillie @vvenusoncasual @i03jae @blackhairandbangs @sunooqvrlsx @addictedtohobi @gaytron3000 @firstclassjaylee @riribelle @ivyvioletcarson @academiq @claumbeju @bubblytaetae @pkjay @nightowlpudding @papichulomacy @celestenlav @50-husbands

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girl-lostconnection · 4 months ago

Note

Hello, just saw your post about not wanting people to get upset when they demand work from you, which I’m so shocked to see isn’t absolutely obvious. I’ve been a lurker on this site for some time and I LOVE so many of the things you’ve written, honestly one will pop up on my blog and then I’ll go down the rabbit hole of everything you’ve written. You’re so lovely and owe absolutely nothing to your readers; you’re doing this for free?? Why would I demand you write something?? If people want something to be written, they can write it themselves. I’m so sorry you have to deal with all this.

On that note, I just wanted to say that I just read your tf141 x deceased!reader angst and you broke my heart. The way ghost was worried they would bury you alive because he remembers how horrible that was for him and would never want you to go through the same thing?? Even though he knows, realistically, you’re not alive? AND THE PHONE????? Absolutely crushing, thank you.

Lurker anon, the light of my inbox! First of all thank you, you are very sweet. And yeah, it did feel peculiar and I brushed it off for some time (avoidance of conflicts be damned) but yeah, it was time to address the issue. Anyway, I appreciate your support, it really is very nice of you🌻🌟

Also, yes! I wrote his part specifically because I remember that being buried alive traumatised man to hell and back. So even though logically he knew that Reader was already gone, this deeper part of him couldn’t bring himself to let go. Partially because he himself was not ready to let Reader go, partially because what if. What if they got it wrong, what if the coroner was wrong, what if Reader wakes up.

What if they wake up and they are in the awfully tight space with 3 feet of ground above them and oxygen running low. Simon remembers how terrifying it was, how part of him still hates tight spaces and the feel of soil under his nails.

So yeah, part of it was grief, part of it was trauma, part of it was Simon’s desperate need to protect or to try, however fruitless and mad it might have looked to the outside perspective.

But also, imagine him twitching awake every time his phone pings for like a week straight after the burial because again, what if. What if (he hopes) they were wrong, what if Reader is coming back, what if they are alive. I think he’d hang onto this thread as long as he can because it allowed him to keep it together at least partially. Bc you know if you aren’t truly gone then he might not need to mourn.

And then a week passes, then another one, then a month and it could be a random morning, his regular cup of tea. Seemingly nothing out of ordinary. And then the realisation hits him. Reader is not coming back. They are really truly gone.

I think Simon is the one (along with Kyle) who processes grief the hardest. Because Simon already lost so many and because Kyle doesn’t know how to let go. But that’s just a thought. Honestly, all four of them mourn pretty heavily

#call of duty #grief series #cod mw2 #girl.asks #lurker anon #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #simon riley #kyle gaz x you #kyle gaz x reader #kyle garrick x y/n #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 11 months ago

Text

Chapter 23: Extreme Makeover Backyard Edition

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter twenty three of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this one 18+ because it handles some heavy subjects! Angst, Cursing, Nudity, Mentions of Abuse (sort of- it's more the reader being used without knowledge of it and I'm not sure what to call that), Numbness, Depression, Mental Health, Brief mentions of graphic death, Brief mentions of graphic torture, Mention of gore, Mention of death, Mentions of character going through some HEAVY EMOTIONS and INTERNAL TRAUMA, Fluff, Sexual References, Family Problems. Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Reader POV

You fall on your hands and knees in the soft grass of Legend's front yard, falling from the sky like a comet as it's glow fades and burns for the last time before striking the earth. You don't remember how you left Stan's apartment, don't remember flying here, don't feel anything, not the humidity that comes with the rising sun, not the cold kiss of dew against your skin, all you feel is the cold creeping numbness that trickles through your veins.

The memories of what you did come in flashes, but they do nothing. They do not evoke remorse nor pain, they haunt you, but do not bring tears to your eyes.

You open and close your hands, letting the blades of grass crush beneath your fingertips, but you don’t completely comprehend where you are, or how the hell you got here. All you feel is weakness tugging at your every muscle, threatening to drag you under the rising tide. You felt electrified, but so tied at the same time, everything and nothing. What happened seemed centuries ago and also seconds ago.

There was no anger, no remorse, no pain, no horror, no shock, there was nothing, only the chill that clung to your skin on the warm summer morning. You could see Stan’s death in your mind, watch his body collapse in on itself under your power and yet it did nothing to you.

You're not sure of anything anymore. Who you are, who Rosemary is- everything you knew is gone and you're not sure what's left behind, not sure what will come crawling out of the shell you were now. You knew you should be afraid, but another voice in your ear whispered so should they.

Someone grabs you by the shoulders, hauls you up off the ground, raising your gaze from the wet grass.

Ben looks furious, mind you, he always seemed to be angry when it came to you. You wondered if that was because he loved you or if it was because the two of you were fated to kill each other one day.

Or maybe it's a healthy combination of both.

He's wearing his jeans again, his dark hair falling forward into his eyes that burn with the force of his rage, but as soon as he sees the dried blood coating your cheeks, hair, and body, you watch worry begin to spark behind his glowing green eyes.

You register that deep down his anger and worry comes from a place that he'd hidden from you for eighty years, his love for you, the love that he was no longer hiding. But the chill still rose in your chest like the first frost of winter.

"Fuck." Ben mutters, moving his hands along your body, boldly looking for injuries, but he doesn't find any. "What the fuck happened? Why did you leave?"

You don't answer him, instead you take in a shallow breath, filled with the smell of fresh cut grass and Ben's musk. You're trying to find your voice, but it's difficult for you.

"Y/n are you alright?" He asks it, firmly gripping you by the shoulders, trying to shake you back into reality. You can hear the way the anger in his voice has shifted to something else.

"It's not mine Ben." Your voice is no more than a whisper as you stare blankly at him.

"Whose is it?"

You can't answer him, the only thing in your mind is Stan's words to you, the secrets he kept for forty years coming to light, the terrible things that he and Vogelbaum did. You want to tell him, tell him about what you know, but you can't find the words, can't find the thoughts to follow them.

"Sweetheart?" Ben furrows his eyebrows together, tilting your face to look at him. His hand softly strokes against your cheeks not understanding why you’re acting like this. “Are you alright?”

His voices sound like you’re underwater, a murmur, a buzz, just a shadow of the deep rumble you love so much, the voice you thought you'd never hear every again.

Ben says your name again, with such urgency that it snaps you out of it for only a moment. The smoke clears, but what’s left barely has the strength to cling to him as you collapse into his chest. Your body shakes uncontrollably, tears soaking through his thin t-shirt, unable to do anything else, but clutch him tighter against you.

"He's our son Ben. They stole my-" You can't find the words, can't find your voice, it sounds hollow. "Stan he and Vogel-." But your voice breaks again and you shudder against Ben's chest, the numbness coming back to drag you under.

Ben doesn't hesitate, he picks you up as if you weigh nothing, tucking your head under his chin as he goes and turns back towards the house. You barely register his picking you up, can’t seem to focus on anything, breath coming in shallow gasps, body still shaking. Ben tightens his arms around you as if trying to comfort you as he walks through the front doors.

“Is she alright?” Rosemary’s voice is close, but you don't raise your head from Ben's body.

“Fuck, there’s so much blood.“ Hughie adds and you can imagine him standing beside her, his eyes wide.

Guess that means he survived Mindstorm.

Your only hope was that Lou was already in bed, that she wasn't watching Ben carry you soaked in blood through Legend's house.

“It’s not hers.” Ben replies gruffly, still moving towards the staircase. He wasn't stopping and you were thankful for that, you didn’t want to talk to anyone and didn’t want to have it out with Rosemary. You were so tired, tired of fighting and of trying. You didn’t want to yell at her, didn’t want her to yell at you, all you wanted was to slip deeper into the darkness.

"Shit, she's just as fucking unhinged as Soldier Boy is." Butcher mutters under his breath wherever it is he's standing.

“Wait mom talk to me-“ Rosemary tries again.

“No.” You murmur into Ben’s neck. Stan’s revelation rings in your ears once more, betrayal momentarily clawing its way from the pit before the cold feeling comes back to drag you under.

Because it felt like she had betrayed you. All these years you thought that Vought left the two of you alone, but no, it was a lie. And if she'd done that, what else had she done to ensure your freedom?

“Please-“ She sounds broken, and it strikes something inside, because she's never sounded like that before. Rosemary was strong, stronger than you ever were.

But then the word makes the memory of Stan’s body snapping and twisting beneath your control come roaring back, his pleas for the mercy he didn’t deserve exhaled on his dying breath, as you turned him into nothing more than a lump of flesh.

You gasp, another shudder shaking through your body and you don’t answer and don't raise your head.

"Wait Ben-" She says his name, but Ben doesn't stop.

"She doesn't want to talk right now." Ben's tone is controlled, but you can hear the trickle of his rage just on the edge of his inflection. "And I'm not going to make her." He continues walking down the stairs and Rosemary does not follow.

Ben doesn’t put you down on the bed, instead he takes you to the adjoining bathroom. It’s bigger than your bedroom back at your apartment with a walk in shower big enough for five people to stand in, a giant vanity with two sinks, a jacuzzi, and a bathtub big enough for three. Legend never spared any expense when it came to that sort of thing.

Ben slowly places you on the vanity but when he pulls back you grab the front of his shirt. “No.” You breathe suddenly terrified. The terror of Ben leaving cuts through it all, followed by a wave of horror and fear.

If he leaves they’ll come for me again. They’ll come take me or Lou.

You were afraid to be alone, didn’t want him to go, not after everything that happened.

“Shhh.” Ben soothes you, brushing your hair back, “It’s alright sweetheart I’m just getting a washcloth.”

You relent, hand unfurling from his shirt, and he comes back with it, wetting it with warm water before he begins to drag it over your face as gently as possible. His eyebrows are furrowed with concentration, but you don’t move, you only stare at a point over his left shoulder not really comprehending what’s happening.

What happened to Stan comes back in flashes, black and white photographs followed by the bits of conversation that unmade you, the revelations that would haunt you for the rest of your life.

Ben sighs. “Well. I don’t think this is helping at all.” He throws the washcloth into the sink and gently cups your chin, turning your gaze on him.

You blink a few times to focus your eyes.

“Look sweetheart I know you don’t want me to leave, but you gotta get in the shower. I can’t get it all with this washcloth and the last thing I want is to put you in bed covered in blood.” He searches your gaze trying to make you understand what he was asking but you don’t respond.

He leans his forehead against yours. “Honey please you gotta say something. You’re scaring me.” Ben’s eyes meet yours, wide and for the first time in years you see genuine fear.

You let out a shallow breath, but don’t say anything. You can’t find your voice. Instead you gently touch his chest just over his heart. It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough for Ben.

Ben closes his eyes for a minute as if trying to make sense of it all. “Okay.” He breathes, opening his eyes again to look at you, care and concern charging the air between the two of you. “Can I take off your clothes?”

You nod once, eyes still focused on the white tiled wall behind him.

“Okay.” Ben gently pushes the leather jacket back from your body. It falls back on the counter in a bloody heap, staining the white countertops with flecks of dried reddish-black blood. “I need you to stand up for me sweetheart.” Ben says, holding you firmly by the waist and pulling you off the counter.

You stand there for a moment, unsteady on your feet, staring blankly ahead of you.

“Arms up.” Ben whispers.

You raise them above you head and Ben removes your shirt and bra before moving to your pants. “Hold on to me.” He places your arms around his shoulders as you step out of your shoes, pants, and panties.

If you’d been in your right mind maybe you would have worried about this moment, worried about Ben seeing you naked again after all these years. He’d only ever seen you the one time, but somewhere deep down registered that this was different. It wasn’t sexual. There weren't any expectations and there was nothing to be embarrassed about. This was Ben keeping his promise and taking care of you the way that he always had.

He steps over to the bathtub, running his hand under the stream of water to check the temperature.

"Come on.” Ben gently leads you over, your small hand in his and helps you step over the side of the tub and into the warm water.

Steam rises around your body, but the water feels lukewarm. Your gaze levels at the water that streams from the spout on the edge of the tub, not looking up at Ben as he switches the water to the handheld shower head.

"Tilt your head back for me honey." Ben murmurs, touching your chin with your free hand to tilt it back. "Eyes closed."

You do as he says and feel the water trickle through your hair and down your back, followed by the gentle scrub of Ben beginning to work shampoo through the strands. He works quietly, catching the suds that threaten to fall into your eyes. Your hands are folded in your lap, eyes still closed, feeling the steady way he cleans your hair and then your face.

As you sit there the memory of everything that happened with Stan begins to trickle in, causing an uncontrollable shudder to shake through your body. Ben's ministrations were doing little to make the cold feeling dissipate, if anything you could feel it sinking into your bones.

"It's alright sweetheart, I'm almost done." Ben says, and you feel his thumb stroke against your cheek for a moment before he continues to wash your hair.

"Sit here for a second. I'm going to go get you some clean clothes."

You open your eyes and watch him go. The water in the tub is red now, the last remnants of Stan's blood scrubbed clean from your body.

The fire would destroy any evidence that you'd been there and washing the clothes that you killed him in should take care of any other problems.

When you're dried off and in your own clothes, you stand in the bathroom and catch a glance of yourself in the mirror. You look hollow, broken, eyes miles away, skin a little paler than normal. You don't look like yourself, but you also don't feel like yourself.

"Come on, let's get you to bed." Ben says and you feel him pick you up again, carrying you to the bed as if you weigh nothing.

You mechanically go through the motions of getting under the covers, pulling them up almost over your head as you curl in on yourself, making yourself as small as possible. You shut your eyes to try and make the images of what happened go away, but you can't fight the ebbing darkness that comes to welcome you home. It's familiar. The same one that you fell into when Ben broke your heart and you thought he died. The pit was opening beneath your feet once again, and you wondered if you'd be able to pull yourself out this time.

Ben changes into a pair of faded sweatpants, before he crawls into the bed behind you under the covers, putting his arm up over your waist to pull you into him. You turn in his arms so that you're chest to chest and can bury your face into his shirt, inhaling the familiar scent, trying to rid yourself of the images and of the things you learned a few hours ago.

"It's alright Sweetheart, I'm right here." You can feel the rumble of Ben's voice in the palms of your hands where they curl against his soft shirt. The weight of his arm over your waist is familiar as is the heat of his body, the warmth you expected to wipe away the cold feeling that crept along your spine drowning everything else out of your head.

It's quiet for a few moments. Ben's hand is gently trailing up and down your spine, but sleep is miles away for you.

"I'm trying real hard not to be mad at you Sweetheart, especially when you're like this but-" Ben sighs, rubbing his hand up and down your back. "You lied to me. What were you thinking going off alone and-" His tone has shifted into more of a growl, the one he gets when he's about to yell at you.

If he had yelled at you, you wouldn't have reacted, you were just so tired of everything, couldn't focus on anything.

Ben's body tenses. It was as If he was physically trying to hold himself back from being upset, but you couldn't answer him. It had seemed like a good idea when you went, seemed right, but now you weren't sure.

What you had learned changed you, and you weren't sure if you'd ever be able to go back to the way you were.

He's quiet for a minute, before finally he presses a kiss to your forehead, and you bury yourself further into his chest. "I love you." He murmurs. "I promise I'm not going to go anywhere."

But you barely hear him, the only thing you hear is the low buzz of fluorescent lights and Vogelbaum's voice telling his staff to keep you quiet.

Soldier Boy POV

He didn’t know what to do. In all the years he’d known you, Ben had never seen you like this. He’d seen you upset, angry, sad, but never this.

It had been three days since you came back covered in blood, three days of you laying in bed refusing to speak, curled up into his chest.

Ben had tried to get you to eat something, but when you wouldn’t do it by yourself he had to spoon feed it to you, as if you couldn’t remember how to eat.

It scared him.

Ben hadn’t ever felt fear like this before in his entire life, but now, seeing you so distant and cold, he was terrified. He worried that you’d never come back.

Mindstorm had told him the truth about Homelander and as angry as Ben was about that, he couldn’t understand how Homelander was also your son. He’d never heard you say anything about them taking something from you for genetic testing, never spoken about willingly giving up your genetic material.

So then how the fuck did they get it?

There was something sinister that danced on the edge of his mind, something that seemed too horrible to consider, something that meant that Ben had failed to protect you, had failed to keep the promise he made eighty years ago.

But deep down Ben wondered if it was true, because as much as he knew you hated killing people, this seemed different than you usual reaction.

He held you closer to him, curving his body around your back as you slept soundlessly. You were holding on to his hand while you did, fingers entwined with his, holding it against your chest while you found some peace.

Ben was honestly waiting for another nightmare. Each time you’d fallen asleep over the past three days you’d woken up gasping for air, shaking uncontrollably, with tears rolling down your cheeks. Ben did what he could, brought you into his lap and held you tight, reassuring you that it was okay, that it was only a dream.

He was trying not to be angry, but he was. He was furious when he got back to Legend’s two days ago and discovered that you were gone, that you’d left to go off and do God knows what with Homelander flying around. Rosemary refused to tell him where you were only told him that you left but that you’d be back. Ben hated that you made him wait around like a fucking woman waiting for her husband to come home.

He had intended on yelling at you, at making sure you knew how pissed off he was that you did the one thing he told you not to do, but then he saw you land in Legend’s front yard looking like you had taken a shower in someone’s blood and he couldn’t. Not when he feared that the blood was yours and not when he saw how broken you were.

Ben had loved you for a long time, understood you, saw how strong you were, saw that you always spoke your mind no matter what, and to see you like this was… petrifying. He didn’t know what had happened, didn’t understand how something you learned could effect you this much.

He too was still reeling from the revelation that Homelander was his son, felt an even greater sense of betrayal because Vought should have let him give the team to his son, pass it off like a king giving up his throne. And after the night that he had spent with you all those years ago, Ben was ready to give it up, to walk away and give you the life that you always wanted away from the spotlight.

Ben figured that Stan had told you Homelander was your son, and maybe that’s what this was. Ben had been dreading the conversation with you when he got back to Legends, the conversation in which he was going to have to tell you that Homelander was your son too. He didn’t want to hurt you all over again with news like that.

I guess I don’t have to.

Ben thinks to himself listening to the soft beat of your heart, pushing his face further into your hair where it hangs over your shoulders. But he's not sure that this is better.

When he wakes the bed is empty.

“Sweetheart?” Ben says looking around the bedroom. He strains his hearing to see if you’re in the bathroom or upstairs but he doesn’t hear you. Fear grips his heart.

Fuck. Where did she go?

Thunder shakes the house, rattling the windows as Ben looks around the room, brief flashes of lightning illuminates the vintage furniture, but you aren't sitting on anything. The sliding glass doors on the back wall of the bedroom are open, allowing rain to sweep through onto the carpets, water flooding towards your now cold side of the bed.

Shit.

Ben all but jumps out of the bed and rushes to the sliding glass doors, looking beyond into the darkness of Legend’s backyard. Lightning skates across the night flashing bright white, and catching where you stand in the grass. You’re looking up at the sky, soaked to the bone, but seemingly unnerved by the weather.

“Sweetheart?” Ben shouts over the sound of the thunder, but you don’t move. “Are you okay? Did you have another nightmare?”

“It’s not a nightmare.” You murmur into the storm, your eyes still focused on the sky, looking up at something that he can't see.

“What do you mean?” Ben gets closer to you, his feet sinking into the wet grass, rain saturating his clothes every second he stands out there with you. Ben was trying to understand, was trying his best to do what you needed, but he was worried that he was failing, that maybe he needed to take you to a hospital. He wasn't sure how to explain that to anyone if he did take you to one.

If anything he thought that you'd want to talk things out with Rosemary, but you hadn't wanted anything to do with her at all. That was the most surprising, that you didn't want to speak to her, didn't want her around. She had tried to come down to the bedroom, but you hadn't looked at her, you'd only clung tighter to Ben and said no. He wanted to know why, what Stan had told you to make you not want anything to do with her.

He was happy that Lou hadn't come down with her, he didn't want Lou to see you like this, didn't want it to haunt her the same way it was haunting him. He had heard Lou ask about you when he was laying in the basement beside you, and she had found him in the kitchen getting you something to eat and had hugged him tight and asked where you were. There were tears in her eyes when she did so and Ben told her that you weren't feeling well, but that he was taking care of you. There was a hand-drawn card on your bedside table from her filled with a picture of Lou holding out a bouquet of lavender to you that she asked him to give you.

“It really happened.” You close your eyes, head tilted up at the sky.

Lightning crackles across it, striking close to where you're standing, but you don't move an inch.

Ben stops mid-step. Your words sink into his soul, burn against his ribcage, anger surging up to replace the chill of the rain that clings to his skin. Because it meant he failed. It meant that the promise Ben made to you all those years ago was worthless, that he'd failed to protect you.

He thinks about all the time he wasted with other women, chasing after them, ignoring you. He thinks about all the moments he should have spent with you instead.

Maybe I would have figured it out if I wasn't so damn selfish. If I hadn't fucking cared about those stupid movies, or commercials, or the shitty interviews. I failed because I didn't put her first and I allowed this to happen.

“Stan told me.” You continue. "I wasn’t supposed to remember, but my mind knew. It was trying to tell me all these years but I just ignored it. Fucking pushed it away because I thought my mind was messed up from living this long. But it really happened."

“When?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that he said they did it when you were on location shooting a film. That they were too afraid to take me when you were still there.” You're still not quite looking at him.

Ben felt the words like a punch to the gut. Why did I ever shoot any of those stupid films? Why didn't I take her with me? Why didn't I make up some stupid reason why I needed her there with me? Why didn't I tell her sooner how much she meant to me?

Ben remembered the first time you had the nightmare in front of him, he had just gotten back from shooting a film overseas, one that he could barely remember only that he literally had sand in every crevice of his body after each day of shooting. He remembered how happy he was to see you when you answered the door of your small apartment, how you smiled at him, but you seemed more tired than usual. Ben had missed you more than he knew, he had tried to call while he was away, but you hadn't picked up. He remember thinking that was odd. You always picked up the phone or at least always called him back, but you hadn't.

“They knew I’d say no. Knew that I wouldn’t want to raise a child under Vought’s watchful eye and instead of respecting that, they-" You stop mid sentence, your body has begun to glow bright purple, not just your eyes, there's a thin film of purple radiating out from your body, tracing your outline with a heavy hand, glowing brighter than the lightning that flashes across the sky. "Stan wasn't even ashamed. He was proud of what they made. Proud of what they did to our son."

As soon as you utter the word 'son', the ground begins to shake under Ben's feet, grass shreds in the air all around him, and the storm grows worse by the second. There's a terrible cracking sound and the trees on the edge of Legend's property snap, loosing their limbs to flashes of purple energy that wash away into the darkness with the force of your power.

Ben could feel the same power trying to push him back from you, push him inside the house, but he fought it, continuing to take more steps towards you.

“After all these years he wasn’t afraid of me. He was afraid that you would show up and make him pay.” Ben can see your body shake. “Everyone was always just afraid of you. All those years I worked so hard to make sure you didn’t kill anyone and for what? So they could take advantage of me?”

Your body begins to rise off the ground, glowing brighter and brighter. Until Ben almost has to look away, his body still being forced backwards. In all his years of watching you use your powers, he's never seen you do anything remotely like this. This didn't seem like just telekinesis and Ben wondered who else had killed you over the years, if it had happened before and you just hadn't cared to tell him, or if it had happened in the years he'd been away.

"Sweetheart please." Ben tries to say again, but it's swallowed up in the howling of the wind.

"All those years I gave Vought everything. I let them dress me, tell me what to say, inject me with that shit. I was everything they wanted me to be, and they used me just like I was a fucking doll for them to play with!" Ben can hear your teeth clenching together in rage, your powers spiking again so that now there is shredded earth, grass, and trees, whirling around the two of you swirling together in a vortex that flashes with purple energy. "But no more. They're all going to pay."

"Y/n-"

You were still rising off the ground getting further and further from Ben's reach and he was scared. He'd never seen you like this before, never seen you lose control or seen you this angry. Sure he pissed you off and you'd occasionally throw a couch around the room, but this was almost insane.

Fuck I should stop pissing her off.

Ben could feel his own rage surging in his chest when he understood exactly what Vought took away from you, when he understood exactly what Vogelbaum had done. But at the same time he was ashamed that he hadn't been there for you, that he hadn't been able to protect you from them, and that he hadn't known the first time you had that fucking nightmare and woke up screaming when he was in bed beside you.

"Sweetheart!" Ben finally shouts, grabbing your hand. As soon as his skin touches yours he feels like he's stuck his finger in an electrical socket, as if the energy from your body jumping into his is almost painful, but he doesn't let go. He couldn't lose you to this, whatever the hell this was, wouldn't allow himself to lose you again.

Your glowing purple eyes flick to his. "Are you going to tell me that I shouldn't do that?" Your voice is cold. "That my revenge isn't as important as yours?"

"No." Ben shakes his head. "It's important. It's justified. I hate that they did that to you, that I wasn't there to stop them. That I didn't understand until now."

"It's not your fault what happened to me." You shout back, eyes flashing bright purple. "This isn't about you. This isn't your fight!" The vortex swirls faster around the two of you now, blurring everything beyond. "This is about what I need to do!"

"Yes it is!" His hand tightens in yours. "It is my fight if it involves you. I love you and that's what it means. It means us working together-"

"I don't need you to protect me! I am strong enough to do this on my own. I am so sick of people underestimating me and what I can do."

"Y/n please, listen to me!" Ben pleads. He could feel you slipping away and it scared him more than anything he'd been through in his entire life. He wasn't afraid to admit that. The look on your face and the display of power was so different than the person he knew.

You watch him silently, body glowing brightly in the night, floating off the ground as you stare down at him.

"I don't want you to do this alone." Ben says. The storm was still raging, thunder shaking the ground, lightning surging all around him. "I'm asking you to let me help you. Please."

"What?"

"You say that I hide what I'm really feeling, but you do too. You still hide things away from me. You think that you have to be perfect, controlled, some version of yourself that has everything together all the time, but you don't." Ben gently tries to pull you down an inch from the sky. "You've done that since we were kids, always done what you think is expected of you. That's why you almost married that asshole, because you were afraid to just let it go. So I'm asking you to do that now, to let go of all of it, because I promise that I will be right here for through every step of it."

"But-"

"I know I made promises when you chose me, and I'm sorry I let you down, I'm sorry that I let this happen, that I wasn't able to protect you from them." Ben's voice breaks and for a moment he sees a flash of the two of you in your bedroom the night that he asked you to come with him, how young and innocent you were, how much you cared for him reflected in your eyes. "So I'm promising you this now. That I will protect you, that I won't let anything happen to you and that you never have to be alone ever again. Because I love you. So please, just let go and let me in.

The whirlwind slows around the two of you, still ripping up the ground and the grass in the backyard.

"I have to be in control." You say in almost whisper.

"Why?" Ben asks.

"Because if I'm not I don't know what will happen!" You snap. "Someone dies, or you leave again, or they come to take Rosie or Lou away and I can't-" You shake your head, the glow on your body fading for a moment. "I'm not strong enough-"

"Sweetheart, you don't have to be." Ben says, and this time he pulls you from the air so that your bare feet swish in the grass again. His hand falls under your chin to raise your face to his. "That's why I'm here. You don't have to do this alone anymore, you don't have to carry this all on your shoulders. I am here and I am not going anywhere."

"But-"

"Please. I'm asking you to give me your pain, your anger, your burdens, your sorrows. Give me all of you. It's not going to scare me away." Ben whispers, taking your face between his hands. "I know that in the past I haven't been as dependable, but nothing is going to scare me away. I love all of you, even the pieces of yourself you keep from me, that you think you have to, to keep me here with you."

Fuck I sound like a pussy, but it's true. She's all I have and all I've ever wanted. And why shouldn't I say this to her? It's what she says to me. It's what she tells me and I believe her. I believe her when she says that I can rely on her, that I don't have to be strong all the time, that I can break.

He searches your face, brushes his thumbs across your rain soaked cheeks. I just want her to know that she can too and trust that I'll be here for her.

The vortex stops, the pieces of earth, trees, and grass falling to earth, the purple fading from your eyes as they do. You're no longer glowing, no longer a beacon in the night, you're just you, the woman that Ben loves more than life itself, and the woman that he thought he would never have ever again.

"I love you too." You whisper leaning into him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to lean your forehead against his.

He can feel the curves of your body against him, your wet clothes sticking like a second skin, hair stuck to your head, but you're just as beautiful as you always have been. And Ben understands that this time, he's not going anywhere, that he's going to stay with you for the rest of his life, and nothing can keep him away.

Reader POV

"Mindstorm told me." Ben says dragging his hand up your arm. You were laying on his chest in the bedroom, hair still wet, but now wearing dry clothes.

The residual thrum from your use of power was still charging through your cells, but lessened. Honestly you didn't remember going outside, didn’t remember standing in the storm, didn't know how long you were out there before Ben came out.

You were glad he did. You weren't in your right mind when you were out there, and if he hadn't come out you were sure that you were going to charge Vought yourself, tear it down and send it to hell where it belonged. You still wanted to, but you wanted Ben to do it with you. He was right, you didn't have to do it alone, and you didn't want to.

You nestled further into him, remembering what he shouted outside, remember how he held your face with the storm raging around him. He looked so afraid. You had only seen him look scared a handful of times in your life, but out there in the storm was different. It shocked you back into reality, brought you back from the pit, made you feel like you again for the first time in days.

And what he said hauled you further out of the darkness. You had said it to him countless times since he came back, that he didn't have to hide away what he was feeling from you, but for him to say it to you meant that he was listening. To you, Ben saying that made all of this more real, that he really wanted every part of you, that he loved you as much as he said.

The storm still raged outside, thunder occasionally shaking the windows, and lightning flashing behind the closed curtains, but you stayed curled up against Ben. Your head was tucked under his chin, arm wrapped over his bare chest. He hadn't put a shirt back on after the two of you changed, but you weren't complaining about that, there wasn't anything to complain about when it came to that. He was just so wonderfully warm, that you didn’t think you would get used to it. You also hoped that you didn't turn radioactive because of him, but you being here with him, laying on his warm chest made it worth it.

"Did he know about what Vogelbaum did?" You whisper.

Ben's muscles tense beneath your body when you ask that question. You knew that it hurt him, that it made him feel like he'd failed to protect you, but you didn't blame him for that. Even if he had been around, you knew that Vogelbaum would have figured out a way to do it, to get around him. And you didn't like it when Ben felt like he failed, it made you think about all the terrible things that his father used to yell at him when he was a kid. Ben had told you bits and pieces, over the years, and it was enough to make you want to travel back in time and kill his father yourself.

Honestly, you thought about killing him all the time when you weren't a supe as well.

"No. He didn't know that. All he knew was that Homelander was our son." When Ben says the word son he hesitates as if it's difficult for him.

It was also difficult for you, understanding that you had another kid and one that you didn't have anything to do with for forty years was hard. You suddenly understood how Ben felt about Rosemary.

"I should have known." You mutter into his chest.

"What do you mean?"

You sigh loudly. "At the premiere, Vogelbaum was pushing for me to come to the lab, said he was working on raising the "next generation of heroes" or whatever. And then Stan tried to come by and get me to do the same thing after you died, but I broke his nose."

"I remember." Ben mutters.

"What do you mean you remember?" You sit up to stare at him.

Ben raises an eyebrow. "I might have been there with Countess, but do you really think I wasn't listening to everything that was happening around you? He was dancing with you, I was making sure that everything was okay." Ben clears his throat awkwardly. "I mean I know that there was a lot happening that night, but I still wanted to make sure that you were okay."

"I wasn't."

"Yeah I-um- I know." His eyes flick away in shame.

"Ben?"

"Yeah?" He murmurs.

You gently turn his face back to look at you, fingertips under his chin. His green eyes are downcast, brows furrowed, lips pulled down into a frown. You knew how much he was still beating himself up for everything that happened in the past, and it was difficult for you to pretend that you didn't still feel the sting. But you knew he wasn't going to do it again, you believed that.

"It's okay. We're starting over. Just you and me." You brush your thumb over his bearded cheek. "No one else. This time what we're doing, it's different, it all feels different. Don't you think so? I mean I still love you just as much as I always have, but I-" You could feel yourself blush just a little, you weren't sure if Ben could feel that too.

"I know. It does." Ben whispers gazing at you. His fingers push back the strands of your hair that have fallen forward into your face. The way he's looking at you is the same way he did the morning you woke up on his chest after you slept together for the firs time. "I love you too Sweetheart." His lips find yours, gently pulling you up further on his chest so he can kiss you deeply, show you how much you mean to him, and you can’t help but smile into his mouth, feeling warm and happy for the first time in ages. His love dragging you out of the darkness that loomed over you and consumed your heart when Stan told you the truth about Homelander's heritage.

You sit up, folding your legs beneath you, pulling Ben's right hand into your lap, gently tracing the lines with a finger tip, noting the rough callouses that he'd developed over the years. You weren't really sure what to say next.

Ben sits up so that he's leaning towards you. "Are you feeling better?"

"A little." You continue to trace the lines. His hands were so much bigger than yours, everything about Ben was big, but you liked his hands, mostly because how small yours were when you held his. "I think destroying Legend's backyard was just the right amount of therapy."

"That was a little much, but I'm glad you're feeling better. I was-" Ben swallows. "I was really worried about you."

"I know." You whisper. "It's never been that bad before. The last time I got close was-" You stop mid-sentence.

"Forty years ago?" Ben asks quietly.

You nod.

"I figured." Ben scoots closer towards you so that his thigh is brushing against yours. "I'm-"

"No." You squeeze his cheeks, eyes narrowing. "No more saying sorry. Not again."

"Okay." Ben's gaze is still apologetic. He waits for a minute, watching you in the silence. "What are we going to do about Homelander?"

"I don't know."

It was the truth, you had no idea what to do with your supposed son. You had seen the coldness in his eyes, heard about the horrible things that he was doing to other people, the horrible things he had threatened to do, and you'd seen the way he didn’t seem to care about human life.

Then again maybe I can't judge him, not after what I did to Stan. You think, your frown deepening. Stan deserved what I did to him and my only wish is that Vogelbaum somehow survived getting his head fucking blown off so I can make him pay.

"Do you think we should try to talk to him?" Ben asks.

"I don't think that's possible."

"Why not? He's our son, somewhere deep down he's got to be willing to do that." Ben's voice rumbles up through his chest. "Maybe they brainwashed him into the person we saw at Herogasm, maybe he's just being controlled and told what to do just like we were."

"I don't think that’s possible."

"Why not?" There's an urgency in his eyes that is unfamiliar to you, almost as if he's pleading for you to understand.

But why? Yes he's our son by blood but we don't know anything about him. We haven’t been in his life for forty years, we don't have any connections to him.

"You saw how he was at Herogasm. How he was almost happy to kill Butcher, how he was happy when he tried to kill you and me. I don't know what kind of person is okay with that. I mean you and I have killed people and we feel remorse after, or there's some kind of justification, but there was something in his eyes, it's almost not human. It's predatory, it's-" You shake your head trying to comprehend it. "I don't know what the fuck Vogelbaum did to him, but there's something inside Homelander that's not able to be saved."

"You don't know that."

"Ben, do you think that I want to believe that? To believe that our son is not a good person?" You drop his hand from your lap. "It's taking everything I am not to go to him, not to try and work this out. I keep trying to tell myself that maybe all he needs is family, but I don't know."

"My old man said that blood mattered. That it was the only thing that defined family-"

"Now you want to listen to your dad?" You sigh looking at Ben who is frowning at you. "We both know that he's not exactly the best role model."

"Well neither am I okay?" Ben snaps, his eyes flashing. "Maybe he just needed someone and there was no one there. I mean I wasn't there for Rosemary, but she had you and she turned out fine!"

"That's not your fault Ben. It's not your fault that you weren't there. You can't forget that they sent you to Russia to replace you with him."

"I'm not forgetting I'm just saying that they did the same fucking thing to me!"

Your next thought fizzes to a stop in your brain. What is he talking about?

"What are you talking about?" You try to reach for him, but he pulls back from your touch.

"They force fed him all that shit about what it was to be an American, they made him a supe, they brainwashed him with all my old fucking films." He spits. "But in the lab when we got the serum the first time, they did the same thing to me. They told me that I was going to be a god, that I was going to be the symbol that America needed to get through the war, that I was everything that would save America from destruction."

"Ben." You say again, this time taking his hands and he doesn't pull away. "Ben listen to me. You were older when you became a supe, we both were. You knew what reality was, you knew what the world was like when the scientists started spouting all their crap. You were old enough to understand. Homelander was raised in a lab, he didn't have a family, he didn't have friends. He was told that he was a god every day and he's not. He was raised to believe that he was something more than human, something unbeatable."

"But-"

"They told me that too." You push his hair back out of his eyes, trailing your fingers against his forehead. "That I was a god, that everyone would want me, would look at me and understand that I was beyond human. And at the beginning maybe I believed it for a few years, but that doesn't make him anything like you or like me. He's twisted, his mind is gone, any semblance of humanity he had has been warped away into something dark. He never had any light to begin with."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I can see it in his eyes. I saw it when I fought him at the Herogasm. There's nothing left to save. He's done terrible things."

"I have too." Ben mutters.

"No. You lost control, we all do. It's unrealistic to think that it won't happen, especially not for people like us who have lived this long, but him? He did those things of his own volition, because he believed that he should or maybe it was because he believed that no one could stop him." You cup his cheek, pulling his face forward into the space between the two of you. "The things you've done you feel remorse for. I was there for you every time you messed up. I saw what it did to you, saw how broken you were when you hurt someone."

"Because I'm a hero." Ben sighs.

"Messing up once or twice does not make you less of a hero Ben, it makes you human." You lean your forehead against his, cupping his cheeks with your palms, feeling the way his beard tickles against your skin. "But Homelander, I don't think that there's anything human left."

Ben's hand comes up to hold on to your left wrist. "Then what do we do?"

"I don't know." You sigh. "I wish I did. If you really want to try to talk to him, we can, but I don't think that it's a good idea."

"He's still our son."

"He's our blood, but I don't think that makes him our son." You murmur.

You really didn't know how to deal with any of this. You wanted to believe that there was some semblance of humanity left in Homelander, but you didn't think that there was. You hated that Ben believed that he was like his son. Maybe that was some weird misogynist thing and Ben kept thinking like father like son in his head, but there wasn't any way that Homelander could be anything like Ben. Ben wasn't around for him, wasn't in his life, but maybe.

Ben pulls you back down on his chest once more, and you nestle into him once more, your head directly over his heart, the warmth of his skin comforting against your cheek.

"I think Noir knew." You breathe, tracing your hand over Ben's right pec.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Stan kinda hinted that he did, said that Noir was obsessed with me after I saved his life-"

"When did you save his- oh." Ben sighs.

"I think I should have seen that coming, given how much he kept showing up to my sparring sessions, the interviews, even some of the commercial shoots I had he seemed to always be around." You frown with a sigh. "I can't believe that I didn't know he was stalking me."

"What?"

"Stan said he kept breaking in to my apartment when I wasn't there, that he stole my necklace, you know? The one my dad got me for my birthday-"

Ben sits back so he can look you in the eye. "You're shitting me right?"

"No. That's what Stan said." You shrug. "Might have been just Stan trying to take some of the heat off, but that's what he said."

"That piece of shit." Ben almost growls. You can see the flash of jealousy and possession in his eyes that makes your heart thud a little faster in your chest. He clears his throat. "You-um- you never liked him right?"

"What?"

"The two of you were never that close?"

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Well you did save his life."

"Ben I've saved plenty of people from your temper. But no, I never liked him that way. Irving was sweet, but he was always so eager to prove himself to Stan it was just sad."

"Good."

"Why?" You sit up further, smirking at him. "Does that make you jealous? For you to think that Noir and I were together?"

Ben's eyes darken. "Watch it Sweetheart."

"Watch what?" You bat your eyes innocently. "I'm just asking a simple question."

"You keep poking the bear and you're not gonna like what happens."

"Poking the bear?" You snort sitting up and poke him in the ribs. "Are you the bear in that scenario?" You poke him again with a wicked smirk.

"Yes."

"Hmm. Well I think you're all talk. Because I have definitely poked you several-"

You're on your back in a second with Ben hovering over you, his green eyes shining as he flashes a roughish grin at you. One of his hands is pressed into the pillow next to your head, the other is at your waist, slipping beneath your t-shirt to rub circles over your hip bone with his thumb. "You were saying?" His voice is the low rumble that makes it hard for you to think.

You clear your throat. "I was saying that," You thread your hands behind the back of his head, working your fingers into his hair. "You have nothing to be jealous about."

"Really?"

"Mhhmm." You smile sheepishly. "Because it's always been you. No one else. Not Howard, Not Noir, just you." His hair is soft between your fingertips, his gaze unbreakable.

Ben returns your smile and collapses on top of you. You gasp out a breath, in a loud 'oof' sound as he does. His arms go around your waist and he buries his head in your chest breathing deeply. "I like it when you say that." He murmurs, turning his head so he can look up at you from your chest, with a smile that catches you in your heart.

"I know." You continue to scratch your fingertips through his hair.

"Sweetheart?"

"Yeah?" You breathe as you close your eyes, comforted by the weight of his body on top of yours. It was familiar, almost like he was a weighted blanket that took all your anxiety away. You felt safe with his arms wrapped around your waist, as if no one could touch you. You needed that now, needed that after you learned that without Ben someone had taken you from your home.

"I know that I can't say that there hasn't been anyone else." He whispers. "But you're the only one who mattered. You're the only woman that I've ever loved, and I swear that as long as I live I'll never love anyone else. You are all I've ever wanted and everything I thought I'd never have."

"You have me Ben." You whisper, beginning to fall asleep. "You always have, you always will."

And with those words you drift into the first fulfilling sleep you'd had in days, wrapped in the warm cocoon of Ben's love, allowing it to send you under into oblivion.

A/N: I know this one was mostly fluff and talking, but I thought that the reader deserved that after everything with Stan, and also after she well -you know- made a tornado in Legend's backyard. We're going to pretend that no one else heard it. 😂

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist please let me know :)

And if you'd like to read something a little more bantery then try my series: Take A Chance On Me

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demon-country · 7 months ago

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I've seen people calling for Stolas to get a shovel talk (or worse, actual violence) from Loona, M&M, and even Fizz, a lot after these past few episodes, but there's been a flare up of it now that he's officially in their care. And y'all, I can't emphasize enough just how bad of an idea that would be.

Stolas has absolutely no support system outside of Blitz right now, and is completely dependent on his goodwill to survive. He is homeless, unemployed, has no money or possessions of his own, and no way to get any of those unless Blitz provides them because literally all of hell hates his guts. Look at the way people treated him after the trial - you think he's going to be able to get a job or apartment from any of them, or that he'd be safe if he did? He doesn't have his powers anymore and is almost certainly now physically weaker than many of them, so he wouldn't have much of a way to defend himself.

He is also now going cold turkey off of his antidepressants, and has extremely low self-esteem, no self-worth, and a boat load of trauma due to the nearly two decades of living with Stella and having no one care when he was emotionally and verbally abused by her in public. Mastermind has pretty much confirmed what they've hinted at before that Stolas is and has in the past been passively suicidal, and based on the trailer, his daughter - who was implied in You Will Be Okay to be his reason for living - is soon going to be very hurt by what he did and cut contact.

What do you think is going to happen if some of the few people he is now dependent on threaten him with physical violence should he upset Blitz? Especially if more than one of them does it.

It's going to scare him. A lot. It's going to make his anxiety even worse than it's already likely to get, because despite how hard he's been trying lately to figure out where and how he hurt Blitz in the past, unlearning unconscious bigotry is a very lengthy process, especially if you're having to try to navigate through it on your own, and even more so if you're experiencing hardships that take up a lot of your time and energy. He's inevitably going to fuck up, but now with each successive time he does and is reprimanded, his anxiety will build and build (not helped by how abruptly stopping your antidepressants can heighten feelings of anxiety). His whole entire life he's been taught to suck it up and be perfect, to be whatever they want him to be so that he's safe and no one is mad at him, and he sucks at it. He always gets it wrong eventually, and gets hurt or humiliated when he does, and if he's already been threatened then he doesn't have much reason to think they wouldn't follow through on it if he screws up badly enough to hurt Blitz.

It's also going to further convince him that his feelings and wellbeing are unimportant to anyone but Blitz. He already is telling them to just let the abuse from the public continue without comment, do you really think he's going to reach out to them for help or try to form friendships with them if he thinks that they don't like him and are just waiting for him to mess up?

Unless what you're wanting is for Stolas to be scared on top of suicidally depressed, and for it to cause angst and problems later on, then a shovel talk is perhaps the worst thing they could possibly do to him right now. Threats, negative reinforcement, yelling, and hitting might make his bad behaviors stop, but only if he just retreats into himself rather than live with the constant anxiety of potentially saying or doing the wrong thing.

There are other, better ways to teach him how improve himself and unlearn his implicit biases, especially because he's already willing to learn. There are better ways to make sure he and Blitz aren't falling back into the same patterns that led to them both being hurt so badly. He's already being punished and abused by everyone else, how on earth would it be a good thing for him to be threatened by some of the only people he can trust not to hurt him right now? Even if it's just threatened in a joking or halfhearted manner, Stolas is notoriously bad at reading social cues and depression/anxiety make you prone to catastrophizing, so he's going to think they're being serious.

And even though it would come from a place of love and worry, do you think Blitz would in any way be pleased to hear that they gave Stolas a shovel talk? No, he absolutely wouldn't, especially if it led to an even further decline in Stolas' rapidly deteriorating mental health. And if he finds out about it after he learns that Stolas was abused by Stella and ostracized by his peers, then he'll be pissed off beyond belief.

Let that stupid bird be loved and cared for, for once in his life. He doesn't need more threats and he doesn't need more punishment; he's gotten more than enough of those his entire life, and all they'll do now is hinder his ability to heal, grow, and find himself.

#helluva boss #stolas goetia #blitzo #text post #meta #my post #long post

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libraryofolive · 1 year ago

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lost time

featuring: Nanami Kento x fem!reader

genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, gets fluffy towards the end

word count: 6.6k

synopsis: Nanami Kento left sorcery - and you, his best friend - behind two years ago. So what happens when you, still pissed off at him, get assigned a mission together?

Like this? You can find my smaus here and my drabbles and other fiics here!

Do you also have a request? You can find my rules for requesting here!

"No. I'm not working with him. I refuse." You seethed at Yaga, blatantly ignoring the man stood next to you in his beige suit and blue shirt, his reflective glasses blocking his eyes from your view - not that you would grace him with eye contact in the first place.

"You don't get a choice. The two of you were specifically chosen for this mission. I know you have some... history... but the fact is, you were a good team. The two of you worked well together. You need to do the same now."

"Absolutely not. I will do it alone if I have to."

"Not possible. It's too dangerous for one sorc-"

"Then make Gojo do it." You snapped. You looked Kento Nanami, who had been eerily silent through both Yaga's briefing and the argument that followed it, up and down, a frown etched into your face.

"Gojo is currently overseas. You two are to exorcise these curses together. End of discussion." At Yaga's words, you stormed out of his office. Deep down, you knew that you were being childish, throwing a tantrum that reeked of immaturity and unprofessionalism. You were considering leaning into your rage filled, angsty teenage state of mind and punching a wall when Nanami emerged from the office.

"I'm not talking to you." You spat at him, voice laced with venom.

"That's fine. But I expect you to be at least professional whilst we share this mission." He folded his arms across his chest, one eyebrow raised at you.

"Fuck off." The audacity of this man, acting superior to you when you were the more experienced sorcerer in this situation, considering he had been off playing corporate scumbag the past two years.

"I thought you weren't talking to me."

You raised your middle finger at him, turning around and walking away. Who the fuck did he think he is? Who gave him the right to act like that towards you?

This mission was going to be hell.

When you first started your education at Jujutsu Tech, Kento Nanami... intimidated you. Being a third of your first year class, he seemed the brooding type, the only emotion you ever really saw on his face being irritation. He was the opposite of your other classmate, Haibara, who was all sunshine and smiles. Where you and Haibara got on well enough, you opted more to avoid Nanami like the plague, at least, initially.

As the three of you started to fight curses together, you learnt to trust your classmates. You knew that they would always have your back in the dangerous scrapes you were often plunged into, even if you were unsure if you could really call them your friends. You felt like an outsider when the three of you were together - Haibara and Nanami's friendship blossomed quickly, but you felt like your connection to the boys was lagging behind.

"Boys are idiots, I would know." Shoko had once said between puffs of her cigarette when you asked for her advice about the situation. Due to the small number of girls attending Jujutsu High the two of you had bonded over the shared trauma of always being outnumbered, and you felt the closest to her out of all of your fellow students. "I wouldn't worry about it," she continued, "I was the same with Gojo and Geto. You'll click eventually."

"That doesn't fill me with much confidence." You frowned, "I'm not sure that it'll ever happen. I mean, I trust them with my life-"

"You have to do that-"

"and I respect them heaps. They're talented sorcerers, and they're both so brave. I don't think I've seen either of them break a sweat on our missions. But apart from sorcery, I don't know if we have anything in common."

"You worry too much." Shoko poked your nose condescendingly, smiling to show she was kidding around. Still, your brow furrowed, another protest on the tip of your tongue. "Seriously. You've only actually known them a short while. Give it some time. Not everyone becomes friends straight away."

"I guess you're right.." You sighed, conceding.

"I always am. It'd be a good idea to learn that." Your friend winked at you, making you roll your eyes at her antics.

But, she was right, eventually. Haibara had - unbeknownst to you - overheard your conversation, and resolved to try harder to befriend you properly.

"C'mon, Nanami, she seemed sad!" He exclaimed as he told your other classmate about what he had overheard.

"I'm not like you, Haibara. I'm not great at this making friends stuff."

"Well, you made me your friend. What's one more?"

"You are the reason we're friends. Your unrelenting pleasantness eventually wore me down."

"Oh please. You're funny, smart, and a great sorcerer. That's friendship material right there."

"If you say so."

"I'm not saying you have to be her best friend in the whole universe. Let's just try and include her a bit more, okay? Actually respond to her when she asks you a question rather than just grunting in her general direction." Nanami grunted in response to Haibara, making him laugh.

"See? Funny!"

The car ride to the abandoned hospital where the two first grade curses you were to exorcise were hidden was so tense, Ijichi thought he could cut that tension with a knife. He gulped, pulling at his collar, the sound filling the eerie silence of the car.

"So, er, it's been a while since you two saw each other, hasn't it? Isn't it nice to know the other is well." He said, attempting to fill a void made of awkward silence and angry looks.

"So nice." You replied sarcastically, rolling your eyes. You knew that you would have to apologise to Ijichi after this trip - it wasn't fair for him to get caught in the crossfire that was your tattered friendship with the man sitting next to you. Nanami knew this too, and felt it necessary to scold you.

"Your problem is with me, not him. Please don't project your hatred of me onto an innocent bystander." Still refusing to talk to him, you simply flicked his face.

"How mature."

You leant over to flick him again, but Ijichi spoke once again. "What lovely weather we're having!" In an attempt to stop a brawl breaking out in the back of his car, Ijichi had said the first thing that had come to his mind, paying no mind to the actual weather, which was pouring down with rain.

"Yes, quite pleasant." Nanami hummed in agreement, but sceptically eyeing the outside world from the pleasant heat of the car.

"Oh shut up." Your eyes narrowed at him, words icy cold.

"Are we talking again now?" He raised a brow at you, that smug expression from outside of Yaga's office back on his disgustingly handsome face.

Your ensuing flick to his cheek caused his expression of smugness to turn into one of irritation.

After your conversation with Shoko, you had noticed a shift in your dynamic with your classmates. Haibara had started asking you more questions directly, purposefully bringing you into the conversations between him and Nanami. He also sought to spend time with you out of class, one on one, and soon a real friendship clicked into place just like Shoko said it would. I guess she was right, you thought, not that I'd ever admit that.

Soon, group movie nights became a tradition. You would sneak into their section of the dorms every Friday, the three of you taking turns to choose what film would be that night's entertainment. You had begun to appreciate the stupid action/comedy films Haibara favoured, whilst you forced the two to watch childhood classics they had never seen.

"I am not watching another Barbie film." Nanami used to sulk.

"Well, it's my turn to choose, and this is what I have chosen."

"Yeah, Nanami, the rules of movie night dictate that we have to watch whatever the person in charge of picking chooses. That means if someone choses a Barbie film, we have to watch it."

"We have watched five already. Please, choose a different film." He aimed the last half of his words at you.

"Nah, I don't think I will. And I know you secretly enjoyed the last one."

"I did not!"

"You most certainly did! I saw you smile at the happy ending!" Haibara joined in your teasing of the blonde.

"I was only smiling because it was over."

"Excuses, excuses." You dismissed his rebuttal, grinning as you pressed play on the film.

Your relationships with the two developed quickly as these group hang outs became more and more frequent. However, there was always more distance between you and Nanami than you and Haibara. Until one week, when Haibara fell ill, messaging you to let you know:

Too ill for movie night :( What? Noooooo! Reschedule? Don't be silly. You and Nanami have one without me!

You paused at his suggestion. Sure, you and Nanami had hung out outside of class together. But never just the two of you, and always instigated by Haibara. Would it be awkward? You were just watching a movie, you reasoned, so it would be acceptable to just sit next to each other in silence. Outside of your better judgement, you found yourself once again sneaking into the boys' dorms.

"What are you doing here?" Nanami questioned when he saw you.

"Movie night, duh. What are we watching? It's your turn to choose."

"But Haibara isn't well."

"He told me to just do it without him... unless you don't want to? I can just head back to my-"

"NO! Er, no, it's fine. We'll watch something. I haven't thought about what to watch, so let me go raid my DVDs." He blushed at his slight outburst, and the thought of spending time, alone, with you. It was hard enough to not embarrass himself in front of you when Haibara was around to distract you, but alone? Sat right next to you?

"Okay, cool. I brought popcorn." You grinned at him, holding up the bright bag of the sweet food.

"Oh, thanks..." He trailed off, staring intently at the bag you held in your hands.

"The movie, Nanami?" You asked.

"Oh, yeah. One sec." He wandered into his room, silently cursing himself from being such an idiot. He emerged with two DVDs in hand.

"These are the only two decent ones I've got. What do you think?" He handed them to you, letting you look over the synopsis of each one. They were artsy ones, and you were pretty sure one of them was French.

"Are these yours?" You asked curiously, looking them up and down.

"Well, yeah. Why else would I have them?" He replied as he tried to plug his DVD player into the TV.

"They're just so... different from what you usually pick."

"Oh, I just pick those stupid action ones because I know Haibara likes them, and you like to make fun of him for liking them. It keeps you both happy, even if I don't find them particularly pleasing."

"Jeez, Nanami, you're making me feel bad for forcing you to sit through all of my Barbie films."

"Those aren't... atrocious. I have unfortunately found myself singing some of the songs as I go about my day."

"I knew you secretly enjoyed them! No one can resist the allure of Bibble."

"Never say that sentence ever again. And don't repeat what I said, either. Now have you chosen which film you would prefer?"

"It's your turn to choose, Nanami. Put whichever one you prefer on." You hand him the two DVD cases before making yourself comfortable on the couch of the communal dorm area, wrapping yourself in the blanket you had brought from your own dormitory.

"Or whichever one you can comment on the least."

"Oh please, you enjoy my running commentary on the movies we watch."

"In your dreams." He slotted one of the DVDs in the player, pressed play and joined you on the couch, sitting as far away from you as he possibly could.

"God, Nanami, I don't bite. You can sit a bit closer to me." He shuffled along a little bit, and you decided to make yourself even more comfortable by putting your feet onto his lap.

"What do you think you're doing?" He asked, cocking his eyebrow - an expression that never seemed to leave his face around you.

"Getting comfy." You grinned at him before turning your attention to the TV, missing the pink tinge to his cheeks.

"We should split up." Nanami's baritone voice rang out through the halls of the abandoned hospital. It wasn't silent - the rain falling through the large hole in the ceilings and roof prevented noiselessness.

"I'm happy to do that if it means I can get on with this away from you."

"That is what 'split up' means."

"Who do you think you are, Fred from Scooby-Doo?" You glared at him. The downpour you had gotten caught in had flattened his styled hair into a look that somewhat resembled his signature cut back in high school. He still looked stupidly good, you thought, but you had always found him attractive.

"Can you stop with the theatrics? I don't want to be here just as much as you."

"I'll take the higher floors. You stay here." You stormed off, something you always seem to be doing around him nowadays. Nanami sighed. He didn't know what he expected when he returned to sorcery and saw you again, but it certainly wasn't this much hostility. Had you harboured this towards him the entire time he wasn't around?

"Be careful." He called after you, still wishing you safety despite how little you currently cared for him. Your only acknowledgement of his words was another middle finger hurled at him from over your shoulder. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Between you and the two first grade spirits running around this place, it was going to be a long day.

After that movie night, you found yourself actually considering Nanami Kento your friend. Once Haibara recovered from his cold, he was slightly confused about the new closeness between his two friends, but he was as happy as you were that the three of you had bonded. He was also confused as to why you kept on bringing up a 'Bibble' around your shared friend, but he laughed along with you every time you did.

Eventually, there came a time where the two of you were practically joined at the hip. Nanami was thrilled with your newfound friendship, knowing that without Haibara’s pushing - and an illness that Nanami was convinced wasn’t as bad as Hairbara had told you both it was - he knew he would have never had the nerve to speak to you, nevermind be your friend. But part of him knew that he would never be satisfied being just your friend. You were the first thing he thought about when he woke up, and the last thing before he slept. He found himself being reminded of you in everything he did - the stars were the twinkle in your eye when you were talking about one of your passions. The sun’s rays were the warmth of your smile, something that could bring light into even the darkest of days.

Nanami found himself sat across from you at a restaurant. To onlookers, it would probably look like a date, two young people sharing each other’s company for a pleasant evening. Haibara, who usually accompanied the two of you on outings like this, had been sent to exorcise a curse in a different city and wouldn’t be back until the next day. As much as Nanami missed his friend, he was glad to have some alone time with you, even if it wasn’t the romantic date he wished it was.

“Okay, I need to know,” you said between mouthfuls of your food, “why the hell does Gojo call you Nanamin?”

“To wind me up, no doubt. He knows how much I hate it.”

“You hate it? But it’s so cute! I think it fits you nicely.” He raised an eyebrow at you, as if to ask if you were being serious. It made you giggle.

“I’m just playing. But I do like it. Maybe I’ll start using it.”

“Please don’t.” Nanami cringed at the thought of you and Gojo sharing the same nickname for him.

“You’re no fun.” You pouted slightly, and God did he want to kiss your pout away. His face warmed at the thought, before mentally scolding himself for thinking inappropriately. “So what can I call you?” You continued.

“Kento. Please, just call me Kento.”

“Your first name? Wow, we must really be friends,” you grinned at him, “Kento.” Yeah, Kento thought, he could get used to you calling him by his first name.

Haibara was an observant person, and he easily picked up on the slight shift your friendship with Nanami was making every day. The shyness that sometimes made itself apparent, the red tinges to your cheeks every time you stood a little too close together. Your teasing towards Nanami dialled up a notch, and he was often found stumbling over his words in an attempt to respond. Gone was the reserved, nonchalant persona that intimidated you when you first met him, and it was slowly being replaced by a crushing schoolboy.

Not that you noticed, or were faring any better. Shoko was frequently on the receiving end of your lovesick rambles.

"And when he raises the one eyebrow at me? All cocky and teasing after I say something stupid, God, Shoko, I just want to melt."

"Can we go back to you ranting about how you couldn't make friends with him? Somehow I think I prefer that." She nudged you with her elbow, grinning.

"Oh shut up! You have to hear about my love life because you don't have one to tell me about."

"Well fuck you too!" The both of you laughed, these joking barbs a key factor of your friendship. "I am happy for you. For finally managing to force them into being your friend and for liking one of them enough to actually have a crush on them."

"You're happy that I have an all-consuming crush on a guy that definitely doesn't like me back? Some friend you are."

"It keeps my life interesting, what can I say?" She pulled a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket, taking one out and putting it to her lips. "But he definitely likes you back." She said as she fished around in her pockets for a lighter.

"You're just saying that to make me feel better." You replied as you took a lighter out of your own pocket and lit her cigarette for her.

"Since when do you carry a lighter?"

"Since you can never find yours."

"I knew we were friends for a reason." She puffed on her cigarette, leaning onto to stair behind her on the outdoor staircase you were currently sat on. "Seriously though. I've seen you guys interact. He's into you. You should ask him out."

"Maybe."

"You're pathetic. It's never gonna happen if you don't do anything about it." She blew her cigarette smoke into your face, making you cough slightly.

"I thought the guy was supposed to do the asking."

"Have you met the guys? They're all too much of a wimp to do any asking. It's up to us girls, as always."

Nanami had found one of the cursed spirits on the first floor of the abandoned building, and exorcised it without much effort. This, however, didn't put him at ease. If that curse was easy to defeat, yet this mission was dangerous enough to warrant sending the both of you on it, what did the other curse have in store? Or had the higher ups just over-estimated how dangerous the curse was? Sure, the one he had exorcised looked even more menacing than your average curse, but there was not much substance to back up those looks.

He paused, trying to pull a logical plan together. Should he go and find you? Now that one curse had been exorcised, there should only be one left in the building, so it could be beneficial for the two of you to reconvene and tackle it together, although finding it could take much longer. There was also the fact that you were so adamant in being stubborn and not talking to him, unless it was to chew him out for whatever reason you thought appropriate. If you refused to work with him, then it would make more sense for you two to stay apart and cover more ground. He hated that he couldn't read you as well as he used to, and that he couldn't fully rely on your trust anymore. Although, did he really deserve your trust? Your unwavering belief in your abilities as a team, something you had even before your friendship at high school? He left Jujutsu to become yet another cog in the corporate machine, only to return with his tail between his legs two years later.

He resolved to hunt you down and explain the situation, and base the rest of his strategy on your reaction. Surely, if you understood what you could be dealing with, you would put your vitriol aside for the sake of survival. Wouldn't you?

You had taken Shoko's words to heart, and planned to tell Nanami about your feelings for him. Even if he didn't reciprocate them, you could have some closure and move on from this silly crush. Right?

You spent a few weeks mulling over how to do it and what to say. You wanted to do it right, to do it perfectly, as if your gesture could cosmically alter his feelings towards you and make him like you back. When he and Haibara were away on a mission together, you planned it all out with the help of Shoko, who was impressed that you were actually acting on your feelings. You would greet the two when they arrived back, before asking Nanami for a private word and quietly confessing when you were both alone.

You didn't expect Haibara to arrive back in a body bag.

When Nanami - Kento - told you what had happened, you fell to your knees, your body wracked with sobs. Any previous fixations on romance left your body and gave way to an aching grief, mourning over your friend. The dynamic of your class had once again shifted, but this time, a gaping hole was left. It felt as if Haibara had taken all of the warmth and sun to the afterlife with him, his happy disposition being sorely missed in a room full of loss and sadness.

All of a sudden, it was just you and Kento. The two of you became inseparable, your grief slowly bringing the two of you even further together. It felt as though he was the only one who could understand you, that understood what you were going through as you powered on with your Jujutsu education, saving as many as you could. You wanted to act on your feelings for him, like you had once resolved to, but neither of you could escape the reality of the danger of your profession - what was once a looming warning, one of the infinite possibilities of the future, now became one of the two paths you could walk: live or die.

Nanami climbed the sole staircase that remained intact slowly, staying aware of his surroundings in case the remaining curse decided to ambush him on his climb. His caution was thrown to the wind, however, when he heard a scream that he just knew was yours.

He barrelled at full speed towards where the scream came from, stopping only when he saw the large curse standing over your body, your leg bent at an unnatural angle, with its back to him.

"Oh fuck..." He mumbled, barely audible.

"NANAMI!" You shouted, panic evident on your face - you hadn't noticed him yet. "Nanami!" Your shout was quieter the second time, closer to a sob than a scream. As much as it killed him to see you in pain, to see you desperately calling for him, he stayed silent, the curse between the two of you distracted by you. I'm sorry, he thought, mentally apologising to you for using you as a pawn in his plan to exorcise this curse, but I'm here, and I won't let you die.

"He's gone." Satoru Gojo said simply as you walked back onto the grounds of Jujutsu Tech in a search for Shoko to patch up the wounds from the mission you're returning from.

"Wow, hello to you too, Gojo. Yeah, the mission went well, thanks for asking. A couple of scrapes, but I'm not too banged up." You rolled your eyes at Gojo's lack of greeting.

"Nanami. He's gone." It was as if your heart stopped.

"Gone? What do you mean he's gone? Dead?" You asked quietly, tears filling your eyes, fearing the worst.

"No, not dead." A sigh of relief, "but he's left Jujutsu. He's gone to be a salaryman at some fancy company."

"Yeah, funny joke, Gojo. Where is he actually?" You asked, rolling your eyes at his antics.

"No, he's actually left." His tone lacked the playfulness that normally always underlies it - he was being deadly serious.

"What?" You asked, confusion written all over your face/

"I'm sorry, he said he wanted nothing to do with sorcery anymore." You picked up what Gojo was implying - he wants nothing to do with me.

"That bastard." You mumbled.

"What was that?"

"That bastard." You spat, "how dare he. How dare he. He leaves, wanting nothing to do with us - with me - and doesn't have the balls to tell me himself? I have to hear it from you?"

"Woah, you're mad at Nanamin, not me!"

"Do not mention him in front of me again. If he wants nothing to do with me, that's fine. I want nothing to do with him, the coward."

All you could feel was fiery hot pain, sprawled on the floor, unable to even stand up, never mind run away from the curse in front of you. "Nanami! Help, please!" You screamed again and again, hoping your colleague might hear you.

"It's too dangerous for one sorcerer to go alone." Yaga's words rung through your ears. You mentally scolded yourself - why had you let your anger at Nanami cloud your judgement during an evidently dangerous mission? You had agreed to split up because you just wanted to get on with it, to get away from him, and get home as soon as you could. Why didn't you stop to just think? To strategize before running head first into a fight? This is how sorcerers die, you thought, this is how I die. Why did I never listen to Shoko as she explained reverse curse technique?

You tried to get away from the curse, using your arms to pull you across the floor, wincing every time your injured leg scraped across the floor, rubble digging into it. Eventually, your arms gave up, and you were ebbing in and out of consciousness. You stopped trying to move, curling your body into a small ball in an attempt to shrink away from the curse's line of sight. You let out a small, "Kento, please.." - a whimper more than any real form of speech - before passing out completely.

Nanami had heard every one of your cries as he fought the curse. You never once realised he was there - he put that up to a delirium that must have been brought on by the pain you had felt. This curse had at least ten times the power of the previous one he had thought, and fighting it without you was a challenge. After revealing his technique to increase its power, he eventually managed to get the upper hand - he managed to outwit it, trapping it under some rubble and exorcising it accordingly. He had no time to revel in his victory, though, as as soon as it started disappearing he was rushing to your side.

There's a pulse, thank God. Her leg is undoubtedly broken, probably in more places than one. She seems to have hurt her head too, but I can't tell if she has a concussion whilst she's unconscious. This is my fault - why did I suggest we split up? Yaga told us this was dangerous. I should've considered this outcome.

He called Ijichi, letting him know that both curses had been exorcised and that you had been badly injured, so he was to come and collect you both as soon as possible and take you straight to Ieri. Nanami gently put one arm underneath your neck, the other under your knees, being careful as to not grip the broken leg.

"I'm sorry." He whispered to your unconscious form, lifting you off the ground. You breathed in sharply, but didn't wake - at least you were somewhat responsive. He carried you down the stairs to the ground floor of the abandoned building as quickly as he could without jostling you too much, and placing you gently in the back of Ijichi's car. He got in after you, placing your head on his lap as you laid across the back seat. "Why did I let this happen to you?" He mumbled, moving a bloodied lock of your hair from your face.

"What was that? Did you say something, Nanami?" Ijichi asked, looking at him through the rear-view mirror.

"No. How long until we get back to the school?"

"About half an hour."

"Drive faster." His tone had no room for arguing, and Ijichi found himself starting to ignore the speed limits of the roads back to Jujutsu High.

You woke up in the white, sterile room that could only be the Infirmary at Jujutsu Tech.

"Good, you're awake. You scared us." Shoko said, standing over you.

"I make your life more interesting, what can I say?"

"Wow, you've been out for hours and you start cracking jokes. At least I know that head wound didn't do too much damage."

"Head wound?"

"You broke your left femur and fibula, and we think you hit your head on the way down."

"Is Nanami okay?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

"I'm not talking to him."

"He has been sat here since we arrived back." Another voice from across the room butt into your conversation with Shoko. You turned your head, and sure enough Nanami was sat there, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, having taken off his tie and suit jacket. His hair was now dry, but he hadn't restyled it, so it was still flat to his head. You couldn't see any injuries on him.

"I'm still not talking to you."

"Really? After I saved your life? After you were calling out to me to come and save you? You were certainly talking to me then."

"Fuck you."

"Nanami, leave." Shoko interrupted. "I'm not having her work herself up and undoing all my hard work." He sighed, but gave in and left the room. Your friend turned your attention back to you, "I've healed your injuries, but take it easy. Your leg is going to take some physio to get it back to where it was."

"So... I can go?"

"You want to get away from me so quickly? I'm hurt. But yeah, you can go. Although you need to take it easy for a week or so, alright? You were pretty banged up when Nanami brought you in."

"He brought me in?"

"Carried you in here himself. Refused to let anyone but me touch you."

"Oh."

"I didn't know he was back, did you?" She asked, eyeing you sceptically.

"Not until we got assigned this mission together."

"He's still into you, y'know."

"Fuck off, Sho."

"I'm being serious, I promise. You didn't see how worried he was when he arrived with you unconscious."

"I don't care. I hate him."

"You keep saying that, but I don't believe you. Never have. I know how much you cared about him. That doesn't go away overnight."

"It wasn't overnight, Sho. He was gone for two years." She hummed, but you know she wasn't agreeing with you. "I thought you were leaving?" she changed the subject.

"I am. I'll see you later." You hopped off your bed, stumbling a bit as you stood.

"I had better not see you in that state again any time soon!" Shoko called after you as you walked out of the infirmary.

"I'm a big girl, I can look after myself!" You called back, smiling slightly.

"How are you feeling?" At the sound of Nanami's voice, your small smile dropped.

"Have you been loitering outside of the Infirmary? Creep."

"I was waiting for you, because I was worried about you. That's not creepy, that's being a decent person."

"Fuck off. You know I'm not talking to you."

"So you keep saying. But why? Why won't you talk to me? Engage in a normal conversation like an adult?"

"Why? Are you actually asking me why I'm mad at you? You prick." You looked at him, gobsmacked. He didn't remember what happened? Or perhaps he remembered but didn't see the problem with it. The thought made your anger burn brighter.

“It has been two years since we last saw each other.”

“Oh I am well aware of how long it has been, Nanami.” You scoffed. He remained collected, and that just made you even more mad. Did he not care? The two of you had been so close before he left. Was he fine with throwing all of that away, with you spending the rest of your life despising him?

“Then why are you lording something I did - that I can’t even remember - over my head to the point that you will only speak to me if it is throwing obscenities my way?”

“It is not something you did.” You weren’t shouting anymore. Instead, your voice was quiet, but not calm. Pure fury coated every word, and you were practically spitting them out, “It was something you didn’t do.” You saw regret flash in Nanami’s face, and knew that he had finally figured out why you had been angry at him for so long.

“You left,” you carried on, “you left me here. Alone. And you know who I found out from? Satoru fucking Gojo. So not only did you leave, you left without telling me. WIthout talking to me about that decision. You were my best friend, I was in love with you, for fuck’s sake, and you left without having the balls to say goodbye. So yeah, I’m pissed. You knew what you were doing, and you still took the coward’s way out. Then you swan in here, in your fancy suit and your new hair acting like everything is hunky-fucking-dory. Well, it’s not.” Your voice cracked, anger dissipating into the sadness you never let yourself feel. “I have spent the past two years hating you, because it was easier than acknowledging how much I missed you. I was - am - so lonely and it was all your fault. Because you left. You left and you didn’t even tell me you were considering leaving. It was supposed to be us against the world. We were best friends, yet you didn’t care enough to say goodbye.” You turned on your heel, ready to walk away. You didn’t want him to see the tears threatening to fall down your cheeks, to see the broken heart he left you with written all over your face. You didn’t make it far though, because he grabbed your wrist.

He grabbed your wrist, spinning you around as he pulled you into his arms and kissed you. His lips were soft and warm, a stark contrast from his cold, reserved demeanour he had always worn. You melted into his embrace, and it felt so right, you were kissing Kento Nanami. You were kissing Kento Nanami - no. This was wrong. This was all wrong. You went rigid in his embrace, pulling away, shaking your head, tears running down your face.

“No. No. You don’t get to do this.” You took a few steps away from him, shaking your head vigorously. “You don’t get to kiss me and act like it solves everything. One kiss does not erase the hurt that I felt - that you caused. No. Get away from me.”

“Wait, please. Let me- let me explain myself. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. But please, listen to me. You can go on hating me afterwards, but I won’t ever be able to look at you again if I don’t explain.” You didn’t say anything, but didn’t walk away, either. He took it as a cue for him to continue.

“I hated Jujutsu society. I had to get away, to live outside of it for a while, but that was worse. Because you weren’t there. The only thing I had to think about was money, it was a miserable existence, so I came back. I didn’t know what I expected when I returned. But you were here, and even if you refused to speak to me, knowing that you were okay, that you were well and healthy, made my life infinitely better.”

“I don’t care that you left. I knew you hated it here. I care that you didn’t talk to me. You didn’t tell me that you wanted to leave, or even that you were leaving. It’s that you wanted nothing to do with me, so much so that you didn’t even have the common decency to say goodbye.”

“I couldn’t say goodbye to you,” you could hear the emotion in his voice, the vulnerability, “because I knew that if I did, I would have asked you to come with me. And I couldn’t do that to you.”

“If you had asked, I would have gone.”

“I know. But you thrive here, and I couldn’t drag you away from it and into a miserable life outside of sorcery.”

“I wouldn’t have been miserable. I would’ve had you.”

“You can have me now, if that’s what you want. I love you. I always have. I loved you before we were even friends, I was just too scared to even talk to you. Please, I love you. And I always will, even if you spend the rest of my life hating me.”

“No, you don’t. You can’t love me. Because you don’t know me. You love the person I was, the person you knew, and the person you think I am. We haven’t seen or even spoken to each other in two years, Nanami. We’ve grown up. We’ve changed. Neither of us are the person the other one thinks we are.”

“Then let me get to know you, please. We can start slow. Let me take you to dinner. We can start it like you would any other relationship. But I need to have you in my life.”

“Nanami, I-”

“Kento, please. You calling me by my last name isn’t right.”

“Kento, I don’t know. It’s so complicated, it will be so messy-”

“You are worth it, though. You loved me once - do you think you will be able to love me again?”

“I don’t know.” There was a beat of silence, “But I’m willing to try.” A smile lit up his face, one that reminded you of the days of your youth - the pure happiness he had always brought you. It gave you hope for your future, for your future together.

“Okay.” He said quietly, “are you free tonight?”

“Tonight? Eager, are we?”

“I have to make up for lost time, my dear.” You both looked at each other, tears staining your faces but wide smiles adorning them also.

“Tonight it is then. Pick me up at seven?”

“Five.”

“Five is too early, I need to get ready.”

“Six then.”

“Half past six.”

“Done.”

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s-sh-ne · 9 days ago

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there are worse games to play [1] - bucky barnes x f!reader (hunger games au)

warnings: cozy dystopia, implied hunger games violence, angst, very hurt/comfort, allusions to suicide, implied past deaths, trauma, bucky barnes needs several hugs in every universe, kinda MCU x Hunger Games crossover but I try to really just keep it subtle as I don't like massive crossovers (mentions of Katniss & the gang, but mainly background stuff)

w/c: 4.1k

a/n: this came to me after reading so so so many bucky fics (without even being a marvel girl its insane!) I'm a hunger games super fan and i absolutely adore bucky so when I pictured traumatized!victor! bucky i just had to pump out an entire fic! this is still a wip since it was supposed to be a one shot n then i hit the 10k word mark not even halfway through so i was like this is now a mini series lol enjoy <3333

-> big kudos to so so many bucky fic writers for getting me into this lovely lovely man (including but not limited to @artficlly @fckmebarnes & @marvelstoriesepic <3333 i love your work so much, inspired me to start writing for this man)

-> main masterlist -> tawgtp masterlist

there are worse games to play, james newton howard

The train that once ran from the Capitol to District Twelve had long since been put out of commission, stopping in the bleak station of Six. This district was still bustling with activity but transportation to Twelve was impossible, or so the locals kept repeating. The proof was there, long abandoned freight cars on their side discarded at the station.

“Twelve’s long gone,” They’d said, nodding their head towards the east. Destroyed by the Capitol over four years ago, when everything happened. If people were still there, they lived off their own resources, with no link to any other district. The more Bucky Barnes asked around, the more he realized he’d have to find another way to his destination. He prayed he wouldn’t have to go on foot, hell, he’d beg on his knees not to – not in this heat. Though he’d take the boiling weather over freezing temperatures anytime.

The air was sweltering, the peak of the summer bearing down on his already sweaty back. Why he’d decided to move across the continent in the middle of the hottest season in Panem, he couldn’t find an answer. Maybe it was because the Capitol was emptier than ever, or maybe because he realized nothing was left back for him in Seven. No matter the reason, he was now dragging his exhausted body across Six’s district center looking for even the smallest mode of transportation he could use. He had money, a lot of it, but it was most likely worthless here. Only a few places accepted dollars after everything. Most of the districts traded, and Bucky had some trinkets leftover from his days in the Capitol, though he supposed the locals could melt the coins down.

Bucky eventually found an old man willing to trade his old motorbike for a few dollars and silverware. The thing was rusted, old, but would do for the couple days separating him from Twelve. Might be nice to feel the wind against his skin. Might even give him a second to think about what he was gonna do once there. Because yeah, he might’ve planned to leave the Capitol, take little to nothing with him, and travel his way across the country, but he sure as hell hadn’t planned what he was going to do there.

Maybe the wind would whisper the answers on the road, or maybe he wouldn’t even find them in Twelve. It was a grim thought, but it was the only thing he had going for him, other than returning to the shell of his old life. And returning to that? That was something Bucky Barnes would never, ever, do.

Scorching mornings always made you want to stay in bed, in the soft linens Natasha had just cleaned for you a day prior. The heatwave was brutal this year, so many of your flowers wilted under the unrelenting rays of the sun. Yet, it wasn’t anything you couldn’t survive; your home always got like this during the summer, ever since you were a child.

You pushed your sheets out of the way, peeking out your small window. The same view you’d seen your entire life greeted you, the overgrown garden your mother had planted decades ago, the tall trees offering the flowers some respite from the sun. The house next door, a small dilapidated thing with daffodil yellow curtains, still stood there, though abandoned for a few years now. Your blue curtains still rustled in the soft summer breeze, wafting in the scent you could only describe as purely District Twelve.

Iron, flowers, and coal, all mixed together into a perfume you wish you could bottle and cherish for eternity. Because with every passing day since Twelve was destroyed, you could smell the iron and coal slowly leaving the mix, and though the scent of only flowers was lovely, it wasn't home. That prickling, nose-wrinkling smell of coal was home, sticking to everything, to your father’s coat when he came home, to the tools that stuck by the hearth, to even your mother and brother.

You guessed that was the future now, after everything.

With one last wistful look outside, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You had a long day ahead of you. You had to make soap for all the inhabitants of your community (all eight of you), stop by Victor’s Village for bread, and tend to your garden before the heat killed it. With a deep breath, you made quick work of braiding your hair and threw on a simple dress, before tying an apron around yourself. Soap-making may be therapeutic to you but you had no intention of getting oil all over your dress. It was hard enough to clean out regular grime with no running water, and the last time you had sheepishly handed your oil-stained clothes to Natasha, she had almost popped a vein in her forehead.

The warm rays felt like honey on your arms as you opened all the windows in your small kitchen/workspace, letting the fresh breeze in. You gathered your ingredients – the lard Sam had dropped off last week, the lye, the massive jar of dried petals – and got to work. It wasn’t terrible hard work but you still had to heat the fat with the lye for hours before even thinking of the final result.

Your morning was spent wiping sweat from your brow and stirring every so often. The chirping of the birds accompanied your work, the only sound in your small home, the crackling of the fire and your humming. Stray wisps of your hair were stuck to your forehead as you wiped the counters clean, the sun now high in the sky. The soap still had to boil for the better part of the next two days so you made sure your house wasn’t in any risk of catching fire during your absence and covered your large pot.

You pinned your messy braids atop your head before shrugging off your apron. With a satisfied sigh, you locked your door and set out for the afternoon, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from down the dirt path and the sun beating down on your head.

Bucky’d been riding for the last two days, stopping once to rest against the rusted bike as the moon started to rise. He didn’t get much sleep. The heat was just as unbearable during the night and the dirt wasn’t the most comfortable place he’d slept, but there was a sort of freedom to it. No cage disguised as a gilded penthouse in the Capitol, no relic of a president breathing down his neck. Just him, the hunk of junk he was leaning against, and the stars. When the sun rose, he was already on the bike, kicking up dust as he rode. He passed by the old border compound, separating Six from Twelve, his eyes fixed on the road as dilapidated buildings raced by.

The roads had deteriorated since the last time he’d been to Twelve, over fifteen years ago now. There was no sign of through traffic, just cracked concrete with small flowers poking through. He’d planned on stopping in the old District center, if it was still standing. For all he knew no one was there anymore, just a pile of rocks and bones. He still wasn’t sure just what he was doing here, but he was determined to find something. There was nothing left for him in Seven, even less in the Capitol. Hell, he’d ride up to Thirteen if it meant getting the furthest away.

He drove on for another few hours before the center came into view. It was a grim sight, the image of destroyed buildings and rubble growing as he sped closer. His breath caught as he stopped his bike, looking out at the remains. There was nothing left of the main town square, nothing of the stage he’d once stood on, rattling on about dead tributes.

Twelve was already a bleak district, but this was beyond dismal. Bucky could see bones sticking out from piles of destroyed concrete, even animals chewing on long decayed bodies.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his eyes scanning the carnage for something, anything that might make this pointless trek of his mean something. He’d heard rumors of people settling back here but there was so much gone that he wasn’t sure he believed them now. He turned his eyes away, his heart in his throat. He’d seen death, he’d lived it even, but this was where he was supposed to find life. To find whoever he was outside of the Capitol’s influence. Outside of the damn grip Snow had on him for years.

His metal hand gripped the handlebars tightly, running his other hand through his hair. He could go back, live the rest of his life in Seven, with people who didn’t even recognize him anymore. Or he could go back to the Capitol. Alone in his penthouse, mostly destroyed from the rebel attacks, until he couldn’t stand it anymore and ended it. That was how most of his life plans looked like anyways, ever since those damn Games.

Bucky’s thoughts flickered back to seventeen years ago, standing on that podium. He was just a goddamn kid. He remembered vividly looking at the other tributes, with no clue that they’d all die and he’d live to remember their faces. At that moment, he envied them. He envied them for dying, because he wished he was in their place. Dead before he could experience what the Capitol did, or before everything came crashing down and he was left with nothing. Before he drove all the way across the country to find more fucking death.

Come on Barnes, snap out of it. You haven’t even seen the rest. Someone’s probably out there somewhere.

He took a deep breath, lifting his head again to scan the debris. That’s when he spotted a small dirt path leading down a small hill. Better than nothing. He kicked up dust as the engine started and he sped to the road. His heart leaped in his chest at the sight of tire tracks deeply imprinted in the dust, like the road had been used recently. He rode for another minute before two houses came into view. They were small, nothing fancy, just colorful curtains hanging from each window. He turned off his engine, scanning further down the road. There wasn’t anything in his immediate view, but the tire tracks kept going. Maybe if he went further, he’d find something.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear her approach. Just heard the sound of a rifle cocking behind him.

“You got about ten seconds to tell me what the hell you’re doin’ here before I shoot.”

You heard the incessant rumble of the engine before you saw it. You’d recently come home from picking up the bread from Peeta and a drink at Sarah’s place, checking on the soap to see how far along it was. The late afternoon was quiet, just the buzz of insects outside your window and the distant call of an elk somewhere deep in the forest. You were washing potatoes for supper, enjoying the cool afternoon breeze when it happened.

It was low at first but grew louder as you looked out of your window. This wasn’t a normal occurrence, especially not coming from the city center. The only person who had a vehicle in your small community was Steve and it sure as hell didn’t sound like whatever you were hearing. Your mind raced. It could be the settlement out west but when did they ever come from the city center? Nobody came from there anymore. You were the only ones this close to it, and the last person to arrive was Steve three years ago.

Your hands trembled as you reached for your father’s rifle leaned against the wall next to you. The roar grew louder and the source came into view, finally. You quickly shut the curtains, leaving just a sliver of light for you to peek out. The sound sputtered to a stop as the person parked in front of the neighbouring house, the one with the yellow curtains. Your eyes caught the silhouette of a broad man atop a motorbike, his eyes scanning his surroundings. You couldn’t see much of him, but caught a glint of silver as he stretched out his arms. A fucking metal arm? Oh wonderful.

Your fingers tightened on your gun, quietly moving to the door, nudging it open with your foot. He was looking down the road leading to Victor’s Village, his eyes fixed away from you, and you took the opportunity to approach him quietly. You cringed slightly as your door squeaked to a close behind you but he didn’t budge. You were able to get right behind him, your eyes scanning the strong planes of his back under his shirt, the metal of his arm shining in the sun. You held your breath, cocked the rifle. Aimed straight at his head.

“You got about ten seconds to tell me what the hell you’re doin’ here before I shoot,” you threatened, and prayed he couldn’t hear the tremble in your voice. His back straightened, his broad shoulders tensing. He slowly raised his arms, still facing away from you. You scanned his back for any weapons, noticing the way his brown hair curled at the base of his nape. He had a single knife strapped to his leg, so you tightened your grip on the gun, your knuckles white.

“Just passing through,” the man replied carefully. “Didn’t think anyone was left here.” His voice was rough, like it hadn’t been used in days. You stayed silent for a beat longer, fingers twitching against the trigger.

“Well, there is.” You didn’t say more, just kept the gun aimed at him. His arms still raised, he twisted on the bike to face you. You were met with the bluest eyes you’d ever seen, steadily looking you over. He had heavy dark circles underneath his eyes, betraying exhaustion, and he squinted as he faced the sun.

“Didn’t mean to cause trouble.” You shakily lowered the gun, but kept your finger on the trigger. Just in case. He looked like he could easily bring you to the ground with a sweep of his legs.

“Who’re you?” You asked, jerking your chin towards him. He lowered his arms, slowly swinging a leg over the bike to get off. His movements were slow and calculated as if you were a wild animal.

“Name’s Bucky, ‘m just looking for a place to crash.” ‘Bucky’ said, and your eyes narrowed with familiarity. You couldn’t place it but you were sure you’d seen his face before. Maybe a Peacekeeper? One of the rebels Katniss had fought with?

“Where’re you from?” You pushed further, still skeptical. His metal arm flexed lightly in the sun and he averted his eyes.

“Seven”

“Why'd you come here then?”

“Isn't anything left for me there, “ he shrugged.

You took a few more seconds to assess him. He could’ve hurt you already if he really wanted to. Bucky answered your questions, didn’t budge unless you’d made the first move, didn’t seem aggressive. Aside from that silver arm. With a sigh, you fully aimed the gun at the ground. You nodded your head towards the house next to yours.

“That one’s been empty, you can stay there for as long as you need,” you offered.

He seemed surprised at your switch in attitudes and looked over at the yellow curtains, before shifting his eyes back to yours.

“It’s fully furnished,” you added. “Last folks didn’ take much when they left.” He gave you a strange look, like he didn’t trust the offer. “Seriously, it’s fine. Ain’t the first newcomer we’ve had.”

“Alright,” Bucky rested the bike against the rickety fence between the two houses and swung a small pack over his shoulder.

“Travelled all the way from Seven with only that thing?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. Seven was the furthest district from yours, on the west coast of the country. You walked down your own pathway, through the wildflowers, still looking at him over the fence.

“Long story,” He said simply, striding towards the door. You’d reached your door as well, twisting the knob.

“Tell me about it over dinner.” When he froze at the door and frowned at you, you laughed quietly. “If there’s food in there, it’s cans of beans from twenty years ago. I’m makin’ potato stew, jus’ come over in an hour.”

Bucky held your stare for a second longer, an unreadable look in his eyes. Then he grunted, nodded, and pushed the door open. Before he stepped through though, he looked back at you.

“Thanks. By the way. Didn't think I’d be sleeping in an actual bed tonight.”

You just smiled at him and closed the door behind you.

Bucky didn’t expect this. Not the house. Not the woman who had a gun raised to his head one second and was inviting him to dinner the other. Certainly not the smell of homemade stew wafting from her opened windows. He was standing outside her door, the sun low in the sky, his metal fingers flexing against his leg. He wasn’t sure if he should knock, call out (he hadn’t even caught her name) or just walk in. That last one seemed like a quick way of getting a bullet in his groin though.

He settled for a knock. Just a soft rap of his knuckles against the worn wood.

“Just come in! S’open!” her voice called from inside, so casually. Like he wasn’t a total stranger.

He pushed open the door, walking into the small space. He’d thrown on one of his black shirts, still clinging with sweat and dust, but it was the nicer one of the bunch. He hadn’t expected this level of hospitality, especially not in a spot so desolate as this.

She was facing away from him, humming a tune he couldn’t place. There was a large pot next to the smaller one she was stirring. The air smelled like flowers, and he quickly located the source of it. Dozens of bouquets were hung upside down in a shadowed corner of the small room, dried and preserved. She turned back to smile at him, as if welcoming a friend.

“Sit wherever you like, I’ll be with you in a tick.”

Bucky sat down on a small rickety stool at her table. More flowers spread out on the surface. It was so small in here he felt like he was towering over the whole place, but it was comfortable. Lived in. It had a soul, unlike most places he’d seen and lived in. They sat in silence for a few minutes longer before he cleared his throat and asked for her name. She laughed and answered him, still stirring the stew. The comfortable quiet settled over them once more. He could hear the evening birds chirping, the wind rustling the trees outside.

“You’re kind.” He stated, breaking the silence once more when she turned to set the pot of stew on the table. She stilled for a second, looking over at him, her lips quirked.

“Well, ain’t much to gain by being rude. My ma taught me that.”

A bowl of food was pushed towards him, a fresh loaf of bread next to it.

“I guess not,” He waited for her to sit and take the first bite before he grabbed his spoon. He watched her swallow cautiously, old instincts still around to haunt him. .

“It’s not poisoned, Bucky,” she teased, her eyes glinting with amusement. His name left her lips for the first time and he felt his lips stretch into a small smile – his first one in weeks. He finally took a bite. It wasn’t very flavorful, but damn, it was the best thing he’d tasted in months. He let out a quiet groan and took another bite. Another chuckle escaped her and she pushed the loaf towards him.

“Have some, it’s fresh from today.”

He obliged, tearing himself a piece. They ate in silence, like they weren’t complete strangers. She was still humming, smelling the bread every time she took a bite. The setting sun’s rays were golden, casting a warm glow over the small kitchen. When they both finished, the woman took both their bowls, putting them in the large copper sink under the window.

“Let me help,” He stood quickly, knocking the stool over. He muttered an apology and she laughed. God, she always laughed. It was a soft sound, quiet but still melodious.

“I wish you could, but ain’t no runnin’ water in these parts anymore. I’ll go down to the river tomorrow.”

He sat back down, lifting the stool, as she took a seat across from him again.

“So, Bucky. What’s your story?” She rested her head on her palm, looking over at him expectantly.

“Not much to say. I came from the Capitol after everything went to shit.”

“Thought you said you were from Seven?”

“Originally.”

Her mouth opened in a small ‘ah’ and urged him to go on. He pretended not to notice her eyes flicking down to his left arm curiously.

“There’s seriously not much else. I left ‘cause there was nothing back there for me.” As kind as she was, he wasn’t gonna go and tell his entire life story to this woman he’d just met. Her eyes narrowed slightly but she let him off easy.

“A’right.”

“There more of you?” He asked after a beat. The grin that had slipped away from her took back its place.

“Yeah, seven more,” she started, waving vaguely towards the east. “There’s more little settlements all over Twelve but ours is the closest to the District center. Whatever’s left of it, I suppose.”

“Saw it on the way in. I really thought I wasn’t gonna find anyone out here.”

She sighed, a hand running through her hair.

“Most of us this close grew up ‘round here. This,” she gestured at the space around them “is where I grew up. Down the road, Sam and Sarah live in their grandparents’ house. Even further down, in Victor’s Village, Peeta, Katniss and Haymitch kinda just live together.”

He knit his eyebrows together at the mention of the last three. Victors, like him. Rebels, unlike him. They’d actually done something against the Capitol’s treatment, while he sat and took it all.

“What about the other two?” He asked, his voice tight.

“Natasha and Steve aren’t from Twelve. Tash came down from Thirteen, and Steve’s from Two. Won the 64th Hunger Games.”

His throat clenched. Another Victor, just a year after his own games. He’d heard in passing Steve Rogers’ victory, but he’d been so deep in his own trauma that he didn’t even acknowledge it.

“We all live on by relyin’ on each other.” she kept going, not noticing or merely not pressing his discomfort. “Katniss, Tash, and Steve hunt; Sam cures the meat and gives me lard for my soap; I make said soap and some ointments; Peeta bakes;” She pointed at the half-eaten loaf. “Sara and Katniss skin and tan the fur. Then Haymitch stops by for a crude comment or two, and moonshine. Doen’t drink it though, he swore that off years ago, jus’ makes it now.” And with a small smirk, “Finally, we got Red, Sam and Sara’s goat. Got a real attitude that one.”

“You make soap?” Bucky’s eyes darted to the massive pot still heating behind her.

“Mhm, ever since I was a girl. My daddy was a coal miner, so my ma made soap for him all the time. So she could see his handsome face, she’d say.”

A rough laugh escaped him. For a woman he’d just met mere hours ago, she was so kind to him. He’d known acknowledgement, camaraderie even on his way over, but this was genuine warmth. Homeliness. Something he hadn’t had in decades.

“You should go down to Tash’s place tomorrow. She takes care of our cleaning, believe it or not, swears the forest’s water’s cleaner than the creek behind our houses.”

“You sayin’ I stink?” She snickered again, rolling her eyes.

“I’m sayin’, your shirt’s dustier than my shed, I think you could use some clean clothes.”

The rest of the evening was filled with quiet laughter, fresh bread, and even fruit from her garden, before Bucky left her home with the second half of the bread. As he walked the short path to his doorstep, he looked up at the stars that kept him company during his lonely travels, and smiled to himself. An entire community, built on respect and sharing. Maybe he’d find something here. Something worth sticking around for.

deep in the meadow, under the willow next chapter

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #the winter soldier #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel fanfic #mcu fics #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #angst #fluff #there are worse games to play

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scoonsalicious · 1 year ago

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Chapter 6, Unattached - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, angst (Bring on the Pain!), alcohol usage, dumbass Bucky, noncon kissing that becomes con kissing, so..., arguing, jealous!Pocket, posessive!Bucky.

Word Count: 5.4k

Previously On...: After Bucky left you alone in your room, not wanting people to get 'the wrong idea' about the two of you, you came to the horrible conclusion that you were in love with your best friend. What the hell are you going to do about that?

A/N: Wow, okay! So, first off, Chapter 6 is long, and it only has the one part, so don't worry if you go looking for more and the next thing you find is Chapter 7! Second, there's a lot of progress and updates on Unwanted I wanted to share! I am already well into writing Chapter 14, and have planned out the rest of the story. We'll have a total of 25 chapters, plus an epilogue (unless something strikes me creatively that throws the entire thing for a loop, then all bets are off). This beast, as it currently sits, is already 208 Google Docs pages long and just shy of 80k words, so final product is probably going to be novel-length, which just blows my mind. I want to give a special shout out to @mrsbuckybarnes1917 for being my beta and my sounding board; your help and support has been immeasurable!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @jupiter-107 @marygoddessofmischief

You stood in front of the doors to the common room, the low thrum of conversation and music filtering out from inside. Taking a deep breath, you tried for the umpteenth time to calm your nerves following your unsettling realization.

You had no idea how to approach this, how to approach Bucky. Do you tell him how you felt, in the hope that he felt the same way? But what if he didn't? Could you risk losing him all together? Or do you just keep on like nothing's changed, happy with what you have together? Would that be enough for you? Could you even be happy in a real relationship?

Why couldn't your mother have just been a decent human being and let you go to school like a normal child so you could have worked through all your awkward issues at the appropriate time, instead of saddling you with years of trauma and isolation that left you an emotionally stunted adult? God, you needed a strong drink and to talk to Nat, preferably in that order. Pushing open the common room door, you stepped inside, surveying the room with one eye out for Bucky, the other out for your friend.

It should have been of no surprise, then, that instead of either, you first spotted Jade Carthage. She was situated on a couch in the center of the room, like a queen on her throne before her court, and nearly every Avenger and agent with a penis was surrounding her, jockeying for her attention, even Clint who, you knew for a fact, loved his wife Laura more than life itself.

Your stomach dropped when, after one of the agents in front of the couch shifted slightly, you saw Bucky sitting immediately to Jade's left. And while it seemed like everyone else was clamoring for Jade to pay attention to them, she only had eyes for him. Jealousy coursed through you as she leaned in close, whispering something into his ear that had him throwing his head back in laughter. It was an entirely unpleasant sensation that you would be happy to never feel again. Especially because you knew you had no real right to feel it in the first place. You may have just realized you were in love with him, but he had made no similar declaration to you.

"Careful, you glare any harder, you're liable to bore a hole straight through him," Natasha said, coming up alongside of you.

"What if I aim for her, instead?" you asked, reaching for the tumbler of alcohol she offered you and taking a sip to distract yourself. It was like she could read your mind.

Nat shrugged. "So long as I'm not the one cleaning up the mess, I say have fun. But what happened to no-strings-attached, friends who happen to fuck?" Nat asked with a smirk. "Don't tell me you've grown strings, Pocket."

You looked away from the scene in front of you. "There might be some growing of string, in theory," you mumbled to her. Nat was the only person you had confided in regarding your arrangement with Bucky. Of course, your friend had been thrilled that there had been something going on between the two of you, but she'd been more concerned about protecting your heart-- was this the safest thing for you to do? You assured her at the time you'd be fine, but now...?

Nat's eyes widened as a grin took over her face. "Honey, that's fantastic!" She leaned in to give you a hug. "I'm so happy for you!" Taking in your forlorn expression, she quickly lost her good humor. "Why do you look like you're about to throw up?"

You cast another glance over at the couch. Jade was tracing her fingers along the golden veins of Bucky's vibranium arm and you felt like snakes were crawling through your stomach. "Because I don't know what the fuck to do about it, Natty," you told her with a sigh. "I've never felt like this before in my entire life and it's fucking terrifying; what if he doesn't feel the same way? Or worse, what if he does and I mess everything up because I'm so fucking damaged inside?"

Natasha looped her arm through yours, leaning into you. "Honey, first of all, you are not damaged. You've been through hell and it left its mark on you, that's true, but you've been so strong. We're House Martell, remember?"

You sniggered, remembering how, when the entire Tower was obsessed with watching Game of Thrones together and picking what houses you'd each belong to, you and Nat had been drawn to the words of the ruling house of Dorne. And also, Pedro Pascal, obviously.

"Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken," you recited from memory, a reminder that despite the obstacles life had thrown at you, you remained standing, stronger for what you had endured.

"Atta girl," Nat nudged you with her elbow. "And second of all, you don't need to worry about Bucky's feelings. Boy's obviously mad for you. Everyone can see it."

You drew your bottom lip in between your teeth. "I don't know, Nat. He's been acting strange lately. I tried to give him head earlier and he flat out rejected it." Come to think of it, that was exceptionally weird since, in your text exchange, he'd explicitly told you he'd been waiting in your room specifically for the purpose of getting off.

"Huh. That's... not like him." Nat tilted her head and looked over at Bucky, expression curious. "Did he say why?"

"He was real eager to come up here and get in the middle of that, apparently." You waved a hand in the general direction of the couch where Jade's little reverse-harem was still going strong. "I was getting on my knees and everything."

Nat raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

"And then he made a really big deal about us coming up here separately. Said he didn't want people getting 'the wrong idea' about us if we arrived together."

Letting go of your arm, Natasha spun to face you, her face a mask of anger. "He said what now?!" she practically shouted, temporarily drawing everyone's attention to you. You looked around sheepishly as you tried to dismiss their stares.

"Nat," you begged in a whisper, "keep it down."

"Okay, okay, sorry." Natasha lowered her voice to a level only you could hear. "I'm sorry, but that's just complete and utter bullshit. Look, I know you guys think you've been in super secret stealth mode about hiding it, but pretty much everyone on the team knows you've been sleeping together. Hell, most of us placed bets on it." You opened your mouth in order to protest but she cut you off.

"If anything, it's weirder if the two of you don't show up to something together, so I don't know what the hell he's thinking."

"I do," you said morosely. "He doesn't want her getting the wrong idea about us."

"Pocket, don't even let your mind go there," Nat said.

"Think about it, Nat; I've been standing here for what, fifteen minutes now? And he hasn't even looked at me. When's the last time that happened?"

Nat's brows creased, her expression clouding over into something immensely sad for you, and you knew she was realizing what you'd already seen. In the last year, you and Bucky had been attached at the hip, nearly physically joined to one another, and if you were apart, your eyes were always scanning the room in search of the other's presence, seeking them out. The fact that he hadn't even looked for you, let alone come to you since you walked in, was telling in its own heartbreaking way.

Nat let out a heavy sigh. "Oh Pocket. Honey, I'm so sorry."

You shook your head, trying to dispel the tears that were threatening to fall from your eyes if you kept down this path. "Don't Natty, please. I can't fall apart, not here."

"Yeah, okay-- you're right. Now is not the time. Come on." Linking her arm through yours once again, she directed you toward the bar where Tony was standing, whiskey in hand. "If anyone can talk you to distraction," she murmured as you approached him, "it's Stark."

You let out a startled laugh and let her guide you toward the man who had already saved you more times than you could count.

"Hey, kiddo; Romanoff." Tony saluted you with his glass and you did your best to smile back at him as you stuffed your emotions down as far as they would go. "What do you think of our new recruit?" he asked Nat.

"I think 'Weasel' would be a better fitting code name for her than 'Vixen,'" Nat replied with a sly smile as she took a sip of wine.

"Ah, saw the security feed, did you?" Tony asked her. Nat nodded.

"Watched it live as it happened. Wasn't going to leave my bestie without eyes on her six." She gave your arm an affectionate squeeze.

Tony hummed and glanced over to the couch. "Wish Cap had been as discerning as you. He refused to watch the feed; said it made him uncomfortable to spy on someone when they didn't know they were being recorded." Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Always the fucking Boy Scout," she murmured.

"So, how did the interview itself go?" you asked Tony, not really sure you wanted to know the answer, but feeling the need to punish yourself with the details, anyway.

Tony leaned back against the bar, resting his elbows on the polished wooden surface. "If it were up to me, we wouldn't even be playing this charade right now," he said, motioning with his chin to indicate the meet and greet. "Girl's a first-class bullshitter."

"Talent recognizing talent?" you asked with a wry smile that almost felt genuine.

He pointed a finger and winked at you. "Exactly. She talked a good talk, but it doesn't take much to see she's suffering from Big Fish, Small Pond Syndrome. She's in for a rude awakening if she thinks she's ready to swim in the ocean with the whales and the sharks."

"So, you're not going to offer her the probationary position?" you asked, hope rising pathetically in your chest. As if you could un-ring the bell.

"Oh, I didn't say that," Tony said as you deflated. "It's not all up to me. Though, given the fact that I personally fund this entire operation, you'd think it really should be, right?" At the look on your face he moved on. "Apologies, I digress. Anyway, Cap thinks it's only fair we offer it to her, seeing as how we don't have a ton of other options knocking on our door, and Fury's not going to get off my ass until we find someone." He sighed. "I think this entire exercise is a waste of time, and we should be kicking her out on her ass for how she treated you earlier, Pocket, but I'm outvoted."

"Thanks, Boss," you said softly, grateful at least that Tony could see through Jade's facade and took how she treated you seriously. Too bad your best friend couldn't offer you the same courtesy.

The timer on Tony's watch went off. "And that's the dinner bell," he said, putting down his glass. Clapping his hands, he called out to the rest of the room. "Attention Avengers, SHIELD Agents, and... whoever else managed to sneak in off the street! Dinner is served, so if we could all head to the dining room before the food gets cold and Raul quits on me, I'd appreciate it very much."

You held back as the crowd of people noisily moved to the dining room, hoping to catch Bucky's eye, but he remained steadfastly absorbed in his conversation with Jade.

"Come on, honey," Nat said as she took your elbow. "You can talk to him during dinner. You nodded and allowed her to lead you into the dining room. You and Bucky had sat next to one another, without fail, for every meal for the last year, the only exception being when one of you was away on a mission. You'd have plenty of opportunities to talk to him while you ate.

Normally, you all ate at one large table, but since this was a special occasion that required the attendance of a lot more than just the regular 13 members of your family (14, if Parker was around), Tony had the dining room arranged more like a restaurant, with a series of smaller tables spread out throughout the space.

You and Nat followed Bucky and Jade to a six-top where Steve and Sam were already getting ready to sit down, but you froze in your tracks when Bucky pulled back a chair for Jade, pushing it in behind her as she sat down before taking the seat next to her.

The air seemed to grow heavy, as though it weighed too much for you to draw it into your lungs and your chest began to hurt. How could such a simple action be causing you so much physical pain?

Steve, who had already been sitting at Bucky's other side at the head of the table, caught your eye and moved to get up to offer you his chair, instead, as though that could make up for Bucky's dismissal of you.

You subtly shook your head, not wanting to draw attention to the awkward situation you found yourself in. Instead, you made your way over to the only two remaining seats at the table: the one next to Sam that was directly across from Jade and Bucky or the one next to Jade at the opposite end of the table from Steve. Deciding it was better to be sitting across from Steve than either of the other two, you opted for the chair at the end, and Nat slid in next to Sam.

You cast a quick glance in Jade's direction and had to stifle a sick laugh-- she was physically coming between you and Bucky, quite literally.

Jade reached a hand out to Nat across the table. "Wow! Black Widow! It is so great to meet you! My name's Vixen; I'm a huge fan! I'm so excited for us to be working together!"

Bless Nat, she just stared at the girl with arms crossed across her chest, impassive and judging, until Jade slowly and awkwardly pulled her hand back.

"I take it, then, that you've deemed the Avengers good enough to be your backup team?" Nat asked without expression.

You did your best to cover the laughter that escaped from you with a fake cough, but you didn't try very hard to be convincing.

"What's this about, now?" Steve asked, leaning forward.

"Little Vixen over here," Nat began, leaning back in her chair until she was perched on the two rear legs, "was live-streaming this morning to her social media followers. Told them it wasn't so much that the Avengers were interviewing her to see if she'd be good for the team, but she was interviewing us to see if we'd be good back up for her."

Jade had the decency to look embarrassed for a moment before she turned to face you for the first time, anger taking over her features. "So, what? Didn't much take you for a tattler. You that intimidated by me?"

You opened your mouth to defend yourself but were interrupted by the sound of the legs of Nat's chair slamming back against the floor. "Pocket didn't tell me shit. I heard it straight from your mouth on the security feed. That and a lot of other interesting things."

"You're spying on her, Nat? Really?" Bucky spoke up. "She's our guest and she deserves a modicum of privacy, don't you think?" You stared at him, open mouthed, but he didn't spare you a glance.

"It was a part of her interview, Barnes," Nat spat. "Maybe if you---"

"Okay, Nat, Bucky," Steve said, using his official Captain America voice, "let's table this conversation for later and just enjoy our meal. Raul worked really hard on tonight's menu, so let's not spoil it for him, alright?"

Both Nat and Bucky grumbled their agreement as the catering staff brought out the first course and placed them on each of your plates. Normally, you loved when Raul, Tony's personal chef, cooked meals for the team; he always made sure to throw in something with lemon in it, knowing how much you loved the flavor; but tonight, your appetite was failing you and you ended up pushing more food around on your plate than you put in your mouth.

You couldn't help but steal glances over at Bucky, who continued to be wrapped in conversation with Jade. You tried to keep up with what the others were saying, occasionally nodding your head in agreement to something, but you weren't able to pay any real attention; your mind was elsewhere until you noticed Jade looking at you.

"You know, I have to say I'm surprised to see so many non-Avengers here. I got the impression that this group was... I dunno, elite? But it seems like you just let anyone in."

Steve laughed from the other end of the table. "Being an Avenger is a team effort, Vixen. Everyone plays their part. And besides, Pocket here's just as much an Avenger as I am." The comment took you by surprise, and you gave Steve a warm, appreciative smile.

"Thanks, Cap," you said, truly touched by his words.

"Well, she's more like Avenger-adjacent," Bucky amended, and all the warmth you'd felt at Steve's compliment vanished in an instant, leaving you feeling cold and hollow. The words shouldn't have stung-- it was how you had referred to yourself hundreds of times, but you tended to reserve it for your low moments, when you were feeling unequal to Earth's mightiest heroes. Hearing the words come out of Bucky's mouth, as if he, too, shared in your belief that you were inferior to the rest of them... well, that fucking hurt.

Steve let out a surprised laugh and clapped Bucky on the shoulder. "Pocket may not have enhanced physical abilities or powers or what have you, but she's got a brilliant mind. She's got a PhD in Mechanical Engineering and Computation from MIT, three Master's degrees, she speaks seven languages, she's got a black belt in Krav Maga, and she was the youngest Chief Technology Officer in Stark Industries history; all without ever having formally graduating high school. It's no exaggeration for me to say that I'd be dead a couple of dozen times over if I hadn't had her at my six. If anything, I think it makes her even more important than the rest of us. We're here because of the physical things we can do– primarily because of things that happened to us by accident; Pocket's essential to the team because of how she thinks, and the strength and quality of the work she’s willing to put in. We're replaceable, Pocket's one-of-a-kind."

You looked at Steve as if seeing him for the very first time. You had no idea he thought so highly of you, and his praise warmed you. You offered him a soft smile, your throat tightening with emotion and leaving you unable to express your gratitude. You mouthed a silent thank you instead, hoping that conveyed how much his words meant to you. He winked back at you in acknowledgement.

Bucky glanced back and forth between the two of you, as if analyzing your silent exchange. He coughed awkwardly. "I just meant that we try to keep Pocket away from the really dangerous stuff," he backpedaled, poorly, in your opinion. "Can't risk her getting hurt." He smiled at you, but you just stared back, expression blank, until he looked away in embarrassment. Good. Let him feel an ounce of the discomfort you’d been feeling this entire time.

Small talk resumed around the table, with Sam telling Steve about some new modification he was making to Redwing, and Bucky and Jade back to being locked in their own bubble. You did your best to ignore the little glances and gestures that Jade directed to Bucky, but it felt like your eyes were drawn to them like a magnet every time she touched him. Which seemed to be happening more and more frequently. You couldn't help but notice the way he leaned toward her when she spoke. Did he ever do that when he was talking with you?

"So, Bucky," Jade said eventually, her voice low and flirty as the caterers took away the main course, "handsome super hero like you, you seeing anyone?" Your eyes snapped up to Bucky's face, watching him. Surely he was going to look to you, make eye contact, something to acknowledge what was between you, to make you feel like you were in the same room, hell, on the same fucking planet as him. But he didn't.

"Nope," he said, running his hand over the back of his neck like he always did when he was feeling self conscious or nervous. "Not seeing anyone, though I'm not opposed to the idea." You had been stabbed in the abdomen on a mission once, and that had hurt less than hearing the words that had just come out of Bucky's mouth. It took everything in you to resist getting up from the table and leaving the room at that moment.

"Really, man?" Sam asked from where he sat on the other side of Natasha, his voice hard in disbelief. The atmosphere at your table had shifted. Natasha, Steve, and Sam all stared at Bucky with looks ranging from incredulity to flat out disgust. Bucky either was oblivious to the stares or was doing a great job patently ignoring them.

You couldn't even bring yourself to look at him anymore. It felt like a betrayal, the way his eyes had met Jade's and not yours. How could he sit there and just completely deny you like that? Had you been deluding yourself? Had you just been some kind of fuck toy this entire time?

The caterers brought the next course, a cold raspberry soup. You sat there, staring into space as you mechanically spooned the soup into your mouth, trying your hardest to appreciate the taste, but everything seemed bitter in light of Bucky's attitude, actions, and words.

"Could you hand me the water carafe?" Bucky asked. You looked up to watch Jade hand him the bottle of water. "Thanks, doll," he said, smiling at her.

You dropped your spoon, letting it fall into your nearly empty bowl with a reverberating clang. Your companions at the table stared, eyes wide as their gazes traveled between you and Bucky. In his entire time at the tower, he had never once called another woman 'doll.' It was a moniker he'd specifically reserved for you.

Or, it used to be.

You could tell the exact moment when Bucky realized he'd fucked up. His eyes locked on yours, the color draining from his face. He opened his mouth as if he was going to speak to you, but you'd had enough. Without a word, you pushed back your chair with enough force that it practically tipped over and exited the dining room.

You made it all the way to the elevator before you heard him calling for you.

"Doll! Doll, where are you?" You stabbed repeatedly at the call button, as if it would bring the car to you faster. You could hear his footsteps drawing closer, and you really didn't want to talk to him right now.

Finally, the elevator doors opened and you slid inside, turning to press the 'Close Door' button just as you saw Bucky turn the corner to the elevator bay. You were ready to breathe a sigh of relief at evading him until Bucky's metal hand shot in the diminishing space between the closing doors. You were trapped.

"Doll, didn't you hear me callin' to you?" he asked as he slid into the car with you.

You looked around, as if searching for another person in the car. "I'm sorry, were you talking to me? Should probably be more specific with your pet names, then. A girl’s liable to get confused." You were impressed that the words came out as hard and bitter as you felt inside.

Bucky flinched. "I deserved that."

You leaned forward to press the button for your floor before crossing your arms and glaring at him. "You fucking think?"

"Look, it just slipped out, okay? I didn't mean anything by it. It's not a big thing you needed to storm out over." You rolled your eyes at him, disgusted that that was the only thing he seemed to realize he'd done to offend you all evening. "Pocket, can we just talk about this?"

"Oh, now you want to talk to me?" you asked, jutting out your hip in annoyance. "Seemed like earlier today, you couldn't wait to not be seen with me, or do you no longer care if people get the wrong idea?"

"Alright," Bucky said, slamming his fist against the elevator's emergency stop button. You stumbled as the car came to a grinding halt. Bucky tried to put his hands on you to steady you, but you pushed him away. "What is going on with you today, Pocket?"

"What's going on with me?" you asked him, incredulous. "What's going on with you? You've been an ass to me all night, that is when you weren't acting like I didn't exist."

"How am I being an ass?" he asked, voice rising. "You're the one who couldn't even hold a civil conversation with our guest! It was embarrassing!" You recoiled as if he'd slapped you, backing away from him until your back hit the elevator wall.

"Wow. Okay then." You blinked heavily, telling yourself not to cry. You'd be damned if you showed weakness in front of him now. Bury the emotions, encase them in ice. "Sorry I'm such a fucking embarrassment to you, Sergeant Barnes. Now that I know how you feel, I'll make sure to stay out of your way so you don't have to put up with me." You moved to press the button to restart the elevator, but Bucky grabbed your wrist.

"Don't do this," he growled at you. "Don't hide behind snappy quips so you can shut down and avoid having a real conversation with me." You stared between his eyes and where he held your wrist in his metal grip. It wasn't tight enough to hurt, but it was tight enough to keep you from breaking free.

His gaze softened as he watched you. "I never said I was embarrassed of you, Pocket. I just don't know why you had to be so rude to Jade at dinner tonight."

"Name one thing I did that was rude to her," you challenged.

"Okay," Bucky stuck out a finger as though he were about to count off all your grievous errors. "Let's see... You said... No, that was Nat... You were... okay, Steve said that... You said... No, that was Nat again." He looked up at you sheepishly. "So, maybe you actually didn't say anything during dinner, but not talking to her was still rude."

You scoffed. "You want to talk rude and embarrassing, Bucky? Do you know how embarrassing it was to have everyone staring at me when you pulled out my chair for Jade, or when my own best friend didn't defend me when she had the audacity to call me a fucking tattler? Like I’m some kind of fucking child?" Your voice was rising and you could feel yourself getting swept up in your anger. "How about the pity looks I got when everyone heard you lie about not seeing anyone, or when you called her 'doll'? Or when you told her I was 'Avengers-adjacent'? You think I'm the embarrassing one? You made me feel like an insignificant piece of shit tonight, Barnes. God, if it hadn't been for Steve saying what he said, you would have driven me to tears."

Bucky had been staring down at his boots as you'd been speaking, as though your accusations were too much for him to face head-on, but at the mention of Steve's name, his head snapped up, blue eyes like ice on your face. "Well, if Steve's such a hero, why aren't you fucking him, then?" he asked, voice clipped and bitter.

You yanked your wrist free from his grasp. "Maybe I should start!" you shouted. "At least he's not embarrassed of me and doesn't forget I exist when another pair of tits shows up!"

Bucky's gaze darkened and in an instant, he was on you, caging your body against the elevator wall, a hand on either side of your head. "Don't you even fucking joke about that," he snarled.

You jutted out your chin, refusing to show any sign of weakness, though his actions were beginning to frighten you. "Who says I'm joking? Sounds like a good idea to me; thanks for suggesting it." You moved to duck under his arm, but he grabbed you by the shoulders, pinning you in place.

His breaths were coming hard and fast now, as though he'd just run a marathon. His gaze darted between your eyes and your lips, as though trying to make up his mind about something. In the next instant, his mouth was crashing down on yours, his tongue demanding entry.

You gasped at the sudden intrusion and Bucky took that as his invitation, deepening the kiss with a primal fervor. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him. For a moment, you were stunned, unsure of what was happening. But then instincts took over – he was kissing you, really kissing you. Your stomach fluttered and your heart hammered in your chest.

One of your hands ran through his hair, while the other gripped his shoulder for support. His hands had somehow migrated beneath your shirt, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the bare skin at your sides. You returned his kiss with as much intensity as he gave. But then suddenly, as if waking from a dream, you remembered why you were angry with him. You pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss.

You were both panting, and despite your attempt to put distance between your bodies, Bucky leaned down, resting his forehead against yours as he fought to catch his breath. "Don't," he whispered hoarsely, his voice heavy with an emotion you couldn't quite place. "Don't sleep with Steve."

"You realize how incredibly infuriating you're being right now, don't you?" you asked. "You can't just treat me like that, ignore me all night in favor of someone else, then kiss me and try to tell me who I can or can't sleep with."

"I know, Sweetheart," he said, nuzzling your nose with his, "I know and I'm sorry, but please, promise me: no matter how angry you are with me, don't sleep with Steve. You wanna fuck someone else to piss me off? Go fuck Sam, Thor, Rhodes, hell, even Parker. I'll hate it, but if it's Steve, it'll fucking kill me."

"Your signals are all over the place tonight, Buck," you sighed, letting out an involuntary moan as his lips found the sweet spot on your neck and sucked at your skin. You had to pull away before he turned you into a babbling mess. "If you think you can just kiss me into oblivion and I'll forgive you for everything you've said and done tonight, you better think again, because that's not happening."

Bucky ran both his hands through his hair, sending it pointing every which way. Then he pressed the emergency stop button again, letting the elevator resume its journey. "I know I owe you an explanation, Pocket," he said. "So, can we go to your room and talk? No interruptions, no one else, just you and me, okay?"

You studied him, considering. A part of you was still so angry at him that you didn't want to hear him out, but the part of you that loved him hated the idea of leaving things in a bad place. In your line of work, you never knew when your next goodbye might be your last goodbye.

"Fine," you said, dropping your shoulders with a sigh. "We can talk, I'll hear you out, but I'm not promising forgiveness."

He smiled, his eyes bright once again. "That's all I ask, Sweets. That's all I ask."

<- Previous Chapter / Next Chapter ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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sheisjoeschateau · 1 year ago

Text

"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART V

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER WARNINGS: tw - major character death (?), attempted CPR, screaming, crying, strong language, trauma (so much f*cking trauma), regrets. 18+

***

When Steve watched you tumble off of the wall and down to the ground, he felt his entire world stop spinning.

It was as if he could literally see the surge of electricity that coursed through your veins, grappling onto your body before it repelled you off the fence.

You fell, landing flat on your back, and Steve knew that if you’d had any air left in your lungs that the fall alone had knocked the wind out of you.

And Steve felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Crouched at the top, just watching the nightmare unfold in front of his eyes.

“BAUMAN!!!!”

The scream that ripped from Steve’s lungs scared him more than he already was.

Jonathan, Eddie and Dustin all shouted your name in response. They rushed over to your body. Your way-too-still body.

Everyone completely freaked. Steve kept cursing and shouting, knees pressing into the concrete underneath where he was hunched over and gripping the edge. Every inch of him was shaking and ready to pounce off the top of that wall onto the ground. The walkie-talkie was going off still, and that only heightened everyone’s senses that were already in override.

Jonathan knew what Steve was debating, as he got closer to the ledge. “Steve, don’t move —”

“Fuck, FUCK.”

“DO NOT MOVE.”

“BAUMAN — ”

“STAY UP THERE. The box got — fuck, it got switched, fuck!”

Jonathan was frenzied. Sheer panic brought his voice up several octaves, to where he was just shrieking.

Eddie was almost shell-shocked next to Dustin, who was the most frightened that any of the guys had ever seen the kid. He clutched the walkie-talkie as it kept blasting off with Murray’s voice, shaking.

“Jonathan…” Dustin’s voice sounded so small, so terrified. Like he was suddenly six years old again.

Eddie went from reaching out for you, to reaching out for Dustin. He was so conflicted, needing to help and not knowing how. The metalhead stuttered unintelligible words of fear.

And up on the ledge still, Steve raked his hands through his hair, throwing his head back to groan more curses to the sky.

This was hell. Absolute hell.

Here he was, stuck at the top, unable to do anything. Steve frivolously paced, tugging at his hair until the scalp burned.

“Group 2 to Group 4, do you copy?”

Steve felt bile rise up in his throat watching Jonathan’s fingers graze your neck, searching for a pulse. When it wasn’t there, he reached for your wrist. No sign of life… Jonathan looked sick. Turning to Eddie, who was staring at him — pale as a ghost — Jonathan’s voice shook.

“Lift her head,” Steve heard Jonathan croak. He was positioning himself over you, straightening you out on your back. He took his hands, pressing them to your chest.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, God no, please no. Steve heard himself saying it in his head, over and over. But when Eddie looked up at him, his eyes heartbroken, Steve realized it wasn’t in his head. Steve was saying it out loud.

“Group 4, this is group 2 – do you copy????”

Jonathan was telling Dustin, in as calm a voice as he could muster, how to help. And Dustin looked up at Steve, whimpering for him. But seeing his older brother-slash-mother-like figure at the top in complete dismay only made him want to cry more. Dustin was scared, he was so scared… Jonathan brought him back to focus.

“Hey, hey," Jonathan spoke to him gently, shakily. "Look at me. Look at me. Help me, alright?”

But Jonathan’s trembling voice was not reassuring at all. Dustin followed his lead, though. He kept his hands cupped underneath your head, your hair pooled around yourself on the ground.

Steve got a grip on himself for all of two seconds. Enough to at least speak to his kid, voice wrecked and his words rushed.

“Dustin, h-hang in there, kid, alright? It's okay. S'okay. Byers – y-you know CPR, yeah?”

Jonathan fervently nodded his head, getting to work.

The walkie-talkie was a chaotic clusterfuck of voices, begging for an answer. Murray. Erica. Hopper. Eleven. Lucas.

Eddie lost it, grabbing it from the ground and biting back a scream before he tried to tell them, but not knowing how…

“C-code red, code red, we — we . . .”

Your eyelids – glued shut – made Steve’s open eyes burn. Your lifeless chest, no sign of air, made the sound of his own breathing sound so loud it was jarring. He couldn’t breathe. He still had fucking oxygen in his lungs, yet he couldn’t breathe.

Steve just kept murmuring your name into his fist. His voice was low and unintelligible, as if he was speaking some twisted prayer out loud while he paced back and forth. He felt acid pricking at his eyes, blurring his vision. Steve swiped at my face, roughly rubbing his palm down his from forehead to chin.

Steve bit at his own cheek, willing the trembling to stop. Stop, damn it. Don’t make this real. It’s not real.

“God damn it,” Jonathan muttered.

“Keep going,” Steve barked down at Byers. It was meant to be a command but Steve’s voice was thick with emotion and he hated it. He watched every chest compression and every puff of air exhaled into your mouth and over your lips, wishing to God that it was his own lips crushing against yours. Because if it were him? He would give you no choice. You were stubborn as fuck, and no one needed to be easy on you. That wouldn’t work.

Murray was going berserk on the other side of the walkie, and so was Hopper.

“Where the hell is my niece, what’s going on?!?!”

Eddie was on the verge of a full blown panic attack, trying to get a word out and explain. For the love of God, how could he explain???

Dustin glanced up at Steve, and that was the worst thing that the kid could’ve done. Because when Steve looked back at him, he saw it. He was crying. Steve’s kid was fucking crying.

Fuck, this was real.

Steve’s body had never violently convulsed with shakes like this his entire life. Not when he first saw the demogorgon. Not when he came face to face with the demodogs. And not even in the Russian torture chamber.

He wanted to sob – but hell no, he couldn’t let himself. Not yet. Not fucking yet.

So Steve bit his cheek until he tasted blood, lips tightly curled over his gritted teeth, frantically pacing with his arms crossed and fingernails digging into his elbows even through his shirt.

When Jonathan sighed, exasperated, Steve was suddenly screaming at Jonathan. He didn’t even register it until it was happening. Byers shouted back, a storm of words tearing them both at the seams. Byers never overreacted. He never shouted unless it was a joke.

But this wasn’t a joke. It was real.

And the distraught anger that boiled inside of Steve was evident as he shrieked back at Jonathan and Eddie below out of sheer disdain towards them for being down there with you instead of himself. It wasn’t even their fault. It was nobody’s fault, and somehow that made it worse. Because it meant that Steve had no one to blame.

So, he blamed God. A god that he wasn’t sure he even believed in.

Eddie finally flipped his shit, screeching into the walkie-talkie. The trees. The world. “She’s. Not. Breathing!!!!!! The fence turned on too soon!!!!”

“Murray, turn it back now!” Steve cried out.

“Steve’s stuck up top, he needs down here! He’s a lifeguard, Erica, h-help!” Dustin’s wailed cries were heart wrenching.

Erica came onto the line. “I’m on it, Steve, hang on!”

After another agonizing 15 seconds, Murray said it was clear — his voice cracking.

Eddie flung his bat at the fence. No electricity.

Steve hurled himself down the wall.

Flinging himself to the ground, Steve could feel himself begin to hyperventilate again as he looked over your pale face up close. Your full lips were no longer that tempting shade of rose pink.

They were blue.

So, Steve moved fast – straddling you and thinking back to lifeguard training a few summers ago. One of the few things I’d done right in high school was learning CPR. He locked his knuckles against your chest, starting compressions while ordering Jonathan to keep doing mouth to mouth.

“How long has it been...” Steve’s question sounded like a statement, muttered through his actions.

“Over three minutes,” Eddie spoke, his voice also shaking. Then he mumbled, “...if not longer.”

Steve’s stomach churned. He grit his teeth, jaw clenched, forcing the next round of sobs back down his throat. Your name was gritty and choked on his lips, mixed with vulgar curses muttered under his breath. Your lips were still parted from the attempted resuscitation, and your eyelids were beginning to peak open. But both once lively irises were trapped behind your hooded eyelids, now dead and unmoving, and the thought of not seeing them ever again fucking wrecked Steve.

One, two, three. “C’mon, Bauman.” Four, five, six, breath. “Bauman, c’mon —”

Steve’s arms began to burn as he frivolously tried to pump life back into your slender frame.

God, I hate her, Steve thought. I fucking hate her.

Of course it would be her that this happened to. Of fucking course. Not me. Because that would be too easy. Then she would keep so stupid fucking calm, like she always is in situations that infuriate me. She would keep herself together. Her stubborn attitude would keep her emotions at bay. Because God forbid she be visibly scared. She had to be the goddamn hero. Because she is perfect. Impossibly perfect.

So fucking perfect.

“Bauman, cmon, please,” Steve pleaded.

“YOU GUYS, TALK TO US. WHAT’S HAPPENING?” Robin sounded panicked over the walkie.

Eddie didn’t even know how to answer. He just stared, helplessly.

Steve’s shoulders slumped as he worked, and he felt the stupid tears that sloped down his face and onto his trembling lips. He tasted the salt, the bitterness making him want to curl up and die. He'd never felt this sick in my life. He never wanted to feel it again.

But he would feel it ten times worse if this is how it was gonna end.

If Steve was never gonna see another day with the niece of Murray fucking Bauman bothering the ever-living shit out of him, then his world was just going be dull again.

Funny how he once thought that’s how he’d preferred it. The world in which you didn’t exist. Steve had raved to you about it, day after day. About how much better his life would have been in that world if you had simply never come into the picture. How much happier he would be, because you wouldn't have been around to ruin it. You would simply cease to exist, and all would be right in the world.

Now he had spoken it into fucking existence. And if there was ever a regret that Steve Harrington had in his life, it was having ever thought for a second that it was what he actually wanted. He would rather be forced to rewatch all his days as King Steve and watch everything horrible that he did and bitterly regretted now, if it meant avoiding this.

Because now, all he wanted was you.

God, please, let me keep her.

Jonathan stopped giving mouth to mouth, heaving for air. Dustin looked at him in pure horror, and for the first time ever I saw Eddie look more terrified than the kid.

“Jonathan,” Dustin croaked.

“Whoa whoa, w-what —” Eddie stuttered.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop.” Steve screamed.

Steve sounded like a strangled animal, growling at Jonathan — who now just wept and wept, overwhelmed. He tearfully argued back with Steve, voice booming and defeatedly saying something about how it’s not working. Something about it being too late. And Steve wanted to punch him square in the face.

On top of that, the walkie-talkie kept blasting off in Eddie’s hands with everyone’s voices. Mainly Murray, who was demanding information, screaming —

“Someone tell me what’s going on with my niece right now!!!!!!!!”

Eddie stuttered something to Byers, moving to take his place. Byers obeyed, moving aside.

Steve swapped with Eddie, now giving you mouth to mouth while Eddie pumped your chest. Jonathan now murmured into the walkie, all stuttered and shaky, something about them trying. Still trying.

And all the while, Steve kept murmuring your name whenever he wasn’t blowing air into your lungs, and it sounded like a broken prayer on his tongue. Eddie was openly crying at this point, his tears silent but his motions panicked as he continued pumping your chest while Steve willed life back into your airways.

Dustin was whimpering like a child, petrified. Jonathan held him, winded and freaked.

Another minute ticked by, and you still weren't breathing...

Don’t leave me here, Steve begged you in his head.

Lips, air. Breathe, breath, breath.

Don’t fucking leave me here.

Chest compressions. Pump, pump, pump.

I don’t know how to be without you anymore. You ruined that world for me. That world is gone. I don’t want it back, don’t fucking let me go back there.

Steve was ready to throw himself into that electric fence, and escape the world he had created for himself with his own ignorance.

And then he saw your eyes scrunch.

Your face moved.

Steve’s breath hitched as he saw your hand twitch.

“Bauman. . . ”

He barely breathed your last name, almost afraid to repeat it. As if that would make you disappear again.

Finally, the most guttural cough escaped from your throat, sending you into a choking fit before it began to level out. All the while, Steve watched life color your face again. Your eyes tried to focus, your eyelids still slightly hooded. But your chest rose and fell, air finally filling your lungs.

Steve felt as if someone had revived him. A rush of air escaped his mouth, his shoulders sagging as he let the overwhelming sensation of relief rattle his bones through body-wracking sobs. “Fuck…”

Steve immediately sought your touch, his hands on your face as his fingers grazed your jaw and your neck.

Eddie choked on a sigh of own relief as he distanced himself to let Steve straddle you.

“Don’t…touch the fence,” you murmured, your voice small and strained as you caught your breath.

Fucking hell. Even now, just barely back to life, you're cracking a joke.

Steve laughed hard. So hard, incredulously. Kinda hysterical. He watched tears splash down onto your cheeks, realizing that they were his own. But Steve didn’t give a fuck how pathetic he looked as he crushed his lips against yours and cried while doing it. He was completely on top of you at this point, caging you with his legs and arms. His elbows dug into the earth beneath you both, one hand brushing your hair off your forehead and the other grazing your shoulder. And your collarbone. And the soft divot of your neck. Steve just had to touch you. He had to feel you moving, to assure himself that you were really alive again.

“Y-you,” Steve choked and stuttered. “You were dead. Your heart. S-stopped.”

His croaked words hung in the air, desperate and broken. Haunted by the memory that had just been his reality not even a minute ago.

Your eyes opened a bit more, softly glazed over and searching his own. Your heart seized, seeing the tearful anguish in Steve’s eyes up above you, as you pinched your brows together. You wanted to take it away from him, never wanting to be the source of his sadness.

Your hand slowly reached for his, taking his wrist and pressing his palm to your chest.

“S’alright, Harrington,” you sighed. “It’s back on.” Thump, thump, thump. “You did it,” you sighed exhaustively.

You watched as Steve clenched his eyes shut, gnawing his lip, face crumpled and whimpering unabashedly at your heartbeat that drummed under his touch.

Fuck’s sake, he thought. Of course she is comforting me. She just died, and yet here she is – comforting me.

God, you were insufferable. Steve fucking hated it. He hated you. He hated you so much.

So fucking much…

Steve buried his face into the crook of your neck, nose pressed to your skin as he wept freely. You held his hand to your chest while his other arm wound up around your head.

“Hate you,” Steve weakly mumbled against your neck. All anguish, no heat. “Fucking hate you.”

You could only sigh, just staying there, letting the soft sounds of your breathing against Steve’s ear ground him again. Whether it was seconds, minutes, or hours that passed, you didn’t know. Didn’t care.

And no one else said anything. The boys fell silent. Completely silent. Watching in disbelief. So much had just happened, revealing so much more at the same time…

The walkie-talkie squawked again. All channels were tapped in. Joyce, your uncle’s crackly voice, and Hopper.

“Someone give me fucking update,” your uncle demanded over the walkie in a wobbly, distressed voice. “Kids, c’mon. What’s happening?” …even Hopper sounded emotional. “Please, please tell us she’s alright,” Joyce’s sweet voice was full of tears.

Eddie jumped at all the voices. He sniffled, remembering he needed to answer. Through his own tears, he told them, “G-group 4, w-we… we got her. Steve’s got her, sh-she’s breathing… She’s alright.”

As Lucas came back through the channel — “Oh thank God” — they could hear Murray in the background sounding like an uncharacteristically relieved mess.

Somehow, Steve pulled himself away from you. He looked down at you, swiping his elbow across his nose hastily. So much snot. Not that you minded, or even noticed. Your eyes were closed again, fluttering exhaustedly.

“Hey, hey do you—w-want,” Steve hiccuped, still stuttering. “Wanna — s-stand up?”

You gave a weak nod and managed to feebly peel your eyelids back open. Steve leaned back on his knees, ready to help you stand.

Jonathan was right behind you, arms slipping underneath your shoulder blades to help lift you off the ground. Steve clasped his hands in yours, pulling you to him after he’d risen to his own feet. You stood too, your footing wobbly and weak. Steve let you lean into him, one arm snaking around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. His left hand gripped the back of your neck, balancing you. Balancing both of you. He kept softly murmuring a series of little I got you’s, repeatedly saying it was all okay in a hushed tone only meant for you.

Steve finally glanced up to look at the others.

Dustin was a quiet, relieved mess. He looked shaken to the core, glancing from Babe Bauman in Steve’s arms to Steve himself. He trembled, hugging himself. Eddie quickly moved to comfort him, wrapping a tight arm around him as he bit back his own tears. Steve made a mental note that he would undoubtedly thank him for that later. Jonathan looked at Steve with more empathy than he ever thought him capable of radiating in his direction. The oldest Byers looked exhausted yet wired at the same time, and Steve caught the sight of his bottom lip trembling before he looked away.

In spite of the relief, all three of them were asking themselves the same question: how long has something with these two been going on?

Steve suddenly felt seen for all that he was. Fragile, underneath his cocky bravado. He felt like a sham, who only pretended to not be emotionally affected by anything. He felt like deep down, he was still that prick from high school, who didn’t know what he had until it was taken away from him. Only then did he learn, right? Only after he was made to face the hell he had created for himself, was he able to finally see the mistakes that he’d made and wanna make them right. It happened with Nancy. It happened with school. It happened with Max and how he failed her as a brother (or mother, according to the kids). When was he ever gonna learn…

Steve could feel everyone’s eyes on him. Him, and you. He knew that the three guys were watching, and that they’d all seen him fall apart completely. The two of you were definitely found out now — no going back. But Steve didn’t even care. He couldn’t now.

Without any control over himself, Steve shamefully sought selfish comfort and privacy by adjusting himself in your arms. His girl. He buried his face into your shoulder, clinging to you desperately and trembling.

And you melted. Your head was fuzzy and everything hurt, so you couldn’t really focus on much that was happening the way that Steve could. But all that mattered to you right now was him, as he held you like he’d lose you all over again unless he did, his breathy cries rattling his bones. You cradled his head against your shoulder, softly murmuring to him that it’s alright, it’s okay.

Sometimes, Steve would find himself smiling in your embrace, despite the anguish as he couldn’t stop mentally reliving what had just happened. He had to forget it. You were here. You weren’t gone.

He got to keep you.

He’s going to keep you.

Even if it fucking kills him.

***

thank you guys :') I know this chapter stretched out an already stressful situation but it needed to drive the point home: Steve's hatred has transitioned into love.

tag list: @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @xprloki @eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00 @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers @originalthingparadise @pleuviors @pumpkinonice @ihaveproblemsihaveproblems @brinleighsstuff

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #murray bauman #eddie munson #dustin henderson #rockstar eddie munson #enemies to lovers trope

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rubra-wav · 1 year ago

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Main Hazbin Hotel cast x fallen angel reader who wants to cut off their wings (drabble - hc format)

Req by: @lightmoon99

A/N: I fucking love fallen angel angst type content, it's my bread and butter. I hope I was able to do it some justice <3

Cw: SFW, decapitation, a bit angsty, platonic, cannibalism, Gn!Reader

When you had fallen from heaven to hell, your hate for your more angelic attributes that had already existed before the fall only deepened.

You hated the sensation of the weight that signified your wings were, in fact, still there even when your halo had been taken when the exterminators had left you to die here.

You hated that you had to feel the pain of your attempt to hide them under cloaks and baggy clothes with ropes pinning them to your back.

When you came to the hazbin hotel, you were open from the get-go with Charlie, hoping she would sympathise being the daughter of a fallen angel herself.

It of course didn't take long for others in the hotel to find out you are a fallen angel, however it did take longer for them to find out simultaneously during a group exercise that you wanted to discard any and all heavenly reminders of what you used to be.

Charlie

- She's horrified when you bring out your wings in a flourish and say such a thing while gesturing to them.

- It's not too surprising considering you hide them practically all the time, but it still fills her with a sense of grief for you to think such a thing.

- She immediately tries to shut it down, telling you that you shouldn't hurt yourself and should be proud you have such gorgeous wings!

- Would apologise and go silent when she realises how badly she's messed up in saying that seeing your expression.

- Only continues speaking to dissuade some of the poor ideas coming from others in the group.

- She'd probably try to think up ways to make it up to you after the meeting.

- Probably tries to suggest doing some trauma work type things? She doesn't know a lot about that kind of thing, but she could get some books on it to try!

- Actually ends up learning a bit about trauma treatment stuff outside of the awful pop culture live love laugh stuff she's on about most of the time.

- Ends up helping out with you coping a bit better in the end due to that.

- Keeps trying but fails to do anything to dissuade certain members of the hotel to stop encouraging you to remove your wings, however.

Vaggie

- She's stung as a wingless fallen angel herself that you'd want to do such a thing.

- But she also understands all the same why you'd feel that way.

- Would respond in a way that's understanding, but ultimately awkward and clunky due to how she is normally.

- Made worse due to her own angst about it.

- Afterwards, she would probably try to have a private chat to you about it since it's clear you're struggling and logically she's gonna probably be the one most understanding.

- May even reveal she's a fallen too if you're close to try and give you a feeling of comradery in a pretty bleak way.

- She's got basically the opposite of what you've got, but it'd still be bonding and mutual support.

- Would be emotionally supporting you and encouraging you to try work through the trauma rather than harming / cutting off your wings.

- What the hotel doesn't have is a doctor, so you'd be screwed if you decapitated a part of yourself.

- She doesn't want you to feel inclined towards taking up certain members' offers either.

- She knows that the others are not going to stop with their bullshit so she actively tries to educate you on what they are up to really and all the risks that come with.

Angel

- When he first hears it, he cringes very noticeably despite his usual persona.

- The definition of 'that's rough, buddy.'

- He feels terrible for you that you'd feel such a way, but he also has absolutely no clue how to express it at all.

- Probably would be the type to try distract you from the bad by having fun, so he'd be trying to get you to hang out with him and either go to parties or go on various shenanigans.

- He's not good at emotionally comforting people at all, so he's awkward as hell and at loss when it gets particularly bad for you.

- But he's always there to try do activities with you to take your mind off of it.

- And he also needs it as well honestly. It's nice having someone who's also feeling shitty so you can mutually drag each other out to do things rather than wallowing in bs and feeling worse and worse.

- Probably calls out Cherry as well because she's always good at cheering him up.

- He knows quite a few people from a lot of different walks of life, so chances are he could get you in contact with someone who'd be able to perform removal surgery if after everything you still want it done.

- No strings attached as well with his assistance, unlike Alastor.

Husk

- He'd not really react at all initially outside of maybe raising his brows at your comment.

- Obviously, it's bad, but he just prefers to play his cards to his chest with how he truly feels about things.

- Would be actively being bitter as fuck at most of the other residents suggesting stupid shit though in a way that's honestly protective.

- Basically shuts all of them down one by one, calling them out on their crap.

- When Alastor points out how he 'seems to care awfully much about you' Husk scoffs and tells him to fuck off.

- Shuts up for the rest of the group part of the interaction.

- Afterwards though, he'd have a private conversation with you and actually gives you some good advice.

- Tells you that you should do whatever the hell you want but also to not let the opinions and thoughts others dictate that.

- If you want to do that, it's really your decision, and nobody has any right to try to tell you what you should do with your own wings.

- Doesn't really share his own opinion on what he thinks you should do because it's asinine and would be hypocritical to what he's encouraging.

- Just encourages you to think for yourself rather than just going with what the idiots and asshole are trying to fill your head with.

- And if you do decide to get them removed? Make sure to be safe with it.

Sir Pentious

- He very obviously feels bad for you. He shows it all over his face but also has no clue how to express it properly.

- So, naturally, he automatically goes to propose a practical solution to the problem.

- "I can do that for you, my fallen friend! I have experience with my creations, so I should be able to attemp-"

- He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before he's very rudely interrupted by Husk and told to fuck off with that shitty idea.

- Visibly deflates when he's told he's not a doctor and is just some inventor wannabe.

- He'd shut up for the rest of the meeting, moping and glaring between Husk and Alastor.

- But afterwards, he's approaching you saying he would try his best to do it if you asked.

- Would go and start researching how to do the procedure and starts meticulously learning about how to properly do it.

- Whether you decide on him doing the procedure or not, he wants to be ready just in case.

- He has no idea how to emotionally provide for you properly in this situation, so he's doing what he does best and is working practically. He's all open to any way he can be of assistance, however.

- Absolutely asked his eggs for advice on what to do and got nowhere.

Alastor

- Person number 2 who receives a resounding 'shut up' message via Husk.

- His eyes absolutely light up when you say you want to remove your wings, grin widening as he takes on a sweet tone that does not match his intentions at all.

- "Well, that could certainly be arranged, darling."

- Asks if you'd like to make a deal for your wings in exchange for something you want from him. He'd take you to someone skilled enough to do the operation.

- He wants a meal that is heavenly in a completely different kinda way.

- It's not every day you get to eat angel wings. And it wasn't like you wanted them, and he sure did.

- Even if you're friends, he wants to win the rare delicacy competition he has going with Rosie. If he bought some skilfully cooked dish with your wings in it, he'd win without a shadow of a doubt.

- It's not like he'd be lying about getting them removed, either. Just his intentions for volunteering to do so.

- Shuts up about it after the first mention of it and being called out by Husk, going on about something different after.

- But he's already plotting out what he can do to get what he wants.

- Would actively be sabotaging Pentious the whole time he's studying how to do the procedure as well. Those wings are going to be his, and he will not be the second choice when you (in his mind at least) inevitably come to him for assistance.

- He won't actively make your misery worse, but he will act as a passive influence urging you towards his goal.

Niffty

- Would also say she can remove your wings.

- But, would then proceed to try and do just that without even allowing you to process what she's said.

- Gets caught thrashing around like a madwoman in mid-air by Vaggie who saw it coming from a mile away.

- Wants to get your wings taxidermied and framed because she thinks they would make an excellent decorative piece in the hotel.

- Would then need to be kept in sight at all times away from you as she would be repeatedly trying again and again to destroy the cloaks you wear to hide your wings to get to them.

- Already had been collecting your feathers for several months and had already sorted those into a freaky art piece.

- So she's more than ready for a more substantial specimen.

- Was the one to actually expose you as being an angel in the first place - unintentionally by mentioning the giant feathers she'd found in your trash.

- Would probably be placated if you gave her more feather tbh. She thinks your wings and feathers are just wonderful.

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arzen9 · 2 months ago

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Can I Be Good? Chapter 12: Beating of Wings - Astarion/Lark

pairing: Astarion/f!Tav | Astarion/f!OC 18+ MDNI word count: 9.6k tags/warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Not Canon Compliant, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, Redemption, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Mystery, Romance, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Original Female Character, Mentions of Trauma, Mentions of Past Trauma, Mentions of Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Masturbation, Blood, Blood Drinking, Alcohol summary: Centuries of pain, a ritual, (not) hunger, (not) desire, a lost soul, a search, a yearning, bodies, bodies... And a heart that changes everything.

For those of you that do not know, Lark is largely a self insert, and the conversations she has with Astarion about her mother have been very healing for me. I hope that this story makes you smile, even when Lark and Astarion are going through it lol.

On a different note- HERE COMES THE SMUT!

And on yet another different note: I will need to take a break starting next Thursday, because I have a vacation planned. Thank you for understanding! I will be back with more on around May 15th!

Here's some lyrics from the song I listened to on repeat while writing this chapter: And nothing fuels a good flirtation Like need and anger and desperation -The Moth & The Flame by Les Deux Love Orchestra

Thanks for reading, and as always, if you want to chat, my ask box & dm's are always open<3 Thank you @nerdallwritey for reading these over, always helping out, and being an amazing friend, ILY!!!

Can I Be Good? spotify playlist

Read on AO3

Astarion’s name has never sounded so precious as it does now falling from Lark’s lips in a moan.

If only he was the one causing it.

He should not be here. Not after what she said to him in the garden.

No— not after what he said to her.

For all his powers as the ascendant, though, he can’t turn back time.

So, he’s here— Lark might not know, but this is an olive branch. The way Astarion understands it, of course: one offered in secret.

But one thing about Astarion is that centuries have not been able to chip away at his avoidant nature, and when he sees Lark writhe and squirm under the covers, with his pen in her hand (he wishes she’d get rid of the covers so that he could see) and his name falling from her lips at the height of her ecstasy, all he can think of doing is to run away.

It’s too much— her scent. Her blood is something (everything) on its own already, but mixed with the unique aroma of her arousal, that slightly sweet tinge, how it grows stronger as she breathes out his name (it’s enough to make him forget his own name) is more than he can take. His pants feel way too tight all of a sudden, and if he sticks around, he knows he’ll end up doing something reckless.

So, Astarion runs away.

He can’t return to the palace fast enough. He breathes quick, moves even quicker, when he gets to the entrance and comes out of his mist form.

If he’s lucky, the others will have retreated to their chambers for the night, and he won’t have to deal with them in his current state.

But when has Astarion ever been lucky?

Karlach, Gale and Shadowheart are all up, standing around the bar with concerned expressions they’re doing nothing to hide. Noticing his arrival, they all turn towards the palace entrance, but it’s Karlach who speaks first, her worried expression quickly replaced by one of dangerous fury.

“Where in the hells were you?”

Gods, not now. “Excuse me?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Astarion? I know you can be an absolute prick, but to Lark?” Karlach’s voice booms as she walks closer to him, and Gale and Shadowheart move with her, albeit slower, more careful.

“She came running to you to complain, did she?”

Karlach looks ready to punch him. “She did no such thing, but you probably know that. I’m not an idiot, Astarion. She came back here after talking to you all teary eyed.”

Ah, yes. He was aware of that, of course.

Lark’s beautiful, pearly tears adorning the creases of her beautiful, rose-like eyes. He could smell the salt, even if she tried to hide from him that she was crying.

“And what is it that you want me to say, Karlach?”

“Oh, stop acting like a fool! I want to see that you know you hurt her! That you’ll do something about it! Anything!”

“Perhaps yelling at each other is not the best way of—” Gale tries to interject, but Shadowheart silences him by placing her hand on his arm.

Karlach ignores them entirely and continues, “I want to know that you’re not just an asshole. That you’re more than what has been done to you. More than what you’ve done.”

The room goes silent while the tiefling looks down at Astarion, searching his face. Gale and Shadowheart keep their gazes fixed straight on the floor, seemingly to avoid getting caught in the middle of whatever this is.

Astarion knows that Karlach is right, of course. He did hurt Lark— quite purposefully so. But being cornered like this is not going to produce the results Karlach might be hoping for.

“If you’re not happy with my ways, darling, you’re more than welcome to leave.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He knows it. Because he, better than anyone, knows what would happen if they left.

Karlach looks at him, and Astarion expects anger, but there’s only disappointment in her amber eyes. Glowing resin that holds only kindness. It infuriates him, how sensitive she can be.

“You never lost your cruelty, Astarion,” she says. She doesn’t move. He’s locked in her gaze, unable to look away. “You know that? Even before the ritual, you were like this. So when you go around moping about how you regret what you did, think about that.”

After looking over his face one last time, Karlach turns and leaves— without hitting him, cursing at him, nothing. As she walks away, her shoulders slump down a little, and she shakes her head side to side. Silent. Defeated.

Astarion looks at the other two of his friends, his companions from another lifetime— so long ago now. They’re still avoiding his gaze, but there’s a somber sadness to their expressions that weren’t there a moment ago.

“A little rest will do all of us wonders,” Gale says, ever the peacekeeper. Astarion thinks perhaps Lark could be happy with someone like Gale— someone who is stable, someone who faces all adversities with the same calm and collected façade, a protection from the storm of one’s own mind. Not someone like him who more often than not causes those very storms.

But he’d be damned if he let anyone even come close to her— someone other than him, that is. Is this possessiveness the curse of a vampire lord, or is it something else entirely?

Without saying anything to Shadowheart and Gale, Astarion leaves, stomping all the way to his room. Although Karlach is usually quick tempered, it’s a rare occasion for her to lose her cool— especially these days. A few centuries ago, things were different, but life is a lot more… Mundane now, and besides, Wyll seems to bring out something even softer than usual in her. If she gets this mad at Astarion on behalf of someone who is virtually a stranger, well— he must truly have struck gold at choosing someone to join his ragtag little group.

He's taking all of the credit unfairly, of course. It’s Lark who has earned the care and protection of everyone at the Crimson Palace on her own right— as painful as it is to admit. She has not left Astarion’s mind ever since that first time he saw her among the crowd, standing on the balcony. It’s no surprise that the others would be just as enamored with her— albeit in different senses.

Once in his room, all he can do is rub his face with his hands and sigh at the sight of that wretched thing still atop his pillow. Horseradish.

Still, it’s not all bad— he has something of hers with him. That will have to do, for the time being.

----

Rest has a way of avoiding Astarion— it’s been like this for a very long time. It has only gotten worse, though, now that his mind is riddled with thoughts of Lark whether he’s awake or not.

In the morning, after hours of useless tossing and turning, he finally gives up and opens his eyes. Sometimes he thinks he’s in a weird sort of dream or hallucination, that he’ll wake up with a jolt and realize he’s still being tortured by Godey in the kennels or entertaining guests in the bedroom. In these moments, he’ll tell himself— it was worth it, what I did. I deserved it. But then, it’ll just keep hurting, all the godsdamned time.

What Karlach said is true. The ritual didn’t make him cruel. If anything, it only brought out the worst parts of him and laid them under the blazing sun, and the more he tries to find a shadow to veil them under, the clock just ticks noon over and over again, in a vicious cycle. The darkest thoughts he harbors, he does his best to keep to himself, but every day that passes it gets harder, and Lark’s presence has been… Less than helpful. Because every time he’s near her, he feels weak— as if he never stopped being a mere spawn. She brings out that side of him he thought lost to the ascension— and sometimes he thinks that might be a good thing, but then the anger bubbles up to the surface and…

It's getting harder and harder to control himself.

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, Astarion glances at himself in the mirror— he looks tired. Horseradish sits on top of his pillow behind him, and if he didn’t know it was an inanimate object, Astarion would say it was almost curious, watching him look at his reflection as he has done the same way every morning for centuries— but now, there’s something different about him.

He grabs his phone from the bedside table and taps on the screen to check if he has any notifications— some e-mails that he’ll need to forward to Lark, articles from various news apps, funny videos Karlach keeps sending him (although she hasn’t sent him anything yesterday, perhaps a little predictably). Nothing from the one person he wanted a notification from.

With a sigh, he puts his phone back and stands up, stretching his limbs and walking towards the bathroom to take a shower. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, really. What was she supposed to do, send him a selfie after what happened? Ask him to apologize? He knows Lark would never do that— because he wouldn’t, either.

As hot water clouds the wide mirror in his bathroom, Astarion fantasizes about drinking from Lark again. Invite her into his room, tell her he knows what she did with his pen. He looks at the separate bathtub that sits in the middle of the room, haunted by visions of her laid bare in the water, her blood flowing like a stream over the tiles, and he would feel more like a king licking every drop from the floor than he ever did in all his immortality as the only vampire who doesn’t need to miss the sun anymore.

He’d be willing to trap himself in the shadows again, if only it meant for her to crane her neck to him and tell him that he is good.

Astarion steps into the shower and shuts the glass door behind him, and he’s so hard it hurts. He thinks of her again, how she looked under her bedsheets, eyes closed, covered only beneath her pelvic bone— it’s almost funny, how that’s where she draws the line. Even in her own home, her own room, she’s not comfortable enough to shed her layers. But Astarion can see behind his closed eyelids vividly, how her small breasts heaved with every stifled moan as she touched herself, pebbled nipples a few shades darker than her skin begging to be taken care of. But she never touched them— maybe it’s not her favorite sensation. Or maybe—

Astarion thinks it’s highly possible that Lark is right— he knew she was right in the moment she said it, but his anger is a quick, destructive thing. He knows there’s truth to her admission that she knows intimacy can be tainted. He knows, perhaps worst of all, that she understands. Maybe touching herself for the sake of her own, unbridled pleasure is an entirely new thing to her, just as it is to him, as he starts pumping himself, slowly, almost torturously— imagining what it would be like if it was her hand, instead.

He can’t stifle his moans (or doesn’t bother to) as well as Lark did, but when he comes, there’s only one image in his mind, her voice, repeating to him over and over again—

“You are good, Astarion. You are good.”

----

Astarion would be lying if he said he wasn’t at all worried about Lark simply not showing up, after their lovely little conversation from the previous day.

And he’d also be lying if he said the sigh of relief that falls from his lips was anything but genuine when, even before hearing the knock at his door, her scent filled his nostrils.

It’s an especially cold day, and her dark red sweater compliments the burgundy of her eyes. Astarion waits for her to speak— only slightly worried about the possibility of her simply… Quitting. But, if he has come to know her a little bit in the past few weeks, he senses that, if Lark was going to quit, she wouldn’t have bothered showing up in his office. It would have been her right, too— Astarion never was known for his ability to bite his tongue and swallow his especially cruel words and yesterday had been no different.

“Good morning,” she says, but doesn’t look at him. Perhaps she’s just mad at him. Or maybe, she’s thinking of what she did. Something warm and electric passes through Astarion’s body, but he doesn’t move, sitting behind his desk with the air of someone who definitely doesn’t know how the person standing in front of him used his pen to pleasure herself mere hours ago.

“Good morning,” he responds, mirroring her. He keeps his voice level, letting her take control of where the conversation will go.

“I assume you’ll want this back,” Lark says and steps closer to his desk with an extended hand— and there it is, the silver shine of the pen he gave her. Immediately he can smell a few different scents on it— her. That’s a given. Even when it’s to be expected, though, it doesn’t fail to light his nerves on fire. But something else is covering her scent, much to his dismay— did she try to wash it with soap?

Astarion holds out his hand to grab the pen from her, but Lark drops it on the desk instead. So, she’s still mad. Not mad enough, he thinks to himself. Although— anger can be a powerful fuel for desire.

“Thank you,” he says, taking the pen and sliding a finger over his initials engraved on it. Lark swallows.

“Yesterday was… Difficult for both of us, yeah?”

She’s trying to apologize. Cute.

“That’s one word for it,” he says, not unkindly. “Difficult conversations bring about difficult feelings.”

Lark nods. “I’m sorry, for what I said. Those difficult feelings got the best of me, I guess.”

Even when he’s the one in the wrong, she apologizes first.

“I should be the one extending an apology, should I not?”

She fiddles with the hem of her sweater. “You shouldn’t ask me if I deserve an apology or not.”

Because she will say no, is that it?

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. It’s been a very long time since he last apologized to someone sincerely, and it comes out weaker than he thought it would— almost as if he’s confessing a secret.

Lark just stands there, looking at him. Is she expecting something more? What can Astarion even offer her, if not his body, or—

No. She’s made it clear that she’s willing to understand. That she has used herself, too; two sides of a coin, they stand staring at each other and Astarion decides to offer her— honesty.

“I can be… Quick to get lost in the darker corners of my past,” he says, then pauses to clear his throat. “They tend to bring out the worst version of me.”

That finally earns him a small, careful smile from Lark. “We all have that, don’t we? The worst version of ourselves.”

Astarion tilts his head at her, listening.

“I can never understand everything that you’ve been through, Astarion,” she says, locking her soft gaze to his questioning one. “Just like how you won’t understand everything I’ve been through. But, I can still be there for you. Help you. If you let me.”

He shouldn’t let her, because that will make him weak.

Is that really what he thinks?

“We both have been hurt, but that doesn't mean we have to hurt each other,” Lark says, and her voice is so soft, as if she’s talking to an animal, trying to coax it out of hiding; it angers Astarion to no end, but also makes something in his chest sting.

We don’t have to hurt each other, she says. But he’s already hurt her— not just with his words, but with his teeth. He has taken her life essence, and he wants it again and again and again; she doesn’t know what she’s saying, to let him in is to invite pain. But if that’s what she wants, how could he ever deny her?

“Astarion?”

Lark’s voice brings him back to reality, and Astarion isn’t surprised to find her concerned gaze fixed on him. She has a way of saying his name that makes everything else vanish— only her voice remains in his mind, asking him to come back to the present, to stay there, with her.

“Yes, darling?”

“You seem so… Lost in thought sometimes. I always wonder where you go to. But then… Whenever I’m lost in thought, I usually don’t go anywhere good.”

“A kindred spirit,” he jokes. More truth than he would have wanted.

“Don’t hide from me,” she says.

Come out, a part of him growls. Come out of hiding, ravish her. Make her regret her softness.

If you let the right one in, Shadowheart had said.

“How can you be so sure you’ll like what you see?” he asks, and he hates that he even has to ask.

Astarion has spent centuries cultivating what he is, but he has failed to go beyond what he looks like.

“Because it’s you,” Lark says, and she’s so chirpy and cheerful as she says it that it almost makes Astarion smile.

“You don’t even know what I am.”

“A vampire. An elf. A man. What does it matter? You’re just Astarion to me.”

Just Astarion. How perfect would that be?

“You always know just what to say, don’t you?”

She smiles— she remembers how she had asked him the same thing. “A kindred spirit.”

Astarion plays with the dent his initials make on the pen with his nail, pushing in over and over again.

“Am I forgiven?” Lark asks. It makes him giggle.

“I should be the one asking you that question.”

She taps the tip of her manicured finger to her chin repeatedly. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard.”

They laugh. Together. It’s easy. Almost… Natural.

“What will you have me work on today, boss?”

Astarion frowns. “What am I, a ship captain?”

“I would have called you captain, then.”

Damned poet. He rolls his eyes, which makes her grin wide. If that’s what it takes— he’s okay with acting annoyed more.

“Shadowheart will probably need you with her cocktails again.”

“Uh-oh,” Lark says, but her smile betrays her. She takes a few steps back, but doesn’t fully turn to leave. Maybe she doesn’t want to.

Astarion surely doesn’t want her to leave.

“Guess I should go,” she says. Her eyes shift over to the pen in his hands, if only for a second.

He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t take the opportunity.

“You got good use out of it, I presume?”

“Hmm?”

“My pen.”

“I— Yes. I’ll see you later.”

She’s running away, and amusement bubbles in Astarion’s chest.

“Use unscented soap next time, will you? You know how much I adore your scent.”

Lark’s eyes widen, and she turns the exact same color as her sweater. Without a word, she turns and leaves, letting Astarion enjoy the satisfaction of teasing her.

He could never get bored of this.

----

Astarion spends the day in his office, being intentionally slow with responding to people’s e-mails— as revenge, of course; if people dare to make him wait, he’ll make them wait in return.

In truth, he’s just distracted.

How can he not be, when he can hear Lark and Shadowheart get drunker and drunker in the name of “work”?

He’s not angry that they’re slacking off or anything— he’s envious, perhaps, of the time Shadowheart gets to have with Lark.

So, he decides to do something about it.

He keeps a few bottles of wine here in his office, away from the others they keep in storage— his private collection, so to speak. He gets up from his desk and saunters over to one of the cupboards in the left corner of the room, and takes out a bottle of red, blowing off the dust that has collected on the shoulder. He’s never really had an excuse to drink one of these before. Not that he needs an excuse— immortality renders special occasions almost mute. It does feel better to hope, however.

Taking the bottle back to his desk, he retrieves a wine opener from one of the drawers and uncorks it. The wine smells rich and full, top quality. One of the good things about his office is that he has everything he needs right here— including wine glasses. He takes two out of one of the cupboards under his desk, and places them next to the bottle.

Now, the important part.

As he walks out of his office, Astarion hesitates— what does he hope to get from offering a drink to Lark? For the first time in centuries, the answer to that question comes almost instantly but not without surprise.

Nothing. He hopes to get nothing at all. Just more time with her.

This is… Most unusual. But he’ll have to deal with the complicated questions that riddle his mind later.

He makes his way downstairs in his usual gait— relaxed, nonchalant. He has both hands in his pockets as he approaches the bar. Lark and Shadowheart are trying out drinks and laughing and talking, and neither of them notice him at first.

Clearing his throat, Astarion interrupts, “Why are you testing out your creations? I thought that was Lark’s job.” To everyone’s surprise, Astarion included, there’s no annoyance in his voice.

Lark turns and her eyes crinkle with a goopy smile when he sees him. Sensing the ease between them, Shadowheart raises an amused eyebrow.

“I thought you guys weren’t playing together anymore.”

“What can I say? It’s hard not to forgive him,” Lark tries to joke, but it’s more honest than she intended, apparent from the way she blushes and looks away, earning an eye roll from Shadowheart.

“I hope that’s the drinks I’ve been piling on you talking.”

“How is that going, by the way?” Astarion asks. “The actual choosing the drinks part, of course. Everything else seems… Entertaining, to say the least.”

Lark snorts. “Ah, yes. We are thoroughly entertained.”

Shadowheart swats at her arm, but misses. “I think we might have our final menu picked out.”

“Wonderful,” he says. One less task to worry about. “If that’s taken care of, I’d like you to join me in my office, Lark, if you will.”

“And leave me to clean up all this mess by myself?” Shadowheart whines.

“Call Lae’zel to help you out,” Lark snorts again, as if imagining her friend helping out with dishes is too funny to think about. Astarion doesn’t know much about Lae’zel, but from what he’s seen, he’s inclined to agree.

“You know what,” Shadowheart says, hiding her giddiness behind the act of dramatically reaching for her phone in her back pocket. “I might just do that.”

“We’ll leave you to it,” Astarion tells her, and gestures at Lark to lead the way.

On the way back to his office, they’re relatively silent, and their silence makes the distance feel more substantial than it actually is. Perhaps it’s because she’s tipsy, but there’s a new, unfamiliar energy in her. Astarion can feel her magic, almost a separate entity; alive, right under her skin.

“You’re not going to blow me up, are you?”

She turns to look at him, a little startled. “Why, are you afraid of me?”

“Ha!” he laughs, louder than he intended. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No, actually,” she says, barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t push.

When they reach his office, he holds the door open for Lark, and she laughs when she sees the wine bottle, and the glasses.

“Am I getting paid to just drink for you guys?”

Astarion laughs with her. “Sounds like a great job to me.”

He pours wine for them as she watches. Instead of taking a seat behind his desk, he sits on one of the chairs placed in front of it, and Lark sits on the other. Astarion hands one of the glasses to her, and she clinks it to his.

“To forgiveness,” she says. He cocks a brow at her. Her dark burgundy eyes go wide when she takes her first sip.

“Are we celebrating something? This wine tastes way too expensive.”

It’s not like Astarion to get flustered, but he looks away nonetheless. “Oh, you know.”

“Is this your way of apologizing?” She leans forward, placing her arm on her knee and resting her chin on top of her open palm.

No, he wants to say. My way of apologizing would be to make myself useful. But that’s not what either of them wants, is it?

Sensing his thoughts starting to wonder, Lark leans back in her chair again, saying, “Thank you, Astarion. It’s good.”

That makes him preen. “I’m glad it’s to your liking.”

She rests her head on the back of the chair, looking at the ceiling. “Sometimes I think none of this is real.”

“You’re not completely drunk, are you?”

She snickers. “No, I’m not. I just never had a lot of people around me that made me feel… Happy. Valued. Wyll and Lae’zel are like family to me, don’t get me wrong. But since I’ve started working for you, I feel like I’ve found a place for myself in this city, finally.”

Astarion doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s never given anyone a sense of belonging before. “Where are you from, originally?”

“Hartlands…” she intonated dramatically.

“Ah, the fawn,” Astarion says, and takes a sip from his wine. “A bit vague, though.”

“I’m from Athkatla. Although, if I never go there again, I wouldn’t miss it.”

“On account of your mother, I assume.”

Lark nods. “You’re stronger than I am. I left her house, and the city as soon as I could. But you’re… Here. You’ve made this place into something of your own.”

Speaking of his past has never been easy for Astarion— proven to even him, once again, by the argument he had with Lark the day prior. But she’s not judging him— in fact, she’s complimenting his strength, even.

“Did you ever think of staying? Not with her, necessarily. Just… There.”

She sips her wine and swishes it around her mouth before answering, as if prepping her words with the liquid. “Maybe, at one point. It’s a little weird now that I know she’s killed herself in there.”

“How do you feel about that? The fact that she killed herself?” It surprises Astarion how easily these questions come out of him— it surprises him even more, that he finds himself caring about the answers.

Lark shrugs. “She’d always say she wanted to die. She tried, once before. I was in college.” She sips her wine again. Her soft lips take on the dark red color of it. “I filtered out most of what she said. How she wanted to die, how she wanted me to die, how she wanted my dad to die… It just became white noise after a while.”

“Did you ever want to kill her?”

She smiles a little. “I most certainly did. I was never as brave as you, though. How did you feel, when you finally got rid of your master?”

It was glorious, Astarion wants to say. The power he felt surging into him during the ritual. But he looks away and swallows.

“Time has taken most of its joy away, if I’m honest. But I don’t regret killing him, of course. The bastard got what was coming for him.”

“I know you absolutely despise being praised, but,” Lark interjects, sarcasm dripping from her deep voice, “I’m really fucking proud of you. You took matters into your own hands and saved yourself. That’s huge.”

And doomed a few thousand others. Not as huge.

“Yes,” he purrs, surveying his nails. “Who needs praise when you know you look this good?”

That makes her laugh. A high-pitched, strong sound. Astarion wants to hear it again, and again.

“Right, I’ve seen the mirror in your room. I bet you watch yourself fall asleep in that thing.” Lark lowers her gaze to her glass, perhaps suddenly shy with the mention of his room. The last time she was there, he was deeply lost in her neck, after all.

“It can come in handy.”

She tilts her head and stops right as she’s about to take a sip of her wine. Narrowing her eyes, she asks, “Does it? What do your veritable list of lovers think of it?”

“My veritable list of lovers?”

“I assume, of course.”

“Of course.”

Lark leans forward in her chair, bringing her face closer to him. “Do you have that, then? A veritable list of lovers?”

Astarion mirrors her and leans forward— it’s worth doing if only to hear how her heart speeds up. “I thought you didn’t want to be one of them.”

“I said I didn’t want to be one of your toys. I didn’t say anything about lovers.”

He likes it when she gets bold like this. If it’s the alcohol, or their closeness, he can’t be sure. They’re so close to each other now, Astarion can feel the warmth of her short breaths, hear her pulse, louder and louder—

His voice is a growly whisper when he says, “You want to be my lover?”

The corner of her lip tugs upward, and it’s hard for him to not return the expression. It’s easy, with her— having fun. He moves just a bit more forward, pulling the chair with him, just an inch, to graze her lips with his, when he hears the sound of something crackling—

Lark pulls away suddenly with a lurch, and it’s right on time as her wine glass shatters in her hand. She’s breathless, and Astarion can feel the heat that vibrates from her body. Smell her desire, mixed in with frustration— at her magic, at herself, he doesn’t know.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, defeated. Then, a different smell—

“You’ve cut yourself.”

She looks down at her hand, a little pinprick in her palm, nothing bad. It’s enough to make Astarion dizzy.

“Well, that explains the wild look in your eyes.”

He tries to look away. It’s harder said than done.

“I should go,” she blurts out, closing her hand and holding it to her chest, bending down to pick up pieces of the wine glass.

“I can do it,” he says, and reaching out, brushes against her.

Electricity. This must be how it’s produced.

Lark’s a scared, flighty little thing— a cornered fawn, away from its mother. She must have felt it too, the electricity. As she stands up, Astarion sees her tremble.

“I— I’d offer you some, but—”

“What?”

“My blood. I’m just— I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you. I’m sorry,” she keeps mumbling as she leaves his office with quick steps.

Astarion takes a deep breath when she’s gone. There’s a drop of her blood on the floor, by a few pieces of broken glass. He reaches out and collects it on the tip of his finger, then brings it to his mouth, enveloping it with his tongue, slowly and deliberately, trying to hold on to the taste as long as possible.

Everything in him aches.

----

Lark

Everything in Lark is aching. Burning and aching. Aching and burning.

She paces her living room, tapping at the band aid on her palm. It’s a delicious pain. Her skin is ablaze, hairs on the back of her neck standing up, her heart beating like she’s been running a marathon.

She wants him. There’s no use denying it anymore.

Judging by him almost kissing her, he just might want her too.

And that’s terrifying.

Because Lark knows that this is not just about sex, for her. She longs to just be with him, and sex is certainly part of it, but they’re both wounded in that department, and she’s afraid.

She’s afraid that this might be just sex for him. Or blood and sex. If it’s only that— She doesn’t want to think about it.

Her magic has never felt so… Strong before. Granted, she’s never been so aware of her powers before practicing with Gale, and she definitely has more control over them now.

And yet, every time she’s with Astarion, she feels unpredictable. Contrary to what he might believe, she does not want to blow him up.

Maybe just blow him.

“Ha ha,” she rolls her eyes to herself. A comedic genius even in the face of adversity.

Desperate, she grabs her phone and finds Lae’zel’s number from her Favorites tab. It rings and rings, but she doesn’t pick up. She tries Wyll, too, but his line goes straight to voicemail.

“Damn you both,” she mumbles. “And Shadowheart and Karlach too.”

Lark looks at her phone.

If she’s honest, she’s just scared. Scared of hurting him, yes; but scared of getting hurt as well, not physically— she’s scared that Astarion will break her heart.

It’s highly probable.

But…

Opening up their text chain, she types:

Can you come over?

“That sounds too serious,” she says, and deletes the message.

Do you want to come over?

Slightly better.

She hits send.

Almost immediately, two checkmarks appear under her message, signaling that he’s read it.

Lark waits for about two minutes, never looking away from the screen, but he doesn’t respond.

Maybe it’s better that he doesn’t. Maybe this is his way of saving her from himself. Or saving himself from her.

She keeps pacing the length of the room for a few more minutes but finally decides to try and calm down a little. From the kitchen, she pours herself a glass of water, and swishing a big gulp around her mouth, sits down on her couch, folding her legs underneath herself.

Maybe it’s not too late to change her name a second time and find a new city to move to.

Wyll would laugh his ass off at her right now. Probably. Lae’zel would do worse.

Looking at her phone is out of question. Calling him? A death sentence. She should toss the damn thing in the toilet and flush it.

Where’s Horseradish when you need it?

Lark wonders what her dad would say. In the past, whenever she’s told him about potential lovers, he’s always said the same thing: “Let them deserve you, my sun. Don’t open up your heart so easily.”

She imagines how the conversation would go— both of them hate phone calls, so it would probably be over text, and would probably look something like:

Hi, dad, I think I’m in love

Lark, are you sure? With whom?

Oh, you know. Some guy. My boss. A vampire.

But then— there’s a knock on her door.

Did he fly over here?

Lark wouldn’t be surprised.

Not that it was gone in the first place, but that thumping in her chest is back. The cut on her hand stings under the band-aid.

Lowering her eyes, she looks at herself to see if there’s anything out of place. She likes keeping her place cozy, so the heater is on, which makes it possible for her to wear her favorite outfits to lounge in— right now, that’s a pair of knee-length shorts that say Baldur’s Gate on the hem of one leg, and a black tank top with spaghetti straps. She sighs. Whatever she wears, she will never be as gorgeous as Astarion is.

Remembering the presence waiting at the door, she almost leaps toward it— she feels like she could tear it right off of its hinges if she really tried.

It’s weird. The moment she opens the door and sees Astarion’s suave smirk, fangs and all— it’s like something slots into place in her chest.

“Hello, darling,” he says. He’s changed into one of his black shirts and a pair of jeans that sit on him snugly. Even with just a pair of jeans, he manages to look like the king of a faraway land.

Lark tries not to ogle. “I’m sorry for… Well. Inviting you on such short notice,” she gestures at him to come inside. “And for freaking out on you. And for bleeding in your office. Again.”

He scoffs. “I want to be notified at least two business days in advance, next time.” He pauses as he passes the threshold, then looking back at her over his shoulder he says, “For when you invite me over, and for when you bleed.”

What a freak. Lark smiles.

Astarion holds up the bottle of wine he’s been carrying. “I brought the rest of our wine. You do owe me a wine glass, though.”

She takes the bottle from him and walks toward the kitchen. “Can’t you deduct it from my paycheck or something?”

He laughs at that. “True, I can do that. I forget that you work for me.”

“Astarion! And here I thought, we were going to prepare for the masquerade.”

“Hmm. What a diligent worker you are.”

“Of course,” she grins, pouring wine for them both. “Why else would I invite you over?”

Astarion comes to stand next to her by the kitchen counter and taps a finger on the laminated surface. “Let me guess— you didn’t invite me here to have sex.”

She hands him his glass of wine. He remembers what she told him the first time she asked him to come upstairs.

“Of course not,” she says, and it’s partly true— she didn’t invite him just for that. “But it’s not totally off the table.”

He raises both eyebrows in surprise, wrinkling his forehead— it makes Lark want to caress his face. “Lark Promise, are you flirting with me?”

She just laughs and walks over to her couch, and he follows her. There’s something hungry in his gaze when they sit on opposite ends, and he looks at her— all over her. It doesn’t make her feel vulnerable, though— just seen. Just as she wants to be.

“Thank you,” she says, maintaining eye contact.

He leans his head on one hand, swirling the wine in his glass with the other. “What for?”

“For coming.”

“A bit early to say that, isn’t it?”

They both chortle at his innuendo— like two teenagers. Lark has to cover her mouth to stop herself from snorting. “You’re sweet. And sillier than I thought.”

He hums an approving sound, then turns to look at the ceiling. “How drunk are you?”

“Not at all. Why?”

“I’d much rather if you remember the first time I kiss you.”

Lark’s breath catches, and she has to look away from him for a moment.

Then— “I just… I want to say something.”

He turns to face her again. Those crimson eyes. Lark worries her bottom lip with the blunt of her teeth. “I… If my magic— if I do something to hurt you, you should stop me.”

Astarion’s face falls, suddenly somber. He takes a sip of wine, then places the glass in front of him on the coffee table. “I’ve had my fangs buried in your neck. You’re worried about hurting me?”

“You saw in my memories, when you drank my blood,” she says. “I’ve hurt people before.”

“Yes. People who were abusing you, torturing you, taking advantage of you. Give your powers a little more credit, darling. Perhaps all this time, they were just trying to protect you.”

Before Lark has time to grapple with that, he takes her glass out of her hand, and places it on the table, next to his. Moving closer to her, he grabs her chin and lifts gently, to make her meet his gaze. “You’ll be good for me, Lark Promise, won’t you?”

She could cry. Her voice is a whimper when she says, “I’ll be good for you.”

And then, Astarion kisses her.

Almost immediately, Lark sighs a sigh of relief, and he takes a deep breath before giving a lick at the parting of her mouth, tentative, careful. She parts her lips further, an invitation. Come in, taste me. Let me taste you.

Astarion tastes like wine, cold and expensive— but his tongue is soft as it enters Lark’s mouth, exploring, discovering. She does the same— hesitant at first. When her tongue grazes at the tip of one of his fangs, an almost-moan rips itself out of his throat.

He moves his hand grabbing her chin, and places it on the side of her face instead, and she melts into his touch. Meanwhile, Lark buries her hand in his curls, and they’re just as soft as she remembers. And his scent, oh, his scent— she can almost taste it now, sharp and herbaceous, surrounding all of her senses.

There it is— the crackling, right beneath her fingers. She tries to pull away, but Astarion holds her and doesn’t let her, kissing her more feverishly, as if to test her. It’s under her hands, her fingertips, that electric feeling, if she doesn’t move—

In her panic, as she tries to move her hand away, she lands on his bare forearm instead, and her magic connects, but opening her eyes to see the damage, she only finds Astarion looking at her with a smirk.

“I— Did I hurt you?”

He breathes deep, once, then twice. His pupils are blown out, face glistening with warmth.

If Lark was to die now, she’d be ecstatic that this was the last thing she saw.

“No,” he says. “That— It felt good. Unique.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” he says, and places a kiss on the corner of her lips. He moves on to the other corner, to her chin, and she lifts it for him, revealing her neck. He mouths at the column of her throat, and she whines.

Placing one hand on the small of her back, Astarion guides her to lay down, and straddling her hips, he lowers himself down to continue kissing her, each one more passionate, desperate, until both of them are reduced to whines and moans that fill Lark’s apartment.

Astarion pulls back to look at her, and Lark feels breathless. He places his thumb on her lower lip, pressing down just slightly, opening her up. She gives a kitten lick at the coolness of it and he smiles. His teeth glint in the dark. A threat. Or a promise.

Lark tries to rub her thighs together, to relieve the wetness at her center. Astarion must sense her neediness as he moves one of his legs between hers, angling it just right so that it presses at her core. It almost makes her eyes roll back.

“I can smell how soaked you are,” he says, and there’s no disgust in his voice, no trace of bad memories climbing up to the surface. Just pure, unadulterated desire.

He pushes his thumb further into her mouth, and she gladly takes it, welcoming it by sucking in her cheeks. He moves his leg away from her core, and Lark mourns the contact, but he’s quick to replace it— he places a hand under her thigh, and she lifts it up so that he can wrap it around his waist, granting him access.

When he rolls his hips, they moan in unison at the sensation. Lark can feel how hard he is against the thin fabric of her shorts and through his pants. Her moan vibrates against his thumb, and he removes it from her mouth slowly just to bring it to his own, as if to taste her on his skin. Then, he takes her hand up to his face, the one with the band-aid on— and inhales.

Everything he does sets Lark aflame.

“Please,” she says, not knowing what she’s begging for.

“Please what, sweet girl?” Astarion asks with another roll of his hips and without his thumb in her mouth, Lark moans even louder— stopping herself by biting down on her lip. Bending down over her, Astarion grabs her chin again, a little more forceful this time. “None of that. Let me hear you.”

She nods, hypnotized by his unrelenting gaze, his desire for her.

She’s never felt every inch of her skin on fire like this. It makes her want him more— to touch him, however way possible.

Moving her leg a little, she pulls him against herself more, and he laughs. Lark smiles, too— their desires for each other mingling, combining into one thing, so separate from the world that contains them, as if only a dream.

Lark clumsily paws at the buttons of his shirt, and he lets her— with a hesitant eye. Noticing his expression, Lark pauses. “Is this okay?”

“It’s… Hard to explain. Better to show you, perhaps,” he says, taking over and unbuttoning his shirt quickly.

Lark’s not sure yet of what he means, but she can’t help watching him take his shirt off, how perfect his body is laid out in front of her, strong and smooth, as if carved out of marble.

There’s a look in his eye that he’s not sure about something— it softens when Lark reaches her hand out to him, without touching, only reminding. He takes her hand, and suddenly pulls away a little, making Lark’s leg unwrap itself from his waist. Once he’s a bit further away, he turns his back to Lark, never letting go of her hand.

“You’re a poet, aren’t you?” he says, voice dripping with hostile sarcasm— not aimed at her. “Here’s a poem for you.”

Lark doesn’t speak infernal, but she’s seen it before, studying poetry in college. She recognizes the etched script on Astarion’s ivory skin, even though she doesn’t know what it means.

She squeezes his hand with hers, and he returns the gesture. “Astarion,” she says.

He turns back to face her. “Lark.”

“Did he do this to you?”

“I might have mentioned him to be a rather cruel master.”

“What does it say?”

His voice is not as distant as his eyes are, when he says, “It’s one part of a contract with the devil Mephistopheles.”

Lark doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she sits up, bringing the hand that isn’t holding Astarion’s to his face, always pausing before touching, asking. Reminding. He cranes his neck and brings himself closer to her touch.

“You said it yourself, but just to reiterate,” she says. “The bastard got what was coming to him.”

Astarion smiles. It’s a slightly pained one, but a smile, nonetheless. “Yes. I’m glad you agree.”

As she softly caresses his cheekbone with her thumb, Lark says, “We don’t have to have sex.”

“Of course we don’t,” he says, and laughs. “But I want to.”

His admission makes Lark’s heart flutter. She reaches forward to cover his mouth with hers, and he drinks her in.

“Thank you for showing me,” she says between kisses. Astarion’s jaw clenches— only for a second. He hums but doesn’t say anything.

Lark climbs into his lap, and he stretches his legs to make room for her. “He can’t hurt you anymore,” she says before lowering her mouth to him again. Astarion sucks her bottom lip, eliciting a raspy whine.

“Will you protect me from the big bad wolves, Lark Promise?”

She laughs, but it’s cut short when he places both hands over her ass and gives it a squeeze. “I’ll— I’ll do anything for you.”

“Hmm. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I promise.”

“I’m sure you do,” he says, and one of his fangs pricks the inside of Lark’s mouth. She tastes the irony tang of blood.

Astarion does too, judging by the way his eyes roll back and his hands forcefully pull at her shorts. He sucks at the small cut, moaning that beautiful way that he does— Lark doesn’t think she’s ever heard of a sound so beautiful.

Once he removes himself from her, Lark asks, “Are you hungry, Astarion?”

“Yes.” His answer is quick. “But not just for your blood.” He tugs at her shorts, asking for permission. She nods, and he pulls them down. She wiggles and helps him out so that the fabric is done away with, leaving her with just her absolutely soaked through panties.

“Please touch me,” she whines, a moth beating its wings by the fire.

“Show me where.”

Lark takes his hand and guides it to her core, closing her eyes at his touch.

“Keep looking at me,” he says, and Lark can tell his control is dwindling. It would be a wondrous sight, she thinks, to see an unrestrained Astarion.

She knows she won’t last long— unraveling to Astarion’s touch is a wholly new experience, one that Lark will never be able to tire of.

Pulling her panties to the side, he dips a finger between her folds, and chuckles darkly when he feels her slick. “All for me,” he says, and brings his finger to his mouth, never taking his eyes away from hers.

Lark could come right then and there, as he tastes her, closing his eyes and moaning.

But he doesn’t leave her untouched for long. This time he pushes a finger in, slowly at first. She has to hold on to his broad, strong shoulders to not topple over.

“Good girl,” he praises. Lark moans. “Will you take my cock this well too?”

He certainly has a way with words. “I will,” she whimpers. “I’ll be good for you, Astarion.”

Just as she’s at the precipice of exploding, he removes his finger, and Lark whines at the emptiness.

“Don’t worry,” Astarion whispers. He pulls her down, so that she sits facing him, and hooks a finger under the straps of her tank top. “Let’s get rid of this, shall we?”

He could ask her to melt the whole entire universe, and she would do it for him.

Lark lifts her arms up so that Astarion can remove her top. Now she’s fully exposed to him— interestingly, though, she doesn’t feel embarrassed under his gaze. His beautiful ruby eyes drink her form in, and she only wants more.

“Can I?” she asks, placing a hand on his knee, gesturing at his pants.

His gaze is soft when he nods. He helps her unbuckle his belt and undo his zipper, then moves his hands away to let her pull the pants down, leaning back to make it easy for her. Lark pulls down his boxers along with them, and Astarion sucks air through his teeth with a sharp sound.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, but to Astarion’s surprise, she’s looking just at his face when she says it.

He narrows his eyes at her. “I know. Now will you please get over here?”

They laugh. Lark climbs over his body, skin over skin, her magic crackling and fizzing each time she comes into contact with him. As she kisses him, she wraps one hand around his cock, and he moans into her mouth. His skin is cool to her warm touch, full of contrasts— he’s impossibly hard in her palm, but his skin is so smooth, like velvet. She pumps him, once, twice— then feels the familiar humming vibration of magic again, and instinctively goes to pull away, but just like before Astarion stops her, placing his hand on top of hers.

“Don’t be scared,” he says against her lips.

She presses her forehead to his, and looking at his eyes, lets him guide her movements. Her fingertips ache with magic, threatening to pour over—

Astarion moans again, louder this time. “That— do that again,” he whines.

Oh, she could listen to him forever.

This time, it’s Lark who calls her magic to the surface— because she wants to make him feel good. His back arches off of the couch, Lark presses her chest to his, as he thrusts his hips forward.

She presses another soft kiss to his lips, moaning in tandem, and he suddenly turns them around so that he’s on top of her instead. She looks at him breathlessly, how perfect he is— from head to toe. She can feel her chest heaving with each breath, newfound strength in her magic buzzing through her blood and making her dizzy.

Astarion flicks her nipple with one finger, pulling a wanton moan out of her. He watches her reactions like he’s god, and she’s his one and only creation— with reverence, with devotion, with something close to… Love.

“Perfect,” he whispers. With one swift move, he lifts one of her legs up over his shoulder, pulling her down towards him. His length rests on the soft hairs of her mound, leaking precum on her belly. Lark runs a finger over his tip and brings it to her mouth to taste him, and he bites his lip, one fang sticking out, sharp and glinting.

Taking himself in his hand, Astarion gathers her wetness and rubs against her clit a couple of times— it’s enough to make Lark lose all logical thought.

“Do you want it?” he asks.

She thinks it’s obvious. But under his Casanova smile and quirked eyebrow, she hears a different question— Do you want me, even though I hurt you? Do you want me even though I will hurt you again?

“Yes,” she says. “Please, Astarion.”

He’s slow and gentle at first— but the more he pushes himself inside her warmth, the more intense their pleasure grows. Lark digs her nails on the pillow under her head, while Astarion places sloppy kisses on the sole of her feet, resting on his shoulder.

It makes her shudder.

Once he’s filled her to the hilt, he starts pushing her leg back towards herself, and the stretch is delicious, as his body comes to cover hers, and he presses a kiss on her forehead, then—

Astarion pulls his hips back, just to drive into her again, setting a rhythm that fills her up with each thrust. She moans each time his cock grazes her walls, and it’s perfect, the fit of him, like a—

“You fit me like a glove,” he says with a soft, innocent chuckle. She joins him.

It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

With his next thrust, Astarion hits that spot inside her that makes her see stars, and she whimpers in his ear—

“I’m— Astarion, I’m so close, please—”

“Wait,” he says, seizing all movement. She clenches on his cock, making him hiss.

“What— What is it?”

“Let me taste you,” he says, lips pressed to her ear, her temple, anywhere he can find. “Please.”

Lark nods. He starts moving again— She’s about to—

“Where do you want me to bite you?”

She can’t push the words out of her mouth, so she tilts her head to the side instead, revealing the same spot he had bitten just days before. What she wants to say is: I want you to reopen my wounds.

And he does.

As soon as Astarion bites her, Lark flutters, writhing under him like a dying star, coming, coming, coming—

Her magic, thrumming right at the edge of every single nerve in her body, the almost transparent glow that first showed itself as Astarion stood next to her in this very room enveloping them, taking them higher, where heaven is supposed to be.

Her moans get louder, with each pull of her blood that he takes, and he fucks her through her earth-shattering orgasm, placing one of his hands on her waist. She can feel his cock throb and swell inside her, as he nears his end, and he digs his hand into her skin hard enough to bruise.

Lark buries her hands in his hair, kissing and nibbling on his ear, listening to his growly moans as he drinks from her, she whispers to him: “You’re so good, Astarion, ah—”

With that, he comes inside her, spilling himself and pushing in with as much force as he can.

He retracts his fangs, lapping at the remaining blood on her neck as Lark continues to scrape his scalp softly with her nails.

Astarion pulls away slightly, letting go of her waist and steadying himself on that hand, cock still buried inside her cunt.

“You’re a messy eater,” she says, dizzy with ecstasy.

He lowers himself down to kiss her, and Lark tastes herself in his mouth. All of her— her blood, her arousal, the wine they drank.

Astarion breaks the kiss first, looking at her with something wholly new in his eyes. He looks pensive but blissed out. “You… You’re a surprise. A gift.”

Lark feels like she could cry— she’s heard that this is something that could happen due to hormones. A voice inside tells her, though— this is more than that.

“I could say the same thing for you, Astarion.”

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“My name.”

“Astarion,” she says, and feels him twitch inside her. “Astarion. Astarion.”

“Hmm,” he hums, and lays down on her naked chest, both of their breathing slowing down. Lark places absent-minded kisses on his head, his hair, playing with his curls with her fingers, thinking—

“Will you stay?”

He doesn’t respond— only draws lazy circles on the top of her thigh, right where the worst of her scars reside.

She takes that as a yes.

He doesn’t know yet— or maybe he does— but Lark doesn’t mean just for the night.

Lying there, on top of her, is the star that brought the sun to life.

tag list: @nerdalmighty @preciouslittlebhaalbae @aristenfromwarsaw @angelicwolf98

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freakysaken-headcanons · 2 months ago

Note

This might..... This might be more angst........ 1xJohn angst.....

John Doe is a very viscerally and deeply desperate man. He doesn't know if its just for intimacy or if its to feel loved or some secret third thing, he just knows he wants something that only a relationship can give him.

What he has with 1x isn't a relationship. Its purely to fill the sexual void both of them have. But god does John want something more. He so desperately wants to feel loved, like he remembers once having before it got taken away from him and the face and name of who loved him scribbled out from memory. He needs something tangible, his heart aches for it. Hes so careful with every fading moment he has of something comforting with everyone around him because he's that desperate for something to hold.

After him and 1x fuck, all thats left of him is a want for love, something more than the lust. Every time 1x falls asleep in John's bed first, John will just hold the other man and cry. Holding him and pretending theres more than lust between them for just one moment. Pretending 1x could ever satiate the need for love John has while knowing all 1x could ever do is fill the need for lust they both get.

The only reason he lets 1x do so much is because he's so desperate for whatever he can get that he doesn't want anything to possibly push him away, only gaining a spine when its something he absolutely 100% sure he doesn't want to deal with. And even then, if you get him in the right mix of depressed and lonely, he'd bend on even the most hardest of turn offs if it means he can hold a body close to him. 1x has used this several times to get certain things out of John he usually wouldn't do.

Really, you can get John to do damn near anything if you just held him the right way. And 1x learned all the right ways to get what he wants. How holding Johns face and rubbing circles into his skin softly can make him agree to sex when he's not horny, how holding a certain place firmly on his bare back gets him to buck his hips harder and make his legs tremble, how kissing him in the right way can make him fine with bottoming, how the right praise can even make him fine with being carefully cut open or roughly railed through. And John knows 1x is just doing it to get what he wants but he can't get his brain thinking straight enough to realize it in the moment or care, yet it still makes his chest ache in such a specific way.

On the very few nights 1x isnt coming go John to play with his heart for sex, John will take the wedding ring off his thin necklace and sob while thinking about who the matching ring could possibly belong to, why he can't remember them, god what he'd do to just feel that touch again in a genuine way. His hand creeping closer to his belt even though he feels disgusting at being so fucked up from everything that now the only way his brain can comprehend being loved is if he has to give his body over for it. The very thought of being loved again is enough to get him going and sobbing in one night.

Who knew being trapped in some hell with your only option for love only wanting you for your body would fuck you up so bad. This middle aged man has teenage girl trauma someone help him

- ourple

NOOOOO JOHN DOE... NOO </3

#poor guy #forsaken nsft headcanons #forsaken nsft #forsaken #john doe forsaken #1x1x1x1 forsaken #1x4 x john doe #ourple anon

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 2 years ago

Text

The Princess & The Playboy (Part 7)

Summary: Dean and the reader are in it now. Max and Sam are safe but how do they get themselves out of danger?

Masterlist

Pairing: NFL Quarterback!Dean x Pop Star!reader

Word Count: 8,800ish

Warnings: language, family trauma/angst, kidnapping

A/N: Enjoy!

_________

Reader POV

You knew there was no way in hell either of you were going to send your brothers back to this fucked up place. Or Eric and Sloane who would surely be killed. But Dean wasn’t going to risk you either. Which meant there was one option.

And thankfully the crowd was still watching the show before them, even if it was much harder to see you and Dean behind the guards.

“Do you know what a blitz is?” you asked. Sebastian looked at you like you were nuts, momentarily distracted exactly how you wanted him. Dean threw a punch, a hard one, connecting directly with Sebastian’s nose. Blood poured out as Dean tried to hit the guard directly behind you and make a hole for you to get away. They were on him like that though, Sebastian’s gaze turning murderous.

“Take these two to my office. Figure out how to dispose of them. Find those fuckers that ran off and kill them,” he growled. He popped Dean in the face once, twice, three times, your blood boiling. You took the opportunity to kick the guard behind you while the focus was on him, chucking your heel at another guard on your left and sending your fist flying towards Sebastian’s nuts. He nearly doubled over, ignoring Dean for the moment, his attention back on you. His very angry attention.

His fist flew out fast. You’d been hit plenty of times accidentally in dance rehearsals. High kicks. Wayward hands. Hell, even Eric had gotten you in the face on occasion when you boxed. But those were accidents. Or you were wearing padding. A mouthguard.

Sebastian Monroe hit you so hard you felt your bones rattle. Your left cheek felt split open, though you doubted it was more than scraped up, a stinging pain to accompany the throbbing that echoed in your skull. Maybe a tinge of blood was dripping down your nose.

You stumbled backwards straight into a guard but had enough time to whip your head around and show your still present crowd of party goers your very clearly injured face.

“He just attacked us!” you shouted, Sebastian glowering as you looked back to him with a smirk. “The world just saw you hit the damn princess of pop on a livestream. Do a thing to us and I don’t give a fuck who you know, you’re going down too.”

“Dad, stop.” Cecilia forced her way into the crowd of people when Sebastian reached for me, smacking his hand away. She stared up at him, fury in her eyes. “It’s over.”

“Stay out of-”

“Everyone is watching. They know what she said. They saw your men move first, you attack them. No one in the world will believe that she’s drunk. Look at them.” His gaze momentarily went over her head and past the bodies in front of him to the crowd of guests nearby.

The room was absolutely silent. Three hundred pairs of eyes dead set on you, Dean, and their host with bloody knuckles. Three hundred phones aimed straight at you. Three hundred witnesses. Too many people to persuade that you’d lost your mind. Too many to convince that you were wrong. Maybe before but after decking you right in front of them? Crazy or not, that was a line in the sand he couldn’t undo.

You yanked Dean to his feet and stepped back from the guards while Sebastian contemplated his next move. He could run or fight. Try to take you and Dean again. Try to buy his way out of this mess.

But he simply stood there, staring at his daughter, as if he knew there was no good option left. He kept standing there, the room still quiet, everyone still holding their breath.

Cecilia said something you couldn’t make out, something that made him recoil as if she’d struck him. As she backed away, flashing lights filtered in through the windows, your nerves only receding when you saw a swarm of people in FBI jackets and members of your security team.

It was only then that you realized something was covering your shoulders. Dean’s suit jacket. His hand was on your shoulder, arm curled around your back. Wait, why did your shoulder hurt? And why was Dean murmuring, his lips against the top of your head?

You lifted your head, Dean wearing a sad smile. “You back with me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, closing your eyes when Barry and Owen reached the two of you. They got you outside away from the very confused party guests but you had to stay put for the moment. The feds were busy rounding up every guard they could find, more and more lights flashing in the dark night, more and more cars heard in the distance.

“That was so fucking stupid of you,” said Dean, taking a seat on the front steps, guiding you down with him. His thumb grazed your jaw, careful to avoid your cheek. You smirked, Dean returning it. “You lost your cool. It was a little scary. A little hot too.”

Your eyes wandered down to the bracelet on your wrist, bottom lip wobbling before Dean was pulling you into his lap. “E-Eric taught me how to win a fight. How to beat people twice my size. How to beat a group when I was outnumbered. But the most important thing he taught me-”

“Words are your greatest weapon.” We both looked up, Eric frowning as he inhaled sharply. You eased slightly. He wouldn’t have left Max and Sam unless they were safe.

“That bad?” I asked when he knelt down in front of me, flickering his eyes up.

“I told you to always fight as a last resort, kiddo,” he whispered. “What happened?”

“She started screaming at him after the text,” said Dean, his arm around my shoulders, holding me close. “They tried to grab her after that and it escalated.”

Eric stared at Dean’s black eye and split lip for a moment, raising an eyebrow at you. “So you baited him. Smart girl.”

“Huh?” asked Dean. You pursed your lips. “What’d I miss?”

“You tossed me the phone so I could read the text.”

“Yeah? Then you left it on the table when you hopped down.”

“Not exactly.” You reached behind you, under Dean’s jacket and your tight one shoulder sleeve, pulling out the phone. You held it out to Eric, his head shaking as he saw the video was still recording. “If I was shouting and screaming, then people were looking at me but they weren’t looking at me. While Sebastian was worried about the fact that Sam and Max were apparently two very famous people’s brothers, he didn’t see me slip the phone away and he definitely didn’t see me catch him threatening to kill us on tape.”

“Hot damn,” said Dean, staring at you with wide eyes. “You came up with all that in a few seconds?”

“When Eric started working for me, he sat me down one on one and told me I could listen to him, learn his rules, let him keep me safe. Or I could not be a damsel and learn how to take care of myself and know he had my back. Pissed me off so much calling me a damsel I decided I’d show him and learn how to do his job better than him.”

“Never suspected that’s what I wanted her to do all along,” said Eric softly, surprising you by taking Dean’s cheeks in his hands, turning his face gently. “When you’re no longer concussed, which you totally are, you and I are going to start meeting for an hour a week, teach you to be safe too. Alright, sport?”

“Sport? Eric Clayton, you don’t care about me now do you?” teased Dean. Eric scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked you over quickly. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone what a softie you are.”

“I really need to find a new job,” he sighed, pecking a kiss to your forehead as he stood. “I don’t think you have a concussion. A scrape and nasty bruise. Maybe that got your nose but the hospital will check. Don’t do that again, kiddo.”

“I’ll do my best,” you said, catching his hand when he headed for someone in an FBI jacket. “Are they okay?”

“We got in the car before this scumbags cronies knew what hit them. They’re both a little skinny but otherwise seemed alright. Sloane and the rest of the team is escorting them to a hospital where some agents are waiting. You two are going to have to give statements but I’m going to hand this over and check that I can get you out of here first.”

“Can you ask when we can see them?” asked Dean, Eric parting his lips, hesitating.

“Yes but…please try to understand what I’m about to say,” said Eric, squatting down in front of both of you. “When someone is abducted, and found, it’s not like a movie. They have to be checked medically. Psych evaluations. Debriefed by authorities. They have to be cleared to see their families again and the process can be…lengthy. It could be six hours, it could be twelve, it could be three days. Your brothers have been gone a very long time. There are a lot of people involved in making sure that they are as prepared as they can be to see you again. These are not your teenage brothers who were barely going through puberty when you lost them. They’re grown men. They need time to adjust.”

Dean took your hand, interlacing your fingers with a nod. “We’ve waited a long time. We can wait a little longer.”

Eric excused himself while you sat in silence together. Ten minutes ago, your brain was going a million miles an hour and now…

“We should call our parents,” said Dean quietly. “They’re going to feel so guilty for thinking they were gone.”

“It’ll be alright,” you said, Eric waving the two of you over to where he chatted with an agent. “Come on. Let’s go get you settled.”

Four Hours Later

It was a shade past midnight when you found Dean in a hospital room. It hadn’t taken long for you to discover you were trending on every social media platform. Worldwide. Your entire team showed up to the hospital along with Dean’s agent. While you were expecting them to want to spin some story, instead they came with changes of clothes for each of you and word that your parents were booked and on a private flight out to LA already.

Max and Sam had been taken to a different hospital but you knew they had federal agents with them so you didn’t worry too much.

“Hey handsome,” you said quietly, taking a seat on his hospital bed. Dean smiled in his joggers and long sleeve henley, reaching a finger out to brush your cheek. “Won’t even scar. Apparently all the plastic surgeons at this hospital were chomping at the bit to work on my face. One even offered to fix my nose at a discount.”

“I love your nose,” he said, wiping his thumb over the black and blue crossing over the bridge of it. “Not broken?”

“No. Burst blood vessels is all.” You pushed up the sleeve of his hoodie you wore and scooted up closer to him, his hand resting on your gray sweatpants.

“Oh these are soft,” he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m not sleeping. Don’t scold me.”

“That’s more Sloane’s job, isn’t it?” you teased, Dean agreeing, fluttering his lids open. “Your parents are at FBI headquarters. Mine should be there soon.”

“S’good. Maybe they can see the guys in a few hours. Sloane said a friend in the agency gave some intel. Clean bills of health. They have some old scars on their backs and what look like a healed burn though.”

“Well if the boys want them gone apparently there’s enough plastic surgeons here to take care of it,” you said, Dean humming. You were both quiet, trying to ignore that they’d been hurt at some point. Badly. “Did she find out anything else?”

“Not a lot. They’re still undergoing their mental evals before they take them to the headquarters but it seems promising? Definitely a lot of trauma and PTSD but like the guys have likely learned how to manage on their own I guess? I mean, in my opinion we get those two into the best therapist we can find but in the meantime they’re like…doing better than expected.”

You leaned back in the bed, cramming into his side with a content sigh. “It’s because they had each other. They weren’t alone. I hope.”

“We’ll learn more the next few days, figure out what they need,” said Dean, brushing his lips over your temple. “They should live with us, not our parents.”

“I don’t disagree but why?”

“S’like Eric said. Max and Sam are not teenage boys anymore. They are both twenty eight and fuck, Y/N, they deserve to be adults. Our parents will suffocate them with concern. We can tow that line. Be there but let them be independent, let them be free. Obviously it’s their choice but with the attention that’s going to be on them, we can keep them safe too. We can show them how much fun there is to life in a way our parents can’t.”

“That makes sense. I just want them with us,” you said, closing your eyes, hoping the medicine they gave you for your headache kicked in soon. “I’m sorry I called you those nasty things.”

“It wasn’t real. All’s forgiven,” he said, his arm wrapped firmly around my shoulder. “I’m sorry too.”

“It’s okay. Emma said there’s a clip going around of you going all Alpha and stepping in front of me to protect me. Apparently you are in fact, not quite the bad boy people thought.”

“We got our brothers back and I’m no longer a scoundrel? I’d call that a successful night,” he teased, adjusting himself so he sat upright. “Can you do me a favor and get me a snack from the vending machine? I need some sugar.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back,” you said, sharing a quick kiss. A moment later you were down the hall, grabbing a package of swiss rolls for Dean. Your ears pricked up at the sudden noise in the quiet hospital wing. The staff had blocked off a corner of it for you and currently was restricted to your people in the waiting room.

But someone was definitely making noise in a hospital room nearby.

You poked your head in a large dark room, big enough to hold eight beds. There was a grunt and you frowned. The staff said you had these rooms to yourself. They hadn’t forgotten a patient had they?

You quickly walked through the dark space, towards a dim light coming through the windows.

“Excuse me-” You pulled back a curtain, jaw snapping shut as two very naked people quickly scrambled to pull up the sheet at the end of the bed. You shut the curtain and spun around, loud shuffling occurring behind you. “I am so sorry. I didn’t realize…”

You quickly walked for the door, barely outside of it before a hand caught your shoulder.

“Y/N.” You turned and faced Eric, his tuxedo pants pulled up but buckle undone, his undershirt halfway tugged down his torso. “I uh, don’t apologize. I’m the one on duty. We are on duty. We should-”

“Stop,” you said, holding up a hand. Eric frowned but remained silent. “I walk in on you and Sloane screwing and you apologize to me? No. Just, no.”

“We are on duty-”

“And there are how many cops and feds outside those doors over there? You know it’s safe here so don’t…” you trailed off as Sloane cleared her throat, walking out barefoot in her dress. You looked between them, Eric glancing down to stare at her hand.

He slowly laced their fingers together, sharing a small smile with her.

“Are we…good?” you asked, the two of them sharing a look and smiling, heads nodding. “Are we happy?”

“Yeah,” said Eric, not giving you the time of day as his eyes wandered all around Sloane’s face, nothing but adoration in them. “I think so.”

“Tonight was a bit of a needed reality check. We wasted a lot of time by not talking to each other. So we talked it out. We’ll talk more about it but…” Sloane trailed off, giving Eric a soft smile.

“We’re going to give us a chance.” He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand, his sole focus on her.

“You both deserve it,” you said, smiling to yourself. “Which is why Eric, you are suspended until further notice.”

He slowly turned his head, giving you his best bitch face. “You’re being checked for a concussion again because if you think I’m going anywhere after everything that happened tonight-“

“Dean and I are safe. We can’t do anything but wait for Dean to get released and then to see the boys. So you two are dismissed. Go talk or whatever you guys want. But I don’t want to see your faces-Eric!” you said when he rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. Sloane, you understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she said, cocking her head. “But there’s no way in hell we’re leaving you guys.”

You frowned, Sloane slipping past you, heading for the women’s room. You gave Eric a glare, a cocky smirk staring back. “Why are you being difficult about this? We are safe. You two have been in love for years and you’re finally working it out. Take her home, Eric.”

“Nah,” he said, crossing his arms, chuckling when you huffed.

“I will fire you.” He laughed, choosing to wrap his arms around your body, giving you a tight hug. “I’m not joking.”

He hummed, ignoring your repeated grunts at him. Finally you sighed, his chest warm against your achy cheek. After a few beats, you let out a small shake, Eric kissing the top of your head.

“What did your parents say on the phone that made you cry?” You stiffened momentarily, Eric’s chin coming to rest on top of your head. “You think I didn’t catch that? I know everything that happens around here. Spill.”

“Promise me you won’t get angry because when you get angry at them you go all crazy and I need the version of you that’s like my older brother, not my scary protection agent. Please.”

“You do realize older brothers are far more protective than people in my line of duty.” You pouted, staring upwards, his finger booping your nose. Tears filled your eyes, his own full of worry. “I promise to be good. Don’t worry-”

“No it’s…do you actually care about me? Like an older brother would?” you asked quietly. He smiled, leaning back to look you up and down.

“You remember a few years ago how you thought you asked me to have sex the night of your 30th birthday? Yeah, see, you actually asked every single man on the security team and they all saw how clearly plastered you were and said no.” You blinked away your tears momentarily, holding up a finger.

“I did what?” Eric laughed deeply, rubbing your arms.

“It was a bit adorable really. But me? No, I didn’t get an ask because it would have been ‘like fucking my brother.’ I put you to bed after that. You were shaky on the details in the morning and knew you asked somebody to screw you so I took the heat so you didn’t feel embarrassed around the boys. So. Do I care about you?” He cocked his head, hiding a smile. “Yeah. I care a fuck ton. You’re my best damn friend, little sister and the world’s biggest pain in my ass all rolled into one. I love you kiddo which is why as much as I’d love to take Sloane home, she understands I’m not leaving my family alone tonight. Especially not when your parents are vile because I had a dad like that and I know how it fucks you up.”

You swallowed thickly, Eric bending down to be at eye level with you.

“Just because Max is back does not mean you have to have a relationship with them. They-”

“It wasn’t my fault,” you whispered. He furrowed his brow, Sloane’s footsteps heard behind you, coming to a stop. “They called and asked me not to tell Max what they said because…b-because I was never supposed to pick him up that day. They were. They blamed me so they wouldn’t get scrutinized. T-They blamed me and told me…for years I thought…”

You hiccuped, Eric’s grip on your shoulders hard, so hard it hurt. He was pissed. More than pissed. But his face was strangely calm.

“You punched a mob boss in the dick tonight. A very, very violent man that’s killed god knows how many people. You’re strong and you know that. I saw the tape and damn it kid, you are amazing. I am begging you, do not let these people hurt you anymore. They don’t deserve your protection. They are abusive and manipulative. My dad was the same way. Exactly the same. Don’t be like me and wait your whole life to acknowledge it. Don’t give them a second more of your time. Be a big sister instead and do what you have to in order to protect Max.”

“It’ll break his heart,” you breathed out.

“Look at his life. His heart’s already broken.” You looked past Eric and spotted Dean, green eyes downcast. “Those people told you to die. Fuck them. Max still has a family, right here. Hell, he can have my parents too. But we are not letting him go from one manipulative monster straight to another. And you already decided that, didn’t you?”

“I just…I don’t…what if he thinks I’m lying?” you whispered. Eric moved aside, Dean sighing as he gently tilted your chin upwards. “What if he picks them? They’re his parents. I’m-”

“Y/N.” Dean shook his head. “You’re forgetting something very important.”

“What?” you breathed out, his hand cupping your uninjured cheek.

“He probably remembers every single detail of that day. He knows you weren’t meant to get him. Even if you were, it wasn’t your fault. As far as we know, he’s spent a long time living with a manipulative bastard. The second they blame you to his face, he’s going to figure out exactly what life’s been like for you while he was gone. You’re not going to have to say a thing. They’re going to fuck it up themselves. All you have to do is be there for him after the fact, sweetheart.”

You nodded, Dean wrapping you up in a hug, Eric and Sloane leaving to give you some privacy. “Dean?”

“Hm?” he hummed.

“You want your swiss rolls?” He laughed and let out an agreeing hum. A moment later you were in his bed, splitting the package, a pit forming in your stomach. You left your snack in the opened plastic wrapper, Dean’s heated gaze on you when you went to the dark window. You glanced downwards to the parking lot, catching at least nine different news vans with bright lights on. “They’ll never have normal lives. Sam and Max. Even if we weren’t famous, they are in their own right. They didn’t get to be normal kids.”

“What’s really wrong?” he asked. You glanced over your shoulder, Dean sat upright in bed, lips pressed into a thin line.

“How do you know something’s wrong?” you whispered, crossing your arms. His lip twitched up, if only for a brief moment.

“How’d you know I’d pick up on what cherry blossoms meant in that fake fight?” You bit the inside of your cheek, shrugging a shoulder.

“Because you’re smart. I trust you.”

“Why cherry blossoms?” Dean asked again. You stepped away from the window, stopping in front of him.

“Because it means a safe place to me.” He took your hands in his, stroking the backs of them with his thumbs. You met his gaze, Dean staring up with big green eyes that eased some of the worry in your gut. “My childhood house, there’s a cherry blossom in the front yard. It was weird because no one in the neighborhood had one. But we did. It was the tree that was always safe when Max and I played hide and seek. It was the finish line whenever we had races. I had my first kiss under that tree. I wrote my first song under it. The day Max didn’t come home, I sat out there for hours crying and then just feeling numb.”

The pit in your stomach rose up, eyes quickly fighting back hot tears.

“It was safe. He knew it was safe. It was always safe or home base or where he’d wait for me to get home from practice so we could play after school. So I’d sit under that stupid tree everyday for hours hoping he’d just come back to where it was home, where it was safe. To our stupid finish line.” You wiped off your face with your sleeve, Dean’s chest rising and falling slowly. “Finish Line is about that damn tree. Homebound? That tree. Cherry Lipstick? Tree. Blossom? Tree. Jungle Gym? Tree. They were all for Max. All for him just in case he heard them so he’d know. So he’d know I was still looking, that I wasn’t giving up on him. It’s the only reason I signed my first record deal at all. I thought the more popular I got, the more power and money I’d have and maybe I could find him. I thought it’d be enough but it wasn’t. It all came down to dumb luck.”

“Y/N.” Dean chuckled, pulling you down to sit on his lap. You put your arms around his neck, Dean shaking his head. “You’re the best damn big sister in the world. Max might be losing his parents but he’s got nothing to worry about.”

“I worry about things,” you said, Dean laughing again.

“No shit,” he said, his deep chuckle helping ease away some of the lingering concerns in the back of your mind. “Now sit down and relax. Tonight’s a good night.”

“I know,” you said, Dean handing you the swiss roll. You took a bite, Dean scooting back on the bed, bringing you with him. “That’s why I told security the all safe code was cherry blossoms. But I still don’t get why would Eric tell you that when we didn’t know each other much yet?”

“I think he saw the way we were together at the restaurant and that afternoon. It was probably as obvious to him as him and Sloane are to us. It’s inevitable.”

“Inevitable? Good song name,” you said, Dean grinning. “You know I totally caught them fucking in a room down the hall.”

“Eric!” shouted Dean. Approximately six seconds later he was in the doorway, gun in his hands and wide eyed. “You and Sloane, eh? About fucking time!”

“I swear to god I’m quitting this job,” grumbled Eric, flipping Dean the bird as he left.

“That’s his love language,” you said, Dean laughing. “You know what mine is?”

“Cuddles, orgasms and swiss rolls?” You looked him up and down, nodding your head. “I’m just that good.”

“Oh my god,” you said, rolling your eyes and slipping out of bed. “I’m getting more snacks, cocky bastard.”

“You love it,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, playboy.”

Dean POV

“Thanks,” I said the next morning at the local FBI headquarters. I was tired, my face hurt, and I definitely had a concussion which meant sitting out tonight’s game and the next few weeks worth. Y/N’s cheek had swollen to a nasty purple color but she’d gotten a few hours sleep at the hospital. I hated to see her hurt but she took it in stride, her focus elsewhere.

Sam and Max were somewhere in the building, as free men, which made my stomach do this weird flipping thing akin to the first time I’d seen Y/N. It was nerves but good ones. We’d be able to talk to the guys soon but they were wrapping up talking to some special investigator which meant Y/N and I had time to kill. While our parents were using that time to scream at each other in a conference room after I not so subtly slipped to mine about what her parents plans were, Y/N got dragged into signing autographs for the people in the office. It was fucking ridiculous and unprofessional of these people but she needed something to do to keep her mind occupied.

Which meant I had a chance to talk to someone I’d been dying to since last night.

“Hey,” I said. Cecilia looked up from the table she’d been staring at. Her pretty blue dress from last night was gone. Now she wore way too big sweatpants, an FBI shirt and had a pair of cheap flip flops on her feet. “The agent said you’re okay if I talk to you for a minute?”

She nodded, pulling her hands down to under the table. I took a seat across, giving her a smile.

“I uh, went to the LA concert at the end of August too,” I said, holding up my wrist so she could see my friendship bracelet. “That was before Y/N and I knew each other.”

She only stared, vacantly almost. Poor kid looked like she’d been up half the night.

“Why did you protect us last night?” I asked. “You stepped in and your dad just…it was like he realized it was over.”

“He was going to kill you both. He tends to do that to people.” I took my turn to stare, Cecilia sighing. “He would have, even if everyone was live streaming it. He didn’t care at that point.”

“But why would you protect two strangers? I don’t even understand how you got him to stop-”

“Just because he’s a bad person doesn’t mean I’m one.” I parted my lips, the right words to respond not coming. “It’s why I lied for Sam and Max when they slipped your guys names to the party planner. I always knew my dad was violent and something was up with them. I figured they always worked to send money to their families or he’d threatened them. But a man like my dad…”

“What he says goes,” I filled in for her. She nodded, relaxing her shoulders. “Thank you for covering for them. I’m guessing they would have been killed if you hadn’t.”

“It’s not a guess,” she said, breathing deeply. “I’m the only thing in the world my dad cares about more than keeping his power.”

Cecilia leaned back in her chair, glancing down for a split second.

“I told him if he touched either of you, touched anyone, he would never see or speak to me again. We fight enough that he knows I’m telling the truth.”

“Is that why you’re helping the feds? You hate your dad?”

She got up, pacing back and forth. “I don’t hate him. He was never bad to me. He was overprotective if anything. But he bought two boys off the black market to be slaves for him. Shit Max started working at my house two months after I was born. My whole life. My father doesn’t deserve to be free ever again. I just wish I said something sooner.”

I rose to my feet, Cecilia stopping in her tracks. I took a few tentative steps closer, her arms firmly crossed over her chest. I paused a few feet away, her short frame practically dwarfed by the large clothes, making her look even smaller.

“Sweetheart, I’m going to tell you something and I need you to listen to me, really listen.” I crouched down to meet her at eye level, finding her gnawing on her bottom lip. “It was not on you to save Max or Sam. Or even Y/N or myself. But you did. At fucking fourteen years old. You’re still a damn kid and you went way above and beyond for us. Don’t you ever blame yourself for anything your dad ever did. He might not be a good person but you are an amazing one and I will owe you for the rest of my life. I may hate your dad but I don’t hate you. Y/N and I both feel that way. I’m sure our brothers do too. Now, life is going to get rough for you because all of us are all over the news. But we’re going to help you get through it. Whatever you need, we will help. Understand?”

She nodded after a moment, her eyes still full of worry.

“They said your mom is flying over from Europe right now,” I said, going to the table and jotting down my number on the notepad in there. “This is my cell. I want you to give it to your mom when she gets in. Tell her to call me anytime, okay?”

“Why would you help me?” she asked quietly. I stood upright, handing her the paper. She took it, carefully folding it and putting it in her pocket.

“Because you’re a good kid and you can’t help having a shitty parent. Now, do you need anything while you wait for your mom?” Cecilia shook her head. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Can…can you tell the guys I’m sorry? And Y/N too?”

“Sorry, no can do. You only apologize when you’ve done something wrong you see.” She rolled her eyes, quickly frowning when she realized what she’d done. “Do me a favor? Keep being a normal teenager.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Thank you, Cecilia,” I said, offering her a smile. “I’m sure we’ll talk again. Maybe we can catch one of Y/N’s concerts together next year.”

She blushed and nodded. I had my hand on the door when she cleared her throat behind me. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“This is probably going to come off as super creepy but Y/N is happier with you. Take it from a teenager that’s obsessed with her. She is so much happier in pictures lately. I saw the way you stepped in front of her. You’re a good person too.”

“I try,” I said. “I’ll see you around.”

I was in the hallway for less than two seconds when Sloane rounded a corner, taking my hand. “The boys are ready. They want to see you and Y/N first.”

I didn’t have time to get nervous as Sloane dragged me down the hall and back around the corner, Y/N and Eric waiting outside a door with a few agents. Sloane released me as I took Y/N’s hand, one of the agents opening the door for us.

I spotted an unfamiliar young man spinning around in a conference chair first, the room full of light from the large windows on the back wall. He had the same color hair as Y/N, his eyes filtering over and meeting mine, finding those the same as hers too.

We both looked away at the same time, my eyes drawn to the figure by the windows. Holy shit Sammy got tall. His hair was a longer and I could see the beginnings of stubble along his jaw, probably in need of a shave.

But that smile when he saw me? That was still my Sammy’s smile.

At least that hadn’t been taken from him.

“Wow. Can you believe it Sam?” asked Max, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “It’s the three time superbowl winner Dean Winchester!”

“I know! And the Princess of Pop? I think we’re supposed to be meeting our brother and sister, not celebrities. Where are those untalented hacks anyway?” teased Sam.

“No clue. Maybe we can get autographs while we wait. Our siblings definitely aren’t as cool as these guys,” said Max with a shit eating grin aimed at Y/N. He winked and she dropped her jaw. “Hiya, horse hair.”

“I don’t have horse hair you little shit,” she said, storming over, Max catching her in a crushing hug as he stood.

“Hey jerk,” said Sam as he approached me.

“Hey bitch,” I whispered, meeting him in a deep embrace. He chuckled deeply, squeezing me way too tight. “What’s so funny?”

“I’ve been dying to show you for years I ended up taller than you.” I rolled my eyes, holding him harder. “It’s alright. Only one of us could be blessed to be tall and good looking I suppose.”

“Oh I fucking missed you, you asshole,” I laughed. There was a squeal beside us, both our heads turning as Max quickly released Y/N. “Don’t break her on me, Max. I like that one.”

“Eh, she’s alright,” he said, Y/N wrapping her arms around his waist in a side hug. “A little clingy.”

“You’re a dick,” she said with a smile. “I missed you Maxie.”

“Yeah I guess I missed you too,” he said with a roll of his eyes and a smile. He gave her another squeeze and looked to me, eyes flickering down to my arm. “Nice tat.”

“Thanks. Little brothers go on the arm,” I said, Max glancing back up. “Come here, shrimp.”

I pulled him into a hug as Sam reached for Y/N, the two of them sharing some words. Max relaxed against me, letting out a very deep breath.

“You don’t know this yet but I really love you, kid.” He burrowed his head in the crook of my neck, nodding once. “You can cry you know.”

“I did enough of that over the years,” he said, raising his head, smiling wide as he looked me in the eye. “It’s just like being able to take a full breath for the first time in a long time.”

“I understand the feeling,” I said, ruffling his hair, spotting the faded bruise on his cheek. “What happened here?”

“It was part of our plan. Well…getting punched wasn’t but it was part of it,” he said. I cocked my head when Sam threw an arm around my shoulders, Y/N sneaking in between the both of them.

“Plan? All we heard was you guys slipped our names onto some guest list,” said Y/N. They shared a look, silently communicating, the sudden realization hitting me that there was so much we didn’t know.

“We’ve made…a few escape attempts over the years,” said Sam. “The last failed one was eight years ago. We knew if we tried again, it had to have high chance of success which meant outside help.”

“Because we only had one shot left and we knew both of you had some level of infamy…we always thought if we could reach out to one of you, we knew we’d be able to get out. But it was kind of impossible until we found out you were dating.”

“Seb, that motherfucker, loves the Wolves and Dean. Cecilia loves Y/N and those two had a pretty argumentative relationship to say the least. We figured if we could somehow get you guys invited to one of his parties, he wouldn’t think twice because maybe it was a way to get some good grace with his daughter and it benefited him at the same time,” said Sam. “So we risked it.”

“How’s she doing by the way? We heard Seb was arrested. She doesn’t really have anyone else beside her mom who Seb has banished to Switzerland most of the year,” said Max.

“She’s uh, alright. Pretty sure the kid is beating herself up for not saying anything about you guys, said she had a gut feeling something was always off,” I said. They shared a look again and frowned. “She’s just a kid, guys. She-”

“Cecilia is the only person we like,” said Sam with a laugh. “Trust us. She’s how we know so much about you guys.”

“She was also the only person that was ever nice to us. No, we have no problem with her. We should talk to her before we leave if we can,” said Max, Sam agreeing. “But I guess we should save the explanations for when mom and dad are here.”

Y/N’s face fell, Sam giving her a side hug. “He means my parents. Max decided they were his a long time ago cause yours kind of suck. No offense.”

Y/N snapped her head up to Max who shrugged. “They blamed you when it wasn’t your fault. Maybe they didn’t spell it out but I heard enough from Cecilia and caught enough snippets from interviews she’d watch to know that they tried to pin my kidnapping on you. I gave them up years ago. I hear John and Mary are nice.”

“They are,” she said, closing her eyes. “I was freaking out last night about telling you and…we can talk about it later. I’m sure your guys parents are chomping at the bit.”

“They’re going to smother us,” sighed Sam.

“Yeah. Isn’t it great?” asked Max, giving both me and Y/N a hug, Sam completing it on my right side. “Alright. Let’s let ‘em in.”

“So why was that pass interference?” asked Y/N as we lay on her large sectional late that night watching football.

“You can’t hold the guy,” said Sam, walking around the chaise and taking a seat beside me.

“That was not a hold,” said Max and Y/N in sync.

“Yes it was,” I said, Sam echoing my sentiments.

“It wasn’t but the angle is bad,” said Eric, Sloane leaned back against his chest over on the love seat. “Aren’t you supposed to route for the Wolves by default, kiddo?”

“We are a Chiefs family thank you very much,” said Max, Sam rolling his eyes. “Oh you want to start again, Winchester?”

“We are formerly a Chiefs family, Maxwell,” said Sam, narrowing his eyes. “How many times have we been over this?”

“I am a Wolves fan when they are not playing against the Chiefs. How many times have we better over that, Samuel?” shot back Max.

“Here we thought they’d be traumatized shells of themselves. Instead you’ve been bickering over football the past decade?” asked Y/N, turning her head to look at both.

“It’s a coping mechanism,” said Sloane, taking a piece of popcorn from the bowl in her lap. “Although your guys psych eval report was shockingly positive. Some stuff to work through but manageable. I always figured you’d be super fucked up. No offense.”

“One of the shrink people said it’s cause we had each other,” said Sam, glancing at Max. “Healthy codependency.”

“We probably should go to therapy though,” said Max, Y/N ruffling his hair.

“Of course. When you’re ready. Take a few days before you try to start unpacking. And when you’re ready we can see a doctor about getting those scars removed,” she said. They were both quiet for a moment, Sam’s head resting on my shoulder.

“So why aren’t you at your game tonight?” asked Sam.

“Oh I wonder,” I scoffed, giving him a noogie. “Coach said if I set foot in the stadium he’d bench me the rest of the season. He’s a good guy.”

“That’s nice considering you get paid a gajillion dollars to show up, even if you’re half dead.” Sam snickered beside me, letting me pull him into a noogie.

“Probably helps that Y/N personally spoke to the commissioner of the league and threatened to pull out of the halftime show if they didn’t quote ‘Make accommodations for not only an injured top draw of the league but someone who’s personal life they’ve capitalized on all season.’ Girl don’t fuck around,” said Eric. He took a sip from his beer, Max raising an eyebrow at his sister.

“Seriously? You’re that famous?” he asked.

“She’s that powerful,” I said. Y/N tilted her head upwards, a small smile on her lips. “Excuse us for a minute.”

I took her hand, Y/N following me down the hall to her studio. Y/N slid her hands up my arm, holding on tight. “What are you thinking about big guy?”

“Do you remember last night before the party when I was talking about football?” She hummed, tracing her thumb under my black eye. “My contract runs out this year. My agent was about to start negotiations.”

Y/N pulled me over to the piano, sitting on the bench before patting the spot next to her. Slowly I sat, her right hand reaching across my body and hitting a key. She took my hand and hit the same key with it, doing it a few times.

“What are you doing?” She moved my hand down the keys, hitting another one.

“You like the piano. We’re going to have to find you a hobby in retirement and this is one we can do together.” A stupid smile spread onto my face, Y/N lacing our fingers together. “You were halfway out the door last night. Now that the boys are back…maybe you take a year, we take time with them while you figure out what you want to do next.”

“I told coach earlier this is my last season,” I said. “I need to be home more.”

“Just don’t give up what you want for us,” she said. I shrugged, turning in my seat.

“I’m not giving up anything. I’m gaining something new.” I took her hands into my lap, Y/N shifting closer. “I do want one thing though. Live life for you, not Max. He’s going to be alright. So no more songs trying to talk to him. No more pushing yourself to the extreme. Let’s start making you the priority and what you want.”

“I want you to move in permanently. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to write the sappiest love songs about you. I want to do only twenty shows next year and focus on our family for the rest. I want-”

“Damn girl, you’re greedy,” I teased. She punched my arm, unable to keep the smile off her face. “I think we can arrange those things, sweetheart.”

“Oh and I want to plan Eric and Sloane’s wedding,” she said. I laughed, tugging her into my lap, her legs wrapping around my waist. “Can you imagine? It’ll be full of like badass action movie kind of people.”

“Eric’s going to hate it. I’m in,” I said, chuckling lightly. “It’s a little presumptuous though. I mean, they started dating twenty hours ago.”

“Those two are so going to be engaged within a month.” I hummed, cocking my head. “That isn’t me saying I need…you don’t have to-”

“We don’t have to rush. Someday,” I promised.

“Someday,” she whispered, brushing her lips over mine. “So if brothers go on the arm, where do I go?”

“Where do I go?” I teased, Y/N grinning. “Oh? Do we have an idea?”

“Oh yeah I’ve got one of those.”

Reader POV

Four Months Later

You jogged down the hall of the stadium, buckets of sweat pouring off you. Even Eric was having a hard time keeping up. You kept running around a corner though, smiling when you saw an equally sweaty Dean in his uniform and pads, helmet by his side talking to Benny and Michael.

“Hey!” You ran over and found yourself in a big hug, Dean squeezing you tight. “You’re doing amazing sweetie. But you, Benjamin, are favoring your right shoulder and making a hole and the Chiefs are taking advantage. Get your shit together. He’s going out with a superbowl win, got it?”

He held up his hands, Dean chuckling to himself. “Didn’t you guys like it better before I taught her all the rushing routes?”

“She’d make a good offensive coordinator,” said Michael. “Great show out there. Normally these suck but yours was actually watchable.”

“I’ll bring you up next time,” you winked. “I’ve heard you sing karaoke.”

His face went white and you laughed, Dean kissing your sweaty forehead. “How are the boys doing?”

“Max is in a Wolves jersey. Win or lose, you get to make fun of him for switching his team after making such a big deal about it.”

“Oh I definitely will,” he said, people moving around and heading back onto the field. “Walk with me.”

You followed by his side, Dean taking your hand in his. “They seemed like they’re having a blast. They had on matching shirts making fun of us earlier so we’re going to get memed the hell out of.”

“Good. I’m glad they’re having fun,” he said, the stadium loud when you stepped foot onto the fake astroturf. “Are you?”

“Are you kidding me? I just performed at the superbowl. You’re up by ten. Our brothers are having the times of their lives. I’m pretty sure Eric and Sloane got caught on camera staring adorable into each others eyes which I’m totally printing out onto t-shirts we can embarrass them with.”

“I’m literally right here, asshole,” said Eric behind you. You spun around with a smile, Eric rolling his eyes. “You got a minute before we head back if you don’t want to miss any of the game.”

“You mean you don’t want to miss any of the game. You know I appreciate my number one fan, Eric,” said Dean with a cheeky grin. Eric flipped him off, hanging back once you were closer to security.

“Kick it in the ass, babe.” You held up your hand, Dean high fiving it before your fist bumped into an explosion, a tradition you’d started before each of his playoff games.

“Always do. Ready to have a trophy husband in about three hours?” he teased.

“Trophy husband?” you said, Dean thumbing over the heart tattoo on your wrist, his own sporting a matching one. You weren’t married. Technically. There was a time for that down the road. But you’d gotten the tattoos a few days after Max and Sam had come home. The media had guessed what it meant and landed on it was some stupidly cute couple thing. Only a few knew the true meaning.

You were his, he was yours and that was that.

“I mean you do have a cute butt. I guess you can be one of those,” you laughed. Dean grinned and pecked a kiss to your lips, a thunderous roar in your ears from the thousand of onlookers. “I love you so much.”

“I love you girl with the obnoxious orange sneakers,” he said. You glanced down and blushed, Dean curling a strand of slick hair behind your ears. “Want to grab some chicken nuggies with me after my game? I mean, last time I was there I ran into the love of my life. Maybe I’ll see her again.”

“Yeah I think you will,” you said, kissing him quickly and winking. “I’ll see you soon, playboy.”

“See you soon, princess.” You let him jog over to his team, quickly jogging out of there with Eric by your side.

“I love your sneakers!” shouted someone as you ran through a stadium hall, trying to make it back upstairs to grab a quick shower and change.

“Thank you!” you called back, Eric shaking his head. “What?”

“I can’t believe you wore those godawful orange sneakers in front of a hundred million people,” he said. “The Winchester jersey makes sense but the shoes?”

“I didn’t do it for them,” you said, smiling when you glanced down at the shoes.

Your original sneakers from college. It’d taken some hunting down but you’d found them still in your old roommates possession. More than one of your designers and members of the team tried to persuade you to not wear them. They clashed. They were ugly. They didn’t match anything.

But you didn’t care.

While the world was watching you perform in those orange sneakers, you only cared about one person watching.

The boy that fell in love with the girl with the obnoxious orange sneakers. And that smile on his face when he saw you in them?

You’d never forget that smile for the rest of your life.

___________

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