#it's sad that there are people who are rushed through transitioning and i wish there were more help for them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ateezmakemeweep · 4 years

Text

broken (part 2).

san x reader

word count: 12k

angst, fluff (tw: mentions of domestic abuse and rape)

(part 1)

no matter how many times you tried to change your thinking patterns, you still classified your life into two parts: before the abuse and after.

you thought, after watching your ex-boyfriend being escorted out of the courtroom with a one-year prison sentence, that you wouldn’t be scared of him anymore.

you thought that moving out of the house and living in your new apartment would make day to day life easier, not needing to see the floor you were beaten on or counter you were forced to have sex on every day.

you thought that having san would make you feel happy and loved and enough. that having a whole new family unit consisting of seven other crazy boys and a crotchety old lady would be enough.

but as you sit curled up on the bathroom floor with tears in your eyes, you’re seeing you severely underestimated everything.

underestimated just how much trauma you still had to sort through and how badly that asshole really did mess you up.

six months ago:

“so we have the surveillance footage and witness testimony from your neighbors,” your lawyer explains gently, an older woman with kind eyes and soft-spoken voice that quickly transforms in the courtroom.

“but a personal statement, if you feel comfortable, would probably guarantee the harshest sentence.”

the harshest sentence being one year, a measly 365 days compared to the 1,825 he subjected you to every kind of abuse: sexual, emotional, mental, physical.

hitting and grabbing and slapping until your skin was littered with bruises and cuts.

talking so harshly to you that you believed dying was the best option, stripping you from any sort of confidence or self-esteem you once had.

making you feel completely inept and useless, solely viewing you as a piece of property he could boss around and use at his disposal.

you had left the office with shaking hands and a pounding heart, barely being able to dial san’s number before he answered after one ring.

this was the first appointment you’ve went to without him, insisting he can’t and won’t miss his midterm for this.

“hi, love. everything go okay?” he asks softly, with the sweet gentle voice that has quite literally kept you alive these past few months.

you don’t know what you did in another life to deserve san but you know that without him, you probably wouldn’t have made it this far. without his constant support and sweet reassurances, you wouldn’t have believed you could ever do this.

willingly tell police officers and lawyers about what happened to you, break down and expose yourself in such a way that always made you feel weak and pathetic.

admit aloud that, yes, you’ve been a victim of abuse and no, those bruises and scars on your body aren’t from clumsy falls into the wall or cabinet.

without him, accompanying you to the police station or lawyer’s office, where you knew jungkook was lingering, you would’ve never felt safe.

you would’ve broke down and took it all back, told them that you made it all up and to release him because he didn’t do anything wrong.

but he did so much wrong and you and san know that. the police and lawyers and judges know it too, several outbursts from the man in court and at the station proving that.

it’s what makes the thought of a personal statement so hard, having to look your ex-boyfriend in the face and watch him stare you down with not an ounce of remorse or sorrow.

san must know it too, if your silence through the phone tells him anything, and you can already hear shuffling in the background as he prepares to leave his class and head to your apartment.

“are you done with your test?” you ask first, voice sweet but mousy in a way that makes san’s stomach sink

he knew today was gonna be rough for you, he knew he should’ve asked his professor to retake the midterm next week.

“yes,” the boy answers immediately, knowing he’s about to run back into the classroom, circle c for the last three answers and haul ass to his car.

“san, are you-”

“i was done, it’s fine, y/n,” he confirms gently, feet moving and body desperate to rush toward your apartment.

because he knows after all of this time, you’ve learned to hold back your pain and suffering. years of practice and keeping tears at bay that he’s noticed have made these months difficult for you two.

and he hates knowing that you still wait till you’re alone to cry.

that even though every time you do, he wipes away every tear and holds you to his chest until you fall asleep, you still feel most comfortable being sad alone.

that you’re probably already home now, about to bury your face in a pillow and sob until you hear his car and wipe your cheeks clean like nothing is wrong.

but there’s a lot wrong.

a lot wrong with how you’ve been treated and how hard it is to move past it.

a lot wrong with the legal system that makes this painful journey even more exhausting, forcing you to recount memory after memory and answer question after question about the worst ordeals of your life.

that’s why san can’t help but turn in his test and rush out the door to his car, speeding off campus and onto the highway in hot pursuit of your apartment above the bakery.

it had seemed like perfect little place to get you back on your feet, the smell of freshly baked bread and pleasant bustle of regulars greeting you in the early morning hours.

there was no commute for you, just a walk down the stairs and through the yellow door of the bakery, where simple work waited for you.

“you just need to ring up the customers and maybe clean a table or two. most people take their things to go,” your boss had told you, a divorced mother of three who spent most of her life baking before she was finally able to open up a place of her own.

it was simple work but it was more than you’d done in years, something as little as small talk with regulars successfully draining you. filling you with a nervousness and fear that you’re still feeling even without your ex’s presence.

but it’s in the way a man yells on the phone about a business deal going sour while waiting for his morning coffee.

a woman chastising her kids saying that they won’t get to eat the cookies she’s buying after dinner.

the slam of the door when a harsh gust of wind howls from outside and rattles the small bakery with light blue walls and pictures of bread and desserts.

you don’t know how many coffees you’ve spilt or plates you’ve broken from jumping at the harsh sounds, realizing little by little how hard this transition was gonna be.

even with san and his friends and your boss and the crazy old lady who secured this new life for you in the first place, it’s still hard.

you can’t even imagine doing all of these new things alone, just living in such a simple way that the average person takes for granted.

but you suppose it’s not all simple yet, going back and forth between meetings with your lawyer and the police for the court date that’s rapidly approaching.

you can feel that the closer it comes, the harder it is to breathe.

the mere thought of seeing the man who hurt you for the longest five years of your life, sitting in front of you with not an ounce of remorse on his face. making this process even harder because how are you supposed to talk in front of him?

see clear as day that you’re not safe and you never will be.

that he’s gonna get out in a year, because that’s the harshest sentence possible without you being hospitalized or dead, and hurt you again. he’s never gonna stop hurting you because he always said you were his and he wouldn’t ever hesitate to-

you don’t even hear the jingle of san’s keys opening the front door or his softly spoken call of your name.

you’re only aware of his presence when you feel his warm, small hands cup your face, his thumbs rubbing over your wet, salty skin as he mutters your name lowly.

“hey, i’m here, i’m here,” he mumbles sweetly, tone soft and gentle the way it always is no matter what the circumstances are.

he plops down on the couch before pulling you into his lap, his hand rubbing up and down your back gently. you hear the quiet but firm “sh, sh, sh,” against your head, the sharp calming hums always in threes as an attempt to ground you.

you try to focus on his calming sounds and even breaths, the hand on your back so warm and gentle as he lulls your panicked body into a calmer state.

you bury your face in his chest and breathe in his scent, cologne and detergent mixed with his natural scent that lingers on your pillow every morning.

“i-i’m sorry.”

the words make his stomach plummet, tears burning his eyes because you never have anything to be sorry for. you never have anything to be sorry for and you say it all the time.

when you bump into him in the kitchen while making food together.

when you sit on the remote and change the channel by accident.

when you burnt the cookies one night and made the fire alarm go off.

he remembers that being one of the worse nights, the loud noises making you jump while also flinching away when he lifted his arm up to fan away the smoke. and then you immediately apologized again, cookies long forgotten before he grabbed your hand and led you into the living room.

he just held your hand as you both watched tv, his thumb rubbing over your skin before you spoke words so quietly, he almost missed them.

“i wish...i would stop doing that.”

he cranes his neck over to look at you, eyebrow raised and eyes soft as he looks at you questioningly.

he wants to tease and say that you’ve never burnt the cookies before but anytime you feel comfortable enough to talk to him like this, he never wants to say the wrong thing.

“i...i know you would never hurt me,“ you continue after a few moments. “and i know i’m just...scared easily, i guess. but it makes me feel bad,” you admit quietly, heart pulling in your chest as you look at the man beside you.

he has gotten you through the hardest times of your life, has been by your side every step of the way with no questions or complaints, and you haven’t been able to repay him.

not even with a plate of fucking cookies.

“you don’t have to feel bad, y/n,” san says gently, his hand reaching out slowly to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

your eyes close at his feather light touch and the way it makes your heart jump, his fingers lingering on you in a way that makes you feel so safe and content.

“and i know it’s hard to believe still but you have nothing to be scared of either. i’m not gonna let anyone hurt you again and i mean that.”

“but i feel like i’m hurting you,” you mumble softly, pulling your knees up as you rest your head on the couch cushion. his brows pull together as his eyes roam your face, a pout on his lips the more he looks at you in silence.

“you’ve helped me so much and i just...” tears fill your eyes as you struggle to find the words and breathe. you’ve only been living in your new house for two months now and almost every day, san has been here.

bringing you food, helping you clean and decorate, spending late nights with you watching movies, helping you through an inevitable fit of panic when your memories and life become too much.

he makes it easier to breathe and you’re scared that without him, you’re gonna stop one day.

“i just keep... taking from you. you get nothing out of helping me but you still do it anyway and i...you shouldn’t even bother, san. i-i’m not worth this time and i just want you to-”

“stop.”

he tries to keep the anger out of his voice knowing that all of this is what you’ve been told. you’ve been told your whole life that you weren’t enough, were only deemed worthy by a piece of shit who did nothing but hurt and berate you.

but it doesn’t make it any less hard to hear. to hear in your voice and see in your eyes that you truly believe you’re not worth the time he wants to put into you.

“you’re worth the time to me,” he says, voice gentle but firm in a way that makes a lump form in your throat. his finger reaches out to trace small circles on your hand, your eyes following it so he doesn’t see the tears building up.

“i like seeing you happy, y/n. and i wanna help you.”

your teary eyes meet his and you swallow the growing lump in your throat when you see the look on his face, soft and sweet in a way you still can’t believe is directed toward you.

“i feel like i need a lot of help,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper as you think back to how day to day life is so challenging and draining.

the loud voices and the screaming kids and banging door that sends you into a panic. the broken dishes and tear stains on your pillow that are there more often than not after san leaves every night.

but san’s hearing each and every word right now, his heart panging in his chest at how vulnerable you are right now. how you let him see this side of you and continue to despite how hard he knows everything’s been.

“that’s okay,” he smiles softly, stopping the circles on your hand to intertwine your fingers. “i’m gonna be here as long as you need me, okay?”

you look up to meet his gaze and feel a tear slip down your cheek, a cry bubbling in your throat that you so desperately wanna let out.

but you also don’t wanna make san any more sad tonight, biting down on your lip as you nod your head before leaning on his shoulder.

you don’t see the smile that crosses his face or hear the content sigh that leaves him, his hand in yours and presence enough to lull you into a dreamless sleep.

“you have nothing to be sorry for,” he assures you quietly, looking over your face as he wipes at your cheeks. you meet his gaze and your eyes stay locked on one another, his thumb gentle and soft across your skin.

“did you do good on your test?” you squeak out after a few moments of silence, a smile breaking out across his face.

“of course i did, we studied all night, didn’t we?” he teases, referring to just last night when you helped him with index cards and read them all to him twice before promptly passing out on his chest.

a blush crosses your face as you look down in embarrassment, a sweet high pitched laugh bubbling out of him.

“it’s okay, don’t be embarrassed. your drool only ruined a few of them.”

“i don’t drool,” you mutter, a small smile on san’s face as he tightens his hold on you in his lap.

“did you eat yet?”

you shake your head as indistinguishable mumble leaves your mouth, curling yourself into his chest more as his warmth and comforting scent envelop you.

his lips brush against your hair in a small smile, quietly asking what you wanna eat even though he knows you’re gonna say you don’t care.

“whatever you want,” you mutter against him, the exhaustion of waking up at 5 am and the draining meeting with your lawyer catching up to you.

and san knows on days like these that chinese food and watching reruns of old cartoons is usually the thing you need to feel a little bit better.

pretend that just for a few hours, everything is okay and there’s nothing more pressing than spending the night together in what always turns into having a sleepover.

because just as you found it difficult to live in that house you once shared with jungkook, san finds it difficult to go back to that block every night.

stay just a few houses away from where he’s reminded of how you were treated while he was just a few feet away.

watching as the backyard once full of flowers becomes dull and colorless and every window reminds him of what was truly going on behind the walls of that house.

it’s one of the reasons why staying with you just makes sense. that and the fact that leaving you always proves to be the hardest part of the night together.

you with a pout and sad eyes quietly whining for him to stay and him being completely powerless as he throws himself down next to you and wraps his arms around your waist.

he’s not surprised when the same thing happens tonight, your eyes drooping and body slacking against him before he quietly asks if he should get going. you look up at him tiredly, eyebrows pulled together and one cheek red from you leaning on his chest in a way that makes him hold back a smirk.

“no,” you say quietly, your eyes roaming his face before you quickly realize he might want to leave you. the thought rips a pang of hurt through your chest but you can’t help but feel that might be the case.

you ripped him away from his test and cried on him all night. why would he wanna stay with you?

“unless you want to. i-i don’t wanna force you to stay here if you don’t-”

“of course i want to,” san responds, taking your face in his hands gently and allowing his thumb to run along your soft skin. “i was just checking.”

because he also never wants to overstep. make you feel too overwhelmed or smothered since if it were up to him, he’d never leave your side again.

his words and touch send relief through you, the panic and fear that attempted to break through quickly dying it. everything about him makes it so easy to be calm and comforted, a smile making it’s way on your face as you nod.

you place your head back on his chest, sighing contently when you feel his arm wrap around your shoulder a few moments later. you stare at the tv blankly, not sure how long you’re lost in thought about the conversation at the lawyer’s office.

“but a personal statement, if you feel comfortable, would probably guarantee the harshest sentence.”

could you really do that though? strip yourself to the most vulnerable degree and proclaim to a courtroom full of people how weak and defenseless you were for five years? how the man who’s gonna be seated just a few feet away over you had that much power over you?

would you feel better looking jungkook in the face and telling him that you’re gonna be strong and come out okay? that he won’t be able to hurt you anymore and will rot behind a cell for what he’s done?

or would you it make you feel worse? seeing him again and the blankness behind his eyes. the pity and sorrowful looks on the judge and court officers when your voice shakes and eyes brim with tears as you recall your old life.

you’re not even sure if san is awake at this point, his arm heavy around you and breaths even under your head but you can’t seem to stop your tired self from speaking.

“my lawyer suggested i make a personal statement.”

san doesn’t stutter under you, the only sign of him being awake when he hums lowly and gently pulls away from you. the bed dips next to you when he lays on his side, your eyes meeting just as he reaches out to smooth out a messy strand of hair.

“yeah?” he mumbles lowly, his soft eyes roaming your face. “how do you feel about that?”

the question, despite the serious tension in leaves in the air, makes you smile softly, remembering when your lawyer recommended counseling, you thought back to san waiting in the car and felt as if you already had all the support you needed.

he has the most patience and kindness of anyone you’ve ever met before and you can’t imagine trusting someone as much as trust him. have someone else hear you this vulnerable and genuine, see you cry and feel all the emotions that come with rebuilding your life after being a victim of domestic violence.

“i don’t know if i can do it.”

the words make san frown, holding himself up on his elbow as he looks over your face with concern. he can tell you’re tired, eyes hazy and drooping but he also can tell your mind’s been preoccupied.

more so than usual.

“i...i don’t know if i could do it with him there.”

“he’s not gonna hurt you anymore,” san reminds you gently, his hand creeping down in between your bodies to take ahold of yours. it’s soft and small and warm and everything about it makes you feel safe.

“i-i know. but...just him being there. watching me and hearing me say what he’s done when i know he has no remorse. and then telling more people how i let it go on for so long and-”

“you didn’t let anything go on for too long. it wasn’t your fault. y/n.”

tears burn your eyes as a lump forms in your throat, hearing those words from almost everyone in your life but still not having the ability to grasp it.

it feels like your fault, it feels like you’ve allowed yourself to be treated in a way you knew was wrong for far too long.

because now look at you. trying to rebuild your life but being panicked when the wind howls just a little too loudly outside.

you take a few deep calming breaks and swallow as you look at him, eyes hazy and glossy and threatening to close shut; you’re so tired but it’s like your brain never stops going these days.

“she said...it’d guarantee the harshest sentence. but shouldn’t the evidence be enough? the tapes and the witnesses? why- why do i have to keep going through this?” you whisper, voice shaky and tears building as you look at him. the sight alone makes san stomach sink, rolling his tongue between his lips anxiously.

“i just want it to be over. i don’t wanna keep recounting what happened over and over and over again. i... it’s so hard, san. it’s so hard and i feel like i can’t do it anym-”

your words break off as a quiet whimper leaves your mouth, crumbling against san’s body when he pulls you forward and wraps his arms around you. your head falls in the crook of his neck as his hand rests on the back of your head, breathing slowly and evenly as quiet hums leave his mouth.

“I know, baby,” san mumbles, his lips against your head as he presses a kiss to your hair. “you don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do, okay? no one can make you do anything.”

"you're hurting me, jungkook," your broken voice tells him, the cracks and pain behind it familiar to even your own ears.

you don't know how many times you've heard yourself like this. so desperate and defeated.

"i wish i didn't have to, babydoll," he says lowly, "but you never listen. you make me do this."

and you don’t even think about if you’re gonna regret it at the time. not use your own voice and speak up in front of the courtroom about what the man on trial did.

you can only think about his eyes watching you, your friends hearing your voice quiver and shake, the judge maybe not taking your words into account. it all seems too much right now, the crushing weight of anxiety and fear that’s making you feel too weak to do that.

“you made it this far. and it’s almost all over, okay?” san reassures, his hand stroking your hair as he tries to calm your cries. “if you wanna do it, i’ll be right there next to you. we’ll all be there for you and you’ll be safe the whole time. but if you don’t, that’s okay too. you don’t have to and everything will still be okay.”

and because it’s like the blonde just knows everything when it comes to you, everything is okay - or as okay as things can be under these circumstances.

your lawyer didn’t bat an eye when you told her you weren’t sure if you could do a personal statement, her hand on your shoulder as she gently tells you that it’s okay. that the harshest sentence would probably still be given, considering the unusual amount of evidence in a case like this.

you watched jungkook get taken out of court with a one year sentence, thrashing in handcuffs and cursing at you while you gripped san’s hand tightly.

you had foolishly thought watching that was gonna somehow heal you immediately.

no longer make you afraid or flinch at the smallest of sounds or movements, make you feel like now you can take san’s words to heart and feel worthy of the love he showered you with.

but it was with that love, you started to grow too dependent. let it consume you in a whole new way that made you feel like without san, you couldn’t breathe.

at first, he didn’t know what had triggered the episodes that followed three months after the trial.

it had seemed as if you were making a lot of progress over the past few months, truly happy and smiley without an ounce of fear in your eyes that had always seemed to linger.

you were working hard at the bakery, becoming closer with the regulars and even finding it easier to talk with them. they found you comforting and sweet, always greeting them with a warm smile and remembering how many sugars they got with their morning coffee.

the same warm smile you gave san when he told you he was visiting his parents for his mom’s birthday one weekend, sending him off with a loaf of bread and an array of cookies.

“don’t eat them all,” you teased lightly, side-eyeing mingi who was one of your many regulars and could also take your advice as he shovels rainbow cookies in his mouth.

“i won’t,” san smiles gently, looking in mingi’s direction and holding back a laugh upon seeing the boy.

he was probably the next closest person you came to trust since you all got to know each other, a soft spot for him ever since the moment he deemed sunflowers ‘sunnies’ during the darker times.

mingi was the happiness and innocence you think you must have had once. finding the good in everything and being happy just because the sun was out and dessert was on the table.

“and neither should you,” san chastises the younger boy, smacking him in the back of the head lightly. you smile softly at the exchange, holding back a snort as you clean off the table next to the bickering boys.

the arm around your waist a few moments later would’ve startled you had you not smelt san’s cologne, leaning into him and feeling grateful you’re the only three in the store right now.

you look over your shoulder and smile softly at him, heart stuttering at the look on his face. eyes full of such concern, you should know he’s about to ask you if you’re-

“are you gonna be okay tonight?”

he wasn’t ignorant of the fact, the same way you weren’t, that this is gonna be one the first nights you’ve spent alone in months.

not falling asleep to the gentle lull of his breathing or his arms around your waist. no one to be there if you wake up from a nightmare, where memories torment your body as you hear the shouts of your ex and feel as if your body is still being bruised.

san not being there to wake you with a gentle peck on the cheek before dragging you back to the warm bed when you try to get up for work.

but you have to be okay, right? you’ve been doing so good these past few weeks. and you’re an adult the same way he’s an adult, it’s ridiculous to think you guys would have to spend every night together.

“of course, silly” you poke him gently, smiling when his dimples poke out of his cheeks. “have fun with your parents. don’t worry about me.”

“i always worry about you,” he mumbles lowly, his lips ghosting over your hair as you push his chest lightly. he bites back a smile when he sees the blush on your cheeks, pulling away from him immediately so you can stick your tongue out at him.

and that night, it actually feels as if you’re okay.

you busy yourself by cleaning and cooking before passing out to the vampire diaries. your sleep is dreamless and calm, waking up to a good morning message from san consisting of a bare-faced, messy-haired selfie.

but a few days after his return is when he began to notice the little changes.

behaviors he thinks you weren’t even aware of that made his heart sink into his stomach; it reminded him so much of the first few weeks you were away from jungkook.

how despite the fear in your eyes, you clung to him because you knew he’d never hurt you. felt safe in his presence and sought him out when you were feeling uncomfortable or upset.

and he sees you’re back to the place right now, so obviously uneasy and upset despite the major progress you’ve been making.

it was like the second he came through the door, you had to be by his side. leaning your head on his shoulder as you watched your shows or grabbing his hand when he got up to go to the bathroom.

at first, he thought it was cute - your clinginess and obvious affection toward him. he thought it was sweet and it made him so happy, smiling softly and kissing the top of your head as he told you he’d be back in a minute.

but the more the weeks went on, the worse it was seeming to get.

you asking him after only a few hours of him at school when he was gonna be back. nightmares and bad memories haunting you when you’d fall asleep for naps in between your shift ending and his last class.

“baby... are you sure you’re okay these days?”

the words cause you to stop stirring the pasta in the pot, craning your neck to where san is sitting on the countertop.

he meets your gaze with a soft smile and extends his hand out to you, leaning down to press a kiss to your nose before pulling you up.

you squeal at the sensation, giggling quietly because there you two are just perched on the counter like two cats and no regard for the boiling pot of food beside you.

you giggle again when he places a kiss to your neck, tightening his hold around your waist.

he relishes in the sound of your laugh because it also seems like these days, he’s hasn’t heard it that much.

“i feel like i haven’t heard that in a while,” he mumbles against your neck, his lips lingering on your skin. he never wants to say the wrong thing with you or make you feel like you’re not doing good enough.

you pull back and look at him with a small pout, your fingers toying at the end of his shirt nervously.

“i...i’m okay though,” you tell him quietly, thinking it’s the truth even though you have felt off these days.

you didn’t know what it was though honestly. it’s felt like ever since san came back from his parents, you’ve needed him extra. clingy and needy and annoying in the sense that the poor man can’t even go away without you needing him.

and now he seems to know it, too.

maybe he doesn’t wanna do this anymore. maybe he didn’t sign up for months of you going back and forth, feeling great and confident one week and then back to being clingy and scared the next.

because you know it’s only a matter of time before two things happens: he gets sick of you and leaves or starts resenting you. doesn’t wanna waste his time with a battered woman when he could be wth fun and carefree college girls.

“have i been annoying?”

your blurted out question throws him off as much as it breaks his heart, immediately shaking his head as he cups your cheeks.

his lips fall into a pout and your eyes immediately fall to them, about to comment on it before he places a sweet, short peck on yours.

you two, despite your close and intimate relationship full of skin-ship, don’t kiss a lot. you can only count of one hand how many times san has kissed you on the lips, most of the time going for your cheek or head.

but you certainly don’t mind.

you think it’s good to take it slow, since everything else about your relationship is so intense. that’s why the times he does kiss you, you get filled with such a happy warm feeling that usually makes you feel better no matter what.

that’s how you know you’re not right. that suddenly, for some reason, you’re not okay again despite being so incredibly lucky that the people in you life now care about you.

they’re trying so hard to help you and it feels like you can’t repay them in any way.

“no, no, baby, not at all,” san says when he pulls back, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek. “i’m just concerned.”

the lump in your throat makes it feel like you can’t breathe, biting your lip harshly as you look up at the blonde.

“i love that you want me around,” he continues softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he looks down at you. “but i’m just...i also wanna make sure you’re okay.”

you nod your head as you take in his words, slightly calmed by them despite the way your mind is trying to tell you otherwise.

he loves that you want him around, he just said so. and he wouldn’t put up with you if he didn’t want to, right?

“i’m okay,” you assure sweetly, leaning into his touch just a little bit more. “i guess i just missed you.”

your cheeks flush at the soft, almost touched look that crosses san’s face, his lips falling into a pout as he tightens his hold on you.

“i missed you too.”

boiling liquid splashing onto the stove causes you both to look away, a squeal leaving your mouth as the foamy water overflows the pot.

“shit!” you squeal, jumping down from the counter to rush over and lower the heat. san watches from his spot with a small smile, chuckling lightly when you throw him a look.

“sorry,” he says sheepishly, a playful roll of your eyes causing him to jump down and hug you from behind.

he presses small kisses and laughs into the crook of your neck as you finish making the pasta, feeding him pieces from the pot to see if it’s cooked enough.

you eat on the couch and spend the rest of the night watching tv, a relatively calm and relaxed night that makes you feel much better than the past few days.

you think you just got so used to his presence, the comfort and warmth and light he provides by just being in your apartment and smiling at you.

you were scared by how attached you’d grown to him, depending on him in a way you think a person who has gone through what you’ve gone through shouldn’t.

but he’s so good and makes you feel loved. it’s such a different feeling than one you’ve ever experienced, after your family and friends and ex-boyfriend let you down time and time again.

you’ve never had someone like this before but you’ve also never tried to rebuild your life before. never had the chance to be your own person and make your own decisions - it’s something you’re still learning and that’s evident to everyone in your life.

but the next morning, a pleasant surprise in the form of mrs. kim comes bursting through the door and immediately lights your face with a smile; apart from san and mingi, she’s another person you’ve grown extremely close and fond of.

she’s the one who made everything possible, rebuilding your life with a new home and workplace. it’s why she always tries to push you further out of your comfort zone and into the real world with gentle prodding and much needed assurance.

she’s at the bakery for almost two hours before she pulls up a chair behind the register and gets that look in her eye you know all too well. it’s the look she gave you the day you accepted the apartment, insisting you take it and make it your own and to not even think about how to pay her back.

the look she gave you before the trial as she gave you strength, told you that you were strong and you were gonna get through this, with or without your personal statement.

and apparently it’s the look she gives you when she broaches the topic of you enrolling back in school.

“so what do you think?” she asks, tone carefree and excited like she’d been thinking about this for weeks. “is that something you’d wanna do?”

your immediate thought is yes. yes, yes, yes shout it from the rooftops yes. you miss school and learning and all the experiences that come with getting an education.

you once loved school and had so many aspirations but then your life apart. the prospect of an education or getting a job was dangled in your face as some sort of manipulation tactic.

that when jungkook went too far and left you especially bloody and bruised, he’d mentioned school like it was the answer to all of your problems as a couple. like that was his penance and would win him boyfriend of the year.

and mrs. kim must see the haunted look in your eye, replaying flashbacks and memories from how choices like that weren’t under your control for the longest time.

“listen to me, stop staying in there,” she says, flicking at your head and making you wince. “is that something you wanna do? yes or no?”

“yes but i-”

“but nothing,” the old lady says, wiping out an ipad the boys had been teaching her how to use for the past few weeks; the font is the biggest size you’ve ever seen and has a cat case on that almost makes you burst out laughing upon seeing.

“i was looking at the local school, it’s close and cheap but you could always get some financial aid, scholarships or even a loan,” she begins to tell you, eyes squinted and a wrinkle between her browns as she taps on the screen. “this shit is so hard, i’m still trying to learn. oh, great here it is, okay. look, they even have this major.”

you had mentioned once that you thought about a career in journalism to her, one night when you and her were making cookies in her house as the boys tended to her garden (because they were gardeners now, official, professional gardeners who only know how to plant sunflowers).

tears almost immediately fill in your eyes as you follow her pruny finger, licking over your lips so you don’t start sobbing.

she looks up at you after a few moments of silence and it’s promptly followed by her smacking your arm, a scoff leaving her mouth that makes you giggle.

“what are you crying about?”

the emotion clogged in your throat makes it hard to speak, attempting to talk through the strange contrast of tears and laughter bubbling in your throat.

“i just... i can’t believe you remember i told you that. it was so long ago.”

“what? you think because i’m old i don’t remember shit? i’m not a senile, y/n, jesus.”

a wet giggle leaves your mouth as you listen to her talk about the research she’s done, about how to pay and when you can start and her son’s experience at the local college.

it all makes you feel very hopeful, excited even, as you think about what once seemed impossible.

getting out in the world and pursuing a passion you as an individual had. making connections and just conversing with different people and seeing relationships form.

but all of those doubts and fears instilled in you don’t just go away.

you remember months back when you told san you were writing again, he was the one who recommended going back to school.

was so happy about it that his eyes were shining and dimples were out and you’d never seen someone more handsome.

but now that you guys are...kind of together, would his mind change? does he not want you talking to other people either now? will he think it’s silly or pointless, since you already have you job at the bakery?

you know deep down that that’s not the kind of person san is. you knew from the moment you met him and risked talking and smiling and laughing with him that he was good.

but that part of you still scared and broken from what you went through, the prospect of school and freedom dangled in your face as some sort of reward or apology, is scared he won’t approve.

and whether it’s unhealthy or not, all you want is san’s approval.

“c-can i ask you something?” you ask him later that night, both of you cuddled up on the couch.

a blanket’s thrown over your lap with san’s arm around your shoulder, your head now off his chest as you look up at him questioningly.

he immediately looks down at you with a soft, curious expression, running his hand through your hair as a small smile makes it’s way on his face.

“anything,” he hums lowly, already making your nervous body feel slightly more calm.

you have to try and always remember this is the boy who’s been by your side for months, with no complaints. who saved you from your life before this and only wants you to be safe and happy.

“i was talking to miss kim earlier today...” you begin, his interest already peeked because he thinks he might know where this is going; he was suspicious ever since the older woman asked him how to make the font larger on her ipad.

he sees the slight apprehension and fear in your eyes so he takes your hand in his, running his thumb over your skin gently and giving you a small, encouraging nod.

you take a deep breath and try to shake the worry off, opening and closing your mouth before deciding to spit it out.

“we...were talking about me going back to school. and i...kind of thought that would be something good for me to do. i used to love school and learning and mrs kim. said there’s a lot of things i could do to pay for it and stuff, if i needed to...”

his chest hurts slightly watching you stammer over your words nervously, your eyes moving from him to the wall as you start to unconsciously hold his hand tighter.

“but if you don’t want me to or think it’s a stupid idea, i won’t. i just...wanted to make sure it was okay with you.”

you don’t see the way san sits there in contemplation as you’re too nervous and toying with the edge of the blanket, his face sympathetic but also a little surprised.

there’s a lot of things that san is still getting used to, the way you’re so vulnerable and attached to him (in a way he doesn’t mind at all).

but it’s like right now he’s seeing the severity of it, watching as a grown woman asks for his permission for something she absolutely doesn’t.

it makes tears burn the back of his eyes but he quickly pushes the sensation and desire away, his hand lifting your chin so you made his gaze head-on.

“y/n...you don’t need my permission to do anything. you... you know that, right?”

your eyebrows pull together almost in confusion that he didn’t immediately respond with a yes or no, head cocked to that side as you lick over your lips nervously.

he can’t help but think if this was a fault on his part. did he make you feel like you have to ask his permission or approval for things? did he maybe at any point make you feel scared or judged when he’s been doing his best to avoid that?

your harsh grip on his hand brings him back to the conclusion that, right now, this isn’t about him.

whether he did that or not, he has to make sure right now that you know you’re your own person and don’t need to run decisions by him or anyone else.

“baby, i think it’s great you wanna do that and will support whatever you wanna do. but you don’t have to ask for...my permission to do anything,” san tells you softly, his hand cupping your face as he presses a kiss to your head; the words ‘his permission’ even feel gross on his tongue.

“i’m happy if you’re happy. and if going to school will make you happy, i’m gonna be supportive 100%. you got it, love?”

you don’t even know why you’re surprised by san’s reaction but it still brings tears to your eyes, only being able to nod before you bury your face in his chest.

he bites back a smile at the feel of you against him, running his hand up your back to gently rest in your hair.

“you still wanna study journalism?” he mumbles against your hair and again, you can only nod so you don’t let out the whimper threatening to leave you mouth.

because it still shocks you day after day that everyone in your life now truly seems to care.

they remember things about you and want to see you smile, always remind you that you can do whatever you want and are slowly making you see that, maybe, you will be okay in the end.

it may not seem like a lot to someone who’s been lucky enough to have these things but, for you, it’s something you haven’t ever had before.

the ability to giggle and smile and spend your night with someone who you can see really, truly loves you. who wouldn’t do anything to hurt you and always has your best interests in mind.

that’s exactly why when you fall asleep, san can’t help but turn to look at your sleeping form. he runs his hand through your messy hair, moving a strand from your face and feeling his heart lurch at how peaceful and innocent you look.

he still can’t get the thoughts out of his heads from earlier, wondering if, maybe, this whole time, he hasn’t been doing the right thing.

maybe these past few months, you should’ve been rebuilding your life on your own. he shouldn’t have been here every, single step of the way to sooth and coddle and protect you.

it was something hongjoong said just a few weeks after you moved in and he nearly attacked the boy, asking how he could let you cry alone every night and feel lonely and scared in a new place?

but he also knows that hongjoong is more logical than him. he’s always let his emotions get to him, empathetic and caring almost to a fault.

and with you, he was always even more clouded.

now, though, he’s seeing that maybe hongjoong has a point. he’s seen it in the way you’ve become more clingy and dependent on him, something he loves and makes him feel warm but also knows, for you, is a part of feeling safe.

and as hard as it is for him to admit, he knows you need to feel safe without him. slowly rebuild your own sense of self and security without him always being there to wipe your tears or kiss your face.

but how is supposed to do that? he thinks, watching your sleeping face with a pained chest and burning eyes.

he’s about to get up to get a glass of water before he hears you whine, both his feet not even on the floor before even in your unconscious you can sense his departure.

“going to get water, love, i’ll be right back,” he mumbles in your ear, kissing the side of your head when you still and roll back over.

he gulps down the cool liquid before resting his head on the cold fridge, letting out a sigh as he realizes he may need to have another discussion with hongjoong.

even more so when he goes back into the room and sees your face, the slightest hint of discomfort in your pinched eyebrows and frowning lips.

you turn back over when he crawls in the bed again, your head on his chest and arm wrapping around his stomach.

he smiles upon hearing your sleepy voice call his name, dazed eyes staring up at him as he kisses the tip of your nose.

“hi, baby. i’m back.”

“i love you.”

the confession make his eyes widen and heart speed up, shocked into silence at those three, sudden words.

because while it’s obvious that’s how you both feel for each other, your sweet touches and words exchanged since the moment you met one another, you two haven’t ever uttered that sentence.

never put it out in the open and really discussed your feelings for one another.

but your eyes are shut and breaths turn even before you can even hear his softly spoken, “i love you,” in return.

and it’s because he loves you that he tells hongjoong about the thoughts he’s been having, wondering if he’s been doing the wrong thing the whole time and just making this transition harder for you.

“i think you’re trying to make it easier because you love her and don’t wanna see her hurt anymore.”

san’s eyes meet hongjoong’s across the dining room table at their house, a house san hasn’t slept or eaten at basically since you moved out; everyone knew where he was and they understood it completely but they also missed their friend’s presence.

“but...she does need to learn to be on her own, san. she’s never done that before and she’s always been dependent on someone. luckily you’re just...so fucking good that it wouldn’t be a problem. but even with her asking you if she could go to school...she’s not okay, yet, san. she needs to sort her shit out.”

“i don’t want her to be alone,” the blonde admits, voice tight and eyes threatening to water. “i don’t want her to think i’m leaving her.”

“you’re not leaving her alone. you’re just not gonna be attached at the hip 24/7. it’s normal for couples to be apart. you still live and pay rent here, you know. everyone misses you.”

the sound of bickering and plates crashing promptly comes from the kitchen, mingi’s harsh yelp of wooyoung’s name causing a commotion of bickering to break out.

hongjoong looks at san with a half pained, half amused expression, knowing that the dimpled boy will have to readjust to how loud and chaotic the house is all the time.

“you don’t have to do right now,” hongjoong says, wanting to finish the discussion before the boys notice san is here and lost their shit. “ease her into it. talk to her about it. see if she feels the same way. but let her know you just wanna help her, because i know you do, right?”

san’s nod is immediate and hongjoong mirrors him, his eyes quickly widening as he looks over the blonde’s broad shoulder.

he doesn’t even get to turn around before a slew of bodies bump into him, nearly knocking him onto the floor as six large, excited boys are jumping and squealing around him.

“san! you’re finally home!”

you’re nearly two months into your first semester of college by the time you’ve fully adjusted to your new schedule and pace of life.

classes monday, tuesday and thursdays mornings followed by your shift at the cafe during the afternoons. you miss your early morning regulars dearly and don’t know what to do with the 10+ memorized coffee orders still in your brain but you already love school so much.

you love learning and talking with your professors and meeting the many different people on campus. you’ve even found a small group of friends, two girls who sat next to you and immediately started up a conversation with you.

you were terffied and shy at first but eventually opened up, giggling and sharing your thoughts with them before class started - you even always made sure to be 10 minutes early so you could get in your chats with them.

unsurprisingly, san had been nothing but happy and supportive for the entire journey. helping you apply and become familiar with the campus while also assuring you everything was gonna work out.

your days were busy and packed with work and you truly loved it but night was still your favorite. when san would walk through the door with take out or you’d be greeted with the sight of him waiting for you on the couch.

it really felt as if your life was finally coming together, happy and at peace in a way you never felt before. it was like you finally had some sort of control over what happened to you, long gone the feeling of knots in your stomach or an uncontrollable shake in your hands.

but when you notice san is a little more quiet than usual today, you feel that foreign feeling make it’s way back into your body.

“is...everything okay?” you finally grow the confidence to ask, his hand absentmindley rubbing your leg that’s sprawled out on his lap.

you can tell the question throws him off by the way he snaps his head up to look at you, brows pulled together and his head cocked cutely to the side as his eyes roam your face.

“’course love, why do you ask?”

“i don’t know,” you hum softly, leaning the side of your head on the couch as you look at him. “i feel like you’re quiet today.”

“just thinking baby,” he tells you, tightening his hold on your leg before looking your way. “how were classes today?”

“good, i have to start my essay soon,” you tell him, something uneasy still pulling at your stomach; you’re not used to san being quiet or so lost in thought, usually the only time he’s silent is during a new episode of your shows.

“you’ll do great on it,” he says encouragingly, the hand on your leg gently calmingly rubbing your skin up and down. “you��re doing really good, you know that?”

happiness fills you at the thought of making san proud, a small smile on your face that causes one his own to cross his face. his dimples poke out and it reminds you so much of your first meeting, when the sun reflected off of him and you just knew there was something too pure and good about this man.

“thank you,” you smile softly, a faint blush on your cheeks that has san’s heart breaking in his chest even more.

he doesn’t wanna have this conversation tonight but he thinks it would be the best time. bring up maybe not staying over every night to create some more space for you while also allowing you to be more independent. learning how to fill your time with things other than him.

but you’re so happy tonight.

you’ve been so happy these past few months and he doesn’t wanna be the person to ruin that; it seems, though, you can see something behind his eyes and in his demeanor already, your body wiggling closer to him as your gaze shifts nervously.

“are you sure you’re okay?”

he lets out a sigh and you can’t help the way your stomach drops, watching carefully as his face turns contemplative and torn. like he wants to say something but isn’t sure if you’re gonna be able to handle it.

and that alone is scaring the shit out of you.

the silence is probably only fifteen seconds but it feels like hours, your eyes staring wide and heart starting to race as you look at him; you don’t know what you did but you had to have done something, right? he wouldn’t just act like this out of nowhere.

“did i...do something wrong?” you ask meekly, that feeling of fear and panic you haven’t felt in almost a year creeping back. you almost forgot how debilitating this feeling is, fully consuming your body until you feel like you’re about to completely breakdown and crumble.

the fear and concern on your face immediately makes him frown, shaking his head adamantly as he pulls you closer to him.

“no, no, no, y/n, of course not,” he assures softly, his lips brushing against your head.

you feel his calming breaths in your hair, like he already knows from the slight waver in your voice and look on your face that you’re getting worked up and anxious.

the few moments of silence should make you more anxious but you can only focus on his breathing and the warmth from his body against you, trying to stay calm as you remember that this is san and he would never do or say anything to hurt you.

“i’ve just been thinking about some things and i wanna talk to you about it,” san says, breaking the silence and immediately making your stomach flip nervously. “it’s nothing bad, baby, i just... you know i always have your best interest in mind, right?”

you swallow the lump growing in your throat as you turn to look at him, the soft look in his eye making you happy as much as it makes you sad.

because while you love seeing it, how sweet and thoughtful and truly kind he is, you know it’s also there because he thinks you’re about to lose your shit. and you haven’t lost your shit in quite some time.

“i-i know...”

he takes your face in his hands when your eyes start to wander, the quiet hum leaving his mouth making you look up at him again. the look in his eyes truly stirs something in you, tears burning your eyes even though you’re not even sure why yet.

“and you know i’ll never, ever hurt you?”

you nod again, feeling panic deep within your chest at where this conversation seems to be going.

“so what i’m about to suggest, i need you to hear me out, okay?”

he waits until you nod, his stomach sinking at the glossed over look in your eyes before he daringly opens his mouth again.

tells you that he thinks you living on your own while you start a new chapter of your life will be a good thing for you both. that learning to be independent and on your own will help you immensely in this new part of your life.

“you’ve been doing so good, y/n, and i’m so proud of you. you’ve started school and you work full time and you’re doing all the things you want to do. but we’re together all the time, baby, and i...i don’t know if that’s healthy, for either of us, you know?”

and you think to the average person, who hasn’t been abused and neglected and spent the last five years in normal, healthy circumstances, they would hear this and understand immediately.

that being alone and learning how to be on your own is a good, healthy thing that everyone needs to experience.

but all your brain can hear is he doesn’t wanna be with you anymore.

he’s tired of your brokenness and tired of looking after you all the time and needs some space from you; and while, you suppose, you can’t blame him, it doesn’t hurt you any less.

it doesn’t terrify you or upset you any less, even though you know his intentions are good; you can only feel unwanted and unworthy and like your time with someone so much better than you is up.

“is it...i just...do you not like it here? with me?”

did you not keep it clean enough? did you not cook enough, were the meals too frequently takeout and leftovers? you remember jungkook hated that, demanding the house be spotless and dinner be ready and homemade.

san would laugh at the question if this weren’t the current situation, a serious talk he’s been dreading having because he knows how you’re gonna take it at first.

but he loves being here and that’s the problem.

he would coddle you and love you and protect you for as long as you let him if it were up to him. but he knows that’s not what you need anymore, that you’re both not helping anyone if you continue to live your life in what became too comfortable and safe.

you deserve comfortable and safe but you also deserve to live happily and freely by yourself. and maybe that’s not his decision to make, he often thinks, but he certainly doesn’t think he’s helping you by enabling you to depend on him.

“baby, i love it here and i love you and i’ll never leave you until you tell me to,” san says, pressing a kiss to each cheek he prays tears don’t fall on in the next few minutes. “but i want you to be okay, love. i don’t want you to need me every night to sleep or think you need to ask my permission for things that are your choice.”

“is that- is that what this is about? that i asked you if i could go to school?” you ask meekly, the idea of talking back foreign but something you can’t control right now. “or is it because i’m in school?”

because maybe you’ve been too busy. maybe he feels like you neglected him. maybe he just wanted an out and this is it.

“of course it’s not because you’re in school,” san says, slight outrage in his voice as you even suggest that; he always tries to control his responses to you, knowing you’re dealing with years worth of manipulative behavior and maltreatment, but sometimes it does also get to him.

he was always supportive of your career and education, even when you were just friends and he admired you from afar.

“how could you think that?”

“because this is so random,” you squeak out, tears breaking through as the knot in your throat grows bigger. “i...i didn’t even know you were feeling this way and now you wanna stop seeing me.”

“i don’t wanna stop seeing you, y/n, when did i say that?” san asks, cocking his head to the side as he looks at you contemplatively.

“you said you don’t want to be together all the time...” you mutter out, feeling stupid and childish but not yet truly understanding what he means. you guys don’t fight at all and you’re always smiling and laughing together - isn’t it okay to be together all the time if good things like that are happening?

“y/n, i love you, of course i wanna still see you. but i just mean...living together the way we have these past months. you’ve never been alone. you’ve always depended on someone, right?”

you think back to your dysfunctional childhood, depending on alcoholic parents who never taught you how to fend for yourself until you fell into the arms of yet another abuser who you depended on even further.

restricted company and meals and communication, even restricted in what you could do outside the walls of your house.

“yes,” you nod, sniffling as you wipe at a stray tear on your cheek. “but they’ve only ever hurt me. you never do.”

that fact makes san’s chest pang with hurt, his own eyes burning with tears now as he thinks about how much pain you’ve endured.

“i know, baby, and i never will. but i think this’ll be good for us. good for you, mostly, that’s always my mian concern.”

but you start to wonder how this could possibly be good the second the front door closes a few hours later, leaving you alone in your apartment that now feels far too cold and far too dark and far too empty.

his lack of presence is noticable immediately and it doesn’t take long for panic and sadness and all that existential dread you once felt so deeply start to come on.

he doesn’t want you, nobody wants you, and the only people who did want you hurt you.

it’s a mantra you repeat in your head as you cry silently, splashing your face with cold water after your puffy eyes can’t take it anymore. and when you get a good look at yourself in the mirror, tear-stained and blotchy and a big fucking mess, you can’t help but see that same girl who was trapped in that house with jungkook.

weak and afraid and horribly incapable of doing anything right. so similiar to the current state you’re in now, sinking down on the bathroom floor and crying into your hands again.

this could be about san leaving, you know it has something to do with it, but you’re also crying because you now see just how badly you’re still effected by everything.

you could be distracted by school and work and san but there’s still so much under the surface that you haven’t come to terms with.

so much so to the point that even san had to step in and do something about it, him still seeing signs that you’re not okay despite how much everyone in your life is trying with you.

and it makes you feel bad that you have so many supportive, lovely people in your life but still can’t find it in you to feel okay. to not depend on one singlar blonde man to make you feel happy or act as if without him, you’re gonna break.

because you can see he’s tired of it. if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have-

“y/n?”

his voice coupled with his fist hitting the door causes you to jump, at first thinking it’s a bittersweet trick your deluded little mind is playing on you. but then he knocks again, his sweet murmur of “y/n, please open the door,” causing you to cry out again.

hongjoong told him not to go, that he’d barely been home for an hour before he was already itching to rush back to you.

but he felt uneasy leaving the way he did in the first place, and then even more so when you didn’t answer his three messages and two facetime calls; he hated thinking that you were crying alone or feeling upset.

and it’s heartbreakingly evident when you reach up to open the door, curled up on the floor in tears, that that’s exactly how you feel.

“baby, no,” san hums lowly, immediately dropping to the floor so he can gather you in his lap.

it’s so much like the scene when you ran there after the final incident with jungkook, when you collapsed on the floor and finally told somebody about what you’d been going through.

what happened?" he asks desperately, voice strained and wavering.

but you can only shake your head and cry. cry for how long you've been dealing with this alone and how you feel trapped and how if you don't tell someone tonight.

"he's gonna kill me," you sob out as you shake your head frantically now, "i-i he's gonna kill me," is all you can repeat through ragged breaths.

san can only act on instinct, sitting down cross-legged and holding his arms out slightly before you crash into him. he shakily inhales when your head rests on his shoulder, sobs muffled by his shirt as he feels tears promptly soak through the material.

but he can only sit there, hand on the back of your head as he rocks you soothingly in his lap back and forth.

he listens to your sobs with a broken heart, tears stinging his own eyes because he had suspected something was going on for months and just sat here and did nothing. and now here you are, broken and bruised and in fear for your life.

"i can't go back there," you cry out, "i-he's gonna-"

"no one is gonna hurt you, anymore," he mumbles lowly in your ear, "i'm not gonna let that happen."

“you’re- you’re gonna leave me,” you whimper into his shirt, the only sound in your bathroom for the past few minuets your crying and his soothing hums. “you’re not gonna wanna deal with me anymore and leave and then i’ll really be alone and i’m so-”

“i’m not going anywhere. i’m not gonna let that happen,” he mumbles in your ear, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he presses his lips to your head. he rocks you back and forth so similarly to that night, his hand running up and down your back as he tries to get you to calm down.

“we’re gonna get you help. real help. and we’ll all be here for you whenever you need us. you’re gonna be okay, my love.”

one year later:

you look back at the breakdown in your bathroom and are always surprised that you don’t feel embarrassed.

you think that was the moment when you finally realized how much you’d gone through and how much you really had to sort through. that you could distract yourself all you want and depend on san as much as you felt you needed but you still had things to work through.

it took you about four therapist consultations to find the right one, eventually finding a sweet older woman who reminded you so much of your boss at the cafe. she listened to you and encouraged you and helped you find so much strength within yourself, you regret not taking your lawyer’s advice sooner about seeing a professional.

you still had bad days, of course, but now you’ve learned how to properly cope with them. cope with the stressors of everyday life, like the shouting of voices and the slamming of doors and san not being by your side 24/7.

and san, little to your surprise, had done the right thing in saying you needed to learn to be independent.

it scared you at first, living alone and being alone with your thoughts and memories that tried to haunt you every chance they got. but now your life is so full of happy ones that it makes everything a little bit easier; you now love the freedom of living alone and have come to enjoy the peaceful silences of your apartment.

you now have so many things to laugh and feel happy about, like mingi and seonghwa’s obsession with gardening (even though they’ve moved on to vegetables now and have yet to combat the battle with squirrels eating their tomatoes).

you have school and classes and friends that you made, making straight a’s while also balancing time with your study group, the boys and mrs. kim and your official boyfriend san.

there are still some days when you wake up and feel a sinking feeling in your stomach that you think might be there forever, a certain smell or certain pain richoetting through your body that will remind you of what you went through and survived.

but you know that you’ll be able to get through it, not only because you’re strong enough now but because you still have san to lean on - the boy in question currently with his arms wrapped tight around your waist and snoring down your neck.

you can’t help the small smile on your face as you turn in his hold, your finger reaching out to trace the contours of his face.

the warm, overwhelming feeling in your chest should scare you but it makes you feel even more happy and content with life, shutting your eyes immediately when his brown eyes meet yours.

his loud chuckle fills the room before he lips attack your neck, quiet giggles leaving your mouth that only spur the blonde on more.

“i saw that,” he mumbles playfully, smiling against your skin as your giggles get louder. “good morning, baby.”

you pull back and smile at the boy staring down at you lovingly, the late-morning sun beaming through your window reminding you so much of the first time you saw him.

heard his sweet, friendly voice that you immediately trusted and probably fell in love with right there.

"those are coming out really nice!" you hear a voice say from the yard next door.

you shoot your head to the side to see a young man standing there, probably about your age, eyes kind and dimples poking out of his cheeks as he holds an overflowing white garbage bag.

your lips quirk up ever so slightly, probably being mistaken for your mouth twitching before you give him a tiny bow.

"thank you."

tag list: @mochibabycakes @atinyarmyx1 @middle-of-a-wonshua-sandwich @minbinwhore @chrryhwa @chogiout @marksflvr @bunbaebae @markleeyeosang @inkigayeo @nlost21 @toffee-hwa

#the italic flashbacks always get messed up on mobile!!!#srry hope its not confusing #san #san angst #san fluff #ateez #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #san scenarios #ateez imagines #san imagines

827 notes · View notes

spenciegoob · 3 years

Text

Who Needs Luck?

A/N: hi! I solely wrote this because of my 3 recent visits to NY (no, I sadly did not meet mgg)... plus i’ve been going there my whole life.. this is becoming the longest authors note, but as i’m writing I just want to say the people who work at food trucks in nyc are the nicest people ever, ask them about their day (AND TIP OMG PLS)

Summary: Reader invites Spencer to go to New York City with her where he finally sees the beauty right in front of him.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff!

Content Warnings: reader can’t drive very well (I apologize if this is a callout post), slight road rage, language

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

____

I never considered myself a lucky man. Life had proven time and time again that no matter how many four leaf clovers I set out to search for, how many pennies on the ground faced heads up I stumbled across, luck was never on my side. I’ve learned to live with it, accepted my fate as the world’s smartest punching bag long before I was even in college.

But then I met her, and as cheesy as it sounds, I didn’t need luck that morning.

The second I woke up, the universe seemed to have it out for me specifically. I swung my legs over my bed, and in my half asleep daze stepped on my glasses, successfully breaking them. Unable to see on my short trip to the bathroom, I stubbed my toe… twice. Once I finally finished my morning routine more methodically, I walked out of my apartment only to bump into a stranger, sending the coffee she was holding all the both of us.

I had tried to apologize so many times, cutting my words short when they didn’t feel right. I had gotten through a series of “I’m, uh, oh, I, you,” before her smile interrupted my thought process, leaving me awestruck instead.

“That’s okay, but you owe me a coffee now.” She giggled, actually giggled, even with the scorching liquid causing her shirt to stick to her body. “Maybe… together?”

I didn’t hesitate to agree, taking her up on the offer that weekend and never looking back. Even when a loud crash, followed by a quiet, harsh ‘shit’ woke me up in a startle, there was no regret. Maybe just a little concern for my girlfriend who now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, can be seen holding her knee on the floor of our bedroom.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered out, grabbing onto the dresser to stand straight again. Once she was on her feet, she came over to sit on the edge of our bed, immediately running her fingers through my hair. If I wasn’t so worried about her knee, I probably would’ve fell asleep again.

“Are you okay?” She giggled at my scratchy morning voice before nodding her head. It’s then I realized how the sun hasn’t even begun to rise, the room still pitchblack. “What are you doing up?”

“Getting ready to go to the city, sleepyhead,” she said as if it was the most obvious answer, but truthfully, it left me with more questions.

“At... 5 am?” I sat up, glancing at the alarm clock three times just to make sure I was reading it right. She may have always been a little strange, but usually at a reasonable hour.

At this, she stood up to continue getting ready for the very early morning. Now I notice why she fell, the piles of clothes leading to the closet had to have at least half of her outfits compiled together.

“Well, yeah. I want to get there before noon.” Even in my perplexed state, I rose from the bed and carefully tiptoed around haphazardly thrown clothes to reach her.

While wrapping my arms around her waist still hidden under my t-shirt, I questioned. “It’s right outside? You have 7 hours.”

She turned to look at me funny as if I wasn’t the one digging through clothes and waking up before dawn to walk literally 5 minutes to my desired location. My eyebrows must have subconsciously furrowed at one point, because she brought her hand up to stroke her thumb on my forehead. Immediately, I felt the tension melt, no longer caring to correct my confusion. She still did it anyway.

“Not DC, silly. New York!” I wish it were untrue, but my heart dropped at her words. She was leaving, going to a city I wasn’t familiar with beyond reading about, solving cases, and memorizing subway maps. Is this how she feels every time I board that jet?

“W-what? You’re just going to New York City?” I inwardly cringed at how desperate and sad I sounded, but I really didn’t want her to leave.

“Mhm,” she mumbled, turning back around to return digging in her closet.

“For how long?” Please change your mind. Please change your mind. Please change you-

Realizing that I was fully awake, she let out a boisterous laugh, allowing the way it bounced off our four little walls to return back to us. It was a sound most treasured. “I was hoping to get back around 9.”

“What?” I leaned back to look at her like she was absolutely preposterous. I mean, she was!

“Roadtrip!”

That’s how I found myself in the passenger seat of her car, no coffee in my hand because I wasn’t allowed until I have “a real cup of coffee.” Whatever the hell that means better happen soon, because as much as I loved watching the way she concentrates on the road in front of her, my eyes were starting to droop.

“It’s going to be another 4 hours. You can sleep, my love.” How she knew me so well, I will never be able to figure out, but I was out before we even made it across state borders.

That however, didn’t last very long. My girlfriend may be short and sweet, but behind the wheel? That’s a different story. The horn to her car is a very familiar sound when I’m jolted awake by a sudden stop.

“Really, asshole? Go!” She yelled, slamming her hand against the top of the steering wheel before looking over at me. “Hey, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to wake you yet. I forgot how awful drivers are here.”

“Where is here exactly?” I questioned, sitting up from my slouched position to find cars practically on top of each other on a road not wide enough for two lanes.

“New Jersey. We’re 10 minutes away.” Wow, I didn’t realize I slept for that long, and I have to admit I’m a little surprised I wasn’t woken up sooner.

“How are we 10 minutes away? It’s at least another 30 to get to the tunnel.” Looking at our surroundings didn’t help me determine our exact location. To the left of us, there were dozens of graffiti murals on the side of what I assumed was another elevated highway. To the right, sidestreets with local businesses ranging from auto repair shops to fast food joints to gyms.

“Nuh uh, stop analyzing mister. You’ll know when we get there.” She waved a finger in my directions, putting a pin in my scrutinization. I pouted right back, successfully playing along to the theme of her scolding me like a 5 year old.

“I don’t like surprises you know.” It was the truth, but her contagious laughter that filled the car made me slightly less disinclined to stop asking questions.

“Oh I know, but trust me, you’ll like this one.” She went to go reach over to grab my hand from where it was resting in my lap, but stopped short and retracted in favor of slamming the horn. “Oh, come on!”

***

“So you drove to a train station... in New Jersey?” I asked while she was… attempting to park the car.

“Well, yeah. I’ve been taking this route since I was a little girl.” Once she finally figured out how to evenly space a two door convertible in a very spacious parking spot, she unbuckled her seatbelt, and was quick to grab her bag from the backseat. “Well, come on mister, we’re going to miss the train.”

To be quite honest, I have never been so lost in my life. I could probably pinpoint our exact location on a map if I wanted to, granted I was given any sort of information, but part of me didn’t want to. Scratch that, all of me didn’t want to, because my entire life has been planned out in front of me before, but right now, I get to be spontaneous with the most beautiful girl on the planet.

“Don’t let go of my hand,” she told me, lacing our fingers together and pulling me forward. “Don’t stop to look around, you will get pushed.”

We made it inside, and if I thought the DC transit system was bustling with people constantly, this place was so much worse. There were hallways left and right, all packed with people in a rush. It seems everybody had some place to be and zero time to get there.

“Upstairs.” We walked up two flights before reaching a platform, buying our tickets and making it just in time for a train to arrive. “I know they come every 8 minutes, but thank god we made this one,” she said as she sat down.

The cart we were in wasn’t too crowded, and once I finally found a map on the wall across from us, I saw that it was a direct ride to the World Trade Center.

“You said you took this train when you were little?”

“Yeah, I went to the city a lot as a kid. This was the easiest, and the cheapest way there.” A small smile played at her lips, obviously the product of some childhood memory. “I used to hop it.”

“Of course you did,” I laughed back with her, thinking about how an innocent looking child would be the first person to get away with sneaking onto the train.

***

“I said it before, I will say it again. Do not let go of my hand.” This time it was more stern, and if I were being honest, I would say that it got me the slightest bit nervous. She must have noticed, she always does, because she continued. “Don’t worry, it just gets congested and I don’t want to lose you.”

She was right about that, it indeed was very congested, but that was okay because she was holding my hand, and I would follow her just about anywhere if it meant she kept looking over her shoulder and smiling when she saw me. Once we made it across the way, and in front of heavy looking glass doors, she turned to me and started walking backwards.

“You okay? This is definitely not off to a great start.” She was wrong, it was off to a perfect start.

“Yeah, I’m okay, but you might want to watch where you’re going,” I said before her back hit the door.

“Please I can get here with my eyes closed.” And then we were outside, and all 5 of my senses were hit immediately. The sun was shining down on us, and before I could complain about not bringing my sunglasses, she handed them to me. My heart fluttered at the innocent act, taking the sunglasses with such gratitude even though she had already moved on to retrieve hers. “Do you smell that?” She asked.

“There are a lot of answers to that question,” I told her, not knowing if she was talking about the smell of the construction happening at the corner, the permanent garbage smell or something entirely different.

“The hotdogs, silly. Come on, there’s nothing like ‘em.” This time, I laced our fingers together, not because I was scared of losing her, I was, but I just really wanted to be closer to her. She didn’t mind, in fact, she let out a content hum and leaned her head on my arm as we walked to the stand.

“Can I get four hotdogs with sauerkraut and two grape sodas,” she asked the vendor, who politely nodded before moving on to prepare our food.

“You’re going to have a heart attack by 35,” I said as I nudged her with my shoulder. She gave me a small push back before answering.

“Is that a doctor’s diagnosis?” She asked as she took our now ready food into her hands, after paying the man before I even had time to blink. I just grabbed the two cans of soda and followed her where she was making a beeline for a park bench. “Watch out for skaters.”

“Yes, it is indeed a doctor's diagnosis.” I unwrapped one of the hotdogs before taking a bite. I closed my eyes and let out a content hum. “It may be a little worth it.”

“Exactly.” We sat there quietly, enjoying the warm weather and sounds of wheels against pavement. At one point, she rested her head against my shoulder, and I am convinced wherever she went would be Heaven.

***

“Are your eyes closed?” We found ourselves with both our hands interlocked, my eyes closed while she walked backwards. I gave an ‘mhm’ before she continued. “We’re here, just keep them closed, and…” her words trailed off. “Okay open.”

I opened my eyes to her holding her arms out in the middle of the largest bookstore I’ve ever seen. “Surprise!” My eyes were bouncing everywhere. It wasn’t too crowded, the large stairwell across the store catching my eye first. There were bookshelves tens of feet high, all loaded with different genres and authors. To the right of us, tiny knick knacks and pins and socks. It was beautiful.

“Wow,” I whispered out, still stuck in my place admiring our surroundings. She was beaming up at me, a hint of pride at her successfulness to drag me 6 hours away to the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.

“The Strand has always been my favorite place in the city. Come on, let’s go explore.” She grabbed my hands again, pulling me deeper into the store towards a shelf labeled adult fiction.

***

Six books, three pairs of socks and a postcard later, we were back on the busy streets of New York, aimlessly walking and admiring the tall buildings and different attractions. Well she was, I was admiring the way she was looking around like it was her first time here. Maybe I should have been paying more attention to our surroundings, but no amount of skyscrapers or fountains could possibly ever match up to her level of beauty.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” I asked randomly, startling her into jumping a tiny bit before giggling. She stopped us, turning to face me fully before reaching up to grab my face in her hands.

“Once or twice.” The kiss we shared on the New York streets were no different than the ones before, but this time, it felt like a silent promise. A passing between two lovers that no matter where we are, our love is the most beautiful thing there is. “I love you too, dork.”

___

Join a taglist here Tell me your thoughts on this fic here Have a request? Send it in here

Taglist: @the-girl-who-writes-fanfiction @haylaansmi @masumiyetimziyanoldu @cielo1984 @rexorangecouny @username2002 @calm-and-doctor @pieceofried @mermaidshmari @missyoumaybank @everythingbutnormal @seasonfivereid @no-honey-no @muffin-cup @90spumkin @spenxerslut

182 notes · View notes

fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years

Text

Get Me to the Church On Time

Enzo St. John x Mikaelson! Reader

Words: 3037

Part 3 of 4 (Part One, Part Two)

Summary: Preparations for the wedding are in full swing and it’s time to go dress shopping. With you out with the girls, Enzo is left to find the perfect suit with none other than your protective older brothers. Needless to say, tensions are high.

Note: Part Three!!! And I’m bringing in the Vampire Diaries crew for the wedding. More Damon/Enzo bromance on the way, along with some girl fun with Caroline and Bonnie. Like the others, this one jumps around a bit some more, but I hope it isn’t too confusing. I’m just bad at writing transitions. (Repost Notes: Ugh, going through these makes me so happy, you guys!

The sound of suitcases rolling on the sidewalk made your heart leap. You sat up from your spot on the couch, Enzo stirring slightly next to you. He made a sound of confusion as you smacked his arm.

“They’re here!” You exclaimed, sprinting outside. The blonde and the brunette were arguing over something but immediately stopped when they saw you.

“I told you this was the right place!” Caroline squealed, rushing towards you for a hug. Bonnie set her bag down and joined the group hug.

“I can’t believe this is all happening.” You sighed as the three of you pulled apart. “There’s not even a week left until the wedding and I haven’t even found the dress yet.” Caroline laced her arm through yours and Bonnie’s.

“Why do you think we’re here?” She beamed. They grabbed their bags and you led them into the compound where Freya invited Caroline in and Enzo stiffened uncomfortably.

“Bonnie… Caroline. How nice to see you.” He put on a tight smile and Bonnie rolled her eyes. He rubbed his hands together, signaling his discomfort. He didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye with your best friends. “Well, I’m sure Y/N can show you to your rooms.” He cast you a pleading look and you smirked.

“Right this way ladies.” You led them away, the two of them turning back at Enzo and giggling. You couldn’t help but laugh along. “You guys really hate him, don’t you?” You said as soon as the door to their room was closed.

“We don’t… hate him.” Bonnie clarified. “We just-hmm.” She tried to think of the right word. Caroline kicked her shin. “Ow! What was that for?”

“If you like Enzo, we like Enzo.” Caroline promised. Bonnie nodded in skeptical agreement. “Besides, he’s the reason we get to go dress shopping, on an unlimited budget, in New Orleans.” She took your face in her hands. “You are not allowed to worry about anything. We are here now and we shall tend to everything. Right Bonnie?”

“What are bridesmaids for?” She smiled, her skepticism breaking away.

“I completely agree.” Rebekah said from the doorway. Her arms were crossed and her face held a dangerously smug look. As the maid of honor she was going to have to interact with the other bridesmaids at some point. With a quick begging glance from you, her smug look spread into a sincere smile. “And in order to do that, I suggest that we set aside our differences for the coming days. From now until the reception ends, we are nothing more than the friends and family to my dear sister Y/N.” The two girls considered this and shrugged.

“I don’t see why not.” Caroline finally said and motioned for Rebekah to come further into the room, pulling a small planner out of her suitcase. “Today is dress shopping day. While we will be at the boutique at 2:00, the boys will be taking Enzo to get his suit. After that is all taken care of, Enzo and Y/N will get to have one final date night to themselves before becoming a married couple.” You looked down at your watch.

“Well it’s only noon, so we’ll just have to find something to keep us busy until the appointment.” You suggested showing the girls around town, but you could tell Bonnie was tired from the long trip here. “Perhaps Rebekah can catch me up on everything I’ve missed down here in the quarter.”

“How about I treat us all to lunch?” Rebekah offered. “Just us girls, of course.” She winked at your two best friends, who still seemed slightly uneased by her presence. You clasped your hands together mouthing the word “Please” over and over again. Bonnie grinned, only mildly reluctant.

“So long as you’re paying.”

The four of you headed down the stairs to find Enzo surrounded by your three brothers, all looking as intimidating and menacing as ever. When he saw you, Enzo smiled nervously.

“There’s my lovely fiancé!” He exclaimed, wrapping his arm around you and looking back at your brothers with a gaze that said ‘See, I’m safe now!’. “Klaus and I were just talking about you.”

“Oh really?” You inquired, shooting Nik and deadly glare. “I would love to stay and chat, but we’ve decided to go out to lunch before we head to the Bridal Boutique this afternoon.” Enzo went pale.

“Just the four of you?” He squeaked and Kol snickered.

“Well it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride’s dress before the wedding.” You shrugged. “Besides, you have to go look at suits with my brothers.” His eyes were filled with a comical amount of fear. “Also…” You pulled him aside, though you knew everyone would be listening in. It was hard to have a private conversation in a room full of people with supernatural hearing. “Don’t you need to make a phone call?”

“I was… planning on it.” He nodded and you smacked the back of his head. “Ow! What in bloody hell was that for?”

“Call. Him.” You growled and he slumped his shoulders, groaning.

“Okay fine.” You started to walk away, but he kept his hand on your elbow. “And do you think it’s a good idea to leave me with them?” You turned to your brothers.

“Klaus will be on his best behavior, won’t you Nik.” You said, the threat of ripping him limb from limb should anything happen to Enzo in your voice. “Besides, Elijah will be there and he will keep the others in line.”

“I shall do my best.” Elijah chuckled, putting a hand on Enzo’s shoulder. He tried not to flinch.

“Great! Well we will be heading out then. I’ll see you later tonight.” You place a quick kiss on Enzo’s cheek before rushing off the girls.

The impending doom looming over him intensified as Klaus stepped forward.

“Well if they’re going out, I don’t see why we can’t get a bite to eat.” He stared menacingly at Enzo, who gulped. “Who’s hungry?”

You stood in front of the mirror, running your hands down the tulle skirt. It was a gorgeous dress, but it just wasn’t the dress. Luckily, when you came out of the dressing room, your entourage agreed with your doubts in a very vocal manner.

“No.” Rebekah shook her head, her eyes traveling up and down the length of fabric. “You look like a glorified Barbie.”

“Actually, I agree. Way too much sparkle.” Caroline quipped. Bonnie nodded. The attendant came in asking what everyone thought.

“My sister shall look nothing less than royalty.” Rebekah commanded. She pulled the woman towards her. “Find her the most elegant dress in the store, then come back and ask me.” She compelled and the woman sashayed off.

“And make sure it’s sexy!” Caroline called after her. The four of you giggled.

It was almost perfect, but a part of your heart was still aching. You knew exactly what was missing. You felt your shoulders fall and looking around, your eyes filled with tears. Caroline immediately noticed and jumped off of the couch.

“You can’t cry yet! You haven’t even picked a dress!” She whined, putting her hands on your shoulders, trying to read what was wrong. You laughed and wiped the moisture from your cheeks.

“I just wish Elena could be here. With all of us.” You had always imagined all of your friends being there if you ever got married and now… it just seemed incomplete. Bonnie nodded in agreement and held up her glass of champagne.

“To Elena.” She toasted. “I’m sure she’s watching over this from whatever weird, supernatural coma world she’s in.” The rest of you held up your glasses with small, sad smiles and echoed.

“To Elena.”

Enzo stood uncomfortably as the tailor fitted the suit onto him. The rest of the room was completely silent, with the occasional question from the tailor that Enzo would answer quickly and quietly. Klaus sat, sharpening the leg of the wooden table next to him. Elijah was flipping through the newspaper and Kol just looked bored.

“Do stop that Niklaus,” Elijah sighed. “You’re being childish.”

“Someone has to be prepared for when this all blows over.” Klaus shrugged. Enzo clenched his fists but remained silent. “Now as to how I’ll kill him, I haven’t entirely decided.”

“I think you two should be a little more excited.” Kol stood up, circling around Enzo and pointing something out to the tailor. “We are to have a new brother! Someone else to add to the family drama. To torment for the rest of our never ending lives.” He grinned. Enzo couldn’t tell if Kol was mocking him, or attempting to be sincere. From what Y/N had told him about her twin, he figured it was a bit of both and the best he was going to get.

“I’m just taking the necessary precaution for when this riff raff breaks our sister’s heart.” He threw the stake at Enzo, who barely ducked in time.

“That is it!” Enzo shouted, his temper finally getting the better of him. “I have done nothing but love Y/N for as long as I have had the pleasure of knowing her. How dare you accuse me of not meeting your standards- which, by the way, are designed for every man who comes into your sister's lives to fail. Y/N loves me and I love her and I will not stand for anyone who suggests otherwise.” The sudden outburst made all three brothers stare at Enzo in surprise. Elijah put down his paper, seeing his younger brother draw closer to the young vampire.

Enzo’s eyes widened with fear as Klaus came towards him. This was it. This was the end. And he didn’t even get to finish the suit. The hybrid leaned in close, his voice deep and mischievous.

“Now there’s the spirit I’ve heard so much about.” Klaus smirked. Enzo lowered his brows in confusion. “No need to fuss, I’m still planning your gruesome death, but for now…” He clapped his hands together. “We have a wedding to prepare for.” He tossed Enzo’s cell phone to him. “And if I remember correctly you have a phone call to make. Tell Damon I said hello.” Klaus compelled the tailor to take a break and the three Mikaelsons left the room.

Enzo sighed and dialed the number.

“What now?” Damon answered.

“I have to ask you something…” Enzo ran his fingers through his hair. Why was this so hard? Damon was probably his only friend in the living world, so he didn’t really have any other options. “You see, Y/N and I are getting married-”

“Yeah, Caroline told me.” Damon interrupted. “Congrats on becoming part of the psycho original family.”

“Damon,” Enzo snapped, growing impatient. “I’m trying to ask you to be my best man.” The other line went silent.

“Wow…” Damon blew out a breath. “I mean… yeah. Sure. Why not? I love weddings.” Changing his tone, he poured himself a drink as usual and made a mental note to get a tux. “Where are you getting married again? Is it a destination wedding, because I would love to go to Hawaii-”

“It’s in New Orleans.” Enzo said and he could hear Damon nearly choke on his drink.

“No. No way. You’re on your own.” As he went to hang up, Enzo started to beg.

“Please Damon. I know that you don’t have a great reputation with Y/N’s family, but this is really important for me.” He pleaded. With still no answer, he let out a desperate sigh. “You’re the only friend I’ve got.” Damon was quiet for a long time, having an angry debate with himself before finally answering.

“I’ll be there.”

The night was glistening with stars, along with the multitude of candles Caroline had strung about the courtyard. She had transformed the space into the perfect place for one final romantic dinner before Enzo and you tied the knot. Bonnie, Rebekah, and Freya had spent the past two hours helping you get ready. Caroline had insisted on formal- and on picking out the dress. As much as you hated to admit, your friend had impeccable taste. The dress was the perfect mix of sexy and elegant, much like the dress you had chosen earlier that day.

Enzo stood patiently outside your door, offering his arm as you finally emerged. He tried to keep his jaw from dropping.

“You look stunning.” He smiled and suddenly all of the feelings you had first felt when the two of you started dating came rushing back. All of the nerves mixed with excitement. All of the short electric bursts shooting through your skin. Everything burned brighter and lit up your face in a way that made you glow. As he led you down the stairs, your eyes glittered in the lights. Enzo couldn’t imagine you looking more beautiful than you did in that moment.

He pulled out your chair for you before taking his seat across the table. A bottle of wine waited beside a basket of fresh bread from a nearby bakery.

At first you couldn’t think of anything to say. You just twisted your pasta around and around on your fork as Enzo poured the wine. He, too, seemed to feel the awkwardness between you and he chuckled softly to himself.

“Why does it suddenly feel so much harder to talk?” He asked in a tone of amused frustration. You laughed, letting your shoulders relax as you took a sip of wine.

“I was thinking exactly the same thing.” You sighed, letting a genuine smile spread across your face. “It’s probably just the nerves for the wedding, but I can hardly breathe half the time, let alone hold a conversation.”

“It is daunting, isn’t it?” He mused, placing a hand on top of yours. “An eternity with me?”

“Frankly, I can’t think of anything better.” You smiled and raised your glass for your second toast that day. “Here’s to the next five days before the rest of our eternity.” He clinked his glass gently against yours, admiring the view before him. The candle light made a halo around your head and the flowers that Caroline had picked brought out the color of your eyes.

“You have truly outdone yourself.” Klaus told Caroline, who was standing next to him on the balcony above the couple.

“It’s their last dinner as a non-married couple.” She shrugged. “I figured a little romance was necessary.” She eyed him suspiciously. “So you’re really okay with this?”

“Okay with what?” He asked innocently, though he knew exactly what she meant. She cocked an eyebrow.

“With your sister getting married.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I mean, every time Rebekah has found a lover, he is either brutally murdered or he mysteriously vanishes.”

“I haven’t decided what I shall do with Lorenzo yet.” Klaus gave her a mischievous look and she rolled her eyes.

“He might be a handful, but Enzo is a pretty good guy. Especially when he’s with Y/N.” She thought for a second before adding. “He kind of reminds me of you.”

“Surely he doesn’t meet my grand stature.” Klaus brought her hand up to his lips. “If you would excuse me, dear Caroline, I believe I shall turn in for the night.” He saw the blush rush to her cheeks and smirked before walking away with a slight skip in his step.

As you watched your brother make his way to his room, you stood from the table and excused yourself for a moment, cutting Klaus off before he reached the door.

“Can I talk to you, Nik?” You asked and he tilted his head to the side with curiosity. You both went into the study, shutting the door behind you. Elijah had been relaxing in his favorite chair after his own romantic dinner with Hayley. He put down his book and looked at you in anticipation.

“Is something wrong?” He wondered and you shook your head.

“I have something I have been meaning to ask the two of you…” You paused, trying to think of how to phrase what you were about to say. It was one of the most important questions besides your proposal to Enzo itself. “You see… I would very much like it if- well you know Kol isn’t all that sentimental, and you both mean so much to me. You’re my brothers, for heaven’s sake! You have always been there for me no matter what trouble I found myself in.” You knew you were ranting again and took a deep breath, trying to get to the point. “I love you both so dearly and I was hoping that you would both give me away.”

At first neither brother said anything. They just stared at you as emotion filled their eyes and loving smiles appeared on their faces.

“It would be an honor.” Elijah beamed. Klaus shrugged.

“Well I suppose I have nothing else going on.” He teased. You pulled both of them into a hug, tears of joy filling your eyes. Elijah had always been there for you, but it was Klaus that you were so ecstatic about agreeing. It meant that- in his own, strange way- that he approved of you being married to Enzo. And that meant the world to you.

Elijah placed a light kiss on your forehead, Klaus doing the same, and the two pulled away.

“Now, I believe that you have a romantic dinner to get back to.” Elijah pointed out. “And we mustn't keep Lorenzo waiting.”

“Let him wait!” Klaus said draping his arm over your shoulder. “We take priority in this household.” Both you and Elijah chuckled and you kissed Klaus’ cheek.

“Elijah’s right, Nik. I should get back. Before he runs off with some trollop off the street.” You gave him a wink. Kol had told you about the suit fitting and you couldn’t help but tease Nik about it. You knew he was just being his usual over-protective self, but your fiancé had stood up to him. It made you love Enzo even more- something you didn’t even think was possible.

Keep Reading to: A Bourbon Street Wedding

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination; @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks

#lorenzo st john #enzo st john x reader #mikaelson reader #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #damon salvatore #caroline forbes #klaroline #new orleans #the originals imagines #the vampire diaries imagines

176 notes · View notes

tryingmybestpls · 4 years

Text

Hurt

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Summary: In a post-snap world, the reader and Steve are falling apart.

Rating: R

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Talks of death, talks of a dead child, infidelity, depression

A/N: this kinda just a fucking bummer. Sorry.

Almost an entire lifetime ago, Director Fury himself had told her that marriage and children only complicated life. At the time, Y/N had brushed it off. She was going to be an SHIELD agent, so she wasn’t going to have time for a spouse and children. And she was completely fine with that at the time.

Now, a part of Y/N wished that she had listened to her boss as she glances down at the shiny granite headstone.

Y/N didn't mean to fall in love with her teammate. Steve and her had a great friendship and it just sort of transitioned into an equally great relationship. Life happens and all that. They had gotten married shortly before the Accords caused the team to fall apart. A year into Steve, Sam, Natasha, Wanda, and Y/N being on the run, a smaller, tinier person joined the team.

Steve and Y/N were over the moon about the new addition to their family. Their son James (named after Steve’s best friend) was the sweetest little boy and had both of his parents wrapped around his tiny finger. They quickly adjusted to being parents, managed to balance their new roles and being on the run almost effortlessly. Sure it wasn't ideal, but they had to make do with the situation they were in. Things were fine and the little family was happy.

And then Thanos showed up.

Everyone had lost someone the day that Thanos snapped his fingers. No part of the universe was left untouched. Both Y/N and Steve were still reeling from the losses of their friends and teammates as they rushed back towards the royal palace. They had left James with Queen Ramonda and both of them needed to make sure he was safe, needed him to be okay. Death and destruction was all around them and dust hung in the air was they moved their legs faster and faster.

Instead they were met with the Queen Regent's sobs and a pile of dust amongst James's toys. It was an image that would be ingrained in Steve and Y/N forever.

Once both of them settled into a new apartment in Brooklyn, Y/N had joined a group for mothers who lost children in the Snap. Upon entering the meeting for the very first time, she was met with the glares of every mother in the room. Each one of their gazes seeming to scream at Y/N "This is your fault. You're the reason why our babies are gone.". The leader of the group took Y/N aside and asked with faux sincerity if the Avenger could leave. She couldn't blame them. Y/N would ask herself to leave too if she was in their shoes.

Y/N never told Steve what had happened. She knew he wouldn't understand. No one would ever turn Captain America down, no one would feel uncomfortable by his presence. Y/N on the other hand? Well she wasn't a cherished hero. She was just on the team.

Y/N didn't mean to distance herself from her husband, but it just happened. The day that James turned into the dust, a part of Y/N died. It was hard for her to put her feelings into words when everything just hurt. Y/N tried to talk about it, but her throat would just tighten with emotion as she tried to gather her words. Her days would blur together and Y/N would find herself unable to leave her room. She tried not to sleep, knowing that if she did all she would see is that pile of dust amongst his toys. Steve was patient at first, letting her take her time. Yet as one year without their son turned into two, his patience grew thin.

Y/N was trying her best, she really was. Sure it didn't seem like a lot of progress to just leave the house for short amounts of time, but it was just so hard. She’s lost people before, but none of those losses made her ache in such a way. Her arms felt empty with no child to carry and she felt so alone. Everything reminded her of James. A child laughing, the bounce of a ball, the crunch of the leaves underneath her feet as the seasons changed-everything reminded her of her son. She couldn't even look at her husband without her heart aching in her chest because their son looked just like him. She knew that Steve just wanted her to find a way to get through it and get over it. He had given up on helping her, spending more and more time at his meetings. Y/N just kept telling herself that they were helping him, so it wasn't a big deal if he was gone for most of the day. If he wasn't here, they didn't fight.

Before Thanos, they really didn't fight. Sure they would argue about stupid little things and make up almost immediately, but now? They fought about everything. Y/N asking if Steve could handle grocery shopping for the week would turn into a three hour long screaming match. Steve got pissed off about every little thing she did. Fighting with Steve was exhausting because somehow he always found a way to make Y/N feel shitty about anything she had and hadn't done. There wasn't anymore making up after their fights, no sweet kisses and I love yous. Only doors slamming shut and a lot of words that shouldn’t be thrown around so carelessly.

She tried to ignore it when he'd leave their apartment after they had a fight. Tried to ignore how loud the door would slam, how'd he'd mutter something under his breath as he grabbed his coat and keys. She even tried to ignore the smell of a perfume that wasn't hers when he'd come home, slipping under the covers without bothering to shower. Y/N even tried to ignore it when he left her alone on Mother's Day, stuck in the apartment surrounding by images of the son she had lost while he was out doing whatever he did before coming home smelling like that perfume.

Y/N knew exactly what he was doing and she didn't know if had it in her anymore to fight with him. She tried to pretend like it wasn't happening until she just couldn't anymore.

"He's cheating on me, Nat." Y/N told her friend over their weekly coffee date-a sign of her progress. Natasha was stunned by the confession and was even more shocked by her friend's tone. Y/N said it like she was talking about the weather, her voice lacking any sort of emotion. The red head sitting across from her slowly put down her cup of coffee.

Y/N has been trying to tell Natasha since it started, but she just didn't know how to say it. Steve was one of Natasha's best friends and Y/N didn't want to tear them apart because of what Steve was doing. However, Natasha was Y/N's friend too and she had no one else to talk to. Y/N was at a crossroad and both of them ended in disaster. It just finally got to the point where she just had to tell Natasha and Y/N knew she shouldn't feel guilty about finally saying it, but she did.

"What do you mean?-I-Are you sure?" Natasha questions as Y/N keeps her eyes down, just nodding in response. Nat's eyebrows furrow together as she continues, "When-When did it start?"

"Two months ago. He-He started to leave after we'd fight and he'd come back smelling like perfume. It's more frequent now. No fights needed." Her tone is so matter-of-fact that it makes Natasha's heart ache. There was no anger in Y/N's words, no resentment. Natasha hates how her friend has come to terms with Steve's infidelity. To Y/N, it felt cathartic to finally say what has been happening. She didn’t want Nat to go and knock some sense into Steve or anything like that. All she wanted was to finally say it aloud, to tell someone what was going on, even though it just made the whole situation real. Y/N turns her head to look out of the window, letting out a shaky breath as Natasha reaches out to hold her hand. Her other hand was left holding her mug of coffee, the gold wedding ring seemingly weighing a tons

An hour later, Y/N sees them as the cab she is in pulls up to the curb. Steve and a young brunette laughing and smiling as they walk out of the apartment building and it feels like Y/N is being stabbed in the chest. Ignoring the pain she's in, Y/N forces herself out of the cab, some sadistic part of her just needing to get out. The other woman sees her first, eyes widening. It takes a second for Steve to realize what had happened, the smile dropping from his face.

The three of them stand there for what feels like an eternity, Y/N still holding onto the cab door. Steve opens his mouth and closes it, not even knowing how to work his way around this. Y/N was seething, sadness quickly turning into rage. It was one thing for Steve to be sneaking around at night, for him to be hiding the fact that he was cheating. It was another thing entirely for him to be walking around with the other woman, not caring who saw.

Y/N knows that grief manifests itself in different ways, but this is straw that broke the camel's back. Steve had found a way to completely forget about their son and his wife, distracting himself with his stupid little grief circle and a young mistress. Y/N wants to scream at him and make a scene, but she just doesn't have it in her. Tears fill her eyes and as Steve moves to take a step forward, Y/N slips back into the cab, shutting the door behind her.

There's a chill in the air as she walks through the cemetery, wrapping her coat around herself a little tighter. It was freezing out and Y/N knows that she should've gone somewhere warm, but here she was. Her feet carried her where she needed to go, working on pure muscle memory. The hero comes to a stop in front of a small stone headstone.

Their therapist had told them that having a place to visit James would bring them comfort in a way. She had also said that burying him would ease some of the pain and help with the grieving process. Y/N didn't want to say that burying that tiny box filled with the dust they had gathered had only made her feel worse. Steve and Y/N had tried to visit as much as possible, even decorated his grave for each holiday, but then Steve stopped showing up.

There's a bouquet of wilting sunflowers in the little hole by his headstone, which she had left for James on Thanksgiving. They'd be replaced in a week or two by bright red poinsettias to signal the change of seasons and holidays. Another Christmas without her baby boy would turn into another year without him. Y/N's throat tightened as she realized that James has been gone longer than he was alive.

As she stood there, the cracks in their relationship became apparent. Y/N knew Steve wasn’t the perfect partner, but all of their big issues had been washed away by all of the good things. When they were dating, everything came before Y/N, which she understood at the time. Saving the world comes first and all that, but as she looks back on it, it wasn’t just saving the world. Others were just put in front of her and she had just chalked it up to Steve just being selfless. He’d miss dates and anniversaries, always giving her a half assed excuse and that thousand watt smile. Steve would always come apologize, holding a bunch of red roses. Each time, he’d look down at the flowers and say that he gotten her favorite flowers. She never had the heart to tell him that her favorite flower was peonies. When they were married, the search for Bucky always came first. Y/N hadn’t minded at the time because she knew how important Bucky was to Steve, but that mess quickly turned into the Accords.

Steve never told her that Bucky had killed Tony’s parents. Hell, he didn’t even really discuss choosing Bucky over the team with her. Steve had just assumed that Y/N was going to stick with him regardless and because Steve had assumed it, so did everyone else, so she was just forced to go along with it. She had been forced into a pair of restraints while Steve jetted off to Siberia with Bucky. Steve never asked if she even wanted to go on the run with him, once again he just sort of assumed. Y/N just fulfilled her role of the dutiful wife

When Y/N found out that she was pregnant, she wanted to take a plea deal like Scott and Clint did. A life on the run of was no life for a baby and Y/N knew it. She was on the brink of reaching out to Tony when she had told Steve that she was pregnant. The thought of her child having a normal life immediately disintegrated as Steve told her that they were going to make this work. The cracks just keep getting bigger and bigger, spreading further and deeper into their relationship. While she had originally thought there was just a few issues suddenly turned into dozens and dozens of red flags.

Time seems not to touch the cemetery, so she doesn't know how many minutes or hours have passed when someone walks up to stand beside her. Y/N knows who it is immediately, but she doesn't bother to greet him. Instead, her eyes just stay on the headstone and they stand in silence for awhile, Y/N slowly coming to terms with what she was going to have to do.

"I'm not doing this anymore, Steve." Y/N finally announces, forcing it through the emotion that currently strangling her. Her glove covered hands are shoved into her pockets, her wedding ring burning her flesh as she continues, "I want a divorce."

"Y/N, I-" Steve starts, his body turning towards her. Y/N simply shakes her head. She’s utterly exhausted and doesn’t have it in her to fight with him anymore. She feels like she’s aged three lifetimes in the past few years. Y/N loves the man beside her, she truly does, but she knows that she can’t just let this cycle of hurt continue. She couldn’t just forgive Steve and pretend like he hadn’t been cheating on her because there was just so many things wrong in their relationship. Their marriage was damaged beyond repair and Y/N couldn’t find it in herself to fix it. Somethings just don’t need to be fixed and somethings-well somethings shouldn’t be fixed at all.

"Don't. Not here." Y/N tells him cooly, not wanting to fight with him in the last place that is left untouched by their deteriorating relationship. Her eyes study the small Virgin Mary engraved on her son’s grave. They had so many choices of what to put on his headstone, but something had told her to choose Mary. A remnant of her Catholic upbringing, she had told herself at the time. Now she just hoped that the Virgin was watching after her son wherever he was.

“You can keep the apartment. I didn’t even want it. I-I’ll stay upstate with Nat.” She’s leaving no room for arguing, so Steve just nods in response, putting his hands in his pockets. Y/N wanted to tell him to leave, that there was no reason for him to be standing there with her, but James was still his son too, no matter how little he seemingly cared.

So the two of them stood in silence as the cold afternoon turned into an even colder evening in December, the sky darkening quickly. Lampposts flickered on in the cemetery, covering everything in dim, eerie glow. Their breaths came out in small clouds and their toes went numb in their shoes, but they continued to stand there, looking over their son until the sky tuned black above them.

#steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #captain america x reader #chris evans x reader #steve rogers

241 notes · View notes

tennessoui · 3 years

Note

Does anyone else wonder what would happen if Anakin & the Clones were to 'steal' some of the Jedi's so called Reject (or ones on the way) Initiates? Obi-Wan did spend time as a Slave & he has clearly been Brainwashed by his CURRENT Masters. Anakin with the help of Aayla, Ahsoka, Vos, Obi-Wan, &Clones could raise them to be great. I never understood why they took the L.S. from the people they sent into the Corps when they say that L.S. are their lives. Basically saying that they are Dead to them.

ahh hello you sent this i think in May and i'm gonna be a bit honest i didn't like it that much because i think it's much, much too heavily jedi-critical for my tastes--obligatory pause for the I Love The Jedi Order ad run-- so i wrote this in about an hour about what i think would happen if Anakin and his men were to steal some of the Jedi Initiates, and no. No, it doesn't go well. Because the Jedi raise their kids in a community for a reason and literally Anakin could not do that alone and there is no way i can see it working on a practical level because I don't think Anakin or his men know the first thing about childcare, save for Anakin's occasional shift at the creche.

I didn't mean for this to be Anakin-critical, but someone had to be the guy getting lectured and i figured it should be the guy that kidnapped some kids. anakin needs to get lectured more sometimes imo.

(1.6k)

Three of the Initiates won’t stop crying, and a fourth has been shivering since they jumped into hyperspace, no matter how many blankets Rex has draped over their form.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Anakin doesn’t know what to do. He’d thought…well, Anakin’s sure that his former master would say that he hasn’t been thinking at all lately, and certainly not when he’d hatched this harebrained scheme to steal away younglings from a cruiser bound for the AgriCorps.

But he’d thought, really, that all Initiates would be like Ahsoka had been when she’d come to him as his padawan. That they’d be snarky but kind, quick to adapt and ready to listen to him as the authority figure.

Apparently, every youngling isn’t the same. Who knew.

The fifth Initiate who had aged too old to be taken in by a master sits in sullen silence by the porthole, but they’re screaming in the Force.

Anakin’s head hurts. He’s being bombarded on all sides by children whose mental shields aren’t strong enough to keep their very strong emotions in. They’re terrified. They’re terrified of him.

He calls Obi-Wan. He doesn’t know what else to do, and he had never, ever wanted to hurt these children. He’d been trying to help them.

It just turns out that he doesn’t know how.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan snaps as soon as the call connects. Anakin flinches away from that tone. It means danger. Not in a physical sense, but in a I’m Very, Very Disappointed With You sense. Which might be even worse.

“Master,” he says. One of the Initiates lets out a particularly high pitched cry.

“Are the younglings okay? What have you done, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks him in an aghast tone.

It makes Anakin bristle, even though he’s just been thinking the same thing not a minute ago. “It’s not right that the Jedi just send some of their younglings away! They deserve better than that! They’re children! They deserve choices! The Jedi—they took them from their homes and then they’re just giving them away! It’s worse than slavery! And if you can’t see it, Master, you’re as brainwashed as the rest of the Jedi!”

The holo of Obi-Wan looks at him for so long that Anakin starts to fidget. Finally, his master shakes his head slowly. “That was a very nice speech, Anakin. Who told you that?”

“I can’t think for myself!” Anakin snaps.

Obi-Wan raises a delicate eyebrow and checks something on his datapaad. “I see you were scheduled to have tea with the Chancellor at 2000 last night. Is it safe to presume you discussed the Jedi tradition of sending Initiates to the Corps?”

Anakin blushes furiously at that. It had been the Chancellor, actually, who told him about this in the first place. He’d always known, of course, but he hadn’t known the details. “You take away their lightsabers!” He shouts. “Master, you told me that my lightsaber was my life! And then you just take them away from the Initiates? It’s like you’re killing them!”

Obi-Wan looks alarmed and even confused. “Anakin,” he says slowly. “Are you really expecting the Jedi to let barely trained thirteen year olds run amuck with dangerous weapons?”

“Barely trained? I was only six years older than that when I was Knighted!”

“An event I regret not arguing against more every day,” Obi-Wan rubs at his temple for a second before looking up at Anakin. “A lightsaber is your life if you’re out in the field, on a mission, on a dangerous planet, in a war. In what event would a youngling need one in the AgriCorps? Would you run to the Senate and demand Senator Amidala’s floating podium? I’m sure she would say it’s her life.”

Anakin splutters. It’s not the same.

“But put all of that aside for a second, alright. Yes, I too wish that younglings and initiates brought to the Temple to be trained could all be trained. But there are simply not enough Jedi. And one should never rush a padawanship in order to take on another Padawan. Do you know what happens to the Initiates sent to the Corps?”

The Chancellor had made it sound as though they were forced to do backbreaking work in the fields of the planets the Corps had bases on. Anakin gets the feeling that if he were to say that now, Obi-Wan would disconnect the comm, and as much as he doesn’t need a lecture, he does need help.

When Anakin makes no move to say anything, Obi-Wan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “The younglings you’ve kidnapped—they’re in pain, yes?”

Anakin crosses his arms at the phrasing, but he can’t deny that they are crying.

“Initiates sent to the AgriCorps are sent in groups of ten or more if we can help it. That’s because it helps them latch onto each other and strengthen their own shields, all with a mind healer in the cruiser with them to oversee the process. And upon arrival at the AgriCorps, they’re specially trained still until they would have been Knighted. Not in combat or diplomacy as you and I were, but in meditation and compassion, as you and I were. We don’t…the Jedi don’t just send our younglings out into space alone! We have systems in place that help with the transition. Systems you have ruined because you did not even try to understand them.”

“I wanted to help them,” Anakin protests, but it’s weak and he knows it.

“Help them? Help them?” Obi-Wan repeats. “Padawan, unless you have been spending much more time in the crèche than I have ever seen you voluntarily sign up for, you have no idea how to help them! I have no idea to how to help them! The Jedi raise our children communally for that very reason. You cannot do it alone. Neither could any of us, but together we can. What were you going to do, Anakin? Where would you take them, how would you feed them? Clothe them? Train them? Were you going to form training bonds with all of them? Because you’re powerful, you’re the Chosen One. You don’t need the Jedi Order.”

“I never said that,” Anakin mutters. “I’m not—I didn’t do this because I’m the Chosen One or—or whatever, I—“

“Was listening to the wrong source of information, I am highly aware, yes. Now. We do have your coordinates now. There will be consequences for this. There has to be. Hopefully harsh enough consequences that the next time you think you can abuse your authority over your men to unilaterally right an injustice only you can see, you think twice. You call me before you commit a felony.”

“Palpatine told me you were almost sent to the AgriCorps!” Anakin bursts out. “He said you were made a slave!”

Obi-Wan freezes and turns his face back to Anakin completely. “Ah.” He says.

“You admit it!”

“I…they were hardly related, Anakin. Bad things happen, yes. No matter how hard we try to create a perfect system. External trouble will arise. Like, say, your friend Palpatine who, indirectly through you, has managed to derail a simple AgriCorps drop-off and also ground The Hero With No Fear during a war.”

Anakin curls his lips. “This isn’t about anything but the younglings. I felt them on that cruiser. They were scared! And sad! And confused! And hurt! You can’t tell me you weren’t when you thought you had to leave!”

Obi-Wan runs a hand over his face and stays quiet for a few moments. “I was,” he finally admits. “And I’m sure they are too.” Anakin goes to say something, but Obi-Wan holds up his hand. “I’ll not mention the fact that I’m sure you’ve made it worse for them, despite what I know were only gold intentions. And I will say yes, I was scared. And sad. And hurt. And angry too. I was leaving my home. I didn’t understand why.”

Obi-Wan fixes him with a cutting stare, one that makes Anakin feel all of eleven again.

“Tell me this though, Anakin. How did you feel when you left Mos Espa with my master, Qui-Gon Jinn? Did you feel scared? Or sad? Perhaps angry? Hurt?”

Clenching his jaw around the denial that he hadn’t felt any of those things (he had), Anakin nods stiffly.

“Because you were leaving your home?” Obi-Wan presses.

“No one should be forced to leave their home. No child should feel like that!” Anakin bursts out.

“But do you still feel like that?” Obi-wan ignores his outburst. “Do you still feel angry and sad and scared and hurt all the time? Do you hate the Temple that much, Padawan? The Order? The Council? …Me?”

Anakin stares at him, and Obi-Wan shakes his head slightly and clears his throat.

“I apologize, I should not have made that so personal. My point, however, is that they are scared now and they are mad now, and they will not have the life they thought they would. But they will not be alone to work through that disappointment. How could you think you and your men are better equipped to dealing with these younglings’ needs than a community of fully trained people who have been in their position before?”

Anakin scowls, but there’s a high piercing sob from behind him that has him turning around in worry. Kix rushes over to the youngling, but he can’t help them. He’s not Force-sensitive, let alone trained in the Force. Obi-Wan’s right. Force, he hates it when that happens.

“Alright, master,” Anakin says when he looks back at Obi-Wan. “I’m sure you’re on our tail already, so we’ll turn around and meet you halfway.”

“Thank you, Anakin.” Obi-Wan tells him quietly. “And…Padawan, I know your heart was in a good place but…oh, we’ll talk much more about this later.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And Padawan? Perhaps no more tea with the Chancellor for a while.”

“…yes, Master.”

#asks #prompt fill #ah im sorry i do know when you sent this anon i was much less attached to making my opinions known #about like the jedi order and stuff #but tbh no i dont think it would work out well #i spent a summer dealing with 11-13 year olds #theyre the worst.#i dont care how well fanon anakin can be at everything ever #he would not be able to pull this off and neither could obi-wan #and i hope you were being playfully ironic by saying obi-wans been brainwashed by his current masters because #i #no #sorry but #no no

18 notes · View notes

luvrgirl555 · 4 years

Text

what does leaving mean? (part two) -- S.R.

part one

masterlist

taglist: @introvertatitsfinest @criesinreid @hailmary-yramliah @youareperrrfectls

an: thank you for so much love on part one <3 it really does mean the world to me and i hope this part two is good as well :) thank you for reading!! i always enjoy comments and notes as well hehe

2k+ words

warnings: some angst :(

spencer kept his head pointed downwards while walking from the elevator to his desk in the bullpen.

the team wasn’t surprised, considering he had been keeping his distance from them the past couple of weeks, but they were starting to worry.

penelope, ever the peacemaker, decided to make him a cup of coffee and bring it over with only a few (15) bags of sugar.

she set the cup down on the coaster on his desk, the coaster that had been painted by the hands of a three year old little girl.

his three year old little girl.

he didn’t look up from the case file in his hands when penelope walked over to him, or even when she set the cup down or tried to hand him the sugar.

she gulped before asking, “reid?”

he looked up and blinked at her.

“are you alright?”

“fine,” he replied, clearing his throat and going back to the file.

at this point, jj, tara and luke made their way over to his desk as well each of them looking at him with sad eyes.

“man, you okay?” luke finally piped up, and spencer rolled his eyes.

“i thought we didn’t profile each other,” he span his desk chair around, partly so they couldn’t see his body language but also because they way they surrounded him made him feel like a victim getting hounded for answers.

“spence, if you need help you can always come to us,” jj said, her tone soft, motherly.

“goddammit,” he muttered and stood up, briskly walking away in the direction of the restrooms.

spencer was never good at hiding his emotions, never good at saying what was wrong, and especially not at asking for help.

was that why you’d left? he asked himself every moment.

all of the things that he’d done over the past months, past years, raced through his mind as he tried to piece together your relationship while he lie alone in his bed.

he didn’t know how he didn’t see it coming. had he really been so oblivious to all the signs? had you just been so good at hiding it?

he wished everything could go back to when you first met him and time stood still. when you taught him to dance with you in the kitchen and taught him that it’s okay to love again.

the cool water he splashed on his face didn’t make him feel better, or make the tears that constantly threatened to fall go away. nothing had been making him feel better.

he threw himself into case files, taking on extra work that he could do when he should have been sleeping.

he couldn’t sleep, not without you there, and especially not while knowing that he shouldn’t even call you or attempt to hear your voice.

he thought you didn’t want that.

a feeling of hopelessness started to enter his mind, the same hopelessness he hadn’t felt in years, not since prison.

footsteps entering the room made him look up from the sink to see luke.

spencer looked back down at the sink, trying anything to avoid eye contact with his friend.

“we’re all just worried about you, man,” luke finally spoke.

spencer’s lips scrunched up to the right as he tried to keep it together.

“is it y/n? emma? are they okay?”

one of spencer’s hands went to cover his watery eyes as luke pulled him in for a hug.

spencer’s entire body just seemed to break down in luke’s arms. he felt like his legs turned into jelly as he clung onto luke’s shoulders for dear life and he cried.

he sobbed.

something luke had never seen before, not from spencer.

everyone assumed that he was an unbreakable man. someone who had gone through everything, and someone who was incredible at coping.

none of those things weren’t true.

“she’s gone,” he sniffled “they’re all gone.”

luke was able to stand spencer back on his feet while spencer rubbed the remaining tears from his face.

“they’re gone?” luke tried to clarify.

“she’s left, and i don’t know if she’s coming back.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“mama,” a little voice says while little hands tug on your jeans.

“what is it, ems?” you reply, warily. you haven’t been getting much sleep recently. possibly due to the fact that you were around 30 weeks pregnant and more likely due to the fact that you missed your spencer.

it didn’t feel hard, basically raising emma on your own because you’d done that before. every time spencer was on a case, or when she was really little and he was in prison. it wasn’t that transition that you struggled with, it was the fact that you didn’t feel like you could call him. the fact that emma asked for him around 30 times a day, and rising, because she hadn’t seen him for weeks.

“mama, where daddy?” she asked.

“daddy’s at work,” you replied, just like every other time she asked.

you handed her a sippy cup filled with juice and led her to the sofa to sit.

you had been staying at a friends house after you called her sobbing with the news a few days after you’d left the house.

“can daddy read me?” she asked running over the bag you’d brought with some of her things, including a few picture books.

“i don’t think so. i think daddy’s busy,” you offered, gently brushing her blonde curls out of her eyes.

“call?” she asked softly, and by the way she stuck her bottom lip out you knew she was about to cry.

she’d been a strong little girl, always trying to comfort you when you cried and rarely crying herself, even when she wanted her dad, but you knew that would be coming to an end very soon.

you sighed.

“do you want to go see if daddy’s at work with auntie jj and auntie penny?” you asked and a smile immediately returned to her face.

she was tired, you could tell, but you had a feeling she’d go down for a nap much better with a story from her father.

and you could also tell that you needed to see him too.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“right, we’ll see you soon,” jj hung up the phone and breathed a sigh of relief.

“what was that all about?” rossi asked, while dropping off some papers for her.

“y/n and emma are headed over here,” she whispered and dave hummed with a smile and a nod.

just then spencer walked back into the room, looking more disheveled and less bright eyed than before. luke followed after him, giving him a few pats on the back before heading to his respective desk.

spencer quickly made his way up the stairs and knocked on the door to emily’s office. she let him in quickly and jj could see through the window that he sat down and she sat beside him while his head was bowed.

minutes felt like hours while jj watched emily comfort, or at least try to comfort him while he cried.

minutes later when he stood up and began to exit the room the doors to the bau opened behind jj.

in ran an excited three year old girl, bounding as fast as her little legs could carry her.

you followed behind her, sadly smiling at how happy and excited she was.

she needed this.

when spencer saw her tears immediately rushed to his eyes for what felt like the millionth time today.

he needed this.

“dada!” emma screamed, which made a few people in the office laugh but she didn’t care, and neither didn’t her mom or dad.

he went down the stairs and walked towards his little daughter quickly scooping her up in his arms and holding her tight.

she lay her head on his shoulder and tried to wrap her arms around his neck while she giggled.

“hi baby,” he whispered, running his hands through her thin, blonde hair.

you could tell he was crying but trying not to show it, which made tears well in your eyes even more.

he looked over at you and you smiled, but he could see the sadness in your eyes.

“y/n!” you heard, the one and only penelope exclaim when she walked in the room and you looked over your shoulder to greet her.

she, along with jj and emily gave you a hug while spencer brought emma over to his desk and sat down with her on his lap.

you walked over to them when you were done greeting everyone and pulled the book emma had insisted on out of your purse.

you could see her talking animatedly while she sat, constantly moving her hands just like he did.

spencer just smiled so big he didn’t feel like anything could ever ruin this moment.

“and miss you, daddy,” you heard her say when she quickly gave him another hug.

he gave her another squeeze.

“i miss you too, ems,” he replied and she began to pull away and pointed at you.

“mama miss you,” she said simply.

he looked up at you and you nodded a little bit, looking down where you couldn’t see much of anything except your pregnant belly.

“i miss mama, too,” he whispered and she smiled.

“read me?” emma quickly asked, completely not understanding social cues which made you smile.

“of course!” he exclaimed while you handed the book over.

he didn’t need it, he had every single one of her books memorized, he could have recited an entire library for her, but he opened the book and started on page one while she lay in the crook of his neck to fall asleep.

you listened while he spoke in different tones and inflections, his eyes moving swiftly across the page. you tried desperately to memorize this moment in your head, so you could never forget what he looked like, especially when he looked so happy.

you needed this.

when he finished he handed you back the book and you tried to take emma back, “well we should be going,” you said. “thank you for reading to her, she wouldn’t go down without it.”

“wait, y/n,” he quickly stood up and bit his lip nervously.

“spencer?” you replied when he didn’t say anything more.

jj came and grabbed emma from you when she noticed what was going on, and you gulped when spencer grabbed your free hands.

“can we talk?” he asked.

you breathed heavily.

“spence-” you started but he cut you off, already knowing what you were going to say.

“just a few minutes?”

you conceded, and he led you to an empty room that you remember previously being derek’s office.

he grabbed both of your hands again and you looked up at him, a huff on your face.

“i wasn’t lying when i said i miss you,” he said.

“i miss you too,” you said, “but now i don’t have to get my hopes up.”

you pulled away and walked behind him.

“i messed up.”

“yeah...” you trailed off. you could feel the hurt in your heart manifesting through your voice and you began crying softly.

“oh, please,” spencer turned to look at you, “don’t cry.”

“i can’t seem to stop,” you hastily wiped the water from your face.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered.

you nodded.

“i know.”

he gulped.

“i’m sorry, too,” you brushed a piece of hair behind your ear, “for leaving like that.”

“i understand why you did,” spencer gently takes your hand again. “i’ve been a horrible father and even worse husband.”

“i wouldn’t say horrible,” you argued.

he shook his head, “i promised i would never end up like my father, and i did,” he seems annoyed at himself. “i pushed and pushed you away, and i have never been more sorry for anything.”

you can tell how sincere he is by the way his eyes lock on yours and how tightly his hand is squeezing.

you close your eyes and quickly fall into his arms in the tightest hug you both can manage, feeling gentle kicks between the two of you.

“i don’t want you to leave, y/n,” he says, shakily.

“i don’t want to leave.”

you feel his hands gently cup your face as he leans down to connect your lips with his. you melt in the feeling that you’ve been missing and craving for so long.

when you opened your eyes he said, “i’ll start teaching again, full time even, whatever it takes.”

you smile.

“i don’t want you to quit your job, spence,” you bring your hand up to his cheek and stroke with your thumb, “i just want you to come be with us every one in a while.”

“i promise,” he says grabbing your arm and kissing you again.

as hard as he can.

promising himself he’ll never lose you again.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #matthew gray gubler #mgg #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff

459 notes · View notes

im-da-bronx · 4 years

Text

musical theatre analysis time!!!

“I Think I Got You Beat” from Shrek the Musical

I haven’t seen any productions other than the filmed version of the show that was on Netflix, so I’m gonna analyze that one.

the change in tone from “good morning!! the world is amazing!!” to “you’re an absolute asshole” is very abrupt, and I always thought it was a little awkward. Now I realize its simply Sutton Foster’s interpretation of the character, which is fine, even though its not my particular cup of tea in regards to this specific scene.

Let’s break it down:

Fiona woke up, for the first time in 20 years, outside of her tiny tower bedroom, and saw flowers and birds, grass and trees, deer, everything in the morning sunlight, for the first time IN TWENTY YEARS.

She didn’t get to appreciate all of it the day before, because she

1) woke up in a tower,

2) met the only guy to make it past the dragon,

3) realized he had no clue what he was doing,

4) had to run for her life, leaving behind the only life she had known for the past twenty years without so much as a goodbye, and

5) had to find a place to sleep for the night before the sun went down.

all in all, an eventful day.

but now, the sun has risen, she’s had some time to sleep and collect herself, the adrenaline rush is gone, and she actually has time to stop and breathe and just appreciate life.

And she’s talking to her saviors!!! Who will actually respond to her!!! She hasn’t spoken to actual people in twenty years, and she’s absolutely giddy from the social interaction. And she makes some offhand comment about her life before, and how she’s actually happy for once, and then

the guy who saved her laughs.

He brushes off her suffering, her neglect, her abuse, all because of her status. He assumes she had everything anyone could ask for, with the small price of being alone.

It hits her like a slap in the face:

He doesn’t care.

The first person she’s seen, the first person she’s spoken to, interacted with, touched in twenty years, doesn’t care about her, doesn’t care about her suffering.

He doesn’t stop to think that maybe, just maybe, she’d give up everything, her crown, her title, her family’s riches, her kingdom, just to have a normal life, to be a normal child, to have parents who loved her, to not be punished for her parents’ crimes.

She owes her parents, her family, her kingdom nothing, and she owes him everything, and he doesn’t care.

It crushes her heart.

And when she tries to explain it to him, to explain that she was expected to be the adult her parents weren’t, she was expected to care for herself and survive and accept it, all when she was seven, he still brushes it off, saying that he had it worse, so she should be grateful. She shouldn’t be depressed, or angry, she shouldn’t complain, she should be grateful for the abuse she suffered at the hands of others because other people had it worse.

And that’s when she gets defensive.

Shrek isn’t responding to sincerity, so she changes her approach. She starts responding to his statements the same way he responded to hers, saying that they weren’t that bad, he should be grateful because other people had it worse, and that he’s making a big deal out of nothing.

And they start trying to one-up each other.

And finally, in a fit of passion and anger and years of trauma bubbling to the surface, they both reveal that their parents didn’t love them enough to keep them.

And they realize, even though it manifested in different ways, they don’t have to one-up each other, because they suffered from the same thing.

Here’s where Sutton Foster’s interpretation of this scene and mine differ:

Sutton Foster charges straight from ‘caught off-guard’ to ‘defensive’

She doesn’t take a whole lot of time to show the true loneliness and depression and abandonment that she feels as a result of being locked away. The whole show is supposed to be a family show, and there’s lots of comedy, but because of that, they don’t take a whole lot of time to actually show the depth of the emotions the characters possess. Her introduction song “I know its today” is played off as fun and quirky, and shows, intentionally or not, that the mental and emotional scars left behind were written in more for comedy than for depicting actual responses to traumatic events.

This could simply be Sutton Foster’s acting choices or the director’s artistic vision, but this scene, the little detail where Sutton Foster doesn’t show Fiona’s pain for longer than a few seconds, is a giveaway for those looking for it, for those who have experience with abuse, trauma, depression, mental illness, etc.

I’m not trying to insult Sutton Foster, she’s a wonderful actress, I’m simply saying that she probably doesn’t have as much real life experience with these things (which is wonderful, good for her, I wouldn’t wish trauma on anyone).

Anyone who’s suffered from these things, abuse, neglect, depression, mental illness, they know how abruptly a mood can change. They know how quickly someone’s offhand comment can make your stomach plunge and your palms get sweaty and your heart start pounding. They know how the most random of sounds can trigger fight-or-flight instincts, and they know the loneliness of not being believed by those who supposedly care.

And I think, if that pain, that abandonment, that hopelessness is shown for longer than one second, that scene and that song would be SO MUCH MORE POWERFUL in terms of character development and exposition, and it would make the comedic parts even more important, because it conveys that, even though these characters have been through so much trauma, they still look on the bright side of things, finding comedy in what would otherwise be scary or sad or weird. And, on the other hand, it would also show the characters who haven’t confronted their traumatic pasts, using comedy as a coping mechanism and as a means of forgetting and not having to deal.

TL;DR-

Shrek the Musical is a depressing tragedy disguised as a family friendly comedy, and the song “I think I got you beat” is a great audition song if you can nail the emotional transitions.

#shrek the musical #musical theatre #theatrical analysis #musical analysis #shrek is really depressing #also Fiona definitely needs therapy #she is touch starved and emotionally neglected and physically neglected #and I am continuously amazed at how well adjusted she is #shrek #princess fiona

54 notes · View notes

justkeeptrekkin · 5 years

Note

Prompt: Crowely tells Az he loves him by accident while going on a big long rant about (dealers choice) Az catches right away and just smiles and waits as Crowely comes to the realization of what he said

Anon. Anon. I love you for this.

***

“See, thing is-”

Crowley’s words elude him- as they have a habit of doing, the sneaky buggers. He watches the white lines in the middle of the road streak by, feels the tarmac roaring beneath the car. It’s a rainy evening and they’re driving home from a restaurant north of Watford that Aziraphale has been banging on about for months. Since the world had ended- and then promptly not ended- the angel’s zest for food hasn’t lessened in the slightest. In fact, it’s only gotten bloody zestier, as if their near-apocalypse experience has made Aziraphale realise that life is too short. Even an immortal life such as his.

Crowley loses his track of his thought entirely. “Thing is…”

“You were talking about-”

“KINDLES!” Crowley exclaims, taking his hands off the wheel to celebrate this eureka moment. Aziraphale straightens out beside him nervously and grabs a fistful of his corduroy trousers. Crowley slaps the leather of the steering wheel enthusiastically as he continues, “Kindles. Are not. Demonic! We didn’t come up with them- that was all you, I’m certain!”

“Why on earth would I invent the Kindle, dear boy? Do you even know me at all?”

“You-plural, not you-singular. Angels you, Heaven you.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t sanction it.”

“Alright but- listen- what’s the problem with kindles? Why’re- what’s the problem? I mean really, it’s a book, isn’t it. Just a book on a screen. What’s the problem?”

“The problem-” Aziraphale begins confidently, bordering aggressively. Then the wind appears to be knocked out of his sails. “Well,” he tries again, a little weakly. “The problem, the problem lies therein. In that. Well-”

“See! See, it’s clearly a good thing, I don’t understand what all the fuss is about- all these people going ‘oh, ho-ho, oh dear, books aren’t physical anymore, what a travesty! Let’s all- grab our pitchforks! And lament the loss of our children’s education’.” He adds a mocking, whinging voice to this last bit.

Aziraphale tuts, stretches his legs out in front and crosses them.

“No, you’re wildly misinterpreting the argument, Crowley.”

“You know it’s true, don’t deny it! People are only against them because humans don’t like change- they get all squirmy and anxious about it. As if, you know, as if the transition from a physical book to a little screen is the end of the world- and! Now that they’ve actually had a taste of the apocalypse, they really haven’t gained any more perspective, have they? I mean, you’d think they’d start worrying about global warming properly, but instead they’re just sad about kindles and- oh! That’s another thing, kindles aren’t paper! Less deforestation! Clearly- listen, come on, that’s got to be angelic work.”

Aziraphale pouts and averts his gaze, brows slightly raised in indignance.

Crowley snorts. He notices the lines of the road streak by a little slower, presses down on the accelerator.

“Aha!”

Crowley flicks his gaze over to Aziraphale, who’s turned his whole body towards him in his seat eagerly. A smug finger pointed in his face.

“What? No,” Crowley shakes his head. “You- don’t try and argue with me on this, I’m absolutely certain-”

“Amazon! Kindles are owned by Amazon, notoriously corrupt!”

Crowley scowls, rolls his head wearily. “No, angel, they weren’t always bad, we only got to them a couple of years ago. You can’t argue that-”

“Amazon. Invented. Kindles! Thereby, kindles are evil. The end, full stop. Fin.”

“That’s just- you’ve been around long enough to know that’s not how it works.”

“And you can’t honestly argue that books are bad just because they’re made of paper. Books are knowledge! Books are the weapons against the armies of ignorance! Righteous tools-”

“Righteous tools,” Crowley snorts.

“Against the dark forces of evil!”

“Not this bollocks again. Look, books are fine, books are all well and good, but not everyone’s into them, are they? Times are changing, angel, you can watch things like Netflix or whatever it’s called and, listen to podcasts and- the way people share knowledge is different now. Listen, I love knowledge, love the stuff. You know I do, I was the one who got Eve to eat the apple after all, but even then, even then I’ve never really read books, unless I really have to, the only reason I read Pride and Prejudice is because I love you, and admittedly, yes, it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever put myself through- actually, I think trying to read A Tale of Two Cities was what really did it for me, Charles Dickens- Christ alive, did you ever run into Dickens, angel? Miserable sod.”

Crowley drums his fingers against the steering wheel expectantly. The road side lights cast an orange glow in the car- brightening and darkening, brightening and darkening as they drive past one after another. Aziraphale is silent.

And it’s only then that Crowley realises his mistake.

It dawns on him the way a glass fills up slowly with water in the washing up bowl and sinks to the bottom. Slowly, then a sinking feeling. And then hitting rock bottom.

He keeps his eyes on the road. His fingers tight on the steering wheel.

“You…”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t. Just don’t. Alright?”

“But Crowley-”

“I said don’t.”

Quiet fills the car. There isn’t even the sound of Freddie Mercury to assuage the nauseating pain in his stomach, the feeling of his throat closing like he’s having an allergic reaction. He wants to cry. He wants to cry for the first time in a very, very long time. He blinks away the feeling, and holds himself together with pure will power, just like he held together this car a few weeks back.

Only, he’s been holding himself together for roughly six thousand years. It’s getting close to too much. His metaphorical knees are buckling. Atlas only wishes he were as resilient as Crowley.

Aziraphale exhales- a long, shaky breath. Crowley doesn’t turn to look, can’t bear it.

Besides, he’s known him- loved him long enough that he can see him in his mind’s eye easily. Eyes sometimes dreamy, brows sometimes pulled together in concern. Lips sometimes twisted in disapproval, sometimes beaming with so much unreserved joy that Crowley has to tease him. Just so he doesn’t end up gazing, bathing in the brightness of that smile.

And then Aziraphale huffs to himself- a determined little noise that sets Crowley on edge. And he’s already too close to the edge to handle. He’s only just got a hold of himself as it is, hands shaking on the wheels and knee bouncing. The threat of tears still there, threatening to make him choke on his breath- it gets stuck in his throat.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says. So gently.

That’s almost what does it- it’s almost what makes Crowley lose control, teeth grinding painfully and eyes stinging. The motorway stretching out in front of them, empty. Time stretching out even further.

Then the angel speaks again. “You can go faster, Crowley.”

The words trickle through his brain slowly, like drops of water building at the rim of a tap. Then- drip. Understanding. Crowley’s throat clicks as he swallows, painfully.

“That is- of course, only if you want to,” Aziraphale rushes, waves his hands desperately, “You can- drive- go- uh, you can go as slowly as you like, only, don’t feel obliged to go slowly on my account. Anymore.”

The angel clears his throat. And Crowley turns to look.

He’s smiling. He looks absolutely bloody terrified, eyes a little wide and watery just like that day-

You go too fast for me, Crowley.

-except now he’s smiling. A quiet, wobbly smile to himself as he stares out of the rain streaked window. Crowley watches the way the orange street light passes through his silver hair, making it appear more like brass. He watches him bite his lip, then continue.

“We could. Oh, I don’t know. We could do that picnic we talked about. Or, perhaps a walk through Wimbledon Common. Together. Or.” He pauses. “Or, if you wanted to, you could drop me off and come in for a night cap. I have some rather nice port hiding somewhere in my office.”

Aziraphale turns to meet his eyes. A look filled with welcome and kindness and understanding. Light catching his face like a Vermeer painting. And Crowley lets himself stare.

“Eyes on the road, my dear.”

He only realises that his mouth is hanging open when he tries to forumlate his next words. He shuts it, then says, “What?”

“Eyes on the road, Crowley. Before we both get discorporated.”

It takes another moment to register. But then his head snaps forwards and he looks ahead again, the road continuing into the dark towards London. He can feel all the air rush out of him like a balloon. And then something else replaces it- something lighter than air, something that makes his mind feel like it’s drifting to another plane. Something weightless.

“Picnic,” Crowley eventually says, nodding to himself. He scratches his chin nervously. “Picnic then walk. Or, walk then picnic.”

Because- and Crowley can’t quite believe himself for this- he thinks a night cap might be a bit too fast for him.

“Lovely,” Aziraphale says. The word comes out in a whisper. “You can pick me up at midday tomorrow. If that’s-”

“That’s.” Crowley stalls. Nods his head compulsively like a nodding car-toy. “That’s. Yeah. Midday’s good. Midday it is.”

“Crowley?”

“Angel,” he replies seriously, business-like.

There’s a moment of hesitation. Aziraphale breathes deeply beside him, like a man stepping off the train from London to Cornwall, taking in the countryside air for the first time in years.

“I do love you. An awful lot.”

Crowley continues to nod. But he can feel the facade slip. He can sense his bottom lip wobble, so he clamps his jaw tight shut. To no avail. He continues to drive them down the M25, although at this point he could be in St James’ Park, or in the middle of a desert, or on another planet- his mind is entirely elsewhere.

It’s not a conscious decision to stretch out his hand over the gear stick towards Aziraphale. It’s something desperate in him, something needy and disbelieving. He feels Aziraphale take it without pause, his clasp warm in his own.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #anon #my writing #prompts #fic prompt

21K notes · View notes

chews-erotically · 4 years

Photo

*Waxing Gibbous

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

* Warnings: None really, maybe more angst/ comfort

* Summary: You arrive on Central and begin your recoveries.

* Word Count: ~1500

*Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR* *Part FIVE* *Part SIX* *Part SEVEN*

PART EIGHT

If you had fled the Green moon even ten minutes later, Ezra would have died. That was the grim information relayed to you by the sling-back medic after he’d been rushed to a med cot, given high-flow oxygen and sedated. He was critically ill. You’d been told immediately upon arrival and quick assessment that once you reached the Pug you were going to be transferred directly to a teaching hospital on Central.You were faring a bit better, but not by much. Your shoulder had been cleaned and bandaged. As you were conscious, you were given supplemental oxygen through a nasal cannula.

The medic had attempted to press for some detail concerning how you’d both ended up in such states. Exhausted and struck numb, you’d simply shrugged and moved to rearrange the intravenous line of lactated ringer’s solution going into the catheter inserted into the top of your forearm. The machine had started beeping, and the sound was like a hammer to your skull.

Once you reached the Pug things moved quickly indeed. Transport was coordinated in the Pug med bay and a nurse approached you, stating that she would be taking you into an exam room to obtain an updated set of vitals and enter your information into their data system. You had refused.

“I’m not leaving him.”

Clearing his throat, the nurse tried to explain the protocol he had to follow. You held up your hand to still his speech.

“Save it. You won’t change my mind. I’m not leaving him.”

***

Once on the transport you’d been able to keep your eyes open for perhaps twenty minutes. You’d passed out sitting on the hard metal bench with your head slumped forward onto Ezra’s cot, your hand clasping his.

***

Central was cacophonic. After the eerie quiet of the Green the sounds, chatter, colors and thrumming life surrounding you was beating into your brain like a staccato mace. Your head throbbed. You flinched away from the shoulders brushing past you. You were close to panic, overwhelmed by the sensory overload. You took deep, measured breaths. You stayed as close to Ezra’s cot as possible. You had to resist the urge to climb into it with him and throw a blanket over your head.

They were going to have to take Ezra away from you. You knew this logically. He was fragile. Needed intubation, needed close surveillance. He was most likely septic at this point and it was uncertain if the damage he’d suffered to his lung tissue would be permanent. You knew he might still die. You knew this, and you wept openly, pitifully.

“WAIT!” you’d croaked out, shakily grasping the shoulder of the ICU nurse who had begun rushing him down the hallway for STAT bloodwork.

She’d turned to you with sympathy shading her features.

You gazed at her name badge through waterfalls.

“....Mollen. That’s your name?”

A pause. “Yes,” she’d replied softly. You knew you needed to trust her.

“His feet get cold at night. Only at night, otherwise he says they’re like furnaces. He can’t sleep well if his feet aren’t covered. Please cover his feet. Please,” you’d choked.

She had given you a small, sad smile. “Of course.”

“Thank you, Mollen.”

You had stood pathetically twisting your hands together with tears coursing unabashed until Ezra turned a corner and disappeared from you.

***

“Prognosis is precarious,” One of the physicians had pulled you into a private room to go over findings with you. You had since been seen and treated; miraculously you had not needed surgery, though you would most likely have permanent nerve damage to your thumb and two fingers on your left hand. You’d been told that you’d most likely be in the hospital for a week or two; you needed IV antibiotics and respiratory therapy in addition to wound care.

You’d requested a private room as close to the ICU as possible, passing a piece of aurelac to the Intake Administrator. He’d accepted with wide eyes, and you’d gotten your room.

The doctor was solemn as she looked over the rims of her glasses at you.

“Your partner has diffuse opacities in the lower lobes of his lungs. The left is partially collapsed. We’ve intubated him, as you know, to allow his lungs time to rest and strengthen. He is septic, and he’s being treated with an experimental cocktail of three different antibiotics, dexamethasone for inflammation, and vasopressors to maintain his blood pressure.

“Fortunately, his body is strong and his kidney function is improving. He has remained without a fever for the past eight hours, so that is reassuring. If he continues to show improvement I am fairly confident that we can begin planning for extubation within the next two to three days. If he can tolerate extubation and begin breathing on his own, we can start weaning his oxygen and begin to wake him up.”

Though you knew what you were walking into, you steeled yourself.

You entered his room and stood a moment to process the sheer enormity of the amount

of medical equipment keeping Ezra alive. You took in the tubes and wires, the bags of

fluid infusing through catheters, the softly beeping sensors. When you were not in your

room or engaged in your own treatments, you were here. You pulled up the chair that

Mollen had placed especially for you, and you began your silent vigil once again.

Ezra looked so small in that bed, so fragile. He was dwarfed by the machinations

surrounding him. He was pale, wan. As you always did, you grasped his hand and

squeezed, ran your thumb over his knuckles the way he’d once done with you.

you talked to him softly, describing the room, going over what had happened since you

had escaped the Green. You talked about your own treatments and progress. You

described Central, how busy and bustling everything was, how many people flooded the

streets each day. Theatres you’d seen across from your window, coffee shops and

bars you wanted to explore with him. Your favorite activity was reading to him. You had

spent a great deal discussing all manner of art, and Ezra loved to talk about books both

well-loved and those he longed to read but had been unable to find. As you found

yourself in the incomprehensible position of having more credits than you could ever

imagine possessing, you had books delivered to your room.

Ezra was extubated the day you received your last dose of antibiotics. You were due to

be discharged in three days. His organ function had improved at a rate that had exceeded

the expectations of his medical team. His encyclopedic list of medications had shortened reassuringly. He was strong enough to tolerate the extubation and was transitioned to a nasal cannula. You rejoiced in this, though your anxiety spiked as the physicians began the arduous task of bringing him out of sedation. It did not happen all at once as many thought, but gradually and in increments. It happened in sighs and twitches, thrashes and groans. You wondered if he dreamed. You hoped that he could hear you repeat your devotions.

You had secured a lease downtown, finding a loft a block from the hospital. It was spacious, covered in windows that stretched, floor to ceiling, and opened onto a balcony that afforded you a breathless view of Central. You had never had something so nice in your life.

You had been discharged for two days, you had started to plan how to turn your new space into a safe space for both you and Ezra, when you were alerted by the hospital that Ezra had awakened. He was asking for you.

You doubt if your feet touched the ground as you rushed to the hospital, stopping only to catch your breath.

You entered his room panting, vibrating.

Ezra was sitting upright, the first time you’d seen him not supine in weeks. He was pale, he sported dark and sunken circles under his eyes. His hair was wildly curling, his blond streak sticking straight out. He was sipping gingerly on a cup of water with a shaking hand.

Your Ezra. Beautiful Ezra.

“.....Ez?”

He looked upon you as if you were an apparition. He went to move shakily to his feet, and you were there before he could stand. Enveloping him in your arms, kissing his face, feeling him and inhaling whatever you could of him, of his vibrant life.

Alive.

You realized you were both weeping, you chuckled as you took turns wiping the wetness from one another’s face. When he spoke, his voice was rough, you knew it would take time for Ezra to regain his mellifluous cadence.

“Beautiful star, our souls cannot escape one another, universe try as it might to tear us asunder.”

“I missed you, Ezra. Sweet love, I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again. Ever.”

“I wish you luck trying to part from me at this point, Dove.”

You knew you’d done something right, standing against him.

You knew you were home.

#chews-erotically writes #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra #ezra fics

157 notes · View notes

anonthenullifier · 3 years

Note

In your snapshot au, how would Wanda and Vision react to meeting canon Tommy and Billy? Billy with his alternate family and issues, and Tommy with his sad history.

Thanks for the ask! As is clear from this series, canon is not held to firmly haha. I hope this is somewhat what you were hoping for and that you enjoy it!

The air tastes different, a touch sour. It’s a fact no one else would pick up on, the gustatory senses of humans discerning but also overwhelmed with the endless combination of flavors. Vision does not eat and so breathing presents him the most common ingredient to his taste buds.

Vision nods, lips held in a taut line as he accesses Avenger Protocol 3252, subtitled: So You’ve Found Yourself in the Multiverse...again. Though Vision wrote the majority of the protocol, it was cosponsored and researched primarily by Dr. Strange and Wanda, neither of whom understood why Vision asked for a breakdown of atmospheric elements, but they did it anyway. He scans through the endless lists of Earths and stops once he reaches the 600s, where carbon dioxide ranges from .0039 to .0040%.

Step 1 of Protocol 3252: Ascertain rough multiversic location. Check.

Step 2: Determine if you are alone.

This is always more difficult, the transition between universes occurring with a heady rush and a feeling of discombobulation that often gives way to brief amnesia. Vision scans his surroundings, a verdant park in what appears to be an urban community. There is a bench underneath an oak, one that obscures the sight of him in case anyone were to wander past. Once seated he runs through what he can remember. He was on an Avengers mission, battling some sorcerer of pandemonium, or so the man yelled a few times but Vision did not catch an actual name, far too focused on trying to usher nervous citizens away from the rain of concrete slabs and glass shards. It was not a solo mission, Wanda was there with him, as were Dr. Strange, Captain Marvel, and...others. A hiccup in his memory is concerning, particularly if he wishes to find his way out of wherever he is.

An elongated blink recenters the growing anxiety in the pit of his abdomen, the least helpful thing he can do now is panic. “Wanda.” He says her name both in his mind and in his comm unit, hopeful one, or both, will reach her, assuming she came through with him.

A second of silence rolls into a disheartening thirty seconds and then an agonizing minute, once he reaches two minutes he takes a deep breath, moving on to Step 3: Identify potential resources for return. It is his least favorite step, despite being the single most important one. Another breath expands his chest, synthetic lungs holding onto the sour air several seconds past his normal inhalation, and then they release, his perturbation vibrating out of his lips with barely a sound.

Hesitantly Vision mentally reaches for whatever internet is available here and, once identified, connects. He always accesses major news networks first, the headlines streaming through his mind at a breakneck pace as he struggles to identify any event in this universe that might have occurred to pull him over, leaving the insinuation it was something in his own home universe that led to his desertion. This is fine, this is good information, it just means he has less control than he would like, having to rely on anyone left at the site of his disappearance to bring him back. If Wanda is there, which he so desperately hopes she is (while also feeling guilty at the gnawing want of having her here with him now, even if it means she too is stranded), then she will no doubt get to him soon. This he cannot control and thus it is unhelpful.

The major news networks deemed useless, he dips into the archives about the Avengers, wanting to determine who is on their roster and if any of them have knowledge or capabilities of returning him. Or, as Wanda pointed out the last time this happened, if he were to get stuck, is the team made up of people he actually likes and would feel okay being with for some time. With a touch more force, he sends out a mental ping to his wife, one that he imbues with the weight of his anxiety, hoping that will help carry his signal farther.

He is getting distracted. Consciously and a bit reproachfully, he urges his attention back to the search, the roster, based on news articles and the official photos on the Avengers’ webpage, revealing the team is relatively the same, though he does notice his and Wanda’s pictures are in opposite corners. An oddity since they always put them next to each other. It is tempting to contact himself in these scenarios, except Dr. Strange warns against too much interference with one’s own life, something about ripples being sent across the other universes. He finds Dr. Strange enlightening and yet obfuscating, concepts, like the multiverse, grounded in science and yet the man also throws a shroud of mysticism over it when he wishes not to divulge the secrets of his craft.

This next search is one he knows he shouldn’t do, but curiosity (and a deeply rational justification that, if successful, it would be helpful) gets the best of Vision, mind cycling back to the distance between himself and his wife in the pictures. Search: William Maximoff. Results: 0. Vision frowns. Search: Thomas Maximoff. Results: 0.

Vision stands, immediately launching into a pace of six feet to the right, pivot, six feet to the left, repeat. Nothing in the protocol states he should care about this, all the multiverses different in some way. There are some where he doesn’t even exist as a synthezoid and others where Wanda is the daughter of a powerful mutant. It seems in this one they did not have the boys (a weight latches to his heart and begins to drag it down inch by inch) and it seems possible he and Wanda are not even together. This is where he should drop this line of inquiry and go back to the protocol. Except he can’t, and he blames it on the cognitive distortions caused by traveling unwillingly through the multiverse, his typical even keel knocked askew . Vision conjures up an image of Billy, entering it into a reverse image search, certain that nothing will come up. Results: 28. and a helpful suggestion of, Related search: William Kaplan .

“Vision!” His head snaps up, eyes squinting as he rises from the bench, body swiveling in the direction of her voice. “Vision!”

Yelling for each other is frowned upon in the protocols, comm units and telepathy (if available) much preferred to avoid making a scene, but her voice is untamed and dripping with the same anxiety flowing through his veins. “Wanda!” He rises into the air, just enough to see her stumbling up a low hill, her gait uneven, the left leg overcompensating for whatever is wrong with her right. In exactly 3.59 seconds he is at her side, arms wrapping around her waist to steady her and his lips conveying his relief with a series of five uncoordinated kisses to the part of her hair. “There is a bench over here.”

Gingerly he scoops her up, hovering them over to his spot of cogitation, and then he carefully settles her onto the boards of the bench, easing her right leg so it can lay flat. “I thought I was alone.”

“As did I.”

A smile, fluid and natural, loving and relieved, spreads across her face. “But then I felt you.”

Vision bends, capturing her lips and channeling his own relief into the action, overjoyed at having her with him. Until reality sets in, his prior search illuminating a shortfall in his selfish desires. “If we’re both here, the boys are alone.”

“Let’s find a way back then.” Wanda says it as if it is as simple as walking through a door or clicking your heels three times together. “Where’re you at in the protocol?”

How far his wife has come since their early days when, according to her, protocols were meant to be ignored. “Step 3.”

Impatience underscores her drawn out, “And…”

“I think,” this is where he discovers a crossroads in reasoning, do they go to the Avengers who likely have someone who can help with the multiverse or do they find William Kaplan, hoping he is analogous enough to their own son, one who can tear holes into reality with barely a shrug. “I may have located Billy.”

Wanda rubs her hand along her leg, scarlet sparking from her fingers as she no doubt assesses her injury. “Why do you sound so afraid?”

If he were to label his intonation, it would not have been fear, but his wife is far more attuned to the actual emotions of others, particularly his. Perhaps he is afraid, and it would, logically, be an appropriate response given what he discovered. “Because in this universe his name is Billy Kaplan, not Maximoff.”

“Oh.” A kaleidoscope of emotions filter across her face, eyes and mouth morphing from fear to sadness to disbelief until a single scrunch of her nose breaks the pattern, features dropping into a blank resoluteness she tends to show only on missions. “If we want to get home, we have to try.

———

Trying is always so uncomplicated in the planning phase before it unravels into frayed nerves, Vision’s finger poised in front of the buzzer, unable to commit to pushing a simple button.

“It’s not going to electrocute you.” The usual sardonic edge has been sanded down, revealing the grains of worry piling up in her mind the longer they draw this out.

“Would you like to do the honors?”

“Not really.”

Vision tightens his fingers around hers in what he hopes is a comforting squeeze of understanding and companionship. “Okay.” The two syllables start the countdown, his shaky breath that follows ends it, his finger pressing firmly against the little illuminated circle.

The dull click of the button precedes the crackle of the apartment’s comm system and then a familiar voice comes out of the speaker. “Who’s there?”

Wanda mouths Is that Teddy? and Vision nods, certain she is correct but he needs to focus on their task without distractions. He pushes the button and does his best to sound calm, “It is Vision and Wanda Maximoff,” this should be enough, except he has no way of knowing how highly (or not so highly) regarded or familiar they are to this universe’s Teddy, “from an alternate universe.” Wanda’s eye roll clearly spells out how she feels about his choice of words. All that matters is if it works, so he ignores her unspoken derision and waits for a response.

A staticky, “Ummmm one sec,” ends the conversation, leaving them in an anticipatory, antsy silence.

Ten minutes, 37 seconds, and 28 milliseconds later the elevator to their left dings, the door crawling open to reveal Billy standing there in jeans and a gray sweater, black hair styled more maturely than what Vision has ever seen from him. In fact, he appears at least a few years older than their own universe’s Billy. “Um hi,” the man studies them, blue licking the elevator doors to hold them open, his eyes scanning over them, briefly becoming fascinated with their interwoven fingers, and then he seems to reach a decision, a curt nod followed by a, “Why don’t you come on up.”

Vision allows Wanda to go first, his hand staying firmly on her back as they walk and it remains there throughout the dense silence of the elevator ride and the even denser, slower silence as they walk down the hall and enter an apartment. Teddy warmly greets them, “Come on in, have a seat.” Which they do, Wanda choosing a loveseat so they can sit together, her attention locked on the little dance of the two men, Teddy kissing Billy’s cheek and whispering something before disappearing behind a wall. He returns shortly after with a couple cups of tea and some chips.

Where Teddy seems mildly jovial and an expert host, Billy lowers himself into an armchair, suspicious eyes never leaving Vision and Wanda. “So what universe are you from?”

A philosophical debate the team had upon beginning to map the multiverse, a conclusion reached that Vision never much cared for. “We label our universe, egocentrically, as Earth-1.” An iota of amusement quirks up Billy’s mouth and Vision is confused at just how quickly pride fills his chest at the accomplishment. “Based on atmospheric readings, you are somewhere between Earth-600 and Earth-650, by our scientific labeling.”

Billy takes in the information, quietly sorting it with whatever knowledge he possesses and then follows Protocol 3253 (So You’ve Discovered Another You from the Multiverse), “How’d you get here?”

“We aren’t sure,” Wanda grips Vision’s knee as she talks, allowing her unease to flow into his body instead of her words, “We were battling a sorcerer and then the next thing we remember is being here.”

The explanation is considered and sorted, Billy’s mouth dropping into a downward concave. “Why’d you seek me out,” now he makes eye contact, a touch of animosity in his voice, “can’t the Scarlet Witch control reality in your universe?”

Wanda’s, “I can,” is small and bordering on timid, but her voice builds back up to her normal confidence when she provides what, at least in their universe, is the truth. “But not as well as you.” This doesn’t kick start any sort of remark, and so she tries an example, “Last week you casually sent your brother into an alternate dimension because he ate the last brownie.” Wanda laughs at the memory, concern breaking briefly into the joy of reminiscing, “It took me an hour to get him back and only because you,” she falters, realizing she is breaking protocol by treating this Billy as the same person, “our Billy finally told me where to look.”

The explanation is lost on the man in front of them, his mind stuck at the beginning of the story, “My brother?”

Vision nods, gently laying out the information, “Tommy Maximoff, your twin.”

A quiet, “We grew up together?” threatens to tear Vision’s soul in two, his body desperate to march over and envelop his son in his arms. Except this could not be his son, Kaplan a name Vision has never heard and it is clear that this universe’s Tommy may not be a Maximoff or even a Kaplan either.

Instead of a hug, Vision layers his, “You did,” with as much paternal warmth that he can, and then he clarifies the statement, their sons not yet adults and not even close to being done growing, “you are.”

“I,” Billy stands, lets out a deep sigh, turns towards them, then away, makes eye contact with Teddy (who may or may not have tears in his eyes), and then he simply states, “I’ll be back,” before disappearing through the floor in a blue portal.

Vision’s never had this effect on his son, and he turns his worry towards Teddy, “We have upset him.”

“Um,” the blonde haired man mulls over how to respond, “I think it’s safer to say the universe upset him.” A marginally more uplifting, yet still devastating fact. “He’ll be back.”

They wait in tense silence, Wanda leaning into Vision’s side, his body responding by wrapping an arm around her shoulder. And then there is a blue portal next to the coffee table, Billy yanking Tommy through with him.

In true Tommy fashion, neither his words nor opinions are minced, “What the ever loving fuck is going on?”

Wanda shoots Vision a look, warning him not to correct the language, and, just to be sure he won’t go full on polite police, she handles the response with a simple, “Nice to see you too, Tommy.”

Tommy doesn’t respond to her, turning to gesticulate wildly at Billy, “You said it was an emergency. I don’t want to get roped into whatever,” he flails an arm towards where they sit, “this is.”

“Tommy, slow down and look at them.”

An epic, unfiltered roll of his eyes conveys how very done with this situation the speedster is, but he obliges anyway, silently scrutinizing Wanda and Vision until he reaches a conclusion, “You look way cozier than you should.” Another sweep of scrutiny and another observation is provided, “Like the new look, Vision.” The use of his name stings, not because it is his name but because he has only ever heard it from their son in anger. Tommy doesn’t notice the effect it has, returning the conversation to Billy, “so what’s going on?”

“Multiverse shenanigans.”

“Ugh,” his disdain is evident, “great. Why am I here?”

Billy sits back down, picking up the no longer steaming cup of tea and takes a sip. “Can you tell us about your universe.” A broad question, one he realizes before anyone can answer. “About us, specifically.”

The question in Vision’s mind is where to start in the story, whether they begin with the inception of his and Wanda’s relationship or if they simply wish to know the barebones of the story, only the pieces where they themselves fit. “You’re our sons.” This isn’t the bombshell revelation he expected, neither Billy nor Tommy are surprised by this, which only grows the confusion that took root during Vision’s initial discovery of this universe’s Billy. “We have raised you and loved you for the last sixteen and a half years. You are part of—”

“Wait,” Tommy holds up a hand to stop the explanation, “the whole time?”

Wanda’s, “Yes,” is unflinching, “We’ve watched you grow into incredible men.”

To see Tommy speechless is unnerving, to know it is not a happy speechless is suffocating. Vision asks what he isn’t sure he actually wants to know, “Why does this seem unusual?”

A derisive laugh, one Tommy is a master of using, echoes around the apartment. “Oh I don’t know, because we’re the reason Scarlet Witch went insane, the reason she killed you,” he points at Vision and the words are nonsense, describing an action Wanda would never do. “Because as if that wasn’t bad enough, I won the lottery of reincarnation and had a shitty life I didn’t ask for. And then you two, you two don’t even try to be part of—”

“Tommy,” Billy stops the tirade, his twin throwing up his arms in frustration before crashing down onto a beanbag in the corner of the room. “Let me explain.” And he does, all of the harrowing details from Master Pandemonium to Mephisto, the dissolution of this universe’s Vision and Wanda’s marriage, and then he gets to their reincarnation. “Mom’s a psychologist,” the word mom causes Wanda to flinch, “dad’s a cardiologist,” and this forces Vision’s heart to metaphorically drop through the floor. “They’re good people, they try hard but I think my powers scare them a bit. High school was tough.” The way he says it implies it is an understatement.

“My parents are divorced, absent is a good word for them,” Vision’s heart enters the core of the Earth where it dissolves in fiery anger at the way this universe has treated his family, forcing them to be separated instead of together, “can’t blame them, though, I might have been a bit of an asshole trouble maker, went to juvey a few times,” Tommy pauses long enough to eat a chip, “got experimented on in there,” and this, above all else, sends Vision’s mind into despair. His memories of saving Tommy are superimposed with the knowledge that this man in front of him, this sarcastic, resilient man endured the same event ( and then worse) only without the knowledge he’d be saved, without the confidence that love would protect him. “But then I got broken out and we’ve been doing the Young Avenger thing for a while.”

“Do you,” Wanda falters, and Vision assumes it is because she, like him, is torn between wanting to know more while also being overwhelmed by all they’ve learned and all their boys have experienced here, “see us...them often?”

A shared stare, one that’s so common in the Maximoff household, provides the answer, each of them daring the other to say it. Billy, as usual, loses. “Depends...sometimes but not regularly.” He shrugs as if what he is saying is a simple fact of life instead of a dagger that can pierce vibranium skin, “everyone’s got lives to lead.”

“I see.” Those two words are empty and pointless and yet Vision can’t figure out anything profound or hopeful, far too burdened by what they’ve learned.

“Um I’m sure you want to get back to your sons,” the statement elicits in Vision a mixture of hope and yet also a harsh sting at the detached way Billy stated your sons . “So um you all ready to go home?”

Wanda stands first, holding out her hand for Vision to use (even though he does not physically need it) as he rises as well. “I think we should go while we can.”

They stand in a lopsided circle, staring at one another and then anywhere else. Wanda breaks the silence,“Thank you for helping us and for,” Vision wonders how she’ll finish it, because he himself doesn’t know what is appropriate here, “for talking with us.”

“Yeah,” Billy has always relied on empathy in moments of sadness, which is true of him here as well, a thirty degree slope of his lips enough to convey his honesty, “I’m glad to know in one universe we got to keep you as parents.”

A wetness rolls along Vision’s cheek, fingers lifting to brush aside the sorrow he’d been trying to hold in. Wanda doesn’t even attempt to levy the dam, her tears coming on strong as Billy, followed by a slightly reluctant Tommy, hugs her. A tendril of scarlet pulls Vision into the mix, his arms engulfing their divided family.

“We should go.” Wanda smiles sadly at them, her hand touching Tommy’s cheek first and then Billy’s, “We are so, so proud of who you are.”

“Alright, this is now too cheesy for me.” Tommy says it despite the fact Vision can also detect the quick swiping away of the speedster’s own tears.

Billy waves his right hand, opening a portal. Before walking through, Vision realizes he has one more thing to say. With three steps he is in front of Teddy, his hand held out. Once the man takes it, he shares a comforting fact, “It was nice to see you Teddy. I am glad you found each other here as well.”

A beaming smile emphasizes his elated, “Me too.”

With a final look at the three men, Vision and Wanda walk through the portal, stepping out into a landscape of ruination and collapsed buildings. Vision takes in a breath and is met with the familiar air of home. “We are in the correct universe.”

Despite the upward curve of her lips, his wife is unsettled, mind having not left their alternate lives. “How could we have just abandoned them?”

Vision weighs her question, himself also confused at the information. “I do not believe it is in our authority to judge decisions we do not fully know all the variables to.”

“Ever the infuriating diplomat, Maximoff.”

“Oh, my darling,” he swings her around, allowing him to grasp her shoulders firmly, face lowering just enough to rest his forehead to hers, “I cannot begin to fathom all they told us,” he will eventually, he reasons, what they learned today will no doubt haunt his thoughts and lead down many pathways of deep contemplation, “but what I do know, is that even though they may not have the Maximoff name anymore, they are still our sons, and no matter the universe, we will love them fiercely.”

Wanda accepts it, even if she seems less than wholly convinced, “I hope so.”

“Come along,” he twines his fingers through hers, giving her arm a slight tug forward, “I would like to find our boys and hug them for a few hours.”

“They’ll hate it.”

Vision shrugs, “They will survive it.”

#scarlet vision #wanda maximoff #vision #tommy maximoff #tommy shepherd #billy maximoff #Billy Kaplan #the maximoffs #mine #I hope this is canon accurate enough #slowly but surely catching up on asks #wandavision #ask anon

31 notes · View notes

xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years

Text

Heartbreaker- Part 2

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Female character/ reader (She)

Word Count: 5573

Warnings: Sexual content, language and angst.

Beautiful mood board by the amazing @peterquillzsblog Thank you again 💙

So clearly, I have no self control. I got a little carried away. This was only meant to be a one-shot and here I am posting a second part 😅 @youbloodymadgenius, I hope you don’t mind 💙 Thank you for all the wonderful feedback from the first part, it inspired me to write this second part.

Part 1

...

“Here we have the famous Oseberg Ship. It was discovered by a farmer in Vestfold over a hundred years ago in 1904,” Her heels click against the hardwood floor, coming to an abrupt halt right by the ancient Viking ship, “It is known as the most beautiful Viking tomb to be discovered.” She watches the tourists surround the vessel, all sporting wide eyes as they take in the sight of the giant ship.

She goes on to explain the history of the ship, the noblewomen that were buried within and the various items unearthed in the vessel. She never grew tired of watching tourist faces twist in fascination as she educates them on the Viking Age and of the narrative that most didn’t know about besides knowing that the Norse were fearsome warriors. They were much more complex than that. The last half hour was spent exploring the rest of the exhibition and alerting the small crowd of the donations that would kindly be accepted for the preservation of the vessel.

Leading the small group back towards the entrance of the museum, she waves them off, thanking them for their time and wishing them a good day. That was only her first tour of the day. 2 more to go. Smoothing down her nicely fitted black pencil skirt, she goes behind the ticket counter, greeting the 2 cashiers, Anders and Christina, before checking the roster posted by the register for the next tour.

“I’d like to purchase a ticket for the tour at 2.” Immediately her head snaps up to look towards the familiar voice, her jaw clenching as soon as she sees those familiar blue eyes. Fuck. Her hand grips Christina’s shoulder tightly, causing the cashier to look up at her before she could hand him his ticket and change.

“What?” Christina questions, shifting away from her touch before smiling prettily at Ivar, “Enjoy the tour, sir.”

“Thank you.” He smiles back charmingly, the same kind of smile that had her hooked at that stupid party. His eyes shift to hers immediately, cocking his head as he purses his lips, trying to elicit a reaction from her. The reaction would have been to slap him, but she’d rather keep her job. Adjusting the collar of her white pinstriped button down, she turns away, muttering something to the cashiers before going straight toward the museum cafe. She ignores Ivar completely, her nude heels clicking desperately against the floor as she tries to get away from him as quickly as possible. He wouldn’t be able to catch up with her with his crutch. He must have been in pain that day to be going out with it. And who cares? Fuck him.

She gets herself a bottle of water, tapping her foot impatiently as the cashier takes his sweet ass time getting her change. She should have given him her card. Before she could slink away, Ivar gets a firm grip on her wrist, his large hand pushing her bracelets up against her skin uncomfortably.

“Wait,” He says smoothly, turning her gently to face him. She bites her lip, finally bringing her eyes to meet his. She couldn’t read him at that moment, but really, could she ever? Ivar was like a fucking android when he wanted to be. “You blocked me. I’ve been trying to reach you for days now.” She scoffs, removing herself from his grip and folding her arms over her chest.

“I’ve been unavailable.” She says with a shrug, giving him the best glare she could muster. It had been a little over a week since the incident and she had done well to stay out of his way, not that it was difficult to do so in the first place. They lived about 15 minutes away from each other, but it was still far enough that she wouldn’t really run into him, and Ivar drove everywhere which was the upside of her walking and taking public transit. Thankfully, they worked completely different jobs. What a nightmare that would have been if they didn’t. Of course, he knew where she worked. The museum wasn’t far from his office and he sometimes picked her up after work when he had the chance. She supposed that was the downside.

Ivar gives her a once over, admiring how her pencil skirt hugged her gentle curves and how her legs seemed endless in those pricey heels. He remembered how happy she had been when she bought them for herself. He insisted on purchasing them for her, what was a measly 2000 krones? That wasn’t easy on the salary of a museum tour guide, but she refused of course, and he kinda liked her all the more for it. But that was in the past.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” He corrects, leaning heavily on his crutch, masking his discomfort as well as he could, but he couldn’t fool her. He licks his lips, raising a brow as if insisting she give him a decent answer. Who was he to insist upon anything?

“I have nothing to say to you, Ivar.”

“Come on, really? Nothing? I doubt it,” He snorts with a shake of his head, “Did you at least like the flowers? I stayed up all night finding the right florist that had your favorite flowers and that could deliver them early on such short notice. I had to pull some strings. It wasn't easy, you know.” What, did he want her to fall to her knees and kiss those expensive ass beige Chelsea boots that went well with his navy blue fitted suit? Fuck, she needed to stop.

“Oh yes, I loved them so much that I had to throw them out. They were too pretty. The little card was the best part. Thank you so much for that, asshole.” He trailed after her when she pushed past him, rushing out of the cafe. 5 minutes left till the tour started.

“Wait, slow down,” He calls out to her as he maneuvers himself through the crowd of people, finally catching up to her quick steps, “What did you want me to say? I warned you-”

“Yes, yes, not to fall in love with you, got it,” She dismisses his comment, “And I’m trying to accept that, so why aren’t you?” Ivar clears his throat, shoving a hand into the pocket of his tight dress pants.

“I want you to come back.” She snorts at his audacity, and he frowns, abruptly coming to a stop in front of her. He looks deeply into her eyes, her lashes nice and thick from her coat of mascara. He moves his eyes down to her lips, set in a snarl. That’s not the reaction he wanted, but at least she wore a pretty shade of lipstick.

“You must be out of your mind. Go back where? Your bed?” She whispers harshly over to him, “You’ve made a decision and so did I. Go do what you do best and leave me out of it.”

“But we were doing so great,” He whines, and she found it hard to believe she was talking to a grown ass man, “And I miss you.” He missed her body, not her.

“Fuck you.” She spits, fighting the urge to pour her entire bottle of water over him. Wouldn’t it be a sight to see him looking like a drowned rat.

“That’s what I’d like for you to do, yes. Preferably with you on top.” He smirks, loving how her face burned in both embarrassment and anger. He absolutely loved when she got flustered. It was cute. She quickly looks around hoping no one has witnessed their little exchange.

“This is a professional setting Ivar, so please do me a favor and respect my job,” She looks down at her watch, “I don’t have time for your bullshit. The tour is about to start. I gotta go.” She could already see the small group lining up, waiting to be led into the exhibit.

“Luckily, I’ll be joining you.”

“You hate museums.”

“Please, I’m totally interested in…” He pulls out the ticket, squinting his eyes at the description typed in the finest of print, “...The Gokstad ship.” He didn’t even know what tour ticket he fucking purchased.

“Oh god.” She groans, rushing over to the group to greet them. Ivar smiles, following right behind her.

God, her ass looked great in that skirt.

…

“The Gokstad ship was built at the height of the Viking period,” She begins, trying her very best to ignore Ivar’s piercing gaze. She was used to having eyes on her whenever she did her public speaking, but Ivar’s eyes were different. He wanted to devour her. “It was extremely versatile, but mostly used for raids and voyages.” The group of tourists, consisting of families with young children, began their picture taking of the massive ship.

“If you look up toward the stern posts, notice the absence of the notorious dragon heads. Although most of the wood has rotted away, archeologists believe there were never dragon heads fitted in the first place. This ship is quite fearsome without them, don’t you think?” The group erupted in murmurs as they turned their eyes up toward the very top of the ship.

The only person who lacked interest was Ivar. He smirks at her, leaning against the arched entryway while the rest of the group roamed around the perimeter of the ship, unaware of the silent battle between the handsome crutch man and the pretty tour guide. The fucker was making her nervous, her hands beginning to sweat as she fumbled with her fingers behind her back. When she shifts her eyes back to his she gulps. Slowly, he drags his tongue over his lower lip, coating the plump muscle in a shine before he bites down gently, wiggling his brows in suggestion.

Fuck him.

After what seemed like hours, the Gokstad tour finally ended and once again she brought the group back towards the entrance of the museum, suggesting they visit the cafe for a quick meal before bidding them a good day.

“I forgot how smart you are,” Ivar pulls up right behind her, his breath close enough to form gooseflesh on the nape of her neck, “My little bookworm, hmm?

“I’m nothing to you,” She whirls around, looking up at him with sad eyes and the same frown she’s been wearing for most of the tour, “Have a good day, asshole.”

…

Norwegian weather never seemed to agree with her. It was pouring outside and she didn't bring an umbrella. There wasn't even rain in the forecast till tomorrow. She runs down the steps of the museum, careful not to slip in her damn heels. The sidewalks were already slippery, and she had to mind her steps to avoid falling on her ass.

A familiar expensive car pulls up right beside her. This fucker waited an extra 2 hours for her to finish work, just to pull up in his car? "Let me give you a ride." Ivar lowers the window of the passenger seat, tapping on the gas pedal lightly to match the extremely slow pace she had in those heels.

“I’m fine.” She bites out, awkwardly maneuvering her trench coat over her head in a pathetic attempt to shield herself from the rain. It wasn’t too bad, she told herself, and the train station wasn’t that far.

“Seriously? You’re soaked and you’re gonna get sick. Stop being stubborn.” He scoffs, craning his neck to get a better look at her.

“Ivar, you're holding up traffic, just go.” The cars behind him began to honk their horns at Ivar’s turtle-like pace, but all he did was roll down his window and flip everyone off.

“Which is exactly why you should get in. Come on, it’s the least I can do.” He flashes her that charming smile, and all she could really do in that moment was to stare at his pearly white teeth and his perfect lips.

“Fine.” She grumbles, opening the door as soon as she heard him unlock it, quickly shuffling inside. She sits on her trench so as to not wet the fancy leather interior of the sleek black car. That was way too nice of her.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

“Just shut the fuck up and drive.” Ivar chuckles at her irritation, unaware of the potty mouth she had, but he liked that. He does as told, hitting the gas and taking off down the street.

The drive to her flat was mostly silent with the exception of the radio playing softly in the background. She makes sure to look out the window, staring at the most mundane details of a tiled roof, or counting how many people she could spot walking down the street. That was the only way she could successfully ignore Ivar without getting trapped by his gaze. After 25 minutes he pulls up in front of her building, and she doesn’t hesitate to hop out the car, slamming the door with more force than necessary.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He rolls down the window, calling out to her retreating figure.

“Fuck no.” She yells back, not bothering to look back at him.

An elevator ride to the 3rd floor and a quick conversation with her neighbor, and she was entering her cozy flat in no time. After tossing her keys in the ceramic dish, she removes her heels, setting them to dry by the coat rack where she hung her trench and purse. She removes the tie holding her hair up in a ponytail, quickly ruffling her fingers through the knots to no avail. After switching on her fairy lights, she immediately goes to pull out a bottle of Pinot Noir from the cupboard, wasting no time in pouring herself a glass and gulping it down in almost one go. There wasn’t enough wine in the world to muddle her thoughts away from Ivar. Her heart was beginning to ache again.

The loud obnoxious knock on her door had her sighing dramatically as she already knew who was behind it. All she wanted to do was shower, maybe watch a show, eat takeout, and go to bed. It could’ve been so simple if it weren’t for Ivar.

“No one’s home.” She calls out, leaning her back against the door with the glass of red wine in her hand. She sips it lazily, hearing Ivar’s frustrated grumbling from the other side.

“Can I please come in?” His tone was boardline pleading, and she let out the most unbecoming snort before turning around and flinging the door open.

“What do you want?” She questions.

“A ‘thank you’ maybe?” He was leaning heavily against his crutch now, all that standing, walking and driving catching up to him. His nice clothes were damp from the rain and a few strands of hair escaped his almost neat bun, plastered down on his prominent forehead.

“Thanks. Goodnight.” Before she could slam the door in his face he shoots a hand out, stopping the door from closing any further.

“Please.” Was all he said, and if she wasn’t mistaken, there was something akin to sadness swimming in those big eyes of his. Fuck. She steps to the side, opening the door wide enough for him to slip in before slamming the door shut. He stands there awkwardly as she moves back to her kitchen counter, pouring herself another glass before going on her phone in search of a playlist.

“Well?” He finally questions, removing his dressy boots and placing them right beside her heels.

“Well?” She questions back, brows raised.

“Aren’t you going to offer me a glass?”

“Here’s the wine,” She pushes the bottle forward, “I’m sure you remember where the glasses are.” She hears Ivar grunt in displeasure as she flopped down on the sofa, not caring that her clothes were soaked and most likely seeping through the material of the sofa. She should probably invest in some leather ones. After a minute Ivar plops down beside her, setting aside his crutch with one hand while gripping his wine glass in the other.

Once again, there was silence between them as her playlist filtered throughout the living room from her hidden wireless speakers. She always did have a love for classical music, Ivar realized. It was something to calm her nerves, like the star projector in her room. He does a quick scan of the living room. He hadn’t been inside her flat in a while, but nothing really changed. Maybe she added a couple of new plants to her collection but that was it. He wasn’t sneezing yet, which was a good sign. That meant no candles were lit. And that fucking cat hasn’t shown up to hiss at him, another good sign.

“You want some takeout?” She asks him in a bored tone, the kind of tone she used when she wasn’t particularly keen being in someone’s presence, mostly towards those she disliked. It was always the one she used when around a specific set of Ivar’s friends, or even his brother, Sigurd. She bends forward, picking up the stack of takeout menus that were neatly placed in a pile on the small wooden coffee table, filtering through them until she pulled out a menu that caught her eye. “Mexican?”

“Mexican is fine.” He agrees, taking another sip of the bitter wine as he raked his eyes over her form for what seemed like the millionth time that day. Her cheeks were dusted in pink and her hair was a wet mess. Her white button down was soaked, giving him a great view of the white bra underneath the thin cotton fabric.

“Stop fucking staring,” She mutters, “You’re not entitled to that anymore.”

“You’re right.” He clears his throat, bringing his attention to the TV that never seemed to be in use. He stared at his reflection off the black screen, wondering just what the fuck he was doing there. It was all spontaneous, you see. He’d woken up that morning with dozens of messages from his brothers and another dozen missed calls from Freydis. But none of them were from the person he wanted.

After his lunch break he decided to take the rest of the day off, much to Ubbe’s annoyance. He left his older brother’s office while hearing him shout out something along the lines of him being a lousy paralegal. Instead of doing his actual job, which was to draw up contracts for Ubbe’s clients, he decided to pay the fucking Viking Ship Museum a visit. He decided to pay her a visit. He didn’t give a flying fuck about those Viking ships, and he had little to no interest in his ancestors and their artifacts, but there was no denying that she looked amazing while talking about it.

While she orders over the phone, her cat decides to hop on the coffee table, baring his teeth and hissing at him immediately.

“Benji, come on,” Ivar groans, lolling his head to the side to eye the angry calico, “I send you your favorite treats and this is how you repay me?” Benji hisses at him again, standing on his little legs to appear more intimidating, but all he did was look like a fat spotted meatball. She tosses a throw pillow at him, successfully hitting the cat in the face and he immediately bolts off the coffee table and into her room.

“Your cat hates me.” Ivar complains, watching her set her phone down before getting up to pour herself another glass of wine.

“That makes two of us.” Was her snarky reply, her lower lip resting over the rim of the glass. Her eyes held a glint of danger, like she’d chuck the glass at him at any given moment. Thankfully she wasn't crazy like that. Instead she rolls her eyes at him, taking a sip of her drink as she leaned against the counter.

“You hate me?” He asked softly, his brows curving up in a worrisome look. He had absolutely no business looking the way he did. It was borderline adorable and she hated her thoughts for even thinking to describe him that way.

“Maybe hate is a strong word,” She says, swirling the dark liquid around the glass, “Dislike. I dislike you, Ivar Ragnarsson.” He frowns, turning away from her searing eyes for a moment, grunting when he stood with the help of his crutch. Fucking legs. Today was not the day. He walks over to her small kitchen, stepping closer to her until he gets in her face, arms caging her in as his hands gripped at the edges of the counter. His nose was mere inches away from hers, his blue gaze so penetrating she thought she could melt right into his arms. No. This was bad.

“What a shame,” He whispers, tilting his head down until his brow touched hers. He could hear her intake a sharp breath, her fingers gripping the wine glass tightly in the small space between them as her eyes fluttered closed. She looked so beautiful like this, cheeks flushed and lips parted as if begging for a kiss, and he had the biggest desire to do just that. He tilts his head, his nose tracing alongside hers, his lips so close to molding perfectly over her own. The knock on her door had him releasing a breath of pure frustration, groaning at the interruption. She blinks up at him, her eyes glazed in that lustful way he was familiar with. God, he missed that.

Shaking her head as if to clear her mind, she pushes Ivar away with little grace, hearing him stumble a bit as she made for the door. This was bad. Very bad. Searching the pocket of her trench coat, she pulls out her wallet, fishing for a few bills before pulling the door open, grabbing the bag of food from the delivery boy and handing him the money.

“I could have paid, you know.” Ivar says as soon as she slams the door closed, watching her drop the food onto the coffee table and rummaging inside.

“Paying for food isn’t going to change anything. Flowers aren't going to change anything.” She says, sitting on the sofa with a taco in hand. Ivar bites the inside of his cheek, sitting beside her and grabbing a taco of his own. She turns on the TV, putting on some random documentary about the Sami people as she takes another messy bite of her taco. Had she always looked this good while eating? He didn’t notice before, but he sure as fuck did now.

After a few minutes of silence, she gets up, packing away the trash and moving back to the counter to pour herself the remainder of the wine. She only drank like this when she was anxious, meaning, Ivar was making her anxious. He didn’t know how to feel about that. Hurt maybe? No, women never hurt him, not since that incident with Margrethe. He was the one doing the hurting now. So what made this any different?

Again, he gets to his feet with the help of his crutch, walking over to her and caging her in again, this time with her back pressed up against his torso. He lowers his chin to her shoulder, feeling her tense up at his actions. She smelled of her usual perfume. Chanel? He couldn’t remember, but the scent was amazing and had a desire raging within him. She pushes him back just enough to turn around within his arms, tilting her head up at him in a type of defiance that made him want to ravage her.

“It seems like that blonde hasn’t been fulfilling your needs. What was her name again? Freydis?” She knew what she was doing when she fluttered those lashes, worrying her lip between her teeth. She was teasing him, he knew. He didn’t want her to mention Freydis. He didn’t want to be thinking of that bimbo, not when he’s been craving her like madman for the past week and a half and finally, she was right in front of him just waiting to be tasted.

“She could never do what you can.” He mutters, inching his face closer to hers, his lips hovering over hers as they did before. He tries to steal a kiss, but she turns away from him, his lips landing on her cheekbone. Ivar groans, annoyed, pulling back to reveal his utter displeasure. He was desperate to kiss her, to feel her lips on his where they rightfully belonged.

“What a shame.” She shrugs, bringing her glass to her lips and taking another slow sip of her wine. She knew she was driving him crazy. He wanted her, she could see it in his eyes, in the way his body yearned for hers, how his hands gripped tightly at the edge of the counter, his knuckles white. He was like a wanton whore, silently begging for release.

“She could never do what you can.” He repeats again with a sigh.

“And what’s that, hmm?” She inches closer, her face so close to his as she questions him, “What is it that I can do? Because from the look of it, you seemed quite happy with her under your sheets.” She didn’t mean to say those words that angrily, but they came out rushed and heavy, the rage bubbling up within her. Ivar takes note of the vexation in her eyes, shifting his gaze back down to her lips. Fuck it.

He surges forward, crashing his lips to hers, molding them just like he wanted to. She takes a breath of surprise, hesitating to return the passion he was giving her until finally, she gives in, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down towards her. She moans, delighting him greatly, and it was enough to grip her backside in his big hands, lifting her up onto the counter.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” He mutters over her lips, pulling out her dress shirt from her skirt, desperate to feel the soft skin beneath, “I’ve missed you.” She doesn't bother to reply, continuing to kiss him while she pushes his lapel jacket from his shoulders. She tosses it to the floor, moving to untuck his white dress shirt. “Did you miss me, kitten? I think you did.”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me, asshole.” She growls, working on unbuckling his belt. Ivar grins as a new wave of arousal hits him, slapping her hands away in order to rip her shirt open. The buttons flew everywhere, clinking over the counter and onto the floor, and wherever else they happened to fall, he didn’t really care. “Ivar! Benji might eat one of those!”

“Fuck it. I’ll buy you a new cat.” He says, pulling down her damp bra to release her breasts, her nipples immediately hardening as the air hit her skin. He wastes no time in latching on to a nub, swirling his tongue over her heated flesh. She squeals, her fingers weaving their way through the roots of his hair and giving a harsh tug, his neat bun tumbling down into a messy ponytail.

“Shit.” She groans, tilting her head back as Ivar nipped and sucked, worshiping her skin until finally dragging his tongue toward the valley of her breasts and up towards her neck. Just the way she liked it.

Ivar makes a noise of approval, grunting at the tight grip she had on his shoulders. He peppered kisses up her neck and over her face, being as gentle with her as he possibly could. Usually Ivar opted towards the rougher side of sex, with heated touches and sloppy kisses, but not that night. He wanted to give her soothing touches and tender kisses, anything he could do to please her. Anything to get her back to him.

He pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear, moving his hand to cup the side of her face while the other holds onto the edge of the counter. She was breathing heavily, uncertainty swimming in her eyes as she looked up at him with a growing desire.

“Bedroom?” He whispers. She sighs, biting her lip. This was very bad. Bad, bad, bad. She nods her head weakly.

“Bedroom.”

…

Ivar didn’t notice when she had turned on her projector, but he was staring up at it now, watching the stars twinkle brightly against her ceiling. He laid with an arm behind his head, his skin still damp from recent physical activities. It was amazing, like fireworks shooting off in his head and it was exactly what he needed. It was exactly what he’d been missing, the touch of her skin, her little moans and whimpers, her nails scratching down his back. He was sure his back was riddled with angry red lines, and he knew it would sting once he showered, but he enjoyed it, so it didn’t bother him much.

He turns to look at her when he feels the bed shift, watching her naked form move in the darkness to light those damn scented candles around her room. He smiles, eyeing the little dimples on her lower back that became more pronounced when she leaned over her nightstand. The scent of roses filled the room, reminding him of the garden back in his family’s summer home. His nose pricked with the familiar sensation of a sneeze, and he immediately wrinkles his nose to keep it at bay.

She settles back on the bed, bringing the quilt patterned sheets she favored over herself. She faces him, but doesn’t look at him, choosing instead to follow the geometric shapes of a mandala printed on the linen. Ivar reaches out to touch her cheek, his finger tracing down her skin in gentle swipes. She looked so beautiful. The starlight from the ceiling and the flickering candles danced over her skin, draping her in a glow that made her look ethereal.

Any other time before last week, she would have enjoyed such touches. Okay, maybe she was enjoying them a little too much in that moment, but this was probably the last time she’d let herself fall into his sly little trap, right? Feeling his toned chest under her palms felt amazing, and his skin still had the lingering scent of his body wash. He was always meticulous in the products he used for himself, which meant he never used one of those 3 in 1 body washes that are a typical man’s holy grail. His skin always had a fresh smell, like cucumbers, and his hair had that pleasant coconut scent from the shampoo she introduced to him.

“You’re amazing.” Ivar whispers, bringing her out of her thoughts. His eyes flutter with the signs of sleep, his day ending in complete satisfaction. She was almost sad to be bursting his bubble, but if it were the other way around he wouldn’t be sad to burst hers. She clears her throat, preparing her next words carefully.

“Ivar?”

“Hm?”

“You can leave now.” Whatever drowsiness he felt had disappeared almost immediately, eyes now wide enough to bulge from his sockets. She wanted to laugh, but felt it would ruin the moment, and he wouldn’t take her seriously if she broke out in laughter, so she kept her serious face on.

“You don’t want me to sleepover?” He asked, dumbfounded, sitting up to lean on his elbows, gazing down at her.

“What for? You hate it here.” She says, waving her hand around to make her point. Ivar frowns, not really understanding her. She used to beg for him to stay, and she eventually stopped asking him after a while, but he was so sure that having him there and him deciding to spend the night would make her happy, so why was she not happy?

“I don’t.” He answers.

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” He pouts, “I just prefer my place.”

“I’m not stopping you from going, Ivar.” She says flatly. His expression was comedic, mouth slightly agape and eyes blinking stupidly. The sheets pool around his waist as he sits up, staring down at his hands. His ego had just taken a beating.

“Are you serious?”

“Very.” Ivar’s face twists in utter confusion. How could she deny him? She wanted him. She loved him...didn’t she?

“But…”

“What’s the matter?” She moves closer to him, “Are you upset?” She taunts, her naked chest in full view for him to admire, but before he could, she grabs his jaw tightly, holding it in place to lock eyes with him. His blue irises were intense and mesmerizing, and was one of the reasons why she fell for him so hard. Ivar was beautiful, but his heart was ugly, and he needed to be put in his place. “Did you want me to still be in love with you despite the many times you’ve warned me not to?” Ivar remains silent, searching her eyes for something more than the words she’s uttered. There was nothing there.

She loosens her grip on his jaw, pushing him away from her. His face falls, utterly dejected. The corners of his mouth twitch as he stares at her, noting the little smirk that played on her lips.

“Get the fuck out of my flat, Ivar.”

...

@a-daydreamers-day @heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @leilabeaux @shannygoatgruff @syrenak

#ivar #ivar imagine #ivarfanfiction #vikings #vikings ivar #alex hogh andersen #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #ivar smut

239 notes · View notes

idkxwriting · 4 years

Text

Treacherous - Chapter 16

Author: idkhaylijah

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 7k

A/N: Well, this is it. Thanks for reading - this was a lot of fun to write, and I’m going to miss it. But who knows, there are always sequels, right? ;) Shoutout to @xxwritemeastoryxx for letting me run things by her

Chapter 15 - Masterlist

They drove back to Kansas in silence.

"Maybe we should just stay here for a few days..." Sam had suggested.

But Dean had refused, covering Y/N's body in a blanket and placing her in the back of the Impala with such delicate care. He slammed the car door shut, the familiar groan of the metal grating against his nerves. "We take her home, and we give her a hunter's funeral," he said with finality.

"She has friends here, Dean. People she loved, people that loved her..."

Dean ignored his brother, climbing into the driver's seat and keeping his head forward and leaving no room for further argument.

They drove through the night, Dean white knuckling the wheel. They made it in less than half the time, Sam not daring to suggest they slow down.

*****

"They're gone," Freya sighed.

"What do you mean they're gone?" Stefan asked. They were supposed to drive her back here..."

Freya shook her head. "Dean wanted to take her home," she explained. "He wants to give her a hunter's funeral."

"And they didn't think that was important to discuss with us first?" Stefan yelled.

She winced, but let him yell, waiting until he regained his composure once more. "He's hurting, Stefan. He loved her."

Stefan's jaw tightened.

"Where's Damon?" She asked quietly.

"He went to wake Elijah," he explained.

Freya nodded solemnly, knowing her brother would never get over this, that the grief would consume him.

*****

Dean lifted her carefully, carrying her inside the bunker, and laying her on her bed delicately. Sam watched from the doorway as his brother uncovered her face, brushing her hair back and dropping his head. "I'm so sorry, baby," he whispered.

Sam's eyes burned, wishing he could fix his big brother. His brother who was always so strong, so sure. It wasn't the first time he had seen him cry, but as his shoulders sagged and they began to shake, Sam turned away, feeling like he was intruding, as though he had no right to be there in Dean's grief.

He turned, walking away quietly and when he was sure Dean could no longer hear him he sunk to the floor, letting his own grief wash over him.

*****

Damon sighed as he read Stefan's text letting him know that Dean had taken Y/N back to Kansas. He glanced over at the body next to him, his patience beginning to wear thin.

Elijah's eyes shot open, and he took a deep breath, everything rushing back.

"Welcome back," Damon said, his voice grim, spinning the dagger absentmindedly in his hand.

Elijah sat up, his eyes moving toward the flames in the fireplace of the cabin. "Where is she?" He asked, his voice low, already knowing the answer.

"We should talk..."

*****

Dean stepped into the library, looking for Sam. He didn't want to wait, he couldn't stand the thought of leaving her in the infirmary like that. He knew they had to move, plan to send her off properly, burn the bones. He wiped his hand over his face, exhausted.

The books they had been searching through just days before were still sprawled on the table, and he ran his fingers across the pages. A vision of her face lighting up when he offered to let her tag along on a hunt popped into his mind, and he remembered the kiss he had stolen from her in the kitchen. He slammed his eyes shut, anger boiling up under his skin until it burst. He picked up a chair, throwing it across the room, the legs cracking as they came in contact with the wall. He roared, throwing the books and slamming his fists on the table.

"Dean..."

He turned to find Cas at the other end of the table, his expression grim. Dean squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw, his rage simmering as he looked at his former friend.

"I'm sorry about Y/N," the angel said quietly.

"You're sorry?" He shook his head. "Why didn't you just stick to the damn plan."

Cas' looked at him sternly. "That was the plan."

"And when the hell were you going to loop me in on that?" He shouted. "You let her march in there to die!"

"Crowley and I-"

"Crowley!?" He boomed. "Now you're working with Crowley again?"

"Empusa had to die, and the only way to do-"

"How many times are we gonna go down this road, Cas?" Dean cut him off, his rage out of control. "We would have found another way!" He bellowed. "We would have figured it out, like we always do! WithY/N!"

Cas shifted, getting defensive. "Like we always do? Dean, everything alwaysfalls apart! I know it doesn't feel like it now, but this is a win. If you knew what Emp-"

Dean shook his head, the muscles of his jaw tightening as he cut Cas off. "This wasn't a win," he gritted.

"I did what I had to do," Cas was firm, but his friend said nothing, instead turning away from him and refusing to look him in the eye, his anger rolling off of him in waves. Cas nodded in understanding and turned away, wishing there was anything he could have done to save her, to save Dean.

Dean held his breath, clenching his jaw when he heard the telltale sign of angel wings. Refusing to break again, he ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath.

"Dean! Come quick!" He heard Sam's heavy boots running down the hall.

He bolted, his legs pushing him forward as fast as he could, following his brother straight to the infirmary. As he turned the corner he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Y/N?"

She sat up in her bed, alive and real.

Her eyes met his, panic lacing the deep y/e/c of her irises. "What happened to me?" She breathed.

Dean made no move towards her at first, Sam sitting on the edge of her bed, his hands on hers. He watched as his brother hugged her, making sure she was really there, she was really her.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked, searching his mind for some explanation.

She glanced down at herself, her brows furrowed as she struggled to put the pieces together. "I don't understand," she breathed, patting her chest where she had stabbed herself and finding nothing. A memory flashed before her, Empusa's hands on her throat, Dean's face as she tried to let him know she loved him before she lifted the blade...

"I died..." she recalled.

Still, Dean made no move towards her, his mind racing at all the possibilities.

Sam cleared his throat. "How are you here?" He asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know, I..." she stopped, the answer dawning on her as another memory rushed back.

Y/N, are you sure you want this?"

She nodded, untying the leather bracelet infused with vervain that she wore constantly. She tossed it into the passenger seat of Damon's car as they stood outside of the Grill.

Damon sighed heavily. "I'll get you the dagger," he promised. He dipped low, his hands coming up to hold her face so he could look her directly in the eyes. "When you're ready, you'll take the dagger and use it on Elijah."

Her pupils dilated as she repeated him in a daze. "I'll dagger Elijah," she whispered softly.

Damon continued to hold her face, his eyes sad but focused. "But before you do, you'll tell him and Dean how you feel, because they deserve to know."

She nodded.

"Good. Now I want you to put your bracelet back on, and forget we ever had this conversation."

"What do you remember?" Sam asked.

She shook her head. "I asked Damon to compel me," she whispered as the realization hit her. "He told me to be brave, that I needed to dagger Elijah to keep him safe." Her eyes met Dean's and her face flushed, deciding to keep the fact that she was compelled to make her confession to herself.

Sam swallowed nervously. "What else did he say?"

Her mind continued to rush as the moments she had forgotten came back with sudden clarity.

They moved through the tunnels mostly in silence, Damon leading the way.

"Do you ever think about dying?" Y/N asked after a while.

Damon shrugged. "It's not really on my to do list..."

"Yea, but even you aren't entirely invincible. Don't you ever wonder what happens to us after we die?"

"No," he stated matter-of-factly. "No, I don't."

She continued to follow Damon in silence, and when they reached their destination, Damon turned to her. They stood in an old crypt, and even in the darkness she could see the dust and decay that littered it. She was beginning to breathe heavily, and he took her hands in her face. "Hey," he reassured her. "I don't know what happens next," he paused. "But I believe no matter what comes after all of this, we're all okay in the end."

She nodded, trying to convince herself that he was right. "We're all okay," she repeated.

He pulled her wrist up, glancing at the leather bracelet. "Y/N, if you need me to, I can compel you...take it away so you don't have to be afraid."

She shook her head adamantly, stepping back from him. "I can do this, Damon." She closed her eyes, picturing everyone she cared about. The people she had loved, the ones she was lucky enough to have love her back.

Damon didn't doubt that she could, but at the end of the day, he couldn't. "Screw this," he muttered, tearing off her bracelet. His fingers burned as the vervain touched his skin, and he winced, but ignored it.

"What are you doing?" She struggled in his hold, but he gripped her chin.

"You deserve more than this, Y/N. Drink. Drink and forget this happened." He bit into his wrist and held the wound up to mouth and she did as he demanded, his blood racing through her system.

Dean put the pieces together for himself, and just like that all his hope was shattered as quickly as it had rushed in. He stormed off, Y/N and Sam wincing as a door slammed.

She covered her mouth to stifle the sobs she felt coming on. "I drank his blood," she confessed. "At the cemetery."

Sam gripped her hand, squeezing lightly and glancing away from her. "You're in transition."

*****

"You really make a girl work for it when she's dying."

Dean glanced up from under the hood of Baby to find Y/N standing in the door of the garage. "Hey," he said, his voice rough and his eyes trained on his hands.

"Hey," she whispered back.

He looked at her again, she had showered and was wearing a pair of shorts with one of his black t-shirts, looking so beautiful and alive he wondered how death could possibly dare to take her. "How are you feeling?" He asked.

She shrugged. "Hungry, if I'm being honest..." When he didn't respond she stepped further into the room. "Or maybe it's thirsty?" She joked.

"Don't do that."

"Oh come on," she whispered, trying to lighten the mood. "We've been given a second chance to say goodbye."

He shook his head, fidgeting with the wrench in his hands. "Look, I've been thinking, if you hold off on feeding and we can find Damon..."

She sighed. "I'm not going to kill Damon," she cut him off. "Sam already told me about your grandad's cure to vampirism. I can't do that, Dean."

"The guy's had a century to live, you've had nothing..." he argued.

"He's also long gone, if I know anything about him at all. Besides, I couldn't do that to Elena." She shook her head, stepping into him and wrapping her arms around him until he hugged her back. "This is my choice," she whispered.

He moved out of her hold, throwing the wrench across the room. "Yea, well this is bullshit!" He shouted.

She winced at his outburst.

"What about my choice?" He yelled. "Huh? Because you sure as shit didn't consult with me when you decided it was okay to run that damn blade through your heart!"

She bit her lip. "Would you have gone along with things if you had known what I was going to do?" She asked quietly.

"There is always another way!" He exclaimed.

"It was the only way Dean! And if I had to, I'd do it again if it meant you were safe!"

He didn't wait to hear more. He was so tired of losing, and too tired to fight anymore. He stormed off, leaving her in the cold garage.

*****

Y/N sat at the base of a tree just outside of the bunker, her phone in her hands. She had just gotten off the phone with Stefan, explaining to him that she wasn't going to feed.

"I can be there in a few hours," he had suggested.

She smiled at the offer, even though he couldn't see it. "Stefan," she spoke softly into the receiver. "This is hard enough. I won't be able to say goodbye if you come here. Please, just tell everyone I love them."

Stefan teared up on the other end but she knew he respected her too much to deny her this request. "I will," he said, his voice cracking.

"I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yea," he whispered. "I'll see you later."

She jumped at the slam of the bunker door, the sound ungodly loud. It grated on her nerves and caused her head to pound. She heard each fall of his boots as he walked toward her, each footstep louder and more irritating than the last. Dean finally stepped into view, distracting her from the annoyance, and her heart raced at the sight of him.

He didn't say anything for a moment, sitting down next to her with his gaze watching the field in front of them. He was careful to leave some distance between them. He thought of their time together that night she had asked him to stay with her, the way she felt underneath him, the way she said his name as she came undone. The way his heart pounded at the sight of her, and the way it had calmed when she laid her head on his chest.

They sat in silence, and she sunk into the memory of the last time they had watched a sunset together - knowing the sun going down had never brought him peace. Because there was no beauty in the twilight for Dean, only a heaviness as he anticipated the monsters that would crawl out of the shadows when the last bits of light were stolen away.

"So you were right," he broke the silence. "Damon is long gone."

She chuckled, but didn't offer him anything else.

He took a deep breath. "I've always known this would end bloody for me," he said, keeping his eyes forward. "And you know, I've been okay with it if it means we gank some sons of bitches and save a few lives. It comes with the territory."

She leaned forward, curling up against his back, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, unsure if she was trying to comfort him or herself.

"I made my peace with this life a long time ago, but I gotta be honest here. Losing you? I don't know if I can ever make peace with that. I can't do this, baby." He ran his hand over his face, sniffling. "Maybe I'm being selfish here, but the hits have been coming for as long as I can remember, so when will it be enough? I have lost everything. I can't lose you, too."

She felt his shoulders sag beneath her, and she clutched onto him. "Shh," she whispered into his shirt, holding onto him. "I don't want to leave you either, Dean. But you can do this," she moved to his side so she could turn his face until he looked at her. "You have Sam, and he needs you," she whispered. "You can do this."

He shook his head in protest but she silenced any argument from him with a kiss. He pulled back to look at her, stroking her cheek and swiping away the tears that had begun to form.

"Just sit with me for a little while? Watch the sunset?" She asked quietly, her voice beginning to sound weak.

He nodded, scooting back so he was against the tree, and she curled into him. He gripped her hand in his, their fingers intertwined as he committed the curves of her face to memory. Her eyes began to flutter shut, her body breaking down without feeding. "Dean," she said quietly. "Do you remember that hunt we did in Seattle a few months back?"

He nodded. They had taken out a nest of vampires, narrowly escaping without being turned themselves. "Yea."

"Do you remember our promise?"

He shook his head, remembering how she had made him promise to end it himself if she was ever unlucky enough to turn. At the time he had agreed happily, asking for her to do the same in return. "It won't come to that," he whispered.

She nodded sleepily. "I know. But if it does..." she held her free hand up, her pinky out.

He glanced down at it for a moment, swallowing before he wrapped his own pinky around hers, promising once more he wouldn't let her be a monster. He pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Thank you," she whispered, closing her eyes and relaxing, her pinky still wrapped around his.

He thought she had drifted off to sleep, but she broke the silence with a whisper once more. "Dean..."

"Yea sweetheart?"

"It would have been you."

*****

Y/N woke sometime later, and smiled at how peaceful Dean looked. She wondered when the last time he really slept was. She let her fingers trace over his lips before ghosting her own over them.

The scent of his skin was enticing, and she found that this close she could hear his blood pumping, and her mouth began to water. She pulled back, surprised to find that being close to him suddenly felt overwhelming. She stood quietly, ashamed that she was tempted at all, needing to get away.

She glanced around, unsure of where to go as panic began to wash over her. She remembered the room they had locked Crowley in a few times - the dungeon - Sam had called it. She ran back to the bunker and moved down the stairs, losing her balance. She caught herself and held herself up along the wall.

She felt tired and weak, but more than anything she was hungry.

So goddamn hungry.

She felt lightheaded and closed her eyes for a moment when she heard shuffling. She followed the noise to the library, where she found Sam sorting through books.

His hair was damp and he wore a fresh set of clothes, the stubble that had built up over the last several days gone, his face familiar once more.

She coughed, alerting him to her presence, and he glanced up at her. "Hey, sit down," he said, rushing to her side as she struggled to hold herself up.

She leaned on him, gripping his arm as he helped walk her to one of the chairs.

"You don't look so good..." he commented.

She shook her head. "I don't feel so good," she mumbled. She dropped into the chair with a sigh, the pain behind her eyes growing as she struggled to catch her breath.

Sam looked at her sadly, and knelt down in front of her. "Can I get you anything?" He asked, leaning over to grab his glass of water for her.

"I'm fine..." She shook her head, but as he turned his face she saw the small cut on his neck. It was fresh, left behind from his razor, and her mouth began to water.

"Here," he offered his water, and while she should have been grateful she found herself frustrated and angry.

"I said I'm fine!" She pushed the glass away, knocking it to the ground and Sam faltered as it shattered, surprised at her outburst.

He took a step back, looking at the pieces of glass and the water tracing the patterns on the floor beneath them. "Y/N, you're not fine."

"I'm sorry..." she whispered. She slid out of the chair and dropped to her knees, picking up the shards of glass, careful to avoid the sharp edges.

Sam stopped down next to her, taking the pieces from her hand gently. "Let me." The glass pricked his skin, ever so slightly, so soft he had barely even registered the cut.

But it was enough.

She pulled his hand into her own, delicately removing the glass, a single drop of blood forming on the tip of his finger.

Her mouth watered, and she began to lean forward when he pulled back suddenly. "Y/N," he warned.

She began to cry, frustrated that she was already losing herself, frustrated at the way her throat burned, begging for relief. "Sam, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay." He soothed her, pulling her in for a hug.

She felt small in his arms, though she imagined most people did. She let him pull her close and she wrapped her arms around him, tucking her face into the crook of his neck.

Her nose brushed against his skin where his razor had nicked him earlier, and she lifted her face slightly, so her lips hovered above it. While Sam continued to whisper words of encouragement, she drowned him out, focusing on the thrumming in his veins.

Her throat continued to burn, and everything else faded away, the only thing she could think of was ending the insatiable hunger she felt. His blood pumped louder and louder until she could no longer fight it, and she bit into his flesh.

It was only a moment, but she felt her world stop as the warmth of the blood hit her tongue. Her mouth ached as she felt her gums tear, but it was over quickly and suddenly she felt alive.

The way the blood felt on her tongue, the way it hit the back of her throat, the way she could feel it rush through her body, was pure ecstasy.

And just as quickly as it had begun it was gone.

Sam shoved her off, the force knocking her back and pulling her back to reality. "What the hell?" He shouted, jumping to his feet and feeling at his neck frantically.

She jumped up, too, the sorrow rushing forward as she realized what she had done. She felt at her mouth, the telltale sign of fangs that should definitely not be there confirming her worst fears. She was a monster.

"Sam! I'm so sorry." She stepped towards him but he moved back. "Please..."

He held a hand up, telling her to stay where she was. "Y/N, stop. We need to get you some help. I'm just going to go get Dean, and..."

She was behind him suddenly, startling him. "No! Please don't tell Dean...he can't see me like this. Please!" The guilt she felt was crushing, the worry of Dean's reaction enough to ruin her.

Sam shook his head, backing away carefully. "It's okay," he said calmly. "He'll know what to do."

She felt confused, her emotions bouncing wildly, making it difficult to keep track of exactly what she was feeling.

But the feeling always at the forefront of her mind was a desperate hunger.

She tried to ignore it, to pin down another emotion, until she found anger. Rage, even, that he was going to get Dean, that he'd let his brother see her like this.

She felt her eyes shift, and some part of her knew what she must look like, but she couldn't find a reason to care. She only knew she had to keep Sam from going to get Dean, so she lunged forward.

The sheer force of her knocked him off balance, and he fell back against the table. She used her newfound strength and speed to follow his movements, and she was on top of him, pulling his head back while pinning his arms down. The need to feel the same relief and ecstasy she had felt earlier was overwhelming all of her senses, all rational thought.

She bit into his neck, this time her teeth equipped to do the job properly, her fangs piercing his skin with ease. She pulled at his blood greedily, and she worked without thought or care, tearing into him, eager for more.

She felt him fight beneath her, but she ignored it, finding it as insignificant as a fly buzzing near her food.

"Y/N!" He choked out, and she had a vision of Sam, lifeless beneath her, as her chin dripped with his blood shook her out of her bloodlust.

She released him, jumping back, and he dropped to his knees, clutching his neck.

"No, no, no..." she began to panic, and she dropped down next to him, shoving the glass aside. "What did I do, what did I do?" She whispered, the tears coming fast and furiously. She rocked for a moment and she found that she could hear his heartbeat, slower than before, but the blood was still pumping strong, tempting her.

Sam held his free hand up cautiously, as if approaching a dangerous animal, his other hand pressed against the wound. "Y/N, calm down," he rasped.

Before he could say more she was gone.

*****

Dean woke from a dream - a damn good one - which didn't often happen. He sat up slowly, searching around him as the chill of the air fell over him. The glimpse of relief he had gotten while asleep faded rapidly as reality sunk down around him.

The silence that greeted him was eerie, and he had an all too familiar dread in the pit of his stomach.

Y/N was dying, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. And now she was missing.

He made his way back to the bunker, and a sense that could only be honed by a lifetime of hunting the things that go bump in the night told him to be careful. He opened the door slowly and moved silently down the stairs, knowing inherently something was wrong. He moved lightly, but quickly, until he heard the stifled sobs.

His heart stopped, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, alerting him that he wouldn't like what he found.

He turned the corner, stepping cautiously into the library and his heart dropped.

There across the room was Sam, clutching his neck.

"Sam!" Dean rushed, dropping beside his brother and searching frantically for the source of the blood.

Because there was so much blood.

"She's gone," Sam said.

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, helping him to his feet.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he rushed, trying to reassure his brother. "But she fed, and now she's gone."

"Son of a bitch!"

"Dean, we have to find her. We have to save her."

Dean shook his head, already headed towards his car. "She's gone, Sam. You said it yourself."

"Y/N needs help," Sam struggled to keep up with Dean's long strides, his own legs weak from the loss of blood.

"She's not Y/N anymore!" He roared, rounding on his brother. Sam's steps faltered and Dean turned away once more. "You know we have to do this."

Sam looked at him, knowing it wouldn't be easy for either of them, but the weight of this was something Dean would carry with him forever. After all, he had been there himself. He nodded solemnly. "Dean, I -"

Dean shook his head, his eyes burning with the tears he held back as tightly as he could. He knew all he had to do was ask, and his brother would do this for him. He cleared his throat. "It has to be me, Sammy."

*****

It didn't take Dean long to find her. He knew how newbie vampires worked, he had hunted enough of them over the years.

She'd want to avoid people, but she was scared, alone and hungry. And even though he hated to admit it, he knew she wouldn't be able to resist the hunt for long.

It didn't take him long to find her, but it was long enough.

She had made her way to a bar on the outskirts of town, and in the dark alley she knelt, her shoulders sagging.

He clenched his jaw, knowing even in the dark that she was kneeling over a body. A body she had dropped.

She heard him approach and knew by his footsteps it was him. "I'm a monster," she glanced down at her hands.

He didn't argue with her, but he couldn't help but think of the possibility that maybe Sam was right. He cleared his throat. "Baby, we can figure this out..." he whispered.

She shook her head and stood, stepping away from him, all too aware of what she must look like.

Dean stepped forward slowly, trying to calm her as she sobbed harder, the sadness and pain drowning her. "We can't figure this out, Dean, I just killed someone!" She screamed. "Even now I can't stop thinking about how hungry I am. Get away from me."

"Y/N..." Dean took another step toward her, and she shoved him away violently, putting him on the defense, and she knew he'd never be able to let her walk away from this.

And why should he? She thought, as she felt the veins ripple beneath her eyes, begging for her to give in to her worst intentions.

She watched as Dean pulled the stake from his jacket, turning it in his hand as he looked at the pointed end of the wood. He contemplated it for a moment before allowing himself to meet her eyes again.

He clenched his jaw, hating himself. Wondering if he should just call Stefan, let them figure out a new life for her, and remembering his promise to her.

"Please," she cried. "Dean."

He winced, his name rolling off her tongue in a siren's call. She was still Y/N, and he knew that even with the blood lust, he loved her. He always would.

Which made his promise all the more damning.

She stepped back, so her back was against the wall, and she reached out to him, pulling him closer. "You promised," she reminded him, her eyes pleading.

He shook his head, biting his lip and concentrating on the pain there instead of the one tearing through his chest.

His eyes bore into hers, and he knew there was a part of her that was considering running. Part of him wished she'd listen to that, but he knew she'd never forgive him if he let her go free and she went into the night, if she took another victim.

Worse, she'd never forgive herself.

That blood would be on both of their hands, and there was already too much.

Her sobs choked away anything she could say, and she didn't fight him as he raised the wood up to her chest.

He wished he could turn it off, steel his nerves so they were no longer Y/N and Dean, but hunter and monster, but he felt every moment, every second of pain and he knew it would never leave him. "I love you," he said instead, his own tears blurring his vision. And that was okay, he thought, because he didn't want to remember her like this - with murderous eyes and her face covered in death.

She nodded, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, raising her chin as she readied herself to meet her fate.

He leaned forward, ghosting his lips over her eyelids before closing his own eyes, slamming the splintered wood forward with as much force as he could muster.

He had killed plenty of vampires before. Most of them had taken a machete to the head, but several he had staked. He was familiar with the way a stake pressed through the layer of skin, the way you had to pop the muscle beneath it to get through all of the way, the force it took and the way the body gave before it broke.

He had anticipated it this time.

So he was surprised when he hit a solid wall. The stake not giving, and bruising his own ribs as he pressed his weight forward. He opened his eyes, surprised to see she was no longer in front of him, when out of the corner of his eye he saw him.

Elijah knelt over her, having rushed in and knocking her away from the force of the stake just in time.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, a mixture of relief, anger, guilt, frustration, love...she couldn't process everything she felt in that moment, still not used to the weight each emotion carried.

"Elijah," she breathed.

He nodded, his eyes searching her, taking in the change. She found he didn't look at her with pity or disgust, only his own regret. Still, there was awe.

He pulled out his handkerchief, wiping the blood from her chin delicately, his thumb tracing against her lips.

"I killed him," her voice cracked.

"Hey," he whispered, helping her stand, but gripping her arm. "This is the hunger."

She nodded, feeling calm in his hold, but as the rage and the hunger dissipated she found it made more room for grief and guilt. "I shouldn't be here," she cried. "I can't be this, Elijah. I can't. I'm a monster."

He shook his head, brushing her hair back from her face. "You can do this," he whispered. "We will do this together, but you must feed."

She made no move as she understood what he meant, her eyes searching for Dean, searching for an answer, but he looked away knowing he was an outsider in this moment.

Elijah gripped her face in his hands, pulling her attention back to him.

She looked dazed but nodded slowly, and he pulled her into him, allowing her to drink from his own veins as she cried, until her body relaxed in his arms.

He pulled back to look at her once more, his thumb wiping at the last trace of blood. "Go, Y/N. Go, and I give you my word I will be right behind you."

Her eyes moved toward Dean once more, and he looked back at her, his eyes filled with despair and longing. For a brief moment she saw the life they could have had, the life Dean had deserved, because he deserved it all. She cursed Chuck at the shitty hand he had dealt him, and knew even he didn't deserve Dean Winchester.

"Go," Elijah said urgently. "Go now."

Maybe it was her newfound perception, she thought maybe instead it was because she knew him, but she saw the slightest nod from Dean, and she knew he was giving them both an escape from this nightmare. He was saying goodbye, letting her go. He was breaking his promise.

She looked at him one last time, committing his face to memory, knowing she'd forever be haunted by his beauty, by the life they should have had.

And as quickly as Elijah had appeared, Y/N was gone.

Dean turned as Elijah stood and adjusted his suit jacket, sure he had a fight coming to him that he couldn't win, unsure if he cared anymore.

The Original waited until he was sure Y/N was out of hearing range, his eyes studying the man before him. "Tell me, Mr. Winchester. What kind of man gives up on the woman he loves?" He asked, his jaw clenched.

Dean looked away for a moment. He didn't need Elijah to hate him, he hated himself enough for the both of them. "I made her a promise, that if she ever became a monster..."

"You have no idea what she will become, what she is capable of."

He shook his head slowly. "She won't be Y/N anymore."

"I can help her," Elijah said with confidence. "Help her control her urges, teach her how to live with the hunger."

"When she kills again, the guilt will tear her apart, and she won't come back from it. It'll change her. It already has."

Elijah nodded and for a moment Dean saw the sorrow reflected in his own eyes. "Perhaps you are right," he said gravely. "But what kind of man would I be if I didn't try?"

Dean had no answer for him. Either way he knew Y/N was lost to him, and it killed him all the same.

Elijah stepped around him, pausing when Dean's hand came up to her shoulder. "I made a promise to stop her, Elijah. And I keep my promises."

Elijah considered him for a moment. He nodded silently and moved past him. When he was at the entrance of the alley he stopped, turning to face the hunter once more. "I am a man of my word as well. I meant it when I said I'd make it my business if you hurt her again."

Dean didn't turn around, waiting for the silence to wash over him once more, the all too familiar feeling of loneliness sinking on him before he dropped the stake he had white knuckled in his hand. He took a breath, his heart pounding as he realized it was all over.

Y/N was gone.

He punched the brick wall next to him, wincing at the pain in his knuckles that were already bruising.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to calm himself as the grief began to consume him.

*****

Y/N stood at the edge of town, pacing wildly. She was struggling to keep up with everything she felt, every noise she heard. The cars, the footsteps, the heartbeats. Everything was so loud.

It was all too much, and so she ran until she heard nothing but her own thoughts. She wasn't sure which was worse, but at least she knew she was alone out under the starry sky. She wouldn't hurt anyone here.

Flashbacks of Sam flooded her mind, and she felt grateful for a brief moment that he was okay - that she hadn't killed him like she had dreamt she had a few days ago. But her gratitude faded under the weight of the pain of what she had done. The pain she felt when Dean had looked at her, knowing she was gone.

It was odd, she thought, because still felt everything she had felt before. For Dean, for Elijah, for her friends...but it was all heightened...and didn't that mean she was still her?

You're a monster, she reminded herself as the flash of the dead man - the man who she had drained the life out of in a moment - came to the forefront of her mind.

So that was heightened, too. The guilt, the self loathing...

The hunger, the monster within reminded her.

She continued to pace when she stopped, her newfound hearing picking up on something in the distance.

Then his scent hit her. Elijah.

She needed to focus, so she grasped onto the emotion that popped up first.

Which apparently was anger. "I don't want this!" She shouted, turning as he approached. He said nothing, instead watching her, his brow creased and his gaze intent. "I should have died back there!" She screamed at him. "I didn't want this!"

Elijah approached her carefully, pulling her into him and pressing her against his chest.

It should have soothed her, like it had earlier, in the alley where the dark had hid what she had become. But out there in the open, under the light of the moon, where he could see her clearly she felt she was undeserving of his comfort, of his compassion and understanding. It only angered her more.

She pushed him away. "This was not the plan!" She cried, a fresh wave of anguish pulling her under once more.

Elijah clenched his jaw for a moment, thinking carefully on his words. "Y/N, everything you are feeling is heightened, and raw. It's all new, you need time..."

"I was out of time, Elijah! And I made my peace with it!"

"And I did not!" He hollered back.

Her stance faltered as she stepped back from him.

"I would have protected you," he whispered. "I would have done anything to keep you safe, and you took that away from me."

She was at a loss for words.

"And had I been there when you were in transition," he continued "I would have..."

"What?" she cut him off. "What would you have done Elijah? You said it yourself, you wouldn't have let me go."

He shook his head sadly. "I would have respected your decision," he whispered. "Whether you decided to feed or not, I would have loved you through it."

Her heart ached, knowing he meant it. If Elijah had been there, he would have broken his own heart to keep her from this life, if she had asked him to. "And now?" She asked.

His eyes searched hers, and she wondered if he still saw her, when it occurred to her that it wasn't the monster that had changed the way he had looked at her. Instead, the monster within his own eyes rose up to meet her demons, and she knew he'd fight them off for her as long as she let him.

It wasn't the monster. He looked at her differently because he knew.

"Elijah..." she said softly. "Earlier, back in the cabin you asked if I had made my decision..." words escaped her, unsure of how to tell him she wished she could go home to Dean, how it didn't even matter when all was said and done - because she still lost both of them.

He shook his head. "Don't," he pleaded.

She held back her words, locking them in a piece of her heart he'd never quite be able to reach. "Okay," she whispered.

"We have an eternity to discover what we are, what we could be. No matter what that might look like, I promised to protect you. Always."

She smiled sadly at that, knowing she didn't deserve him. "And forever."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. "Come," he said, offering his hand.

She glanced down at it, contemplating this new life that awaited her, before slipping her hand into his.

*****

A few hours later Dean pulled back up to the bunker.

"What happened?" Sam asked, appearing in the doorway when he heard Baby's engine.

Dean wiped at his eyes, composing himself before turning to face his brother, his eyes hard and lifeless. "Nothing," he said, clearing his throat and moving around to the back of the car, popping the trunk. He threw the stake from his jacket inside with the rest of the weapons.

Sam moved to stand next to him, sure his brother had not only found her, but let her walk away. "Maybe Y/N won't end up a ripper. Maybe she..."

"You ever mention Y/N to me again, and I will break your nose."

Sam blanched. "Dean..."

"I mean it."

Sam swallowed, and cleared his throat, knowing Dean put up a wall he'd never get through, that his word was final. "Okay," he agreed quietly.

"Come on," Dean said gruffly, slamming the trunk. "We got work to do."

95 notes · View notes