#bottles whatever he feels about being Alive. Again. stuck in this hell of the same 3-6 years on repeat. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moemoemammon · 3 years

Note

So bear with me. MC sleeps like a rock. A bomb could go off next to them, and they don't wake up. Now, add shallow breathing, and they look like a corpse. You could mistake them for a corpse if you don't check their pulse.

How would the brothers (+ datables if you're not too picky hehe) react to the first time waking them up for school only to think they probably died in their sleep on day one??

Sleeping Like a Corpse!

(Feat. GN!MC and the Demon Bros)

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

Lucifer didn’t think much of you when you arrived, now could he be bothered to personally make sure you peeled yourself out of bed in the morning. So naturally, he sent Mammon to go do it.

But when Mammon came back complaining about how you didn’t budge an inch, big bro realized he’d have to take care of it himself, like usual.

He figured slamming your door open would’ve done the trick, but you remain still. And as much as he wants to drag you out of bed by the ankle, he knows how fragile humans can be. He opts for giving you a vigorous shake, and.... you don’t budge.

He calls your name, nothing. He literally pulls you upright by the shoulders and jostles you around like a protein shaker bottle, but you don’t move, and- wait... are you breathing? MAMMOOOOOO-

“Haaah... It’s your first morning with us, and you’re already causing me trouble. If it weren’t for the warmth of your skin, I’d have thought you were dead. Perhaps I should give you an enchanted alarm clock, if you prove to be this difficult to wake every morning.”

Mammon

Tch, he seriously didn’t get why THE Great Mammon had to do this sorta grunt work! Why should he have to make sure a lousy human gets up for school? It’s not like he’s their babysitter! but we all know he’s a p*ssy so he’s not gonna say that out loud

But that means he’s gonna make sure you know how irritated he is! Mammon bursts into your room, calling you a ‘stinkin’ human’ at the top of his lungs, and... you don’t move a muscle. So his next step is to stomp over and rip your blankets off, and..... you still don’t move.

What the hell? It’s like trying to wake up Belphie! He leans in to try to smack you awake, when he finally notices how it...kinda...looks like you aren’t breathing.

Wait. Wait wait wait-! SURE he didn’t feel like having to watch you, but that didn’t mean he wanted you to die on the first night! Lucifer was gonna KILL him-! Did you die of fright or something?! He didn’t really mean all that stuff he said about eating you, you know?! Hey, snap out of it-!

“What the- You’re ALIVE?! I thought you died in your sleep, dammit! TCH! What’s the big idea, playin’ dead like that?! Ya tryin’ to get me in trouble?!” “-N-no I wasn’t worried about ya!”

Leviathan

Why does HE have to wake you up..? Sure, he has to go to school today anyway for the student council meeting, but what does that have to do with a human..? Couldn’t Lucifer have asked ANYONE else..?

Beyond annoyed when he enters your room. What’s he supposed to do?? Shake you?? Hit you with something???? Levi opts for awkwardly poking your side, and noticing how you don’t react. Great. Ugh... this sucked....

He tries again, then pokes the back of your head, tugs your sleeve, shakes your arm... then you roll over from the movement and he nearly has a heart attack. Not only because you surprised him, but because you.. wait, did you die?!

Stuck between “LMAOOOO ROFLMAO the human died on their first night! What a noob! #fail!” and “KDAKLFHLDSJFKL OH NO HELLO?????”

“WH- Ahhh... I thought you were dead. You know how long Lucifer would've lectured if if you died, right? He'd be so mad, i bet he'd even confiscate my D.D.D.! Normies like you are nothing but trouble. This is why a human shouldn't even be here..."

Satan

What a chore... This felt like more of a punishment than anything, and Satan hadn’t even done anything yet. Unless Lucifer already discovered the ink he dripped into his shampoo? Either way, he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in you.

But seeing as he got to hang around you in your most vulnerable state, wouldn’t it be funny if he put a curse on you? He was sure that whatever he chose would become a headache for Lucifer in some way, so the possibilities were endless.

Temporary blindness, backwards speech, rainbow colored skin, extreme bad luck, he didn’t know what to choose! Ah, and there were a few curses he wanted to use on Lucifer that needed to be tested out, so why not experiment on you?

He had plenty of time to pick the perfect one and- ah. Were you.. dead? Did someone beat him to the punch?

“Ah, so you’re alive after all. And here I thought I could harass Lucifer with knowing his human had died in their sleep. Well, it’ll have to wait, I guess...I was really looking forward to the expression on his face...”

Asmo

What? Lucifer was ACTUALLY letting him go in the cute little human’s room, completely unsupervised? What a bold move, dearest big brother~! There’s no way he’d pass up the chance to take a peek at your sleeping face! You were pretty cute, but he’d like to see if you were worth his attention.

That being said, Asmo creeps into your room like a sneaky toddler, and doesn’t hesitate to grab your shoulder and roll you over to get a good look at your sleeping face. Hmm... Not bad!

So with that, he hops right into your bed unannounced, bouncing you around and giving you that innocent giggle of his. Aren’t you lucky? You get to be woken up by the endlessly charming Asmo-chan~! The first thing you’ll see is his gorgeous face, and you’ll be blessed with the perfect first school day!

Why, there are hundreds and thousands of demons who wish they were as lucky as you were right now! He’s seen how they’ll fight tooth and nail for a chance to-..... hey, how come you’re not breathing..? Er, he’s not really into that sort of thing...

“Oh thank goodness! I thought you up and died before I had a chance to get to know you! You know how disappointed I’d be, right? Knowing I wasn’t able to explore the cute human living in our house... it’d be a tragedy!”

Beel

Surprisingly, he doesn’t mind that much. Having to go and wake you up reminds him of when Belphie was still around, so it’s familiar and feels kind of nice. What DOESN’T feel nice is that he’s missing valuable time he could be spending inhaling his breakfast, because you won’t wake up.

Hangry Beel enters your room with a bagel in his mouth, so you couldn’t understand what he was saying even if you were awake. Just know he’s calling your name and threatening to eat your breakfast. It’s your loss if you miss out.

Hm... You don’t wake up even after he shakes you, so he’s tempted to just leave. But he knows Lucifer will scold you if he returns downstairs without you, so he’s got to improvise.

It’s fine if he just carries you downstairs, right? He’s just tryin to eat man why can’t you- ...Beel is noticing a distinct lack of breath coming from you when he picks you up. Uhhh

“Oh, you aren’t dead. I was going to ask Lucifer if we could have you for breakfast too, but I guess that’s not an option anymore. He says hurry up and get dressed, and that you should give me your breakfast. Bye.”

Belphie

He’s in the attic, so same lmao.

Twins! Still gonna strangle and throw you down the stairs in the future tho

Couple goals amirite?

1K notes · View notes

goldentournesol · 4 years

Text

Be Careful What You Wish For

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Spencer gets exactly what he wished for, but it isn’t necessarily for the best.

Length: 5k

A/N: this is based off of maybe one of the best requests i have ever received, thank you so much anon, your request really got my creative juices going! also i combined this request with another one, too <3 (angst, just straight up, with happy ending tho)

masterlist

The sun was shining against the glass windows of the car. The sunset was so beautiful with its melting and merging colors, Y/N wished it lasted longer so she could watch it. It’d been feeling like beautiful moments were few and far between lately.

No one ever said being in a relationship was easy, but she’d never expected to drift this far from Spencer. She couldn’t exactly place the moment at which the descent of their relationship began, if she was being honest. One day, they’d be happy, smiling, full of love and life. And then the next, waves of darkness and despair would appear. They weren’t even the kinds of waves that would disappear with the shining sun. No, they were there to stay and fuel the storm that continues to rage on.

Today was one of those days. To be fair, the whole team was struggling, but Spencer had taken Morgan’s departure a little harder than everyone else. It was understandable, of course. Derek was a staple in Spencer’s life for so long. However, for a man who’s seen and been through so many losses, he sure was terrible at dealing with them. Spencer’s tendency to keep things bottled up had definitely been affecting the overall health of their relationship. In fact, it has been the root of a lot of their arguments lately. Y/N just wanted him to let her in, let her help him and she was willing to wait however long it takes. Spencer on the other hand grew more and more snappy, irritable, and private with each passing day.

When they were at work, they tried their best to avoid each other so as to not get on each other’s nerves. Their fights usually didn’t turn into screaming matches, but they both had a track record of saying things they don’t mean. Hurtful things. Turns out profilers are fantastic at rubbing salt into open wounds.

Ever since they began dating, Spencer took the subway less, opting for car rides with Y/N. Sometimes she’d drop him off, other times they’d spend the rest of the day at each other’s houses. She enjoyed driving him around, at first he was never too picky with the music she played, but later on, his music began to overtake hers. It never bothered her, in fact, she took it as a sign of him being vulnerable and sharing parts of himself.

The days where car rides once filled with joyous singing and laughter were coming to a shocking halt. The silence nowadays was almost always louder than the music they used to play. Even small talk felt like too much of a burden sometimes.

“Should I just drop you off at your place? Or do you wanna come over to mine? I still have some of that lasagna you liked in the fridge.” She asked softly as they slowed down into traffic. Rush hour in DC was never fun.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just have whatever’s at my place.” Spencer was being curt with his responses. Thus, the warning signs began flashing in her head.

“Are you sure? We can even pick something up from that one grocery store on our way home, something that goes well with the lasagna. I don’t mind cooking today.” She offered, hoping he wouldn’t shut her out like he usually did.

He shook his head, keeping his voice eerily level and his gaze was set on the road in front of him, “I just really wanna be home, Y/N.”

She nodded and whispered, “Okay.”

A short silence ensued as traffic began to thin out. Cars that were stuck bumper to bumper were beginning to move.

“Is this about Derek leaving?” She asked tentatively. He sighed and pursed his lips in response so she continued, “You know he said he was always a phone call away.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Spencer said shortly, gazing out the window.

“You never want to talk about anything.” She said defeatedly, the car beginning to move freely on the road.

“Yeah, well maybe that’s true. Or maybe I just don’t want to talk to you.” Spencer spat, clearly growing impatient.

“Fine, don’t talk to me then. But talk to someone, anyone! Hell, talk to Derek himself. Tell him you hate him for leaving or whatever you’re feeling, but don’t take out your anger and unresolved feelings out on me, okay? I don’t deserve that! Everyday I try to get you to talk to me, but it seems like with every little step I take forward, you take two steps back. And it’s exhausting. It is fucking exhausting, Spencer.” She frowned, tears welling up in her eyes but she refused to let them fall.

“I didn’t ask you for that! I didn’t ask for you to be my personal therapist. If I wanted to see a therapist, I would have gone to see one!” Spencer gestured wildly with his hands as he spoke.

“Spencer, in a relationship, we’re supposed to confide in one another. It’s supposed to be comforting. I don’t want to be your therapist, I just want you to talk to me!” She unconsciously began to press on the pedal, perhaps in an attempt to reach a destination quicker. He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Relationship? You call this a relationship? We can barely stand to be in the same room together, Y/N.”

“And that’s why we talk it out. No relationship is ever perfect! You should know that, Spencer!” She shrieked, gripping the steering wheel in frustration.

“That’s not true. What I had with Maeve was perfect until it was ruined.” He uttered.

“Maeve?!” She squealed incredulously, “Really?! What you had with Maeve was perfect?! Spencer, what you had wasn’t real like us! You spoke to her over the phone once a week! You wrote to her in letters, where you have time to-to think and to respond! It isn’t like real life, it isn’t like you and me! What we have is real! I-I’ve lived with you, I’ve seen you torn to pieces, I’ve seen you laugh until you cry. That’s the you I fell in love with, not some fantasy I created of you over the phone!” She spoke but the words were garbled between incoming sobs that she was frantically wiping the remnants of off her cheeks. The same sobs she’d tried so hard to suppress. She was barely aware of the words that came out of her mouth.

“If what I had with Maeve wasn’t real, then why do I wish she were the one here with me instead of you?!” Spencer defended, unaware of how sharp his words were or how deeply they’d wounded her.

Her breath hitched in her throat, taking her already blurry vision off of the road in front of her to face him, “What?” She whispered brokenhearted, but the utterance was immediately swallowed by the unmistakable, earsplitting sound of metal clashing violently against metal. They had no choice but to succumb to the inundating darkness that rapidly overtook them both.

***

Spencer woke with a violent start and sat up in his own bed. He sighed in relief when he realized it was just a dream and it was morning again. Turning his head to look at the left side of the bed where she usually slept, he expected to find her there and was taken by surprise when she wasn’t. He rubbed at his face and eyes vigorously before hearing some clattering in the kitchen. With long strides he saw a blurry figure in the kitchen making coffee and walked towards it.

He sighed in relief, “Hey, there you are. I just had the worst dream.” He huffed as he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck in his half-asleep state.

“Hey, good morning, lovebug.” She smiled and turned around to hug him tightly.

Something felt off. Something wasn’t right.

He’d heard that voice before. He pulled back from the hug and was met by…

It wasn’t Y/N. It was Maeve.

Spencer could barely control his expression as complete bone-stilling shock washed over his entire being, “M-Maeve?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong, honey? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She said, a kind smile resting upon her features. If Spencer wasn’t so shocked, he’d probably have laughed at the absurd truth of that statement. Maeve brought her hand up to his forehead, “Are you feeling okay?”

He didn’t even have time to be confused before he jerked back quickly at the touch of her hand, “I-uh, uh...I’m not feeling too g-good. Um...what’s happening?” He mumbled, rubbing at his eyes again, almost like they’d be polished and he’d see more clearly. But when he opened his eyes again, she was still there. Right in front of him. There was no light emitting from behind her, she was totally opaque. It was eerily real.

Her face was full of color and life and she was dressed in one of his cardigans over her own set of matching pajamas. She was moving and...alive. And speaking to him. What is happening right now?

“But y-you’re...how are you here right now? Am I still dreaming? Am I...Maeve, am I dead?” Spencer shook his head in an attempt to wake back up.

She began to laugh and pulled out a chair for him to sit on, and so he did, still staring up at her in disbelief, “No, baby, you’re very much alive. You’re probably just still confused from whatever nightmare you had. Here, have some water.”

“Y-yeah, yeah, confused. Um, what day is it?” Spencer began to pat on his chest to make sure he was solid and alive.

She looked at him curiously at his strange behavior, “It’s April 5th, 2016.”

April 5th? Derek left the BAU near the end of March. A light bulb went off in his head.

The BAU!

They’d have all the answers. He shot up from his seat immediately, “I uh, have to get to work.” Spencer rushed to his bedroom to get dressed.

As he’s dressing, he spots a picture frame on his bedside table. He knows the picture by heart, it was of him and Y/N in the pumpkin patch last year. He’d had his arms tightly wound around her shoulders and was kissing her cheek. The leaves were the most colorful they’d ever been. He picked it up and almost dropped it immediately like it had burned his skin. It was the same picture.

But Y/N was nowhere to be seen. In her place was Maeve.

No, no, no. This isn’t right.

Spencer began to panic as he buttoned up his shirt, he threw on his cardigan and practically flew out the door. In the distance, he could hear Maeve in the background calling out for him to drink his coffee before leaving.

The train ride to work was truly a test of his patience. He couldn’t keep his knee still and checked his watch religiously. After the train stopped, was the first one off and ran as fast as his poor feet could take him. He stopped running when he got to the FBI Headquarters as to not alarm anyone, but raced to the sixth floor anyway.

As he opened the glass doors he searched frantically for any familiar face, “Garcia!” He yelled as he spotted her bright yellow clad figure across the bullpen. He pushed through tired agents and messy desks to get to her. Everything else was the same, the office was just as he remembered it.

“Good morning, boy wonder! How are you today?” She smiled graciously, holding a few files in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Have you seen Y/N?” He asked impatiently. She pulled her brows together.

“Do you mean Y/N...Y/L/N?” She asked slowly, as if trying to recall her name.

“Yes, of course I mean Y/N Y/L/N. Who else would I be talking about?” Spencer asked, once again losing more of his patience.

“No, I haven’t seen her, to be honest. I don’t see much of the White-Collar Crime division up here unless Hotch asks for them. Why do you need Y/N? Is she okay?” Garcia casually answered, as if her answer hadn’t turned his world--this world--whatever the hell he was experiencing upside down.

“White-Collar crime? No, that can’t be right.” Spencer muttered to himself as his brain raced a million miles a second.

“Reid, is everything alright? Is there a possible case? Should I tell Hotch?” Garcia asked, but Spencer was barely listening.

He was on his way back to the elevators again, leaving an extremely confused Penelope in his wake. He raced down to the fourth floor, to the White-Collar crime division. As the elevator doors opened, his eyes scanned the crowded floor for her.

“Dr. Reid! It’s nice to see you down here. What can I do for you?” An agent, Agent Seymour, he’s met perhaps once before asked him.

“Hi, yes, I’m um..looking for one of your agents. Agent Y/L/N.” Spencer stuttered, it was weird saying her name so formally. But he had to see it with his own eyes.

“Yes, of course, right this way. I think she just came in.” The agent led him to a desk in the middle of the bullpen and left him, saying that she was probably getting coffee and should be back an second. Spencer looked over her desk and compared it with how her desk at the BAU looked like. Gone were the trinkets and books he’d given her. Gone was the candle she never lit, but kept anyway because she said it smelled like him. It was like staring at a stranger’s desk, so desolate, so...un-special.

“Jeremy, stop. I almost spilled my coffee!” She giggled from behind him. He’d recognize her voice anywhere. He turned to see her and his lungs filled with relief as he spotted her familiar face across the bullpen. There she was, in all her glory. Looking as beautiful as ever. His Y/N. But the relief was ripped away all too suddenly as he watched on. She had her coffee in one hand and the other was swatting a very sheepish looking Jeremy, he assumed.

“I’m sorry, baby. I just missed you.” He spoke, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her lips.

She blushed immediately and shied away, “Jeremy, we’re in the office!” She giggled again and pulled away from him, glancing around the office as if to check if anyone saw the moment of affection. Spencer’s blood boiled before he realized.

She looked so happy.

So much happier than she ever looked when she was with him. His heart sank to his feet and he felt like he was incapable of lifting it back up to its rightful place in his chest. He wondered if this was the universe’s cruel, cruel way of letting him know just how shitty of a boyfriend he’s really been. Fire of envy festered in the place where his heart used to reside. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy, resentment, or guilt.

It all felt so strange. It felt like there was suddenly way too much pressure in his head. Before he could begin to compute the events unfolding before him, he realized she had spotted him at her desk and was now making her way across the bullpen, separating from her Jeremy. Before he could freak out, she was speaking to him. And all he could focus on was the shape of her lips and the faint memory of how they felt pushing against his.

“Dr. Reid! To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you here?” She asked politely, but Spencer could tell that she was immeasurably confused by his presence, “Does Agent Hotchner need something from the White Collar crimes archives?”

Spencer panicked, “Yes! Um, he does...and um he asked me to ask you s-specifically. That’s why I’m here, heh.” He stammered like the nervous wreck he was and wiped his sweaty palms on the inside of his pockets.

“Okay, that’s no problem. Just tell me the number of the file and I’ll get it for you.” She smiled slightly, setting her cup of coffee down on her desk. At least her coffee order was still the same as it was.

She disappeared for a few moments after he gave her a random sequence of numbers. Spencer wasn’t even sure how his legs were still capable of holding himself up. When she came back and he got a whiff of her perfume, his body completely stilled. He knows that scent like the back of his hand, he’d given it to her for their first anniversary. The fresh scent nearly sent him into anaphylactic shock. He’d accepted the file and scurried back to the sixth floor without another word, once again leaving a confused woman in his wake.

Spencer collapsed at his desk and rubbed his head like it would somehow fix this. Whatever this was. Everyone around him operated so normally and went about their day while he was seconds away from losing his mind.

Was he having a schizophrenic scare? Did his symptoms bleed into his 30’s even though they weren’t supposed to? What was this alternate universe where he’d lost the one good thing he’s ever known? How was he supposed to get back? Did he want to go back? What would happen if he did? Would it be fair for Y/N to stick with him when he knew she would be so much happier with someone else? Would he try harder for her? Would he stop shutting her out? Would the woman he loved so dearly ever love him back?

He must not have ever been deserving of her love and the universe was punishing him in the worst way possible. To have her be within arm’s reach but to never be able to hold her.

Once upon a time, he would have given up anything and everything to be with Maeve, but that was before Y/N. Before she gave him a new life, one he wanted to live. One where waking up wasn’t such a task. One where seeing her smile at him was enough to make him forget about all his worries. But now Y/N looked at him with barely a sliver of recognition. There was no affection or adoration behind those eyes and maybe he deserved that.

But how was this universe expecting him to go on like everything is fine? Like he hadn’t just lost the love of his life? No one else in this warped version of Spencer’s reality was feeling as dejected as Spencer was.

“Reid, are you feeling alright?” The voice of none other than Aaron Hotchner brought him out of his stupor. Spencer had unknowingly been sobbing into his hands for the past few minutes. Hotch was taken aback at the extent of Spencer’s disheveled state.

“H-Hotch, I need to go home. I can’t be here. I’m sorry.” Spencer packed his things and ran out the building before he realized he had nowhere to go. Home wasn’t his home anymore. He couldn’t exactly go back and see his dead girlfriend wandering around his apartment. He couldn’t be at work where Y/N was, so blissfully unaware of the crisis Spencer was in the middle of.

He wandered the streets of DC aimlessly as he tried to reorganize the events in his head and somehow make sense of them. Just a few days ago, he and Y/N had been holding one another on his couch. Sure, they’d been in a rut recently, but they still loved each other. At least that’s what he thought.

He walked and walked, miles on end, keeping his gaze on his feet as he tried to piece bits together. An IQ of 187 and he had absolutely no idea how whatever was happening to him happened. Even the multiple universes theory didn’t have his back. If he was ‘here’, where has ‘here’s’ Spencer gone?

His feet had taken him to the local park, where he and Y/N used to sit under the stars. He found himself reminiscing the times they were together. He saw himself and Y/N in every couple that passed him by. Exhausted, Spencer took a seat on a patch of grass. He buried his face into his hands and tried to relieve himself of the headache he’d developed.

“Hey, mister! Watch out!!” He heard a child yell way too loudly.

Groaning at the volume, he looked up to see the vague shape of a spinning baseball increasing in size as it moved closer….closer. Spencer had no time to react before he was knocked out cold by the baseball.

***

The first thing she’d heard was the incessant beeping of...something next to her. After that, she’d heard faint chatter. The voices sounded familiar but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. She whimpered in pain which caught the attention of everyone in the room. The chatter ceased.

“Y/N? Honey, it’s Pen, can you hear me?” A voice called. She fought to open her eyes.

Why was it so hard to open her eyes? It was like they were glued shut. Why did everything hurt? What is that smell?

She made a small noise of agreement to the voice that called, but could not coordinate herself enough to speak or open her eyes.

“Y/N, darling, you’re in the hospital, okay? You were in a car accident.” She spoke softly.

But the words weren’t soft at all. Her words had opened up a Pandora’s box of previously suppressed memories. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. It was hard to breathe as she tried to remember the last moments before the fog. She remembered seeing him so angry, eyes so wild. Who is he? So...so close. She whimpered in pain as she fought the fog away.

Blood.

So much blood.

Pain.

So much pain.

The others watched as she began to writhe against the hospital bed in discomfort. Her eyes snapped open the second she saw his face in her mind, frantically searching the room for him.

Spencer.

“Sp-Sp--” She began, but couldn’t formulate the rest of the word. Exhausted and defeated by the lack of his presence, she lay back on the bed.

“Hey, hey, calm down. Spencer’s...Spencer’s fine, alright? You can’t see him right now, but you will be able to.” Those words were the last thing she heard before she slipped off into a silent slumber.

Hours later, she awoke again. But this time with enough strength to open her eyes immediately. Her limbs felt like they weighed tons, she could barely lift a finger. The room was empty besides a single chair with a blurry figure seated in it.

“Spencer?” She uttered almost inaudibly and the figure moved.

“Hey there. Sorry, I’m not Spencer.” The figure moved closer and she recognized the blonde sheen.

“JJ.” Y/N croaked with relief, happy to see a friend. JJ promptly gave her some water in a cup and adjusted the bed so that she would be able to swallow it.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, taking the cup from Y/N’s trembling hands.

Y/N shook her head imperceptibly, “Is...Spence--is he?” Y/N barely got to finish her thought before the tears settled in.

“No, gosh, no. He’s alive. Thankfully, you both made it out alive.” JJ said with relief, leaning her elbows against the side of her bed. Y/N felt her breathing get easier as she learned of the news. She blinked hard, trying to control the tears, but they just flowed out.

“It’s my fault, JJ.” she paused to take a deep breath and JJ took one of her hands in hers, “I was the one driving. I should have been more careful. I-I was so mad.” She sobbed, the tears escaping.

“Hey, no, it’s alright now. Okay, you’ve both made it out alive, that’s what’s important.” JJ rubbed Y/N’s knuckles.

“W-where is he? I need to see him.” Y/N attempted to sit up but winced from the sharp pain in her side.

“Um..yeah, about that. You can’t really get up yet. You’ve got three broken ribs, a broken leg, and a severe concussion.” JJ delivered the news and Y/N’s tears seemed to flow even harder.

Before she could respond, Hotch, Penelope, and a nurse walked into the room, “Oh, sunshine! It’s so good to see you awake!” Penelope squealed and kissed her wet cheek gently before wiping away her tears. The nurse checked all her vitals and gave her some extra information before she left. Y/N forced a smile and sat back, but something in the room felt heavy.

“What’s going on? What aren’t you guys telling me?” Y/N frowned, staring at her friends. She saw them all exchange a look and Hotch being the most straightforward man she knows decided to deliver the news.

“It’s Spencer. Unfortunately, Spencer’s brain has swelled significantly and doctors don’t know when he’ll wake. It’s already been almost 42 hours since the accident.” Hotch frowned, watching Y/N’s expression turn from a hopeful one into one of the most unbearable expressions of grief.

“Wh--what, what does that mean? Does that mean he’s--is he ever going to wake up?” She began to panic, her heart rate audibly increasing. She squeezed JJ’s hand as hard as she could.

“We can’t be sure yet, the swelling has to go down before doctors can make any claims. It’s still too early to say he’s in a coma, which is a good sign. He’s also been showing steady signs of improvement.” Hotch said and Y/N covered her face to shield herself away from the embarrassment of openly sobbing.

JJ and Penelope both looked at the bruised and broken girl on the bed with tears brimming their eyes, unsure of what to do.

“I have to see him. Please. Please, JJ.” Y/N sobbed, pleading at the woman beside her. JJ looked towards Hotch for guidance.

“I’ll speak with the Doctor and see what I can do.” Hotch nodded once and left the room. Aaron Hotchner was simply a man you couldn’t say no to. Thankfully, this extended to doctors as well. The next time someone came in, they entered with a wheelchair. After many screams and with the help of three nurses and a doctor, they managed to get Y/N into the wheelchair. They rolled her off into Spencer’s room where he lay motionless on a bed just like hers. The sight of him so frail with so many tubes going in and out of his orifices should have overwhelmed her, but she was just so happy to see him breathing. Once again she could barely control her tears as she weakly gripped at the hand that was closest to her. She pressed sloppy, uncoordinated kisses to the back of his hand and pleaded for him to wake.

The sight was overwhelming, even for Hotch. It was difficult to see their two youngest agents fight for their lives.

And for the next two days, this is how it went. Y/N would wake from her slumber, request to see Spencer and would not leave his side unless her Doctor absolutely required her to. She didn’t care about what he’d said to her before the crash, she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. She just wanted him here. She wanted to hear his voice again. What a luxury that was.

Slowly, Spencer began improving. He’d begin to open his eyes but shut them immediately afterwards. He’d make noises, even though they were very garbled, they were very welcome. Y/N would read to him, she’d have any one of their friends bring over his favorite books and she’d pass the time reading to him. It was difficult at first, but she’d improved too.

On the fifth day, he was awake and fully conscious before she even got to his room.

He heard his teammates speaking around him again and what a relief it had been to wake in a hospital bed rather than his own bed. He let out a heavy sigh of relief as they updated him of what happened in the recent days.

It wasn’t real.

None of it was.

Maeve wasn’t there, Y/N was his, no one else’s.

He’d been sure of it when they’d rolled her into his room and near his bed, eyes lit with hope surrounded by healing scrapes and bruises.

“Spence? Spencer!” She exclaimed, “Oh thank God you’re awake.” She whispered trying her hardest to lean towards him on the bed.

Spencer fought to raise his arm to touch her arm, “Y/N? A-are you really here?” He whispered back.

“I’m here baby, I’m here. I’m never leaving you.” She sobbed, leaning her face into his awaiting palm. Spencer’s chest filled with immense relief as his thumbs caught her fallen tears.

“Y/N, wait--Y/N, I’m so sorry...I’m so sorry about what I said. I remember. I didn’t mean it. You’re the one for me. Life is perfect with you.” Spencer frowned as tears of his own raced down his cheeks.

Y/N shook her head, “It’s okay, I don’t care about that anymore. I could have lost you. I-if I had lost you, I would have lost myself Spencer. I love you so much. I love you so much.” She repeated as she kissed the palm of his hand.

“I love you so much, Y/N.”

How could he have ever wished to live without this? Without her?

The universe had taught him his lesson and boy was he glad he had learned it.

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid fic #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid masterlist #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #mgg #CM

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ghosthunterbuck · 3 years

Text

like it means something

buddie (2.8k) (read it on ao3)

Evan. His own name won’t stop rattling around in his head. Evan.

He brings Eddie home from the hospital and everything’s - not okay, Eddie still got hurt and Buck still had to watch it and Bobby’s still hurt too, but - they’re getting there. No one died, and that’s a hell of a lot better than it could’ve been. No one died.

Evan.

Eddie kisses Chris’s forehead and Buck grins wide, because yeah, of course he would take care of him if the worst happened, but this is what Christopher deserves. His family, alive and whole and well.

Taylor’s there. Of course she is, Buck’s mind supplies, you asked her to be. She’s your friend. More than a friend? Buck doesn’t know. There’s a lot to unpack there, and with everything else that’s happened, they haven’t had the time. It’s a conversation for another day.

Abuela, Pepa and Carla each take their turn fussing over Eddie and then, to Buck’s surprise, him too. He doesn’t understand why. Eddie got shot, not him. Eddie’s the one who hasn’t been home in a week, not him. Eddie -

Evan.

Buck’s at a loss. It’s a party of sorts, but Eddie’s exhausted and so is he. Buck feels completely wrung out, and he can see the tension in Eddie’s expression that says he does too. He wants to tell everyone else to leave, but it isn’t his place. Still, though, Taylor seems to get the hint first. She pulls him aside with a gentle hand to his shoulder.

“I’m going to head out. Is there anything you need?” she asks.

Buck shakes his head mutely.

“Just... get some rest, okay? I know you want to take care of him, but you’re not the only one who can.” She presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then heads over to where Eddie and Ana are seated at the dining room table to make her excuses.

Taylor is half right and half wrong. There are other people that can take care of Eddie, but Buck won’t be able to rest unless he’s nearby.

Evan.

Abuela and Pepa leave next, citing the sinking sun and the growing weariness in Eddie’s movements. They each kiss him on the cheek and go with the promise to return in the morning. Abuela’s left behind enough food to feed an army for a week, stacked in the fridge in carefully labeled Tupperware.

Then Carla goes and it’s just Eddie, Ana, Buck and Chris.

Evan.

Buck should probably go, he knows, but he can’t quite bring himself to. He knows Eddie’s okay, has the living proof sitting right in front of him, but the second he looks away all the tension of the week returns, the fear and anxiety mixing sickeningly in his stomach.

Christopher has fallen asleep in Eddie’s lap, head tucked into his good shoulder. Eddie himself is fighting yawns. It’s been a long day.

Finally, it’s Ana who breaks the silence, standing and pressing a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “Get some rest,” she says. “And text me if you need anything.”

It’s virtually the same thing Taylor said to him, and it strikes Buck as odd. They’ve been together, what, six months now? She should be saying more. Maybe she’s not because he’s here. Buck still can’t bring himself to leave.

Evan.

Neither of them has moved in the minutes since Ana left, but Eddie’s eyes are starting to drift and Buck knows he needs to sleep.

“Let me take Chris,” he says softly.

The grateful nod Eddie gives him is a testament to just how tired he really is.

Buck picks him up carefully and carries him to bed. He tucks him in and presses a kiss into his forehead. Once upon a time, he might’ve wondered if that was his place. Not now, though, not after everything Eddie said. He loves this kid like his own; he’s not going to pretend it’s anything less.

Evan.

He flicks the light out and makes sure Chris’s night light is on before gently shutting the door. Wordlessly, he returns to Eddie’s side.

There’s a grimace of pain on Eddie’s face that hadn’t been there before, and a quick glance at the clock tells Buck that he’s way past due for another round of medication. He grabs the pills and a bottle of water from the kitchen.

“The doctor said I can give you ibuprofen, too, if this isn’t enough.”

Eddie shakes his head minutely. “No, this is okay.” He swallows the pills Buck offers him dry, then washes them down with a swig of water.

“You need to sleep,” Buck says. “I should-“

“Stay, please?” Eddie interrupts him.

And how could Buck say no to that?

Evan.

Buck’s barely asleep when he hears Eddie cry out. He’s on his feet in a second and by Eddie’s side in less.

Eddie’s asleep still, but his face is scrunched and he’s curled in on himself like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Buck places a hand on his leg and shakes him gently.

Eddie shoots up, hissing in pain and clutching his shoulder. His eyes dart wildly around the room, unseeing.

“Hey, hey, just a dream, you’re okay,” Buck says.

Eddie’s eyes are wide with fear as they meet Buck’s. He sucks in a ragged, shuddering breath, then sags.

“I- you. You were- fuck,” Eddie stutters, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Buck repeats. He pulls Eddie to his chest. “You’re okay.”

Buck rocks them back and forth gently as his shirt slowly grows wet with Eddie’s tears.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Eddie gasps against him. Buck just holds him tighter.

“Don’t be,” he murmurs, “I’ve got you.”

Eventually, Eddie pulls back, wiping his eyes with his good hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Buck asks after a moment.

Eddie shakes his head but begins to speak anyway. “It was- I saw you, covered in blood and I couldn’t... couldn’t move, or, or help you. And- and then you were coughing up blood, just like at the party, and I tried, Buck I tried but it was like I was stuck in quicksand and I couldn’t-“ Eddie’s breathing has gone ragged again, so Buck grabs his hand.

“Me?” he can’t help but ask.

“Evan,” Eddie says, so tenderly it hurts.

Evan.

They fall asleep curled together, Eddie’s hand resting over Buck’s heart. It’s the first decent sleep Buck’s had since the shooting.

They don’t talk about it the next day, mostly because Buck doesn’t know what to say. He suspects Eddie doesn’t either.

Instead, much to Christopher’s delight, Buck makes pancakes. The three of them eat together on the couch, watching some cartoon that Chris seems interested in and Buck’s never seen before. It’s so painfully normal. Buck was terrified he’d never get to have this again, and now that he does he can’t shake the feeling that the other shoe is going to drop.

Evan.

That night, Eddie wordlessly pulls Buck into his bedroom. They lay facing each other in the dark. Buck wants nothing more than to bridge the gap between them, but it might as well be the Grand Canyon.

There’s not much light in the room, just the ambient glow of the city filtering in through the cracks in the blinds. It’s enough to see Eddie’s face by, but it doesn’t help Buck read his inscrutable expression. He eventually gives up trying and closes his eyes.

He’s stiff, and sleep evades him. If Eddie’s shifting is any indication, he’s still awake too. Finally, Eddie heaves a sigh and, to Buck’s surprise, wraps a hand around Buck’s wrist and pulls. Buck opens his eyes and sees the silent question in Eddie’s.

Is this okay?

Buck presses himself into Eddie’s space without hesitation.

Evan.

Eddie has a doctor’s appointment the next day, and Buck’s agreed to meet Taylor for coffee after dropping him off. Carla’s with Chris for the day, to help him with school, leaving Buck with a free hour on his hands for the first time in over a week.

His stomach has been in knots all morning. He’s not sure if it’s the prospect of letting Eddie out of his sight for the first time since he’s been home, or the conversation he knows he’s about to have with Taylor.

Because he’s thought about it, and the idea of being with Taylor… he’s kidding himself. Before, maybe. But now, after, with the mess of feelings he has twisting in his chest - he’s not in a place to start something new. He’s not even sure he wants it - her - anymore. Taylor’s great, but she could never fill the hole that was punched in his chest by the same bullet that tore through Eddie’s shoulder.

He’s starting to wonder if he’ll spend the rest of his life dividing things into before and after.

Taylor’s already seated when he arrives, fingers wrapped around a cardboard coffee cup that’s still steaming. Buck almost expected to change his mind when he saw her, to suddenly remember why he was interested in the first place, but mostly he’s just anxious to get back to Eddie. He doesn’t even really feel the old curl of attraction he’s used to. He sits in front of her, suppressing a sigh.

Taylor looks up at him, wearing an expression he can’t quite decipher. “Buck,” she says.

Evan.

“Hey, Taylor.”

“You don’t want coffee?” She asks, inclining her cup towards him.

Buck shakes his head. “Had some this morning,” he shrugs. “Don’t want to get jittery.”

Taylor frowns slightly, but doesn’t say anything.

They sit in awkward silence for what feels like an eternity before Buck finally breaks it.

“Look, Taylor,” he sighs. “There’s a lot going on right now, and I just… whatever this thing is between us, I’m not sure I have the space to figure it out. You deserve someone who’s all in, and I just can’t be right now.”

Taylor blows out a breath. “Oh thank god,” she says.

And that’s… unexpected. Buck raises a brow.

“You’re my friend, and I care so much about you, but I- I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I told myself it was something else.” Taylor doesn’t look him in the eye. “All this earnestness is making me nauseous,” she jokes weakly.

Buck huffs out a short laugh. The tightly wound anxiety in his gut loosens, just a bit. “Friends, then?”

Taylor finally looks at him and smiles. “Friends,” she agrees.

“How was coffee?” Eddie asks. He’s looked vaguely constipated since Buck picked him up, but insists that his appointment went fine.

“Good,” Buck replies honestly. “We’re on the same page.” He’s driving, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees Eddie’s face do something complicated.

“Good,” he says. “That’s good.” There’s a beat of silence. “So you’re… together, then?”

Buck glances at Eddie, whose eyes are fixed on the road ahead of them. His expression is carefully neutral, but tight around the edges. Buck huffs a soft breath. “Nah,” he says. “End of the day it wasn’t what either of us wanted.”

Some of the tension bleeds out of Eddie’s posture. “Oh. I, uh- are you okay with that?”

Buck chuckles lightly at that. “Yeah, Eds. Pretty sure I’ve got everything I need right now.”

Evan.

Sleeping in the same bed at night becomes something of a habit, just like not talking about it does. It’s not that Buck doesn’t want to. He’s just… not sure how. What do you say when you’ve got so many feelings that you can’t even begin to decipher them, and the only thing you know for sure is that the thought of letting your best friend out of sight for more than a few minutes sends you careening towards a panic attack? There’s not exactly a greeting card for that.

This song and dance, though, it’s familiar. Comforting, in its own way. They’ve always flirted with the line between friendship and more, daring to put a toe over it, but never to take an actual step. Buck can’t help but wonder if this is a step, and they’re both just too chickenshit to admit it.

Evan.

“Where’s Ana?” Buck asks one morning, apropos of nothing. “I would’ve expected to see her around more often.”

Eddie stiffens. “We, uh, we broke up.”

Buck whirls around, nearly flinging egg against the backsplash. “When?”

“After the party.” Eddie shrugs uncomfortably.

Buck’s eyebrows raise. “I’ve been with you 24/7 since then,” he says. The question is obvious.

Eddie rubs a hand through his hair and frowns sheepishly. “I… texted her?”

Buck’s jaw drops. “You ended a 6-month relationship, a week after you got shot, over text?”

“In my defense, I was on a lot of painkillers. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Buck can’t help but laugh, throwing his head back. After a moment, Eddie joins in.

“That,” Buck says between giggles, “was not cool, man!”

“Nope,” Eddie agrees.

It’s the best either of them has felt in weeks.

The night after Buck’s first shift back at the station, Eddie has the worst nightmare he’s had since that first night. It takes Buck three tries to wake him, and the glassy look in his eyes remains far longer than he’d like.

“Please be careful,” Eddie says finally. “You have to- I can’t-“

“I promise,” Buck says, holding him tight to his chest.

Evan.

It’s Buck’s own nightmare that brings things to a head.

He’s been sleeping surprisingly peacefully since Eddie’s return home, but when the nightmares do return, they’re the worst he’s had.

He dreams he’s stuck beneath the firetruck, white-hot pain radiating up his leg, watching helplessly as Eddie bleeds out in front of him. Eddie tries to drag himself to Buck, but each pull makes the wound gush even more blood. Buck tries to yell for him to stop, but he can’t make his jaw work.

He finally wrenches it open, only to find himself sitting bolt upright in bed. His throat feels raw, like he’s been screaming, and Eddie’s hand is clutching his forearm. He knows where he is, but the panic from his dream isn’t receding. It grows louder and louder, until finally, Eddie’s voice cuts through.

“Evan!” He says sharply. “You’re okay, you’re fine. You’re in my room, with me. We’re both okay.”

Buck sags and falls back against the pillow, willing his breathing to slow. “You keep saying that,” he whispers in the dark.

“What?”

“My name. Like it means something.”

“It does,” Eddie says. “Every single piece of you matters.”

And Buck… Buck almost believes him.

Evan.

The elephant in the room grows larger every day, but still, they don’t talk about it. For all intents and purposes, Buck lives at Eddie’s. It’s been months. Eddie doesn’t physically need his help anymore, but neither is willing to let the other go. With Eddie’s return date drawing nearer, though, it’s getting harder to ignore.

Buck doesn’t want to ask, but he has to. He’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop since practically the first night, and he can’t take it anymore. He decides to soften the blow with pancakes.

“I should probably go back to my apartment,” he says, as casually as he can manage, as if the words don’t feel like ripping his still-beating heart out of his chest. Buck tries not to examine that feeling too closely.

“You need something?” Eddie asks, like it hasn’t even occurred to him that Buck might not come back.

“No, I-“

“Oh,” Eddie says. His expression goes carefully blank.

“I just-“ Buck tries to explain.

Eddie holds up a hand forestalling him. “I get it,” he says. “It’s fine.”

Buck swallows, ignoring the voice in his head that says definitively that it’s not.

Evan.

Buck’s out the door, duffle in hand, when Eddie stops him.

“Buck, wait,” he says, “Evan!”

Buck drops his bag in surprise and turns, only to find Eddie much closer than he expected.

“Don’t go,” Eddie says in a rush. “Stay, please. I need you here. With me.”

Buck gapes at him, as slowly the knot of emotions in his chest begins to unravel. The string that encircles the edges, that one he knows well: fear. The one beneath it: anger, at the sniper and the universe for hurting Eddie all over again. Hope and devastation intermingle, while grief lay coiled off to the side.

And the string that runs through the middle, holding it all together… that’s love.

Oh.

Buck gets it now.

He takes a step forward, closing the minuscule gap between him and Eddie. “I don’t want to go,” he whispers.

“Then don’t.”

Buck kisses him, soft and sweet. A promise, one which Eddie returns in kind.

There’re still a million things to talk about, but for once in his life, Evan Buckley is pretty sure he has all the words he needs.

#911 #9-1-1 #buddie #911 fox #abbie writes #fic #mine

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can-u-like-stop · 3 years

Text

Sitting Still With A Brain On Fire

Bucky Barnes x Sam Wilson

Sam gets shot on a mission, and Bucky hates it. Talking it through may take a little longer than normal people.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31853911

---------------------------------------------

Bucky has been sitting on the couch in the living room staring at the blank tv for almost two hours now. Sam went out for a run to clear his head after they’d finished yelling their lungs out at each other, now he comes back to see Bucky in the exact same spot he left him. Almost too close to the exact same spot.

“That was so fucking irresponsible Sam,” Bucky had spat once Sam changed from his hospital gown.

“Irresponsible? What was I supposed to do? Let the damn kid die?” He asked, laughing Bucky off.

“You have the shield for a reason Sam, you don’t have to jump in front of bullets. What the hell was that?” Bucky’s tone rose.

Sam turned, raising an eyebrow, “so you think I don’t know how to use the shield?”

Bucky huffed, “no, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Really? Cause it sounds like that’s what you’re saying. You think I should do better?” Sam challenged, getting pissed.

“No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just you could’ve fucking died, do you not see that?”

“We could die any day we’re out there, Buck, why the hell do you care so much?”

“I don’t,” Bucky sniped. “But the bullet might not have even hit the kid, you could’ve died, and they’d have to find another fucking Captain America for no goddamn reason.”

Sam’s chest clenched at Bucky’s words, does he really not care? The sensible part of Sam’s mind told him that Bucky was lying but Sam hadn’t been feeling too sensible at that moment.

“Yeah yeah alright, and what if the kid had died, huh? Who would they blame? That’s right, me. And it’d be another reason why I should step down, another reason that I’m not enough, another reason why a black man shouldn’t be Captain America. You don’t fucking get it sometimes, Bucky, I can’t just fight for myself.”

“You don’t… fucking get it…” Bucky murmured as he sat himself down on the couch, the ferocity in his expression melted into a dead look at the blank tv screen. Sam’s ego had tempted him to keep fighting but he’d heaved a sigh and grabbed a half-full water bottle from the kitchen counter.

“I’m going for a run.” He said, the only sign Bucky had heard him being the side eye that was thrown for a split second. Then Sam had headed straight out the door.

And here Bucky is now, his expression is the same mix between a glare and a blank slate. Sam stands in the middle of the room for a bit, eyeing Bucky. A weird feeling gets to Sam as he registers where he’d seen that look before, in Madripoor when Bucky was posing as the Winter Soldier. Sam sighs, putting the water bottle in the sink and walking over to Bucky. He sits down next to him, no response.

“The usual silent treatment, huh?” Sam asks.

Still no response.

“I can’t even remember what we were arguing about,” Sam chuckles but it just sounds sad when Bucky doesn’t even throw him a glare.

“Come on, Buck, I’m trying to, like, talk through things for once. Can you just look at me?”

The silence is deafening before Sam sighs again and tries to think back to the argument.

“I’m glad you care, man,” he starts, “I wouldn’t have wanted to die out there either. But I made my decision and I’ll always put myself on the line to protect people and you talking against that made me feel like- like you didn’t trust me to do the job, like you didn’t trust my leadership. And I-” Sam turns to look at the side of Bucky’s face. “I need you by my side, Buck, we’re partners.”

Bucky’s eye twitches, Sam watches with bated breath for a few seconds until he lets it out, leaning back into the couch as he realises Bucky isn’t going to be talking any time soon. Fine, Sam thinks, we’ve sat in silence before, we can do it again, I’ve said what I need to say, he concludes. He tilts his head back and rests it on the back of the couch, finally taking a deep breath for what seems like the first time since he left that morning for the mission. It’s difficult for him to get through to Bucky when he’s like this, shut off from the world. It irritates Sam sometimes but he realises that he does it as well. It’s not so much a ‘silent treatment’ as it is protecting yourself from saying something or doing something you’ll regret. But with Bucky, Sam realises, it may be different due to his time with HYDRA. Any sign of individual thought or emotion, would have been punished. It may take a while before Bucky tries to sort through his emotions without shutting them off first. And so, Sam waits for when Bucky’s ready to talk.

He’d want Bucky to do the same for him.

He may have dozed off for a bit, his exhaustion winning over his tension regarding Bucky, but he’s awoken by the sound and feel of the couch moving. Sam’s eyes shoot open and he looks toward ls Bucky, whose eyes have moved away from the tv screen and are on Sam. His face is still guarded but Sam can at least see he’s hurt. Sam lets Bucky stare for a bit until he finally speaks,

“I never want you to doubt that you are the one person I trust to be Captain America.” Contrary to his furrowed eyebrows, Bucky’s eyes are wide and honest. Sam wants to reach out and rub away the tension in his brow.

“I just… was thinking,” Bucky’s gaze drops down to the area of the couch between the two of them, “you could get hurt… you could die, I don’t-” Bucky’s voice drops to a murmur, “I don’t know what I’d do, man.” He looks back up at Sam, “you really scared me today.” He ends, holding his gaze.

Sam takes a deep breath and nods. He reaches out and puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I can imagine it was…” Sam thinks about what it would be like if Bucky had taken the bullet. Sam was unconscious for most of his hospital trip but he knows what it’s like to be stuck waiting to hear news about someone. The torture he’d feel if he were stuck there, helplessly waiting to know whether Bucky, someone he loved cared about, was alive.

“It would’ve been hard.” Sam finishes, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder before letting his hand drop down his arm. Bucky’s hand latches onto Sam’s, almost instinctively. As soon as it makes contact, though, it relaxes and lets Sam’s hand go again. Bucky whips his face away to peer outside, away from his lap where their hands lie. Sam’s heart thumps, doubting whether or not Bucky meant to do that. They don't usually have any qualms about physical contact but this is different. Sam thinks about what it would be like to take Bucky's hand and hold it to his lips. To smooth his thumb over it until Bucky relaxes. At this thought, Sam's hand inches towards Bucky’s, almost aching in anticipation until he picks Bucky’s hand up again to hold it. As soon as Sam does so, Bucky’s breaths start deepening, it’s only then that Sam realises the harsh rhythm Bucky had been breathing throughout the conversation.

“I’m glad we talked.” Sam says all of a sudden, startling himself. Bucky’s head turns to him, ignoring their hands.

“I was worried for a second there that you wouldn't talk for, I don’t know, like a day, and we’d never get it over with.” Bucky’s hand tightens around Sam’s ever so slightly.

“Sorry about that.” Bucky says, seeming ashamed. “I don’t know why I do that. I just like… close up or whatever.” Bucky looks down, Sam shakes his head.

“Nah man, it’s fine. You needed a moment.” You’re also probably not good at handling emotions on account of your lovely time with HYDRA, but that might be something to bring up with the therapist later, not now, Sam thinks.

“Well, now that moment’s over,” Bucky smirks, “and I can tell you how stupid you were for going for a fucking run after you took a bullet.” Bucky complains, looking back at Sam disapprovingly.

“Hey! I let you sit here and brood, I should be allowed to go have my run. It calms me down!” Sam protests, knowing full well he could feel his wound twinging throughout the entire run.

“Well,” Bucky lets go of Sam’s hand and gets up. “If you end up dying now, it’s your own damn fault.” He sasses, then starts walking down the hall. “I’m gonna have a shower I’ve been covered in dirt for too fucking long.” He complains.

Sam watches him go, the phantom feeling of their palms together still making his hand tingle. Sam knows he has his duty to protect people and he’d willingly give his life to do that. But it’s at times like these that he remembers why he’s always careful, so he can come home to Sarah and his nephews, and Bucky. If they need him even half as much as he needs them, he knows he’s gotta keep himself alive. He hears the shower turn on and he turns himself to lay across the couch, the smell of Bucky imprinted into the cushions eventually lulls Sam to sleep.

#sambucky #sambucky fic #bucky barnes x sam wilson

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

Text

❛ DOUBLE DATE? ❜

with Ezekiel ‘EZ’ Reyes.

Request: This isn’t a Nestor one but how about one where I am friends with the guys in the MC I like EZ but I know he is hung up on Emily. I get a new best friend from work and talk about him all the time (he is gay) and EZ starts getting jealous and flips when I bring him with me to a club party. Ez gets angrier and angrier because we are hanging out dancing etc until bff husband comes to pick him up back early from a business trip.

BY @cherieann-2001

Warnings: none.

Word count: about 1.3k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to the author

Masterlist.

You can subscribe to my broadcast list, to be notified whenever I post a writing!

“Why don't you have a date with him?”

The question makes you drown with a sip from your beer, frowning at EZ in front of you, inside the Mayans bar.

“Bring him tonight to the party”.

Narrowing your eyes, you notice the jealousy in his voice, raising your chin with a proud gesture. Nodding then, you take your phone to write to your partner in crime. He will be delighted to help you to make EZ's jealous stay at float.

You have chosen your best dress. A short one, over your knees, with fine stripes and a squared but pronounced neckline. Black, like your chunky heels. You're stunning, with your hair falling behind your shoulders and a light make up on point. Spreading on your neck the Hugo Boss perfume, you have a last look in the mirror. Simply perfect. Hearing the claxons sounding outside, you know that your best friend is already there.

Reaching the crowded yard, with a high five before joining the party, you walk through it holding his right arms with yours. Ezekiel didn't think that you could be capable of bringing him, but at least he knows how to behave, narrowing his hand as soon as your co-worker offers to him. And then, after introducing him to the crew, you walk to the bar to grab some beers. The mischief has begun.

You two dance too close. So close that there isn't any distance between both, drinking from the same bottle, laughing and feigning that you are flirting. What EZ doesn't know is the fact that your best friend is gay, and married. And even if you only have one hour to make him feel jealous, until he recognizes his feelings for you, it's more than enough. After this time, your friend has to drive to the airport in San Diego to pick up his husband, from a plane from New York where he has been attending a seminar.

Sideways, you can see Ezekiel serving drinks to the other Mayans, but feeling the burn inside his veins believing he has lost the boat straight to you. And you feel somewhat bad, but you have been throwing him indirects about what you feel for too long. So, this is the last option you have. And when you think that the plan can't work better, your partner in crime has a new idea.

“Ezekiel, right?” He asks walking towards the bar, leaning over it, while you feign to be talking with Coco. He knows what you are doing. “Give one more beer, please”.

He nods in silence, not falling into his taunting.

“She is beautiful, don't you think? Like an angel”. Your friend says then, trying to tease him.

“Yeah, she is”.

“I hope she's not single for much longer, you know what I mean”.

“Yeah, and I hope you don't hurt her”.

“Me? I couldn't, big guy”. He laughs, grabbing the drink, to give him his back.

Your friend blinks you an eye, putting an arm over your shoulders.

“Job done, sweetheart. I have to go, but, call me tomorrow if you're still alive. Did you see the size of his arms?”

Kissing the tip of your nose, he pokes it before leaving you there with Coco.

“Mami, you're gonna burn into hell”.

“Yes, probably. Who knows?”

The next part of the plan, and the final one, is play the innocent card. Ezekiel is pretty smart, but so predictable. Putting your dress on well, you go into the clubhouse. Your heels lead the way to the bathroom, getting locked inside it to retouch your makeup, taking your time. You're not in a hurry. Checking some emails on your phone, you try to desperate the prospect at the other side of the door. Being conscious that he is already waiting for an explanation. Keeping your stuff in the small bag, to hang it from a shoulder, you are about to walk outside of the bathroom when you almost collide with him.

“Jesus Christ, Zeke… You scared me!” That was a bad line, but effective.

“Yeah, sorry 'bout that”.

“Need something, ah?”

“Why the hell you brought your fuck boy to the party?”

“Sorry…?”

He doesn't repeat it again. Crossing your arms over your chest, you frown.

“You told me to bring him”.

“I wasn't being serious”.

“Why you care?”

“Mayans business, maybe? Do you think this is a disco club?”

Rolling your eyes, you place a hand on his abdomen to push him away, not letting him see that you're winning the game.

“Don't be a dick, Zeke. That's your brother's shit”.

“You are being a dick, not me. Bringing… this fucking guy here. What were you pretending?”

“Have a date?”

“With that guy? Nah. You're fucking kidding me. That's not your type”.

“Oh, wait. I didn't know that you know my type more than I do. Surprise me, oh, voice of wisdom”.

He doesn't reply, frowning and placing his hands on the folds of his kutte.

“Yeah, that's what I thought”.

Giving him your back, you continue checking your mails on your phone, while crossing the hallway to the living room of the clubhouse.

“I like you”. His voice sounds like a shy whisper, but the fact is that he has his eyes fixed on you. “You're not like… these girls walking around here all the time. You… are intelligent, you have… ambitions, inquisitiveness. And shit… Shit, you smell so good. Is like I have your smell stuck in my fucking lungs the whole day, just with smelling it once”.

His puppy eyes are melting your heart, seeing how he feels so miserable thinking he has lost you because of his incapacity of talking about the feelings he has for you.

“He looks like a good guy, but… if one day you need someone to break his legs, just call me”.

That makes you laugh, even if he's talking seriously. Taking some steps next to him, with your hands tangled behind your back, you lean forward a little.

“Do you wanna know something?” Waiting him for a nod, you take another step. “He is gay. And he's also happily married to another of my best friends”.

“Tell me you didn't play the fucking game of pu—”.

“I did, Zeke. See? You're not the smartest in this clubhouse”.

“So you ar—”.

“No, he's just my friend. But I was serious with the part of having a date. But my date is still working, so I have to wait for him”.

He just chuckles, with that kind of smile that could stop a damn world war.

“We're not having a date”. He says then, coming closer to you.

“Aren't we?”

“Not tonight. I don't want our first date to happen here”.

“Aw, look at you… The romantic Reyes”.

“More than my brother? Yeah”. He laughs this time, surrounding you with both arms as you place your hands on his chest. “If I see you again dancing too close with anyone, I'm gonna burn down this place”.

“That doesn't sound too bad… You will finish working sooner, then”.

Before you can continue talking, his lips are already pressing your with a gentle and lovely gesture, that gives you some nice chills down to your backbone. Raising your fingers to the back of his head, you deep your tongue in his mouth, to fight his, but taking your time to enjoy a kiss that you have been desiring for too long.

“Hey, boy sco—OH, SHIT, FINALLY”.

Turning at Angel, you find him freaking out. Hands on top of his head, widened eyes and his mouth dropping to the floor.

“DAMN, I THOUGHT IT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN”.

Now his hands go to cover his mouth, hiding a proud smile and making you laugh.

“Nah, whatever, I cover your ass at the bar”.

“Yeah, give me just two minutes more”.

He leaves you walking backwards, facing you and making some dirty gestures with his fingers, before pointing at his brother's arms to highlight their size.

“ANGEL!” You yell laughing, trying to hide against EZ's chest.

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#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc #mayans x reader #ez reyes x reader #ezekiel reyes #ez reyes #ezekiel reyes x reader

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bi-naesala · 3 years

Text

Fox isn’t surprised when he finds someone inside his shitty apartment when he opens the door, not when that someone is Thorn, since he had insisted he gave him and the rest of the Guard - or former Guard you should say - squad a key to it, just as a security measure since he insists on living alone and barely contacts them.

He just went out that day to get some groceries - yes, now instead of guarding assholes for life he just does mundane things like that one - but still, he could’ve warned him that he was going to come.

“Hey, Fox!” he says, smiling warmly at him. Even as the war went on, that smile has never lost its particular shine. How he managed is still a mystery to Fox.

“Thorn,” the other greets him, stepping inside. Despite everything he can’t help an amused huff seeing Thorn all comfortable on his couch. “I see you’ve made yourself at home already.”

“Well, you know, since I was all alone in here…” Thorn replies, before getting up and dragging Fox into a hug. “I’ve missed you, vod.”

Fox doesn’t like how easily he melts at the contact, but by now he’s gotten used to it. He receives so little physical affection that when he actually does it’s so intense that he almost cries - almost.

“I’ve missed you too.”

Since he’s there, Thorn makes himself useful by helping him with the groceries, putting them in the places they belong to.

“So… wanna come to 79’s later?” he asks, closing the fridge but not before taking a bottle of water and drink it like this was his home and he could do anything he wants with no repercussions. It’s all Fox’s fault: he let him get away with it at first in the name of hospitality, and now it’s gotten out of control. Oh well, it’s not like he can order him to stop now - he doesn’t have a rank anymore.

A sigh leaves his lips then. This isn’t the first time Thorn has attempted something like this, but by now he should know how it’s going to end.

“No.”

If his dry answer fazes Thorn at all, he doesn’t show any sign of it.

“Okay. How about tomorrow?”

Fox shakes his head. “No.”

Now Thorn’s enthusiasm begins to look a bit deflated, but he still doesn’t lose hope.

“Would you like to come any day this week?”

“No.”

This time a sigh leaves Thorn’s lips.

“Alright maybe let’s not go to 79’s,” he says, “How about somewhere else? Dex? You used to love Dex! Or we could go to this nice place Thire told me about--”

“Thorn.”

“Yes?”

“I’m not coming.” Fox gestures to the other. “If you want to have fun go, I’m not stopping you. Just leave me out of it.”

Thorn takes a deep breath.

“Why are you so determined to be stuck in your little hole?!” he asks, exasperation overflowing at every word, “You have the right to have a life! Nobody’s going to deny you that anymore!”

Unlike Thorn, Fox isn’t a fool; he knows that his situation is not as easy as he makes it out to be: even if the Clones Rights Bill has been approved, it’ll take some time before the rest of the galaxy will see them as actual people, and Fox himself isn’t also exactly loved by his vode.

He doesn’t blame them: he was the one who raised his blaster against one of his own; he didn’t kill him only because he had missed his heart by a small margin.

If he wasn’t exactly well-loved before - it goes with being a Corrie, as they called it - from that point on he became absolutely hated. He doesn’t blame them nor he tries to justify himself, even as he has to admit he doesn’t have many memories of that day in the first place; still, he’s not a coward and he refuses to hide behind such a pathetic excuse.

The thing is this: Fox doesn’t belong anywhere anymore; he knows there isn’t a place in which he’s welcome.

It’s fine, solitude isn’t that bad, even if it wasn’t supposed to be part of any of their lives, but he’s gotten used to it.

Besides…

“I do get out. In fact, I just came home after I got out.” It’s a weak retort, but someone has to make that point. As expected in fact, Thorn’s completely unimpressed with that comeback.

“Grocery shopping doesn’t count.”

“Not just that,” Fox weakly mutters.

He’s not lying though! Two days ago he got out to meet with Bly! Sure, they have avoided going to 79’s or any other clone created space, but they still saw each other, they still went for a walk, they still talked, they still acted like friends.

Of his old batch, Bly is the one Fox sees most; it used to be Ponds, but then… Fox doesn’t want to think about that. Apparently Bly has forgotten that his brothers can take care of themselves and has the need to be act like a mother even when that’s totally unnecessary - nevermind how relieved Fox feels when he comes visiting, that’s totally unrelated.

With Wolffe he mostly speaks via comms; they guy is still so busy trying to find a place for the Wolfpack, and although Fox doesn’t blame him - he would’ve done the same for the Guard - he’s glad that his men managed to find it on their own.

Hell, even Cody makes himself known from time to time, even though it’s mostly by sending holos from his most recent travels - yes, he always said that he wanted to explore the galaxy after the war, and now the son of a bantha is truly doing it.

Excluding his batch, the only people that remember his existence are Stone and Thire, who make a point to visit when they can, and Thorn, who is the one who bothers him most often.

No matter how you put it, in the end Fox is very much alone.

It’s just self-preservation, nothing more nothing less, really: the Coruscant Guard has always been in a weird spot, because they’ve been looked down by the majority of the vode for not fighting frontline.

Now, with the discovery of Palpatine’s true identity, things have only gotten worse because they’ve been suspected of working with him, as if they haven’t been simply other pawns for him to manipulate. Not that they have ever been accused directly - except from some drunk vod at 79’s - but it was easy drawing conclusions with the way they were looked at, or the general distrust that the vode reserved them, like they could still be working against them.

At least Fox has managed to shift the blame around so that instead of “the Guard worked with Palpatine” people go around saying that only Fox did. His reputation is already damaged beyond repair, so why not? At least the others will get that second chance at life that he knows he wouldn’t get either way.

Deep down, very deep down, he envies them, because they truly are free, unlike him, who will be chained to his past crimes until the day he dies and probably even after - he shivers just thinking about how he’ll be remembered by the future generation, if he’ll be remembered at all.

Still, it all becomes meaningless in front of the pure joy he feels when they narrate him the last shenanigans they get themselves involved in. They are truly free and happy now, and Fox is happy for them.

… If sometimes he wishes their places were switched, that he was the one who could live freely as his heart desires, well, that’s something only for him to know and keep secret.

Sometimes he thought about confiding in Thorn, the only one he’d ever consider burdening with this stuff, but every time he decides to do he quickly changes his mind; it’s not worth it.

Now more than ever he wants to scream, not even at Thorn in particular, just scream, as if all his anguish and problems would disappear just with that. It would be too good to be true

It’s not that he doesn’t want to get out, it’s just that he can’t. It’s not safe, it’s not…

He’s afraid of all the stares he’d get, of all the words that would be thrown at him. Normally it wouldn’t phase him - he’s used to it - but day by day he’s becoming more susceptible to his emotions again; it almost makes him miss that time when he was so detached to seem almost a droid. At least he could get things done back then, not like now that he has to mentally prepare himself to go out at least one day before.

At least now he’s free, however, isn’t he?

Technically he could go wherever he wants, could do whatever he wants, if only… No, he can’t. People wouldn’t be happy to have him around.

Thorn tries again. He’s gotten so close to Fox that if he was someone else Fox would’ve already tried to put some distance between them, but with Thorn he’s used to it.

“Fox, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t. I--” Kark, his voice is breaking.

“Nobody’s stopping you. In fact, the only one stopping you is yourself, trust me,” Thorn reassures him. “I know you still feel guilty, but most vode have gotten over it. In the end we were all in a shitty situation. Besides, you did hesitate in the end, didn’t you? That’s why Fives is still alive and why we discovered who the Sith Lord was.”

What Thorn is saying makes sense, but this doesn’t mean that it’s easy for Fox to accept it; after so much time spent with self-hatred as his only constant companion, he can’t act like he never thought any bad things about himself. Besides, he doubts the rest of the vode really have forgiven him.

Still, Thorn wouldn’t lie about this, because as much as the fool still insists on wanting to cheer him up, he knows that he won’t accomplish anything by telling lies - actually, he’d make things even worse - and there’s still the fact that deep down Fox wants to leave his place, wants to do something with his life, but… it’s scary.

“Even if I decide to leave, it’ll take time before I can organize anything,” he says, because it’s so much easier saying that rather than to admit that he’s the one who needs time.

These last months have been hard for everybody, but nobody talks about how especially hard they’ve been for Fox. He’s just so tired of everything.

Yes, that’s it, he’s tired. If he could he’d disappear without leaving any trace, but he knows that if he does someone would come searching for him; in the end there are some people that care about him, but at this point Fox wishes they didn’t because it would make his situation easier: he wouldn’t hold onto that love he still scarcely receives anymore, he wouldn’t suffer because it’s still so little.

Whose fault is that anyway? It’s his. It’s him the one who keeps pushing people away. It’s just that he craves and hates the attention at the same time, a contradiction that he still hasn’t sorted out.

He’s so focused on trying not to lose it in front of Thorn that he barely notices him moving them to the couch. He does feel it however when he closes his arms around him, when he kisses his forehead, when he says that it’s fine, that it’s ok, that he’s safe.

Fox has gone so long without allowing this kind of softness in his life, but damn he missed it. If he began to let people closer again it might happen more often, but how is he supposed to do it?

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he gathers enough strength to speak. He won’t lie: staying like this almost makes him want to curl into a ball and fall asleep in the security of Thorn’s arms, but it’s something that Fox would rather avoid, at least for now. Maybe in the future he might be able to let go and actually do it.

“I want to leave,” he eventually says.

“Leave to where?” Thorn asks.

“I don’t know, but I want to travel.”

“We can do that,” Thorn replies, smiling at Fox, “We can do whatever we want.”

Yes it’s true, they can…

“You think Thire and Stone would want to come? It would be nice having the squad back together.”

“I’m sure they’d love it.”

Fox doesn’t know if Thorn’s actually right, but it’s reassuring to hear him say that.

For now he’ll bask in his brother’s warmth for a bit longer. They can plan another time - there’s no rush after all.

The idea of the outside isn’t something he’s still entirely comfortable with, but Fox would also be lying if he said that he isn’t looking forward to exploring it. Coruscant is pretty and all… but he’s grown tired of it.

He might still not have found his place in the new word, but who knows, maybe there’s hope for him yet.

#commander fox #commander thorn #sw #tcw #star wars #the clone wars #my fics #mine

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plus-ultra-oneshots · 4 years

Text

Please {BakugouXReader Oneshot}

Please

{BakugouXReader}

"Just drop it, (Y/N)."

.:+:.

Something was terribly wrong, you could feel it deep down in your core, cold and heavy and twisting you into a million knots.

You'd been seeing it for days, with it slowly and gradually becoming more noticeable, but at first you didn't really give it much thought. Following what had happened at the Training Camp and at Kamino, between the League capturing Bakugou, the terrifying battle that followed between All Might and One For All- everything has been crazy, insane really, and the world really hadn't felt like it had stopped spinning yet... Not all the way.

You'd gotten caught in the cloud of poison gas back at the Training Camp, and been out of commission all the way through to the Boss Battle in Kamino Ward. You'd woken up, confused and disoriented- and immediately plunged into a world that seemed to be falling apart. All Might, the world's #1 Hero was being driven back and beaten down, destruction running rampant, and the most terrifying of all- Bakugou had been taken.

You'd been panicky to say the least, immediately trying to push yourself out of your hospital bed and struggling against the nurses trying to keep you down. You demanded answers and an explanation on what was happening, and only finally calmed down for a moment when Asui and Tokoyami came in the room, and told you what went on. You'd been worried and agitated out of your mind about all of it, you'd have done anything to have gone with Kirishima, Midoriya and everyone else to try and get Bakugou back- and you hated yourself for being so weak that you'd been unconscious all through it, and couldn't do a damn thing to help. You had wished over and over again that you could have done something, anything even, and you wished more that he had never gotten taken in the first place.

Bakugou was tough as nails, and he definitely wasn't the sort of person to bend easily under anything (if ever he bent at all), so rationally you knew he would be able to handle himself against the League.... He was probably one of the few in the whole school that would be able to do well in a situation like that, but even then you knew it wasn't going to be easy on him. As tough and as strong as he was, anyone would be at least a little scared being captured by Villains, all alone. And even if he didn't want to admit it, he had probably been pretty scared the whole time. But Bakugou was also the sort of person to bounce back from terrible situations rather quickly, and you figured he would bounce back even if he'd been scared or even after whatever had happened when he'd been captured.... But he hadn't.

It was so subtle, when he came back he'd been quiet and he hadn't wanted to really talk about any of it (even with you)- and you understood it. You wanted to give him time to process everything that had went on in his own way, and you trusted he would get to a point of being fine. You knew he didn't want to be fussed over and so you did your best not to hover, but you still kept an eye on him regardless.

He was getting more and more agitated every day after Kamino, and ten time worse after All Might had called the school to assembly to apologize for hiding his (extremely startling) appearance, and his retirement. You'd been standing next to Bakugou at that assembly, watching the blonde quietly from the corner of your eye and biting the inside of your cheek when you saw him grow more and more tense with every moment. You'd seen the way his fists clenched, trembling faintly from agitation or anger, you weren't really sure- and he'd stayed still with his teeth gritted and head bowed so far you couldn't even see his eyes anymore. He'd stormed off to his dorm room after that and you hadn't seen him at all for the rest of the day. And when you came to knock on his door you earned no answer, and let it be... If he wanted to be alone you would let him, and you were wary of pressing too much in case he rejected you all the way.... But you really wished you knew what was going on.

Had something really bad happened when he was with the League? Or after Kirishima and the others had gotten him back? Had something been done to him that he wouldn't tell anyone, out of fear or shame, or something else....?

You hated coming up with such awful theories, but what else could be stopping him from returning to his usual self? And why did he seem so angry...? Like he was burning alive from the inside with some deep, fiery rage? He didn't keep his anger to himself, and if he did it was rare- you were more likely to find him yelling his frustration at the top of his lungs and blowing things up, than you were to see him actively bottling his fury and acting like everything was fine.

You'd decided to give up being patient a few nights after the assembly, and you'd approached him after class to try and start up a conversation. He'd only grudgingly paused long enough to let you catch up to him in the hall, and as soon as you started in and asked him if he was okay, his expression twisted at you and his eyes hardened.

"I'm fine." He grumbled curtly, shutting you down not two seconds after you'd began, and you jumped a little. He shook his head at you, huffing and turning to keep going, but not before he cast a pointed stare over his shoulder at you. "Just drop it, (Y/N)." He growled lowly, and then walked off, leaving you alone in the center of the hallway and frowning faintly.

He sounded calm when he said it, though there was a bit of an edge to his voice even still.... But the calmness was forced, you could tell instantly.

You sighed, your eyes flashing as you watched him walk away in silence.

.... Maybe tomorrow you would try again..... Maybe he might not shut you down like that tomorrow.

Hopefully

But you didn't really have much faith in it, and that made a heavy lump form in your throat.

You tried to focus on classwork as the day drew to an end, tucked away in your own room and hoping reading would help put you a little at ease... And you managed to read for quite awhile, though more than once you found your mind wandering from the pages. When you had read the same line several times in a row, you put the book down and hopped off the bed, heading toward the balcony connected to your room and stepping out into the cool night air for a break. You let out a long sigh, leaning against the railing with your elbows and looking out on the silent figure of UA's campus before you. It was fairly late now, and you hadn't realized how long you'd been reading before you saw the moon high up in the sky, washing everything out in a blue-silver glow. Your shoulders sank, letting your head hang and shaking it at yourself in tired exasperation.

How were you gonna get Bakugou to tell you what was clearly bothering him? Short of outright demanding it from him, you weren't sure there was much you could do to work him around to talking.... That guy was stubborn as hell even at the best of times, and would be much more so on things like this, the things he clearly did not want to discuss.

You couldn't just drop it like he'd told you too, though. Both partly out of your own stubbornness, and out of simple concern.... Sometimes you wished Bakugou wouldn't make you work so hard at any of the (supposed to be normal) friend stuff..... Though you supposed you actually liked that he wasn't so easy to befriend, because once you actually got to that level with him, it meant the connection was fairly special, and somewhat rare for the explosive blonde.

With another sigh you straightened up, stretching your arms out above you- only to pause halfway through the motion. Movement on one of the sidewalks away from the dorms caught your eye, and you leaned over the railing a bit to get a better look.

There was someone walking toward the dorms, slow and quiet, their hands stuffed in their pockets and eyes down. You blinked, your eyes widening as you recognized the pale blonde hair of Bakugou, and your heart skipped a beat in shock.

What the hell was he doing out? It was way passed curfew and you were sure that no one else in the building was even awake at this hour, discounting yourself. And he was headed toward you, which meant he had left before now and who the hell knows how long he had been out... An hour, a few? You couldn't imagine he'd left before curfew and nobody wondered about him once it was late.... So did he sneak out?

You didn't know, but you were sure as hell gonna find out.

You dodged back onto your room and out the door, moving down the dark hallway and toward the stairs- quiet but quick in your movements. You wanted to catch Bakugou before he made it up to his room and could shut you out again. You hopped down the steps two at a time, months of hero training at UA making it easy for you to take them rather quietly- and better for it, since you really weren't looking to wake anyone up, or alert Bakugou to you coming too early.

You rounded the corner and picked your way across the common area only halfway, before coming to a halt when the front door opened and Bakugou stepped inside. He closed it behind him and took a few steps in across the threshold without ever looking up or noticing you standing there, and even took off his shoes before he froze, suddenly aware that there was someone else in the room with him.

He looked up slowly, red eyes narrowed and wary when he saw you of all people standing there, in the middle of the night, and exactly where he didn't want you to be. Your eyes went wide though, shock running through your veins and your heart skipping not one beat, but two.

His arms were covered in dark bruises, and scrapes and small, little cuts that were blackened, swollen and bleeding here and there too. He looked like he'd stuck his arms in a turbine and just let the fan blades pummel him over and over- and his clothes were dirty too.

Holy... Shit...

You swallowed, your eyes darting over the wounds and his haphazard appearance. He knew what you were looking at, and he growled under his breath at you.

"... y... you're hurt...?" You stammered and he clicked his tongue, looking away and shaking his head firmly. He started walking, burying his hands further in his pants pockets and intent on heading straight passed you and toward the stairs.

"Shut it. This ain't none of your business, and there ain't anything for you to see either." He muttered lowly, "Why the hell are you down here anyway? It's the middle of the night dumbass, just get lost and go back to your own room." He was still walking as he said it, your eyes following him as he did so and stunned still for long enough that he reached your shoulder, and was about to walk straight passed you altogether. He didn't catch your eye again even as you reflexively turned with him, he just hunched his shoulders against you and grimaced. "I told you to drop it, so fucking drop it already." He hissed, and you blinked, your wits quickly catching up with you again and you frowned, turning all the way around and quickly stepping after him.

"How am I supposed to drop it when you show up beat to hell...?" You hissed back quickly, and he faltered a bit at the fact that you'd actually talked back to him this time, instead of relenting quietly like earlier. He paused for half a second and shot a flinty glare over his shoulder at you, but you returned the look steadily and unflinching. "I mean you can't honestly think I'm just gonna ignore this, can you...? You're hurt, and clearly something's wrong- you've been acting really weird for days now...!" You told him quickly, shaking your head. "I... I know you've been through a lot the last week, between the camp and the League, and I get it... but you're not acting like your normal self, and I can't just let it go..... I've been trying to give you space and not pester you or anything, but I can't... I'm worried, I can't just ignore any of this." You grumbled, and his eyes flashed, his brow furrowing and anger igniting in him fast as can be.

"Tch, well I didn't ask for you to give a damn, or worry about me, or any of that other shit, did I?" He hissed lowly, "No, I told you to drop it- so do what I said, and quit wasting your time doing everything else, damn it!" He snapped and you stiffened, "I don't want you to be patient or worry, or pity me, or work yourself up, so just drop it already!"

"... you can't ask me to not worry about you, I'm gonna worry no matter what- that's what friends do!" You shot back quickly and his teeth grit further, a vein ticking on his forehead.

"Ain't friends supposed to listen to what you want, huh?!" He retorted instantly, and you hissed. "And I don't want you to worry about me- I want you to leave me the fuck alone! None of this has anything to do with you, so just leave me alone and quit poking your nose where it don't belong!" He turned away from you abruptly and began to storm off, all barely muffled fury now and practically steaming from the head. You grit your teeth, quickly getting annoyed now too and immediately moving after him.

"Damn it Bakugou, don't walk away from me!" You called, and he shook his head again, picking his pace up.

"JUST DO WHAT I TOLD YOU, (Y/N)!" He yelled back without ever sparing you a glance, already at the stairs now and quickly climbing them, you at his heel.

"I am not dropping this!"

"WELL THEN I AIN'T TALKING TO YOU ANYMORE!"

You sped up, trying to catch up all the way but he was quick to outpace you still. You were both taking the steps three at a time, not really worried about the loudness of your steps or your voices anymore, and you huffed. He'd taken his hand out of his pants pockets now as he moved, and despite how much he was moving his hands away he climbed, you could see they sported the worst of the bruises and cuts and things- even so much as his knuckles were ripped and gashed open, and cached in blood. Your eyes flashed at the sight, your stomach knotting more than it already had.

"Why won't you just talk to me...?!" You snapped irritably, puffing a little from the climbing. "How can you tell me to ignore everything even when you're acting so weird, or coming back in the middle of the night covered in blood....?! You can't just yell at me to leave you alone, and drop it, and expect I'll automatically stop worrying about you- I can't! You're hurt and you're clearly bothered by something, and you've been pulling further and further away from everyone since what happened with the League and at Kamino...! I just wanna help you! Why can't you just let me...?!"

He reached the top steps of his floor and abruptly stopped, bloody hands clenched so hard at his sides new trails of blood began to drip from his fingers. You stopped too, startled at the sudden halt and still a few steps down from where he was. He was shaking now, from anger or whatever else you weren't altogether sure, but the strangled breath let out was so low and so full of pain you felt shivers run down your spine.

"Because I don't deserve your damn concern, alright?!" He snapped at you, his voice quivering much more than you had ever heard it do so, and your heart dropped.

W-what...?

".... What do you.. ?" You started, your voice hushed and so very lost now, and he hunched a little at the question.

"... Tch..... All that shit that happened- the Training Camp getting busted into, you idiots getting hurt and gassed- that was on me! The damn League was there for me and you all got dragged into it!" He snapped. "And then because of me, and the whole stupid rescue- an entire goddamn ward got demolished, a shitton of people died, Best Jeanist nearly got murdered, and All Might-!"

He broke off abruptly on the (former) No. 1 Hero's name, and you stared, your heart sinking into the very pits of your stomach.

B...Bakugou....

He folded in on himself, barely still on his feet and the breath he sucked in shaky and pained and so close to breaking altogether. Your heart in your feet was breaking too, your mind whirling as it all started to come together.

He... He blames himself for everything that happened...?

But it wasn't...

".... Tch.... Damn it..." His voice was hoarse now, hushed and wavering. "... I don't deserve a damn thing... Not after all the crap that happened... I ain't worth your time... So just quit.... Please..."

You went rigid, your eyes wide and glittering like mad in the dim, ears ringing on the last word.... The word so full of hurt and pleading.

Please

He shook himself out rather roughly and turned again, moving off quickly and you weren't so fast to give chase this time, you were reeling too much. You caught yourself soon after though and hated the hesitation, your feet quickly stumbling up the last few steps after him.

He was at his room already, and the door slammed shut behind him, the noise ringing through the whole of the Building. You went straight up to the door, intent on just storming in and not giving a damn, but it was locked and it halted you.

"Bakugou! Open the door!" You snapped quickly, the harshness of your voice near as startling as the door slamming, and you hit your fist against it a few times too. You didn't get any answer and you hissed, banging a few more times. "Open the door damn it...! You need to let me in, let me talk to you....!" You hissed, pushing against the door now and hoping maybe it would give..... But it wouldn't, and short of kicking it in, there didn't seem much hope it would open any time soon, or that Bakugou would answer you either.

"Bakugou!" You snapped again, but still silence.

"...(Y/N)...? What's going on...?"

Kirishima in the room next door popped his head out, after having been woken up by the door slamming and your own banging on the wood. Your head snapped in his direction, annoyed and panicked all at once and with absolutely no patience nor interest in trying to explain anything to him right now.

"Go back to bed." You ordered sharply and he flinched at the harshness of your tone, stunned for half a second before shrinking under the glare you settled on him and slowly inching back through the door.

"... O..okay.....?" He mumbled, followed by the click of the door latching and you turned that glare back on the door in front of you. You paused, your eyes dropping to the floor to try and see if any light was coming underneath it, and if not maybe he was just on the other side.... But you couldn't tell, you weren't even sure he'd turned the light on.

"Bakugou." You murmured, lowly this time and sinking slightly to sit on your heels, your forehead falling against the door, swallowing hard.

".... Bakugou please open the door." You murmured tensely, your throat tightening despite yourself when his 'please' rung on your ears all anew. You hissed, your fingernails digging into the wood and scrunching your eyes closed.

Damn it

".... Please.... I know you hear me, let me in.... Please..." You hissed, ".... I didn't realize..... Bakugou... None of it is your fault.... None of it.... It isn't your fault..... Please don't say it is, it isn't...." Your voice cracked and you swallowed again, hunching a little further, the top of your head pressed against the door now.

"..... Let me in.... I don't want you to sit there all alone.... I know you don't feel like you deserve it.... But you do... I want to help you.... So please.... Bakugou, open the door...."

Your breath hitched, your pleading for the door to open breaking off as you tensed, holding your breath and desperately trying not to lose what little composure you had. How..... How could you not have realized this before now...?

You knew it had to have hurt him, everything that had gone on.... But he was supposed to be fine, right....? This was Bakugou you were talking about, he was going to come back from this.... Right....?

How could he think..... Believe even.... That it was all his fault...?

That he didn't deserve your kindness, or anyone else's...?

... Bakugou....

".... Tch.... Bakugou please.... I want to help you.... You deserve to be helped, none of this is your fault...."

He could hear you on the other side, practically feel the warmth of your hands through the door and his back pressed against it. He sat on the floor, hunched over with his knees brought in to his chest, hugging them and his face pressed against them too. He heard your voice getting softer with every word, more pleading and more painful, and he hurt more with every bit of it.

Why were you trying so hard? How could you even say that, that it wasn't his fault? It was his fault, all of it on him and his ass for getting caught in the first place... hell, even the Villains being there was his fault- he was the one they wanted, everyone else was just cannon fodder in the way.

Everybody who got killed or hurt, all of that... it was all on him. He should never have gotten caught, and nobody should have had to come rescue him either- you all should have just left him where he was. If you had, hundreds of people wouldn't be dead right now, Best Jeanist wouldn't be ripped to shreds, and All Might.... All Might would still be a Hero, damn it...

"... Bakugou.... let me in...."

The sound of you still asking to be let in was like knives through his chest, every time you repeated 'it isn't your fault' and 'you deserve to be helped' like getting torn into a million pieces. His body curled in on itself more and more, his fingers digging into the back of his neck and it feeling more and more impossible to breathe.

Why wouldn't you just go...?

You shifted, pressing your back against the door and pulling your legs up to you, your eyes glittering in the dim and lips a tight line. You stayed there, leaning against the door and sitting on your heels for a very long time. Eventually your voice failed you, and the Building wen quiet again- but you never left. You didn't dare leave, you kept your hands on the door and willed with everything you had that you would reach him somehow, even with the door in the way. If your voice wouldn't do it, maybe just being there would have to be enough.... maybe even if he didn't open the door, the fact that you were still there on the other side would be enough. You weren't as close as you wanted, but he wasn't entirely alone in there either, not with you out there, waiting.

And he never moved either, he stayed sitting with his back against the door too, the wood the only thing between you both and keeping you apart. You couldn't possibly feel one another, and yet somehow you did, a warmth that radiated through the door and into your backs. A ghost of a sensation of one another, quiet and faint... apart but not quite.

You were there for the entire night, you never left him alone and he could feel you the whole time. He hated you for not going, hated that you didn't listen and that you were losing sleep staying there in the hall.... and still he wasn't sure what he would do if that warmth through the door went away either. The idea that you might not be there made his stomach churn, and some icy lump in his core get all the colder and fill him with unease.

... you were so stubborn damn it....

You were halfway lost in the turmoil of you own mind when the door at your back suddenly disappeared, your balance lost in an instant and thudding against the floor a little painfully, stunned and not sure what had even happened.... the door was open, and you were lying in the entryway, eyes gleaming.

The door was open

You scrambled into sitting up again, eyes wide and quickly looking for Bakugou but you couldn't see him. He was behind the halfway open door, holding it open with you in the way of it and hissing.

"Get in here already." He muttered lowly, and you shuffled across the floor into the room. As soon as you were out of the path of the door Bakugou shut it again, sitting crosslegged on the floor and hunched over with his hands on his knees, his head bowed and face hidden by his hair. His fingers dug into his knees, his whole body shaking as you both just sat there for a few moments, silent and unmoving.

His shoulders hunched, his hands shaking and somewhere between pained and annoyed, before he lift his bruised and bloody hands up and held them out, rigid and waiting and still not looking up at you. You faltered, a little unsure of the gesture or what it even meant...?

"... tch... damn it, don't make me sit here.... and don't make me ask..." He hissed, his voice quivering and your eyes widened, glittering. He swallowed, his hands shaking more and his voice dropping to something just shy of a whisper, wispy and.. fragile.

"... please...."

You inched forward immediately, the word hitting you straight to the core as you quickly moved over to him. As soon as you were in reach, his hands grabbed hold of your shoulders rather firmly and pulled you into him, hugging to you tightly and trapping you in place. You were shocked by it, but you gave into the embrace right away, wrapping your arms around him and swallowing as he buried his face in your shoulder roughly. He was shaking, even as he held you tightly, and you could feel his breathing uneven against you and hitching as he fought not to crumble.... but every second he failed to steady the breaths, his hold on you grew more firm, more desperate. Your heart ached with every second of it, doing your best to keep holding on to him as tightly as he was to you, worried that he might think you wanted to pull away, and you really didn't. He'd let you in, he was letting himself give in and reach out for you.... he let you in, and you weren't about to let go, not for anything.

"..... tch..... I'm sorry...." Bakugou hissed, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper, pushing his face further into your neck and his whole body jumping underneath you as he broke off in a strangled sob. He was crying now, quietly and trying to stifle it, and you pulled him further into you, your heart breaking.

"... I...... I'm.... sorry..."

.:+:.

PLUS-ULTRA-oneshots Masterlist

#my hero academia #my hero #my hero academia fanfic #my hero academia oneshot #oneshot #bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugo x reader #Katsuki Bakugō #whump prompt #writing prompt #bnha requests #mha prompts #boku no hero academia

169 notes · View notes

merakiaes · 4 years

Text

Blueberry Kiss - Oscar “Spooky” Diaz

Pairing: Oscar “Spooky” Diaz x reader

Requested: No.

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: This was just a small idea I had a while ago. It’s not very eventful, I barely even know what the hell it is, and it’s probably really OOC, but I hope you like it. Let me know what you think xx Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes!

Wordcount: 2693

Summary: Five years after last seeing your childhood sweetheart, you return to Freeridge to find that it’s like you never left.

The infamous Spooky, leader of Los Santos, one of the most powerful and most feared gangs in all of Los Angeles, had two soft spots; two things, two people, who he would go against all of his morals and beliefs in order to keep safe.

One of them was known to all; his brother, Cesar. It was a given that after raising him like he was his own son since he had been a mere teenager, himself, that he was soft for him.

Everyone in Freeridge knew this and never dared to touch a single strand of hair on his head because of it.

Those who, against all odds, felt brave enough to involve him in whatever scrap they had with Spooky, ended up learning the hard way why he wasn’t to be touched.

But he had another soft spot, one only his longtime companions knew about.

You.

You had grown up across the street from him, the daughter of a single mother. You had known him long before his mother bailed on him and Cesar, long before Ray got locked up and way before he joined the Santos.

You were as close as peas in a pod as kids, the two of you getting into trouble around the neighborhood before the thought of joining his father’s gang even struck his mind.

And even when you reached the point of Ray’s arrest and Oscar being jumped into the Santos in his place, Spooky being born, you stuck by his side through it all.

You never put a label on your relationship. However, the second you reached your teenage years, your friendship took a more romantic and sexual turn.

You were inseparable for thirteen years, through your childhood, through high school, and through his first years as a Santo. Through all of the struggles and all of the blessings.

And then when you were both eighteen, your mother met some snob from Washington DC and dragged you across the country in order to marry him and build a life with him; forcing you to say goodbye to all of your friends, your old life, the Santos, and Oscar.

The first months without him were insufferable, painful to the point where you didn’t think you were going to get through the heartbreak alive.

You tried texting him and calling him, but he never picked up, and to a start, you thought it was because he was angry at you for leaving, or because he had already moved on.

But then your mother told you that he had gotten locked up and you knew him well enough to, in that moment, be able to conclude that he cut off the ties in his own gallant attempt to not hold you back.

You knew he had always seen himself as dead weight, someone holding you back from going out into the world and making something of yourself. Now that you finally got an opportunity, he wanted you to be able to live your new life to the fullest.

You didn’t agree with his mindset; you never had. But you respected it, and moved on, although… not really.

Now twenty-three years of age, you hadn’t seen nor talked to him or anyone from Freeridge in five whole years.

The sound of Black Fortune could be heard all the way down the street as you stepped out of your car, now having parked right outside the house you had spent countless of days and nights in back when you had still been living in Freeridge.

This was the first time being back since leaving, and everything looked identical to the way it had when you left, almost making it feel like you never did.

But with the nervous feeling lodging itself deep in the pit of your stomach, you were quickly back to the reality in which you had, in fact, left. However, you didn’t let this discourage you, letting your feet move you toward the fence to the side of the Diaz residence.

Judging by the loud music booming from the backyard, you knew that no one would be inside, so it would be no use to knock on the door.

Even back when you had still been living in Freeridge, Oscar hadn’t liked having people in the house whenever he threw a barbeque or a party of any kind. You knew much had changed since then, but you also knew that his excessive need to be in control wouldn’t have.

So you made your way around the back slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips when you walked past the familiar red Impala standing in the driveway.

It was late and the dark had fallen over an hour ago, so as you reached the backyard and caught sight of all the people standing around and mingling, you struggled to make out any familiar faces.

You let your eyes scan the crowd, looking for Oscar or Cesar, even if you knew if the latter most likely wouldn’t be there. You realized pretty quickly that the man you were searching for was nowhere to be seen and gave up your search for him.

But after another good minute of looking around, your eyes finally stopped on another figure, his tall, lanky body and the familiar Santos cross inked into his neck looking as familiar as ever.

Your face instantly pulled into a wide smile and you wasted no time in heading over, your smile turning into a teasing smirk at the sight of the large number of empty alcohol bottles on the table next to them.

“Well, I see you Santos’ alcoholic tendencies haven’t changed.” You spoke once you knew you were close enough for them to hear you over the loud music and watched with amusement as their heads instantly turned in your direction at the sound of your familiar voice.

“No way.” Sad Eyes was the first to speak – the only familiar face you had been able to make out from the other side of the lawn. “(Y/N)? Is that you, chica?”

You held your arms out and chuckled, nodding your head. “In the flesh.”

Now that you were closer to the group Sad Eyes was standing with, you could easily recognize the familiar faces of the Santos, all of whom were looking at you with shock.

An older Santo, Hector, whistled at the sight of you, pulling a hand over his chin. “Damn, you looking fine, mami.” He complimented.

While everyone else made some kind of sound in agreement, Sad Eyes face turned into one of playfulness. “Yeah, what happened?” He asked, and you instantly rolled your eyes.

“Ever the comedian, Guzman.” You chuckled, and he snickered back, opening his arms for you.

“Come here, niña.”

You didn’t have to be told twice, your feet automatically moving you a step closer and thereby walking you straight into your old friend’s open embrace.

Your arms wrapped around each other, his cheek leaning against the top of your head and yours against his chest. He hugged you tightly, rocking your bodies from side to side a few times before letting go.

The two of you shared another smile, but before anyone could say anything else, all of their eyes caught sight of something behind you.

“Here comes Spooky.” One of the Santos spoke and your heart instantly skipped a beat in your chest at the sound of his name.

The Santo slapped Hector’s chest. “Better dip.” He said, and they did just that, along with all the other Santos, as Oscar walked up to you where you were now standing alone with Sad Eyes.

“Los Santos taking in strays now?” He asked his best friend, and just the mere sound of his voice caused your chest to tighten.

It was a lot deeper than it was five years ago, and much rougher, most likely because of the number of cigarettes he without a doubt had smoked throughout the years judging by the smell of tobacco following him around.

While you remained silent, Oscar not even having spared you a glance yet, Sad Eyes chuckled from beside you, the much taller man reaching a hand out to squeeze your shoulder.

“I’ll go get you a beer.” He told you and you smiled up at him.

“Thanks.” You replied, even though you knew he’d most likely not be back.

Sad Eyes walked away, leaving you alone, and only then did Oscar look down at you.

“Never thought I’d see your face around here again.” He commented with little to no emotion on his face. “How you been, (Y/N)?”

You smiled softly. “Oh, you know.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Nothing like being dragged away from your life by your alcoholic, gold-digging mother to live on the other side of the continent for five years.”

Your words brought a chuckle from his lips. “I bet.” He nodded, his chuckling dying down into a simple smile, soft enough to match your own. “You’re looking good.”

Butterflies instantly filled your stomach. “So are you, Oscar.” You nodded, your expression turning a bit more serious. “How have you been? How are things at home?”

His smile faltered ever so slightly, his eyes turning harder. “Same as they were before you left.”

You nodded, biting on the inside of your lip lightly. “Your mom’s still gone?”

“Yeah.”

“Ray’s still in prison?”

“Yup.”

“So it’s just you and Cesar.”

“Mhm.” He nodded, raising the beer he was holding to his lips and taking a slow sip, his eyes leaving yours for the briefest of moments.

Your lips tugged upward with pity, but you quickly covered it up. “How is he?” You asked, turning the conversation away from the heavy stuff.

At the change of subject, he looked back down at you, giving you another shrug. “As good as you can be when you’re stuck in Freeridge. Good grades, friends, girlfriend.”

“No way.” You found yourself chuckling. “Lil’ Spooky getting action already. Who’s the poor girl falling victim to the Diaz charm this time around?”

He snickered, taking another sip of his beer. “Monse.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Monty’s daughter?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and you let out a low whistle.

“Damn. Didn’t see that coming.” You hugged your arms around your body as a chilly breeze pulled at your jacket, looking to the side for a moment, thinking. “What about you?” You asked then, turning your gaze back to him just in time to see his eyebrow raise.

“What about me?” He asked, although judging by the small, teasing smile on his lips, he knew exactly what you were talking about.

But still, you played along, asking in a drawling, playful voice. “Someone special in Spooky’s life?”

He chuckled at your tone, but it died down almost immediately, his head shaking in response to your question. “Nah, haven’t got time for that shit no more.” He replied, his voice low. “Have more important things to deal with.”

You raised your head in a nod and forced yourself to smile a tightlipped smile, ignoring the jab his words sent straight to your heart. “Right.”

Silence fell over the two of you. It was awkward, but not enough to make it uncomfortable. You were looking everywhere except at each other, eyes scanning over the crowd gathered in his backyard.

“How does it feel to be back?” He asked then, causing you to return your attention to him, finding him now looking down at you with an unreadable expression. He wasn’t smiling, but it wasn’t emotionless either. It was just… sincere.

“Weird. Especially being here with you.” You answered before you could stop yourself and he instantly gave you the nod.

“Yeah? How come?”

You snorted, getting slightly uncomfortable as you were put on the spot. “Please, we didn’t go a day without each other back then.” You answered, glancing to the side briefly before looking back up at him. “You were that one person I always wanted to talk to. No matter what. And now we’ve been apart for five years. We might as well be strangers.”

He listened to you as you spoke intently, his head shaking the second you were done. “We’re not strangers.” He protested softly. “Never was.”

You have him a sad look. “A lot has happened since we last saw each other.” You told him and he nodded.

“I know. But nothing’s changed.”

You stared deeply into each other’s eyes, everything seeming to slow down around you. Before you knew it, and almost as if your bodies were moving on autopilot, you had both taken a step closer to each other.

Oscar’s free hand came up to touch your upper arm gingerly, while one of yours moved up to rest on top of his. You remained like this for a good few seconds, just searching each other’s faces for any indication that the other was against what was about to happen.

But when neither of you could find any indication of the sort, you slowly brought your other hand up to his cheek, both of you moving your faces to close the remaining gap between you to connect your lips in the first kiss in five years.

The first time you fall in love, it changes you forever and no matter how hard you try, that feeling just never goes away. You realized this now when, even after all these years, the feeling of his lips on yours sent a hot jolt of sparkling electricity through your entire body.

You pressed your lips harder against his, both of you taking another step closer to the other and pulling at each other’s bodies desperately.

Your breathing became heavy in no time and your heart thumped against the inside of your chest violently.

While the hand he had on your arm remained there, rubbing slow circles over the fabric of your jacket with his thumb, the hand that was holding the beer came to rest on the curve of your hip.

Meanwhile, your hands moved up to the back of his head, pulling him even closer to you as you got completely lost in the kiss.

After what seemed like eternity but at the same time barely even a second, you pulled apart for air, both of your chests heaving up and down breathlessly and your foreheads pressed together.

Your eyes met again, and breathlessly, you confessed. “I thought you’d forgotten about me by now.”

Oscar instantly shook his head against yours, blinking slightly. “No man forgets a good woman like you.” He mumbled quietly, softly. “They just become haunted by the realization that you’re not replaceable. That there’s not anyone who can live up to the feelings you stirred up in me.”

Your chest and stomach fluttered with butterflies at his words, an intense wave of peacefulness and happiness coming over you.

“Well, I know for a fact that one thing hasn’t changed.” You whispered back, the corners of your lips tugging slightly.

“What’s that?” He asked, and only then did you fully smile.

“You’re just as smart now as you were when I left you.”

A smug smirk came across his features, his head nodding against yours. “And you still use the same lipgloss.” He pointed out and you raised an eyebrow.

“How can you tell?” You asked, slightly shocked but also amused.

He brushed his lips against yours, mumbling against them. “Still tastes the same.” He pressed his to yours fully in a second kiss, short but sweet. Once you came back apart, you watched as his tongue darted out from between his lips, tasting them.

“Blueberry.” He mused, smirking down at you. “Nothing that tastes better.”

You chuckled, caressing the nape of his neck with your fingers. “I guess things really haven’t changed, huh?” You asked and watched as his eyebrows rose in amusement.

“I told you, mami.” He said.

You chuckled, nodding your head. “That you did.” You confirmed, and then pulled him back in for another, sweet, blueberry kiss.

All these years, you had convinced yourself that you were over him and yet now, in this very moment, you realized you probably never were, and that a part of you would always be waiting for him whenever you were apart.

564 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 4 years

Note

Congratulations on 8000 followers. For your celebration drabble request, I suggest: Dean X Y/N quarantined from a witch's spell. I'll leave it up to you if you want fluff, angst, smut. You get the idea. This prompt is starting to give me ideas.

F*cking Witches

8000 Followers Drabbles Masterlist

Prompt: None provided so I chose one. “Fucking witches!”

Warnings: language, angst, fun, fluff, cocky Dean, being quarantined due to an odd spell, Dean being a tease, tension, implied smut

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester

Word count: 1223 (it got a bit longer)

“Fucking witches” Dean growls struggling against his brother's strength. “I can beat her! Let me just...” Sam pushes his brother into the bunker, almost causing Dean to fall down the stairs.

“Wait! Let us help!” Squeaking you end up pushed into Dean’s arms before the heavy door of the bunker locks behind you. “Hey! You can’t just lock us in!”

“We need to get out of here, Y/N! I will not survive for two weeks in this cage! I am not a good roommate while being a caged animal, sweetheart.” Dean pants heavily, not liking the idea of being locked in again.

“Dean, what if Rowena is right? What if we are toxic?” The hunter blinks a few times before he pokes your shoulder. “DEAN!”

“There, I am still alive. Cursed to kill my ass!” Eyes narrowed you poke Dean’s cheek only to giggle lightly at his pissed expression.

“Maybe we are only toxic to other people?” Not liking the idea Dean nods. “I’ll check on the lore. I bet I can find a way to get us out of here, Dean. I don’t want to be stuck with you either.”

“Hey, I am an awesome and great roommate,” Dean smirks, giving you one of his charming smiles followed by a wink. “Just push the right buttons, sweetheart.”

“I will not push anything, Winchester. Now, let's make a plan...”

Day 1

You gave up on reading more books last night. Sam said they are getting closer to solving the case. Hopefully, Rowena can reverse the spell and free the grumpy hunter and you.

“I am bored,” Dean whines while you make a list of your supplies. “Play with me…”

“Dude, I am not going to play any games with you. I have to check on the supplies or do you want to starve for the next two weeks?”

“Starve?” Suddenly interested in whatever you started, Dean dips his head to glance at the list your prepared.

“We’ve got three six-packs of beer, which means you’ll only drink one bottle per day from now on. Good thing I hate that crap.” Dean gulps hard, glancing at your list.

“We’ve got enough water, though. Let’s check. Sam bought enough food for three weeks but, we need to prevent food craving attacks, Dean. No midnight snack for you, big boy.” Grinning you pat Dean’s belly.

“As if you never ate anything in the middle of the night. Damn, I am hungry now…”

Day 3

“Can I not have one more beer and a slice of pie?” Dean whines, looking at you with big eyes, imitating his brother's puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

“Dean, if you drink more beer today, there will be nothing left at the end of the week. You have to choose…”

“I’ll choose to have one more tonight. Snacks are out soon…”

Day 5

“Hmm…that’s a nice outfit, sweetheart. How do you call it?” Watching you walk around in hello kitty sweatpants and a crop top Dean ogles you shamelessly. “I bet; you’d like to lose it…”

“Winchester, I am warning you.” Poking your finger into Dean’s chest you narrow your eyes. “It’s only five days, Dean. I don’t think your balls are blue…”

“Wanna check?” Dean cocks his head when you glance at his crotch.

Day 7

Another day in hell. The bunker is too cold today. Literally freezing your ass off you run around the large building to find the reason for the failure of the heating. “Damnit, Dean. Where is the heat gone?”

Dean smirks, stepping closer to open his coat. “Could warm you up, Y/N.” Debating to take Dean’s offer or to freeze to death you nod, letting Dean wrap you in his coat.

Head resting against his chest, you try to warm up. “I know a way to get you all hot and bothered, sweetheart.”

“Dean, what the fuck!” His swelling dick presses against your thigh. “That’s the problem. No fuck…”

Day 9

Crawling up the walls you try to find anything useful to do but you end up rolling around your bed, staring at the wall. “Watcha doing, sweetheart?”

“I try to bore myself to death, Dean. And you?”

“Same. You know, we could do something useful.” Dean snickers, pointing toward your bed. “Just saying.”

Your pillow ends up in his face and you groan, hoping Sam will free you soon.

Day 11

“For all that’s holy Dean, wear a fucking shirt and pants. You can’t just run around in boxers and socks!” Whining you glance at Dean’s ass when he bends over to grasp for the last beer.

“It’s unbearable hot today.” Huffing you wipe off some sweat. “I don’t know what’s wrong with the bunker. Days ago we almost froze off our asses and today I feel like getting roasted.”

“I had a shower and it was too warm. Not refreshing at all…”

Day 12

“No, no! That’s not true! They both would’ve died if she shared the door with him.” Bickering about Titanic, Jack’s death, and the door you stuff the last popcorn into your mouth.

“I believe they could’ve been saved, both.” Dean pokes your side, smirking as you pat his chest.

“Fine, Dean. If we ever end up in the middle of the ocean, freezing our asses off I’ll share the door with you.”

Day 13

“I am going to find you, sweetheart…” Dean yells through the bunker. Today you decided to play hide and seek, much to Dean’s amusement as he won all rounds so far. “There she is…”

Squeaking you try to outrun Dean, but he grasps for you, throwing you over his shoulder.

“I want my prize now, sweetheart. No chicken out. I am going to lay claim on this cute ass.”

Day 16

The bedframe slams into the wall one last time.

Dean barely can roll off your body, not after non-stop fucking for three days.

“That was awesome, but I need a break.”

“Same, Dean.” Laughing you pat his head. “I mean, at least we released the tension. It was overdue we fucked.”

“You know, this means your ass is mine. No discussion.” Nodding you close your eyes to calm your racing heart. “Did Sammy call? It’s fifteen days today.”

“Sixteen, Dean…”

“Son of a bitch!”

Day 21

“What the fuck, Sammy! What took you so long?” Cocking his head Dean glares at his brother.

“Three weeks, brother. You left us roast in this hell for three weeks while we had nothing else to do than…”

Sam’s eyes wander from you, wearing his brother’s plaid, to the hickey at Dean’s neck, back toward the handcuffs around your wrist Dean forgot to remove hearing the door of the bunker open.

“I think we are all happy Dean and I can leave the bunker again. Thanks to all of you, but Dean and I got a business to do. He owes me something and I want it now…”

Grabbing Dean’s hand you drag him toward his bedroom. “I want that orgasm, even if it kills us…”

“What the…?” Sam swallows thickly watching you ogle his brother shamelessly.

“Yeah, we ganked the witch, reversed the spell, got captured by a coven and almost tortured but it’s great you two found the time to…connect…”

“Fucking witches Sammy…” Dean snickers running off with you.

SPN Forever Tags

@donnaintx

@screechingartisancashbailiff

@fallen-wolf22

@sister-winchesters99

@mogaruke

@the-is13

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--------------------------------------

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags

@spnfamily-j2

@supernatural-bellawinchester

@negans-lucille-tblr

@deans-baby-momma

@thefaithfulwriter

@squirrelnotsam

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@rosalynshields

A/N: If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you.

--------------------------------------

#dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester x reader #implied smut #dean x reader #dean x you #8000 followers #8000 Follower’s Celebration #8000 followers celebration #8000 followers drabble prompts masterlist

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jordluna · 4 years

Text

You’ll Be Okay

I'm so sorry for doing this. I've had the idea stuck in my head for almost a month now and I just had to write it. Reader is about 17 in story.

Natasha x Daughter!Reader goes to Vormir with Natasha and Clint.

WARNING: death

As you, your mother, and your uncle arrive on Vormir you can't help the thought that something terrible is going to happen. As you guys climb up the mountain to retrieve the soul stone you try your hardest to push the feeling away.

You didn't let your dread show on your face though as you knew very well from a young age how to not let your emotions plaster on yourself and just to bottle them up to show no fear. You were an assassin's daughter after all.

As you climb one step at a time looking across the in some twisted way beautiful planet. Another thing is on your mind though. Getting everyone back.

"Everything okay Y/N?" Your mother asks. Even though she trained you to keep your emotions hidden she had a motherly instinct telling her you were unsettled.

"I'm fine. I really hope this works though. Getting everyone back." She rubs your back gently and you feel less stiff at her touch.

"It will. We'll get them all get back." Clint says with a grin. You smirk slightly at the word "all." How amazing it would be to see all of them again. Please let things go smoothly, you plea with the universe in your head.

The universe however had another fate for you.

As you all reach the top your mother speaks again. "I bet the raccoon didn't have to climb a mountain."

"Technically he's not a raccoon." Clint says with a huff.

"Whatever he still eats trash." You respond siding with Natasha. Just then a new voice appears from behind you guys. You instantly grab your dagger on the side of your hip and aim it and the being.

"Natasha daughter of Ivan." 'What the hell?' Your mother never mentioned her father before. Your grandfather. She swear she looked slightly confused for a second but then went back to her stern face as he kept talking."Clint son of Edith. Y/N daughter of Natasha."

"Who the hell are you?" You question as he appears to float closer.

"Consider me a guide. To you and to all that seek the soul stone."

"Oh good, you tell us where it is then and we'll be on our way." Natasha confidently says as you try to get a better look at his face. You see his face is the shape of a skull with no nose and it's all red. The rest of his body his hidden under his cloak. Or even if there is a body.

"Ah libechen. If only it were that easy."

He guides you three to the edge of the cliff. You look down and stare into the hard concrete ground far below from the mountain's peak.

"Ehh..worst that could happen is a broken leg." You joke trying to make light of the situation but Clint and your mom are dead silent.

"What you seek lies in front of you. As does what you fear."

"The stone is down there." Natasha says with sad eyes. You know she's thinking about jumping but your going to make sure that none of them die for this stone. None but one.

"For one of you. For the other, in order to take the stone you must loose what which you love." They love you right? Yes, they do. All you've ever grown up with was love from your family.

That uneasy feeling you got earlier was knowing that you were meeting your end of the tunnel. Your time was up on this universe. The devastating truth was you were going to say goodbye, without saying hello to the ones that got turned to dust. You never got to say goodbye to the rest of your family.

"An everlasting exchange. A soul for a-" You cut him off getting very annoyed at his speech.

"Yeah, yeah. I think we get it Voldemort!"

*****

As you and your mother sit on a rock your head on her lap as she strokes your red hair lovingly, like she did when you were ever feeling sad or anxious. Clint however paces back and forth waving at the cloak dude, now known as Red skull.

"Maybe he's making this shit up." Clint says as you bit your lip. You remember that blue girl, Nebula, telling you how Thanos went up here with his daughter but got the stone and came back without Gamora.

"I don't think so." Your mom says while you sit up.

"Why, just because he knew your daddy's name?" Clint said.

"I didn't." She responds causing Clint to turn his head faintly, as you do the same.

"Thanos left here with the stone. Without his daughter. Coincidence, I think not." You says crossing your arms.

"So there's no hope." Clint says shrugging. You though are not going to believe that for a second.

"We have to have hope. If we don't have hope there's no way we can save half of the universe." You said.

"Whatever it takes." Natasha says as Clint repeats her. You though stay quiet thinking of any other possible way for you all to make it off this damn mountain alive. As your mother gets up and starts talking with Clint, you realize there's no other way. They know this too.

You slowly start regretting all those stupid fights, you've had with your mom over the years. Clint and your mom were far to important to sacrifice themselves. They were apart of the original fucking six avengers for heaven's sake. You though were not as valuable. It had to be you.

As they keep talking about how they should be the one to sacrifice themselves, it aches you knowing they forgot you were with them. How your mother didn't know she was about to loose her only daughter. Her чудо.(miracle)

"I think we're talking about different people here Nat." You then stand up, and walk slowly toward them.

"Mom... Mom... Mom!" You scream loudly trying to get her attention. What she didn't know would be your last.

"What is it?!" Your taken aback slightly at her outburst but hide it knowing what's about to happen.

"I'm so sorry, but there's so many options but only one choice." They both look at you confused.

You use this to your advantage. You sweep them off their feet using your leg a move your mother taught you and that you have perfected since the age of eight. You then tie their legs and arms together, using the wire Natasha showed you how to use when you were younger.

The horror sets on both of their faces when you take a step back and look towards the cliff and then back at the two.

"Y/N Anya Romanoff, What the hell do you think your doing?!" Natasha yells at you, but you can see the fear in her eyes. You give her a small nod, telling her that you have to jump.

"No baby. Please don't do this! I love you to much." Your heart rate picks up knowing that your saying your last goodbyes to your mother, the woman that gave birth to you, took care of you, loved you with all her heart.

"я люблю тебя, мама. Don't ever forget it." (I love you mom.) Natasha Romanoff barely lets her emotions show but now her face was full of pure horror. Loosing you was and will forever be her worst fear.

"You don't need to do this Y/N. You don't seriously think your doing the right thing, do you?" Clint questions, whispering towards the end.

"That's the thing uncle Clint. I don't think, I know I'm doing the right thing. Whatever it takes. Tell everyone I said hello and goodbye." Your voice cracking a little, as you gave a sad smile.

"Please don't do this Y/N. I can't do this without you." Natasha pleads with you but there's no turning back.

"Your so strong mama. Stronger than anyone I've ever known. I have always admired it for so long, and it's in our blood, right?" Little did you know that Clint was using his sword from behind to break the wire in half.

You give her one last kiss on her cheek.

"Goodbye." You say as you run towards the cliff. Just then, the rope finally breaks and your mother runs towards you getting her gun out of its holster. You close your eyes about to jump when you hear a loud bang and you feel the pain in your leg causing you to fall and groan. You then look behind you and realize your mother shot you.

She then immediately starts running towards the edge. The adrenaline sets in and you get up barely feeling the pain anymore as hot tears fill your eyes. As she jumps off you tie the grappling hook around her then shoot it to some rocks above you. She grabs onto your hand as your legs dangle off the cliff.

"Don't you dare think your leaving. Your only seventeen Y/N. You have so much to do in this world." Natasha says determinedly but you know that's not the case as your time here is coming to an end.

You see your uncle looking over as from the top at you guys that are only a few yards down."Take care of her for me?"

He gives you a small nod as he lets a few tears fall from his eyes.

"I said no. You-" You cut her off knowing that this conversation isn't getting anywhere.

"Let me go. It's okay. You'll be okay." You give her a sad smile as hot tears fall like waterfall down your cheeks. Natasha finally lets the wall crash down and the tears roll. She looks into your emerald green eyes identical to hers one last time.

Just then you know it's time. No going back now.

You use your feet and push yourself off the cliff as Natasha's grip loosens. Time seems to slow as you hear you mother's heart-wrenching scream as you fall. You remember all the best memories you two shared together the past seventeen years.

Natasha watches as your bones break hitting the hard ground with a thud. The image that she will replay every night in her nightmares. She looks down and sees your dead body, with the blood that is pouring out of you mixed with the blood from your gunshot wound.

Her whole life just died the second your body collided with the concrete. Nothing would ever be the same without her baby girl.

She clings onto the heart-shaped locket you made her for mother's day with the help of Tony, when you were five.

"Do you like it mama?"

"Like it? I love it baby!" Natasha says opening it to find the photo of the two of you hugging each other eating ice-cream. She then picks you up and powders you with kisses as you squirm and giggle with excitement.

If only she could share a memory like that again. She couldn't though you were gone. Dead. No resurrections, this time.

"No, why her." She whispers softly to herself. "Why my baby?!" Her scream leaves an echo throughout the mountain.

She then finds herself in water with Clint by her side. She takes out she hand and reveals the soul stone. Natasha's heart shatters as Clint holds her as she sobs into his shoulder.

She would never be 'okay' without you.

#natasha x daughter!reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #avengers imagine mama!nat

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kyle-valenti · 3 years

Text

highschool milucho au drabble for @laufire

Lunch period arrives what feels like all too late after a hectic morning where Michael Guerin had punched Wyatt Long in the face for Maria. While she still thought he was an idiot for having done it, she downs a brownie for sustenance and brings Rosa along outside with her to go check on him. Unsurprisingly he was in the spot she had expected, clearly having ditched at least one class prior, and Rosa skipped over to him and roughly grabbed his hand to check on the bruise. Rosa scoffed, putting her hand to her chest with what was only half-kidding offense. “You fought him without me there? En serio? How dare you!”

Sitting up a little more against the metal bleacher column he had been leaning against, Michael gave a casual shrug. There’s still a smirk on his face as he does so. “Can’t help it if you’re always late to wake up, Ortecho.”

“He was dumb.” Maria said, a scolding look on her face that didn’t quite match her eyes. Both sat down without caring about chairs, Rosa too lazy and Maria liking to feel the earth underneath her. The shade provided overhead was just enough and while the teachers usually checked underneath here, the school was luckily short staffed due to a field trip. Also lucky was the lack of campus security in a small town.

“No, he was right.” Rosa huffed. “Fuck Wyatt Long.”

“Thank you,” said Michael, turning to Maria with a smug look in response. Maria rolled her eyes, but Rosa still looked angry and displeased at the idea of Wyatt Long being within feet of Maria, because she continued, “Are you gonna hate me if I run over and slap him?”

“Yes!” Maria exclaimed. “Stop with the violence, you two! He’s not worth it.”

Rosa made a disgruntled sound, muttering, “Pacifist.”

“I am a lover, yes.” Maria replied with a teasing tone; one that Michael couldn’t help but use to flirt with a sultry, “Tell me more.”

She hit his arm and although the other girl rolled her eyes, Rosa was still distinctly smiling as Michael winked Maria’s way.

“Gross, stop.” She huffed, no meanness in her voice. “Even Kyle Valenti thinks we’re dating.”

“Kyle?” Rosa laughed. “Kyle’s not remotely observant enough to think that.”

Michael made a noise at that. “He was just being an ass because I commented on how he was clearly in love with Alex Manes.”

Maria glared now. “Be nice to my favorite gay and the clearly repressed football jock.”

“Here I thought you were about to pick a favorite bi.” Michael joked.

“Why would she?” Rosa challenged with a smirk. “I’m right here.”

“Right,” Michael drawled sarcastically. “Just because you two have sleepovers--,”

“Oh my god, you two.” Maria snapped, but that was the wrong decision because the two mischievous partners-in-crime looked at her with sudden interest. Michael was the first to pounce. “We making you uncomfortable, Deluca?”

He’s all but grinning, not even hiding behind a smirk, eyes alive. Even Rosa is clearly amused and holding onto laughter.

“Why the hell did everyone have to go on that museum trip?” Maria huffed, trying to ignore both of them and the feelings that rose up when the direct attention of two people who hated the world but liked her was suddenly her way. She definitely needed more friends, or at least less nerdy ones. “I need Liz.”

“You’d really use my baby sister to get out of flirting?” Rosa asked, letting out the laughter now.

Maria could feel her cheeks heat and she folded her arms stubbornly. “I’m about to use Kyle to get out of this. Luckily I have tests to study for.”

“What test?” Rosa replied, one eyebrow arched. “We have all the same classes.”

“And you suddenly pay attention?”

Rosa gave in with a playfully exasperated expression. “Okay, okay, mi vida; we’ll stop.” Then, amending as she looked conspiratorially at Michael, she said, “Well. I’ll stop.”

“I’ll try.” Michael shrugged, pretending to look as thought it would be heavy work. “I have considerably less self-control.”

Quirking her head, Rosa retorted. “Challenge accepted.”

Michael raised his eyebrows in response, before laughing. “Yeah okay.”

“Why am I always babysitting you two?” Maria sighed. “Please, tell me.”

“You’re the one who brought the pot brownies to school.” Rosa pointed out.

She couldn’t say much to that. Home had been stressful with her mother’s sudden memory lapses when it came to finances and worrying about colleges after SAT scores was even more anxiety inducing. If she was rich and privileged like Isobel Evans, maybe she could afford some xanax, but in the meantime her anxiety attacks would have to be treated herbally. Childishly, she pointed at Michael. “He’s the one who brought the flask.”

Definitely unapologetic, he shrugged. “Less teachers, more fun.”

“Fun?” Rosa asked. “We haven’t had fun in a while.”

“True.” Michael added, lighting up even further. Maria groaned. “Is this another ‘steal the principal’s desk’ situation?”

“No, but that was fun.” Rosa said thoughtfully. “We should have more… teenage fun. We have the drugs, the alcohol, now--,”

“I am not having sex under the Roswell High bleachers!”

Rosa gasped before laughing awkwardly, and Michael’s grin took an even brighter turn. “Wow, Deluca, I see where your mind’s really at.” Then he turned to Rosa, who noticeably looked pinker, and paused. Slowly, he inquired. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.” Rosa replied. It wasn’t like she and Maria belonged to each other, true, but something about the mischievous Michael Guerin staying around after Maria’s slip seemed to create palpable tension. Fumbling, the beautiful brunette added, “I mean we’ve all kissed before forever ago, right? Why don’t you pick your favorite bi, Maria.”

“I’m not sure choosing favorites qualifies as fun.” She retorted, trying not to withdraw into herself. She was safe with them, she knew that, but it still felt dangerous somehow. She looked at Michael. “No sudden objections?”

Michael scoffed. “You actually think I’m going to object to being kissed by two hot girls? I’m only human, Deluca.”

Biting her lip after rolling her eyes, Maria tried not to think about how attractive her last name was every time he said it, because that was such a ridiculous thing to find attractive. Rosa had picked up on the habit, although used it far more rarely, and now she was stuck in between them.

“We don’t have to--,” Rosa began. Shaking her head, Maria came to an abrupt decision. “You decide who goes first.”

“Ladies first.” Michael declared congenially.

When Rosa turned to Maria she looked hesitant and unsure. Charged moments weren’t exactly new to them, but they didn’t exactly kiss outside of spin-the-bottle or seven-minutes-in-heaven games. Any heterosexual excuse to be made, somewhere between Rosa’s Catholicism and Maria’s fear of being vulnerable to someone.

Only two seconds pass before the hesitation is over and then Rosa’s lips are soft and inviting like Maria remembered, tasting of cinnamon gum and tajin mango suckers. It’s an addictive flavor, especially with the flood of emotions it foretells every time. At first it’s closer to chaste than not, given the company, but like many times before it deepens until they hear Michael shift and quickly break apart.

Maria expects some dumbass comment about not needing to stop for his sake, but either he’s too turned on to make it or he simply knows better for the moment. Shockingly, it seems like the second choice with the almost exposed look he has on his face now. For whatever reason, maybe because of his general outward mask, she had thought that while she’d be safe this would still be a fun game to him and not something where his eyes would be soft and his body language almost nervous.

More than anything else, that makes her choose to kiss him first.

With Michael she can only taste the cheap whiskey he’s been drinking all afternoon, but his skin smells like desert rain, and it’s quite possibly the most confusing contradiction for him she could ever conceive. The shape of his lips might be a contrast to Rosa’s but he still uses them quite well and by the time she pulls back out of mindfulness for Rosa, she’s breathless yet again.

“Obviously I’m not actually choosing.” Maria said primly, trying to cover the fact that she had to clear her throat.

“Well I feel used.” Michael teased, but a miracle had happened because it looked like he was blushing too. Michael Guerin. Blushing.

Rosa made an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “As if you’re not getting off to this tonight.”

“Rosa!” Maria snapped, actual hurt rising. It was silly to be upset about offhand humor from either of these two, she knew that. They both felt more than they would ever let on and jokes and sarcasm were their defense for almost everything. Rosa went to apologize, but the overwhelming feeling in her chest was too much. “Don’t. I’m just—I’m going to go sober up.”

They both called after her, but she ignored them both.

“I should really avoid weed, huh?” Rosa deadpanned sadly.

He raised his flask. “I can’t say anything. You gonna follow her?”

“You?” she asked without an answer.

“You’re her best friend.” Michael countered, and while it wasn’t technically sexist she still narrowed her eyes at the ‘you’re both girls’ vibe it gave off. Either way, it was still a painful statement and she muttered, “Yeah. Friend.” Michael went to say something—either an apology or a lecture—but Rosa shook her head. “I’ll give her a head start. You should check on her later too, though.”

Michael scoffed. “Come on, Rosa, she doesn’t want me. I’m just a guy she can use to pretend she’s straighter than she is.”

“Ay, you’re dumb.”

“And if she did want both of us?” Michael demanded, turning things back into their normalcy of confrontation and stubbornness.

“At least you’re not ugly.”

That seemed to take the wind out of his sails at least, but he did give her a look. “Glowing endorsement, Ortecho.”

She smirked. “And I guess you know how to kiss for a white boy.”

“That I’ll take.” He replied, chuckling despite himself and looking annoyed about it.

Rosa gave him a two finger salute as she got up to go after Maria.

#michael x maria x rosa #milucho #milucho fic #milucho au #rnm #My fic #drabbles #mutuals

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enochianribs · 3 years

Photo

until it no longer hurts. (cabin/wing fic). read it here, or under the cut.

(accompanying playlist / aesthetic board (thanks @disableddean)

CHAPTER 3. (formatting is lost via tumblr text post fyi)

ch.1 / ch.2

As he lays there, unconscious to the world, and all those things that go bump in the night, his life sorts itself cleanly into two: before and after— not for the first time.

In fact, there were several times before this. There was before the fire, before the loss of his mother, before John started hunting, before Jess died, before Sammy went to rehab, before Dean picked up that knife.

Before before before.

The question has hung in front of him for quite some time now.

What happens after?

What happens to him, when all is said and done?

The bed is warm and soft and he sinks into it. A hand presses against his chest, pins him down and muscle memory tells him to go for the knife, fingers flexing outward and then curling in, his nails catching on the sheet.

This is safe.

Here in this moment, no one can touch him. The tiny flowers on the sheets molt before his eyes, little petals rising out of the fabric and blooming. They're feather light against his bare skin, and the weight of his body is crushing them. He makes a noise of upset, and a hand comes down to press a finger to his mouth, hushing him gently.

<It's okay.>

Slowly, he wakes. The warmth from the finger still lingers against his lips, but the bed is hard where his face presses against it, eyelashes fluttering, his eyes open just a crack. The wood of the table greets him, and the sunlight is just now poking through the blinds once again, casting the same lines across the pine knots, along the curves of his outstretched forearm and across where his head faces towards the sun.

"It's okay." He murmurs, and for an incredibly brief moment he is perplexed by why the words slip from between his lips, until one of his knuckles grazes bare skin.

His evening comes back.

Before.

Before Wings.

Slowly, Dean sits upright, suddenly entirely aware of the being lying on his table, and his heart beats in his mouth and his fingers catch on something, pulling him even further from the comfort and haze of his dream. He ducks his head in, looking down at where his hand is stuck. His fingers are still woven between Wings', his own a shade lighter.

Dean sits very still.

He’s afraid to make a sound and wake him up, so he stays there for a moment, assessing the situation he’s willingly walked himself into.

The stranger’s chest rises and lowers every few seconds, almost imperceptibly so. The gauze is brown from oxidized blood, but it doesn't appear to have been soaked through in the night, proving Dean's improvised medic work satisfactory. The stitches held.

Huh, Dean thinks. He should be thankful for the live or die experiences thrust upon him by his father's recklessness.

Half the time, Dean's afraid he took pages out of John's book.

And that would be okay. Well, it wouldn’t— but he— he could cope with that. He could work through it. He’s beginning to understand that even as the world ended, it would still spin, and day would come and the night would consume and he’d be okay.

It’s unspeakably comforting, the feeling of fingers tucked between his own, the way Dean’s calloused palm presses against another, like a bond is forming quietly between a man waking from his dream and another still ensnared.

“It’s okay.” Dean says one more time, the words an impulse.

Wings stirs, his upper lip twitching a hairsbreadth, and Dean braces for the cry of pain that always comes with waking, even if it’s not aloud. Anticipating the event horizon of his world ending with Wings consciousness, Dean grabs a glass of water, and the bottle of alcohol, and a rag before coming to stand next to his head, his thighs pressed against the edge of the table.

He stares down at him, and his head feels clearer than it did last night. The stranger’s hair is unruly, unkempt, and Dean can’t tell how long it’s been like that— how long this winged man has been living in the forest. The locks are nearly as dark as his wings, but the sunlight exposes their truthful deep brown color. It’s tangled here and there, and Dean has to try and restrain himself from carding his fingers through it to work out the knots. A residual caretaking instinct he has had yet no luck fighting.

When they were kids, Sammy always refused to brush his hair, and it was never really a problem when it was just him and Sam. But school begged a shred of presentability from the two, lest child services were called, so he kept up Sam’s appearance for him. Dean kept them fed, schooled, he took care of them both, though Sam always came first.

Should have always come first.

Now Dean’s here with someone else’s blood under his fingernails, and there’s a hunter on the loose who probably has it out for them both. And he’s not even a real hunter. He's just some guy with a gun and a penchant for killing things.

Dean’s officially in over his head.

Dark smudges look like they’ve been pressed underneath his eyes with two uncaring thumbs, and a distinct line of his cheekbones drags in a swoop across either side of his face. His lips are full but chapped and Dean wonders why he cares, but the urge to dab a spot of lotion against them nearly overpowers him.

He’s trying hard to ignore the wings.

There’s finding a human man and then there is finding a man with wings, real wings, with muscle and tendons and quivering feathers, and yep there it is, that edge of panic.

The word hangs over his head but Dean refuses to use it. His mother’s bedtime stories aren’t real.

Demons are. He knows that now, though they are few and far between. But the a-- no.

Dean shakes his head.

There's never been any proof.

He rocks his weight from foot to foot, debating his best course of action. Minutes pass, but the man doesn’t stir again, so finally Dean sucks it up and takes his hand and pats it against his cheek, gently. His skin feels rough against the surprising softness, even the barest hint of stubble is nearly feather soft.

He comes to sit on the edge of the table.

“Hey.” He murmurs, uselessly. “Wake up?”

Please wake up.

Wings’ head moves, only slightly, pressing against his hand. Dean freezes like a deer in headlights, caught touching when he should have only been looking. Heat crawls up his cheeks and his stomach flips.

“Fucking hell, Dean.” He mutters, pulling his hand away and he cocks his head, unsure if he really heard a quiet, sad noise leave the man still lying seemingly unconscious on his table.

A warm, steady hand snakes out and grabs his wrist. Dean swallows his own quiet noise. It takes everything to look up again, scared of what he’s going to see.

When they lock eyes that fear melts.

Wings flexing underneath his back, extending as far as they can go until the longest feathers graze the floor and the farthest tip brushes the wall near the dining table, the stranger looks up at him with clear eyes. His lips move rapidly, as he soundlessly repeats something over and over. One side of his face clenches up in pain as he tries to sit up.

Dust particles drift from the rafters like nothing is amiss, little bokehs proving that what Dean sees is real. He still doesn’t believe it.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he keeps his voice low, holding his breath and extending his hands, palms out, as a friendly act. “I’m not— I’m not gonna hurt you, just, you gotta let me get—”

Before Dean’s fingers even lift the bandaging to inspect the damage, there’s a forearm against his throat, and he’s pinned against the table by strong arms and they form an iron cage to hold him there. Two strong legs straddle him. Whatever he was going to say dies in his throat.

“Wings—”

The stranger barks something out, the syllables harsh and completely foreign, staring down at Dean with a combustion-prone concoction of fear, confusion and leftover adrenaline mixing behind the blue.

“Please I—”

The arm presses against his windpipe even harder, and Dean meets the icy stare. Wings tilts his head, and his eyes narrow, his lips hanging open slightly, like he wants to say something.

“I’m trying to help you.”

The pressure lessens a fraction, and Dean takes the opportunity to whip his arm up, hand sliding between him and Wings’ own, and he pushes him away and back a short inch, but it’s enough to throw the smaller man. Finally free, his throat drags in a breath but he doesn’t plan on giving wings another opening, so he brings his knee up from under the other man, using it as a brace to prevent him from overpowering him again.

He says the first thing that flies through his pea-brain. “Who are you?” Lord help him, he may just be the stupidest man alive. “What do I call you?” Asking him to introduce himself seems like the dumbest possible direction for the scene playing out.

With the quilt long gone, the stranger is fully indecent again, and Dean’s trying very hard to ignore it, because it’s the icing on the unreal cake. Fire creeps up his cheeks regardless and Dean squirms.

A black arm brings itself up and around Wing’s body curling as though it was a protective stance. It reminds him of a knight with a shield. Everything else about his posture screams prey animal, and Dean can tell when the ghost of a fight is reverberating through someone’s muscle memory.

What the fuck did Campbell do to him?

To top it all off, Dean realizes he did a terrible job of cleaning the blood away from his mouth. The blue takes over his eyes as his pupil’s become pinpricks of something primal and it doubles with the dried blood smeared down the hollow of his throat.

“Hey,” Dean’s voice is low and shaking and he feels just like he did when he spent all those years helpless, just a child yanked around. “Stay with me. C’mon.”

The wing lowers, and as it does so it catches the light, and the entire wing is made up of feathers that look just like the ones sitting on his mantle, an oil slick in sunshine. Without thinking, Dean brings his hand to his thigh and squeezes it, thumb digging into the meat of it. The touch is meant to be grounding, though he’s not sure who for.

“You know me.” He hums, in a futile effort to comfort him.

A flip must switch in the stranger’s mind, because he nods suddenly, pulling his weight off of Dean and settling down on his own legs, his wings larger than life, spread out in the room.

“Dean.” He says, and it sounds reverent, his voice rough, the syllable catching in his throat. He doesn’t seem to notice, but fresh scarlet blooms across the bandage. “Dean.”

Dean stays as still as a statue and he can’t recall ever saying his name, though that’s usually how it goes for most anything. Words pour out of his mouth ceaselessly, and he’s always embarrassing himself, dumping his scattered thoughts on poor unsuspecting souls: hey, did you know that Led Zeppelin were tolkien fans? Simply because he’d seen someone had walked past wearing a Tree of Gondor shirt.

But Dean doesn’t remember saying his own name. His fathers harsh words rattle around inside his mind: kill first, figure out what it is later.

This thought has to wait, though, because the bullet wound seems to have caught up to him, and Wings slumps forward, his entire body going limp in Dean’s arms, his wings thumping down against the table. Dean drags his hands up his back, until his fingers are buried in the downy feathers that molt into his shoulder blades. Dean can’t be certain, but he feels warmer than last night, like he’d been sleeping next to a fire.

Fuck, fuck fuck.

Dean has no idea how to treat an infection, not really. He can try and prevent one from happening, sure— he’s done that what feels like hundreds of times. But if the infection takes hold it’s out of his hands and he’s going to be left with a dead winged man on his table, or a possibly alive winged man forced into the spotlight.

Dean presses his fist to his mouth, and his body feels like a bow-string pulled too taut, threatening to snap. There’s no one who can help, and there’s no one he trusts.

Dean sits there for nearly thirty minutes, ignoring where his friend’s blood has stained his shirt. The cabin smells like iron, and like feathers, which he hadn’t realized was a distinct scent until it filled up the room. His phone sits in his hands.

The texture of the rug on the floor blurs with the sound of the ragged breathing next to him.

His phone rings.

His fingertips burn where they touched his warm, soon to be cold thigh.

It rings again.

“Hey.” Dean expects Sam’s voice on the other end, and blinks, confused when he’s greeted with a familiar short drawl that he can’t immediately place.

“Missouri says he’s gonna be fine, kid.”

The voice belongs to Pamela.

“Who?” Dean stands up abruptly. Is she outside?

“Your birdman.”

Dean doesn’t acknowledge the remark. “Who?”

Once again, Dean is privy to a conversation happening away from the phone. It sounds like another woman talking, and she sounds annoyed.

“Oh. Missouri. The ol’ wife.”

“Wife?” He runs a quick calculation in his head and then raises his eyebrows. That tracks.

“Dean Winchester, are you listening to me.”

Uh, no?

“Yeah, yeah okay. I heard you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Whatever she thinks she knows, she better not.

Something that sounds, in a honey sweet and dainty voice, like ‘Give it here’ comes from the other end and then she’s speaking to him directly.

“Dean Winchester?” She asks.

“Speaking.”

“Mmkay, good. You better listen up, sweetheart because he’s gonna be fine, but I’m still sending Pam your way. She was a nurse before she retired early, so whatever is wrong with the wound, she should be able to help.”

For once, Dean is rendered speechless, and utterly, utterly confused.

“You still there?”

“Yeah.” Dean croaks. “Yeah, I’m still here.” He looks over at where Wings is laying. His skin should look sunkissed, but instead beads of sweat form along his tendons, and they’re pulled tight, his body tense even if he’s out cold. “How do you know about him?”

“Pamela and I… we share some unique gifts. But that shouldn’t concern you right now. You’ve got a fallen angel dying in your living room. She’ll be there in about fifteen minutes, alright?” She doesn’t wait for his response. “Go dig up some of Rufus’ old stash. The good stuff.”

“Why?” He feels deeply out of the loop.

“To calm your nerves. I can feel them from here. Alright now, I’m gonna hang up. Sit tight until she gets there.”

▵▿▵

Knuckles rap against the door, and Dean nearly jumps out of his skin. From the time it took him to hang up to Pamela showing up at his door it had started to rain again. This time the storm was black, and he had a feeling there would be no sunset, just the dimming of the sky until the charcoal was pitch. He flips the porchlight on as he opens the door.

Pamela’s black hair is caught under the strap of an army green duffel bag, and the rain drips down her forehead and off her chin, smearing her smokey eye shadow slightly. Standing next to her is a woman Dean hasn’t met yet. She stands tall, and if there is a height difference between her and Pamela, he can’t tell. Her ringlets are just as soaked as her wife's and her dark eyes catch the yellow of the porch light. Inexplicably, they're warm, and Dean lends himself to trusting them.

“The psychic forgot her umbrella, huh?” Dean asks, stepping aside to let them in.

Missouri makes a face.

“I was gonna say you’re the prettiest thing in these hills but…” Whatever she was going to say, dies as she takes in the sight strewn across the dining table.

Pamela sets her duffle bag down in one of the seats pulled away from the table and then her arm goes limp as she stands there. Missouri stops by her side, the fingers of her hand trailing her arm until it rests stationary by Pamela’s, their pinkies intertwining.

“Seeing and believing are truly two different things.” Missouri sounds almost reverent.

“Yeah.” Dean breathes, and, actually, he gets that. “Earlier, on the phone you called him a…”

“An angel.”

There are a million questions he could ask but he settles on one. “How do you know?”

Pamela tears her gaze away for just a moment, to look over her shoulder at Dean. “That’s a long story for another night. Right now, we have an angel to save. You look terrible, by the way.”

“Mmhm. Dead on your feet. There’s nothing you can do to help right now. We’ll take care of your angel.”

“Have you eaten anything since you found him?” Pam asks. The duffle bag zipper slices through the ambient silence between words, and she rifles through it for a solid minute before she finally produces a pair of tweezers and what looks to be military grade cotton balls with a pleased grin.

His stomach makes a pathetic noise in response, however instead of making a move to eat something, he's standing there staring validly, wondering why these two women who live in the middle of nowhere are completely calm about Mr. Comatose being heaven sent.

It’s fairly obvious from the way their backs are turned to him now, heads leaning in close until they're almost touching so they can whisper in confidence, that he isn’t going to get any answers tonight.

The exhaustion hits him like a tidal wave, breezing through his muscles, seeping straight into his bones and burrowing in his marrow. Pamela seems to have some left over hospital grade drugs in her nursing kit, and his new friend is completely subdued under the quiet blanket of sleep.

“Dean.” He tears his gaze away from the middle distance, where it had gotten comfortable to see Pamela watching him, her eyes narrow with concern. “I don’t want to have to take care of you next. Eat something and get some rest. You’ve done enough. We’ll be out of your hair once we’re done.”

Dean shouldn’t trust them. But he does. He doesn’t have any other choice. Shuffling around, he shows Missouri the outlets, where Rufus’s first aid-kit (nearly an end-of-days cold war quantity) stash is shoved into the top three shelves of one of the three storage closets. Missouri promises to lock up and leave the key under the worn-through doormat, and Dean nods sleepily.

Missouri pats his cheek, and for the briefest of moments, Dean misses home. He misses Sammy. His life had never been simple or easy or even nice, but at least it had been predictable.

“He’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”

▵▿▵

When he wakes, he’s in his bed and sleep-drunk, and there’s an empty space to his side, a starless void that he’d never been able to fill. In his living room lies the moon, and the stars, and the hopeful sliver of himself wonders if even the sun can be found there as well. The cabin is peaceful, a comforting fog of quiet wrapping him up. Sleep drags him under again, and he goes willingly.

#uinlh #cabin fic #*#mine

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madbucker · 4 years

Text

Silhouettes | Daryl Dixon.

Daryl Dixon x female reader.

Loosely based on the song We Will Become Silhouettes by The Postal Service.

Summary: After Rick’s death Daryl pushed himself away, but he still had someone who would check on him. Y/N cared for him and wanted to make sure he was okay. This works as the presentation of their dynamic, it’s very simple. I will dig deeper, I promise. The chapters won’t be in chronological order, but I will make sure to list it that way too in the masterlist. First part of who knows how many.

Warnings: language, gore stuff (twd style), mentions of death. Will add more warnings depending on the chapter’s content. Let me know if you think it needs some other warning!

Word count: 2.6k

Author’s note: First things first, I’m not a native English speaker, so bear with me! You can send me a message or an ask pointing out some mistakes so I can edit the post. Also, it will help me learn the language, so don’t hesitate! Now that I got that out of the way, this will start as a one shot, but I probably will add more parts to it, digging deeper into the character’s relationship with Daryl and the entire group. I don’t want to do a rewrite because I’m not patient enough and I’d want to jump straight into season 8 or something, lol. If you have any questions or want me to write about a situation in particular (like how they met, runs, the prison, or whatever you come up with) just send me an ask and if I feel like it fits with the story, then I’ll write it! Anyway, if you are into simple writing and limited vocabulary, then I hope you like it and as I said before, I’ll gladly take constructive criticism! ♥

Half a dozen years (or so you thought) of human beings not messing with nature were enough for it to come to life again. The woods had never been greener, the sky had never been more beautiful. The dead were fewer since it was harder for them to walk through such thick undergrowth without them getting stuck in a bush; it was safer to wander around and you could not be happier.

Sometimes, when you looked at the sky at sunset, or even at its darkest time, you would stop thinking about those you had lost. You would never forget them, that was out of the question, but you could enjoy things a little more. Perhaps you were getting used to the guts, the smell, the constant danger… perhaps you had realized your life was not going to change, and that the apocalypse was definitely not a dream, you might as well start seeing the beauty in all that mess.

You sat uncomfortably on the log while looking at the sky. It was full of stars, the Milky Way shining brighter than ever, and sometimes, if you concentrated and were lucky enough, you’d see a shooting star, never missing the opportunity to make a wish.

The fire next to you was dying out and as soon as the first shiver made you jump slightly, you tried to keep it alive. If he came back to the camp he would bring something to cook, you thought. And if he didn’t kick you out or tried to convince you to leave, he would appreciate that you spared him the trouble of starting a fire from scratch.

Right?

You weren’t sure. Hell, you weren’t convinced at all. When Rick died, you witnessed how he closed in once again. It had never been so bad. Not since Beth, anyway. And even then, he had never left the group for that long. He was out there looking for something. So was Michonne, you had seen her walking out of Alexandria’s gates so many times you stopped counting. And you’d follow her without disturbing her, not making a single noise nor making small talk. Sometimes you wondered if she even knew you were there.

She did, of course, you knew. At least most of the times. But, once again, you were there just in case and stayed as far away as you could.

The truth is, though, you were looking for the same thing as her. Rick’s death had broken you too. Not that it could be compared to Michonne’s suffering, or even Daryl’s, but Rick Grimes had been your best friend, your mentor, the one who taught you how to live in this world. He was the one who kept you alive until you could fend for yourself. You loved, owed, and missed him like crazy. So you never stopped looking.

Rick Grimes had died almost a year ago. And Daryl was still outside the walls. He had stepped foot in Alexandria a few times but left right after checking in on everyone. And when it was your turn to trade, or when you just wanted to visit The Hilltop, they informed you he was also going there from time to time. But he left each and every one of them.

Still, you tried to keep him company sometimes. Most of the times he refused, told you to go back and stay safe. And you didn’t fight him, not even once. You weren’t trying to push his buttons, you just wanted him to know you cared.

He did. You knew he knew. But you also knew him, and a little reassurance would never hurt.

As your mind wandered, your eyes started to feel heavy. It had been a long day, you had worked your ass off fixing some broken sinks and making sure all the cars were, at least, not about to explode. Your body ached and the thought of you doing the same thing the next day without getting proper sleep was not so attractive. And sleeping there alone was definitely not a good idea. You had to go back, even if he didn’t show up.

You forced yourself to get up, ignoring the pain on your legs, and started rummaging through your backpack, looking for the sheet of paper and the pen you had brought with you. It wasn’t the first time you had to leave without seeing him, you had to be prepared. You wanted to let him know you came.

“Water bottles in the bag. Be safe.”

A couple of weeks went by. Your work in Alexandria had kept you busy and exhausted, and Michonne forcing you to take care of Negan while Gabriel was out on a run had also mentally drained you. You couldn’t be in the same room as him without getting overwhelmed by the memories.

Not good ones. Not at all. But somehow, you managed to get in and out every day without having the urge to kill him, which was an accomplishment.

Once Gabriel and the others were back, you grabbed your stuff and headed out, expecting to be luckier this time. It was still early in the morning, so you were sure you’d be near his camp in the afternoon. Earlier than last time, maybe he hadn’t even left yet.

Without running into any inconveniences, and as you pictured, you sat on the same log as the last time around three hours before sunset. Days were getting shorter and colder, which made you wonder if Daryl would choose to stay in Alexandria the next winter.

You placed your backpack in front of you and took out the water bottles and the two unlabeled cans of food. You had come prepared to stay the night waiting, it had been almost a month since you last saw him and you just had to make sure he was alive.

Of course he is, you thought, Daryl can’t not be alive. Last man standing, right?

The sun hadn’t set yet when you heard steps behind you. You expected to see Daryl yet you grabbed your knife just in case, but there he was.

He had three squirrels attached to his belt and looked as tired as he could be. His expression remained blank while looking at you. You got up and stood in your place as he walked around the camp leaving his stuff and preparing to skin the squirrels.

“Took you long enough,” you said, grinning. He was okay, he was back there and despite his appearance, him being there with you was more than enough.

He sat on the log you had been previously sitting on, with his back facing you, and started working on his next meal.

“Could say the same to you,” he said calmly. He wasn’t complaining, you knew. “Working a lot?” He stopped what he was doing and turned around lightly, almost expecting to hear bad news. Maybe someone had died or run into some crazy asshole, perhaps a herd was getting close to Alexandria. He had gotten used to bad news, you all had.

Walking around him, you sat cross-legged on the floor next to the log he was on, facing him.

“Sinks, and cars, and weirdly normal stuff. Kids are okay. Nothing happened, just too much to work on while some others were away.” You stretched your arms behind you and locked your eyes on the movements of his hands. You had never learned how to properly skin an animal, even if you tried your hardest. At least you compensated it with your surprisingly great aim.

You both stayed there for a while, just him skinning and you moving around and finally trying to start the fire, and for a little bit, you let yourself forget that you’d leave in the morning and not see him again for weeks.

It wasn’t like old times where small talk was still a common thing between you two, but you were more than grateful that he was there, and that you were able to take care of him the way he took care of you so many times in the past. He had been there for you after your sister’s death right after the quarry. In his own way, of course, Daryl Dixon was not one for hugs and slowly caressing arms, but he was there. He had asked you to go with him while searching for Sophia and let you talk your sadness out, and made sure you had somewhere to crash at night when sharing your tent was just too much to handle. You had become friends. Great ones, too, because you understood each other in a way you had never understood anyone before. You knew when to stay, and when to leave; when to speak up, and when to stay quiet and just… be there.

You respected him, also. You were loyal to him and believed in his motives as the good man you knew he was. He was to you what Beth had been to him: the person who showed you that there were good people left in the world. It wasn’t a surprise for you, either, when you caught yourself watching him in a different light. Catching feelings for him came almost too easy for you as if you were meant to care for him. It wasn’t unexpected, you knew, you had always known. But it scared you.

It was terrifying to even think about the chance of losing him, or him losing you if something happened between you. You loved him, and you were certain he was aware of it, at least to some extent. He knew you cared for him, the romantic side of it was what you tried to hide as much as you could. You were loyal to your friendship and to the bond you shared. Both of you were safer that way.

You had seen Rick losing Lori, Maggie losing Glenn, and then Michonne losing Rick. You didn’t want to be the next one to experience that kind of loss. Getting close enough to imagine a future together and then them dying in your arms was the last thing you wished.

When the squirrels were fully cooked, the sun was out and the night sky was starting to get cloudy. The temperature had heavily dropped and you could almost smell the upcoming rain. In no time you would be soaking wet and wishing you were back at Alexandria with a roof over your head, but it was too late to go back, and you would have to spend at least another hour trying to convince Daryl to go with you.

And on top of that, you knew you wouldn’t manage to.

“Kinda missing umbrellas now,” you said scanning the sky. He imitated you and scoffed, biting into the last pieces of his meal.

“‘s not gonna be bad,” he scrubbed his hands on his jeans and stared at you, “you stayin’?”

You knew you were going to stay, you would find a way to do it, but his question still took you by surprise. It was the first time he suggested it himself instead of you deciding to stay on your own.

Looking at him and lightly tilting your head to the left, you smiled.

“Am I your friend again then?” You joked and he rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he said mockingly as he got up to put out the fire. You got up too and stretched your legs, considering keeping watch first so he could get some sleep. He looked exhausted, you figured he needed to rest, and you being there could maybe help him relax since he wouldn’t have to pay attention to every little sound.

“I’ll keep watch,” you took the gun from your backpack and checked your knife, just in case. Looking around the perimeter you also confirmed the wires and metal cans Daryl had put up were all in place, you would hear the walkers before they could get near you. “Go ahead, get some sleep. I’ll wake ya up in a few hours.” You approached his tent and sat near the entrance, making yourself comfortable with your back pressed against a tree.

Once he finished putting out the fire, he walked towards you and sat down next to you.

Shoulder to shoulder, keeping watch. It instantly reminded you of the never ending nights at the guard tower back at the prison. You remembered how you would nonchalantly talk about your life before the dead walked, how he would listen and comment on it without talking about his own.

You remembered, too, when he opened up to you for the first time.

It had taken him a couple of years of knowing you, but he finally did. And you listened carefully, as quiet as you could be and giving him all the time in the world to speak. It had been on a night like this one, keeping watch like this time too. He had told you everything: Merle, his dad, his scars, his mom. You used to be so close it ached to realize that that was now in the past. He still trusted you, but it wasn’t the same, and sometimes you wondered if it was ever going to be that way again.

Suddenly, as the first thin raindrops touched your skin, you felt a knot on your throat that you drowned with a chuckle. How long had it been since you felt like crying? Months. Probably more. You didn’t have to turn to look at Daryl to know he was staring at you.

“Dixon I swear to God,” you spoke, trying to find something to say that wouldn’t give you away, “if you catch a cold…” jokingly threatening him, you then looked at him. The drizzle making small raindrops land on his hair. You noticed how long it had gotten, making a mental note to bring some scissors next time.

He snorted, “what?”

“I’m draggin’ your ass back to Alexandria,” you stated, smiling widely.

Your smile didn’t last long, though. His face expressionless the moment you mentioned the place. You knew why. You felt like that sometimes too, but it didn’t matter who was there, it was still your home.

“‘m not goin’ back there. Not for a while.” He fidgeted with his fingers and then with an arrow. “I tried, but every time I go, knowin’ he’s there-”

“I would’ve killed him already if I didn’t have so much self-control.” You cut him off; he was right, it had taken him all of his strength to visit Judith and baby R.J. without going to the cell and finish what he swore he would finish. “Then I’ll drag your ass back to the Hilltop or the Kingdom.”

“I was thinkin’ of spending the winter there. At the Kingdom.”

Smiling, you reached for his arm and squeezed lightly, him not flinching at your touch the way he did when you first met all those years ago. That was still a thing, at least, his comfort with your touch.

“I’d love that.”

Not much was said after. He had given up and gone to sleep while you kept watch for the rest of the night. You had given up too when you realized he wasn’t waking up; you decided you would take the day off, Alexandria could do without you for a day while you recovered with a long, much-needed nap. Hearing his snores made you realize: that man hadn’t gotten proper sleep in weeks. It didn’t matter to you when the rain got heavier, though it was never unbearable. You were glad that you were there and that you could help him some way. The only way you could.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon oneshot

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thegreatestofheck · 4 years

Text

Simple Melancholy pt. 2 ❣ Kelce ❣

for my full masterlist and the first part, click here! If you want to be added to the taglist for this fic or any of my other works, just let me know!

word count - 4.4k warnings - Brief mentions of past abuse, underage drinking, swearing synopsis - Jemma “Little J” Maybank finds herself a little over her head when she accidentally falls for a boy from Figure Eight. Between her overly protective brother and Kelce’s incredibly rude friends, neither of them are sure how they’re going to make it, but they’re determined to. tagging - @diverrdown, @yourlocalauthor, @outrebanx, @starkeystyles, @simonsbluee, @parkerpetertingle, a/n - I’m sorry it took me so long to update this, but I hope you enjoy this part! I love you all. Stay safe, stay healthy, and stay the grooviest.

The water beat against Jemma, her surfboard flying over her head. She tried to push herself to the surface, but another wave crashed into her before she could. The force of the water pushed her into the hard sand, but the pain didn’t register. All Jemma could think about was getting a breath of air.

It wasn’t until the waves pushed her onto the shore that she could finally breathe. Coughing up water and gasping for air, Jemma crawled away from the water.

“That was a nasty wipeout, Little J!” John B said, laughing as he and the others ran over to her.

“Jemma, are you okay?” JJ asked. He dropped to the sand and put a hand on her back as he brushed wet and matted hair out of her face. Nodding, Jemma coughed again. “Come on.”

JJ ducked under her arm and helped her to her feet, moving her farther away from the water. John B, Kie, and Pope followed, dropping their surfboards into the sand. JJ lowered his sister back onto the ground as she continued to suck in deep breaths.

“That...was...sick,” she said, gasping with each word. And then she smiled up at her brother. He shook his head, wrapped his arm around her neck, and tugged her in for a side hug.

“It was pretty cool,” JJ said with a grin. “That’s going in the pogue hall of fails, Little J.”

“Anyone get a picture?” She teased. Kie and Pope, who were still standing with worried looks on their faces, glanced between each other. John B walked over to the cooler they had brought for surfing day and pulled out a beer bottle. When he came back, he handed it off to Jemma and JJ didn’t even protest.

Once she could breathe steadily enough, Jemma popped open the beer and took a short drink. John B sat down beside her with a beer of his own. He grinned at Jemma and JJ narrowed his eyes slowly.

“Don’t be looking at my sister like that,” JJ said. Jemma and John B looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Get your head out of your ass, bubba,” John B said, taking another sip. JJ looked like he was about to beat his friend into the sand, but Jemma reached out and put a hand over her brother’s.

“Would you chill?” She asked him, a twinge of irritation in her voice. JJ huffed and dropped his hands into the sand. Jemma shook her head and took another swig of beer. She wouldn’t lie and say she would be mad if John B looked at her the way her brother always accused him of. She’d practically grown up with him, been there for him through some of his worst moments and he had been there for her in hers. Thinking about macking her brother’s best friend wasn’t the worst crime Jemma had ever committed. It was, however, the only crime that would probably get her killed.

In an attempt to shake the thoughts away, Jemma pushed herself onto her feet, teetering ever so slightly as she did so. She felt lightheaded, her vision going dark for a second.

“Where are you going?” Kie asked, putting a hand out to steady her friend.

“Gotta go get my board,” Jemma replied.

“I’ll come.” John B started to push himself upward, but not before JJ tackled him back to the sand.

“No way in hell!” His words seemed harsh, but there was a laugh in his voice. Jemma scoffed and rolled her eyes as the boys rolled around, kicking up sand.

“Dude!” Kie protested, trying to jump out of the way of their flailing legs.

“I’ll come with you,” Pope said but Jemma shook her head.

“I don’t need an escort,” she told him with a laugh.

“I’ll come anyway.”

Jemma shrugged and took another sip of beer. If she had felt more attached to her personal items, Jemma might have been upset that her board wasn’t currently on her person. But she had gotten used to disappointment. Losing it would just be losing another thing. From her experience, nothing stayed long, why would a surfboard?

But, losing it would be a potential reason for her dad to get angry. Jemma’s first reaction to her dad being angry with her for losing her board was fear, but the second was bitterness. Let him hate her, let him hit her, let him throw everything he had at her. She could take it.

“Are you even looking?” Pope asked as Jemma stared existentially out into the ocean.

“Huh?” She turned to look at him and he raised his eyebrows. “Right.”

Taking a long drink of beer, she narrowed her eyes and scanned the surface of the water. Waves still crashed against the shore, but there was no sign of her sunset orange board.

“JJ said you got a tutoring gig,” Pope said, shoving his hands into his pockets. Jemma felt herself grimace.

“Yup.” She took a drink.

“Didn’t go well?”

“No, it went perfectly fine. Guy’s a dickhead though.”

“I’m sorry, Little J.”

“Don’t sweat it.” Jemma smiled behind a sip. “At least I’m making money.”

Jemma wasn’t sure why she was so quick to call Kelce a dickhead. He really hadn’t been that terrible any of the times she had come over. After their first mini fight, it seemed like everything became less tense. She helped him write his essays and study for his tests and he didn’t complain nearly as much as JJ did. He tried to ask her questions about her personal life, but she avoided them at all costs. There was no reason for him to get to know her. They weren’t friends. They were supposed to hate each other.

But Jemma couldn’t help but feel like he tried so hard to get to know her because he wanted a real connection with someone that wasn’t just it in for his money. Then again, maybe she was just projecting. Truth be told, he was actually really sweet. And funny. And adorable. And-

“There!” Pope put one hand on her shoulder and pointed with his other.

“Where?”

“There, dumbass!”

Then she saw it, floating by itself just beyond the crashing waves. A smile spread across Jemma’s face. She shoved her beer bottle into Pope’s hands and started for the water.

“Little J, wait!” His attempts to hold her back failed, but his shouting got JJ’s attention.

Jemma dove underneath the first wave she came in contact with. All of her senses came to life. When she was away from the water, it always felt like there was a part of her that was dead, or at least not alive. Even when the ocean tried its hardest to kill her, she always found herself yearning to be right back in it to feel that last bit of life she so deeply desired.

Which was why, even though she had yet to completely catch her breath after her beat down, she didn’t hesitate to dive in headfirst.

“Jemma!” She heard JJ yell over the thundering waves, but she wouldn’t listen. Even after her feet could no longer touch the ground below, Jemma didn’t slow. She maneuvered through the waves until she reached her board.

“Reunited,” she whispered, breathless, a gleeful smile on her face. Before she clambered on top of it, she pressed a kiss against the deck. She rode the waves back to shore, her smile never once fading. But JJ was fired up all over again which was almost enough to put her back in a sour mood as she ran over with the surfboard under her arm.

“You almost died and you just run back into the water like a maniac?” He asked. Jemma shrugged.

“Had to get my board.”

“I could have gotten it for you.”

“I don’t need you to do everything for me. I’m not a baby, J.”

“I know you’re not, but-”

“But nothing.” Jemma tried to keep her smile. “Can I have my beer back?”

Pope, not wanting to get between Jemma and JJ, handed the beer back to her before running back to stand next to Kie. She was waiting patiently to deescalate any situation that arose, John B laughing silently to himself to the side. Not breaking eye contact with her brother, Jemma took a long drink of her beer. He narrowed his eyes but said nothing. The wind blew and a sudden, sharp pain made Jemma gasp.

Looking down, she saw a sand rash marred the skin around her hip bone. JJ’s eyes followed hers and he rolled his eyes.

“That’s what you get for being a dumbass,” he said, but then he stepped forward and took the beer can from her. “We should get this cleaned out.”

“It’s a burn, not a bullet hole,” Jemma said with a roll of her eyes.

“It looks pretty bad, Little J,” John B said, walking over to her and JJ. She looked up at met his concerned look. “We should get you home

“Okay,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Okay,” JJ mocked her voice. Jemma slapped her hand against his shoulder. “Ow! What the hell!”

“You’re a douche,” Jemma snapped. JJ sneered.

“Well, you’re stuck with me.”

“I’ll help you to the car,” John B interrupted.

“No!” Jemma and JJ both shouted at the same time.

“I can walk perfectly fine,” Jemma tried to say in a calmer voice, offering John B an apologetic smile.

“You’re not touching my sister with a ten foot pole,” JJ warned, pointing a finger at his best friend.

“Would you knock it off?” Jemma shoved her brother back. JJ was about to retaliate when Pope and Kie stepped in.

“Alright, you two,” Kie said, putting her hands on Jemma’s shoulders and pulling her backward. It wasn’t a rare occurrence for Jemma and JJ to fight, in fact, it happened almost every time they hung out with the Pogues. It was just life with the Maybank twins.

By the time John B’s van rattled to a stop at the Chateau, the argument between Jemma and JJ was completely forgotten. They were chatting back and forth about whatever dumb movie they had stolen from the abandoned Blockbuster even as the entire group clambered out of the car.

“I gotta go get this cleaned up,” Jemma said, covering her sand rash to keep the wind off of it. She wasn’t a pussy, but sand rashes hurt like a bitch.

“You got to tutor today?” JJ asked as she headed off toward the house.

“Yup. In about an hour.”

“Your nails aren’t done.”

Jemma felt herself smile. Ever since their stupid argument about nail polish, JJ had knicked a few bottles from the Kook cougars he worked for to give to her. It was an olive branch gesture, one that made Jemma smile just thinking about.

“Don’t have time for it today,” she told him. JJ shrugged his shoulders, trying to seem like he didn’t care. “But I’ll paint them tonight when I get back, yeah? That blue color was really nice.”

He perked his head up and a hint of a smile crossed his face. The others weren’t entirely sure what was going on, but they knew it to be a Maybank Moment. These moments usually followed a fight, so they weren’t really surprised.

Trotting up the porch steps and into the house, Jemma couldn’t help her smile. There was a small part of her that was giddy. Even though it was only her fifth time going over to Kelce’s to help him study, she found herself looking forward to it. Maybe it was because she could almost convince herself that she was living like Kook for three hours. Maybe it was because when Kelce looked at her, he didn’t see the damaged goods from the cut that she saw in the mirror.

After cleaning her sand rash, Jemma threw on a new outfit, something a little nicer than before that covered up the beating her body took from the ocean. Saying a quick goodbye to her friends, she took off toward Figure Eight.

She wasn’t even the least bit nervous knocking on Kelce’s door that night. It was later than she usually went over, but he had texted her the day before asking to change the times a bit. Jemma was more than happy to comply. It just meant that she could spend the rest of the day with her friends.

When he opened the front door, he was smiling. God, she loved his smile.

“Hi,” he said, leaning his hand against the door. Jemma couldn’t help the stupid grin on her face.

“Hi.”

He just watched her for a moment as she tapped her fingers against the back of her hand. Then he suddenly cleared his throat and opened the door even more.

“Come in.”

Jemma stepped inside, immediately kicking off her shoes and setting her bag on the counter.

“So, what are we studying to-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

A shout from another room in the house startled Jemma. She jumped, turning her concerned gaze toward Kelce, who grimaced.

“A few of the boys are over,” he explained slowly, tucking his hands into his pockets. Jemma raised her eyebrows as her pulse started to slow back down to normal.

“Is this why you pushed the time back?”

Kelce stepped toward her in a hurried attempt to cover for himself.

“You’ve been helping me out so much I just wanted to give you a break in return for all your help,” he said. Jemma almost laughed.

“Kelce, your parents literally pay me to be here. I don’t need you to do anything else for me,” she told him. For a brief second, there was almost something like hurt behind his eyes, as if wondering whether or not she would still come if the money stopped flowing into her bank account.

“I just want you to meet my friends.”

“I know your friends. We don’t get along.”

“It’s just a few guys. They’ll be cool, I swear!”

Jemma eyed him carefully, but she heard the desperation behind his words. She wasn’t sure what came over her that made her finally nod her head with a sigh. It didn’t matter which of Kelce’s friends were over, there was no way this was going to end well.

He gestured toward the living room and Jemma let him lead her there.

“Fuck you!” the same voice from before screamed. Jemma saw the TV and the game that was on before she saw who was watching. Clearly, the game was not going in their favor. But then she saw Rafe Cameron and Topper Thornton sitting on Kelce’s couch. Fear immediately rose in her stomach at the sight of them, her eyes going wide.

“Shit, shit, shit!” She seethed, moving out of the doorway and behind a wall. With a scowl on his face, Kelce followed after her.

“Jemma, what-”

“You didn’t say your friends were Topper and Rafe,” she whispered, her chest heaving.

“I said a few guys.” Jemma shut her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. “What’s going on?”

Jemma tried to steady her breathing before answering. She popped one eye open only to see Kelce watching her with a worried look on his face. She let out a deep sigh and pulled him farther away from the living room.

“You have to swear to never repeat to anyone what I’m about to tell you,” she said, her voice low. Kelce nodded his head.

“What happens in the house stays in the house,” he said, repeating one of Jemma’s rules. Jemma swallowed a hard lump in her throat, cringing as she tried to build up the courage to say what she was about to say.

“Okay.” She put her shaking hands up and took a deep breath in through her nose. “Don’t be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because I’m about to tell you something that might ruin your perception of me.”

“Nothing could do that.”

Jemma ignored the way her heart spiked. She heaved out a sigh, tapping her head against the wall again. There was no easy way to say what she was about to say.

“JJ and I got into an argument once a few months back. A bad one,” she started, peering back at the entrance to the living room as if waiting for someone to walk right through. “He wouldn’t let me run off with this touron I met at a party. I was angry as hell and horny as hell and drunk as hell, so I did something I knew would royally piss him off.”

Kelce scowled, still not really understanding. Jemma was hoping that she could get him to understand without spelling it out completely, but it didn’t appear to be working.

“I found the one guy I knew would make my brother the angriest and I…” She trialed off, gesturing with her hand until Kelce got the picture. She watched him press his lips into a fine line. “Not my proudest moment, but-”

“Who was the guy?” Kelce asked, his voice as quiet as hers was. Jemma swore quietly to herself. He was really going to make her say it, wasn’t he? She bounced a few times before blurting the name out as quickly as she could.

“Rafe.”

“Oh, my god, Jemma!”

“Shh!” She hissed desperately, pressing her hand to Kelce’s mouth and turning to make sure no one heard. “I told you not to be mad!”

Kelce swatted her hand off of his mouth.

“I’m not mad...I’m just….” Kelce put a hand on his head before dropping it back to his side. Jemma grimaced at the expression on his face. “You’re a fucking minor, Jemma. And he’s-”

“I know!” Jemma wrapped her arms around her stomach. “It was a mistake.”

“A one time mistake?”

Jemma set her jaw, starting to bounce again. She got bouncy when she was nervous.

“A multiple time mistake.”

“Oh, god.”

“So, now you know why I can’t go in there, right?” She was begging him to understand, to just let her walk away. She hadn’t seen, let alone spoken to, Rafe since their last hook up a month or so ago. She wasn’t really intended on tonight being that night. Kelce turned away from her, his hands on his hips. He was reacting almost as badly as she expected JJ too. She wasn’t sure why he was so upset by it. At least, she told herself she didn’t.

“I thought you hated him,” Kelce said, turning back to look at her. Jemma chewed on her lip, holding her arms tighter.

“I hate his guts, but….” She trailed off, letting out an embarrassed breath. Her words grew quieter. “I also have a bad habit of letting him rearrange my guts.”

Kelce scoffed and Jemma grimaced. That was the worst possible way she could have said it. It seemed like every time she opened her mouth, she was just making things worse. If only she could just dig a hole and bury herself deep inside. She would rather be literally anywhere other than where she was now.

“It’s not like I actually like him, or anything.” She was still trying to defend her actions for whatever reason. She just couldn’t bear to have Kelce thinking that she was easy like everyone else did. The thought forced tears into her eyes. “It was just-”

Kelce lifted his hand and Jemma swallowed her words. His eyes were closed, pinched shut. She waited for him to explode, to scream at her, call her a whore, maybe even shove her around. It was what she expected from men. She messed up and they came for her, tooth and nail.

But Kelce never even curled his hands into fists. He waited to talk until his breathing was steady, until the confusion and anger were gone from his face. Then he opened his eyes slowly to look at her.

Jemma hadn’t realized how tense she was, waiting for an attack, until Kelce lifted his hand to rest on her shoulder and she flinched. He pulled his hand back, a concerned look on his face as he leaned away from her.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his eyebrows pinching together.

“I...I should go.” Jemma took a few steps to the side before starting for the front door.

“Jem...wait.” Kelce caught her by the wrist, his grip gentle. Still, she spun around ready for the attack that she still expected to come. Her eyes were wide, her breathing heavy. “You wanna get out of here? Go somewhere quieter?”

Jemma’s body relaxed out of surprise and she scowled.

“What?”

“I’m not mad at you, Jemma. You’re entitled to live your own life. I was just shocked is all.”

Jemma kept her scowl for a few more moments even as he dropped his hand from her wrist. She was trying to figure out what his angle was. There had to be a reason he was doing this, saying the things he was saying. There had to be a reason he was talking so softly, so gently.

Her dad used to do it a lot when she was younger. Pretend he wasn’t mad just so he could explode later. Get her crying in his arms before throwing her to the floor. Make her think she was safe and then….

She couldn’t help but wonder if Kelce was doing the same thing now. It took her a few pondering moments to decide that he wasn’t.

Stepping out of her defensive stance, she kept a small scowl on her face, just in case.

“Sure.”

At her acceptance of his offer, Kelce smiled. It wasn’t the same, wide smile as before, but he was happy to hear her response. He walked her back to the front door, sending one last look back toward his friends.

“Will they miss you?” Jemma asked as she stepped into Kelce’s car, her legs still shaking ever so slightly. Kelce shrugged and shut her door for her.

“Not likely.”

Jemma rolled down the window, hoping that the cool evening air would be enough to calm her nerves.

“So,” Kelce said, one hand resting lazily on the wheel and his other hanging out his open window. “Rafe.”

Jemma scoffed and rolled her eyes, a small, cringing smile on her lips.

“I ended it,” she said, refusing to look at him as she watched the rich people houses dash by in a blur. “It felt wrong, lying to my brother all the time.”

“I thought you did it to piss him off.”

“Yeah, I did, but I didn’t want to get Rafe murdered because I was being petty.”

To Jemma’s surprise, Kelce actually laughed. It was a nice sound, like the waves against the shore. No, something softer than that but just as powerful.

“And,” Jemma continued, though she didn’t know why. “It made me feel like...like the things people said about me were all true.”

“What things?”

It was Jemma’s turn to laugh, but hers was bitter, accompanied by a roll of her eyes.

“You know.” Kelce glanced over at her and gave his head a little shake. “That I’m easy. That I’ve got daddy issues and that means I’ll let anyone in my pants. That my dad….” She paused. “Whore, slut, homewrecker, the whole nine yards. You’re telling me that you’ve never heard anyone say that about me?”

Kelce shrugged his shoulders, but Jemma knew he was lying. She let out a heavy breath.

“Fine,” Kelce said. “I’ve heard it all. But I never believed it.”

Jemma raised her eyebrows, leaning back against her seat and looking at him as she propped a foot up onto the dashboard.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Kelce fixed his eyes on the road. “Most decent guys don’t believe it when someone says stuff like that about a girl.”

“Most decent guys wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole.”

Jemma’s mind went back to the beach, to John B’s offer to help her, to JJ telling him off by saying the same thing. She scrunched up her nose and looked down at her hands. Never before had any of these words ever left her mouth before, to anyone, not even her closest friends, her family. How was it that Kelce had managed to pry it out of her after only knowing her for a few weeks?

“I haven’t seen my parents in two months,” Kelce said suddenly. He didn’t tear his gaze from the road even as Jemma looked up at him. “They’ve been contacting you from somewhere in Europe.”

“Kelce, you don’t have to-”

“No, you bore your soul to me. I just want you to know that you can trust me with these things.” He looked over at her finally. “So, I’m trusting you. My parents pay so little attention to me, the only reason they know that my grades were as low as they were was because I told them.”

Jemma felt her jaw tense, her throat starting to swell.

“I’m sorry.”

Comforting people wasn’t her strong suit.

“It’s been this way all my life.” He shrugged. “Do you trust me yet?”

Jemma felt a smile pull at the edges of her lips, but she tried to hold it back.

“We’re getting there.”

“Friends?”

Jemma narrowed her eyes, pulling at her lip with her teeth as she mulled the idea over.

“Friends have nicknames for each other,” she said finally, crossing her arms. “I’ll call you Kellie.”

Kelce laughed.

“No way in hell!”

“I thought you wanted to be friends.”

“I do!” Jemma cocked an eyebrow. “Fine. You can call me Kellie. As long as I can call you Jem.”

Jemma felt her heart freeze in her chest. The only person who ever called her Jem was her mom. Jemma swore to never let anyone else call her that in case her mom ever came back and laid claim on the name once again. But her mom was gone. She was gone and she wasn’t coming back. Jemma had to realize it eventually.

“Deal.” Jemma finally let herself smile. “So, Kellie, where are you taking me?”

He gave her a mischievous grin before settling his gaze back on the road.

“I guess you’re just going to have to wait and see, Jem.”

“It better be good.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Jemma’s smile grew wider.

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storysofmyown · 4 years

Text

Obey me! Scarred, Chapt. 7

Plot: It’s time for the next step in Diavolo’s plan to unify the realms. But, in order to work, the demons would be subjected to confront their worst fears, and in some cases, who they are.

Trigger warning: None that i can think of

Word count: 2377

“Ya got to be kiddin’ me, I ain’t gonna wear this weird…uh…um…shirt I guess? To the damn ball.” Mammon threw the garment at Asmodeous bed, who made a cartoonish shriek.

“Mammon! You idiot! Do you have any idea how long it takes to steam the wrinkles off? And you are not going to do it, so its me the one who has to put their skin at risk in that heat just because you can’t be careful.” Asmodeous took the piece of clothe and hanged it on his closet, making sure no wrinkle was visible.

“Whatever, I don’t care. I have more important things to be doing than playing dress up with you two.”

“Who said I was playing dress up?” Mc looked up from the bed, barely maintaining eye contact with Mammon.

“Then why are ya here?”

“You literally dragged me out of my room so I would accompany you here.” Mc sat down; their eyes now open but not focusing on anything. “Plus, Asmo said there would be wine, so.” Asmodeous laughed and stuck his tongue out at Mammon, who huffed and growled in response. “C’mon, just sit down. Everything in here has been so chaotic since…well, God arrived that Lucifer has a headache 24/7. We are the only ones acting normal.” Mc sighed, they were worried for the others, but the demos refused to talk about what had happen, what that caused them to act this way.

“That’s not true, Levi hasn’t left his room in three whole days. That’s very Levi of him.” Asmo gave Mammon a glass of wine before sitting on the bed. Mammon made a point of sniffing it in case Asmo put anything weird in it, before just chugging everything down in one go.

“That ain’t entirely true. The other day, I went to see Levi, and the dweeb wasn’t doing anything. And I don’t mean as in, wasting time playing games and shit, no, he was literally buried under at least seven blankets and was just starring at Henrys tank all the time. Barely even acknowledge me.”

“Is that so?” Prompted Asmo.

“I payed him a visit. There was no sound on or anything, I called him, and he just yelled for me to leave him alone. I want to help but how can I help when he won’t tell me what’s wrong?” Mc groaned; they loved the seven idiots. At this point they were family to Mc, and that meant what affected the boys affected them.

“That is a little weird of him. I mean, he would never reject anyone that offered to watch anime or play videogames with him.” Asmo refilled all the cups.

The three of them stayed silent for a moment. Asmodeous chewed on his lower lip before sighing.

“Has Satan talked to any of you?” Mammon and Mc shook their heads. “Me neither, I tried giving him a book the other day, and he literally threw it at my face. He is out of control.” Once again, silence, this time broken by Mammon.

“What about Belphie and Beel? I haven’t seen Beel eat more than half a plate of food for over a week now. He IS the Avatar of Gluttony. His whole thing is food.”

“We baked him some cupcakes to try and cheer him up. He didn’t even touch them.” Asmo replied, pointing at Mc and then at himself. “Like, I know they were probably not that good, but they were better than Solomon’s cooking, which mean Beel would normally have eaten them with no problem.”

“Belphegor hasn’t slept in days.” Mc starred at their now empty cup.

“How do ya know that?”

“He won’t leave my room. He has stayed with me for a couple days, every time I wake up, I see him awake. All he does is stare at a bracelet on his hand.” Mc looked up at Asmo and Mammon, they all had the same expression on their faces.

“Anyway,” Asmo tried to sound as chipper as possible, forcing a smile on his lips. “Mammon, you said you had some more important things to care about. What is that all about?”

“Oh, so you know that one-time Mc…Belphie and I working at Hell’s Kitchen?” Mammon’s voice went quiet when mentioning Belphegor before picking up the tone he had started the sentence with. “Well, the dudes still had my phone, and it seems that a customer wants me personally to do his delivery. And get this, they will pay whatever amount I demand, all so I, the Great Mammon deliver some food and stuff. Can you believe this?” Mammon rested his back on the backrest of the chair while taking a long sip.

“That sounds a little suspiciou-” Asmodeous was cut short by Mc’s tired voice.

“I’m worried about them.” Silence fell momentarily in the room. None of them daring to speak up. The situation was getting worse by the day, their family was hurting, and they didn’t even knew why. It was scary, knowing that people you loved were going trough something and not being able to do anything about it.

“So am I” Lucifer’s voice cut in, pulling a chair and taking a whole bottle of wine that had yet to be open.

“Oi! How long have you been listening in?” Mammon jumped at Lucifer’s voice before sitting straight in the chair.

“There was no need for me to “listen in”, you three were talking loud enough that I could hear it in the kitchen.” The bags under the man’s eyes were noticeable, he had a demeanor that screamed how little care the man was putting on himself. His form seemed weaker and his tone did not have the usual authoritative undertone. Lucifer popped off the cork of the bottle and took a long sip. He wasn’t wearing his usual coat, vest open and with no tie.

“Are you okay?” Mc asked, leaving their cup on the side. Lucifer only gave a dry sarcastic laugh before just looking at the ceiling.

“Am I okay? Of course, why wouldn’t I be? It’s not like ever since I saw my father’s face, I have been plagued with nightmares of him hurting another member of my family. Or the fact that when we are supposed to as closer as we can possible be, my brothers and my own son are more shut off than ever. Satan went back to hating me with every fiber of his being, Beelzebulb won’t talk to anyone, Belphegor and Leviathan have just shut off completely from the entire world.” Lucifer sighed, passing a hand through his hair.

Asmodeous felt tempted to take the bottle off from Lucifer, the man was not feeling well, and having him drunk would not do any good. He tried to do so, but Lucifer only shook his head, looking at Asmo, giving his younger brother a small smile before he caught Mammon starring. His expression was that of a child who had found out Santa Clause was not real, of a child whose hero turned out to be just a man who could get hurt, bleed, and die.

In all their years alive, Mammon had never seen Lucifer in such a helpless manner. It was like whatever drive had been keeping him functioning had met its limit, needed replacement or something. The man who was more of a father to any of them that their actual father could ever be, the man who, even though was the literal personification of pride, threw his reputation and believes away and damned himself to a life of servitude all so his little sister could have a shot at a normal life. Mammon would never say this out laud, but he appreciated how much Lucifer had sacrificed for their family.

“Lucifer, I-” Mammon was shushed when Lucifer put up his hand.

“I never told you two, or anyone else for that matter, about this but…after we fell, and Diavolo gave us this house, I promised myself I would do anything to keep my family together, because as long as I had you guys, I thought it would be okay. After all, we had gone through a hell of a war… and yet, somehow, we were still together, even if Lilith wasn’t there with us, I knew she was happy. And I wanted that for us as well, I wanted us to be happy. All of us.” Lucifer chuckled.

For a few seconds, after Lucifer finished, he laughed slightly, with a somber tone to his voice. Before getting up and walking towards the door, once at the edge of it, he turned around, barely even looking at the three stunned members of his family. He wondered where he had gone wrong, where everything had gone to shit, the reasons why he couldn’t protect his family and why were they going through stuff they don’t deserve. He felt his heart ache at the memories of a lifetime ago, at the times up with his Father when they thought he loved them.

He thought of Lilith and how much love she had to give; she was his little sister. And he would have given everything to protect her and every single member of his family, he would crawl through all the realms and sink to the bottom before trading his own life if it was necessary. But he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He was stuck with the weight of his mistakes and the regrets that weighed him down and ate him up every day, every moment of every second of every minute of his existence. This was his life. No matter how much he tried to make the family okay, the universe seemed to punish them all.

Lost in his thoughts, Lucifer arrived at his room. Ignoring the stack of papers in his desk and turning off his phone. Not even Diavolo was going to convince him of waking up early tomorrow. Lucifer kicked his shoes off, and without getting anything else off, he laid in bed, starring at the ceiling and wondering how could he be such a bad father and older brother.

Across the hallway, stood two demons and a human. Whom felt as hopeless as Lucifer. Mc wanted so badly to go after Lucifer and hug him but the first they needed to cry their feelings for a second. Mc got up from the bed, leaving and empty cup on Asmodeous bed and excused themselves. Mammon sighed, passing a hand through his hair. This was all wrong, none of this should be happening, and Mammon wanted to do something about it so badly.

“Mammon.” Asmodeous voice was hoarse and weak. Mammon ignored the feeling of tears accumulating in his eyes in order to pay attention to Asmodeous, who’s hair was covering his facial features while the younger demon starred at the floor.

“I know.” Mammon’s tone mirrored Asmodeous. “Me too Asmo, you and all the other bunch of idiots that live in this house.” Asmodeous laughed for less than a second, looking up, and in that moment, Mammon saw that he had been crying. Mammon moved to give his little brother a hug. They stayed like that for a while, Mammon trying to regain composure while Asmodeous fully sobbed on his older brother’s shoulder.

It was moments like this that showed them how much they did care for one another. Even if they were always fighting, and screaming at one another, they were a family. Lucifer had made sure they stood together for so long and hell would be damned if the mere presence of their father was going to change that fact. They were a family, and nothing was going to change that.

After a few minutes, Mammon left Asmodeous alone, both agreeing to never speak of that again. For their sakes and Lucifer’s. After entering his room, Mammon put his hands over his pool table, taking in everything that had just happened. He wasn’t aware of how long he stood there, starring at nowhere while simultaneously lost in his head. The only reason he snapped out of it was because his phone started ringing.

“What do ya want?” Mammon asked, not bothering to even check who was calling.

“Mammon! Right?” Mammon hummed as an answer. “We finally got a hold of you. Listen kid, the customer is still requesting your presence. They want it to be delivered tonight. You in?” Mammon sighed; he was not having any of it tonight.

“Yeah, listen here bud. Tell the costumer The Great Mammon isn’t interest in delivering no food.” He didn’t even wait for an answer before hanging up and throwing his phone over the bed, flopping in it and trying to fall asleep. Of course, that was interrupted by the phone once again. Mammon groaned. “Oi! I already told you I am not interested. Stop calling.”

“We understand, but the customer stated that in case you refused to deliver we reassured you that he would pay very handsomely.” Mammon sighed.

“How about this, why don’t ya take the order to the man, and you receive the pay, that way you can use that money to check yo damn ears cuz you ain’t listening to what I’m saying. I Ain’t Interested.” With that Mammon hanged up again, he got up from the bed and tried to sigh, but before he even did that the phone started ringing again. “Y’know what? I’m starting to get real mad-”

“Mammon.” That voice… “come now, no need to be so rude.” This time, the voice that came through the phone wasn’t the same. For a moment he couldn’t quite recognize the voice, then in clicked. “I only wish to see my son. Why are you denying me from that?” It was his father.

“You…you were the customer.” Mammon spoke in mild disbelief. He had been so tired and annoyed he didn’t even think of the possibility of his father messing with him. Yet, here he was. Even from the phone Mammon could tell his father had the most devilish grin the man could give. For a moment Mammon felt his head spin while the anticipation of hearing his father’s voice grew. Then, in a deep playful tone, almost gritted yet obviously unwelcome, his father spoke.

“Bingo.”

Aight! Chapter seven people! This one is bit different than the normal format of “God finds a brother alone and manipulates him.” In all honestly, this chapter was not meant to exist at all, i started it trying to write the chapter for the next brother but it turned into this. I still hope y’all like this one. Next chapter will be again fallow my usual format, and I’ll probably post it Wednesday. That is all for today, hope y’all had enjoyed it sweeties :3

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

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