#(he hates The Guilt. rarely ever felt it before and suddenly it's all he feels kneeling at his uncle's feet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prentissluvr · 3 months

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my boy only breaks his favorite toys — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : angst ➖⟢ cw : canon typical violence, injuries, knives, non-sexual partial nudity, guilty sam, rejection, talk of death/dying, sort of a case fic at first, mentions of stitches, lots of feelings, poorly edited & my first(?) attempt at a full angst fic lol (no happy ending!), set in season 5, so some spoilers! ➖⟢ wc : 10.6K ➖⟢ listen to : my boy only breaks his favorite toys by taylor swift. requested ! summary : you get injured and sam realizes he's more scared of getting you hurt than he is of anything else, even losing you and your love.

to be in love is the strangest experience. to be in love for a long time, for years on end with little to no reciprocation is even stranger.

somehow, you can watch him fall in love with someone else, kiss somebody new, romance another girl, and be blindsided by a fourth. jess you could never be mad at. she seemed too sweet and good for sam, for you to dislike. madison never did anything wrong either, but you did hate how much she unintentionally hurt him. sarah, too, was sweet and brave and helpful and she made him smile. that, of course, didn’t stop you from wanting to be that person instead, but you didn’t feel like you could complain.

ruby, you still feel rightfully angry with sometimes. for sam’s sake, you wanted her help to be real and true, but it felt clear to you from the beginning that not everything was right. now you’re dealing with the apocalypse and sam’s guilt that you alternate between wanting him to let go of and wanting him to feel it just a little bit longer.

besides, jess and madison are dead, so it’s unkind to be too jealous of them, and you’re sure that sam hasn’t spoken to sarah in years. and ruby’s dead too, so she doesn’t pose a threat any longer.

it’s all been so strange, because you’ve seen sam go through it all, kiss them all, love them all in some way or another, and you’re pretty sure all it’s done is make you love him more. at this point, you’re sure that you’ll never love anyone the way that you love sam. unceasingly, ardently, passionately, and for now, quietly.

but after the knowledge of the looming apocalypse has come the strangest part of it all. having loved sam since he was seventeen and secretly doing everything in his power to get away from this all, you know him and each of his mircroexpressions and tones of voice all too well. and these days, sam looks at you in ways that you’ve never noticed before. these days, sam looks at you like he’s trying to figure out if he’s in love with you.

it’s not as if you’d given up hope completely, because no one who’s as in love as you are ever will, but you’ve learned how to live with unrequited love. the pain can be stabbing and all-consuming sometimes, but it’s survivable so long as he doesn’t stop smiling at you or letting you rest in his lap or being the only one to call you a special nickname. even if you’re not the love of his life like he is yours, you’ll always mean something to him as his closest friend.

so now, it catches you off guard when sam looks at you as if he’s considering the possibility that you’re the one who hung the stars up in the sky or talks to you with this gentle joy that’s just somehow different from before. those moments are rare, but incredible to have when you consider the looming apocalypse that sam is blaming himself for. he’s battling the fact that he’s supposed to be the vessel to the devil himself, but he still finds the time to hold your pinky finger for a fleeting moment and not say a word about it. and now, sam does that thing where you say something and it makes him smile, and instead of casually holding your gaze like he used you, his gaze will falter and he’ll tilt his chin down and lick his lips as if he’s suddenly shy around you.

last night, dean was out and you and sam were researching for the case you’re working on. you ended up sitting side by side on your shared bed, trying to get comfy as the hours dragged on and the moon moved higher through the sky. completely unprompted, sam had lifted his arm up and around your shoulders, using his gentle hand to cup the side of your head and bring it to rest on his wide shoulder.

your heart soared and you did your best to keep researching, but the lull of his breathing and the clacking of the keyboard as he typed one handed sang you to sleep right then and there, tucked all cozy into his side.

you waking up in his arms certainly set the tone for today. this case is ugly and there was another victim last night, but sam has this sweet, touchy air about him. as you walk to the crime scene his hand lingers unprofessionally close to the small of your back, and from the tightness to his lips, you’re guessing that he’s holding back from saying something he knows will make you laugh.

you resist the urge to give him a secret smile, soft and loving because you’re selfish enough to try and get him to see that you want him like this. you want him to see that you already love him back, and all he has to do is let himself fall. but you don’t want to overwhelm him, so you go about assessing the crime scene and interviewing the witness like he’s your fbi partner and not the person you love most in this world.

the witness’s statement along with the security camera footage that dean saw at the police station confirms that you’re up against a shapeshifter. much like the first one the three of you hunted together in ‘05 it seems to be disguising itself as a loved one before killing its victims.

“this thing can shapeshift to look like literally anybody, but it can’t come up with something original?” dean jokes.

sam shrugs in his usual sam way. “well, it is an effective method,” sam reasons, despite knowing that dean’s just making fun. sam’s not even looking at dean; his eyes alternate from checking his computer screen where he scouts out city plumbing maps to find the best places in the sewer to look for the shifter, to letting his eyes roam over your features. you wonder if you’ll have to get used to sam staring at you as much as you do him. though, you can’t say that that’s a bad thing by any stretch. maybe he’ll finally notice the way that you look at him and maybe he’ll finally realize that it might be you who he’s been loving this whole time.

sam stands from his spot across from you, grabbing a map of the city from the bedside table. instead of returning to his original spot, he slots himself right next to you to lay the map out on the table. he runs a hand along the length of it, crossing your chest and brushing your nose with the fabric of his flannel before moving his hand back to rest right beside yours on the table top. he leans over the map and you tilt youu head to look up at him as he points out the most likely spots that the shifter could be hiding out at. you only pay half attention as he speaks, more able to take in the sight of his lips moving than the actual words that they’re forming. you’re not uncareful, you just know that sam will make sure you and dean remember the most important things when you get in the car.

—

“are you sure splitting up is a good idea?” sam stresses from the passenger seat of the impala.

“we know how to test for the shifter and we all can take care of ourselves,” dean says, repeating just about the same thing that he said before.

you lean forward in your seat. “we’ll be fine, sam. i agree, it’s not ideal, but there’s a lot of ground to cover and we can’t let the shifter get to anyone else,” you reason.

“i know,” he huffs, still unconvinced due to the possible dangers. but, there’s always danger, and if you’re siding with dean, he knows he doesn’t stand much of a chance of winning the argument anyway.

—

the sewers are dark, damp, and smell like shit. they grow even darker as the sun begins to set above ground and you’re grateful for the bright flashlight that you have on hand. you’ve been tramping through the dark and sewer waste for over an hour and heard nothing helpful from the boys.

you keep your silver knife at the ready, in case you run into anything or anyone. you all agreed that if you see each other, the very first order of business is to test yourself with your own knife to be sure. when you hear footsteps, you immediately press yourself against the wall, doing your best to stay hidden until you can see what’s heading your way. the second you see a person’s frame, you immediately recognize it as sam. he told you that you’d probably run into each other at some point, so you relax a touch. even so, you keep your knife in front of you as you step into the pathway.

“sam?” you call out, stopping a good length away from him.

“hey. yeah, it’s me,” he says, holding out his hand and knife to show you as he slices a thin line across his forearm. you sigh in relief, then quickly repeat the action to confirm to him that you’re you as well.

“you heard from dean?” you ask, closing the space between the two of you. sam meets you halfway, shaking his head.

“nothing,” he sighs, turning back where he came from.

“damn. an hour in the sewers and we’ve got jack,” you frown. “exactly how i like to spend my friday nights.”

“course it is, it’s the perfect date spot,” he jokes back, leading you left, down a new path you assume he skipped on his way over to you.

“mmm, does that mean we’re on a date, winchester?” you flirt. he takes the quip with composure as you step back into a main hallway, wide enough to walk side by side. he waits for you to be next to him before he continues. he didn’t even laugh a little awkwardly at your comment like he normally might. he must be in a flirty mood.

“if that’s what you want,” he flirts back, flashing you his gorgeous grin. the passage is still sort of tight, so his knuckles continually brush against the back of your hand, and the fabric of his jacket rustles against yours.

“being a flirt today, are we?” you tease, maybe pushing the limits a little.

“just for you,” he fires back, and that just about stuns you into silence. he’s in an awfully good mood for someone stuck hunting a killer in the sewers under an unfamiliar city. you nudge him playfully with your elbow, not even sure how to respond with words. so with that, you fall into a comfortable, familiar silence, the only sounds being the echo of your sloshing footsteps through the sewer.

out of boredom, sam teases you with his pinky finger, sticking it out and poking your hand with it. you push back gently, playing along. he escalates the game by poking your side. you giggle a little, swatting at his big hand.

“stop that!” you whisper-shout. “what if the shapeshifter comes along and we’re too distracted because you’re tickling me?” his proximity, his flirting, and his goddamn smile are already distracting enough.

“i wasn’t tickling you, just poking,” he teases, but doesn’t do it again since you’re right enough.

“yeah, you said that last week after you did that. it tickles, which means you’re tickling me,” you retort before letting the silence fall over you again.

you head down a narrow path, forcing sam to walk behind you. even then, you can feel his closeness. a minute later, you step out into a wider area where a grate lets in a stream of moonlight. sam comes out after you, stopping by your side. the moonlight casts a glow on his face and, like you always do, you can’t help but think about how pretty he looks, even after a long hour and counting of traipsing around in a sewer. continually, even in the more open space, he stays right by your side, close enough for your elbows to brush.

“think we should call dean?” he suggests, “regroup, maybe call it a night?”

you tilt your head to the side in acknowledgment. “tempting,” you respond, “i’m getting hungry. let’s at least call him, then go from there.” you step further into the space in fron of you, trying to escape the chilly draft coming from the narrow pathway you came in from. but the floor in here is slicker than you realize, and you slip embarrassingly hard, completely losing your footing and letting out a short gasp as you fall.

sam’s instincts are impeccable as always, and a strong arm wraps around your waist before you can fall too far. once you’re steady, sam doesn’t move to pull you all the way up and onto your own feet. he just keeps you dependant on his hold to stay off the slippery floor and brings his other hand to meet the one wrapped around your side. he looks down at you, half of his face illuminated by moonlight, the other half fallen into shadow. you stare right back up at him, flustered but too happy for any sort of such purposeful physical contact with him to care about that.

it feels like a movie with you in his arms like this, willingly stuck there by the both of you. then he leans down closer to you and your eyes widen. in the partial darkness, he looks at you like he’s no longer just wondering if he loves you, more like he knows it for sure. he looks at you with such unabashed love, so overwhelming in a way that you hadn’t expected from him for a long while, if ever. you think that for sure he’s going to kiss you, and you know even better that you’d let him without a second thought.

this certainly isn’t how you imagined it’d be at all. not this soon and not in the middle of a sewer system, surrounded by awful smells and an unpleasant humidity. you suppose that the moonlight filtering down is nice enough, and that you’d never expected anything grandiose or overly romantic with him anyway.

then you hear footsteps, and a split second later, your name being called in sam’s voice. only it wasn’t the sam holding you who said it, it was someone behind you. it only takes a millisecond for everything to click. this sam, the one holding you close, cut himself with a knife you recognized. that’s why you didn’t bat an eye, but you failed to remember that that particular knife of sam’s isn’t made of silver, just a weaker and ineffective metal alloy.

before you can process it, that exact knife is being plunged into your gut. you let out a strangled cry of pain.

sam, the real sam, shouts your name again and you think you hear his running footsteps until he stops dead in his tracks when the shifter yanks the knife from your stomach and puts it to your throat. you cry out again, choking a little on your own breath as you stretch your neck, trying to see your sam.

but the shifter presses the knife down, drawing a line of blood on your neck and growls, “look at me. you’re going to watch your precious little sammy as he slices your throat.”

you can imagine sam putting his hands in the air, mouth open and ready to talk the shifter out of it when you hear two loud gunshots, and you’re dropped to the floor, too shaken up to break your own fall. your head hits the ground hard, and the next thing you can register is sam again. you get his voice and his hands, one sliding under your neck to cup the back of your head and the other pressing hard against your wound. he winces when you grunt in pain at that, but keeps his hand in place.

“hey, hey. stay with me. look at me, c’mon.” his words are followed by your name, said in a sweet and desperate sort of way. you’re still dazed, but your head begins to clear up a bit. above you, sam’s face is pinched in worry, so much more worry than you’d expect him to express because of something as easily fixed as a measly stab wound.

it’s not completely inconsequential and it’s bleeding a whole lot more than you’d like, but you’ve dealt with this sort of thing and worse before. sam will stitch you up and you’ll be as good as new in a few days. even better, cas might come around soon and he’ll fix it right up for you.

“‘m fine, sam,” you grumble as dean drops down by your other side.

“shifter’s dead. we should go,” he says, more to sam than you since he’s clearly the most worried out of you all. dean places his hands on your arm, ready to help you up, but sam just pulls you into his arms and up against his chest. he stands and you wince from the pain of the movement, but relax a little seconds later. you expected to limp out of this nasty place, one arm slung around each of the boys as they do the heavy lifting but keep you on your feet. it seems sam won’t risk even that; he needs you closer, more protected, and in less pain.

dean leads the way to an exit, climbing up the ladder first and opening the heavy grate. only when you urge him to does sam let you down. he knows that he can’t carry you up, but he sure would have liked to. instead, he has to settle for lifting you as best as he can, his strong hands never straying from you until they’re on your ankles and dean’s got you, pulling you up the rest of the way and letting you lean on him until sam reappears.

the fresh air is amazing to breathe in and to feel on your skin, but what you’d most like is to be laying in bed after a long, hot shower. and to not be in quite as much pain. you sigh into dean’s jacket, and just a second later he’s shifting you back into sam’s waiting arms. he doesn’t sweep you up this time, but he keeps you steady while dean jogs off to get the impala and bring it to you. with strong hands, sam eases you to the curb on the side of the road and wraps his arms around you, keeping a wide palm pressed against your wound to staunch the bleeding.

as you wait, sam is silent, and not in the soft and comfortable way he often is around you. you’re sure that he’s got a million things to say, not all of them 100% fair to you and all of them completely worried.

and there’s just so much to say that he can’t choose, and he thinks that, for your sake, he should hold back. sam knows he can get a little too angry sometimes, and you’re bleeding badly with your face smushed unattractively against his shoulder and he knows that this isn’t the time. he shouldn’t yet interrogate you about what happened or tell you aloud that he’s overly worried about you because suddenly he’s feeling things for you that he didn’t realize he was feeling before.

you let him brood in silence, and though this is just about the closest physically that you’ve been with him today, he feels sort of distant and unreachable. it pains you.

when dean arrives, sam loads you into the car, piling into the back seat after you to give you a shoulder to lean on. you can feel dean’s eyes on you as he glances back through the rearview mirror, and you’re sure that he too wants to ask what happened, how the shifter managed to trick you despite the rules you’d set.

“dean, we should head to the hospital,” sam says, his voice cutting into the tense silence of the car. you shake your head weakly.

“no, sam. i’m fine, seriously.”

“no,” he counters, “you’re bleeding a lot. we’re going to the hospital to get you some real stitches.

“your stitches work just fine,” you argue, your words half lost in the fabric of his coat.

“and what if you need more than just stitches? we can’t risk that,” he presses, and you know he’s not going to give up.

“sammy’s right,” dean piles on, and you sigh, then wince in pain. you don’t even grumble out an annoyed, “fine,” and instead just like the silence take over again as a begrudging relentment.

When all the doctors do is give you a few stitches and an iv and let you out just an hour later, you resist the urge to say “i told you so.” but really, you’re glad for the professional help, knowing that, though you still feel like shit, you’re far better off than you would’ve been if you’d gone straight back to the motel. the car ride is quiet, but you know that you’re due for a bit of an interrogation when you get back.

tonight, dean starts it, because sam is practically brooding in the corner.

“so, you gonna let us in on what the hell you were thinking back there?” he asks, sounding ready to just about throw his hands up in the air. “did you really not follow the single rule we set? it almost got you killed.”

“i know, and i did,” you sigh, “but it tricked me. it had one of sam’s knives and it cut itself and i wasn’t paying enough attention to realize it wasn’t one of sam’s silver knives. it was a damn good actor too,” you explain. dean clenches his jaw, probably looking for some other point to make. these winchesters never know when to stop arguing. “we’ve all been tricked by shifters before. it happens, i messed up, you saved my ass. that’s all.”

you guess dean’s not in as much of a fighting mood as you thought, because he just shrugs. “you’re damn right about the ass saving part.”

you crack a wry smile, “guess it’s my turn to save your ass then.”

“only thing i need saving from now is that sewer stench. so i will call first dibs on the shower.” he leaves no room for argument on that front as he disappears into the bathroom. only then do you glance at sam, wondering if he’ll say something. his expression has got so many emotions swirling around that it’s almost unreadable. but you’re you, and you know him and love him in a way that nobody else does, so you can decipher it all pretty well. there’s anger, like always, probably targeted at the shifter and a bit misplaced in you for getting yourself hurt. then there’s guilt, because, in classic sam fashion, he likely thinks that it’s his fault.

you’d put the pieces together a bit ago in the hospital. the red marks above sam’s eyebrow and around his wrists and the shifter having sam’s knife and appearance tells you that the shifter got the jump on sam. it probably hit him over the head, tied him up, and stole his knife after stealing his appearance and accessing his memories. and though you can know that it’s clearly not sam’s fault the shifter got to you, he’ll still think so.

he’s thinking that because the shifter got the drop on him, you got hurt. he’s thinking about how trusting you were because it looked like him, about the position he found you in, and though he couldn’t see it, he knows the look you were giving his lookalike. he’s sure that it was that syrup-sweet, honey-dripping-from-your-eyes look that he’s been all too aware of and all too fond of these days. and because of that, it must be his fault.

on top of that, he feels like he was the one to do it. you got hurt by something with his face. you were almost killed and the last thing you would have seen would have been a cold, dark smirk on his face as he killed you. that thought pained him more than anything he could express.

you, of course, don’t yet understand the full depth of his guilt, but it bothers you anyways. you wish that sam could stop blaming himself for everything bad that’s ever happened when all he’s ever done is try to be good. while in the midst of wondering if you should speak first, interrupt his self-destructive thoughts and tell him it’s not his fault, he beats you to it.

“you should’ve been more careful.” his voice is unexpectedly hard and cold, devoid of his usual guilt and gentleness. tonight, he’s more focused on his anger. and of course, you know it’s because of that guilt that he lashes out, but it hurts nonetheless. even so, you want to soften him and get him to open up, so you apply the opposite tactic as him.

when you speak, you let your voice be full of emotion, of sincerity and gentleness and understanding. “i know, sam. i’ll pay more attention next time, i promise. but i’m okay.”

this catches him off guard a bit. normally, when he targets misplaced anger at you, you fire back and tell him how stupid it is that he’s trying to blame you. he already knows it’s stupid, and your soft eyes make him even more guilty. it’s not as if he’s being just as silly this time, but your approach works, a little.

sam does soften a bit; you can see the slight change in the way that he holds his shoulders, but it’s not enough to get him to admit that he’s just worried and blaming himself. all you get is pursed lips and a tight brow. he just can’t get over the image of himself plunging a knife into you, can’t get over your cry of pain or the feel of your hot and sticky blood seeping through the cracks of his fingers.

sam’s realizing that, for all the countless times you’ve come close to death, this is the first time since he’s started to think that he’s most likely in love with you. and that, more than anything else in the world, not the literal devil or the apocalypse or whatever, is the scariest thing that sam’s had to realize and endure in a long time.

now, sam can’t run from being lucifer’s vessel. even if he never gives in, he has to confront it and fix it somehow. he certainly can’t run from the apocalypse, or the world will end. he can’t have that, not when the world is you. it’s his responsibility. sam can’t run from those things, but he sure as hell can run from the way he feels about you. and he’d do that because he can’t afford to be in love with you. you can’t afford for him to be in love with you or for you to be in love with him because it seems like that’s already gotten you stabbed by a hand that looks just like his own. and all that’s happened between the two of you is playful flirting, sidelong glances, and shared smiles, so he can’t imagine what might happen if things go an inch further than they already have.

he got jess killed, he hurt you bad with ruby, and though sarah’s still alive as far as he knows, he attributes that to the fact that she’s far, far away from him. not to mention the people he loved like family who are dead because of him too. that’s another horrifying thought because even if sam didn’t love you the way that he does, he’d surely still love you some other way.

so, sam’s going to run, sam’s not going to let you any closer, sam is going to keep you at an arm’s length. he’ll stop looking at you like he wants you, he’ll stop hovering so near, he’ll quit his goal of making you smile or laugh at least three times a day, and he’ll do everything he can to make sure you don’t love him too much. he can’t let you tell him you love him, he can’t let you confess because he’ll be too far gone if he hears that come out of your mouth. he’s gonna run because he’s decided with horror and glory all at once that yes, he does love you, and that’s the worst thing he could do to you other than slit your throat with his own two shaking hands.

from where you sit, just feet apart, you can see sam grow more and more distant by the second. you can’t figure out what’s going through his head, but you’re sure you wouldn’t like it if you heard him say it aloud. you open your mouth to say something to him, get him to say something back, but you can’t find the words. anything you come up with gets stuck in the back of your throat before you can even make a sound.

sam looks at you, just for a fleeting moment that’s too fast and slippery for you to grab hold of it. his eyes hold regret, like he’s done something that he can’t take back, and he doesn’t like what he’ll have to do next in order to keep the consequences at bay.

then his eyes are gone from yours, along with that strange look, and you’re suddenly at a loss of how to reach out to him. it hurts because you know that what it will really take is time and patience, maybe more than he deserves.

you barely notice the time passing, but you watch sam take dean’s place in the bathroom and you can feel dean’s eyes on your back. you’re sure he can feel the shift in the air. when sam returns from the shower, you realize just how badly you want to get clean. you walk to the bathroom and feel a little lucky when you find a small plastic tub to fill with soapy water. you can’t take a real shower for the sake of keeping your stitches dry, but you’ll be damned if you can’t get that sewer stench off of yourself. when you bend to place the tub at the bottom of the bathtub, you grunt audibly in pain due to the movement. you sort of expect sam to come running to help like he always does, already surprised that he didn’t offer from the start when you told the boys you were going to wash up.

apparently, dean had expected the same; while he’s more than happy to be the one to help you, sam almost always beats him to that sort of thing before he can even try. you glance through the open door and see dean looking from you to sam, back to you before he stands from his bed in a rush.

“hey, hey, whatcha doin’ all that by yourself for? can’t have you busting any stitches, we paid for those,” he jokes, already in the bathroom with you by the time he’s finishes talking.

“pfft, yeah with stolen credit cards,” you retort, without actually resisting his aid. he takes your place by the faucet, nudging the bucket under it and turning on the hot water. you’re lucky that the shower doubles as a small bath, meaning you can easily sit in it alongside the bucket and just wipe yourself down without getting the floor wet.

you sit on the closed toilet seat as dean fills up the bucket, adds some soap, and mixes it around a little.

“want me to help you in?” he offers.

“mm, are you trying to see me naked?” you poke fun.

“and if i said yes?” he jokes back.

“then you’d never see the light of day again,” you threaten, already moving to slide off your jeans, with a bit of a struggle. dean’s strong hand immediately finds your elbow, holding you steady. you’re not worried about either brother seeing you in just your underwear. with the life you live, stuck in motels, or getting hurt in less than ideal spots, they’ve seen you that way plenty. and while dean can’t hold back from a lewd comment or two, he completely respects you and views you like another sibling. he helps you with your shirt too, as lifting your arms up proves even more painful than you’d thought.

dean kindly sets a folded towel down on the bottom of the shower bed for you to sit more comfortably, then helps you ease in. then he’s grabbing two clean wash rags, dunking one in the water and handing the other to you.

“try and keep those stitches as dry as you can,” he instructs, and you oblige by placing the dry rag over your covered wound. “we’ll change the bandages when you’re done.”

“mhmm,” you nod, “thank you, dean.”

“‘course, kid. you want me to get your back? or i can send sammy in to help instead,” he offers, saying that last part loud enough for sam to hear. you glance out the open bathroom door only to catch sight of sam’s back as he heads for the outside door. he moves out of your line of sight, but you can hear the door being open and shut behind him. you sigh in disappointment and a bit of hurt. dean curses lightly under his breath and you suddenly feel awkward and ashamed for no practical reason. but dean knows that sam isn’t being as good to you as he should, so he’s being extra nice instead.

“if you– if you could do it that would be nice. thanks,” you frown, then try to fix it with a strained smile. when dean is done, he hands the damp cloth to you, and you thank him again quietly.

“just holler if you need anything else,” he reminds you before walking out, leaving the door open by just a sliver.

you carefully wipe down the rest of your body, relishing in the heat of the water and the feeling of being just a little cleaner. you’re slow about it, letting yourself savor the alone time and telling yourself that you won’t worry about the events of the day until tomorrow. during the time that you clean yourself, you hear the outside door open and close twice more, and you assume sam’s come back and left again. by the time you’re done with the soapy water, it’s gone lukewarm, but you’re successfully feeling much more relaxed.

“dean!” you call out, hoping he’ll come and change the water for you so that you can get rid of any extra soap suds still lingering on your skin. there’s no reply for a long moment. “dean?” you call again. “can you help me again?”

without a word in response, you hear footsteps, then the creak of the bathroom door. instead of dean, you find sam poking his head into the room.

he clears his throat awkwardly. “dean left to get some more food. i can, uh– i can help.”

“oh, okay,” you smile at him a little, then feel sort of pathetic because of the hope that rises in your chest. you force your voice into nuetrality. “thanks, sam. i, uh, i just need to dump this out and get some new water. it’s just sort of heavy.”

“right, yeah. of course.” sam enters the room fully, filling up the small space with his tall, broad frame. when he gets close, you extend a hand, silently asking him to help you stand first, despite the fact that you could do it yourself with the help of the wall. but sam can’t very well deny you, so he obliges by grabbing your hand and placing the other around your bicep to hoist you up. his strong hands and arms pull you up easily, and help you back onto the tile floor. you feel the tickle of a rivulet of water run down your right leg, then a few more on your left. sam dutifully pulls the towel you were sitting on out and hands it to you before he dumps out the soapy water and turns on the faucet, checking the temperature before letting it splash into the bucket

you stand there in silence, watching him work, watching him keep his eyes averted from your almost naked form, watching him struggle with being so close to you.

“there,” he says simply when he’s done, grabbing the towel from you and placing it back on the bottom of the tub. once he’s eased you back down to sitting in the shower, he straightens and takes a step backwards towards the door. but he can’t just leave, not like that. “is there anything else you need?”

you think you’re allowed to be a little selfish sometimes, so you say yes. “uh, yeah. could you, uhm, could you just wipe down my back? i can’t tell if there’s still soap on it.” sam almost tells you that there isn’t and just walks away, but he caves to you and the look in your eyes.

he looks like he’s not sure if he wants to stiffen and close himself off and do it in silence, or soften and open himself up to being gentle with you. it seems he’s unable to treat you too coldly, no matter what sort of fear or silent commitments to staying clear of you he’s made.

“‘f course,” he agrees after a moment, getting down on his knees, pressed right up against the wall of the bathtub as he takes the wet rag from you and dips into the newly hot water. he keeps his eyes trained on the skin of your back, and you keep yours to the plain white surface of the tile wall in front of you. his hand is as gentle, warm, and encompassing as you know it to be. of course, he’s trying not to touch you directly, keeping most of his hand covered by up the cloth. but the motel rag isn’t a generous size, and his hands are, so the base of his palm or the pads of his fingertips keep brushing against your cool skin. he’s hot in comparison to you, as per usual.

the task doesn’t have to take long at all, but sam must be having trouble parting from you now that he’s back and so, so close. so, he takes the rag across the whole expanse of your back more than once, applying a gentle pressure that soothes and relaxes your still tense muscles. only once he’s heard a sigh of satisfaction leave your lips does he bring his hand away from you.

there’s a few more moments of quiet, only punctuated by the sounds of lightly sloshing water as he dips the rag back into the water, then squeezes it out so that it’s not too soaked for your next use. he hands it to you and asks, “anything else?” without getting up or even glancing at the door like he wants to escape. he lets himself look at your face for a moment, before tearing his gaze away once more.

you shake your head lightly. “that’s all. thanks.”

“mhmm,” he nods, “tell me if you need me.” that’s not how he meant to say things, but it’s how it came out anyways. and oh how you wish to tell him, i need you. he wants to hear you say it too, until he remembers himself and the fact that he’d cave if he did. and he can’t cave, not ever, not even if you told him that you need him. these days he feels like he needs you.

“okay.” you wait for him to leave before you put your attention back on yourself. when he closes the door behind himself, you heave out a deep sigh, then yawn, suddenly hit with a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. you make quick work of wiping off the rest of your body and brace yourself on the wall to stand. you’re not sure you can bear being stuck with sam in such close proximity again tonight, so you dress yourself with just a bit of trouble and leave the tub of water alone for one of the boys to take care of tomorrow.

when you leave the bathroom, dean’s still gone and sam’s laying on his bed. you almost tear up at the sight of him, tucked tightly into one half of the space and his back so purposefully facing your side of the bed. upset with this small cruelty, you climb into dean’s bed instead and fall asleep on your back before you can even change your bandages.

—

last night you caught sam reaching for your hand. he was motioning with the hand further from you, distracted as he complained about something dean said earlier. you glanced down for no particular reason and a movement caught your eye. his unoccupied hand had drifted closer to you, reaching out seemingly on instinct, as if walking next to you should mean holding hands with you. quickly, you looked away, and you never felt his hand even brush past yours. but you heard the rustle of his jacket as he moved, the pause in his words, and the shift in tone when he finally continued to speak. you don’t think he knows that you noticed.

and the day before that, he gave you this dazzling smile and didn’t even think twice about it. sometimes he’ll smile at you wide, and the pretty look on his face will be ripped away as if he’s had some horrible realization that smiling at you is somehow a sin. but this last time, the smile faded naturally, untouched by the overbearing hesitancy he seems to have kept clutched in his hands for the past few weeks since that night with the shapeshifter.

there’s this constant push and pull coming from him that you can’t quite wrap your head or heart around. many days, he’s distant and that’s it. all you get is talk of cases or how to stop the goddamn apolcalypse. other days he’s able to be decently normal; he’ll joke and chat a little and you’ll get a glimpse of your sam. and some days he just can’t stay away, like there’s this tug pulling him to you that’s too strong to resist. it calls his hand towards yours, his eyes all over your face, and his body to stand right by you. those days he can’t cover up any sort of longing gaze and he’s stuck staring right at you and missing you more than he ever imagined he’d have to.

you suppose you prefer the in between days, because they’re the closest to the sam that you’ve had by your side for so long. they’re closest to the sam that’s your best friend, the sam who didn’t know he loved you yet. those are the days you can most easily pretend that something isn’t wildly off about you and him, because dealing with unrequited love has sort of become your norm. and while the days he can’t hide that he feels more for you are a desirable confirmation that there’s some part of him that can’t resist you, they’re also a painful reminder that it’s not quite enough to keep him from distancing himself.

and lord, it just hurts so much when one of those sweet days turns sour. you’ll feel at ease, hopeful and glad for the day's luck, when suddenly the good day has turned too good or one of you has laughed too sweet and loud because of the other. at that, sam will instantly pull away as if it’s dangerous to be happy together. you can see his eyes change from content because of you to tortured because of you and all you want to do is take him by the shoulders and shake him hard. then mostly likely kiss him hard too, if you can get him to come to his senses.

of course, there’s that never ending love. you really don’t think you could stop loving him if you tried with all of your might. but there’s certainly anger. each day that passes by, you become angrier and angrier with him, so frustrated with him and his stupid decisions. with too much time to think about him and his odd behavior, you feel nearly sure that he’s just plain old afraid. of losing you or hurting you or some other classic, stupid reason and frankly, it’s completely unromantic. it’s making you feel like you’re losing your mind.

so when sam takes today, a half-normal day where you don’t feel the weight of his hesitance bearing down on you, and he snatches that away with a simple, closed-off expression, you feel far too fed up to just let it go.

dean’s off at some bar and though his support in your argument might help—because you’re almost positive that dean is on your side and is getting nearly as frustrated as you—you need to confront sam alone first.

you let silence reign in the motel room until sam’s done showering and about to settle into doing a bit of extra research before heading to bed.

“sam,” you start, already cursing to yourself when he looks at you without any of his usual eagerness to hear you talk. you’re sure he can already tell that you’re displeased from the way you said his name. “we have to talk.”

his jaw clenches and he glances down at the closed laptop in front of him. he contemplates how to answer for a moment. “i should really check for any signs of lucifer. we haven’t gotten anything new in weeks, we’re bound to catch wind of something soon.”

your anger flares, but you tamp it down in favor of keeping this conversation as civil as possible. an angry you plus an angry sam never ends well, and you’re determined to make yourself heard before either of you walk away in frustration.

“no, sam. don’t ignore me. i know that you checked during lunch today, so it can wait until tomorrow,” you counter.

“this is important, you know that.” his voice is so flat and emotionless and stubborn and so unlike him that it hurts.

“it is,” you agree, “but you already checked today, so i’m asking you not to make excuses and listen to me, sam. it’s not that hard.” you bite your tongue, almost wishing you hadn’t made that last biting comment because you know it’ll just antagonize him. but you also know that your anger is warranted.

you can see sam realizing he can’t get out of this conversation in the way that he purses his lips in frustration.

“i– y’know, i’ve really tried to give you time.” you don’t wait for him to really look at you to start. “we all need time sometimes, but it’s not fixing anything. you’re not… you’re not trying to fix anything, it feels like.”

he won’t even look at you when he talks. “what do you want me to fix?”

“the way you’re treating me!” you say, indignant and raising your voice a little, unable to hold back. “you– i don’t know, you’re acting so strange! like– like one second you’re normal. normal sam, my best friend sam. and then you act like you don’t want me around. like you’d rather be stuck in the car and motel rooms with anyone else in the world but me.” only once you start talking do you realize just how much you have to say. it’s not just stop acting this way, or let’s talk about it, it’s so much more. so much that you need him to hear and to understand.

your voice quiets again. “you know, once, you told me that i was a god-send. that, that you can put up with all this shit because we get to do it together. it’s always been you and me! of course, it’s always been you and dean, but sam! we’re best friends,” you say it more like a plea than a statement. “you used to say that. then it got to the point where it felt like we didn’t even have to say anything at all. we just were. it used to feel like you’d do anything for me, just like i’d do for you. i never even questioned that, not once until ruby came along. even then, i knew it wasn’t you. not an excuse, but i knew, once she was gone, you’d figure it out again. just like always. we always figure it out. so why, why for the love of god are you not even trying?” your own words hit you like a wall of bricks. when things happen, when things go wrong, or you don’t understand something, you’ve always figured it out together. what you’re supposed to do is voice your concerns to the other and usually without saying the words, ask for help. this time, sam won’t share the burden with you, won’t attempt to figure it out with you even when it so clearly involves you.

sam opens his mouth to speak, and at least he’s looking at you now, but you won’t let him say a word yet. he’ll shut you down, and you can’t have that.

“why do i suddenly feel so stuck? i feel like there’s nothing i can do, like you’re slipping away, right through my fingertips! and that’s just the strangest feeling when, for the longest time, i was convinced that you’d be the one constant in my life. i really, really thought that way, sam. and i get that i’m biased and blinded by my own feelings, i just never imagined that you’d do anything like this, pull away so suddenly and quickly and adamantly like it’s your life’s mission to put a bulletproof wall in between us. so, i guess at the very least, i’d like a bit of an explanation as to why you don’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

your question hangs in the air, heavier and more smothering than a water-soaked wool blanket. you suppose you could keep talking; you’re not anywhere near out of things to say, but you need him to respond. he’s the one letting the silence take over, not you. he takes a deep breath, like he’s known he’d have to explain eventually, but would never be the one to willingly bring it up.

he answers plainly, almost honest. “it’s safer this way. it’s dangerous for you to be close to me.” you want to scream because you were right. you would’ve loved to have been wrong, for him to have magically had some good reason for all this. but in the end, it has come down to the evils of the world pressing down on a good man and that good man caving to believe what the evils tell him he is. you want to scream because sam is wrong. being close to him feels like saving grace.

he’s not cursed, he’s not the cause of all the pain and death that rains down on the people he loves. and what about him? what about all the pain and death that rains upon him? where does he get reprieve, an apology for being singled out and tossed through all of these horrors by unexplainable forces? why can’t he blame god? why can’t he see that it’s not his fault?

“that’s not true,” you beg, “and it’s not an excuse to treat me like shit.” he looks away, a physical manifestation of the fact that he doesn’t want to admit that you’re right about at least that.

“i’m not trying to… to hurt you.” sam face just falls. he looks devastated. he wasn’t trying to hurt you, in fact, he was trying to do just the opposite, but it happened anyway. “see?” he pleads, desperate for you to understand, “no matter what i do, being around me is hurting you. i can’t keep putting people through that.”

“so what? you’re gonna pretend to hate dean too?” you counter.

sam looks hurt. “i wasn’t pretending to hate you. i’d never even pretend to feel that way about you, i–” he stops himself before he can say the words and clears his throat, not trying to be subtle when he changes the subject. “dean’s different. he’s involved in all this shit too. he doesn’t have a choice but to be around me, but you? you could be safe somewhere else.”

“and you think i want that? you think i’d make the choice to leave you, just to be a little safer?” you want to keep going, but he interrupts you.

“no, that’s exactly it. you’d never leave us, and i know that. but if– if we stay at a distance, you might be safer.” he’s doing everything he can not to make it sound like he wants you to go. he just can’t explain that the issue is that he loves you, that he thinks the solution is to stop loving each other.

“that’s bullshit,” you shake your head. “sam, i know that you think you’re cursed or some shit like that, but it’s not true. none of this is your fault.”

“how? how is it not my fault? the people i love die because of me, and no other reason. how is that not my fault?” he argues, desperately believing himself.

“because you’re not the one who killed them! you didn’t make that choice. those things happened to you too, sam. how much grief and loss have you had to go through because of things you couldn’t control? it was never your fault, sam.”

“and yet, if they weren’t around me, they never would have died. it doesn’t matter what choices i made, it was the simple act of being close to me that’s gotten so many people killed. and i can’t lose you, too. i just can’t and it’s just too possible that it’ll be because of me. i can’t live with that. i can’t let you get hurt.” this is the most raw his voice has been in weeks, months maybe even. you can see just how completely, irrationally terrified he is that he’ll get you killed and you’re starting to think that he’s too far gone for you to reel back to reality, to hope and perseverance and closeness. but you can’t seem to give up, still full of things to say.

“that’s not how this works!” you refute. “this is my life, it’s your life, our life. and whether or not i’m around you or close to you, i’ll still get hurt! it’s not like i’m just going to quit hunting so you don’t have to worry. so sam, you could hurt me on purpose; pull away, refuse me when you have to know damn well how i feel about you. it’s not like i’ve ever really been that subtle, you were just never looking for it until now. or– or you could do your best and if i get hurt, it's an accident, right?” you practically beg for him to agree, for him to see that treating you this way is so much worse than anything else that could happen to you because of him.

he curses under his breath. you’re getting so close to saying the sort of words that will make his resolve snap, one way or another. he says nothing and you’re still waiting for him to understand you. so, you hit him with something even more solid and irrevocable than your logic: your love.

“you can’t seriously think that i’m going to just let things go on like this, can you? is this really your plan? to pretend we don’t care about each other? to throw over a decade of friendship out the window because you think somehow it’ll keep me safe?” you make sure that he’s looking you straight in the eyes as you continue, voice thick with emotion, “sam, there’s nothing, nothing that could keep me from loving you. i’ve loved you since you were seventeen, at least. i was watching you study, realizing that you really were gonna go to college. damn, i was so happy for you and i was ready to do anything to help you get there. then i started thinking about how much i was gonna miss you. wondering if maybe i could get away too. if we could get away together. the next week my dad dragged me away on another hunt and i didn’t see you for a year. we saw each other nearly right before you left and i considered asking if i could run away with you. but i didn’t want you to have to drag any remnants of the life with you, and i was exactly that. i wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway.

“and you know, the saying that absence makes the heart go fonder, it’s not psychologically true. the more time you spend with someone, the more you get to love them. but i really felt like it was sort of true because i missed you so bad that it made me love you all the more. i tried to talk dean out of asking you to come back to look for your dad, but when i saw you again i gave up on that. i didn’t care that you had had jess or that you liked madison or sarah, and sure, ruby hurt a little more than them, but no matter what, i just liked being close to you. when i saw you again, i swore i couldn’t look away. and i was content loving you through looks and longing and letting you be.

“but sam,” your voice cracks as you say his name and you try to swallow your tears, “this is just cruel. there’s not even anyone else, but you feel so much farther than you’ve ever been. you’d really refuse me after you dare to give me hope that you might actually love me back? i spend far too much time looking at you to miss the way you look at me. and i love listening to your voice so much that i could never miss the way your voice has changed when you talk to me as of late. you gave me hope for just a few weeks, and now you’re asking me to– to what?” you shake your head, not even sure what he’s trying to change or fix and how.

“you want me to let you go? and what, that’s it? do you want me to stick around but pretend i don’t love you? or– or do you want me to just stop loving you and you think that’ll somehow fix things? because that sure as hell isn’t possible,” you look at him so carefully, so deeply as you search for an answer in his eyes. “or do you just want me to go?”

you didn’t mean that question, but sam truly considers it. at first you desperately wish that you could take it back. you don’t want to go, you don’t think you can be apart from him like that.

but he goes and does the worst thing that he could and he tells you, “yes. you should go.” he can’t even look you in the eye when he says it and you know that you with certainty that you can’t stay. you can’t do that to yourself, to your pride, to your peace of mind. because with those four words he’s told you that he loves you, but not enough to try.

or too much, perhaps. he loves you too much to try, because it’s him who will really be worse off if something he does gets you killed. sure, you’d be dead, but sam… sam would be alive and stuck with far too much guilt and loneliness and loss and greif to deal with. but if you go, then sam can’t be responsible for you. he can’t curse you with his love that way, so sam may want you closer to him than he’s ever wanted anybody, but he wants even more for you to go.

you want to say something awful back. i hate you crosses your mind, but it’s so far from the truth that you couldn’t even say it out loud. if you did, it would still mean i love you.

you’re horrible, sam, is the next thing that falls into your mouth, but you clamp your jaw shut before those words can fall out. you don’t swallow though, you let the words sit on your tongue and you taste them and consider them. because in a way, they’re true. sam’s being horrible to you. but you’re naive, and, oh right, hopelessly in love with him, which means you want to spare him. it means that you don’t want to convince him further that he can never be good enough for you, because he is. he is when he isn’t being like this, and if he can figure it out, maybe he’ll beg on bended knee for you to come back, say he’ll do anything to make it up to you, tell you he still loves you so much and he can’t be apart from you if you’ll let him come close again.

but you’re so fucking angry at him. you’re almost blinded with love, but not quite because you already know that those hopes of yours are ridiculous moments after you think of them. he’s burned any possibility of you and him to the ground. you know this and you know that he knows it too. you hope it haunts him forever and you don’t care if that’s cruel.

“go ahead, sam,” you laugh humorlessly, bitterly. the sound makes him look up from the guilty hole he’s burning into the table top with his eyes. “add me to your list of ghosts before i’m even dead, and know, without a doubt, that this time it really was you who did it. you lit the match, sam. you pulled the trigger.” he looks at you, dumbfounded as if he finally understands what you’ve been trying to say this whole time but knows that he’s gone too far. once a trigger’s been pulled, it can’t be undone and he knows that. that knowledge is a sort of pain that rings in his ears and swirls violently in his stomach.

you grab your coat from the hanger on the wall beside you.

“wait,” he chokes out, tears shining in his eyes. you shoot him a harsh look and he shuts his mouth. he doesn’t get to say that word.

“i’ll call if i figure out how to stop the fucking apocalypse. otherwise, tell dean not to call, ‘cause i’m not coming back.” you grab your bag from the floor by the bed and walk past him to take all the cash from his wallet. you feel his eyes follow you until you reach the door.

hand on the door knob, you turn back to him and you stare him square in the eye to be sure he can see your tears, to show him he made you cry. you won’t tell him he’s horrible, so you’ll settle for a simple, “you’re wrong, sam. you’re wrong about this.”

then you walk out the door, cursing yourself for hating the sound of him crying more than anything in the world.

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ageofwagner · 3 months

Text

Kiss My Scars

Pairing: Danny Wagner x fem!reader

Summary: Danny reminds Y/n that her scars are nothing to be ashamed of.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: angst to fluff, disliking body image, descriptions of self-harm scars (not graphic), Danny’s love language as physical touch, affirmations, Danny being the best bf.

a/n: this is super self-indulgent and I just love imagining Danny being sweet to someone that has been through so much. To anyone that may relate to the content of this fic, you are valid, I love you and I'm proud of you <3

masterlist

"You could've hated my scars, instead you kissed them"

You stood there, staring at your reflection in the mirror, a feeling of self-loathing wrapping itself around you as you trace the faded scars littering your upper thigh. A shaky sigh escapes your lips as you turn away, eyes burning in an attempt to withhold oncoming tears and try to even out your breathing.

Hearing footsteps approaching the bedroom, you quickly step into the ensuite bathroom and close the door, locking it before sliding down and pulling your knees to your chest. Your head falls back as you feel the first traitorous tear escape through the corner of your eye, trailing down the side of your face.

Danny stops outside the bathroom door, "Hey babe, you ready to go?" your back stiffens, feeling panic radiate throughout your body. You stutter a response, "Yeah I- uh just need a few minutes" internally cursing yourself for not keeping it together.

Seeing right through you, he knocks gently only to be met with silence. Danny feels unease settle in his stomach when he tries the doorknob to find that you had locked it, something he knows you rarely ever do.

"Is everything okay? Can you please let me in?" he asks gently, sensing your need for comfort. You feel suddenly guilty at the double meaning of his plea - you had a habit of shutting everyone out when things got bad, as you currently were with him.

That guilt ruminated as it always does, thinking about how excited Danny was to go to this pool party and here you were, ruining that for him with your insecurities once again. You remain silent, more tears trailing down your face as you stand to face the full-length mirror, once again examining your reflection; the purple-tinged lines permanently covering the majority of your thighs, tainting your figure.

Your head twists toward the door again when you hear the door knob jiggling, "Baby please, I'm worried" Hearing the desperation in his voice prompted you to give in. You splashed some water on your face in an attempt to snap yourself out of it; wiping your face you take a deep breath and unlock the door.

Danny immediately burst into the bathroom, concern evident on his face as his eyes scanned your body, you knew instantly what he was checking for. Once again the bitter feeling of shame and guilt engulfed your body. You shifted your gaze to your feet, unable to meet his eyes.

He uses his thumb and forefinger to grab hold of your chin, gently forcing you to meet his worried eyes, "What's wrong?" his voice was so gentle it could hardly be heard. Your eyes filled with tears, betraying you by conveying the emotion you had tried so desperately to conceal from him. "Nothing, I'm okay" you choked out, refusing to ruin his day further.

Danny shook his head, "No, you're not" he stated simply, pulling you into his chest and resting his chin atop your head as he rubbed soothing circles into your back, "and that's alright. It's okay to allow yourself to feel these things, but it's not okay to convince yourself that you have to deal with this all on your own. I know you feel that you have to fight your own battles but you don't have to do it alone." He felt you shaking as you cried into his chest, tightening his hold on you, wishing he could shield you from anything that could ever hurt you, "You have fought so hard on your own, but I'm here now and I never want you to feel like you have to do it alone, ever again."

You felt the tears flowing down your cheeks once again at the sincerity within his words, you nuzzled further into his chest, allowing a sob to escape you as he squeezes you in his embrace, showing you he will do everything in his power to protect you.

The two of you remain in that position until you can calm your breathing, Danny whispering loving words of affirmation while you attempt to calm the racing thoughts in your mind. After a few more moments you pull away, arms resting around his lower back as you look up at him; your eyes, red and puffy, find his glazed over, attempting to conceal the emotion swirling behind his eyes.

"I love you so much" you manage to speak, though your voice strained with emotion, "I love you more" he returns, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

As you part he looks at you before offering, "Can you tell me what happened?" you drop your hands from his back, stepping out of the bathroom to the full-length mirror positioned next to your bed. You stare at your face in the reflection, noticing the bloodshot eyes, red splotches, and tear-stained cheeks; your gaze trailing down the figure in front of you, silently tearing your appearance apart.

Caught up in the cloud of self-deprecation, you didn't notice Danny standing behind you until you feel his feather-light touch sliding your hair off your shoulder, placing a kiss on the exposed skin, "Stop it" he instructs "I know what you're thinking and it's not true." He meets your gaze in the mirror for a moment, his eyes pleading with you to listen to him.

You tear your eyes away, looking at your marred thigh as you trace the slight bumps with your fingertips, "They're so ugly" you choke out, your voice barely a whisper as you finally vocalize the thought that has been eating away at you.

Danny feels his heart drop at your admission, the combination of what you had just said with the sheer despair in your voice, shattered his heart. Without hesitation, he interrupts your silent beratement by placing himself directly in front of you, blocking your view of the reflection staring back at you.

Gently cupping your face, he lifts your head to meet his gaze, "Listen to me, your scars are not ugly, not even close. Your scars are proof of how strong you are, they tell your stories; they are part of who you are and that is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, my love. Your scars do not determine your worth or beauty - and I know how you struggle to accept them but I promise you, I will always be here to show you how much I love you, scars and all."

You felt entirely overwhelmed by his compassion and love towards you. As the tears stream down your face, Danny pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapped around you in a firm hold. He knew you found comfort in his embrace and in this moment, he would do anything to make you feel safe and loved.

He rubbed your back with one hand, using the other to stroke your hair; your head nuzzled into the crook of his neck as he reminds you how much he loves you, that you are strong and beautiful, hoping that if he says it enough, you'll eventually believe him.

Danny refuses to let go of you until you're ready. It's only when you pull away that he leads you to sit on the edge of the bed. He props himself on his knees on the floor, directly in front of your seated position, gently running his hands along the sides of your thighs. You've never been one to shy away from his touch but the spiral of insecurity you were feeling for the marks on your thighs has you tensing under his touch. Danny notices your apprehension and pauses his movements, concern evident on his face as he asks, "Is it okay if I touch you?" his hands were now hovering over your thighs, not wanting to upset you further.

You nod your head, reaching for his outstretched hands and placing them on your thighs, "It's okay," you mumble in response, a faint smile on your face at your boyfriend's consideration for your feelings.

Danny gives your thighs a gentle squeeze, meeting his eyes you see the sincerity behind them as he says, "I just wish you could see yourself through my eyes, I want to show you how beautiful you are, inside and out," he takes a watery breath before continuing, "your scars will never change that"

Your throat became thick with emotion, placing your hands over his and squeezing three times, a silent I love you, showing your appreciation without uttering a word.

You watched as Danny lowered his head into your lap, looking up to catch your eye briefly, ensuring his actions were okay - to which you nodded in response. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the middle of your upper thigh before switching to the other and repeating the action. You let out a shaky breath, feeling overwhelmed by your vulnerability along with the love and adoration you feel from the man in front of you, quelling the anxiety and self-deprecating thoughts.

As Danny continues tracing the lines across your thighs, placing a kiss on each one, you feel your eyes begin to sting once again. The sound of your sniffling catches his attention, looking up he finds you smiling at him with tears in your eyes. You cup his face and pull him to you, kissing him softly, pouring all your love for him into the kiss.

He breaks the kiss, "I need you to do something for me, love" you nod your head, signaling him to continue, "I want more than anything for you to believe what I'm saying to you. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you" he took a deep breath, turning his head in an attempt to compose himself. Noticing a tear falling down his cheek, you turn his head so he's facing you, using your thumb to wipe the rogue tears away - just as he had done for you, moments ago.

"Anything," you say

"I need to hear you say it, my love"

Before you could question him, he clarified, "I want to hear you say your scars are not ugly. I need you to believe it." You look into his soft brown eyes and find nothing but love and admiration. Taking a deep breath you repeat after him, "My scars are not ugly"

Danny offers you a bright smile, eyes still glassy, "There we go" he praises, "Now, can you say 'I am beautiful'?"

You lower your head feeling heat spread up your neck, painting your cheeks in a rosy pink that Danny can never get enough of. Eyes focused on your lap, you repeat the affirmations until he lifts your chin using his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to meet his gaze, "Look at me and say it again" he instructs, his voice so gentle it was practically a whisper. Straightening your back, you repeat the statements more confidently - smiling at the toothy grin he was giving you.

"Okay, one more thing," Danny moves his hands to the crease between your leg and hips, squeezing as he continues, "can you say 'I am loved'?"

You smile, leaning in just inches from his face, "I am loved" you state before connecting your lips with his. Danny keeps one hand firmly planted on your thigh, using the other to cup your cheek as he deepens the kiss. As he pulls away, he looks up at you - his puffy lips spread in a loving smile as he praises you, "I'm so proud of you"

"How do you do that?" you ask

A crease forms between Danny's brows, "Do what?"

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, "You just always know the perfect thing to say"

A blush appears on Danny's face before he finally stands and moves to sit next to you on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arm around you to pull your body flush against his.

"I'm not really doing anything, my love, I'm just being honest with you," he pauses, trying to find the right words, "I know it sounds cliche but I'm just trying to show you how I see you. When you look at your scars you see them as weakness, I see them as strength."

You crane your neck to look at him, eyes tracing his features, "Have I ever told you how much I love you?" you could feel his smile against your skin as he placed a kiss on your temple, "You may have mentioned it" he replies through an adoring laugh.

Danny continues to pepper kisses all over your face, whispering, "I love you too" somewhere between kisses. You revel in the feeling of him quite literally showering you with love - feeling lighter as the weight of your insecurity and sadness have been lifted.

Thank you for reading <3

I will be posting a part two for anyone interested in seeing a more light-hearted and playful ending :)

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mlmxreader · 2 years

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Die Maus und Der Bär | König x gn!reader

anonymous asked: hallo!!! i am back once again!!

first of all, i just wanna say, the könig x reader you did for me (the one where they knew each other before) was fucking awesome dude, top notch shit right there. 10/10 amazing. thank you <3

second of all, i was hoping to request a part 2 for it! maybe one where reader decides to actually join KorTac so they don’t have to leave him again. the prompt that sparked this idea was "I don't wanna miss you again" and i just think it would be very nice very cute

as always, keep up the good work! you’re amazing!!! (ALSO HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!) -🏹

summary: a single chance encounter with somebody that you used to cherish just about changes everything.

tws: swearing, brief mentions of violence

part one: Maus

"Nein," he shook his head. "I'm going to take you home. You can't stay... I never stopped loving you, (y/n)."

"Fuck you."

"I will write," he promised. "I don't want to lose you again."

König was risking everything just to take you home; his job, his livelihood, his friends, even his life, just to make sure that you got back. He found your address through various, somewhat illegal, manners but didn't really care; his top priority was to make sure that you got home in a single piece.

The flight was dull, you kept spitting venomous words in his face and hissing curses against him, and although he had no idea why you suddenly hated him, König didn't say anything about it.

The car ride back to your home was worse, but it was slightly better when you, very reluctantly invited him inside; it was a nice house, König could never refuse sleeping in a proper bed, although he did go a little bit shy as he admitted that he didn't actually bring anything with him - expecting to leave you at the door and return when he was back from deployment.

KorTac would kick his ass if they found out he had escorted you right to your front door, let alone that he had accepted staying the night.

If there was anything that König didn't want, anything that made his stomach churn and bile rise up to his throat, it was the thought of losing you; the thought of ever being apart from you, separated, made him feel sick to his stomach and made his hands shake. He didn't want to be without you, not again. He would do anything to be there at your side, he would do anything if he could just remain with you.

Deep, deep down, he knew that you felt the same, but he also knew that, right now, you were in pain; you were lashing out, and he knew why. He was to blame, he was an idiot and a fool and had been for years, he was the one who had left.

But he wasn't stupid, he knew that something was going on when you came up to him in the middle of the night, weeping and sniffling before you got into the bed beside him; he went stiff when you held onto him tightly, and pressed your face against him.

Something was going on. König knew it, and you did, too.

He didn't wear his mask. He didn't need to when he was around you. He very rarely wore shirts, and tried not to notice the way that you looked at the scars that littered his body with little more than guilt; as if each knock and scrape, every gunshot wound and stab wound, that he had sustained since he enlisted was somehow your fault.

Like you failed to protect him. Like you might as well have done it all yourself; of course, König tried to reassure you how he could, but every time he tried to speak to you as a friend, you would push him away.

"Fuck you! Don't fucking act like nothing's changed, you fucking bastard cunt!"

König never flinched. You could be shouting and bawling the house down, but he never so much as twitched; to him, it was a normal Tuesday. He could remember when the subject of your anger was bullies on the school grounds; whenever they so much as mildly taunted him, you were there, running to his defence every single time.

He had no reason to think of your little outbursts as anything other than you needing to express yourself, and he could live with that. If you wanted to shout, he could listen to you shout for hours. He just wished that you would stop pushing him away.

But it wasn't that simple, those things never were, as although you would have given anything and everything to have him back in your life, although you would have begged and pleaded and even tried bribery and blackmail in order to get into KorTac's ranks to be at his side again, you were still hurt; you had let him down, you had been his enemy, he had reminded you of times that you no longer thought of.

Secondary school, the realisation that you had loved him. When he sang 'The Last Stand' by Sabaton the first time he kissed you and told you that he loved you romantically.

You knew that he would never be permanently back in your life, you needed to push him away before you could even think of hurting him the way that he had hurt you when he first left; you didn't want him to feel that ache, to feel the bile rise in his throat whenever your name came to mind, you didn't want him to miss you if you were gone.

You wanted to save him, save him the pain and the agony and the grief and everything else; you didn't want him to get hurt because of you, you didn't think you could live with yourself if he did. It was best to push him away. Things would be better off if you pushed him away, you knew that, and you had a sneaking suspicion that he did, too.

Except, you couldn't deny that you did like having him around; when one night suddenly became one week, and one week suddenly became one month... you couldn't deny that you liked having him around. König reminded you of a time long gone, a time when you could get away with pinning cunts to the ground and breaking their jaws without worrying about getting court martialled; a simpler time, a better time... and maybe... maybe you did still love him.

Maybe you did still love him romantically, and maybe you didn't want to push him away so much anymore, even though you knew it was for the best and you kept telling yourself that you didn't want him to get inside your head and that you weren't thinking straight, you weren't being logical or rational; you were being a fool for wanting something, someone, you could never have again. You missed your chance years ago, why get another one?

"Mein Bärchen," König cleared his throat as he ducked enough to get through the doorframe, a yawn coming from the back of his throat as he pinned you to the side with his tired gaze. "You should be asleep."

You shook your head, puffing on your cigarette as you grumbled softly and bit back the yawn he had infected you with. "There's just a lot in my head right now, Maus."

"Wie was?"

You didn't want to say it, but the way that he was looking at you and your own exhaustion was chipping you away and breaking you down, so you sighed, putting your cigarette in the ashtray as you dared to shrug, taking a deep breath. "What if I transferred to KorTac?"

König fell silent for a moment as he thought about it, but then he smiled, raising his brows as he looked so fucking hopeful, so fucking joyful at the mere suggestion of such a thing. "Really?"

You nodded slowly. "Yeah... at least then, we'd still be together, right? And maybe... maybe we could start off where we left off?"

He grinned, swallowing thickly as he tried to hide his excitement. "You'd do that?"

"Yeah," your voice got a little quieter. "Yeah, I... fuck, König, I don't wanna miss you again... I don't wanna hurt you by making you miss me, either."

"Du bist mein Lieblingsbär," he chuckled softly. "Ich... nein. (y/n), if you joined KorTac... we would never be apart."

"That's the point," you told him. "Ich lie- meine Maus, I'll give my guys my two weeks notice tomorrow, and put in a request for a transfer to KorTac... ja? Klang gut?"

"Ja," he beamed. "Aber... come back to bed, bitte? Come back to me?"

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM.

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livinglouderx3 · 11 months

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SNStober - Day 19 Fantasy AU

It always felt like being woken up from a deep slumber, being dragged away from a timeless space in which Sasuke felt himself floating around constantly each time he wasn’t being “used” for a longer time.

But someone seemed to have found him, or rather – the magical mirror, as he had been called countless times by now. Sasuke didn’t really condemn them, the people who found him rarely knew better- no one really tried to find out more about him. He was known as the magic mirror, a magical object that could guide you and show you certain truths about yourself. So many had searched for him in the past, only to find out things they didn’t really want to know in the end – often even blaming him for what he had shown them. Sasuke found it amusing - them blaming him for their own fate and their own future choices that they would not change even after being faced with the upcoming consequences. It was easier for them to place the guilt onto someone else. At least, he had found it amusing until his last “owner” had wanted to shatter him, to break the mirror into pieces so that he could escape the hex it had placed onto him. But it didn’t work like that.

In fact, this mirror was a prison. People often assumed otherwise; they would think Sasuke had been nothing more than this magical object his whole life. Yet, a long time ago he had been human. One day he had done the same as each one of those people now using him. Sasuke had wanted to know more about his future. Unfortunately, he had turned to a witch, a fortuneteller as they had been called in his time, so that she could tell him. That had been his first mistake. His second one had been his reaction. Not liking what fate had in store for him he had blamed the fortuneteller – framing her as nothing more than a charlatan. In her anger she had cursed him. The irony as she had told him back then with glee in her eyes would be that he should receive the same treatment he had offered her – being blamed, hated for, and cast away just like a tool, his humanity being completely forgotten by others. That was until Sasuke would be able to break this circle, to make someone see past the mirror – to see him, to be better than he once was. Until then, he would be trapped, feeling the same hurt and frustration she had been feeling when he had cast her aside and insulted her.

And this was how he had gotten here. He had stopped counting the years, even counting the owners. Each one of them had been the same. They had searched so long for him only to be disappointed, casting the cursed mirror aside as soon as possible, since it seemed to only show the things they dreaded. The last one had been the worst of them all. Not only did he blame Sasuke, but he had gotten the impression that breaking the mirror would free him from the future it had predicted. Sasuke had been more than panicked. What would happen to him if the mirror he was trapped in would get destroyed? Would he be lost forever? The witch had not told him anything about that.

Luckily, he had been stolen before that lunatic had the chance to destroy him. It had been a common thief, probably not even knowing what he had taken. After that, it had gotten blurry. Sasuke had been stored away, covered by a blanket – never seeing that man again. He wondered what had happened to him. Time had passed, and Sasuke had fallen into his slumber once again, being forgotten by the world around him.

That was until now.

Someone had found him. Sasuke didn’t know if by accident or not. But either way, this one too, will probably come to hate Sasuke. He had long ago given up hope that someone would ever free him. Maybe it would have been better to be broken down into pieces after all.

Ocean blue eyes suddenly came into view, as Sasuke faced him – his new owner - for the first time. Usually, he would always great them with the driest “hello” he could muster, yet right now even Sasuke seemed to be rendered speechless.

For the first time in what seemed like forever he didn’t find his voice but could only stare. Those same blue eyes seemed frozen for a moment, before suddenly, widening as he realized what he was looking at. The man took a hectic step back and more of him came into view. Blonde messy bangs were sticking out in all directions – he was tall, rather tanned, and truly well build as far as Sasuke could tell. Given the mix of surprise and horror on his face one could only assume he had found Sasuke by accident.

Sasuke sighed. He felt bad for the other. It was one thing to show unpleasant things to those who had seeked him out first, but to someone who had not even been looking for him, probably just stumbling over him, it was bound to result in nothing but loathing.

Yet, he couldn’t change it. After all, he was nothing more than a mirror.

“Hello.”, Sasuke eventually spoke up.

That seemed to be even more of a shock for the blonde, his mouth falling slightly open as he kept staring at Sasuke.

“You..,” the other tried to find his words, “…can talk?”

Sasuke fought the urge to roll his eyes as he matter of factly stated the obvious. “Yes. I can talk.”

The blonde blinked dumbly.

Sasuke tried to offer an explanation. “I’m a magical mirror.”

Silence.

The other just kept staring at him. His stance was tense, alarmed as he kept thinking Sasuke’s words over, trying to place the newly acquired information.

There was even more silence, as Sasuke kept waiting for any reaction. He started getting impatient. Was the other one an idiot?

Then, suddenly, something seemed to dawn on the blonde. He furrowed his brows, his initial shock subsiding slowly.

“Do you have a name?”, he asked.

Sasuke froze.

This had been a first, no one had ever even expected him to have a name, let alone ask for it. He had always been nothing more than the “magical mirror” to the people around him.

Those same blues eyes kept looking at him, expecting him to answer.

“Sasuke.” He offered, almost unconsciously. That seemed to shift something between them. The other suddenly relaxed, his features getting softer, even offering a small smile. Sasuke couldn’t look away, almost dumbstruck by the whole situation.

“I’m Naruto.”, the blonde told him. “It’s…”, he seemed to hesitate, thinking something over, “…nice to meet you?” Naruto raised his arm, awkwardly scratching his neck.

Naruto.

Sasuke blinked at him.

Naruto was the first one to ever ask for his name.

For Naruto he was now Sasuke, instead of the magical mirror.

He suddenly felt something he had not felt ever since being human. He felt warm.

Naruto, huh?

#snsmonth23 #snstober #sns #naruto #naruto fic #naruto uzumaki #sns fanfic #sns au #naruto x sasuke #sasuke uchiha #sasunaru #narusasu #naruto fanfiction

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raelly-writing · 1 year

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Thancred/WoL NSFW Post-6.0

Just silly bit of smut that have languished in my WIP folder for a year and got finished in a fit of 'I've worked for two weeks straight and needed something to fiddle with to let my brain rest for 10 minutes before diving back into work' so uh... yeah.

Takes place between 6.0 and 6.1.

-----

It was all too common for Thancred to jerk awake for one reason or another - the years of being on the run with Ryne conditioning him to sleep lightly, ever vigilant for any sounds that might herald an approaching threat. Or so he had always excused it to himself - and her - even when it was the ghosts of his own mind that tore him from sleep’s embrace with their visions of loss, destruction and failure.

But, thankfully, today was not one of those days.

Instead, he stirred from sleep feeling relaxed and content, with none of his vigilant instinct sharpening his perception of his surroundings. It was an all too rare occurrence, and for a moment he blinked against the glow of the morning sun while trying to untangle his mind from the pleasant sensation of the dream he’d had, unsure for a few heartbeats whether the warm body pressed against his back was real or not.

The vibrant colours of the room, bathed in the soft golden light, swam into focus. Sheer curtains at the open balcony fluttered lazily in the morning breeze that carried with it the sweet scent of the jungle and its flowers. Calloused fingers were slowly drawing small patterns against his chest while even breaths tickled the back of his neck.

With a content sigh, he let his eyes drift close once more as he relaxed back into her embrace.

He was rewarded with a soft, drowsy laugh as she tightened her arm around him, her warm hand laid flat over his heart. “Good morning,” Viana murmured and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“So it is,” Thancred rumbled, his eyes remaining closed as he basked in the moment.

Viana resumed tracing small patterns over his chest, lulling him further into a content doze. After everything they’d gone through, this brief stay in Thavnair was a much needed break. Though they’d helped out with the ongoing rebuilding efforts here and there - the hippo riders in particular - they’d had plenty of time to just spend together as any normal couple might.

It was no doubt the population’s respect for their leader that left them being treated as mere visitors, with only a few expressions of gratitude here and there. “Did you sleep well?” he rasped out.

Her hand didn’t stop moving as silence followed his question. “It’s getting a little better,” she finally replied. He felt another tender brush of lips against his shoulder - a gesture of reassurance to soothe the worry she knew he felt for her recovery. Some wounds healed slower than others - yet another reason he slept lightly. “How about you?”

“None, for once,” he replied.

Viana tightened her arm around him in quiet understanding, hugging him close as they for a moment just lay there together. A little knot of guilt settled in his chest, despite how much he enjoyed the solid weight of her pressed against him, it was hard to disregard the brief, half-formed thought that he should be the one holding her, that her comfort came before his own - she was the one who had had to walk onwards alone as they all placed their faith in her, she who had then sent them away to safety as she faced the Endsinger with only a hated enemy and shades of other heroes as her aid. The memory of her bloodied body suddenly materialising aboard the Ragnarok made his hand twitch, grasping at the soft cotton sheets, the yearning to touch her like an itch that crawled beneath the skin of his fingers.

His dark thoughts were interrupted by her soothing hum and a familiar flutter in his stomach as her light touch slid down his abdomen in an idle caress to brush against the start of the trail of hair creeping down from his navel. Fleetingly, he mentally grouched at how his treacherous body reacted so readily, aided by the figments of the dream he’d woken from that twisted and twined together with memories - of her hands on him, the warmth of her embrace, ragged moans and heated whispers of his name. Awkwardly, he shifted about, but didn’t pull away from her. “Easy there, my dear,” he murmured.

Briefly, her hand stilled halfway back up his abdomen, a thoughtful pause following, before she resumed drawing slow patterns over his skin. “Hmm? Something the matter?”

Thancred huffed out a short laugh at the sweet, innocent tone of her voice that made it abundantly clear she knew precisely what she was doing. The slight rasp of her blunt nails against his skin made his stomach clench and breath catch. “Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish,” he replied.

The soft tingle of anticipation settled at the base of his spine when she made another thoughtful sound while idly tracing the waistline of his loose sleepwear. “I’m not one to leave things half finished, love,” she finally purred into his ear, and pressed a lingering kiss to his neck.

Another low laugh reverberated from deep in his chest, but it was cut off by a groan when her fingers dipped beneath the fabric to find his half-hard length. Some irrational part of himself - remnants of the younger, sweet talking bard he’d posed as for so many years who’d never let his guard down with a bed partner - bristled at how quickly his thoughts went a little muddled as his veins flared with hot pleasure at the mere slide of her hand against him.

“Had a pleasant dream, I take it?” Viana hummed, her touches decisive if entirely unhurried.

Thancred could feel the curve of her smile against his neck, the sensation as she nuzzled a sensitive spot behind his ear sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. The familiar warm, heavy feeling of arousal settled low in his abdomen, sending small jolts out into the rest of his body. “Perhaps,” he managed to retort.

Viana made a low, thoughtful sound, her hand still caressing him in a way that was just shy of fully satisfying. Groaning, he leaned back more of his weight into her embrace, earning him a delighted little laugh as she took the opportunity to wedge her other arm beneath him to hold him properly. The brief moment she removed her hand from him to tug loose the string on his pants seemed to stretch into an eternity, before she freed his cock from its confines. A low groan fell from his lips, earning him another quiet laugh from behind him.

“Care to tell me what you dreamed about?”

Through the haze of arousal that mingled with the content dozing state he’d been in, a brief, ephemeral thought crossed his mind, that her playful and teasing demeanour was payback for him doing the same to her in the nights before. Laughing under his breath, he turned his head slightly, smirking, but didn’t open his eyes. “Why waste words when I could show you instead, my dear.”

“Hmm, tempting,” she drawled, “but you do so love talking, darling.”

It was near sinful how she purred the words, her breath a little hot puff that tickled the shell of his ear.

“Viana-” Thancred began, and made a start to turn towards her, but she quickly shifted her weight against him, tightening her arm around him for a brief, pointed second.

“Shh… Just relax, Thancred,” she murmured, her tender tone making his heart clench. “Let me take care of you.”

He exhaled slowly and after a moment the tension melted out of his muscles. It was not the first time she’d taken the lead in this manner, but it remained hard to fully shake his old habits and well-ingrained thought patterns.

But even as faint vestiges of guilt and lamentations that he didn’t deserve to be treated and held like this by her tugged at the back of his mind, they were quickly drowned out by the buzzing pleasure spreading through his body with every slow stroke of her hand. “Gods…”

His ragged whisper elicited another quiet laugh from Viana as she trailed a few lingering kisses over his neck. Clearly she was in no hurry, and that feeling that he was receiving payback grew a little stronger.

Had he been more aware, Thancred would probably have lambasted himself more for the low moan that rose from his chest, but his drowsy state of mind only bled into the fuzziness of arousal - all he could focus on was her touch, the warmth of her pressed against his back, the slide of skin and soft words she kept whispering in his ear. Desperation crept in amidst the threads of pleasure, her slow, steady touches fanning the flames of a growing yearning for more.

And then suddenly, she stopped, and cooler air rushed into the space she’d occupied as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

Thancred choked back a disappointed sound at the loss of contact, but before he had a chance to speak, much less open his eyes, warm lips brushed against his in a tender, if lopsided kiss. “You good?” Viana murmured as she pulled back.

Managing a charming smile, he chuckled while heeding the little nudge from her hand and settled fully onto his back. “Quite,” he breathed as he stretched out with a pleased groan. It was a rare indulgence indeed to fully relax and enjoy how loose and heavy his body felt. Above him, Viana laughed quietly. A warm hand settled on his chest as she moved to straddle him, but before Thancred could say anything she’d leaned back down to reclaim his lips. He could feel the curve of her smile, the kiss slow and indulgent as they both seemed to savour the moment. Humming, he raised a hand to tangle in her messy hair and tilted his head to try and deepen the kiss.

Immediately, Viana nipped at his bottom lip. “Behave, my love,” she chided, laughter lacing her low voice.

A warm sensation that had nothing to do with the prospect of carnal activities fluttered in his chest at the tenderly spoken endearment. “I always do, my dear,” he drawled while letting his hand fall to instead caress her cheek with the back of his fingers. His other hand found her bare thigh and innocently let his fingertips wander up over it, until he could trace the hem of her shorts between his fingers.

The reply earned him another little laugh that he felt soak into his skin to settle amidst the warmth blooming in his chest. Cracking his eyes open, he was met with an amused look.

“Sure you do,” Viana replied before leaning back down to reclaim his lips in another slow kiss. Truly was mornings like these that made all the fighting and strife worth it in his mind.

Thancred let his hand slide from her thigh up over her rear before giving her waist a pointed little tug. Arousal was still simmering in his veins, and the presence of her above him did nothing to dull the embers of it.

Viana made a soothing noise, mixed with a huff of laughter. “Someone’s needy,” she murmured.

Snorting, he bumped his nose against hers. “Now, whose fault might that be?”

“Hah, don’t worry, love…” She brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth, then dipped lower to trail a few along the curve of his jaw. Her warm hand settled on his chest once more, the slightest of pressure signalling that he should stay put where he was. “I haven’t forgotten.”

There was a coy promise in her warm voice that tugged at the knot of arousal in his abdomen.

A pleasant shiver raced up his spine when she continued trailing kisses down over his neck, lingering in the spots where his tattooed skin left him sensitive to every brush of her lips and teasing nip of teeth. Tilting his head back with a low groan, he slipped his hand beneath her shirt, tracing her spine. In response she arched her back, her soft exhale tickling his skin. She was so warm beneath his fingertips, and he yearned to feel more of her.

“Viana…”

She hummed in return, in no hurry as she continued her way down to his chest, seemingly content to map out his body with sweet, lingering kisses.

They’d been together for a while now, yet the feeling that stirred in his heart right then never seemed to dull in intensity nor warmth - the freedom to be able to fully relax, to trust, and let go of control, knowing there was no need for him to remain vigilant. It was a freeing sensation.

As she pressed a kiss over his heart, her hand skimmed down his abdomen to trace his aching length. The jolt of pleasure combined with the graze of her teeth against his nipple was followed by the sting of disappointment when no more substantial touches followed.

Groaning in protest, Thancred settled his hand lightly at the back of her neck. “And you accuse me of being a tease,” he huffed while toying with the soft hairs at her nape.

Viana merely laughed softly and leaned back up to press a kiss to his jaw. Her warm hand settled over his hip, her thumb rubbing apologetically over the jut of his hip bone. “Can but blame yourself, love.”

Blinking his eyes open, he met her heavy lidded gaze and offered her a lop-sided grin. Twelve, she looked pretty in the soft morning light - relaxed and happy, focused entirely on him, and with a blush dusting her cheeks. “Truly, I’ve created a beast most fearsome.”

She sat back up and quirked an eyebrow at him with a playful look in her eyes that suddenly screamed trouble. “Well, if that’s what you’re expecting-”

Thancred quickly held his hands up in surrender. “Seven Hells, forget what I said-”

Viana laughed under her breath and tilted her head to the side. “Hmm, I don’t know…” she replied while drawing small patterns over his stomach. Thancred swallowed thickly. The whisper of her fingertips made his muscles flex beneath her touch when she drew close to his hard length, but he didn’t look away from her dark eyes. “I could pay you back for all that teasing a few evenings ago…”

Anticipation twisted in his abdomen, mixing with the heady heat of arousal. Managing a teasing grin, he opened his mouth to respond, only for his words to die in his throat when she took him in hand once more, stroking him firmly and smearing the bead of precum at the tip with her thumb. The waves of pleasure coaxed an unrestrained moan from deep in his chest, and though he wanted to grab her, roll her over and indulge himself in her desires as usual, he let his hands instead momentarily tangle into the soft sheets.

“Well, darling,” he managed to rasp out, “you do have me in a compromised position, I’d say, so all I can do is plead mercy.”

An amused look flitted across her features. “Hmmm… suppose I can save it for later,” she mused. Thancred huffed out a little laugh, all too aware of how his cheeks burned. Before he had a chance to make any more smart remarks, she scooted back over his legs so she could lean down and lap at the flushed head of his cock, finishing the motion with a lingering kiss.

Pleasure immediately jolted up his spine. “Gods,” Thancred exhaled. Viana shot him a satisfied look, a small smile playing on her lips before she continued lavishing him with kisses and drags of her tongue.

It was a salacious sight to behold, one that made his heart race and his breath grow ragged with the short bursts of pleasure that twisted the molten ball of heat in his abdomen a little bit tighter each time. Gathering his fraying thoughts, he pushed himself back up the bed, leaning his upper back against the pillows and headboard so he could more comfortably watch her. Viana didn’t seem too bothered by his movement, only glancing up at him as though to check that everything was alright, before once more running her tongue up his aching length.

Another guttural moan tumbled from his lips. “Seven Hells Viana…”

The puff of her quiet laughter felt cool by contrast against his heated flesh. Continuing to stroke him with one hand, Viana looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Yes, love?”

The minx. Running a hand through his hair, as though it’d help him gather his scattered thoughts, Thancred huffed out a low laugh of his own. “I won’t be of much use to you if you keep this up,” he drawled, despite the tug of guilt in his heart. She’d had such poor experiences with greedy partners in the past… Reaching out, he caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Allow me to return the favour.”

The corner of her mouth curled with a gentle, yet playful smile, but he was utterly captivated by the earnest affection in her heavy lidded gaze. “Don’t worry about me,” she replied softly, pausing to brush another tender, lingering kiss to his cock. “Just relax, Thancred. Your pleasure is mine, remember?”

Her low purr of his name made his stomach twist with arousal, and even though he had to shove down the old threads of guilt and accusatory feeling of selfishness once more, he let his breath rush out in a slow exhale before smiling softly. “Rather unfair of you to use my own words against me,” he quipped.

Viana hummed in acknowledgment. Mirth laced her light words when she spoke, “As I said, you have but yourself to blame for that.” Closing her eyes, she took him into her mouth, and the rush of warm pleasure effectively wiped any further comments from Thancred’s mind as his thoughts scattered to the four winds.

Out of reflex, he settled a hand on her shoulder. It helped ground him for a moment, and despite the haze that swiftly settled over his mind, he fought down the primal urge to buck his hips and seek more of that sweet relief she was offering.

“Hells…” Thancred swallowed thickly while watching through heavy lidded eyes as she slowly took as much of him as she was comfortable with, bobbing her head and periodically sucking at him. She’d been so diligent in learning his likes, how to best pleasure him in turn. With his pulse thundering in his ears, Thancred felt himself all but melt into the soft bed. Levin danced over his skin, leaving everything buzzing and too sensitive to her touch as her steady hands continued caressing whatever of him that was within reach. Fiery pleasure wound its way through his veins, rapidly burning away his perception of everything else until his awareness had shrunk down to just her.

A particularly strong jolt of pleasure made his back arch, his eyes momentarily falling shut, while a heated whisper of her name fell from his lips. Without thinking about it, he jerked his hand away from her shoulder to loosely thread his fingers through her hair while the other dug into the sheets. Thancred opened his eyes just in time for her to hum with satisfaction and glance up to meet his gaze. Immediately, his heart skipped a few too many beats and his breath caught in his throat on a ragged curse.

Everything dissolved into the ebb and flow of pleasure, his perception of time unravelling into nothing. Viana did not seem to be in much of a hurry, her careful ministrations bringing him close to the edge before she pulled him back once more, leaving him gasping curses, praise and soft pleas while she lavished the rest of his body with patient kisses and teasing nips of her teeth.

Too much, too little, all at once.

“Love seeing you like this, Thancred,” Viana spoke, her voice coming out low and husky, while glancing up at him between a few kisses to an old faint scar on his hip bone.

Somehow, he managed to huff out a laugh, but for once, no sly words appeared at the tip of his all too dry tongue. At his breathless silence, her gentle smile took on a satisfied tilt, and with a thoughtful hum she returned her attention to his aching cock.

Thancred moaned, shameless and unrestrained. A mere few years ago he would have been disturbed by how sluggish his thoughts were as she began to patiently guide him back towards that edge of sweet oblivion again. But there was no need for him to remain vigilant, to maintain his senses of his surroundings. As his veins once more flared with white hot pleasure, his fingers flexed in her hair, earning him another pleased hum that vibrated up his spine.

“Viana-” Thancred gasped, his jaw slack and breaths short when she suddenly took him deep. It felt like he might combust on the spot, the entirety of his being threatening to unravel under the force of the molten pleasure twisting in his abdomen. Through the haze, he felt her hand squeeze his hip in what might have been silent encouragement.

He could almost hear her low, husky voice in his ear, whispering for him to let go. A memory, but a no less potent one.

With a broken moan of her name, Thancred trembled apart. Lost in the rolling waves of pleasure, he was dimly aware of her slowly working him through it, only easing off when his body once more relaxed. The bright diamond lights dancing behind his eyelids slowly faded, leaving him adrift amidst gentle shadows.

Through the fog, he registered the muffled sound of her coughing once, but before he could jog his mind into checking on her, a warm hand sliding up his torso swiftly soothed the small spike of concern.

“You alright?”

The gentle question was enough to make him huff out a low laugh. He felt utterly boneless, like he’d had to run a marathon, and his mind was pleasantly void of thoughts beyond the here and now with her. “More than, my dear.”

A smile was all too evident in her raspy voice when she quietly responded, “I’m glad.” Thancred felt the mattress dip with her shifting weight as she leaned back over him and brushed a kiss to his jawline. “Just relax, love. I’ll be right back.”

He hummed in response, despite the urge to wrap an arm around her and pull her down with him to keep her from leaving. Allowing himself to sink it a content doze, he listened to her quiet footsteps as she left the bedroom. Birds were chirping outside, and the mild morning breeze drifting in from the balcony was pleasantly cool against his damp skin.

It wasn’t long until he heard the sound of her bare feet against the stone floor once more, and cracked open his eyes to see her with a glass in her hands. “Water?” she asked with a gentle smile as she settled down on the edge of the bed.

Groaning, he pushed himself up on one elbow and took it. “Thank you,” he murmured, grateful to wet his dry mouth.

When he finished off the glass she took it and put it onto the night table, before with a yawn slumping down onto the bed again. Without missing a beat, Thancred wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace. “You spoil me, my dear,” he murmured while settling back down.

Viana chuckled and touched his jaw with her fingertips as she brushed a small kiss to his other cheek. “You deserve to be spoiled, Thancred,” she replied.

For a moment, his fingers stilled where they’d been idly stroking her back, while a warm sensation rose in his chest to challenge the dark whisper of negativity. Pressing a kiss to her hair, he let his hand wander down over the curve of her hip to give her thigh a squeeze, letting a couple of fingers slip beneath the hemline of her shorts as he did. “You deserve it more,” he retorted, letting his voice drop to a low rumble.

Immediately, she made a content noise at the back of her throat as she hooked her leg over his, but the motion was followed up with her stretching out, then relaxing fully against his side, one arm heavy across his chest. “I don’t,” she murmured. He felt her press another kiss to his neck, one that was light and chaste in comparison to before.

“I’d hate to leave you unsatisfied-,” Thancred began, but another drowsy laugh from her made him pause.

Propping herself up on an elbow, Viana brushed back some of his hair from his eyes, then caressed his cheek. “I am satisfied.”

Frowning, he opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off with a quick kiss. “And I’m sure you’ll put those clever hands of yours to good use, and I’ll enjoy every moment of it, as always,” she replied with a soft smile. “But I didn’t do it expecting anything in return.” Leaning down, she once more caught his lips in a slow kiss that was yet all too brief for his senses. “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

Thancred swallowed as a warm, soothing affection swelled in his chest, and offered her a lopsided smile. “Certainly succeeded with that, darling.”

Her smile widened while she gave his face a tender onceover. “Would’ve been a little awkward otherwise, I suppose,” she laughed under her breath. “But right now I’m happy to just continue enjoying a quiet morning in bed with you, if you don’t mind.”

Drawing her closer, he hummed, “We have nowhere to be today, do we?”

Viana bumped her nose against his as her fingers combed through his hair. “Nowhere to be, and nobody expecting us anywhere.”

“Excellent,” he rumbled, before leaning up to kiss her softly.

#thancred waters #wolcred #thancred/wol #my writing #ffxiv #lol i've no idea how this turned out

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jellyjellyjellyfish · 2 years

Text

HETALIA | America + Germany

Drunk Antics

America goes out for drinks with Germany, and brings up the idea of the two of them getting matching tattoos together.

(╬≖ิ__≖) (☞≧ヮ≦)☞

Warnings: None, but maybe slight warning for mildly influential choices from alcohol?

Not fully proofread

The bar hummed at a constant volume of the voices from all the patrons in the bar. It was decently sized with plenty of space for large and small parties alike. Many people were hanging out in groups, drinking, eating, and having a good time.

At the bar sat an unlikely pair, Alfred F. Jones and Ludwig Beilschmidt. It was a rare occurrence to see the two together, under civil and friendly circumstances, yet here they were sharing drinks as they chat between each other.

Germany swirled his beer as he pondered, feeling the buzz of the alcohol catch up to him. How did he end up here again? Ah… right, America had - for some godforsaken reason - messaged him that “they should totally go out for some drinks, bro, like it would be so fun! We gotta get drunk dude, and hang out like buddies!”

Ludwig had questioned the text, unsure why America, of all people, would reach out to him to go for some drinks. They hardly interacted much outside of strictly business or formal reasons. Yet, with some convincing from Italy and Japan, Ludwig had figured it wouldn’t be so bad going out to drink with Alfred. Maybe Alfred really did want to be… friends with him.

But Ludwig didn’t hold his breath, the America had to be up to something, right?

Being the tight-knit person he is, Ludwig kept any possibilities of a friendship from his mind as he drank with Alfred. They were just there to hang out like “buddies,” as Alfred put it.

“And I was like ‘Woah that’s so crazy!’ And he was like, ‘that’s so cool, you’re totally my hero now!’ And I was like ‘I totally know! But thanks for telling me!’�� Alfred was rambling on about some interaction he had with someone recently, and Ludwig felt slightly - only slightly, or more so a minuscule, amount - of guilt at not paying as much attention to America as he probably should have been. America didn’t seem to notice, though.

Germany zoned in on the rest of his conversation, though, sipping his beer as he listened. He would nod periodically as the American rambled on about… whatever he was talking about.

Despite his loud and obnoxious demeanor, Ludwig wasn’t totally hating the Americans company. He supposed it was because he’s had plenty of practice for tolerance of this kind of loud and obnoxious and idiotic personality.

As the two went through a few more rounds of drinks, after Alfred loudly exclaimed to the bartender for another round, Alfred suddenly turned to Ludwig.

“Hey, Germany, have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?” America asked, looking intently at the German, seeming slightly buzzed but still better off than Germany. He was beginning to feel a little more cloudy-headed.

Germany eyed the American, unsure where this sudden question came from, but answered regardless. “Not particularly… I never really saw the want for one, personally.”

“But think about it, man! We could get matching tattoos on our backs, like bros! Wouldn’t that be cool?!” Alfred responded, slightly guided by the alcohol in his system. Yet Ludwig could not deny that there was an excitement in the man’s eyes, he could almost see actual stars shinning in them.

Germany rolled his eyes before responding to America’s proclamation. “I don’t know…” he dragged out, hesitant, “Tattoos are permanent, and I’m not sure I’d want something like that on my body for the rest of my life.” Germany didn’t immediately turn down the idea of getting a tattoo with America, though, but didn’t want to state so to said American.

America slid next to Germany, swinging an arm around his shoulders as his face got a little too close for comfort for Germany. The smell of alcohol was apparent just by smelling Alfred’s breath.

“Come on, dude, live a little!” America said, a wide grin on his dopey face. “You only live once, right? And we don’t have to get something crazy, just a small and meaningful to us!” America got even closer, if it was possible, and if Germany was less drunk he likely would have clobbered the stupid American for being so close.

“Like, you cant tell me you don’t have a wild streak in you, dude. I’ve seen some German culture! You guys are into some wild things! AHAHAHA!” America rambled on, bringing a finger to poke at Germany’s cheek. With a slightly redeemed face from Americas words and actions, Germany had to fight hard to not punch the man. He want to give the guy the benefit of the doubt and not totally ruin the night… but the more the man poked his cheek, the more favorable punching him seemed.

Despite it all, Germany did begin considering it. America did have a point… he could probably do with relaxing a little more, and maybe a tattoo wouldn’t be so bad, and it’s not like he hated the idea of tattoos.

And he would be… matching with someone. Germany couldn’t deny that the idea made him feel kind of happy. Only a little. A tiny bit. A teensy-weensy bit.

A long sigh came from the German. “Ja, alirght…” he started, “but what should we get?” He finished, staring at his drink wondering if this truly was the best idea. But the alcohol washed away that worry rather quickly.

America fist bumped the air with a, “YEAH ALRIGHT!” With an arm still around Germany, he relayed his idea. “Okay, so hear me out,” he started, and Germany felt himself regret his actions immensely already. “We get a tattoo of the American and German flags crossing each other behind an eagle with a heart in the middle!”

Germany looked at the man, slightly dumbfounded. That was… actually a rather sweet sentiment from the American and wasn’t immediately “LETS GET THE AMERICAN FLAG!!” Which America likely already had anyway…

In Ludwig’s silence, America added in an even louder and more excited voice, “It’ll be a symbol of our friendship and alliance!” And he struck his stupid pose with that big smile on his face and thumb pointing at himself.

Germany held a stoic face as he eyed the American, before he suddenly burst out laughing. “You’re kidding, right?” Germany spat at America.

America kept his wide grin as he responded. “What? It’s perfect! Trust me, man, this’ll be awesome!!” He stated, shaking Germany but his shoulders in his enthusiasm.

“Come on! I even have the design already drawn and planned out! We just gotta go to a parlor!” America added, whipping out a paper with the design on it out form one of his pockets.

“W-what… WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GET THAT FROM?! WHY DO YOU ALREADY HAVE IT PLANNED?” Germany yelled at the man, which only caused America to smile and laugh dumbly as he usually did.

The buzz echoed through the small shop as Germany and America laid on their stomachs on the tattoo shop chairs. For the second time that night, Germany had a clear moment of thought and wondered how exactly he got himself in this situation.

Here he was, getting a tattoo on his lower back with America of all people. The tattoo artists had accepted the two in that night, not really caring that the two of them were likely (really) drunk already.

America was babbling on again about something, before being interrupted by himself laughing - saying the tattoo location tickled - before going back to rambling about something idiotic.

Germany sighed as he dropped his head onto his crossed arms, heaving a deep sigh. Yet before he knew it, the tattoos were done, and the two of them were free to go.

The two countries admired the tattoos in the mirror the parlor had, and Germany found himself actually enjoying how it looked. Or maybe he was drunk. Or maybe both…

America on the other hand was as loud as ever, exclaiming how cool he thought it looked and that he was matching and such.

Once again, America had slung an arm around Germany’s shoulder - neither of them wearing their shirts yet, so Germany felt kind of weird feeling the sweat from the American on his skin - and rambling to Germany his appreciation.

“Thanks so much dude! These look so totally AWESOME! Everyone’s gonna be jealous of our close body for sure!” He ended with a thumbs up. With a hard clap on the back, America adds, “Thanks for doing this man, you’re such a good friend.” Both of them were too drunk for this… but Germany couldn’t deny he didn’t really mind it all.

“Ja, you’re welcome, I suppose…” he states, not sure what else to say, but feels a warmth in his chest at being called a “good friend,” and from America if all people! Who would have thought… certainly not Germany.

America kept parting Germany’s back in an involuntary way as he added, “And on we go to the next bar! The night isn’t over yet! AHAHAHAHA!” And with that, America dropped the money off at the cashier and grabbed their shirts before dragging Germany to another bar.

Maybe it was a bad idea after all…

A loud groan came from Germany as he slowly sat up, a hand resting in his head at the pounding headache he was feeling. What the hell did he do last night… he obviously drank way too much.

A lot of things were a bit blurry from the night before, but he remembered he had gone out to get drinks with America… he didn’t exactly remember what they did, but a gut feeling told Germany he immensely regretted it… what he regretted, he wasn’t sure.

A groan from Germany’s side snapped him out of his thoughts as he looked over, fear shot through the German in that moment.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MEIN BEEEEEEEEDDD!!!” He shouted, jumping out of his bed as he stared at the “perpetrator” laying in his bed.

“Woah, dude, could you maybe keep it down a little? My head flipping hurts like a bitch…” America sat up, him also coddling his aching head.

Germany stood in utter confusion and shock, gapping like a fish as he stared at America. Who was laying in his bed. Right next to where Germany was laying. Both… topless.

In moment of clarity and silence, the two looked at each other - one more serious looking than the other. After a moment, there was a loud scream that resonated in the house before quieter screaming followed.

“WHAT WERE YOU DOING IN MY BED AND WERE IS YOUR SHIIIIIRTT!” Germany screamed, strangling America with his hands in a similar way he has done to Italy time and time before. America still held a dopey look on his face, not fully awake and aware - but when was he truly?

“Dude. Please. Stop. Choking. Me. Dude. Please!” America gasped out between moments of Germany’s strangulation. Germany was seething, feeling like he knew what he regretted, but hopefully it wasn’t true!

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME LAST NIGHT, YOU HEATHEN!” Germany shouted at America, seemingly quickening his shaking of America’s head.

“Dude, you’re gonna. Give me. Baby. Shaken. Syndrome!” America gasped out, feeling his headache worsen as his head got shaken about like some bobble-head.

“YOU IDIOT, ONLY BABIES CAN GET THAT, BUT YOU ARE AS SMART AS A BABY SO IT MIGHT BE POSSIBLE FOR YOU!” Germany continued shouting, his anger and embarrassment seeming to know no bounds. “ANSWER THE QUESTION, WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME LAST NIGHT?!!!”

America tapped Germany’s hands in rapid succession, trying to get the German to let go lest his souls leave his body from the strangulation. It seemed it was too late, for America felt like he was about to pass out.

After a few moments, Germany finally relaxed a little bit. He resigned himself to sitting on the edge of the bed with a solemn expression as he stared blankly at the floor of his room, mouth and chin resting in his intertwined fingers as he stayed completely silent.

America had managed to not completely pass out, but his headache was still very apparent as he laid in Germany’s bed starfish style, half of his limbs falling off the side. He sat up once more, feeling more aware of himself and less tired and headache induced.

“Bro, I swear we didn’t do anything! I just crashed at your place after last night. But you got so totally wasted, you should have seen yourself! AHAHAHHA! You get kinda funny when shit-faced- AH, OKAY IM SORRY, I DIDN’T MEAN IT, DON’T STRANGLE ME AGAIN, ITS NOT MY KIND OF KINK!” This only provoked Germany more, causing another round of choking. This time America felt he might actually pass out, but couldn’t pry Germany’s hands off his neck.

When things calmed down once more, Germany was back to his staring at the floor while America laid draped off the side of the bed, his upper body resting in the floor while his legs stayed on the bed. He passed out this time.

“At least we didn’t do anything last night… but that still doesn’t tell me why he was in my bed. I have plenty of other rooms or couches the stupid American could have slept on… what am I, a charity house?!” Germany pouted to himself, sighing as he dropped his head completely.

Germany finally got up and decided to wash up for the morning. He grabbed a new shirt to put on and placed it on his sink counter when he got to his restroom. He splashed his face with water, trying to wake up and get rid of the headache he still felt.

As he turned to grab a towel form behind him, something caught his eye. He turned so his back faces all the way to the mirror, enough for him to see it himself. Again, Germany felt a sense of horror.

There, on the lower part of his back, was a tramp-stamp tattoo of an eagle with the American and German flag behind it as the eagle held a heart in its claws.

Germany quijcly ran out to where America was, still passed out halfway between the bed and floor. Sure enough, Germany saw the matching tattoo on America’s lower back. Germany turned around in silent contrition as he morosely walked back to the bathroom to finish his morning routine.

In Germany’s kitchen, America and Germany sat in silence as they are their breakfast and drank their drinks in silence. Germany was feeling nice enough to cook a little extra for America to enjoy as well.

He may have felt slightly - again, only slightly - bad for choking out America as he did.

Both of them had managed to get their hangovers to calm down, yet neither tried talking to the others. America may be stupid, but he was dealing with twice the pain of a headache, thanks to having been choked out.

Germany felt it odd for the American to be so… quiet. It was unusual, and made him uneasy by the silence. He would have apologized, but… he’s not really good with words or emotions, and definitely not putting the two together.

So he stayed silent as they drank their coffee.

“Wow, you two look totally shit-faced. Party to hard last night?” Walked in Austria, looking prim and proper as ever. Just seeing the Austrian made Germany’s headache worsen for a moment as he looked off in disgust.

He had forgotten the man lived here with him, thanks to the whole fiasco with America this morning.

Germany only gave a grunt of acknowledgement, while America stayed zoned out. He was staring at nothing with a brain-dead look on his face. It seems he didn’t even notice the Austrian.

Austria walked past them as he went to prepare his own coffee. “You two were so loud this morning. Get a little too much fun together? I thought you guys would have had enough from last night. You do remember other people live here, right?” The man was as nonchalant as ever.

Germany spat into his drink as he stared wide-eyed at Austria. “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! WE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” Germany vehemently defended. Germany shot his glance to the dazed-off America next to him.

“YOU SAID WE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” He yelled to him, snapping America from whatever he was thinking about. He looked confused for a moment before he put his hands up in defense.

“Woah, dude! I was telling the truth! I swear it!” He started, anxiously looking at the German, hoping to not get choked out again.

Germany glared at the man, one of his hands crushing his counter in the tight grip he had. “Don’t lie to me, America…” He seethed, ready to lung at the man again. “Getting tattoos must have been enough… right?” Germany added, his gaze conveying he was ready to kill the damned country in front of him.

Even America wasn’t dumb enough to miss the look Germany had. America kept his hands up, as if he wanted to take a wild beast. “Woah, dude, calm down… I was telling the truth! I’m not that kind of guy! Well I am that kind of guy… but not that kind of guy, you know? Like the France kind of guy-“

Having heard enough, Germany lunged at America ready to choke him out once and for all. America scrambled away, managing to dodge the German’s attack. The American made a mad dash through the house trying to avoid the German’s attacks.

The sound of laughing, shouting, and other forms of yelling and loud noises echoed through the house as the two ran around.

Austria sat at the table, sipping in his coffee and reading a newspaper as everything went down. “Yeah, I know nothing happened with those two, but it’s very entertaining seeing Germany get so worked up. I have to have my fun somehow.” He said to himself.

#hetalia #fanfic #America and Germany #i had this in my drafts #i had this thought #why did i make this #lgbtq #welcome to hell #i am trash #gerame #maybe?#idk man

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witch-hazels-musings · 3 years

Note

Okay okay, I’m super excited and nervous bc i’ve never requested anything but: can I request some headcanons of Dainsleif, Scaramouche and Tartaglia falling in love with a god? I’m the anon from that ask 😅

archons of my heart

this might have been the most different set of short little stories i’ve ever written - each character responds so differently to this scenario! (note: based on what we know about these characters, I stuck true to their values* - it might not be what you were intending, and I keep things true to their character) <3

Warning -> angst (Dain), fluff (Childe), genera/fluff?(Scara - mention of long hair)

Character X GN Reader | Anthology

Includes: Dainsleif, Scaramouche, Childe

Dain

Devastated, conflicted - these words have never resonated more in his mind than the day he found out about who you were, what you were

What does he do … he dislikes, no hates the archons and yet … you were one of them - you’d always been one of them and the whole time you hid this fact from him knowing full well the feelings he had for them

He couldn’t really hear as you desperately tried to explain to him why, he only heard the shattering of his heart as your face turned into something he no longer recognized

He stood there, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides, eyes tracking your movement as you paced back and forth in front of him, your feet wearing down the grass with each passover.

“I know you’ll never forgive them for what happened …” You begin, your voice somehow distorted now that he saw you for what you really were. He didn’t have words to respond, he felt out of his body. An observer rather than a participant, how he wished that were the case.

You stepped closer to him, hands reaching for his arm - the arm that had been tainted for so long - and without noticing he recoiled from your outreach. It was the first time he had ever deliberately refused your touch and, although he understood the pain it caused you, it was clear from the reaction of your face, he couldn’t bear your hands on him. Not now, not when the whole world was crumbling down around him.

You stood there, just the way you always did, incredible, perfect, beautiful and reverent in a way no-one ever looked before - he loved you, he thought he loved you

You were so different than those gods that destroyed everything he ever knew, everything he ever cared for, fought for

If only you hadn’t tried to save him then maybe he could have gone on living in the delusion of this relationship .. though, it was only a matter of time before he found out anyway - one day he’d notice how you never aged ... it was inevitable

To love you, to love you so deeply and intensely; to love you after keeping his heart sealed up for so long, to love you with the passion that burns like the stars in the sky only to know this truth - he felt that light burn out in a painful flash

An eye for an eye - he will maintain his beliefs

“Dainsl…”

“Do not …” His voice caught in his throat, it was the first time you’d heard him be taken over by his emotions, “ … do not speak my name.”

“Please, I love you.” Your hands pressed against your chest, body bent forward as if to beg him, plead with him to reconsider.

“I owe you nothing but the repayment of the life that you saved. I shall spare yours to conclude my debt.” For one final time he gazed upon your face, burning into memory the cheeks that he once touched, the eyes that held his breath, the lips that lingered against his skin and were capable of transforming into the most incredible smile. He looked, he lingered, he tried so hard to will the power in him that would whisk him as far from you as he could go but each time he tried he stalled, like a stubborn fool he hesitated.

Your wet cheeks moved as you studied at him with a hopeful, supplicating smile, your head shook and your lips parted as if to call out to him and the power he lacked to leave you filled him suddenly. Like a flash of lightning in a storm he disappeared from your eyes.

Citizens will often recall the days when it rained with an intensity of a woeful god, and can’t help but notice the mysterious man who would leave the room every time your name was mentioned.

Scara

Cool -- cool, cool, cool - you’re a divine being - bet

It’s very likely that Scara will be excited about this revelation - he already thinks so highly of himself that knowing that he has captured the affection of a god only swells his pride more than it already did

He’s so smug when you tell him, when you spill to him what you are - he doesn't believe it either and will make you demonstrate that power to him and if you look back at him after your display, you’ll see him with a devious grin

Be careful, he may manipulate you to act as an extension of his wishes -- and if he has any vengeance to enact on the people who harmed him, you’ll have to be very strong in your convictions (though, you can do whatever you’d like honestly, you a god)

“Again.” Scara commands, his arms crossed over his chest, head tilted up so he can look at you from his perch on the rock and a smile stretched so far across his face you wonder how his lips don’t steam in pain.

“I’ve already shown you multiple times. Do you still not believe me?” You huff, resting your hands on your hips, adamant that you won’t comply with his request.

“Okay okay, I’m convinced.” He shrugs, hoping off of his stoop and walking toward you. “So how long have you been a god?”

“I don’t know, it’s hard to keep track of the years … though I’d say around 500.”

“Interesting. Can you make me a god?”

“No, I don’t have that authority.”

“Disappointing, but oh well.” He stopped just before you, he was shorter than you so you looked down at him, thankful that he removed his hat otherwise you’d have a hard time seeing his face. He reached for a strand of your long hair, his fingers twirling around it before sliding down the silky strands and repeating the process. “So, why did you decide to tell me this secret of yours?”

“I …” Why did you tell him? You knew what kind of person he was, you knew the actions that would follow - his greed and selfishness would motivate him to use this information for his own advantage. “Against my better judgement, I told you because I love you.” You cover your face with your hand, embarrassed by the confession. It’s the first time you’ve ever fallen in love with a human before, Scara was your first and that notion electrified your skin.

“You love me?” You didn’t need to see him to catch the cocky attitude spilling from him.

“I do …” You replied with a sigh.

“Who would have thought that?” “Listen, if you’re going to make fun of me then I’ll just …” Your voice was cut off by Scara pulling you toward him and pressing his lips against your own. Your knees nearly gave way at the contact and you reached to his arms to stabilize yourself. His lips are thin and the power he uses, the pressure of the kiss tells you what kind of man he is.

“This is excellent news, don’t think I’ll let you get away from me now.” He hummed, his lips dancing over your own as he spoke, his breath warming your skin. Was this really the best human that could have stolen your heart? Well, you were sure it wouldn’t be borning.

Childe

He’s likely indifferent to your real status - to find out that you’re an archon or a god - he’s almost unsurprised by the news

You wonder if he didn’t already know that you weren’t human, you wouldn’t put it past him to have done some digging on you and after being alive for so long it was bound to be suspicious that you knew things that many people didn’t anymore -- it was also suspicious that Zhongli seemed to recognize you pretty quickly, his eyes shining as if he saw an old friend

“You could have just told me.” Childe emphasized, crossing his arms and leaning against the large pole behind him.

“I know … but, well I wasn’t really planning on sticking around.”

“Oh, so you’re one of those.”

“Ah, no! That’s not what I meant.” For being of reverence, you always found yourself stumbling over your words when talking to Childe. “Ugh, I meant that I didn’t think that … well that I’d fall in love with a human.” You picked at your clothes and shook your head.

“If there was ever a human for you to fall head over heels for, I am the best candidate for that.” You looked at him, laughing at the way he pointed his thumbs at his chest and grinned from his own joke.

“I don’t know … maybe I made a mistake?” You express, rubbing your chin with your hands.

“Hey now!”

“I’m joking of course … so, you really aren’t … upset?”

“Why would I be upset?” He asked, eyes furrowing and head tilting to the side.

“I don’t know … my timeline is different from yours for one.”

“So. That doesn’t matter to me.”

“There will be a day when you’ll be old and I won’t have aged a day.”

“Don’t care.” You huff and take a few steps away from him. He didn’t seem to grasp what it meant to be in love with a god. This was the reason you rarely took human companions, the guilt in your heart at watching them age and the pain of losing them was all a strain on your heart.

“Childe …” You begin again but as you turn to face him you notice he’s moved from his place and is now standing in front of you.

“I don’t care who you are, what you are, or what you’ve done.” He takes your hand and brings it to his lips, his breath of humanity filling your very soul. “I love you, and I don’t take that feeling lightly.”

“I don’t want you to regret choosing a partner who cannot live a normal human life.”

“If I wanted a normal life, I wouldn’t be where I am to begin with. What I want is you, and I’m pretty good at getting what I want.” He smirked and kissed each knuckle on your hand. How was it that a man could bring down a god so easily?

“Now, the real question …” Childe’s tone shifted, his body extended to his full height which made you tilt your head to look at him. “Do you still have your divine powers or whatever?”

“Like …?”

“Like, can you summon lightning or manipulate the earth with a snap of your fingers?”

“Haha, oh, I still have my abilities, yes. There were times I had to fight, so I’ve adapted them for those purposes.”

“Excellent.” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you along after him. “Let’s fight, don't hold back.”

“Childe! That’s dangerous.”

“Even better.” He gave you a quick wink before dragging you to a place where the two of you could engage in the battle of his dreams.

#genshin impact #genshin impact X reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #dainsleif #genshin impact dainsleif #genshin scaramouche #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #dainsleif x reader #childe X reader #childe #genshin childe #scaramouche

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devilyn · 4 years

Text

first priority | kageyama tobio

— alexa, play: less of you by keshi

When you come home

I just got over being less of you

When you leave me, I’m in pieces

Maybe it’s better if we cut it loose

— synopsis: how many nights will you spend in the apartment by yourself before you finally learn that your boyfriend will always value volleyball more than he values you?

— genre: angst & happy endings

— word count: 2.3k

You were used to an empty apartment. It was the cost of dating a member of Japan’s national volleyball team, someone who had to travel constantly and was usually never home. You rarely even saw his face nowadays, and when you did, it was usually when you were cramming for exams and he had to turn in early to wake up in time for practice early the next morning.

Your relationship with Kageyama was difficult after graduating high school, to say the least. Especially since the two of you were taking different paths in life.

You’d thought about it before. He was an accomplished setter on a national team, while you were just trying to pass your university’s exams. Everything you did felt insignificant in comparison to your volleyball genius boyfriend.

The emptiness of the apartment was why the two of you always tried to schedule small dates when it was possible. When Kageyama had days where he knew he’d be let out early from practice, and when you knew you could push back doing homework for a few more hours, you’d cuddle up on the couch after cooking dinner together. Or, you’d force him to take you out to an empty park and guide your stiff boyfriend into swaying to the soft music that you’d play on your phone. No matter what, the night always ended up with your giddy laughter and his rare smiles that proved just how much he loved you.

They were small moments that the two of you would share, where no one else in the world could interrupt.

But it’d been months since the last time you’d spent more than an hour with your boyfriend. You never thought of yourself as needy, but was it too much to ask to wish that he’d keep his promises?

“I’ll be home for dinner, since practice should end at six today.”

He lied. Dinner was sitting cold at the table, and all you could do was stay frozen in your chair with your gaze on the excessive amount of side dishes you’d prepared in anticipation of finally sharing a meal with your favorite person.

You must’ve been sitting in this chair for over an hour. With a quick glance of the clock, a weak smile tugged at your lips.

7:28PM.

You hadn’t checked your phone since you last texted your boyfriend at 7:13PM--

“Let’s talk when you get back.”

Empty promises. You were used to them. Last week, he swore he’d be back in time for your three year anniversary, then forgot about it when it arrived the next day. This dinner was supposed to make up for that, but you must’ve set your expectations too high again.

What would you say when he came back? It was unrealistic for you to wish to be a priority when he had his whole professional career in front of him--he had to focus 100% of his time into that. Yet, was it really unrealistic for you to ask for just 1% of that time?

According to your friends, it wasn’t. But the more you sat alone in this empty apartment, the more you wondered if you really were asking for too much of him.

“Y/N.”

You looked up in surprise, having not heard Kageyama come through the front door. Your eyes softened when you saw the guilt plaguing his typically stoic expression.

“Welcome home, Tobio,” you stood and he instinctively leaned down so you could press a kiss to his cheek. “The food is cold, but we can warm--”

“I’m sorry,” his arms circled around your waist, and you were suddenly pulled into his chest. He buried his face into your hair, his hold on you tightening as if he was afraid you’d run away.

You might’ve.

“You said that last week,” you murmured softly, arms rising to circle around his form and gently rub his back. He was scared--you could feel it in the way he trembled as he held you.

“I’m really sorry,” he repeated, voice quivering.

“You said that last week too,” you laughed quietly.

He wished you’d just yell at him, or scold him with an accusatory tone like you did in the past when he first started making mistakes like these. He never had valid excuses--usually he’d just stay after in the gym to perfect his serves or practice more with other teammates. It was always volleyball that made him forget he had a significant other diligently waiting for him back at home--putting off their own responsibilities because his very rare free time was precious.

But was yours not? You had asked him that once, calmly, when he came home late again. And he had tilted his head and pointed out you had more free time than him, to which you took seconds to process before smiling bitterly.

“You’re not hungry?” you asked quietly, palms still gently running over his broad back to soothe him.

“No,” he murmured into your hair, breathing in your scent and imprinting it into his memory. If he let you go now, would you leave him?

“Liar,” you whispered nonchalantly, and he flinched. “You haven’t eaten since lunch, right? It’s late, let’s eat.”

“Don’t want to.”

“You’re acting like a child, Tobio,” you sighed, pulling your head back slightly so you could meet his sharp blue eyes, filled with regret. “If you’re not hungry, I am, so let’s eat.”

You paused, before reaching up to gently hold his face. Your thumbs brushed over his cheeks, and he leaned into your touch.

“...you can’t avoid this forever, you know,” you told him softly, and his brows furrowed as he closed his eyes.

“...alright,” his voice sounded pained as he pulled away to sit across from the chair you’d sat in for over an hour.

You popped the dishes into the microwave quickly, setting them in front of him one by one before sliding a bowl of rice in his direction. He usually loved your cooking, but now he wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to swallow a bite of it with the knowledge that this may be the last meal the two of you share together.

The apartment was silent, save for the beeping of the microwave. Kageyama stared longingly at your back, watching the way you leaned against the counter and brushed your hair behind your ear while waiting for the microwave timer to go off.

When was the last time he actually looked at you? His many trips abroad, his lack of acknowledgement of your own accomplishments and struggles, his stupid passion for volleyball, it had all ruined your relationship.

He could only hope that you would forgive him, one more time.

You slid back into the seat across from his and settled in. He was anxious. You could tell by the way he couldn’t look you in the eye, chopsticks picking at his rice as he waited for you to speak first. His tall figure stiffened at the sound of your sigh.

“Might not taste good now since it’s not as fresh, but,” you pushed a few dishes his way with a sad smile. “I worked hard to prepare dinner, could you try it?”

His heart clenched painfully in his chest. What was he doing while you were excitedly making dinner for him? He never thought of you during practice--not once, even though he knew how much he loved you. He hated that about himself.

He lifted the food to his lips and let his vision cloud over with guilt as he chewed and swallowed.

“...It’s delicious,” he murmured weakly as your smile grew slightly.

“...I’m glad,” is all you managed to muster before digging into the meal you prepared for the two of you.

“I don’t have the right to ask for forgiveness again,” he said quickly, slim fingers gripping his chopsticks tight enough to turn them white. “But I still don’t want you to leave.”

You were quiet, stiffly bringing pieces of rice to your lips and forcing yourself to chew. Every action was methodical, as if you were merely acting out actions that you knew you would normally perform if your heart wasn’t breaking into tiny bits and pieces.

“...I love you, Tobio,” you whispered quietly. “So much. I still do. More than anything. But it hurts me more because I love you so much.”

He dropped his utensils and reached across the table to grab your hands. You flinched away and he cursed, bringing his hands back to his sides before running them through his hair in frustration.

“What can I do,” he asked weakly, voice shaking, “to keep you with me?”

“I don’t know anymore,” you tried to force another smile, but your lower lip quivered and the tears you held back on lonely nights started to drip down your cheeks.

“Please,” he stood, the sound of his chair skidding back against the floors barely registered in your ears as he hurried to kneel by your side. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“That’s all you ever say,” you cried loudly, tone finally accusatory as he’d initially wished. He took your hands into his shaking ones, watching as your tears stained the pale skin of his knuckles. “You never know what you’re apologizing for, but you always, always just say sorry as if that will make any of this any better.”

“You need to tell me--” he tried to reason.

“I’ve told you!” you ripped your hands away from his almost violently, ignoring the way the hurt in his blue eyes caused your already broken heart to sting in pain. “I’ve told you how much you coming home late hurts, how I hate when you promise that you’ll be home and then break those promises the same day, how you thinking your time is more important than mine makes me feel insignificant--”

You cut yourself off with a weak sob, bringing your hands up to hide your face in your palms.

“But you never listen! You never learn. Volleyball will always be more important than me, and I can’t find it in myself to blame you for that,” you wailed as you rubbed the back of your knuckles against your eyes to try and stop the tears from flowing, “What am I supposed to do now, Tobio? How do I leave you when I love you so much?”

You felt warm arms wrap you into a familiar embrace, and your tears soaked into your boyfriend’s athletic jacket.

“You deserve better,” he told you minutes later, after your sobs had calmed down. His palm continued to gently draw circles against your lower back--an action that he knew would soothe you. “You deserve so much better than me. You know I’m bad with words, I’m inconsiderate, I suck at putting others before me, and I’m stupid.”

You laughed tearfully.

“You do so much for me,” he murmured, and your eyes fluttered closed. “You explain to me how you feel so I can try and be better, you deal with my bluntness and verbalize how much it hurts you, you tell me when I’m acting better than everyone else and humble me, and you even used to come with me when I had to attend supplemental classes in high school.”

“You really were stupid,” you commented, and he laughed weakly.

“And you loved me, through all of that,” he lamented.

“Mm,” you sighed quietly. “Yeah. I loved you.”

“And I love you,” he responded, a bit shy to be confessing it despite your long relationship. “So give me one more chance to prove that I’ve changed for the better because of you.”

He pulled back to cup your cheeks, bringing your teary gaze up to his and brushing his thumbs over the redness under your eyes. His heart hurt. He hated making you cry, and he hated himself for making you cry this much over him.

“...one more chance,” you mumbled, turning your head to kiss his palm. His brows furrowed, and tears pricked at his eyes.

Quickly, he brought his forearm to cover his wet irises from your sight. You laughed quietly, hands reaching up to try and pull his arm away.

“Are you crying because of me, Tobio? Did I manage to make the king of the court cry?” you teased with a weak smile.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, cheeks reddening as he turned to look away from you. “You know I hate it when you call me that dumb nickname.”

“And I made the king kneel in front of me too? I should repent,” you giggled, taking his free hands into your own.

You nearly choked on your laughter when your boyfriend suddenly dipped down to pick you up into his arms. Your arms wrapped hurriedly around his neck as you turned to look at him with wide eyes.

“Tobio--!”

“I’m making use of my last chance, and I’m going to start making it up to you now,” he told you firmly, carrying you into your room and placing you onto your shared bed.

“Our dinner,” you grumbled with a pout. “I worked hard to make that…”

“And I’ll eat it tomorrow,” he caged you in his arms, hovering above you with a soft look in his sharp azure eyes. Your gaze fluttered up to his handsome face, and you grinned as a hand rose up to gently cup his cheek. He tilted his head to press a kiss to your wrist. “Can I prove to you how sorry I am?”

You laughed softly as he trailed kisses up your arm to your neck, then finally pressing his lips to yours lovingly.

“Don’t take advantage of your last chance,” you murmured, your breath mingling with his as he pressed feather-like pecks to your lips.

“I’d be even more of an idiot if I did.”

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu!!#angst #kageyama tobio #kageyama angst #kageyama x reader #kageyama scenarios #kageyama imagines #kageyama tobio angst

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lemonpeter · 3 years

Text

🧡Day 1: Inc*st🧡

Really starting off strong huh lol anyway, this is very background heavy (I don’t know what happened but now I’m obsessed) and I hope y’all enjoy 🧡

Warnings: inc*st, nff, father/son (but they don’t know), Peter is 18 and an intern at SI, brief substance ab*se mention (and impaired s*x, not between starker)

***

Tony never wanted kids. The thought of someone depending on him in such a way made him feel sick. So he always did all that he could to ensure nothing would happen.

There was always room for accident, though.

***

Tony never wanted kids. The thought of someone depending on him in such a way made him feel sick. So he always did all that he could to ensure nothing would happen.

He never had sex without multiple levels of protection. And he was famous enough that people rarely tried to argue against it. Sleeping with him at all fulfilled what they wanted.

So things were perfectly fine. He never had an issue, he was always completely safe with his partners.

Except for this one night.

He was in a self-destructive episode, in the downward spiral before he hit rock bottom. Mixed every possible substance that shouldn’t have been mixed, impairing him until he wasn’t sure which way was up.

And he had a woman spiraling right along with him.

Her name was…Mary. Mary something. She was a scientist in some field, but he didn’t catch anything else. Or he just didn’t remember it. It didn’t matter anyways, they were both just wanting to ignore what was around them. What their lives had served them.

And maybe he forgot to ask if she was on birth control when he sloppily kissed over her neck.

Maybe he fumbled with the condom to the point where she whispered, “We’ll be fine,” and he believed her.

How it happened didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it did.

Tony didn’t even know.

He didn’t ask for her number the next morning, he just hid out in the bathroom, emptying his stomach of its entire contents while he waited for her to leave.

She was gone by the time he could see straight.

Thank god.

He never heard from her again.

Mary Parker and her husband died six years later and he never knew.

He didn’t know that they had a son. Or she did, at least. There was no way for him to know that the son had been passed along to his aunt and uncle when no other relative was found.

He never knew that Mary Parker had a son. And that her husband wasn’t the one who got her pregnant.

She never crossed his mind again after she left him.

***

Enter Peter.

Tony had new interns come in every year, typically college students that needed the credits, but sometimes someone special would come along.

Peter was a high school senior, but he was one of the smartest people that Tony had ever come across.

Tony had a job lined up for him as soon as he graduated if he wanted it. Not that he’d told him that yet.

He swore that he wasn’t a stalker. He had to prove to Pepper that he wasn’t giving too much attention to one intern over another, and for him that meant that he needed to stay away from Peter personally.

No matter how tempting it was. There had to be a family history of such genius, right? That kind of brains didn’t just occur at random.

But he didn’t look into him at all. He wouldn’t even let himself google search his name.

Oh, but he wanted to. He wanted to know everything there was to know about Peter Parker.

Although maybe he could just do it the old fashioned way. Minimal favoritism involved.

He spent months working with Peter. They became friends. Close friends.

It got to the point where Tony couldn’t help the smile he had when he looked into those warm brown eyes.

He felt it happen, it was official. Peter Parker had his heart.

It didn’t matter how wrong it was, he couldn’t help it. The young man had completely gotten hold of him.

And he hoped that it was mutual.

***

“Peter, can you stay back for a second?” Tony was still standing at the lab table, eyes scanning over the coding that they’d put in place during the session.

Like that was actually what was on his mind.

The young man looked up with wide eyes. Very deer-in-headlights. But it was so cute on him.

“Y-yeah! I actually needed to tell you something, so yes, I can definitely do that.”

Peter sounded a bit nervous which made Tony pause. Maybe his confession could wait a while. Maybe forever. Whatever was on Peter’s mind was infinitely more important to him.

“Okay, you first. I can follow up.” Tony tucked his hands into his pockets, leaning back against the table.

His cheeks burned. “No- no, you can go first. Don’t worry.”

The older man let out a breath. “Peter, you say what you need to. I can wait.”

Peter looked at him, face flushed. He hadn’t really meant to blurt out that he had something to say. He’d thought about it, sure. But he didn’t know-

His brain couldn’t keep up with his body and suddenly he was leaning up, pressing his lips to Tony’s.

The older man froze. It wasn’t what he’d expected at all. But then he relaxed into it, kissing back.

Who knew that they both had the same confession?

But it wasn’t supposed to be happening.

Tony pulled away once he finally got control of his senses again, raking a hand through his hair. “Pete, I’m supposed to be the adult here. I can’t be a good role model if I’m….”

When was he ever a good role model?

“Let me start again. I’m an adult. Kid, I’m old. Old enough to be your dad. And you’re…how old?”

“I turned eighteen in august,” he supplied helpfully.

At least it was legal.

“Eighteen. That’s a thirty year age difference.” Jesus, he was creepy. Falling for an eighteen year old. He couldn’t even buy alcohol for himself.

Peter blinked up at him. “So? I like you, Mr. Stark. I don’t care how old you are.”

Tony sighed softly. “You’re gonna be the death of me. And it’s Tony. If this is what’s happening, call me Tony.”

Even though it had been his plan to confess his feelings anyway, the guilt was still eating at him. He had fallen for a teenager who was just barely legal.

“What is happening, Mr.- Tony?”

Tony leaned in for another kiss, sighing softly. “What do you want to happen, kid?”

“Oh. Well, um, not to be blunt, but- I just- I mean- I really want you.”

He was cute. Innocent. But Tony could tell that what he meant was a bit less innocent.

“Are you sure? You realize this is a bad idea on...a lot of levels, right?”

Peter huffed softly, looking up at him with a stubborn expression. “I don’t care. We can be sneaky.”

Tony snorted. ‘Sneaky’ wasn’t really how he’d describe it, but he had to remind himself that his terms were a lot different than Peter’s. Different generations and all that.

He was horrible.

“Okay, kid. We can take this upstairs-” where there was no one to walk in on them. “-and talk about what exactly you’re thinking.”

“How about we don’t talk about it and we just...do?” Peter gave him a shy, devious smile.

“Uh huh. We’ll see.”

Tony grabbed his wrist gently, glancing in the hallway to make sure that no one was coming before he dragged him to the elevator.

Before he could get another word out, Peter’s lips were on his again. And this time there was more heat behind it.

He kissed back, eyes slipping shut just as the elevator doors did. Their lips pushed together insistently and he felt Peter’s tongue clumsily swiping over his lip.

He suppressed a laugh and parted his lips, allowing Peter to lead.

It was all so curious and clumsy that he wondered just how many times Peter had ever kissed anyone. If any. But that was a question for later.

The elevator dinged softly when they reached the penthouse and only then did they pull away from each other.

Tony led Peter out, instantly heading for his bedroom. Bad idea or no, he’d imagined such a scenario so many times. He didn’t want to waste any time.

“Tony?” Peter spoke up, eyes on the bed. “I know this is really straightforward, but I’m glad you, like, don’t hate me. I’ve thought about this...a lot.”

“You and me both,” the older man murmured. “Something I feel like we should cover before anything else...how far are you wanting to go?”

Peter chewed his lip. “Not to rush things, but I really really want to go all the way.”

“Well, not to rush things, but I want that too.” Tony gave him a small grin. “Do you have a preference?”

“Hmm?”

The confused look that he got made him feel guilty again. Just how much had Peter ever done with anyone else?

“Top or bottom, honey. Receiving or giving, pitching or catching, whatever you want to say. What do you want to do?”

Peter blushed, deciding to distract from the question at hand by pulling his shirt off.

It worked. Tony’s attention was instantly elsewhere, his eyes focused on his trim waist but hard muscle.

“Jesus, kid. That’s...wow.” If he wasn’t hard before, he was definitely getting there from seeing just what his innocent little intern was hiding under loose clothing.

“Like it?” The young man grinned to himself, one hand sensually sliding from the v of his hips up to his chest.

Perfect abs. Round, firm pecs. Jesus, Tony was entranced.

But he remembered what he’d asked. “Peter, top or bottom. What’s your preference?”

“I- I don’t...know.”

There it was.

Tony looked at him, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip quickly. “You’re a virgin.” It wasn’t a question. He knew it for sure. It wasn’t surprising.

Peter got defensive. “I’ve done some stuff.”

“Uh huh. What ‘stuff’?”

He refused to look at Tony, his eyes on his hands as he played with the button on his jeans. “I’ve given oral. Guys and girls. And I’ve gotten, like, a couple handjobs and blowjobs.”

Tony closed his eyes. “I shouldn’t be your first. This- Peter, this is such a bad idea. You should be with someone your own age.”

Peter made an indignant sound, popping the button on his jeans and unzipping them out of protest. “I don’t want someone my own age. I want you.”

He said it with such finality.

Tony stepped closer to the bed, his hands cupping Peter’s face gently. “You promise me you won’t regret this?”

“There’s nothing that could make me regret this.” Peter unbuckled Tony’s belt, slowly pulling it out of the loops before dropping it to the floor.

Tony nodded slowly, not fighting when Peter pushed his slacks down. It was really happening.

“Holy shit-” Peter’s eyes were wide. His eyes were fixed on the way that Tony’s dick was straining at the front of his tight boxers. There was a nervous look in his eyes.

“Good or bad?” Tony teased a little.

“Good. Good, oh man.” Peter reached down and squeezed himself hard. “So big….”

That was nice to hear. “You think so? Do you think you could take it, sweetheart?”

Peter’s fingers ghosted over the length slowly, making it twitch in its confines. “I...I want to try.”

Tony nodded. “We’ll make it fit. Let’s finish getting you undressed.” He pulled his own shirt off and tossed it to the floor before getting onto the bed next to Peter.

He finished pulling the young man’s zipper down and helped him shimmy out of his jeans. Peter’s thighs were gorgeous, Tony was nearly drooling over them. But he couldn’t get distracted.

“May I?” He met the young man’s eyes, his fingers slipping into the waistband of his boxers.

Peter nodded, breathing hard as he laid back more.

Tony slowly pulled the piece of clothing down, biting his lip when he watched Peter’s cock drop against his hip once it was no longer covered. “So hard for me, honey. Look at that.”

The younger man blushed darker. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Tony….”

“God, me too. Me too, kid.” He pushed his own boxers off, unable to keep himself from wrapping one hand around himself and stroking slowly.

Peter watched him with wide eyes. “Okay. I want you inside me. Now.” He kicked his boxers away, grinning a little.

Tony laughed softly at his eagerness. “We have to get you ready first. Hold on, let me show you….”

Turns out that Peter was incredibly responsive to everything and by the time he was open enough for further activities Tony had already worked him through an orgasm.

If Peter was that responsive to just his fingers, he couldn’t wait to get his cock in him. And the young man was still raring to go.

Tony grabbed a condom - habit, it wasn’t like they were preventing anything - but Peter stopped him.

“Why can't we just do it…without?” He asked shyly.

“I mean…we can. But you’ll have to clean up and that can be annoying.”

“I want…I want to feel you. Is that okay?” Peter hid his face in his hands, embarrassed by the admission.

Tony nodded, biting back a smile. “Yeah. That’s okay.” He set the foil square down on the nightstand before moving back to the young man.

He got between his legs, hands sliding over the strong thighs he was met with. “You’re absolutely gorgeous, kid. I hope you know that.”

Peter smiled up at him, spreading his legs further. “Thank you, Tony….” He leaned back more, laying his head down. “Now hurry up,” he joked.

Grabbing the lube and slicking himself up, the older man shook his head. “Impatient,” Tony chided, laughing softly. But he was already moving to position his cock at the man’s hole, the tip brushing over him.

They both moaned softly, laughing a little at how in sync they were.

“Fuck me, Tony…please?”

The older man nodded, slowly pushing past the tight muscle with a groan. Even though he’d prepped him, Peter was still tight. Just perfectly so.

Peter was tightly gripping the sheets, popping a couple threads even, with the first movements.

It seemed like his effort was in vain, but he really wanted to try to last.

Tony bottomed out, hips pressed flush against Peter’s ass.

The younger man was whining low in his throat at the feeling. His cock twitched between them. He knew that if he was touched at all before he could calm down a little, everything would be over way before he wanted it to be.

“Need me to stay still?” Tony asked. He could tell that Peter was struggling.

He nodded quickly, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yes. Fuck.”

“Okay, honey. Don’t worry, we can take this at whatever pace you want.”

Peter nodded, trying to get a hold on how he was feeling.

It took him a couple minutes, but eventually he signaled Tony that he was okay. And he could start moving.

So he started slow, but Tony started thrusting when he was given the okay.

Peter moaned, mouth falling open around his noises.

He tightened around Tony’s cock, squeezing down with every movement. Then he cried out when a particularly deep thrust hit something that made him see stars.

“What was that?” Peter gasped, hips rocking up wildly.

Tony groaned, laughing a little through it. “I’m going to, fuck, I’m going to assume that was your prostate. Feels good, doesn’t it? I should have showed that to you when I was fingering you.”

“Do it again!”

The older man snorted, aiming for the same spot again as he picked up his pace. He held one of Peter’s legs, lifting it just enough so that he could get at a deeper angle. “I can try.”

From the increasingly louder noises he received, he assumed he succeeded.

He was so lost in the feeling of Peter that he missed how close to the edge his partner was getting. All that registered was how incredible (borderline painful) it felt when the younger man squeezed around him like that.

Then Peter was crying out louder and thrusting up as he spilled onto his stomach.

Tony swore under his breath. “God, Peter.” He watched him, subconsciously speeding up as he chased his own high.

“Tony!” Peter moaned, eyes squeezed shut as he rode out his high. It was the best orgasm he’d ever experienced, alone or otherwise.

But he slowly opened his eyes, wanting to watch Tony cum.

“I’m close too,” the older man moaned, speeding up again.

Peter moaned louder, feeling himself being pushed up the bed with the quicker pace. “Cum, Tony, please, want you to fill me up.”

He wasn’t so sure about dirty talk, but it could only be but so bad because Tony went still moments later. Peter felt the cock inside him pulse briefly before there was a smooth warmth spreading.

The thing itself felt odd, but thinking about what was happening almost made him cum again.

Actually-

His hand flew to his own dick and he quickly jerked himself off before he was cumming for a third time. It wasn’t nearly as good as the other two, but it was still incredible. Especially thinking about how good Tony still felt inside of him.

He opened his eyes when he heard Tony chuckling. “What?”

“You’re insatiable. And I’m amazed that you can just go again that fast.” The older man closed his eyes again, catching his breath.

He was almost in shock that it had actually happened. He had sex with Peter. After thinking about it for months, dreaming about it, it happened.

He slowly pulled out, laying next to the young man. He knew they were both messes, covered in sweat and cum and lube, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to hold Peter close before they had to go back to real life.

Tony gently wrapped his arms around him, just gathering him close while he pressed a kiss to the man’s temple.

He found out quickly that Peter’s dazed, relaxed post-sex state would only last for so long.

It was only minutes before the man was talking, whispering about anything and everything. And Tony happily listened.

He hummed softly, holding the younger man close to his chest. One hand gently carded through Peter’s soft curls as they talked quietly.

“My mom met you one time,” Peter murmured. “Before I was born. But she would never tell me about it. Just told me that it happened.”

Tony snorted softly. “Yeah, well, about when would that have been? I had a reputation for a reason.” But the confession started pulling at a memory. It couldn’t quite come to light, though.

“Ew.” The young man grinned at him. “But I guess you’re right. I don’t know, she was kinda weird about a lot of stuff. Not just that.”

“What do you mean?”

Peter sighed softly and Tony frowned. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. But Peter started answering anyway.

“I don’t know who my actual dad is. She never told me. I vaguely remember her telling me that Richard was the only dad I needed, but nothing else.”

“You would have been so young,” Tony whispered. “Maybe she just figured it could be a conversation for another time.”

“But she wouldn’t tell anyone else. My aunt and uncle knew that Richard wasn’t actually my dad, but they were never told who was. And I guess it just…died with her.”

The older man nodded. “You could always do a paternity test, right?” Why was guilt pooling in his stomach?

Peter shrugged. “That’s assuming that my dad has done one too that we could match. And sometimes….” He trailed off.

“Sometimes what?” Tony kissed him gently, trying to soothe him.

“Sometimes I’m not sure that I want to know,” he confessed.

It made sense. But something was still trying to pull at Tony’s memory. Forming an idea slowly.

Although he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know the answers.

But he couldn’t just leave a question unasked. No matter how dark the potential answer.

“Peter…when did you say that your mom met me?”

The young man snuggled into him more, shaking his head. “I didn’t. I think it was…the year before I was born or so. Why? Do you remember?”

Tony tried to mentally do the numbers. He’d spent most of that year in a fog, but that had been the theme of that era in his life. But maybe…

“Are you okay?”

The older man closed his eyes, frowning as he tried to remember.

Parker. Had he been with a Parker? He couldn’t remember the occasion at all.

Maybe that was for the best.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m okay, was just trying to see if I remembered her. I’m sorry.”

Peter leaned up to kiss him gently, shaking his head. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not a big deal, really. Sometimes I just wonder about that stuff.”

Tony tried to assure himself that it wasn’t a big deal.

Maybe it was best to not have all the answers.

He had what he wanted. That was all that mattered.

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #my writing #bri’s kinktober 2021 #now I’ll go do all the schoolwork I’ve been ignoring lol #if you see this: yes the backstory is heavily influenced by that one rp we did where I came up with too much backstory #yeah

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

Even the Losers

Chapter 15

Chapter 1 Chapter 14

Possible trigger warning. I mention that sexual assault and worse has happened during some akuma attacks. I don’t describe anything or say who it happened to (it didn’t happen to anyone we know) but wanted to warn readers that it is brought up.

This room really was a ridiculous room, Marinette decided. The dining table was large enough to seat twenty. Who needed a casual dining table that large? Honestly. Not to mention, a dining table that large meant there was more than enough room for Alfred to join them, but he never did.

And bringing the food out on silver trays. Did they do that just because she was here? She kind of hoped it was because the idea of doing it everyday… She looked over to Adrien to roll her eyes at the opulence, but he just went with it like it was completely expected. Marinette shook her head. Damn rich people. She looked up just in time to catch Duke’s eyes. He looked at the silver trays with a pointed look and rolled his eyes. Marinette giggled and nodded back.

“I forgot to ask the other day,” Dick started with a disarming smile. “How did you two meet and when?”

And there it was again. A perfectly normal question. A very common question. A question they would expect to be asked. But there was something off in the way he asked it. Something that just triggered her senses. She could feel a difference in it, like its very existence disrupted the peace of the dinner.

Adrien looked over at her with a broad smile and nodded to her, letting her know she was supposed to answer it. She plastered on a friendly smile. “We met in school, actually.”

“Oh? Maternelle or older?” Dick smiled again, his face perfectly emulating interest in his sister’s friend. Markov would never be able to tell the difference. But Marinette could. He was fishing. She just didn’t know what he was fishing for.

“Older,” she answered curtly.

Dick seemed to get the message that she was not happy and backed off, metaphorically and literally, leaning away from them in his chair. His smooth smile morphed into a mock frown. “Oh that’s a shame. I was hoping for stories or pictures of baby Marinette.”

“Oh, baby Mari was adorable,” Adrien gushed, with a teasing grin to Marinette.

Tim quirked his head to the side. “I thought you said you two didn’t meet until you were older.”

Adrien’s grin widened. “We didn’t. Not until we were in collège and she yelled at me for something I didn’t do.”

“I didn’t yell at you,” Marinette objected in mock offense, slapping his arm. “I informed you that you were a contemptible dirtbag in a harsh tone.”

Jason barked a laugh. “Right, big difference.”

Marinette whirled on him, her serious expression contradicted by her lips trying to quirk up at the corners at his teasing. “There is! It was a quietly harsh tone. There was no yelling.” She turned back to Adrien. “And I apologized for that.”

“Yeah, like years later and not because you wanted to,” he rolled his eyes.

“Only because I couldn’t really talk to you for, like, ever after that,” she groused playfully. She pushed her food around on her plate with a pout.

“Apologies are hard,” Cass nodded in agreement.

Marinette beamed at her. “Yes. Thank you, Cass. See,” she motioned to Cass so Adrien would look, “Cass has my back. She agrees.”

“With what?” Duke laughed.

“Your input is not needed!” Marinette chastised him, trying hard not to laugh. But when Duke cracked up and started laughing hard enough to have him gasping for breath, so did Marinette.

“Okay but…” Tim started after they’d had enough time to recover.

“Oh, right!” Adrien shook his head. “There was an akuma that de-aged people. A mom sad her son was going off to university, so her power was to turn everyone into toddlers again. Marinette got hit pushing me out of the way of the beam. She turned into the cutest, pudgiest, little toddler you’ve ever seen.”

Marinette batted his hands away when he leaned over to pinch her cheeks. He chuckled at Marinette’s pout. “I hated that one. I felt so helpless,” she moaned.

“I loved it,” Adrien smiled. “I got to see all of you guys as babies. Most of you guys knew each other since childhood so you knew what each other looked like. Alya and I were the odd ones out. Plus, no pain.” He looked back to the rest of the family. “That was rare; an akuma that didn’t cause massive amounts of pain or trauma.”

“Were they that bad?” Duke asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer he was going to get back. He had purposefully not looked too hard into akumas precisely because he was afraid of the answer.

Marinette stared intently at her plate in thought, trying to condense the experience into light, dinner topic worthy descriptions because she desperately did not want to discuss akumas tonight… or ever again. The very thought caused shivers down her spine. “They were… most weren’t… didn’t affect…” Her words got cut off as her body froze with realization. Her face scrunched up in pain and she gasped after not having breathed for the last few seconds. She suddenly pushed away from the table and stood up. “I think… I need to leave.”

Bruce stood up at the same time and reached out for her. “Marinette are you okay?” His concern amped up when Cass stood up as well and frowned with concern.

Adrien got to her quicker, gently laying his hands on her arms. “Hey, we don’t have to talk about it. We can talk about something else. You talked with M. Fox this morning, right? We can talk about that.”

Marinette shook her head. “I can’t…” she couldn’t finish her sentence, her breath was becoming more ragged the longer she stood there.

“Way to go, Timmy,” Jason groused.

“I didn’t do this!” Tim objected motioning toward Marinette and standing up too. He wasn’t exactly sure what standing up was supposed to accomplish. She didn’t know him and definitely wouldn’t be comfortable with him trying to comfort her. It was more of a show of support. Whatever was going on, he didn’t want to stay sitting like it was nothing.

She looked toward Bruce, her eyes slightly glazed over. “You… you knew. You knew about what happened when I was fourteen… and fifteen… and sixteen. You said you checked in on me frequently, so there’s no way you didn’t know. You knew and you just… rather than admit I was…” She looked down at the floor, her face scrunching further as she tried to reconcile the new information. She backed away more and shook her head, no longer really hearing anything in the room, including Adrien’s loud gasp of realization. “I… I can’t… be here. I have to… I need time to…”

She turned and rushed through the door before anyone could stop her. She could feel herself shutting down and she needed to stop it. She knew she needed to stop letting herself turn numb. She gritted her teeth as her frustration with herself increased. Why couldn’t she just react normally? Nobody else on her team did this. None of their friends reacted this way anymore. What was wrong with her that she did?

And she had to do it there, in front of everyone. She had to do it in front of him. Why couldn’t she hold it together for one freaking dinner? She’s gone through worse. Why couldn’t she just have DEALT with it, like an adult? Now she probably ruined the start of their relationship. He was probably going to hate her. He didn’t want to know about that stuff. He didn’t want to deal with those kinds of problems. Those were her issues, not his.

He wanted a daughter for the press, not a hot mess of insecurities and anxiety. He wanted a happy, light, cheery child. That’s why he sent her away, so that’s who she would become. That’s probably why Dick was trying to ask all those questions, so they could know just what kind of a broken, messed up, embarrassment of a disaster they were taking on with her. They needed to know what to prepare for when the press started getting involved.

Back in the dining room, Jason had gone from laughing, to confused, to concerned, to fucking pissed in a matter of seconds. “What did she go through?” Jason asked through gritted teeth.

Adrien glared at Bruce waiting for him to answer the question. Bruce looked down dejectedly and Adrien scoffed. He didn’t bother ripping his glare away from Bruce when he answered for him. “She means Hawkmoth. She means M. Wayne knew what Hawkmoth was doing and let her stay there when he could have pulled her out at any time. She means he let her stay and get tormented rather than admit she was his daughter.”

“That is not why I didn’t pull her out of Paris,” Bruce insisted weakly.

“I thought the damage done by Hawkmoth was all reversed,” Duke offered.

“Oh, the physical damage was reversed, but the psychological wasn’t. The memories weren’t. Hawkmoth used people’s negative emotions to turn them into monsters, AS YOU KNOW,” he snarled at Bruce. “For years, if you had a bad day, if you got sad, if you grieved, you could end up killing or torturing or raping someone, maybe someone you cared about, maybe someone you loved, maybe more than one.

“Didn’t even have to be something big it could just be… my best friend got akumatized because my father said he couldn’t throw me a party for my birthday. A kid Marinette babysat got akumatized because her mother took away a toy that wasn’t hers, it was Marinette’s actually, so she felt responsible for getting Manon akumatized. Marinette’s best friends, five of them at once, got akumatized because she didn’t want to tell them something private. Like that didn’t wrack her with guilt for years. It didn’t take much to turn you into a nightmare. In fact, one little kid got akumatized several times because he had a nightmare. All it took was one moment of feeling down. If you were lucky, really lucky, you just… stopped feeling… anything.”

Everyone was silent for a few minutes. Adrien’s glare never wavered the entire time. Finally Dick spoke up softly. “And was Marinette… lucky.”

Adrien sneered at Bruce, “Oh, Marinette was very lucky. She only got tortured a few times… per month. She only lost a few limbs. She only got targeted most of the time. She only died four or five times, that she remembers, the actual number is significantly higher. All despite my father targeting her specifically. You know, nothing worth too much concern. She only watched the people she loved get tortured, screaming for her in agony before they died painful deaths a handful of times. She only sometimes still goes completely numb rather than feel things. Not even just bad things, good things too. If it’s too much, she shuts down so she doesn’t expose herself, so Hawkmoth can’t get her, because we needed her. It’s automatic. It’s subconscious. It’s been five years and she still has to fight the instant reaction.”

Bruce finally spoke up apprehensively. God, he really, really didn’t want to know the answer to his next question, but at the same time, he needed to know. “You mentioned akumas could kill, torture, rape… You said Marinette had been tortured and killed. Was she ever…”

Adrien’s face scrunched up in anger and frustration. “You don’t get to ask that,” he screamed. “You didn’t care then, you don’t get to pretend like you care now. You want an answer to your question, you’ll have to ask her yourself, if you have the balls for it. Personally, I don’t think you do. So use your imagination. I guarantee anything you can imagine, can’t even come close to the things she had to live through.”

He looked down for a moment to try to collect himself. When he looked back up it was an icy, coldness that made Tim collapse back into his chair. “So now you need to stop lying to her that you always loved her, you cared at all.”

Damian growled and lunged forward in his chair. “You can’t tell him what he feels. You don’t get to say how he treats one of his children. You aren’t a part of this family.”

Adrien turned his icy glare to Damian. “And she is? Holding her at arm’s length? Keeping her at a distance? Not letting her get too close? Randomly freezing up around her. Keeping family secrets from her. Clamming up as soon as she’s nearby. Sending each other secret looks over her head when you think she won’t see. She’s not stupid. She sees what you’re doing, what you’re all doing, she’s just too nice to point it out, too hopeful you’ll actually accept her one day.” He turned to look at Damian with disgust. “I might not be a part of this thing you call a family, but I am a part of hers.” Damian only put up a semblance of a fight when Cass pulled him back down into his chair with a disappointed look.

“You kept in contact to make yourself feel better not because you cared. Because if you did? If you did, there’s no way you let her stay in Paris when it would have been so easy for you to do something. There’s no way you let her get hurt and killed over and over again just so you didn’t have to admit you were related to her. Nobody who gives even the slightest fuck about anybody, a stranger let alone family, your child, would willingly let them go through that. Lets them live knowing that crying about a stubbed toe could make them into a killer.

“You could have done something, anything and yet you did nothing. You didn’t even try. She wouldn’t have accepted. She… she was the only reason some of us survived and she knew that. She was our hope. She saved us and protected us. Repeatedly. At her own expense. Without her…” he looked away. When he spoke again, his voice was considerably quieter and colder.

“And she knew it. And she took it all on herself. She didn’t even tell most people, anyone but me and one other friend really, what she went through and not even all of it. There’s still things I know she saw but she won’t tell me about. Her own parents didn’t know because she didn’t want them to become akumas, which they’d done before over minor things. So she dealt with it on her own. My father barely ever let me out so I couldn’t be there for her almost ever. So she had nobody. She made sure she didn’t. Because she didn’t want to be the cause of more suffering.

“So she wouldn’t have taken you up on any offers anyway because she’d never abandon the people she cares about.” He looked back up to level Bruce with an icy glare that made him lose his breath. “Guess she gets that from her mother.”

He started to walk away but turned back to the family as he got to the door. “You know, Marinette and I are a lot alike. You can do anything you want to us and we’ll probably apologize to you for inconveniencing you. But you hurt someone we care about? Not even Hell is far enough away for you to hide in.

“So she’ll forgive you. That’s who she is. She will. Hell, she’ll probably come crawling back in a day or two to apologize to you for the scene she created. For making you feel uncomfortable. But I won’t ever forget what you did, what you didn’t do, what you subjected her to. No matter what else you ever do for her, you will not be forgiven.” He stepped closer to Bruce, the ice in his eyes turning darker. “And if you ever treat her like that again, they’ll never find your body.”

Damian scowled and jumped up. “Are you threatening my father?”

Adrien didn’t look at him when he responded, continuing to glare at Bruce with a dark, warped look that even made Damian raise an eyebrow. “I am.” He didn’t even bother slamming the door as he stormed out. As soon as he passed the threshold, he took off sprinting after Marinette. She didn’t have the car keys so she was walking… in Gotham… while she was a target. He cursed and picked up his speed to get to the car.

“B?” Dick asked cautiously.

��No. No, no, no.” He shook his head violently and looked down, trying to steady his ragged breathing. “I asked her parents. I checked. They said she was fine. They said it was okay.” He looked up at Dick with haunted eyes. “I checked. I made sure.”

“Well you didn’t fucking check well enough did you?” Jason growled. “You never asked her.” He threw his napkin on the table and stalked out after Adrien to help comfort Marinette. Duke looked between them for a moment before sprinting after Jason.

The rest of the family looked down at their plates, except Bruce who wasn’t looking at anything. He pushed away from the table and stumbled back to his room, a sudden wave of nausea slamming into his body. Dick opened his mouth a few times only to snap it shut again mutely. Cass frowned but continued eating slowly. This was new information, but it didn’t change who Marinette was to her. It was the same Marinette from earlier in the day. But now she knew more. Maybe they could bond over childhood trauma like she and Stephanie had.

Damian furrowed his brow and scowled at his food, unable to determine how to interpret the new information and blame Marinette for it. She had done it to herself, clearly. She had allowed herself to stay in that situation. Obviously it was her own fault she suffered through that… like he had. Not knowing who to be mad at, he shoved away from the table and went down to the cave to train.

Tim blankly watched him go. This… this was unsalvageable. This was… they’d let her down in so many ways. Him with the gala. Dick with the questioning Adrien. Damian with the accusing her and insulting Adrien. The entire family with the keeping secrets. And Bruce with the… everything. How were they supposed to bring this back? They were worse than his family, his previous family. The Drakes just ignored him. They were actively destroying her.

He took a deep breath and pushed away from the table too. He would go down to the cave but Damian was already there. He wanted to patrol, to actually protect someone, like he hadn’t protected her. He stood up and made his way to the grandfather clock. Fuck Demon Spawn. Let him try to fight him right now. Tim wasn’t in the mood and wouldn’t hold back. Heaven help any rogues out tonight.

Chapter 16

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger @frieddonutsweets @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @toodaloo-kangaroo @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @iloontjeboontje @wolf-for-life @maribatserver @aespades @prettylittlebutterflie @imarivers8 @ certainmuffinbagelcalzone @ritacrow-blog @unoriginalmess @demonicbusiness @kking13 @lady-bee-fechin @blur-of-colours @kittenmywaythrulife @kashlyn @loysydark

#maribat #bio!dad bruce #bio dad bruce wayne #roynette #Even the Losers #mbdbwm2021 #prompt - deaged #Throws this at you then cowers in fear

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potter-imagines · 4 years

Text

Off Limits (Draco Malfoy)

Summary: Y/n and Draco Malfoy have been secretly crushing on one another for quite some time. Draco and his friends notoriously taunt students, especially Gryffindors. So why is Y/n, a Gryffindor, off limits? What happens when a friend attempts to harass Y/n?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Disclaimer: Anyone else on DracoTok ??? Set in fourth year (no mentions of tri-wizard tournament, sorry saving it for later) xx

Warnings: Little bit of bullying (hp edition bullying)

Word Count: 4.5k

“Y/n… are you alright? That was your third cup of tea- you’re going to be jittering out of your seat in Charms!”

Through the bustle of her thoughts a worrisome voice tore Y/n from her daydream. The Great Hall was bouncing with energy. All houses were scarving up their lunch as the chatter filled the enormous room. Y/n sat quietly with her fellow Gryffindor classmates.

Physically she was sitting with her friends but mentally, she was across the table sitting with the bleached blonde Slytherin Prince himself. It was a recurring game between the two. Stolen admiration and stares. Words were rarely exchanged, and neither could answer why. Draco had told her once he wished she was in Slytherin, but otherwise they only spoke together when necessary. She made him nervous, and it was a feeling he didn’t like. He found himself worrying over the unfamiliar emotions he felt towards her. Both being too scared to act on their feelings, it all went unspoken.

Her attention has been drawn on him for the last 20 minutes. She casually sipped on her tea, filling her cup back up each time it grew bare. The warm of the lavender brew kissed her taste buds and slithered down her throat, emanating her body in a hug.

It wasn’t until her curly haired friend placed a hand on her shoulder that she was forced to look away.

Hermione was in the middle of an argument with Ron over who was to blame for Gryffindor losing ten points during Potions. Snape loathed the house so it was no surprise to anyone when he eagerly took points away when Ron’s cauldron exploded and split in two. Hermione paused when she noticed her best friend staring intently behind her.

Y/n sent her a quick reassuring smile and said,

“I’m fine, Hermione. Just thinking.”

Harry was busy rushing to finish his Charms paper before next period. He would add a comment every few minutes but was removed from the conversation for the most part. Ron interjected himself into the conversation as he shoveled a load of mashed potatoes into his mouth,

“More like worrying. What’s got your knickers in a twist, Y/n?”

Y/n winced as she got a full view of his meal in his open mouth. Y/n could hear Hermione gasp as she reached forward to smack Ron on the arm. He gave her a look of bewilderment, clearly not expecting her reaction.

“Ron! Dear Merlin, have some manners.” Hermione’s eyes were wide as she glared at the red head. Ron just shrugged and resumed with his meal. Steam rose from his plate and if she wasn’t so mentally withdrawn, Y/n would’ve been happily digging into the feast. There was not a day that goes by where Hogwarts meals fail to impress.

Although the uneasy feeling building in her stomach did not allow this. It was almost nauseating to be surrounded by the delicious foods. Y/n leaned forward towards the table and pursed her lips. Her e/c eyes looked past Hermione, as if she was invisible, and landed on the rambunctious table behind her. A small wisp of white flashed behind Hermione and Y/n felt her heart leap in her chest.

Her maroon sweater clung loosely to her body. It was Friday so there was no hassle over her neglecting her robes. Rubbing her thumb against the sleeve Y/n allowed herself a moment to wander. She thought of Draco. How it would feel to hold his hand. To lay in his arms and run her hands through his snow white locks. To take late night adventures with him around the castle after hours. To be his rock and hear all the little thoughts running rampant in his head. To be his.

A far off thought, yes but a girl’s allowed to imagine right?

Cautionless the young witch sitting before Y/n whipped her head around to see what was captivating her friend so much. Expecting to see a dinosaur with a shark’s head, as she had never seen her friend so mesmerized, Hermione furrowed her dark brows in confusion as she scanned the scene. All she saw was the annoying table of Slytherin’s and a gloomy, cloudy sky outside the windows. Draco and his friends were loudly talking, Hermione rolled her eyes at his. They never failed to annoy her. Most of the students sitting in the group infuriated her. Pansy was constantly harassing Hermione with her cruel words and bothersome antics. Crabbe and Goyle took more interest in pestering Ron and Harry but they still found a way to get to her as well. Draco was the worst of all cause he seemed to be in charge of all the taunting and hell. Sure, since the start of the group's fourth year in the fall he had laid off, but not completely. Snarde comments were thrown here and there but the intensity had decreased.

The oddest part of it was none of Draco’s wrath was ever placed on Y/n. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy got their insults in on her daily but never Draco. There were times Hermione caught him scolding his friends in the courtyard for a comment they made towards Y/n and it baffled her.

She hadn’t noticed she was staring- or rather searching- for very long until Pansy’s sharp, hateful eyes caught hers.

“What’d you think you’re staring at, mudblood?” The sneering Slytherin glared dangerously at Hermione. Pansy sat between Draco and Blaise, the corner of her lip lifted as if she was growling at Hermione. Her hands were clutching the wood of the table ready to pounce. The loud conversation died down as the surrounding Slytherin’s and Gryffindor’s listened in, half out of amusement and the other out of fear.

“Are you gonna answer me or just sit there looking dumb with your iditot friends? Huh?” Her thin brows lifted towards the ceiling, intimidation emanating off her skin. Y/n winced in guilt. Hermione was only curious as to what caught her attention and now she was caught in Pansy’s.

“If anything dumb is the most lazy insult you could use against Hermione. If I remember correctly she’s the top of our class and if I can remember correctly, you’re number 36 out of 40. Did I get that right?”

“You filthy little blood traitor, you’re gonna regret-” Pansy had shot up like a predator ready to kill their prey. Y/n was almost certain she saw flames burning in Pansy’s dark orbs. Gasps emerged as students readied themselves for a fight. Ron was frozen in shock, no help at all, only stunned. Harry had only rejoined the conversation when Pansy’s wrath began, making him just as taken back as Ron. Y/n knew this wouldn’t end well but she couldn’t handle Pansy berating her friends for game. Just as the devilish Slytherin threw her leg over the bench, Draco snatched her arm stopping her actions all in one move. A noticeably screech came from her lips from the pain of his grip. Her fists were clenched by her side and her plans were obvious to the whole crowd. By this point, everyone in the Great Hall was watching the mess unfold.

The brunette girl snapped her head to the leader of their group. Her gaze screamed ‘let me go’ but Draco was not about to let that happen.

“Pansy, shut up and sit. You’re not gonna do anything.”

“Draco she just-” Suddenly Pansy was forced back into her seat causing a loud thump. Draco practically shoved her into compliance snarling in the process. If the scenario had been different, Y/n might’ve giggled at Pansy’s befuddlement. Even Blaise was astonished! The tension was too thick for a laugh to lighten any moods.

“I said, shut up and sit down.” His words were final. The girl now coward under his icy stare. If looks could kill, Pansy would be 6 feet under by the hands of Draco Malfoy. The silence was uncomfortable and no one wanted to be the first to make the next move. Shakily, Pansy grabbed her fork and resumed eating, pretending she didn’t just get humiliated in front of the entire school.

Y/n remained focused on Draco, studying his expression. His eye remained glued to Pansy but not in a loving way. The rage in his eyes could be seen from the moon. He was testing her, installing fear in her. When he decided his message stuck, he turned away and looked forward at the h/c witch sitting across from him. Y/n’s body shuttered at his movement and quickly looked to Hermione. A wave of electricity ran down her spine. He felt it too. Draco’s gaze stayed fixed on Y/n unable to tear away. He spent a lot of time staring at her, examining her features, although he took these stolen glances when she wasn’t looking. This time he knew she saw him, the only difference is he didn’t care. A part of him hoped her doe eyes would move back to his somber ones.

“What just happened?” Ron was the first to speak up among the table. Y/n could feel the endless pairs of eyes on her. It seemed everyone was seeking answers.

“I have no bloody clue.” She mumbled. Hermione reached out and tugged on Y/n’s hand, a silent thank you. A small gleam tugged on Y/n’s lips as she squeezed her hand back. Lifting her head she found the familiar pair of stormy eyes. This time, she didn’t look away.

Rain drops kissed the stone of the castle as a storm brewed outside. A continuous thump played on repeat. It was a soothing lull to Y/n as she walked back to her dorm from the library. The last few hours she was cozied into an armchair staring out the window. Her initial intentions were to study but after an hour of skimming through her Potions textbook and feeling more lost than ever, she gave up and lost herself in the weather.

Most students were busy socializing, it was a Saturday night after all. Harry, Ron and Hermione begged Y/n to join them at the Gryffindor party for 4th years and ups but she politely declined. Typically she’d tag along and set aside some time to enjoy herself but for the night, she preferred to be alone. Ever since her odd encounter with Draco and him defending her, she had a difficult time controlling her thoughts. He seemed to be the only thing occupying her thoughts.

The corridors were empty for the most part. A few giddy students tipsy off firewhisky rushed by her. She was approaching the staircase towards the common room when the calling of her name stopped her in her tracks.

Y/n clutched her books to her chest and she turned around. The hallway appeared empty, though the crashing rain made it hard to hear. Y/n wrote it off as her imagination and resumed her walk. Her cheeks were rosy from the harsh breeze sweeping the grounds. She decided on a detour wanting to delay her arrival in the common room. Fred and George would surely convince her to join in the partying and she wasn’t in the mood for that at the moment.

Y/n’s steps clicked against the ground filling the empty void. Bright flames created lighting in the halls guiding Y/n on her journey. Her feet carried her around effortlessly, the destination still undecided.

If it were a weekday, she wouldn’t be able to make it a few feet wandering around this late without a perfect stopping her. She was scolded a handful of times but never written up. Maybe that was because it was typically a Gryffinor or Huffelpuff who caught her. Undoubtedly a Slytherin perfect would waste no time turning her in.

Suddenly a noise caught Y/n’s attention. It wasn’t loud, almost nonexistent but Y/n knew her ears had not tricked her. It sounded like a clank, similar to when she would drop her wand on the stone floor. Y/n peeked over her shoulder but once again, it was empty. Nearly. If he hadn’t stumbled Y/n would have missed him but she didn’t.

The black cloak left the trail. His fast movements to hide caused it to wave back ever so slightly. A tiny look of his bright locks poked out from the stone corner. Y/n smiled to herself as she thought, was he following me?

The happy witch swiveled back around and gracefully continued down the corridor. She pretended to not notice the presence behind her as she led him to a spot, unbeknownst to him. Draco had no inkling that Y/n was on to him. He was sure his hiding skills were immaculate. He had been playing hide-n-go-seek with the house elves since he was a child. His only mistake was calling out to her earlier. He was desperate for a conversation, but his nerves got the best of him. Draco tiptoed a safe distance behind Y/n as she skipped down the wavy path.

She quickly rounded a corner causing Draco to pick up his pace. It wasn’t until he turned the corner that confusion graced his face.

“What?”

Without warning a hand clamped around his wrist and yanked him backwards. A door slammed loudly making Draco whip around to face his attacker. Much to his surprise the beautiful Gryffindor he had grown so infatuated with stood before him. Her h/c hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail but she still looked gorgeous. This was the first time the pair has been so close to one another. She could smell the hint of peppermint wafting off his breath. It reminded her of a potion she had smelled months ago.

Both speechless, the pair stood inches away from each other. Draco’s eyes flickered from her plump peach lips to her eyes, then back to her lips. He was hoping she’d speak first and luckily, that was exactly what she did,

“Why are you following me?”

Draco griminced growing bashful. His head fell down to his chest as he stared at the ground trying to come up with an answer. This was not an emotion he was accustomed with. Never in his life has a blush of red painted his cheeks from the actions of a girl. Especially a Gryffindor girl. He wondered how his father would react then pushed away the thought. Y/n leaned her head down forcing Draco to meet her gaze.

“What makes you think I was following you?”

She gave him a knowing look. He was caught and there was no denying that. Draco took a moment to take in the closet she had shoved them both into. It was a supply closet by the looks of it. There was one window with a small nook overlooking the vast forest extending beyond the castle grounds. A few dusty textbooks, some beakers, empty test tubes, and four old broomsticks. He hadn’t spent much time on this half of the castle. He found himself exploring a lot of new areas of the castle while following Y/n around. It started last year, the beginning of their third year. It was far easier for him to admire her from afar then risk rejection.

“Fine, I’ve been following you. I just wanted to know what you’re up to. There’s about seven parties going on tonight so you can’t tell me you weren’t invited to one.” “I was, but I didn’t feel like socializing tonight. I could ask you the exact same thing.” Draco smirked. He might not be the biggest fan of Gryffindor’s, but her playfulness and ease to serve it right back enticed him.

“Maybe I didn’t feel like socializing either.” Y/n shot him a look of skepticism. He wasn’t fooling you but you decided to play his game.

“But you want to spy on me?”

“I wouldn’t say spy-” This earned a scoff from the Gryffindor. Draco rolled his blue eyes and sighed, “Okay I just enjoy ‘spying’ on you at times. Don’t make me explain it please. You’re amusing. Quite odd too, but amusing nonetheless. I don’t know.”

Y/n could feel the heat kissing her cheeks at his words. If it was any other boy, she would tell them off or find it a bit creepy but she had been crushing on Draco now for years so she couldn’t help the rapid beating in her chest. Draco searched Y/n’s face for disapproval, he thought he had scared her off at this point. Instead, she looked up at him and gave him a teasing smirk,

“How many other girls do you spy on, Malfoy?”

The usual cocky boy was taken aback by her question. The last thing he needed was for Y/n to think of him as some sleaze. In all honesty, he had never taken genuine interest in a girl until he met you.

“Only you, I swear. No other girl in this school has held my interest as long as you.”

“Why did you stick up for me yesterday at lunch? With Pansy… I thought you two were y’know… and you made her stop. Why?”

It was hard to ignore her sadden expression. A pang struck his heart at her brokenness. He wanted to hug her but he hardly even knew her personally. It was funny in a way. He had spent almost two years observing her and taking notes over her actions but had never made a move. Quickly he shook his head,

“I’m not with Pansy, if that’s what you think. She’s quite annoying, can’t spend more than an hour around her without a bloody headache. Not exactly my type.” Y/n giggled causing Draco to smile. It was the first genuine smile he had in awhile. “But I’m not sure. I just didn’t like the way she was speaking to you. She was wrong anyways so why let her get away with it? Not that you needed my help, anyhow. You can hold your ground pretty well, love.”

Y/n’s breath caught in the back of her throat at the phrase. She heard it from her friends but never from Draco. It had a larger effect on her. A small precipitation built in her palms. The closet was becoming crammed with the growing tension between them. For the first time tonight Draco held the confidence and he took full advantage of it. Seeing her frail and shy made his heart melt and long to protect you. It was a feeling that scared him but he was willing to invite it.

“Cat’s got your tongue?” Draco teased the girl like a game of cat and mouse. It was new to him, seeing her wiggle uncomfortably. Lately she has been on the upper hand. Now it was his turn. Her flustered state caused his stomach to do flip flops. She was the most adorable girl he had ever laid eyes on.

Y/n placed her hand on his stern chest keeping a small space of distance between the pair. Draco tried to deny the sensation that rushed through his bones under her touch.

“Shove off, Draco. I don’t like the way your friends treat mine.” She rolled her eyes carelessly. This was an issue she wanted to end. It hurt Y/n to see the way Draco’s friends treated hers. She didn’t like seeing Hermione upset and ashamed over her blood status, which holds no importance in her mind.

“I’m sorry, darling. It’s hard to explain but I can tell them to lay off a bit. They haven’t done anything to you have they?” His hand now rests over her own, still placed on his chest. This was the first time she had felt the warmth of his hand on hers. The butterflies in her stomach were screaming but she resisted their cries. “No, actually that’s the weird thing. I think today was the first time I’ve actually had a conflict with one of your friends. Why is that?” Draco grinned at her confused expression. All this time he spent admiring her from a distance, he never realized how breathtaking she really was up close.

“They know better, I wouldn’t allow that.”

He hadn’t fully processed his words before they slipped. Y/n’s head tilted to the side watching his profile. She waited for a chuckle, for him to admit it was a ploy. Draco’s posture stayed fixed and tense. His words held more weight than one might think. It led onto more and Y/n wanted to hear him say it. Vulnerability was an uncomfortable emotion for Draco and for the first time in a long time, he was scared.

“Why do you treat me differently, Draco? I’ve never heard you say one bad thing about me. You stood up for me yesterday. You’ve been spying on me. You look out for me… why?”

Y/n’s hand slipped away from his and folded near her lap. The tension was as thick as honey. All Draco could think about was the hint of cherry in Y/n’s perfume that was tattooed in his memory. He thought about her all summer long, never able to get the sound of her childish laughter out of his head. Spent hours in his mother’s garden sitting underneath a large cherry tree thinking about her. The only thing he wanted to change about Y/n was to make her his.

Maybe it was the cunningness of the Slytherin in him, he just couldn’t resist the opportunity. Rejection was the last thing on his mind, it was worth the risk.

In a light manner Draco pushed Y/n back a step until her back was pressed into the stone wall and the back of her head against the glass of the window. A small yelp came as Y/n was caught off guard by his sudden movements. Even through the darkness Y/n could make out Draco’s features. He looked assured- not his usual arrogant, high and mighty demeanor. Draco’s hand snaked up above Y/n’s head, giving himself stability as his face neared hers.

His free hand slowly curled around Y/n’s chin, taking his time. Y/n was positive he could hear the pounding of her heart. She reached up and pinched the skin of her arm between her finger tips. Draco stroked her cheek, brushing his thumb to her chin every few swipes. Nope, not dreaming, Y/n thought to herself.

Their eyes locked and Draco sent her a look of approval, not wanting to cross a boundary. She answered his question by closing the gap between them, leaning up on her tippy toes to meet his lips. Her hands slipped around his neck pulling him in closer. She savoured the taste of peppermint and apple on his lips. His kiss was soft, but overflowing with passion. It wasn’t sloppy but smooth, like two puzzle pieces matching up. Y/n’s lips moved with his happily. Her hands found their way to his platinum blonde hair, grazing at his soft locks earning a groan of pleasure from Draco. They continued on for another minute or so until Y/n’s need for oxygen got the better of her.

Pulling away softly Y/n rested her forehead against Draco’s. The only sound filling their air was the two of them trying to catch their breath. Drunk off adrenaline Draco’s eyes lit with glee. The happiness rising in his chest was addicting. Placing his gaze on Y/n Draco felt warmth,

“I really, really like you, Y/n. Even if you are a Gryffindor.”

Little chuckles came from both as they basked in the moment. Y/n was excited to run back to her dorm and share her night with Hermione. Hermione- what would she say?

A pit of worry settled in Y/n as she started to process what was happening. Draco noticed her shift in moods and moved his hold to her shoulders pulling her back a step. Y/n shifted her attention to the window and furrowed her eyebrows,

“What will your friends say? Your parents-” Before she could finish Draco beat her to it. He gently moved her chin to focus herself back on him. She drew her bottom lip into her mouth, biting on it nervously. Draco smirked at this, her little action driving him mad. Reassuringly, Draco bent at the knees a bit and placed a tender kiss to Y/n’s lips, then her cheek, holding her face in his hands. She was beyond flustered, her cheeks had yet to stop burning since she pulled him in the room. His hair swept against her forehead as he shook his head, “I don’t give a shit about any of them right now. Just you. Please be mine, Y/n.”

Her breath caught in the back of her throat. Draco scanned her face looking for any signs of an answer. He had never officially asked a girl out before so this was all new. She could easily say no and tell all her friends about it and torture him for years. Instead, Y/n nodded ‘yes’ then reconnected her lips once again with Draco’s. He moved to get a better position but just as he did, the closet door swung open causing a ray of light to burst in.

The two separated in an instant, scared shitless over the intruder.

“Well look here Georgie! We were right about all that lip smacking! It’s Y/n and Malfoy!”

“No way!” Soon rough George Weasley popped his head into the closet with a mischievous grin. Fred folded his arms over his chest smirking at the two of you. He was already planning out who George and him should spill the news to first. The endless chuckles began to emanate when he took in the sight.

Annoyed at their presence Draco shot dagger worthy glares at the twins. She shoved his shoulder trying to diffuse his frustration. The twins were her friends after all. Draco shot one last look at the twins before sneering,

“Get lost, Weasels!”

This only escalated the giggles between the twins as they rushed out singing loudly,

“Y/n and Malfoy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G-, first comes love, then comes marriage-”

When they got far enough down the hall, Y/n sent a look to Draco. He was annoyed, not mad. Y/n moved towards him, leaning against his chest. The Slytherin Prince gripped her waist embracing her.

“If you don’t want to go back to your dorm yet, I know a spot. We’ll have to take a lot of stairs-” Y/n groaned in response earning a small laugh from Draco. “I know but I think you’ll like it. We can see the stars from up there.” Draco had only ventured up to the Astronomy Tower a handful of times though taking her there seemed to be a perfect idea. She’d love the stars, and it would give him more time to spend with her.

Y/n laced their fingers squeezing his hand. Draco pulled her hand to his lips pressing a chaste kiss to the skin.

“Okay, lead the way Draco.”

2K notes · View notes

doveypink · 3 years

Text

come and find me [technoblade imagine]

summary: techno faces the consequences of your death. word count: 5.4k warnings: mentions of death, violence. a/n: this is a sequel to the one i left behind; read that first![ tag list: @shu5h @sylum @zefrenchturtle ]

Time is a tricky thing. It is insistent, always rushing forward without fail and unforgiving to those swept away in its tide. On occasion, though, time is a gentle monster; it takes you in its arms and kisses your head, lays you gently in the waves, and carries you to shore.

Time was not so kind to Technoblade.

Following the death of his friend, the archer, time became his enemy. Each day thereafter was a living hell full of tsunamis and stormy seas that bellowed within. The voices in his head used to sound like a low hum, the soft slap of waves in the back of his mind. Now, they were as loud as ever; if he didn’t catch himself in time, Techno would be overcome by the crashing waves and the tumultuous ocean inside his head.

“You have that look again,” Phil said softly from across the room. Techno’s eyes jumped to meet Phil’s, no longer burning holes into the wooden planks of the floor.

“You keep saying that like I know what it means,” Techno griped, instantly feeling sorry at the sight of Phil’s frown. The older man sighed and stepped towards his friend, taking a seat next to him.

“I know it’s difficult right now. That’s an understatement, clearly, but you saw what happened with Wilbur and I,” Phil explained, a cloudy look in his eyes. “It’s not easy to be asked to do something like that. All we can do is hope that it was for the best and carry on.”

The voices swarmed more powerfully in Techno’s head. He knew it was wrong to feel so angry at Phil for trying to comfort him, but it didn’t seem fair. Wilbur was Phil’s son, yes, but their bond was nothing like the one Techno had with his friend. The rage, the emptiness, the carelessness that Technoblade was experiencing reached heights that no person could begin to understand. The pain was his alone to carry.

Phil took note of Techno’s silence and gave his arm a gentle pat. “I’m here if you ever need anything,” he said. The man stood and padded out of the room to leave Techno on his own, his gaze turned back to the wooden planks.

Techno often wondered about you at times like this, when he found himself boiling in his own rage without someone to level him. Funnily enough, you weren’t much different from him in your anger; you would grit your teeth and quietly stare at some spot in the corner or keep your hands busy with anything you could find until you would tire yourself out. He wished he could see you now or hear your voice to remind him to calm down. He knew you were still around as a ghost, but your presence didn’t ease him as it once did. Nowadays, the thought of you only filled him with guilt, and his heart felt hollow without you around. It was hard to even look you in the eyes anymore.

“Techno?”

As if summoned by his own thoughts, you appeared in the window of the cabin. Your hands were cupped against the glass as you peered in comically, your eyes squinted as you struggled to see through the foggy glass. Techno glanced at you and sighed, rising from his chair to let you in; he tried ignoring you once, but it resulted in you attempting to climb through his window, so he always welcomed you in. Technoblade swung the door open and you jumped into view, cheerful as ever.

“Techno! I’ve been looking for you!”

“Looking for me?” the man wondered, crossing his arms. “I’m always here.”

“I know, I just got a little lost again,” you said sheepishly, wringing your hands. Techno stepped aside to let you in, foolishly wondering for a moment if he should let you borrow his cloak to keep warm. It would change nothing, of course; you were a ghost, the cold didn’t bother you. It was funny in some awful, convoluted way how often Techno forgot that you were dead. As a ghost, you would come and go at random, yet your presence hung over him like storm clouds. You were everywhere, bouncing around behind his eyes and throughout the cabin: all the books on the shelves you never read, the letters with your handwriting strewn across the desk, the scratches in the floorboards from when you dragged your chair. They were reminders of you, as if he could possibly forget.

“Don’t you have the compass Phil gave you?” Techno asked, referring to an enchanted compass which directed you to the cabin. Phil had given it to you during your last visit, much to Techno’s disapproval; he hated seeing you like this. It’s like you were a new person entirely, a stranger that wore your skin, but your soul had been exchanged for something else. He wasn’t sure who you were anymore, and every voice in his head argued that this was his own fault.

“I gave it to Ranboo,” you replied, fiddling with your sleeve. “He needs it more than I do, doesn’t he?”

“It was a gift for you,” Techno griped. “You can’t just give it away. Who knows what people could do if they had a direct line to us? Too many know where we are as it is.”

“I thought you wouldn’t mind. Ranboo basically lives here now.”

“Well, you were wrong.” Despite the warmth of the cabin, a chill seemed to run through the room as Techno stared coldly at his friend. He wasn’t sure why this angered him so much; realistically, he knew that what you had done was a smart idea. Ranboo lived just nearby Techno and Phil’s cabin, and with his memory issues, it wasn’t safe for him to wander aimlessly through the cold. Still, something about the way you could give such a tool away hurt him more than he cared to admit. He didn’t even want you around—he could hardly stand having to look at your ashen skin, and hearing your voice made his heart shake with grief—so why did he care?

You frowned, taking a small step forward to place a hand on your friend’s shoulder. Techno flinched at the contact, alarmed by the deadly cold that seeped through his cape. Up close, you could feel it: Techno was alive, yet the dark chill of death seemed to bound itself to him like a shadow. This was your influence; the bitterness that you rarely saw in him during your living days was an arrow, and you were its target.

“I know you don’t want me here. I can see it,” you said. Techno’s eyes widened slightly as you continued. “You look at me like—like I’m a stranger, but you’re searching for someone else. I know you can’t help it and neither can I, but I want to be that person so bad. I want to be what I’m supposed to be, but I don’t know how. I just miss feeling normal. I miss you.”

Techno swallowed thickly, averting his eyes. “I don’t think I can help you,” he admitted, taking a step towards the cabin door. He felt the cold air press against the wood and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “Whatever reassurance you need, I can’t give that to you. And you can’t come here haunting the place until I do, either. I don’t need ghosts.”

“But you… You’ll still let me visit, won’t you?” You asked quietly.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He seemed to consider it for a moment before responding, his voice not quite as frostbitten as moments earlier: “You can always visit.”

It was strange how suddenly Techno seemed like himself again. The winter froze him over, encasing all the warmth you could recall from when you were alive, but now the ice shuddered and cracked. The guilt that he had grown accustomed to merged with a longing he had been afraid to feel; he missed you, he missed every second that you weren’t around, and he hated himself for it. It was a selfish thought to want you here when he was the one who tore you away from the life you once clung to. It was selfish to want something good when all he seemed to do was snuff out any glimpse of light that came his way.

You smiled, albeit dolefully, and glanced around the room. You noticed a sheen of silver hanging on the wall and, propped against the wall, was a quiver of arrows—the same weapon you had found in the rubble of L’Manburg. The item you had once cherished no longer served a purpose to you, so you gifted them to Technoblade on your first visit postmortem. It surprised you that he accepted the gift in the first place, given that he seemed completely unnerved with your presence, so it was odd to see it displayed on the wall where all could see. It reminded you of an urn, a tangible indication of someone lost.

You weren’t sure how you felt by the sight of the item; were you meant to be flattered? Offended? The experiences that followed your death were far more puzzling than the ones you had in your life. When you were alive, you developed how to think and feel through socializing—your life was nurtured, guided along by those you met. In death, however, you were isolated. Techno already said it: he didn’t need ghosts, no one did. No living person wanted to face the dead because they were busy with the troubles of their lives, and rightfully so. Still, it was lonely to be dead. There was nothing that could teach you how to live in shadow, nobody to hold your hand and tell you that you would be alright. Death stole you right when you thought you would have survived to see the day, made a fool by hope, and your only friend was left to see the sun rise without you. This was it, this was the cruel joke nature played on the wanderers of the earth: to live and watch those you love die, or to die and watch those you love live.

Your gaze was pulled from the sharp curve of steel and you headed to the door. “I should leave you, now. I didn’t mean to…” Uncertainty crossed your features and you gestured your hands through the air to fill in the blank.

Techno seemed to understand, nodding as he reached to open the door for you. It was a quiet goodbye as you slipped into the snow, only turning back to wave at your friend as his cabin shrank in your view. The man stood in the doorway until you were a speck in the distance, a stir in his heart which rushed through him like a cold breeze. You would return.

* * * * *

“What do you know about necromancy, Phil?”

The older man looked up from his book. His eyes narrowed at his pink friend and held a look of disapproval. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

Techno frowned, crossing his arms. “What? I barely said anything.”

“You don’t have to,” Phil sighed, snapping his book shut. “It’s not a good idea to bring them back, especially if they haven’t told you that they want to come back. You don’t know what it could do.”

“But you do. You can help.”

“I don’t want to help. And besides, the methods I’ve tried haven’t been successful, I know from the attempts with Wilbur. It didn’t change anything. You have to give this a rest, it's been weeks since you slept.”

“Well you’ve done more research, haven’t you?” Techno took a seat across from Phil and leaned in. “There’s gotta be something you didn’t try or somebody who knows enough.”

Phil hesitated and looked down at his hands. “I don’t want you to do this, but… You could speak with Dream.”

The younger man stiffened, trying to mask his displeasure. “What for?”

“I heard that he was doing research of his own. I don’t know what his method is or if it even works, but I don’t trust it. He wants to make himself a god, so it can’t be without its consequences.”

“Godship always comes with consequences. I’ll take my chances.”

“Are you really prepared for that?” Phil looked his friend in the eyes. “It’s too much of a risk to try—”

“I know that,” Techno snapped, rising from his chair. “And I know what I want. I want them back. I want Dream to be sorry that he ever hurt them. I want to—” Techno stopped himself from continuing his enraged rant. He wanted to feel whole again, he thought. He wanted to wake up and feel safe knowing you were in the next room over. He wanted to argue with you over nothing and know that you would forgive him nonetheless. He wanted to wake up early after a long day of travel and watch the sunrise with you, to see the whole world light up in your eyes. The emptiness he was stranded with was from your absence, he knew this now. You were the sun to his moon, but you were forever hidden under the horizon, casting him into the shade.

Phil’s frown deepened. He spoke softly, carefully. “I know you’re hurting, but you need to think this through. Is this really what you want?”

Techno refused to meet the older man’s gaze. You were gone because of him, and you would come back for him. He wasn’t going to let this go quietly. “Yes,” he said finally. The icy air whipped through the house as he opened the cabin door and slammed it shut, a mission in his mind.

* * * * *

The journey to the prison was an expectedly silent one. Few people were to be seen as Technoblade wandered through the country—whether out of fear for the man or some other reason, he couldn’t be sure. Regardless, he trudged down the paths he used to know, eventually coming upon the evil-looking building. The massive walls loomed over him, the shadows stretching across the grass in sharp lines. After taking a quick glance of the perimeter, Techno proceeded to the entrance of the prison.

Upon entering, he was faced with a portal and a switch off to his right. The man glanced around once before slapping the button, waiting for a guard to come by. There was a brief period of silence, then a disembodied voice: “Hello?”

“Hello,” Techno echoed, unsure of where to look. “How do I, uh, get in?”

“Just step through the portal and I’ll get to you in a second,” the guard replied. Techno followed his instructions and stepped in the portal, a feeling like water rippling against his skin. Techno emerged from the other side to see a desk and a podium in front of it with a large book sat upon it. Behind the counter of the desk was the prison guard, Sam.

“Hello, Technoblade. Step up to the podium, I’ll need you to read that book aloud to me and sign, then I have to ask you a few questions.”

The piglin stood directly in front of the podium, peering down at the book. He read out the protocols, frowning at the mention of being locked in the prison should the security be threatened. Techno signed his name on the book anyway, handing it to the guard.

“Thank you. Can I ask when you last visited the prison?”

“Never,” Techno replied. “Shouldn’t that be obvious?”

“It’s just an extra security measure,” Sam explained. “Some of our visitors may have a lapse in memory. Now, what’s your relationship with the prisoner?”

The other man considered the question for a moment until he settled on a suitable answer. “Ex-colleague.”

“Alright, and where is your place of residence?”

“Up north, in the arctic.”

“Good, good. Follow me to your locker, I’ll need you to place everything inside the chest. Once you’re done, press that button on the side to get the key.”

Techno followed the guard’s instructions, feeling slightly uneasy with the lack of protection in his inventory. He retrieved the key, feeling the weight of the metal in his palm, then deposited it into an ender chest. The guard was waiting patiently outside the locker room. “Follow me and do exactly as I say,” he ordered, leading Techno through the prison.

Sam guided Techno through a series of security checks and exercises to minimize his strength through potions. The piglin felt slightly lightheaded from the various trials and journeys through halls full of water and lava. Eventually, the pair of men reached the entrance of the maximum security cell, which looked empty save for the switches on the far wall.

“Stand on that platform right there,” Sam instructed, gesturing towards a number of tiles placed before a large screen of lava. Techno stepped onto the tiles, glancing over his shoulder to watch the guard fiddle with the controls. “The lava will stop in a minute or two. Just stay where you are and be careful when the platform moves,” Sam warned, keeping a firm gaze on the piglin.

Techno grunted a reply, waiting patiently until the barrier of lava parted like a curtain before a play. Between the bright orange drapery, he saw Dream come into view. The prisoner stood silently in the corner of his cell, his dull green eyes bearing a blank expression. There was a pink scar across the bridge of his nose, one Techno realized he received from you. His blond hair was long and unkept, a shadow of stubble on his chin—a blatant difference from the composed appearance he once possessed.

The platform shifted forward, rolling Techno straight towards the cell. A barricade stretched between the walls and the visitor crossed his arms in waiting. Finally, the space between the men opened, and the piglin took a step into the cell. Behind him, the wall of lava fell again, trapping the pair within the confines of the obsidian.

The prisoner inched forward from the corner. “I was beginning to think you’d never visit,” Dream said.

“I hadn’t planned on it,” the pig-man replied, glancing around at the mostly-bare walls of the cell. There was a clock on the wall set to the wrong time, a cauldron of water, and a desk with writing utensils in the corner. No other possessions decorated the cell.

“Hm. What made you change your mind?”

Techno’s eyes met the prisoner. “I need your help.”

Dream chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “The blood god needs my help? With what, may I ask?”

“I know what you can do,” Techno stated, drawing closer to the prisoner. “I know you can raise people from the dead.”

The blond man scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “So that’s what you want? You need me to bring back your friend?”

“Exactly. And you’ll do it.”

Dream hummed, considering the other man’s words before he finally responded. “No, I don’t think I will.” Dream leaned against the wall, looking bored. “You have nothing for me. And besides, I’m not sure you’re prepared to bring back the archer. It’d be pointless.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Techno growled, annoyed with the prisoner’s lack of cooperation. “You know I’m a dedicated man.”

“And that’s exactly why you can’t bring them back. You don’t have the guts to do it.”

Techno rushed forward and grabbed Dream by the collar, teeth bared as he glared at the man. “Careful there, Dream. You don’t want to provoke your ticket out of here.”

Dream laughed unflinchingly in the god’s face. “Right, and what can you do? Kill me and lose your only chance to have them back? You’re not an idiot, and neither am I. We both know exactly how this would go down if you set me free.”

“I wouldn’t kill you, but I can easily make you regret living,” Techno spat, gritting his teeth. “You’re going to bring them back.”

“No,” Dream scoffed, seemingly unfazed by the other man’s threats. “You think you know exactly what you want, don’t you? I’m not sure you understand how traumatic it would be for them to come back, Techno. Don’t you get it? They’d wake up and feel disgusted by you. You killed them. You could have saved them, but you were too weak to even try. Besides,” he continued, lowering his voice, “I think they look much better rotting in the dirt.”

Techno shoves the prisoner against the wall, chest heaving with anger and guilt. The voices were like white noise in his mind, screeching for blood as his heart pounded. Dream slid to the floor and laughed maniacally; the sound made Techno’s head pound with the dull pain of an oncoming headache. There was no mask to hide the deranged look in the prisoner’s eyes as he held his stomach and howled with cruel pleasure. “They’re dead,” Dream gasped between laughter. “They’re dead and it’s all your fault!”

It was a mistake to have gone to the prison for answers, and Techno felt foolish for his actions as he called for Sam to let him out. Dream remained slumped against the wall, his shoulders shaking with an awful cackle that faded as Techno disappeared from the cell.

Technoblade could hardly recall the journey back to his cabin. Once he was out of the prison, he bounded through the war torn country, red hot fury searing in his veins. The voices wanted blood; they screeched and clamored inside the cage of his skull, raging into white noise that struck Techno like an arrow to the heart. Flashes of memories he had tried to suppress came rushing back—the crack of fireworks resounding in his ears. The smell of burnt flesh. Blood staining him from head to toe. He stumbled through the hills and snow, clamoring up the short set of stairs and through the cabin door. His head was pounding so awfully that the man became nauseous, collapsing to his knees as he dug his fingers into his scalp. It wasn’t until a hand came to rest on his shoulder that Techno finally managed to look up. His eyes burned and, with a start, he realized that he had been crying.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, mate. I’ve got you. You’re okay, take a deep breath,” Phil assured him, a firm grip stabilizing his piglin friend. Technoblade took in short, stuttering breaths, before Phil patted his shoulder and told him to take it easy. He made another attempt, inhaling slowly, then exhaling, repeating the motion until he was calm enough to speak.

“He won’t do it. He doesn’t want me to—He won’t.” Despite how hard he tried, Techno couldn’t stop the tremor in his voice. He hated this, he hated the vulnerability of it all. There was no space in his heart for the amount of pain he had been suppressing, and it was finally overflowing. He wished you were here. He wished so badly that he wasn’t such a fool.

Phil, conscious of his friend’s needs, pulled his hand away. “You know, someone was hoping to see you today.”

Techno looked up, watching Phil move aside to bring you into his line of sight. He hadn’t even noticed you were there in the midst of his agony, but the cold followed you as you drew closer. You were silent until you knelt down, reaching a hand out to your friend. “Come with me?” You asked gently, giving him a chance to refuse.

Techno looked down at your outstretched hand, examining the creases in your ashen skin. After a moment of consideration, he took it, hyper aware of your freezing touch. You led your friend out of the cabin, carefully guiding him to a destination you had yet to announce. Techno was curious as to what you were up to, but he didn’t have the energy to speak, especially not to you. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to apologize to you, to tell you how sorry he was for what he did to you, for the eternity you had been stranded with. There weren’t enough words in the world to admit how sorry he really was.

The pair of you traveled away from the cabin, through a forest of evergreens blanketed in snow; you walked past white foxes scurrying between bushes and birds fluttering overhead; you hopped over fallen trees and climbed a hill, finally stopping once you reached its peak. “We’re here,” you announced.

Techno stood at your side and admired the view: the sun was beginning to fall, clinging to the horizon. The entire land was bathed in golden hues, causing the snow to sparkle in the warm glow. With this light, your skin seemed to regain its warmth, a refreshing contrast to the ashen look of death which Techno had grown used to. He watched you gaze wordlessly at the sky before breaking the silence. “Why are we here?”

You admired the sight for a moment longer, then, gesturing for Techno to copy your motions, you took a seat in the snow. “Do you remember how we met?” you began.

Techno was surprised by your question, answering quietly. “Of course. I, uh, kidnapped you. Sorry for that,” he mumbled.

Letting out a soft laugh, you continued. “Right. But I’ve been remembering more, actually. It used to be fuzzy—it still is, sometimes, the details—but it’s easier to recall. I mainly remember the good things, but the gaps are starting to fill in.”

The man swallowed nervously. “So… Where are you going with this?”

Your eyes became downcast. “I’ve realized a lot of things. I can sort through my emotions now and it’s been weighing on me just how much you meant to me, how much you still mean to me—and I know you must feel the same way.

“I can remember so much of my life now. I remember feeling some bit of relief when you captured me because I didn’t have to be with Dream—I was free for the first time in my life, and I didn’t even know it. I remember the training, the battles, the betrayals, the exile, but more than anything, I remember you. It’s like a part of me was missing for so long before I met you, and I had grown used to it. I tried to fill it with other things, with other people, but that space was made for you. Once I had you, I was balanced—I had spent the first half of my life trying to find you, so I couldn’t stand to be away from you. I had to have you, always, filling the gap. It seemed wrong to live any other way.

“I can see now where the fault was in my logic. You told me the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, right? A pair of lovers are separated when Eurydice dies, stranded to the Underworld. Orpheus travels to her and all he has to do to bring her back to the living realm is to walk the path to earth without looking behind him to see her. They reach the end, and at the last second, Orpheus looks back. His love is fated to death, and he must live on without her, singing a sorrowful tune to the earth. When I first heard that story, I couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing. I thought it was from a sense of doubt, or maybe he was just a fool, but now I know better. Orpheus wasn’t looking back because he was doubtful—he knew exactly what the consequences were. He looked back because he couldn’t accept her death once, but this time, he could do it. That’s the hidden truth that no one ever tells you: love is letting go.”

You turned your head to look Techno in the eyes. “Do you remember what I told you before I tried to kill Dream?”

The man nodded slowly. “You told me not to look back,” he breathed.

Nodding, you spoke again. “Exactly. Now, I need you to listen to me again,” you asked. “I need you to look back.”

Techno’s eyes became misty. “I don’t—I don’t think I know how,” he admitted.

“Neither did Orpheus,” you explained, taking the larger man’s hands in yours. “He lived the rest of his life mourning Eurydice through his music, but look at the world now. Don’t you see how beautiful it is? He sacrificed everything to see this. Orpheus did the hardest thing he could possibly do because it was the right thing.”

“What about the gaps?” Techno wondered. “How am I supposed to fill the gap without you?”

Looking down at the calloused hands in yours, you shook your head. “There’s always going to be pieces of you that can never be replaced—they’re not meant to be filled with something else. But there will be other things to love, other things to care about, and that’s how you move on. You pick up what’s left of your heart and put it back together as you go.”

The man looked at you, sorrow and adoration pooling in his eyes. “Will you stay? Will you be there when I carry myself back?” He asked, his voice small and trembling with apprehension.

Your cold hands were firm in his. “Always.”

In the west, the sun sank lower over the edge of the earth. The light grew fainter as orange, magenta, and hints of violet eased their way into the sky above. Clouds stretched on lazily, dragging against the atmosphere like heavy brush strokes on a canvas. Techno tugged on your hand when you got lost in the view. “We should head back before it gets too dark,” he said. You nodded and followed him through the snow, guided by the tracks you left from earlier. It would take him time, you were sure of that, and he would struggle as he always did when it came to his feelings. And you would be by his side, even then.

* * * * *

“I’m thinking of making it bigger, maybe add some glass panes to the top. What do you think?” Ranboo wondered, showing you the plans for his new house.

“Hm… No glass, just the stone here and there,” you replied, pointing at the drawings he laid out in front of you.

Ranboo was still living near Techno, sprucing up his old shed of a house into something more permanent. The tall boy stood proudly in front of his land, tugging at his coat. “Yeah, actually, that does sound nice.”

You knelt down behind Ranboo, scooping a handful of snow into your palm and carefully shaping it into a ball. “You know what else is nice?” You wondered innocently.

Ranboo responded absentmindedly with “Huh?”

With an evil grin, you shouted, “This!”

The snowball launched out of your hand as you threw it directly at the back of the half-enderman’s head. Ranboo jumped, shrieking in surprise as he wiped the back of his head. Spinning on his heel, he gave you a mischievous look before gathering snow in his own hands. “Oh, you’ve done it now,” he drawled, narrowly missing you as the snowball flew past your head. You took off into a run, laughing with your tall friend chasing behind you, snow flying left and right as you battled.

From his porch, Techno stood and watched the pair of you playing around, a faint smile on his face. He could see it now, more clearly than ever before: life, all around you, even in death. It was a strange irony, but an honest one. You were different than the person he once knew, but despite everything, your laugh never changed. Every version of you was real and true—you had simply taken a different shape.

The piglin turned to head back inside, but not before pausing as a spark of red caught his sight. There, standing alone at the corner of the stairs, was a bright red carnation. How it managed to grow in the cold, and so close to the cabin, was a mystery. Still, it was a rare beauty, strong in spite of the world it was born into. Techno looked from the flower back to you, an echo in his heart. You would be there—always.

The cabin door shut behind him, and there was no cold to follow.

#technoblade imagine #technoblade x reader #c: technoblade #dove writes #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #dream smp imagines #dream smp x reader #mcyt techno #mcytblr #techno imagine #techno x reader #c!techno x reader #c!techno imagine

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milliedazzledust · 4 years

Text

Unspoken (Bucky Barnes imagine)

Request by @screechingdreamercollectorsblog : the reader lost all her family and also a twin sister. She’s in love with Bucky but he doesn't know and no one knows her story except Steve but he never told it as it was her decision. One day Wanda tells her "you don't know what it’s like to lose somebody especially a twin." And Reader said "Actually I do." And then She walks away. Bucky heard It and goes to talk to her and also they confess each other feelings. Also She starts an amazing friend ship with Wanda.

Words: 3183 words

A/N: So many ideas, I feel like this needs to be a several part story. Thanks for the request, this was fun to write -

She thought a lot about her family. The memory of their death, the circumstances that led to it, the guilt. It was all a constant reminder, every day, of what she lost. She often felt like she was walking with a shadow on her back, consuming what was left of light, making her into this gloomy person everyone was so afraid to get close to. In a way, she was glad. Her guilt made her believe living this way was her sentence and she couldn’t allow anybody else to carry her burden. One person knew though, the only hope on her pathway. Steve Rogers. He hadn’t been bold enough to ask her up front but instead waited, close enough so she knew he was there, until she was ready to confide in him. Late one night, he had found her crying on the rooftop of the Avengers tower. Silently, he had put a blanket on her shoulders and had sit next to her. Without looking at him, she had told him everything. There had been no judgment from the Captain, not even a look of pity. He promised he wouldn’t tell a soul and after that, she grew closer from the man she considered now family.

That’s how Steve picked up on what was happening in front of his eyes before anybody else. Everyday, he would catch Bucky’s eyes lingering on her. The Soldier often asked Steve about her, he could guess the sadness behind every broken smile. Behind her cracks, he could almost see his own. She reminded him a lot of what it had mean to become the Winter Soldier, of the pain his mind had endured as Hydra tore it into pieces. While he was curious of her past, he also understood that whatever it was, she hadn’t dealt with it. The grief was evident and he wanted nothing more than to help her anyway he could, but every time he took a step toward her, she took three more backward. Steve assured him it wasn’t his fault. They both could see the internal struggle within her, the raging battle between self-inflicted pain and sheer will to live again. So far, she hadn’t give in and instead opted for an illusion only Steve and Bucky weren’t falling for.

She wasn’t the only one feeling the overbearing weight of grief. That specific day marked the one year anniversary of their battle in Sokovia. There was an eerie, gloomy atmosphere inside the compound. For the Avengers, it was the reminder of a difficult battle, of many lives lost, of victory. For Wanda Maximoff, it was the day she lost her brother. She had barely left her bedroom and no one dared go speak to her. Natasha and Vision had gone to see how she was doing but she had refused the company. They could all hear her crying and had collectively silently agreed that it was better to let her process her feelings alone. Y/N was debating wether she should follow their example. She had been standing close to Wanda’s bedroom door for the past hour when she felt a presence next to her.

“You should go talk to her” She heard someone whisper.

She turned her head, her eyes landing on a pretty concerned Captain.

“Wil it really make a difference ?” She asked.

“She’s hurting” Steve answered. “Just like you”

The woman dropped her head.

“I’m not sure, I .. I won’t know what to say”

“You’ll know exactly what to say, Y/N. You’ve both lost a lot”

“So have you. So have everybody here”

He sadly nodded.

“Why does it have to be me ?”

“Because we’ve all grieved. We made peace with whatever happened to us. We don’t feel sadness, anger or guilt just thinking about whomever we lost.” He explained. “You do. Just like her.”

She pursed her lips.

“I can’t pretend to understand, Y/N, because I don’t. I see the mountain that is your pain everyday when I look into your eyes. And, behind this door is a friend who’s going through the same loss you’ve experienced. Even if you haven’t dealt with the death of your sister, you know what it was like for her to lose Pietro, to live without him, to not be capable to let yourself be alive when half of you isn’t anymore”

Hearing his words was enough to reopen the gigantic wound inside her chest. She knew he was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder, encouraging her with a soft smile.

“Alright. I’ll go”

She glanced at Wanda’s bedroom before looking back at Steve and swallowed the lump in her throat. Taking a deep breath, she closed the distance and knocked. Not waiting for an answer, she walked inside. She knew if she had ask Wanda, the Witch would have let her wait without an answer until she left.

The young woman was sitting on her bed, her gaze drifting into space. Y/N wasn’t sure she had even acknowledge her presence. All she could see was her soul bleeding an ocean through her eyes. When she sat next to her on the bed, Wanda tried to brush the tears away but it was useless. She couldn’t stop crying.

“I’m sorry you lost him” Y/N whispered.

She cursed under her breath, knowing those were in no way comforting words.

“If you came to tell me you understand, you can leave” She replied with a thick accent.

For a moment, Y/N did not say a word. She was thinking hard of something that could appease her friend, but her mind was blank.

“Are you also going to ask me if I’m okay” She heard Wanda say.

“What is the point ? I know you’re not”

She sighed.

“I’ve always hated that question. How are you suppose to know how you are if all you can feel is emptiness… It’s easier to say yes, put on a smile and turn your head”

“Is that why you’re here ? Are you expecting a yes or the truth ?”

“I already know the truth”

Wanda humorlessly chuckle.

“Are you going to pretend you know what I’m feeling ?” She told her with irony

“That’s the thing. I don’t need to pretend”

She felt her friend tense beside her.

“You should leave”

“Wanda…”

“No!” She shouted, getting up to put a distance between them. “I don’t need you to tell me I’m gonna be alright! I don’t need to hear it will hurt less with time, that I will forget ! Because I won’t, okay, I won’t!”

She started sobbing. For a split second, Y/N thought about hugging her, but she knew that this wouldn’t be a good idea. When her sister died, she couldn’t bear the hugs. They were so full of light and hope, such a bright contrast to the dark that was surrounding her. So she stayed on the bed, and watched her friend break down. Wanda needed the pain, she needed the anger, because they would inevitably lead to the last stage of grief. To life.

“Stop pretending to get this … this torture, because I can assure you, you don’t” Wanda vehemently told her, pacing around the room. “My heart is broken, okay ? It’s … It’s shattered. Not even in pieces, because he took those with him when he died.”

“Wanda …”

“No! You don’t know what it’s like to lose somebody !” Wanda yelled back. “Especially a twin!”

“Actually, I do”

Wanda instantly stopped walking and turned back to her friend, surprised. She watched Y/N playing with her hands, trying to keep the tears at bay, her eyes fixed on her lap, refusing to catch a glimpse of pity when she’ll start talking.

“It.. It doesn’t stop. The pain, I mean. It’s like this overbearing weight that crushes you every single minute of every single day. And when you get a moment to breath, a moment where you don’t feel your heart might explode of sadness, you feel guilty. So all that’s left of you now is pain and guilt. I can’t tell you it’ll get better, because it never did for me.”

She brushed the tears on her cheek as Wanda slowly sat back next to her.

“The world stopped when I lost her, my twin I mean” She continued, starring into space. “And I try, I swear I try to make it work again, but to this day all I keep asking myself is why her … why her and not…me. She was so much stronger than me, she deserved …”

A sob escaped her lips, preventing her from speaking.

“Steve told me I would be able to help you, because I understand your pain. But I can’t. What good would it do to you if I told you I feel like dying every time I think about my memories of her ?”

She humorlessly laughed.

“What good would it do if I confess I don’t want to live because I’m scarred of forgetting ? That I can’t breathe because each breath feels like I’ve cheated death ? That I’m becoming a void of darkness silently sinking ?”

They stayed silence before Wanda’s hand slowly came to hold hers. They spent a short moment without talking. Two woman with broken soul that understood each other on a level no one else’s could.

“You know ..” The Witch started to mutter. “Vis’ told me something once, and it stuck up on me ever since.”

“What was it ?”

“What is grief, if not love persevering”

A tear roll down Y/N’s cheeks, the words stabbing her right through the chest. Suddenly, she was up on her feet, alert and disoriented. This was sheer pain like she had rarely known, wide open scars bleeding through her soul.

“I can’t” She breathlessly told her friend. “I … I’m … I’m sorry Wanda I ca..”

And she fled the room. As soon as she stepped outside of it, she bumped into a muscular chest. Stopping in her tracks, she looked up. That’s when she saw it, what she dreaded the most. A look of pity. Bucky was standing in front of her, searching her eyes, his mouth open like the words were on the tip of his tongue yet he couldn’t voice any of them. He raised an arm toward her, a reflex to comfort the woman he cared the most about, but she was gone in a second. He turned back to glance at Wanda. The woman sadly smile and shook her head.

“Go get her” She simply told him.

And just like that, he was gone. He started by her bedroom, but she wasn’t there. He went to the lab, asked Tony and Bruce if they had seen her, but she wasn’t there. He passed by the gym, than their living room, but again, she was not there. He was almost running inside the building, going anywhere he could think of, but there was no sign of her. He was very frustrated when he crossed path with his best friend.

“Wha …” Steve started to ask.

“Y/N” Barnes only answered, almost out of breath.

The Captain hummed, watching his distress, knowing it was a bad time to ask him about it.

“She’s on the roof”

Bucky didn’t wait, not even hearing what Steve said next, and fled. He didn’t take the elevator and rushed up the stairs. It was a long way up but he did not care. All his mind was focused on was closing the distance between them. Finally, she was there. Sitting on the edge of the building, the sun shining so bright above their head.

“Please tell me you were not thinking of jumping” He said, half joking.

She didn’t turn around to look at him. She had felt his presence before he was even near her.

“The thought crossed my mind” She admitted.

He didn’t want to know if she was joking. Quietly, he stepped next to her and sat on the border, his legs dangling in the air.

“What happened ?” He inquired.

“I just … I thought I could help Wanda and…”

“That’s not what I’m asking” He cut her. “What happened to you Y/N ?”

She pursed her lips, turning for the first time to look back at him. She was almost expecting to see the pity in his eyes, but instead it had been replaced by worry.

“I had a family before the Avengers”

“A family you’ve lost” He guessed.

“…Yes. I couldn’t save them”

He raised his head toward her. She could see the millions of questions he had behind his stare. He was too polite to ask her but she knew he wanted to know. So she turned back to look at the garden in front of the compound, focused on the daisies Tony had insisted to have, and started to tell him her story.

“My parents were … scientists. Experts in genome manipulation. They were working for the government, for Shield. They discovered something important, something they wouldn’t tell us anything about. They started to get edgy, paranoiac, always looking over their shoulder. Whatever it was they found, they were scared. We fled America at the time. My sister and I, we didn’t understand what was happening, we didn’t get that … that they knew they were gonna die. That they were trying to keep us alive”

“What did they find ?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here”

“I don’t understand”

She closed her eyes, remembering them.

“They experimented it on me”

“What ?”

He was shocked.

“We were in Stockholm at the time. One night, they took me to their lab, they said they needed me to work. I was seventeen, just so happy to be with them, so I said yes. Four days later, I woke up alone, surrounded by ashes and no memories. I found …” She stopped for a second, her lips quivering. “I found what was left of their bodies. My sister was there too. All of them, dead.”

Tears started to roll down her cheeks.

“I was convinced I killed them, I couldn’t move, I was just … stuck. So I stayed there, laying on the ground, next to their bodies, until Tony found me.”

“That’s how you came to live with Stark”

“Yes. He took me in, changed my name and my story, made me swear to never talk about this”

“Why ?”

“He helped me figure out what happened that night. My parents did succeed in their experiment. They made me … enhanced. That’s what they called it anyway”

“They gave you your powers” He guessed.

“Yes. The same day, Shield found them. While I was under, they put a bullet in their head. My sister was supposed to be sick, at home. But she sneaked out and hid in the lab. She just wanted to be with us. Shield tried to make it seen like it was an accident, a malfunction”

“An explosion”

She nodded.

“Yes. They blew up the lab, with all of us in there”

“But you didn’t die”

“I absorbed the blast”

“Oh…”

She brushed the tears off her face, looking at her trembling hands. It was useless to try to make them stop.

“I never found out who was behind their assassination, or what I am suppose to be”

“What you’re suppose to be ?” He repeated, surprised.

“They put their secret inside me, that’s how I came to be. But what is it, and what am I?”

He frowned, his mind working a thousand miles an hour.

“Do you really think this changes who you are ?” He asked her.

“I lost my identity, Bucky. I lost the person I was. Those powers, they turn me into something I’m not”

“Are you saying I’m the Winter Soldier? That I’m … not a person anymore but a program design to kill ?”

He knew the answer to that question, but he needed her to understand.

“Of course not!” She vehemently answered.

“This is the same fight, Y/N. Hydra might have wiped out my memories, but Bucky Barnes reappeared each time they tried to erase him, because this is who I am. My strength, my arm, my alter-ego, they don’t define who Bucky is. The kid that grew up in Brooklyn does”

“Do you really believe that ?”

“I believe we’ve been broken. But it doesn’t mean we can’t be fix”

His metal arm moved to hold her hand. When she turns around to look at him, he gently tucked a piece of hair behind her ear with his human hand before brushing his fingertips on her cheek, wiping her tears away.

“I don’t know how many times you’ll need to hear this, Y/N, but we’re not beyond repair” He whispered.

A shiver ran up her spine at his whole demeanor. His shoulders held high, his eyes boring into hers, all she could see was his rage to live, his will to rebuilt stronger foundations around their broken pieces. No it was not pity anymore, nor was it worry. All she saw now was admiration.

“You and I, we are survivors” He said with force.

He was a warm light she had yearn to feel, fresh air she thought would never touch her skin again. Wordlessly, she laid her forehead on his chest and closed her eyes. She didn’t want this feeling to go away and wished to hard she could bottle up this moment with him forever. They stayed like this, her body against his, his hand entangled in her hair, his chin resting above her head, and for a moment none of them spoke.

“Why do I feel so guilty to have you” She muttered so low he almost didn’t hear her.

“Because you know I can bring you peace” He honestly answered next to her ear.

“If I let you in, if I take the risk to be hurt again and I lose you…”

“You won’t”

“You don’t know that for sure”

“I know I’ve got strong feelings for you, and they won’t go away”

“And I feel the same, but we’re gonna get hurt”

“Isn’t that what love is about ? Navigating between feelings so loud they can’t be shut down, even after death. Stop being so afraid to keep on living, Y/N.”

“Bucky …” She called, slowly raising her head to look at him.

“I’m not giving you a choice, doll.”

Before she could talk herself out of this, he closed the short distance between them and laid his lips on hers. Suddenly, what was a flame became a raging fire in the pit of her stomach. She could feel her heart pumping all the way to her ears, feel the tingling sensation of his fingertips against her skin, a sense of peace finally. This was raw emotions they were sharing, sparks of electricity they were making as their lips were moving. Their own world they were creating. A promise they were sealing.

“You’re gonna be okay” He assured her, kissing her forehead.

“Promise me you’ll stay, Bucky”

“For as long as you’ll let me” He finished.

She looked up at him with hope.

“I promise”

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