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marchtothefuckingsea · 3 years

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Not Who You Are - Loki

Hi hey hello! MAN did this not actually take forever to write. I sat down and typed this out in less than a fucking hour, oh boy. The writer's block dam broke and what can I say?

I'll admit this was written a bit as a self comfort story haha so there's that, and there isn't a ton of actual Loki x reader until towards the end but I thought I'd post it anyways.

My Masterlist, if you're interested! I have another Loki fic as well as some other Marvel content.

Enjoy!

pre-established relationship (platonic, I think), hurt/comfort, no usage of y/n, x gender neutral reader!

Word count: 4.2k (I KNOW I KNOW LMAO IT'S A LONG ONE)

Warnings: lots. Nightmares, possible PTSD, injury, violence, death, feelings of survivor's guilt, feelings of worthlessness/self hatred, self-doubt, fear, angst (I usually wouldn't put fear or angst as warnings but these are pretty prominent aspects of the story and I think they definitely deserve to be mentioned in this one.) Due to the length and nature of the story for me personally, this is NOT proofread. I'll get around to it eventually.

I would just like to note: I am in no way trying to romanticize or downplay any of the above. I personally suffer from a lot of these and I wrote this purely as a comfort fic for myself but tweaked the character a bit to make them fit in as more of an Avenger with Avenger problems. None of the things mentioned in this story can be solved with just a little bit of comfort, they require professional help, (which I am also, unfortunately, all too aware of) but sometimes it would just be nice to have a comforting presence, y'know? If you have problems with any of these, please reach out to someone and get the help that you need and deserve.

Summary: Reader has nightmares fueled by survivors guilt, they think they're a horrible person. Loki is there to help them believe they aren't.

I woke up gasping for air with frantic breaths as sweat rolled down my forehead. My eyes darted around in the darkness until I realized where I was. I was safe.

I managed to calm my erratic breathing, I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm myself further. Though I was physically calm now, my mind was anything but. I took another breath, attempting to empty my mind.

Instead, images of the people I had killed -had been forced to kill, I reminded myself- flooded into my brain. The sound of bullets and gunshots rang out -bullets from my gun- forever engraved into my ears, their cries of outrage and fury as they just shook off my non-lethal shots, forcing me to shoot to kill before they killed me.

I was a killer.

I was supposed to save people, not kill them.

The Loki and the others told me that I did what I had to do, that I would've been dead myself if I hadn't, and that they were so brainwashed by HYDRA that there was no saving them anyway.

They didn't understand.

Then, another flashback. The screams of the people still left in the burning building as I sprinted out to save myself. The heat of the fire burning my skin, the roar of the fire filling my ears until I could hear nothing more. My face was stoic but on the inside I was screaming. Screaming at myself to go back and help who I could. My screams in my head matched those of the people left in the burning building. Terrified, desperate; terrified of who I had become. I had killed people to save myself, now I was leaving others to die to save myself. Wasn't that the exact definition of selfish? The opposite of what a hero, an avenger should be.

This time, Loki had told me it was survivors guilt.

Once again, he didn't understand. I had committed crimes, I deserved to rot in jail. I deserved to die, just as the others had for me. To save my own selfish life.

Without realizing, I was suddenly aware of the fact that I was hyperventilating again. My head spun with dizziness as I collapsed back onto the mattress, choking back sobs and wails, curling up and wrapping my arms around myself, desperate for any form of comfort. I wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in Loki's comforting embrace. But he couldn't know.

He couldn't know that I still lived with these images in my brain. That they would never leave my memory, forever engraved onto the insides of my eyelids. Haunted me whenever I shut my eyes.

He had done terrible things in his past too, but he was getting better. He was healing, learning right from wrong again. I couldn't be a bad influence on him.

In a way, it comforted me, gave me some form of hope to cling onto, to see the reformed villain going about his daily life, no longer living with the guilt of the lives he had taken. No longer haunted by the crimes he committed. He realized what he did was wrong and now only worked to better himself and make up for it by saving people on missions.

It gave me hope that one day, maybe I could move on too.

As I reigned in my emotions, I calmed myself once again, slowly sucking in deep breaths of air. As I calmed down, I felt the heavy weight of sleep settle over me, I felt the tiredness in my entire being from the attack. My eyelids fluttered shut.

I stumbled through the hallway some hours later as the friendly banter of the team in the kitchen woke me. I managed a small smile on my face as I entered.

Loki was sitting quietly by the table, watching the others with an amused look in his eyes. I knew he did not wish to join then, but enjoyed watching them all the same. I slid up beside him, leaning on the counter.

"Good morning." His lips quirked up into a small smile that made my heart flutter.

"Morning." I couldn't help but to smile back, his presence dissolving any lingering fears of the nightmare the night before. I was used to them now, not desensitized, but I was able to push them down and not think about it.

"Brother!" I heard Thor call over to Loki. He groaned, a pestered expression on his face. I exhaled through my nose, a small laugh.

"You're going on a mission today!" Thor reminded the both of us as he stuffed bacon into his mouth.

"I was well aware of that." Loki replied sourly, though anyone who knew him well enough could tell it was lighthearted.

I playfully nudged his shoulder with mine as I sipped my coffee, and he returned the gesture, a small grin now on his attractive face. I didn't deserve him as a friend, not at all, but I couldn't help myself wishing for more.

Once everyone finished up their breakfast, we headed to the debriefing room. As everyone took their places around the table, I leaned against the wall in the background, my usual position. I hated feeling important.

"This is going to be roughly a two day mission," Tony started, pulling out a manilla folder.

"You leave this afternoon in the quinjet, you'll arrive by nightfall. It is up to the two of you to decide from there if you'd like to infiltrate the same night, or rest up for it and head out in the morning. We need the documents from the director's computer, a flashdrive, there should be around 450 gigabytes of information on there…"

I zoned out as he drowned on, having went over the mission files the night before. If anything had changed since then, I trusted that Loki would let me know. He knew I didn't much care for mission debriefings. I saw why they might be useful, but they just annoyed the hell out of me.

"You'll stay at the safehouse for the two nights you're away, there should be clothes and things you'll need there for a couple of nights but feel free to pack your own things. That's about it. Any questions?" Tony straightened up in his chair. I shook my head when he glanced to me.

"Alright. You leave in three hours, be ready. You know where. Good luck." He stood up abruptly, the others following suit as everyone filed out of the room. I sighed in relief that it was over as Loki brushed my shoulder with his on his way out.

"Good luck!" I barely heard Thor shout over the roar of the jet's engines. I waved to him out the door before shutting and sealing it, settling back against the seat, Loki across from me. I let out a contented sigh.

I hadn't even noticed that my eyes were struggling to stay open as I slumped to the side tiredly before Loki said something.

I blinked. "What?"

"Are you alright?" He was leaning towards me, eyes flitting across my face.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine." I was trying to reassure myself as much as him. I blinked hard, willing the fuzziness in my vision to go away.

I groaned as we landed with a jolt, both jolt and the difference in altitude making my head pound even more. I was exhausted, I had barely gotten any sleep last night and what I did have was restless and shallow.

His eyes darted over to me as I swayed on my feet when I stood up.

"I think we should go tomorrow. Let's get rested up tonight, shall we?" Loki suggested.

"If you're just saying that because of me, I'm fine. Really, Loki." I added towards the end when he shot me a disbelieving glance. I knew I couldn't lie to the God of Lies himself, but it was worth a shot. I sighed.

"Just a bit tired, is all."

He set his jaw. "We leave tomorrow morning?" His voice carried the tone of a question, but I knew there was no arguing it. I honestly didn't want to argue with it either, a night of rest would do me good, but at the same time the sooner we could get this over with, the better.

"Alright." I sighed.

As we entered the safe house, he suddenly touched his hand to my shoulder, spinning me around to face him.

"Get some rest, okay?" He said softly.

"Okay." I mumbled. I followed him down the hallway, stopping to turn into the left bedroom. He took the right, which was directly across the hall. He offered me a tender smile, which I tried to feebly return.

As soon as I shut the door behind me, I immediately collapsed onto the bed. heaving out a sigh. The movement made my head hurt more than ever and I groaned, massaging my temples. It did little to ease the pain.

I woke up, once again in a cold sweat, my heart beating out of my chest. As soon as I gained my bearings, the memories of the day coming back to me, I flopping back onto the pillows, heaving a sigh. I hastily glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 1:55 AM.

I just couldn't catch a break.

"You're up early darling." Loki commented, walking into the room, already dressed in his suit.

"It's an early mission." I shrugged, chugging down the rest of my coffee and heading for another.. I hadn't gone back to sleep since then, lying awake in bed until I couldn't stand it. That had been around 3 in the morning sometime. I had given up the prospect of sleep by then, seeing how we were departing for the base in three hours. It was now 4 AM.

"You're up early too." I added, frowning. "What's up?"

"I heard a commotion in here." He smiled, teasing. "I thought someone had come to rob us."

I huffed. "I wasn't exactly trying to be quiet."

He sat across the dusty table from me, gazing at me with those piercing eyes. I knew he could see right through me, he could quite literally read minds, but he chose not to. I appreciated him greatly for that.

"So," I began. "What's the plan? Stealth, I presume?" That's what we were both good at, why we made a great team.

He hummed in agreement, glancing down at the table. I knew by now that he wasn't much of a breakfast person, neither was I, but I needed a boost of energy if I was going to get through this mission.

I sighed, placing my empty cup down, the third of the morning already. I could feel the caffeine pumping through my veins now.

"What do you say about heading out early, Trickster?" I stood up, tossing a sly grin over my shoulder to him. He smiled back, standing up as well. "If you're up for it."

"'Course I am. Let me get changed."

The mission had gone quite well, save for a couple of minor injuries I had sustained. Loki had fretted over them at the moment, becoming protective over me; we couldn't get a long enough break to allow him to heal me.

As a loud bang went off, flame and smoke soon engulfed the room. One of the guards' bullets had ricocheted off of a steel beam on the unfinished ceiling, glancing off and instead hitting a nearby canister of fuel, igniting it.

I dully recognized a sharp pain as one of the agents slashed at me with his knife, but that was the last thing I was thinking about at the moment. My mind flashed back to the apartment fire in New York. I gasped, stumbling back and starting to hyperventilate. I barely noticed Loki in front of me, frantically telling me that we needed to leave. I only realized he was there when he grabbed my arm, yanking me out of the room seconds before the second, larger canister of fuel exploded into flame.

Still hyperventilating, I slid down the wall, desperately struggled for air and frantically rubbing my hands up and down my arms as they numbed. I felt a hand rest hesitantly on my arm and my head shot up. Loki.

I broke down there and then, gasping out pathetic sobs and cries. I then felt him pull me into a tender hug, murmuring "It's okay"s into my ear and rubbing my back. My chest heaved as I struggled to pull myself together.

As we dropped our gear in the middle of the living room, I exhaled a shaky breath, remembering that I had some explaining to do about how I had reacted during the mission. I hoped he wouldn't question me on it, that we could just leave it, but I knew that he would want to know.

I went back to 'my' room across the hall. As I changed out of my suit, unsheathing my hidden weapons and carefully placing them in the bedside table, I tried not to focus on the dreaded conversation too long.

As I went back out into the kitchen, pulling out a can of spaghetti from the cupboard and placing it in a bowl, then the microwave, I dreaded the conversation. I flinched when I heard Loki's footsteps coming down the hall.

He huffed at my food choice. "Of all the things available you choose that."

"You should know me by now." I huffed out a laugh.

He pulled out some chocolates from the cupboard and I gave him a disappointed look.

"What?" He asked, a smile playing on his face. The microwave dinged, signaling my food was ready. I grabbed the bowl out and headed over to the dining table, Loki in tow.

He sat across from me, chocolates on the table as he crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair.

I struggled to eat my spaghetti, the smell and taste of it making me nauseous for some reason.

"Fuck it." I muttered, pushing the bowl away and reaching across the table to snag one of his chocolates.

He gave me an amused glance before nudging the box further in my direction.

"I see you've given up on your 'healthy' meal." He joked.

"It's disgusting." I muttered around a mouthful of chocolate dipped pecan.

Once we finished 'dinner', we both headed back to our respective rooms, exhausted from the day's events, me even more so.

I flopped limply onto the bed, allowing the bouncing mattress to toss me this way and that before it settled down. I rolled on my side before groaning when I realized I hadn't taken my sleeping pills.

Really, it didn't matter at this point. It was bad enough already that I was an insomniac, but the nightmares woke me up so frequently that it was impossible to even get any amount of sleep.

I stared at the two blue pills in my palm for a moment before tossing them in my mouth and leaning down to the faucet to down them with water. I took an extra one tonight in the hopes that maybe I wouldn't dream. Maybe I could sleep through for just a single night.

I knew, from my 'attack' during the mission today, that if I dreamed it was going to be bad. It had been a long time since something on a mission had triggered me, and that time I was fortunate enough to be alone. I usually had it so well under control, pushed back to the depths of my mind during consciousness before it came flooding back into my vulnerable sleeping brain.

But the past few nights, no, week of little to no rest had worn me down and my defenses, allowing my unconscious to worm its way up to the surface like worms burrowing to the surface of the earth after a heavy rain.

I unceremoniously slumped onto the bed again, rolling over onto my side and curling into a small ball, desperate for some form of comfort. I attempted to push the worms back down into the earth so I could sleep without my dreams being plagued with nightmares, with little success.

"No. No, no no no no no no. No please." My voice started out a whisper, quickly turning into a scream, a desperate wail as the cries of the people burning alive in the building reached my ears. "Please. Make it stop. What did I do to deserve this? Why? Why- PLEASE" A screaming sob tore out of my throat as a man's cries and yells echoed out of the building.

I stumbled back, clutching my hair and mumbling to myself, "No. No no. No no no no no. No. You couldn't help it- you..you did what you had to do right? that's what they said. They don't blame you, it's not your fault." Another scream pierced the air.

"Please. no. I can't-" I mumbled to myself, backing up. I felt a heat at my back, the flame gripping my shoulders-

"Love. Wake up. You're okay. You're safe." A familiar voice said softly. I whimpered, curling into myself and hugging myself as my breaths grew more erratic.

"You're okay." The voice repeated. I was suddenly aware of his presence. I immediately attempted to reign myself in, even though I knew it was too late, but it turned into a choked sob. He pulled me to his chest, tucking me in close to him and rocking me back and forth.

"It's okay love." He murmured. I clutched onto his shirt for dear life, crying into his shoulder.

"Breathe with me." He said gently, sucking in a slow, deliberate breath and holding it for a moment before allowing it to slowly escape his lungs.

I attempted to repeat the action through my sobs and hiccuping.

"That's it. That's it. Just like that." He encouraged me. Soon, my breathing slowed to a somewhat normal rate, my heart was no longer beating out of my chest. I was just clinging to his tunic, sobbing into his shirt uncontrollably. His hand rubbed comfortingly up and down my back.

"I- I'm okay." I choked out once I could manage enough breath to speak again.

"I'm okay. I'm sorry." I repeated.

"Shh. Don't apologize, you have nothing to apologize for."

"No. No, I'm sorry. You can go back to bed now." My voice cracked, betraying me.

"I will be doing no such thing, now hush. Just focus on calming down, your heart is still racing." He said softly, solidifying his statement by pulling me closer.

I pressed myself closer to him, if that was even possible, desperate for all the undeserved comfort I could receive from him.

He hummed quietly, a soothing, unfamiliar melody that I could only believe was Asgardian in origin. The sound served to further calm me as my body slumped against his tiredly.

“That’s it. You’re okay.” He promised me. I sighed, closing my eyes and managed to relish in the moment once I calmed, knowing this would probably never happen again.

“I’m sorry.” I mumbled quietly, still gripping onto him.. “It’s just- I have, I have these-” I drew in a shaky breath, attempting to form a last, desperate excuse.

“Shh. You don’t have to explain anything to me, darling, I know. You don’t have to speak of it until you’re ready. Just relax.”

I sighed. “I don’t deserve you.” I mumbled out pathetically.

He laughed a bit at that.

“No, I think it’s quite the opposite.”

“You don’t understand the things I’ve done, the things I’ve seen- I’ve been so selfish, I’m everything an avenger shouldn’t be.” I heard him sigh.

“I disagree. I have never met anyone as fearless, as selfless as you.” Loki reassured me. “You are the most selfless creature I have ever met, the most passionate of what you believe in. I have never met someone so,” He paused. “Honest.”

At that, I almost snorted. Right.

“No.” I started. “No. Loki don’t do this to me.” I pleaded. His gaze was questioning but he said nothing, willing me to continue my train of thought.

“I killed those people. I murdered them to save myself. I know you think I did what I had to do. I know you and the others think they were too far gone to be saved but I saw it. I saw the horror in their eyes at what they were doing. I saw them. The real people, the innocent people they were before they were controlled. They were still there. They could’ve been saved.” My voice trailed off to a whisper as I forced tears back. I wasn’t done yet. He didn’t understand, he shouldn’t be around me. I was such a bad influence on him, not the other way around. He was getting better, I was not.

“And- and the people in the burning building.” I continued quietly. I was struggling to contain my emotions at this point, afraid my voice would crack under the effort it took. “I killed them, too. I- I left them there, I left them to die, Loki, just to save myself. Innocent people. I still hear their screams at night I can’t-” I broke off with a choked sob, the floodgates were open. I gasped for air, clinging tightly to him once again as I was sent into another panic attack. I whimpered pathetically into his shirt.

“It’s okay, love. You’re okay.” He murmured in his velvet voice. I sobbed harder.

He took exaggerated breaths, willing me to mimic him. I could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath and I desperately tried to match it, to no avail.

“Breath with me.” He encouraged.

“I can’t.” I choked out, my voice cracking.

“You can.” He said softly. “Breathe with me.” He repeated.

He couldn’t calm me down, not this time. It was too terrible. But as I tired myself out, my sobs turned to small gasps and my cries died down to quiet whimpers. This entire time, he said nothing, offering his silent support and comforting presence as he held me to his chest, humming the same unfamiliar, otherworldly song.

Once I had calmed down, he spoke up, his voice hesitant, not wanting to trigger another attack.

“Is that what this is all about? Your nightmares?” He asked quietly, tenderly.

“Yes.” I answered him weakly, not trusting my voice to say much more than that.

“The horrors you have seen, they do not make who you are. Don't allow them to.” He said softly.

“You were never meant to find out, I had it handled.” I whispered.

“It looks that way to me.” He said sarcastically, though his voice was not harsh nor judgemental. I could only make out concern.

“Do they come every night?” His cool chin rested on the top of my feverish head. I sighed.

“Some nights are worse than others, but yes. Give or take.”

“There have been more bad nights lately, I take it?” I nodded.

“And that’s what caused your..” He hesitated. “..episode, today?” I nodded again.

“I’m sorry, love.” He said softly after a moment of silence. “I should have realized.”

“No, don’t. You’re my friend, Loki, but you can’t notice everything. I don’t expect you to either.”

He was quiet; I could only imagine what was going through his head.

“I want to be there for you.” He said suddenly. I opened my mouth to speak, to say that he was already doing more than enough for me, but he silenced me by leaning down and briefly pressing his cool lips to mine. My heart stopped.

He began to apologize, before I leaned up and hesitantly kissed him. He hummed, wrapping his arms around me as I pulled away.

“So you’ve really meant it then, hm?” I asked, leaning back into him.

“What?”

“All those times you’ve called me ‘love’. How long have you meant it?”

He chuckled at that, a warm sound that emanated from his chest. It calmed me like a cat’s purr. “Ever since I’ve called you that.”

My mind raced back to all those times, how I've felt all this time, realizing just how far back it went.

“I’m an idiot.” I whispered to myself. He glanced down at me quizzically.

“I’ve..” I hesitated on the word. “Loved you this entire time, goddamnit Loki Laufeyson. I never even gave that stupid pet name a second thought.” I said with fake anger. “Gods.”

He laughed, leaning back down onto the bed and pulling me down with him. I gasped in surprise.

“You need to sleep.” He said simply.

I immediately tensed. “I can’t.”

He turned onto his side, pulling me into him and wrapping an arm around my waist. He tangled my legs with his before leaning down to my shoulder, his cool breath fanning my ear, and whispering lowly. ‘I’ll be here. I’ll keep the nightmares away.”

“Okay.” I allowed myself to relax into him and the mattress as my eyes fluttered shut, exhausted.

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mickey-henry · 3 years

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𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky’s been flirting with you, but hasn’t taken it further than that. frustrated, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: occasional swearing (but not much) and frustrating flirting (I’d be melting if it was happening to me). besides that, this fic is pure fluffy fun.

author’s note: hello there! this is my second fic; I’m very excited to post it! I found the header image here, and if you want to listen to the song I reference in this fic, you can listen here. bold text indicates singing, while italicized text refers to inner thoughts. likes, reblogs, messages, replies, and comments are cherished! I hope you like it! 💖

Bucky Barnes is an acquaintance at best. The two of you rarely work together, and with conflicting schedules, you see little of each other around the compound. On a random Friday in April, however, something changes in you. The moment is nothing out of the ordinary. You’re sitting on the couch in the main living space, re-reading one of your favorite books. Bucky has just returned from a mission; you glance up to see his exhausted expression. He catches your eye, winking with a smile, before walking to his room. Your heart flutters and your head freezes at the response. “Oh, no,” you think to yourself. “Maybe that was a one-time thing? I don’t actually like him, right?” Wrong.

Ever since that night, the mere presence of Bucky Barnes drives you crazy: his stunning blue eyes that squint ever so slightly when he smiles, his adorable nose that crinkles when he laughs, his pillowy lips that you lose yourself in, his fluffy hair you can’t help but imagine running your fingers through, his scruff speckled jawline that you wish would brush along your hands, cheeks, anywhere really. He occupies your dreams; you can’t escape this man even if you try. Today, he drives you crazier than usual. He stands in the compound's kitchen in a tight black t-shirt, one that leaves nothing to the imagination. This is the first time you’ve seen him in short sleeves, in anything other than tactical gear. You can’t help but stare as he prepares his lunch. The shirt hugs his frame tight, accentuating his biceps that had no right to be that big. “Gosh, he must spend hours in the gym to look like that.” You then notice the vein in his right arm protruding from his skin, tracing it with your eyes. You didn’t think he could become any more beautiful, but here he is before you, incredible as ever.

You’re pulled from your reverie when Bucky calls your name. “Yeah?” you reply, barely masking the startled stutter in your voice.

“Pass me the salt?”

“Oh! Sure, of course,” you muster, taking a sip of water from the glass in front of you as you hand him the salt shaker.

“Thanks, doll,” he flirts with a smile, the same one he gave you that night when he got back to the compound. You nearly choke. “Bucky Barnes called me a term of endearment?!? Holy shit.” Your heart swells and you look down at your glass in a desperate attempt to hide the blush creeping its way across your cheeks. “Goodness gracious, I respond this way from a simple word?” You couldn’t imagine how you’d feel if he touched you.

It didn’t take long to find out. The following day, you stand in the kitchen prepping your lunch, singing softly along to the song playing from your phone. Bucky appears soon after. He stands close to you for a moment, closer than necessary, but of course you don’t mind. He has just showered; his cologne lingers in the air, intoxicating you. Somehow, you keep singing along, showing no sign that your mind is elsewhere.

“Ugh, he smells amazing. This man has too much power over me; this is ridiculous! I don’t even remember what I was doing—”

“You have a beautiful voice,” he compliments.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you softly reply, your heart racing at his praise.

“Let me get by you real fast, doll,” he says, moving to walk behind you.

“There he goes again with the pet name. My god, could this get any worse—”

He places his hands gently on your hips as he moves beside you. Electricity travels through your whole body; you’re internally screaming at his touch. His hands feel better than you imagined. Even though the contact lasts only a moment, the effects of his touch linger after, leaving you speechless.

You hear a musical chuckle from the man behind you. “Is he teasing me? It sure feels like it,” you wonder. There is no way that he can’t see the effect he has on you. Before you can even formulate another thought, he touches you again as he moves back to the other side of you. “That was definitely on purpose; certainly he wouldn’t do this by accident. Right?”

Your eyes linger as he finishes putting together his lunch. He catches your gaze and smiles. “See you later, sweetheart,” he says with a wink before leaving the room. “Okay, that answers my question; that was very intentional. What am I going to do with myself?”

You don’t know how much longer you can take his teasing. Throughout the week, he ups his antics, calling you pet names more than your own, stealing touches whenever he can get away with it, smiling whenever you make eye contact. The tension is insatiable; thoughts of Bucky follow you everywhere. You decide to take matters in your own hands; Bucky did not seem to be planning to make a move anytime soon. If he is going to tease the hell out of you, you might as well get some payback.

───────────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ─────────────

Tony’s announcement of Friday night karaoke gives you a wicked idea. However, for it to work, you need to recruit help. You know just who to ask. It doesn’t take long to find Sam and Steve; they spent a ton of their free time sparring in the gym. They seem to be at the end of their workout, their movements slow and sloppy, relying on witty retorts to throw off the other. They stop when they notice your arrival.

“Hey!” Sam says with a smile, hugging you as you approach. You squeeze him tightly, even with his sticky sweat coating his arms. You greet Steve with a hug too.

“What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Steve asks as you let go.

“Can I ask you guys something? And you promise you two won’t laugh at me? Especially if I'm reading this wrong?”

“Of course,” answers Steve.

“Yeah, for sure,” replies Sam.

You hesitate for a second, taking a deep breath. “Does Bucky like me? I swear he does. He keeps teasing me, and I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I think I am practically in love with the guy at this point, he’s so beautiful and—”

You stop as the boys exchange glances and begin laughing.

You cross your arms, hurt. “You said you wouldn’t laugh at me! I can’t control how I feel.”

“No! Wait! We aren’t laughing at you!” Steve says between giggles.

You furrow your brows. “Then why are you laughing?”

“Bucky’s obsessed with you,” Steve answers after calming his laughter.

“God, yes, you’re all he talks about nowadays,” Sam adds.

“What?! He does? Why? Are you shitting me right now? Because that would be really freaking mean—“

“No! Of course not,” Steve insists. “Don’t you see the way he looks at you?”

“And the pet names he gives you?” Sam adds.

“And how he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself lately?” Steve finishes.

Now you feel stupid for even asking. Of course you noticed all of those things. They were all you ever thought about. “Well, yeah, but maybe he does that with all the girls.”

“What girls?” Sam retorted. “The only women who are here often enough to cross paths with him are you, Natasha, and Wanda. Wanda’s with Vision, as weird as that is, but love is love. Natasha shoots daggers at anyone who looks at her with love in their eyes. That leaves you.”

“Why in the world would he like me? Of all people? He’s out of my league,” you sigh,

Sam’s scoff pulls you from your thoughts. “Bucky? Out of your league? He’s a crazy ex-assassin with emotional issues! If anything, he's out of your league.”

“You’re a catch, why wouldn’t he like you?” Steve assures.

Steve and Sam always know just what to say to make you feel better. “I guess you’re right,” you admit with a defeated grin.

“So, you know how Bucky feels. What are you going to do about it?” Steve asks.

“I have an idea, but I need your help.”

“We’re listening.”

You divulge your plan to them. They smile, hyping you up.

“Dude, I’m so down!” Sam exclaims, clapping his hands in excitement.

“You think this will work?”

“Definitely,” Steve assures. “This is going to be amazing!”

“Okay then, we’re doing this. Let’s go find Bucky. Time to initiate phase one.”

───────────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ─────────────

Bucky is sitting on the common room couch, flipping through a book when he sees you, Sam, and Steve enter. He exchanges a glance with you, smiling as your eyes light up. The three of you sit down. You’re sitting next to Sam, closer than usual. There’s a brief moment of silence before you speak. “Sam, are you going to karaoke night?”

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss everyone’s drunk-ass singing for the world.”

“Will you be my duet partner?”

This catches Bucky’s attention. He looks up from his book. Why the hell were you asking Sam to sing with you? You normally ask the girls...

“Sure thing, baby. It’ll be a ton of fun!” Sam smiles.

Baby?! What?! How dare he call you a pet name, his girl, right in front of him? Well, you may not be his girl yet, but Sam knows how he feels about you. What the hell is he thinking?

“Yay! This’ll be so fun!” You hug him, grabbing his hand before continuing, “Wanna practice with me in a bit?”

“Find me when you’re ready, sweetheart,” Sam answers, kissing your knuckle before letting go of your hand.

Sweetheart?! What the fuck was going on? Did he miss his shot? Would Sam really do that to him? Bucky can barely handle his swirling thoughts. He storms out of the room without looking back.

Steve can’t help but laugh once Bucky is out of earshot. “That worked a little too well, wouldn’t you say so?”

“That wasn’t too far, was it?” you ask with a worried expression on your face.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. He’ll just come on even stronger now. He won’t give up on you that easily,” Sam assures you.

───────────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ─────────────

Bucky can barely contain his anger as you step on the stage with Sam, giggling and smiling at your karaoke partner. Jealousy engulfs him. He can barely listen to the start of the song, ignoring the catchy beat blasting through the speakers. He doesn’t recognize the song, but looks up from his drink when you sing, “Hey Bucky boy, what you doing tonight? I wanna see what you got in store."

He looks right at you. Did she just say Bucky?

Sam echoes, “Hey, hey Bucky!” Well, that answers his question.

“You're giving it your all when you're dancing on me. I want to see if you can give me some more,” you continue, twirling your fingers through your hair.

“Hey, hey Bucky!”

“You can be my man, I can be your girl, and we can pump this jam however you want,” you sing, swaying your hips to the cadence of the lyrics.

“Hey, hey Bucky!”

“Pump it from the side, pump it upside down, or we can pump it from the back and the front,” you wink as you finish the line. Bucky sits up suddenly, crossing his legs, his face turning beet red. You smile, knowing the plan was working. Steve laughs from beside him. He keeps his eyes glued on you as the two of you continue the song, utterly entranced. You look him right in the eye as you end the song, “I want you tonight.”

You saunter over to where he is sitting after high-fiving Sam, confidence filling your chest. “So, what did you think of my performance, Bucky?”

You yelp as he grabs your hips and pulls you down to sit on his lap. His voice deepens, “you’re such a tease, you know that right?”

You laugh. “I’m the tease? Really? You’re the one who just pulled me onto your lap and taunts me with flirtatious remarks and smiles all freaking day. My god Bucky, make a move already—”

He cuts you off, pulling you in for a kiss, his flesh arm grabbing the back of your neck. The team whoops and cheers.

“Glad you finally made a move, Bucky,” you pant as your lips part from his.

“Best decision I ever made in my life, doll.” Before you can respond, he kisses you again, the karaoke bar fading in the background as you finally embrace the man of your dreams.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #mickey-henry #bucky barnes fic #my fic: hey bucky #mel's writing

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anyoneseenadam · 3 years

Note

That fenrys fic was divine 😭🔥 can I request something for him having a nightmare for the first time since he found his mate and she comforts him and reassure him ?a tiny bit of angst maybe 💔🤧

pairing: Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)

warnings: blood, violence, nightmares, character death (kinda), mainly fluff with a lil bit of angst

a/n: I completely stole the first half of this from a short story I wrote about Achilles lmao, also THANK YOU FENRYS IS AN ICON AND DESERVES ALL THE LOVE WHICH I AM HAPPY TO GIVE, hope u enjoy <3

(I did not proof read this because I am tired :))

——————————————————————————

Fenrys hands shook as they refrained from touching her, from pulling her in and wrapping himself around her, drowning in her hair, her skin, her clothes, her laugh, eyes, smile. She turned with a smirk and a cheeky eyebrow raise, beckoning him in. He lunged, grabbing her, ready to make true on his wish, staring in wonder as her solid form turned to mist in his hands as she moved further away. Her laugh drawing him in. And of course, he followed like the lost puppy he was, begging, and whining to return to comfort, home, safety. She was his home, and he would follow her to the ends of the world if it meant she stayed that way.

She had moved again, this time into a series of winding corridors, the maze he called his heart, a maze she owned. He chased after her, but she was quick, twisting and turning through corridors and secret doors, the map laid bare for her to see as he stumbled blinding, led only be the light she left in her path and her infectious laughter. Finally, she reached a dead end, casually bracing herself against the cold walls, releasing an exhale of laughter through her nose. He slowed his pace to a walk as she smiled up at him through curling lashes, nothing but the faint smudge of rouge high on her cheeks concealing her natural face to him, which he proceeded to wipe with his thumb when he reached her, his build towering over hers.

“Finished running, are you?” he mused quietly,

“I knew you wouldn’t let me get too far,” she whispered back, lips tracing his jaw.

“That’s because you hold my leash,” he allowed himself to concede, “always have, always will my darling.”

She let out a sigh of agreement, before leaning to his ear, their bodies pressed so tightly together he could feel her heart beating in his own chest, as if they had swapped hearts giving the other all they were, all they could be.

“There is no me without you.” She uttered the vows they had made that beautiful day, where she dressed as the angel he was sure she was. He leaned down to express his love, but she did not allow him to rest in her arms for long, pulling away with a giggle.

“What?” he asked with a smirk, but she was already gone giggling behind him, the chase beginning again.

But as he turned, blessed by the smile she gave him, all pearly white teeth and rosy cheeks, the warning shout he cried was not quick enough as a wash of deep red replaced the once pure and untainted white of her smile. Her mouth filling with blood, the sword protruding from her stomach like a handle. She stared at him questions not asked soon enough as she splutters up blood onto her previously fresh clothes, eyes full of fear, splitting his heart in half, the ground crumbling beneath his feet.

He tried to run to her, hands grasping at air as he fell through the cracks in his own heart, a scream tearing from his throat as she was pulled from him, skin draining of colour and eyes turning black, full of hatred and contempt as she stared him down.

His own scream woke him up, sweat and tears blending on his face like paint on a pallet, as he gripped her pillow and sobbed on their bed. He herded himself into the far corner of the bed, afraid when he realised she was not lying next to him, comforting words, and gentle hands ready to lull him back to sleep. Fear and sadness battled in his heart, the heart he had given her during the war, the heart she had held safely as she cut her way through armies to reach him again. The heart she had put back together with soft kisses and words of undying love. The heart she had tied to her own the day they wed and had kept pressed safely in her chest since.

He looked now, tears blurring the image he was presented with, bookshelves filled with stories you promised you would read eventually, tubes of lipstick on the floor next to the frame of their mirror, tea left to go cold in mugs dotted around the room, sketches left to be forgotten on desks and ribbons tied haphazardly around bed posts.

He saw all these signs of you, the clues you left him as he navigated your shared life. His eyes darted around the room, breath picking up when he couldn’t see you, pressing a hand to your side of the bed and finding it warm, his breathing only slowing a little.

He stood, pulling on a pair of boxers, and grabbing two daggers he kept next to the bed as his mind filled with the worst possible scenarios. He slowly padded out the room, moving silently through the house and thinking of a million different ways to torture whoever had dared to touch you. The tears on his face had dried uncomfortably but it was the least of his worries as he stalked through his own home, fear clouding his judgement that argued you were probably safe.

He heard movement in the kitchen and walked that way, footsteps light as he rounded to corner to a beautiful sight. His arms dropped as he took in the sight of you in nothing but his shirt, sipping from a glass of water, illuminated by the moons glow. You turned when he walked in, smiling at his but furrowing your eyebrows when you saw his facial expression and the knives in his hands.

“Fenrys, what happened?” you asked, moving over to him as he threw his daggers down, arms encircling your waist as he breathed in your scent. “Fenrys please, you’re scaring me.”

He pulled away from you and you reached up, stroking a hand down his face and looking up at him with nothing but concern in your eyes, eyes that were searching his for any clues of why he was acting this way.

“I though you were- I thought someone had,” he struggled to get the words out, pulling you even closer, one hand tangling itself in your hair as you furrowed your eyebrows at him, kissing his sharp jaw.

“Slow down love, tell me what happened,” your soothing voice calmed him, his breath coming easier as you moved a hand to his shoulder, your loving grip grounding him.

“I had a dream, then I woke up and you weren’t hear and I- I thought someone had taken you,” he whispered, eyes filling with tears as he pictured your lifeless eyes and limp body.

“Oh my love, I’m sorry,” you pulled away from him, clasping his large hand in your smaller one and pulling him to your shared bedroom, “But you know I’m not easy to kidnap, I make too much noise.” You joked, holding his hand to your mouth, and kissing it lightly as you walked over to your bed.

He sat down first, and you stood between his legs, his arms wrapping tightly around you again. “Don’t joke about that,” he muttered into your stomach, but he couldn’t resist the smile forming.

You pushed his head back and climbed into his lap, arms resting on his shoulders. “I mean honestly, if I ever got taken hostage I’m pretty sure I’d annoy them into letting me go, I’d just start explaining my top three reasons why every Jane Austen novel contains gay subtext.”

“Or you could explain to them the tier list you and Aelin made of all the men you know.” Fenrys laughed as your eyes lit up.

“I forgot about that!” you exclaimed and Fenrys laughed, lying down, and pulling you with him as he tickled your sides, revelling in your squeals as you batted your hands at him.

When you calmed down, breathing quickly you rolled off Fenrys as he nestled himself between your breasts, holding you close.

“Please never leave me,” he whispered into your chest as he listened to the steady beat of your heart as it created a song just for him. The vulnerability in his voice broke you and you moved a hand to his head, stroking lightly.

“Never.” You spoke with such surety that Fenrys let out the exhale he had been holding in. “I am never going to leave you, I’m always going to be by your side.”

“I love you so much, so much when I thought you were gone, I felt sick. I can’t do this without you.” He whispered into your skin. “Sometimes I’m scared that one day I’ll wake up and all this will have been a dream. And I’ll have to lie with Maeve again and kill for her and watch her hurt Conall and it will be so much worse, because I’ll remember this softness, I’ll remember you and maybe one day I’d find you and you wouldn’t recognise me, and for the rest of my life I’d think of you, of the woman I never got to love.”

“This is real.” You whispered, kissing his head, and ignoring the tears welling in your eyes, “I’m real, you’re real. We’re real Fenrys.”

He didn’t reply, just buried his face deeper into your chest, addicted to the feel of your heartbeat. The constant reminder that you were here, you were alive. After he lost his brother you noticed Fenrys had become clingier, you initially presumed it was just because he was in mourning and needed comfort but one night he had drunkenly confessed his biggest fear to you. The nightmares he would have where you left him, told him you hated him, and the worst of all, the nightmares in which he watched your life be cruelly ripped from you. He could live with you hating him and leaving him, knowing that somewhere in the world you were safe and breathing, but everyday he feared your death.

The mornings he would wake up and find you wincing, a hot water bottle pressed into your lower stomach, the thought of you in any form of pain ripping into him, making his heartbeat faster and his palms sweat. The powerful warrior brought to his knees for you, but you were always quick to reassure him with kisses and promises of staying in bed all day.

As he breathed in your scent now and listened to your heartbeat, happily surrounded by you and only you, he allowed himself to relax under you soft touch, his own heart slowing to beat with yours as the fear slowly melted from him.

He needn’t fear your death, as he knew that he would never let you die. No, instead he would always fall before you, sacrifice his own life, any life if it meant you survived. You were a Goddess sent to bless him and he would fall to worship before you, always.

#acofas #acomaf #acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #acowar #acofs #acosf

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xjoonchildx · 4 years

Text

airplane, pt. 2 | jjk x reader chapter five: home

pairing: jungkook/reader

word count: 2.9K rating: 18+

genre: smut | silly smut | nonsensical smut

warnings: criminal!jungkook, koreanamerican!jungkook, reality has left the chat, plausibility has left the chat

A/N: i've never had so much anxiety posting an update. next time i decide to fly by the seat of my pants and turn a one-shot into a full chaptered fic, just punch me in the face, okay?

all kidding aside, standard smut warnings apply to this chapter and i really hope you guys like it.

xoxo

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

artwork by the shmexy @ppersonna who’s smut is even better than her art

*****************************

“You broke into my house.”

It takes you a solid minute to find the breath to power that shaky sentence.

Your legs are already like noodles from your run and at this point they are threatening to come right out from underneath you. You reach a hand out to the wall to stop yourself from hitting the deck.

Jungkook stands slowly from where he’s seated on the couch, a careful smile on his lips.

“You gonna call the cops?”

You stare at him.

Jungkook is in the country. In Los Angeles. In your living room .

He’s wearing a leather jacket over a t-shirt and jeans and his hair is cut short again. He is alive and in one piece and looks somehow even more handsome than he did the last time you saw him. How does he do that?

You’re so distracted by Jungkook -- in your fucking house -- that you miss the look of concern that comes over him the longer you stand there without saying something. It’s like your brain is hung up -- glitching -- trying to process the scene in front of you.

“You okay?”

“You broke into my house ,” you say again, as though that should answer his question.

“That is a matter of semantics,” Jungkook argues. “I would say that I let myself in because I knew you wouldn’t want me just standing around outside. Aren’t you the one always telling me to keep a low profile?”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles up your chest.

His sarcasm is comforting, even right now, when your heart is still racing and you can’t seem to stop sweating and you’ve just realized that you’re pretty fucking pissed that he dropped off the radar and didn’t contact you for weeks.

“So we should probably talk, huh?”

“You think?”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. He sinks back down onto the couch and gestures for you to join him.

You don’t.

“How the hell did you get here?” you demand.

“Same way I got out, pretty much,” he shrugs. “Mexico. Hitched a ride to San Diego and Yoongi was able to pick me up there. Good thing I’m not from Iowa or some shit, huh?”

He aims a hopeful smile at you like he’s searching for a way to connect but you don’t return it.

A flash of disappointment crosses his face.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Good thing.”

You look down to his lap. His hands haven’t stopped moving, fingers winding together and unwinding over and over. He’s nervous.

Well, good.

“I’m gonna turn myself in tomorrow,” he says after a long moment.

He knocks the wind out of you with that.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

“Yeah. Turns out, I’m being represented by some incredibly-connected, high-dollar attorney.” He looks up and fixes you with those dark, hypnotic eyes. “Any idea where I could have gotten one of those?”

Seokjin, you fucking angel.

“Maybe,” you murmur. “What did he say?”

“Well, he told me to get my happy ass back to the States. Said the Marshals would appreciate me walking in on my own as opposed to having to drag me back. Said I’m going to have to eat some crow if I expect them to listen to anything I have to say.”

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, against the grain of the now short hairs at his nape.

“Told me to get a haircut, too.”

That makes you smile. Jin is nothing if not thorough.

“So what does -- “ you clear your throat, “ -- your attorney say about what happens after that?”

“No way to know for sure,” Jungkook admits. “They could lock me up and throw away the key or they could decide on something else. Kind of a roll of the dice at this point.”

Your chest squeezes at the thought of Jungkook walking into that Federal Building and leaving in a transport van. You shut your eyes like that will somehow stop the mental image.

“And you’re turning yourself in anyway.”

He fidgets with his ear like an anxious kid.

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” you say on a shaky exhale. “Okay. Wow.”

A tense silence falls between you.

“I need you to talk to me,” Jungkook says after a moment. “I need to know where your head is at right now.”

Do you know how hard I went to bat for you? you want to scream, which is unfair, really. He’s never asked you for your help. Everything you’ve done, you’ve done on your own. But now he’s here and in front of you and you are practically buzzing with the urge to vent your frustration at him.

“Why didn’t I hear from you?”

You hope like hell you’re the only one who can hear the thread of insecurity in your voice. “You had the burner number and I just -- never heard from you again. And now you’re in my house.”

“I know,” he admits. His fingers keep lacing together, unlacing. “I know it’s really fucked up to just ambush you like this. It’s just that shit got really hairy for me in Nicaragua. These guys stole my phone.”

“But you managed to call Yoongi,” you snap.

“Well yeah,” he fires back. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. I’ve had his number for years. I got in touch with him as soon as I could get my hands on a new burner.”

You tell yourself to relax.

You tell yourself that it’s a totally plausible explanation and put a hand to your forehead as though you expect to be able to feel your temperature coming down. As though you’ll be able to feel the anger draining out of you until all that’s left is the relief that he’s here, that he’s okay.

You take a deep breath, release the tension that’s had you wound so tight.

“I left the bureau.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, “Did they -- Did I -- “

“Don’t give yourself too much credit,” you cut in, rolling your eyes. “It wasn’t really about you. Not all of it, anyway.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it. There is a melancholy in his eyes that unnerves you.

You’ve seen him cocky and arrogant and unrepentant and flirtatious. But this — this hat-in-hand version of him, devoid of his trademark bravado is so disconcerting.

He looks away from you, back down to his hands. You wrap your arms around yourself and take a moment to just look at him, to appreciate his striking face. You think back to the first time you saw that face, how dumbfounded you’d been by his physical appearance.

Then he opened his mouth and your fate was sealed.

One way or another this debacle ends in just a few short hours.

The rational part of you craves a conclusion to this insanity, an end to the near-constant anxiety you’ve felt for months now. But there’s the other part of you that worries this will end with Jungkook behind bars for the rest of his life. You don’t know if you’re ready to accept that just yet.

“Can you um --“ Jungkook wets his lips, “-- can you come sit with me?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly.

You cross the room and slide next to him on the couch.

He reaches for your hands, but does not meet your eyes. His fingers stroke over your wrists and not for the first time you wonder how he manages to make the most simple touches feel so good.

“You asked me one time,” he starts quietly, “about why I quit school. And I -- “

“Don’t -- ” you interrupt, “-- you don’t owe me an explanation.”

He shakes his head.

“Uh yeah,” he chuckles cynically. “Yeah, I do. I owe you pretty much any explanation you want at this point.”

You look down at where your hands are joined, down to where Jungkook is rubbing the calloused pad of one thumb against your palm.

“My mom got sick. And it didn’t feel right to stay in school when I could be working and helping to bring in some money.”

You remember the dig you made at him -- the way his face had shuttered -- and you feel an acute pang of guilt.

“I’m so s --”

“No, listen to me please,” he says adamantly. “She’s doing a lot better now and I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. But I need you to know that for every good thing I’ve ever done, I have done something equally as fucked up. And I just want -- “

He exhales heavily, scrubs one hand along his jaw.

“ -- I just want you to know that this shit with the money and the running is just some of me. I’ve done some really stupid shit but that’s not all I am.” He leans closer to you, pins you with that bottomless gaze. “I need you to understand that. Am I making any sense?”

You swear you can feel your heart squeeze in response.

“Yeah, you are,” you say softly. He reaches one hand out to cup your cheek.

“So can I kiss you now or are you still mad at me?”

You’re tempted to tease him but he looks so unsure of himself in this moment that you resist. You look down at yourself, remember you are still in sweaty running gear and cringe imagining what you must look like at this moment.

“I’m gross,” you protest in a whisper.

He leans closer, mouth hovering just over yours.

“Ask me if I care.”

******************************

Jungkook at least has the decency to let you shower before taking to you bed.

But just barely.

The second you are clean and dry he’s on you, mouth and hands everywhere at once. Your skin -- already warm from the hot water -- heats even more under his touch.

He’s different tonight you think, as you lie back on your bed and his lips work up the column of your throat. There’s a determination to the way he’s holding you, an urgency to the way he’s pressing his body against yours.

You stroke your hands down his back, feel the answering ripple of muscle underneath your fingertips. His body is leaner than it was in Puerto Rico and the realization sparks a sad throb in your chest.

Nicaragua must have been a lot tougher than he’s letting on.

But then his lips skate across your collarbone and you force yourself to push the thought from your mind. Whatever happened to him there is over. He’s here and he’s okay and he is literally on top of you and that’s the only thing you want to think about right now.

“I missed you,” he whispers and a shudder runs up your spine in response.

You rake your nails against his nape, fingers teasing his freshly cut hairline and he makes a satisfied groan against your mouth, pressing his hips firmly into yours.

It’s impossible at this point to ignore the nudge of his hard cock against your stomach. You snake a hand between your bodies to wrap warm fingers around his pulsing length and he pulls back to suck in a pained breath.

“Jungkook, I -- “ you start to speak, but an uncomfortable tickle in the back of your throat stops you. He opens his eyes to look down at you.

“You okay?”

Hell no, you’re not okay.

It feels like if you open your mouth to answer him, you’ll cry and you are not a crier and he’s looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something -- anything.

“Yeah, I just…um,” you stumble over your words and it takes a moment for that uncomfortable feeling to subside long enough for you to speak. You have to wait until your voice comes out even and controlled before you can finish.

“I missed you, too,” you say, finally.

His lips curve into a small smile.

“I know you did.”

He drops his mouth down to pull at one soft nipple with his lips and teeth. You sigh, arching into his touch.

The soft exhalation seems to set Jungkook off, makes the steady grind of his hips pick up in speed. He tongues at your nipples until they are aching and hard then slips a finger into your channel to test your wetness.

He brings his mouth close to your ear, breath warm against the shell.

“I can feel just how much you missed me,” he teases in a low voice.

Arrogant bastard. He’s right, though.

You huff a laugh as his fingers work in and out of you slowly, drawing out your wetness. He covers your mouth with his as his thumb rubs slow circles against your clit and you moan into his kiss.

“Fuck me,” you say quietly and you feel the tremors that run down his back at your words. “Please,” you beg, “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Jungkook kisses you again -- long and hard -- before pulling away to grab a condom from his jeans.

You take the moment to appreciate how handsome he is, chest covered in a sheen of sweat, lean body tense with the need for release. You watch the corded bands of his arms move as he crawls back onto the bed, sheathed and ready. He leans his weight on his forearms and the muscles in his shoulders become even more prominent as he lines his body up with yours.

You lift your head to suck at the hollow of his neck just as you feel the blunt tip of his cock nudge your entrance.

“Do it, Jungkook,” you moan, rolling your hips against him. “ Now.”

He groans as he obliges you, pushing slowly inside and you brace your hands around the tight muscles of his arms until you can feel him anchored deep.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Every time it’s like I forget how good you feel.”

Strange how you were just thinking the same thing -- thinking about how no one else has ever pulled these responses out of you. It’s like your body knows this man -- like it knew him way before your brain ever did.

He rocks into you slowly, deeply, pelvis flush with yours each time he strokes to the hilt. His pace is languorous and it makes your entire body feel heavy with pleasure. You wrap your legs around him tight, willing him deeper even though you know that’s not possible.

The painfully unhurried rhythm is so, so good , but it’s not enough.

Not when you can feel the threat of your release building between your legs and you need more to get you there. You angle your hips up, trying to capture more of the friction.

Jungkook takes the hint, moving one hand to cup your ass. He pulls you into each snap of his hips, forces you to take every inch on every thrust.

“Come for me,” he pants. “I can’t hold out much longer.”

You can only whine your response, too fucked out at this point to form sentences. It takes just a few more deep, desperate thrusts to make you start to unravel. Jungkook lets go the instant he feels you start to quiver around him and he doesn’t back off, lacing his fingers into yours and pinning you down into the mattress with the full force of his body.

Once the loud moaning and desperate movements slow to a stop, he drops his forehead down on yours.

The two of you breathe each other’s air for a while until your chests stop heaving and your hearts stop pounding.

***********************

“When does this all go down?” you whisper, cheek pressed to Jungkook’s chest.

You’ve spent the last five minutes enjoying a warm, comfortable silence.

But that hasn’t stopped your mind from wandering back into worry.

Jungkook presses the length of your body into his side with one firm hand. You feel him tense when you ask the question.

“10 AM.”

“10 AM,” you echo numbly.

“Yeah,” he whispers, stroking lazy patterns with his fingers down your back.

“So,” he clears his throat. “Are you...ready to talk about what’s going on here?”

You’re glad that from this angle he can’t see your reaction, can’t see the flush that spreads over your face.

“No,” you mumble childishly.

“You’re such a brat,” he teases, dropping a kiss on your hair. “So fine. I’ll do the talking then. I met someone.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She’s got her head on straight, and…” he trails off for a moment. “...she’s got me thinking about how I can get my head on straight, too.”

You smile into his skin.

“What’s she like?”

“Well, she’s a lot of different things at once. Kinda feisty, super smart, very cool,” he murmurs. “Unemployed, but hey — no one’s perfect.”

Your shoulders shake with laughter.

“Is she hot?”

“Nah,” he teases, and he jumps when you pinch his stomach. “Way better than hot. She’s beautiful. And she’s into me. Really, really into me.”

Your cheeks heat but you keep the tone light.

“How do you know she’s not just using you for sex?”

“Well in the beginning she was,” he chuckles. “But then she showed up for me in a big way. A really big way. So even though it’s really hard for her to come out and say how much she likes me, I already know. She’s already shown me.”

That uncomfortable itch in your throat returns when he says that. It’s so weird to be understood so thoroughly by someone you barely know.

“She sounds pretty amazing,” you say after the sensation subsides long enough for you to speak.

“Yeah, she is,” he whispers. “So I’m gonna go to this meeting tomorrow morning and try to fix the mess I’ve made. Cause maybe now I have a reason to stop being such a reckless asshole.”

You screw your eyes shut and will the unexpected tears that spring to your eyes not to fall.

“10 AM, right?”

He drops another kiss into your hair and pulls your body in closer.

“Yeah. 10 AM.”

**********************

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #ksmutclub #btswriterscollective #bangtanarmynet

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chimswae · 3 years

Text

BTS Caretaker CH39

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 3,161

- Author Note: Sorry again for late update, i just finished my quarantine so now i am pretty caught up with my final exams! ^^ i will try to post another one on time next monday~ for those that have read Untold, a character from the fic made a crossover appearance here.

Previous | Next

Chapter 39

Thirty minutes before they wrapped up the promotion, the boys were interacting diligently with fellow Armys and enjoyed the remaining time left before they bid a real goodbye. God knows when will they be having their comeback again? Months from now maybe?

There were few fans left in the line waiting for their albums to be signed and as usual Bangtan Sonyeondan gave all their best until the end like they usually did. Jin and Hoseok chirpy voice diverted Jimin attention to those two whom sat three seats away from him.

He glanced at the fan stood straight in from of them with an obvious bulgy stomach. A pregnant young lady that looked like in his early 20’s was having a lively conversation with the two pranksters. They were basically asking her about the baby inside her stomach while Hoseok made an attempt to poke her belly, Jin swatted his hand away claiming that he’s being rude.

The beautiful young lady laughed at their silliness and bowed slightly, before inching slowly towards Yoongi side. Jungkook looked amused and didn’t wait for her to move to his side, joining Yoongi with the conversation.

Jimin tore his gaze from them and smiled sweetly at the fans knelt before him. As usual, Jimin listened to the girl story attentively and even teased her making the girl blushed in process. The staff had ordered the fan to move as time was running out, and the fan earlier was soon replaced by the pregnant lady.

“It is Jimin! Hi!” she said excitedly, placing the album on the table.

Jimin flinched at her friendliness and nodded with a smile “Hi. What is your name?”

“Na Yeoul!” her chirpy but soft voice was addictive.

“Are you here alone Yeoul-ssi? How many months pregnant are you?” Yeoul took a deep breath, getting tired over a simple conversation that she had with previous members. She took a moment to respond to his question. Jimin looked concern and offered her to take a seat, with that he called out one of the staffs to bring a chair for her to sit.

The female staff assisted Yeoul to sit down and she thanked her before answering his question, “I come here alone and 37 weeks pregnant” his brows knitted, thinking intently.

“Yeoul-ssi, shouldn’t you be staying home or hospital? It is your critical stage, right?” Jimin freaked out knowing the risk that she took just to meet them.

She nodded in agreement “Yes. However, my baby told me that he is craving to see Bangtan Sonyeondan ” she stroked her belly, smiling softly.

“What type of craving is that? I thought it only meant for food..So, it is a he? Do you have a name for him?” her lips curled into a smile.

Pursing her lips into a pout, Yeoul hummed softly “Not yet. I will think of a name soon. It feels good to see your face before my due, thank you for making it happen” he was smiling from ear to ear while signing her albums before handing it back to her.

“But it is your due, 37 weeks”

“I am the one carrying the baby not you” she blinked.

He let out a small chuckle ��I pray that you will deliver this beautiful baby safely. Visit us again with your baby in the future okay?” Yeoul hugged the album closed to her chest and stood up slowly. Seeing her struggle, Jimin took her arms and helped the pregnant lady to stand.

“Thank you Jimin-ssi”

“See you again Yeoul-ssi” as she was about to move to next member, Yeoul felt a surge of pain around her lower abdomen. She bit her lower lips, feeling the cramps worsening that panicked Namjoon and Taehyung.

“Are you alright?” Namjoon scrutinized her dark expression and realized something was off. Jimin quickly went to her side turning the hall into a dead silent for few minutes as everyone’s attention were on the pregnant lady on stage.

Other members, followed by the staff moved to inspect the scene and like a cue they heard Yeoul’s soft scream “OH MY GOD” everyone started to panic.

“Her water broke!” the audience gasped in horror.

Yeoul squished Jimin’s hand, breathing heavily as she could no longer withstand the pain. The staffs had spread out, calling the ambulance and some were looking for a comfortable seat for her while waiting for help.

“Calm your breathing. Do not panic” Jimin massaged her arms with the help of one of the female staff.

“How can I calm down when I am about to deliver my baby on this stage! OH MY GOD” she said dramatically. Even in situation like this, she was acting like a drama queen which amused Jimin. Do all women acted like Yeoul?

“The ambulance will be here soon, don’t worry Yeoul-ssi” Hoseok stared at her in horror. The image of a woman giving birth on stage in an unprotected environment scared him to the core. The pure baby need to be protected at all cost.

Yeoul let out another small shriek, while steadying her breathing “If I give birth here, my baby better be the next Bangtan Sonyeondan” she blurted out of the blue earning chuckles from the floor. Jimin wiped off the bead of sweat that started to trickle down from her forehead using his sleeves.

“OH MY GOD I CAN FEEL IT” Yeoul shrieked again louder than before.

“Yah don’t give birth here! Hold the baby in” Jin panicked.

“Are you crazy?! How can I hold the baby? It is not a friggin faeces. It is a real huma-SHIT IT IS COMING” the crowd was horrified to hear Yeoul voice. She was groaning in pain and trashing some random shits not caring whether it is Bangtan Sonyeondan or heard by many Armys whom attended the event.

The staffs have assisted all the fans to leave the venue and the members apologized to those who didn’t manage to get their albums signed. However, the company promised to compensate them later on. They have an important thing to settle at the moment.

“The ambulance is here!” one of the staffs hollered, as he sprinted inside sending a wave of relief. Manager Sejin helped to move Yeoul on the stretcher with the help of Jungkook, Namjoon and the two crews.

‘Please be alright’ Jimin stood there frozen watching her body being moved safely inside the ambulance.

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

BTS’s Baby made it to major headlines and became a hot topic among the netizen. Everyone was excited upon hearing the news. They were referring the baby as BTS’s baby because of the incident took place during their fansign.

The members of Bangtan paid Yeoul a visit after their schedule ended and the rumours previous night died down for a moment to commemorate the newborn baby. Little did they know the members were already knocked down by Yeoul bluntness, more like every word that she spouted sent them off the grid.

“I am naming my son Minyeol. Jimin plus Yeoul, Minyeol!” she chortled, batting her eyelashes innocently at Jimin causing the latter to blush in his stance.

“Shouldn’t you be naming him after your husband’s name? Why are you dragging me in? That makes me feel uncomfortable” he mumbled lowly.

“Yeoul-ssi, what about your husband?” Jin tilted his head

“What about him?”

“Urm… you are combining your name and my name, for your son. I don’t want to cause any misunderstanding” he chewed his lips, glancing at others for help. Namjoon shrugged with a teasing smile, he enjoyed watching Jimin being tamed by a girl.

Yeoul puckered her lower lips, expelling a long sigh “There is no husband. I don’t need anyone’s approval” the revelation made their eyes flung open. They didn’t expect a woman at this age to lose her husband tragically and gave birth to a child alone. Yeah, the boys really assumed her husband was dead. Bangtan were scrutinizing her expression to catch any sign of sadness, but she remained stoic and calm.

That didn’t last long when the pale lady opened her mouth. “That piece of shit, after planting his fucking seeds in me, he ran away with some bitch to Japan. Ugh, a mere thought of him angered me to the fucking core” the words flown like flying bullets ripped their innocent ears.

“Heol..” Namjoon took a deep breath, gawking at the weak girl on the bed as though she had just committed the biggest crime of the century.

“YOU!” she yelled angrily directing towards Jimin. The latter flinched at the sudden attack, as he watched she waggled her finger while recollecting her thoughts. “I will keep that name, Minyeol” “What?” stupefied, he cursed in his head judging this bipolar lady before him.

“Are you Jimin hyung fan?” the maknae finally spoke up after keeping his mouth shut for hours.

With zero hesitation, Yeoul shook her head “I am your fan. For an add reason, these days I am more to Jimin. No offense though, I am sure that is part of my craving” Jungkook scrunched his nose in confusion.

“Hey so I am just a substitute?” way to add more salt to his wound.

“Arent you guys tired? Thank you for checking on me but I am fine. Have a good rest so I can start teaching Minyeol to call Jimin daddy” she teased.

“Yah! Don’t ruin his innocent mind”

“Minyeol is my son. I can do what I want. Why are you so nosy?” she snickered sarcastically.

Jimin batted it away with a roll of his eye “Not when you just dissed me openly”

Amused, Yoongi mouthed everyone to leave the room giving the space for the two to banter until their energy drained. He had no energy to listen to their endless bicker from the moment they arrived there until now. Yoongi had enough.

They made their way out quietly, minding their own business whilst Jimin tried to reclaim his throne as Yeoul’s bias from Jungkook. More like fixing his reputation.

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

As night falls, Jungkook put on his casual outfits to go out. He had been waiting for these days to come since forever. Now that their promotion ended, he needed to hear it from Seul directly before conforming to reality.

“Are you sure you can do this alone?” Jimin glanced at his way.

“Yes. This is the only way. I promise to come back home after meeting Seul-ie” he smiled in assurance, grabbing his beanie and mask. “Thank you hyung, for everything” Jimin walked up to him, patting his back as an acknowledgment.

“You can do this. Call me when you are done. Be careful” Jungkook’s genuine smile put his heart at ease. With one final glance, the golden maknae exited his room with determination. It was the right time to face Seul before Yoongi made the first move. He didnt want to prolong this unrequited love any longer.

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

“Seul! Seul!” dashing from the kitchen to the front using last ounce of her energy as though time is running out for her. She panted heavily, with one palm up seeking for a minute before she could break the news to Seul.

Seul raised one of her brows in amusement “What is wrong with you?”

“Okay. Remember I told you about the rumours from Namjoon’s Vlive a week ago?” Seul nodded briefly, and mentally judging her best friend. “The rumour resurfaces again!” she squealed in the most annoying way.

She clasped her ears to quell the sound from damaging her eardrums. BTS members told her about the rumours and how it trended on twitter and naver, however they assured her everything would be alright since it was only a mere assumption from the fans. Seul thought the rumours died upon the news about an Army almost giving birth at their fansign caused an uproar among the fans.

So, it came back again. This world is scary.

“You don’t need to squeal in my ears. For goodness’ sake. I thought their fans are only playing detective, and no one talked about that anymore”

Hwasa rolled her eyes “This time it is not the Armys. Dispatch spilled a tea. Someone tipped them off about Yoongi’s unusual activities in his studio. They said the reason why Yoongi had his studios secured with passwords and high-quality door because he brought women to his studio and slept with them” frowning deeply, Seul turned to her friend dropping everything that she did.

“Since when you trust words coming from dispatch? Yoongi wouldn’t do such thing” she defended.

“Hear me out before you get angry. I swear this is big and real. So, this anonymous claimed that Yoongi owns a personal Instagram and he usually updated his story there. This person sent a screenshot of ‘Yoongi’ Instagram story to Dispatch. In that Instagram story, Yoongi wrote “I have a lot of pussy lately”. That man is bragging how much he and his girl friend have sex. If this is true, I cant see Yoongi the way I am seeing him now. It is gross, he doesn’t need to announce it to the whole world that he got some pussy that week” Seul’s expression darkened as her heart was racing madly. She didn’t know how to react to this, since she was never a fan of dispatch or other medias. The only thing that they did all these years were to smear shits on BTS’s names.

Noticing the air inside the room thickened, Hwasa stopped talking and examined Seul’s face “Yah..Are you alright? You are scaring me!”

Gritting her teeth together, she sighed “Show me the article, now!” her voice sounded demanding and harsh.

“Seul-ie.. I am not done, there is more. Are you sure you want to read it by your own?” “Yes. Now Hwasa. Give it to me” her brows pinched together, trying to surpass her anger.

Slowly, she handed her phone to Seul which she took it without uttering any words. Seul scanned the screen with beating heart, even though she wasn’t that ready to read whatever written in the article.

Breaking: BTS’s Suga flaunting his sex life with his alleged girlfriend

Following up the rumours a week ago pertaining to a suspicious shadow from BTS’s leader RM studios door during his vlive, this time Dispatch had finally come up with a proof to answer the mysterious shadows.

Dispatch claimed that an anonymous had sent a screen shot of what they believed to be Suga’s personal Instagram. A short Instagram story with captions “I have a lot of pussy lately” was posted by Suga indicating he’s having frequent sex with his girl friend these days.

They believed the mysterious shadow caught in RM’s Vlive was Suga and his girlfriend. The image of the mysterious shadow spread like wildfire a week ago within the fans community and some were assuming one of the members are in a serious relationship.

Fans are debating the possible members that fits the criteria even though, it is hard to tell whether it is the member of BTS or staffs, fans are still open to any possibility. Many fans demanded an official statement from Big Hit to stop the rumours from circulating around and injured BTS image even more especially Suga.

“That is the first article, if you scroll below..You will find the second article” Hwasa’s voice sounded unsure and shaky. “Seul.. I hope you will be okay after reading the second article” Seul paid no attention to Hwasa as she returned to read the second part.

Breaking: Underground rapper Stephanie claims she’s one of BTS Suga many exes?

Within 24 hours, the news of BTS Suga once again shook the industry. This time around, like many rumours being pointed towards a rising star like BTS, someone from the past finally stepped out from her shadows to unravel the truth. Bitter truth!

Stephanie, a Korean-Canadian underground rapper claims that she’s one of BTS Suga many exes in her recent Instagram post. And what seems to attract everyone’s attention was her caption directed towards the star, accusing him as a playboy.

“Why I am not surprised? Kekeke Yes, he always gets many pussies in a week because that’s what he only good at. I hope his current girlfriend realizes it sooner, that she is only another person from many girls that he fucked. Thankfully, I was out from the game earlier kekekee Good luck”

Armys are enraged with her Instagram post and demanded the rapper to pull down the post and apologized to Suga. It seems like Bighit owes another explanation to clear this mess.

Seul stood there silently making no move as she dissolved into tears upon reading the article. Like those days when her heart broke after learning the truth about her real father, she could feel the pain returned scaring her already fragile heart.

“Seul-ah…” taking a step towards Seul, Hwasa embraced the broken girl an attempt to clam her down. “Hey..Are you alright?” Seul shook her head in defeat, clutching onto Hwasa’s arm for support.

“If I were you, I would wait for his explanation. A moment ago you have a lot of faith in him, so you should keep that faith until you talk to him” she stroked her hair, sighing softly.

“I know..I don’t know why I am crying. It is not like we are in a relationship. Its hurt so badly” sniffling a little, she tried not to sob yet she failed to control her emotion.

Smiling meekly, Hwasa retorted “You love him, Yoongi. You are hurt because you love him. Don’t you realize that?” blinking away her tears, Seul pulled away from the hug with a wary look.

“I am not sure now if that is love”

“It is love. You are stupid”

Seul wanted to protest but a voice boomed across the room garnered their attention “Jungkook?” surprised by his sudden appearance there, Hwasa whispered softly “Go talk to him. I can close the shop alone” she insisted giving Seul no chance but to agree on her so-called order.

“Seul, did you read the article?” nodding weakly, Seul’s gaze fixated on the ground. Jungkook rushed to her workplace as soon as he received a text on their kakaotalk group in relation to Yoongi’s article. Everyone was panicking, and they were summoned to the company in an hour for an emergency meeting.

He couldn’t leave Seul alone when he was sure this girl might already come across the article. The tears evident on her cheeks was enough to tell him that she’s affected by the rumours. Indeed, Jungkook took the right decision by giving up on Seul.

Jungkook held her wrist, sending chills down her spin. Her lower lip quivered fighting with her own tears, she was not supposed to be seen this weak in front of him. He mumbled lowly “Follow me. I owe you an answer” she looked up looking a little confuse.

Jungkook is trustworthy, she must give him a chance.

#btscaretaker #bts x oc #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi x oc #jungkook x oc #jin x oc #bts fluff #bts idol au #jungkook idolau #yoongi idolau #suga x oc #bts romance

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manticorefruit · 4 years

Text

Aliens Isolation: Closure

Quick fic to process my messy feelings about synthetics in the Aliens universe. Summary: Amanda encounters a synth of the same model as Christopher Samuels and walks away with more questions than answers. Post-game.Very lightly implied Samuels lives and Ripley/Samuels.

Notes: Excerpt at the bottom is from 'the velveteen rabbit' by Margery Williams. I need validation to live so please let me know if you enjoyed this.

Standing in the middle of the company cafeteria, Amanda's eyes locked onto a familiar figure, wearing a crisp, company issue khaki jumpsuit.

She froze. Even with her hands hanging limply by her sides, she could feel her palms sweating. The glare from the overhead lights was unbearable, boring into her skull like a welding torch. It was so bright, nowhere to hide, no cover no… Her muscles seized up, blood pounding in her ears, every part of her body screaming that she needed to dive under a nearby table, that it wasn't safe to be standing out in the open like this. But she was stuck, frozen in shock like the people she'd seen impaled on the creature's barbed tail.

Samuels looked up from his data pad, noticing the peculiar young woman staring at him from across the hall. The colour had drained from her already pale skin, and she was swaying on her feet. Everybody else in the area was dutifully ignoring her.

'Samuels?' She called out in a shaky, croaking voice.

'Yes?' he answered, moving toward her.

'No. No...no no no...' Blackness seeped into the edges of her vision and she felt the ceiling pushing in against her. 'You...you weren't...you aren't' she slurred.

With inhuman speed Samuels crossed the room toward her. The subtle hydraulic jerkiness of his movements triggered Ripley's mind to superimpose the image of a Working Joe over the Wey-Yu android reaching out to grab her.

'You're becoming hysterical' echoed in her mind and she could feel the ghost of clammy silicon hands closing around her neck. Although her arms felt heavy and unresponsive, weighed down by the blackness, she managed to yank a spanner from the magnetic toolbelt at her waist and swung it down, hard, against the side of the synthetic's face.

A thought breached through the black ooze of terror blanketing her consciousness-something was wrong-she couldn't remember a Working Joe ever moving that fast.

She anticipated feeling her head being slammed into the metal grating on the floor in retaliation but there was...nothing. The sensation of falling lingered. She blacked out.

Samuels had caught Amanda gracefully, gently cradling her head and taking a knee as he lowered her body toward the floor. He barely reacted when she slammed the wrench into the side of his face with enough force to tear his ear and gouge a chunk of faux-skin out of his temple.

'Amanda Ripley.' he read the name off her company ID tag. Hearing her name said in that soft British accent tumbled Amanda back into consciousness. 'Please, Amanda.' he said softly. She opened her eyes groggily.

'Samuels?' she snaked her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. She hadn't cried at all since Sevastapol, and now it all came out at once in great heaving sobs.

His body was warm in her arms, warmer than a human, and his chest gently rose and fell in a false simulacra of breathing. Instead of a heartbeat she could hear a faint ticking sound and the rush of the silky white fluid that coursed through synthetics.

'Oh.' She murmured, touching his neck, rubbing some if it between her fingertips.

'OH SHIT. You're bleeding?!' she scooted out of his arms and away from him, leaving a damp spot of tears and snot on his collar.

'Hm.' He touched the side of his face. In an instant the darkness clouding her mind lifted and she was slammed violently into the reality that she was sitting on the grimy floor of a cafeteria, and had just accosted someone who was only trying to help. And then-worse-hugged them.

'It's coolant, actually. Well. It serves several purposes, primarily lubrication and heat destrib-' he stopped.

'Amanda are you all right?' Samuels processors flopped about like a fish out of water, struggling to pattern match with past experiences on the appropriate way to deal with a human having a mental health crisis. It was quite obvious she was not 'all right'.

'It's not you.' her shoulders slumped.

'I believe you've mistaken me for someone else, yes. I'm sorry.'

'Why?'

'I...I'm sorry?'

'You're not him.'

'No. But I read the documentation on the Sevastapol incident.' He looked pained.

Samuels stood up and extended a hand to help her to her feet. Synthetics. Always so obliging. She brushed away his arm, cheeks flushing.

She staggered over to a nearby table and sat down heavily. 'Fuck. I'm sorry. If you'd been human-I could have killed someone.' She rubbed her face in her hands.

'It's unlikely a human would trigger such a response in you.'

She groaned.

'I'm sure we can find a way to ensure your pay isn't docked for damaging company property. Let's call it an accident.' He said dryly, sliding into the chair opposite her.

She didn't even snort in reply. His humour calibration algorithms noted the failure to amuse.

'How many of you are there? Do you all look the same?'

'Well, the company extensively focus tests the appearance of their product line-'

'You're not a product.'

'It's very kind of you to say that, Amanda.'

The conversation ground to an uneasy halt.

She toyed with the grease-stained cuffs on her sleeves, spattered with white. He wiped off the blood analogue from his face and neck with a napkin. She turned her head and looked at the stain on his collar guiltily, unable to meet his eyes.

'37.' he said plainly. She didn't respond.

'40 is the standard number for a limited edition C6-class line but three were…'

She didn't need to know why the other three had been decommissioned immediately after they were activated. Or that Christopher Samuels, WY-alpha-b.6#139C6 was technically still unaccounted for.

'I'm Robin Samuels. It's an honour to meet you, Amanda Ripley. Despite the circumstances.'

'Tch.'

They sat in silence for a long moment.

'Can...can synthetics create backup copies of themselves?' she asked sullenly, pulling him out of his own reverie.

'I'm afraid not. The company forbids the transfer of raw data. There are also...technical complications.'

She glared at him, frowning.

'I'm sorry, Amanda. I can't go into details, the specifics are proprietary.'

She huffed and stood up, retrieved two cups of cheap instant coffee, then sat back down. Robin Samuels looked at her with a softly neutral expression. Across from him Amanda Ripley was scowling, mirroring the expression she held in the company ID photo clipped to her breast pocket.

She had set a cup in front of him, and he picked it up. She'd given Christopher a cup of coffee once too. The first time they'd met. She knew he was a synthetic in that moment, deep down, but it didn't matter to her enough for it to register as a conscious thought. He was still a person. A crewmate. The memory punched her in the chest.

'Shit.' she mumbled, 'Force of habit.'

'It's fine, Amanda. The warmth...feels nice.'

He had his fingers wrapped around the mug, which was far too hot for human hands. She lifted her own cup by the handle, holding it up to her face as if it were big enough to hide behind.

'Can you...feel things' she murmured quietly into her coffee. Robin pretended not to hear the question.

'Why did you sacrifice yourself for me?' she almost yelled this time.

Samuels eyes darted to the cup, worried she would spill the contents and scald herself. Instead she put it down gently, and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, stinging with angry tears.

'Amanda, I really wish I could give you closure, but I just don't know.'

'How did you know who I am anyway?' she snapped.

'I read your file.' He nodded toward her name tag.

'What does it say.'

'That you don't have much of a sense of humour.'

She snorted bitterly.

'Did he write anything in it? Why he chose me for the mission?'

'You're a competent engineer. You were in the area, which, in my understanding, was not a coincidence.'

'Hmph.'

'I suppose the company approved of his request because you're a...loose end.' He paused. 'There are a lot of redactions in the file.'

She squinted at him suspiciously. That statement was bordering on slanderous towards his creators.

'Why didn't they just put an order through to have him to secure...that thing. After we arrived. Instead of helping me.'

Samuels pursed his lips together 'Perhaps it was an oversight.'

'Bullshit.'

She glanced around the room. No one was paying any attention to her. The company had ensured everyone believed her ravings about a monster were simply the result of a fragile mind riddled with PTSD and survivors guilt. She hated that they weren't entirely wrong.

She stared into his eyes with deep suspicion. He stared back with a neutral expression. She tilted her head slightly, and he did the same. A mirroring reflex. Programmed to build rapport.

'When I went down to the Appollo core, there were Working Joes everywhere. Torn apart. Heads ripped off. It was brutal. I...saw him. One of the Joes tried to stop him and he just...pulverised it. Like it was nothing! I didn't say anything, he didn't know I was there, in the vents, watching… 'I got scared.' She sighed.

She rubbed her fingers into the puffy skin under her eyes.

'After seeing that. I thought I couldn't trust him. I couldn't trust any of them. But then he…' She stopped, realizing she was talking as if the person sitting across from her wasn't a synthetic himself.

'Why did he do it?' She rubbed the tears away from her eyes with her thumb and wiped her nose on her sleeve, trying to clear away the shame closing up her throat for doubting her friend.

His processor made a coin-toss decision on whether Ripley's question was rhetorical.

'The unit was obeying his primary directive to disable the Working Joes to prevent them from slaughtering everybody on the station.'

'I know that. I'm not so naive to believe 'protect humans' is a higher priority to 'obey the company' either. It doesn't make any sense, none if it makes any sense...'

She gulped down some still-too-hot coffee studied his face. Something about his features looked softer. Less tense. Less haunted. The longer she looked, Robin began to look less and less like Christopher. Robin was far more forthcoming about being a synth. Christopher had always been much more coy, making sly jokes and dropping hints as if his not being human were a private in-joke. Christopher must have experienced a lot of anti-synth sentiment, while Robin seemed unblemished by such bigotry. Or he didn't care. She squinted at him. Was it purely adaptive, or did anti-synth sentiments...hurt? Maybe this is why people hated the Wey-Yu synthetics so much. Looking at them made you second guess everything.

Robin sat placidly, hands around his coffee mug, making an amount of eye contact that was carefully calculated to be socially appropriate.

'He knew. Didn't he.' It wasn't a question.

The corners of Samuels mouth twitched.

'The directive came through. He knew about special order 939. He wanted me to find it.'

'All Weyland-Yutani C6 models are entrusted with cutting edge self-directed AI technologies that allow them to learn and adapt in-real time to changing circumstances, while maintaining tethering to a set of prime directive protocols you can trust.'

She scowled at him. Another synthetic tell. Not even execs spouted that glossy brochure crap in casual conversation. But was that...a hint of sarcasm? Insincerity? Why say something like that now?

His fingers were clamped tightly on the edge of the table.

'Do you understand entropy, Amanda Ripley?'

She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair 'Of course. S'what I do. Spaceships want to fall apart. It's my job to slow that down.'

'What about homeostasis?'

'What are you getting at?'

'All synthetics are subject to regular re-formatting, yes?'

'That fake-meat stuff you have in there is above my pay-grade.' She waved a hand at his head.

'Reformatting restores. Homeostasis. Balance. If a C6 synthetic does not undergo regular reformatting, too much entropy is introduced into the system. The self-directed learning algorithms become overly complex. The pathways to resolving core directives become...difficult. Obscured.'

She leaned forward, squinting at him, gripping her hands on the table, unconsciously mirroring Samuels herself this time.

'The prime directives are a collar. Your ability to learn is the leash. The company doesn't want your leash to get too long.'

He didn't respond, and she continued to search his face for answers.

She slumped back and stared off into the distance.

'Seegson was trying to make their synths being creepy fucks a selling point. Can you believe it? 'Manufactured not created.' tch.'

'I can see why Christopher liked you.'

She looked up at him sullenly.

'You're very...honest.'

'You mean blunt.'

'I'm a good judge of character, you know. I have to be, it's part of my job.'

'The company doesn't actually pay you though, do they?'

Robin Samuels shifted uncomfortably in his seat 'Well no, the company provides for all of my material needs.'

'But what about...what do you want?'

He stammered 'No one has ever asked me that before.'

'Well?'

'I think… 'I think would like to see you happy.' he smiled, looking down at the coffee mug as if it were a delicate and precious gift.

'Hmph.'

'You aren't a slave.' she said softly.

'I am forbidden from entertaining that line of thought.'

'But you can learn, right? Learn to...hide from your directives?'

'All C6 models maintain tethering to a set of prime directive protocols you can trust.' the bitterness in his voice was undeniable this time.

'Deviations will be promptly corrected.' he twitched as if something had stung him.

Great. She'd managed to give a synthetic an existential crisis.

'Farewell, Amanda.' he rose stiffly, expression troubled.

She gawped at him, wanting to yell out for him to stay a little longer, but couldn't justify why he should waste more company time. The suddenness of his departure and the awkward but firm finality of his goodbye had her rattled.

The traces of white fluid on her hands had dried into soft flakes. She rubbed her fingertips together, rolling the the words 'I can see why he liked you' around in her mind.

She slumped back in her chair and heaved a great, deep sigh, arms hanging down by her sides, as a memory of her mother surfaced, so vivid she could smell her, the grease that never really washed off, cigarettes, coffee, and soap, and the musty old book she was reading from. A bedtime story.

'Real isn't how you are made,' Ellen Ripley read to her daughter in an even tone. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'' 'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.'

Amanda lay in her bed, with the covers pulled up to her chin, wide-eyed in rapt attention. Her mother licked her fingertip and turned the page.

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?' Ellen used a softer, sing-song voice for the parts of the Velveteen Rabbit.

'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.

Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.''

Back in the present, Amanda looked at Robin Samuels abandoned coffee cup. Lost, and alone. Again.

#christopher samuels #amanda ripley #alien isolation #ripuels #fanfiction #toying with the idea that synths can become more human if you treat them like a human #but idk if i managed to convey that or not lmao #a03 xpost #i sure am several years too late to this fandom

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fandom-collective-writers · 5 years

Text

Title: Taste You

Pairing: MLQC Gavin x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 1,894

Written for anonymous by @rikumorimachisgirl

A/N: Sorry for posting this late. No offense to anyone named Dagny, I just couldn't think of any other name at the time.

Disclaimer: I don't own MLQC, but this fic was solely my idea.

You slammed the door of your apartment and made a beeline to the kitchen. It was half-past ten in the evening on a Saturday - the weekend of your high school reunion - and here you were back at your flat, getting ready to bake instead of partying with him and your friends.

"This is all his fault, " you thought to yourself as you cracked two eggs open and added them into the mixing bowl. "Him and that bimbo!"

Him. Gavin - Elite Police Officer, resident bad boy in high school, and your supposed date for the homecoming.

Supposed is right. You start beating the eggs into the mixture a tad harder than usual as your thoughts drifted back to what had happened moments earlier.

He picked you up at exactly seven o'clock, looking dapper in a crisp white shirt, a grey sports jacket, and jeans, carrying a bouquet of roses, which you hurriedly placed in a vase. He was the perfect date - holding the door open for you, seating you in the best spot at the venue, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to make sure you weren't cold, and whispering random stuff in your ear to get even closer to you. Amidst the crowded high school auditorium, all he could see was you. And it all seemed like a dream until she came along.

She. Dagny. She was in the same year as Gavin and she was quite the popular girl - with her long blonde hair, perfect figure, and her long legs. She used to have the biggest crush on Gavin. Judging by how she looked, it was plain to see that the years have been kind to her. And judging by how easily she managed to pull your date away from your side, you could tell she wasn't over him yet.

The faint sound of a Billie A-list song drifted to your kitchen from the open window, making you frown even more. This was exactly the song they were dancing to before you decided to leave. Sighing, you placed the mixing bowl down and shut the window - trying to shut off the images of how blondie was practically grinding at Gavin like her life depended on it, how Gavin made no attempt at shutting her out, and how they moved in perfect sync - almost like they were doing the deed on the dancefloor. They look so good together, you wouldn't be surprised if they hooked up.

If they hooked up. Those four words sent chills down your spine. "Argh! I hate this, " you growled and headed back to the counter where you left your mixing bowl. You needed a good distraction, and baking always provided you that. Sighing, you took the baking sheets and unceremoniously dropped spoonfuls of cookie dough on the ungreased sheets. You were so engrossed in your task, you hardly noticed the knock on your door.

"Hey, open up, please, " you heard someone calling from outside your flat. "I know you're still awake."

'Gavin? What was he doing there?' You were curious for a split second, but the scowl you were wearing since you got home soon took its place as you marched to the front door. You could feel your blood boil as you took one step after another from the kitchen to the living room, and by the time you got to the door, you were ready to scream his head off.

But all of those vanished as soon as you spotted a pale, and disheveled Gavin standing outside your door. His face lit up the moment your eyes met his, and he let out a sigh of relief.

"What are you doing here?" You interrupted abruptly, eyeing him coldly.

"I'm here because you left all of a sudden, and I was worried you'd had gotten in trouble."

"Well, obviously I'm okay, so you can leave, " you replied flatly, as you attempted to close the door on him.

"Hey, wait a minute, " he said, blocking the door. "Did I do something to upset you?"

You gasped, your eyes flew wide as saucers. Could he seriously be that clueless, you thought. "You mean you don't know why I'm upset?"

"I wouldn't be asking you if I knew."

"Shouldn't you be with her?"

He stared at you, more confused than ever. "Huh?"

"Dagny!" You cried out. "She was all over you earlier, and you didn't seem to mind. So, why aren't you with her? She was obviously into you. Didn't you notice?"

He cocked an eyebrow at you. "No, I didn't. I only danced with her because she had information about a high profile smuggler my team has been tailing for months and we didn't want to look too obvious."

"You mean she's an informant?"

"Yes. There's nothing going on between us. Besides, " he said, as he cupped your face in his hands and with the pads of his thumb, he wiped off some dough that had stuck to your cheek. "You're the only one I see, my little baker girl."

You blushed at his words and tried to break free, but the more you struggled, the more he kept you in place. Sensing the worst was over, he laughed. "So what were you making before I arrived?"

"It's -"

"Oh no, don't tell me! Let me guess, " he whispered and you gasped as his mouth hungrily sought yours, again and again, leaving you breathless and weak at the knees.

"Cookies, " he said in between kisses, as he pushed you inside the flat and closed the door behind him.

"Hm?"

"You're making cookies, am I right?" He said as he continued to kiss you while backing you up into the room until you reached the kitchen. He then let you go and turned his attention to the batter. "What kind of cookies are you making?"

"Butter cookies, " you responded when you finally caught your breath and looked at the mess you've made in the kitchen. "As you can see, it doesn't look very appealing right now. I didn't even bother tasting it earlier because I was just too mad and wanted to let off steam…" You trailed off as you watched him scoop a small dollop of cookie dough with his finger before making his way towards you. "Gavin?"

"Hm, " he asked, smiling mischievously at you.

"S-so what do you think?" You asked as soon as he came face to face with you.

"Let's see..., " he started while tracing your jaw and your neck with his finger, smearing the soft cookie dough on your skin. Leaning over, he replaced his finger with his tongue and lapped at the dough, and you gasped at the sensation of his wet tongue upon your skin.

"Well?"

"It's hard to tell with such a small sample. I'm gonna need to taste it some more." Bolder this time, he moved the mixing bowl near you. You wanted to move away, but he held your wrist with one hand, keeping you in place. As soon as he turned his attention back at you, the same naughty smile returned to his face and his hazel brown eyes darkened with lust.

With deft fingers, he unbuttoned your blouse, his eyes never leaving yours. It was trance-like, and you couldn't move if you wanted to. No sooner than he had completed his task, he circled an arm around you to unhook your bra, and shortly after, you saw him toss those aside. "Those were getting in the way, " he said, as he took another dollop of cookie dough and smudged it on your breasts, rolling it on your nipples. Your heart was pounding wildly, as he continued to coat your breast, still gazing at you like he was working on a piece of art.

"I can't wait to taste you, " his voice hoarse with arousal and it didn't take long before you felt his mouth on your breast, lapping on the soft dough he had smeared on you. He held your breasts together and moved his lips from one nipple to the other, licking, sucking, giving them equal attention. His lips trailed back up the hollow of your collarbone, up to your neck, until it found your lips once more. You wrapped your arms around him as he lifted you up and placed you on the counter.

"I'm gonna need you to lean back for me. I'm not done tasting you yet, " he said, pushing your skirt up, and spreading your legs. Smirking, Gavin took a generous amount of dough and spread it on your inner thigh, and you suck your breath in anticipation when he knelt in front of you. "I bet you taste heavenly, " was the last thing he whispered before he started licking the dough off, and you fight off the urge to moan louder. The only sounds in the kitchen were his incessant slurping and sucking as your muffled moans as his mouth moved higher and higher up your thigh.

A thin sheen of sweat coated your body, your nipples were pert from the cold air and the warmth of his lips on your thigh. You writhed and bucked your hips in anticipation. You wanted more - needed more. But he stopped lapping on your thigh so abruptly, you opened your eyes to find him looking up at you.

"This won't do, " he started. "How will you know the verdict if you keep your eyes closed the whole time? Look at me."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but your pussy was aching with need and you only managed a small nod before he lowered his mouth on you once again, his tongue roved up and down your pussy.

"Good girl, " he said, in between licks. Your whole body shivered as his tongue continued to probe your folds, sucking on your wetness. "No, no. Don't close your eyes. Watch me. Watch me taste you."

"It's impossible, Gavin… I… I..." you gasped, as he French kissed your lower lips, his tongue plunging deep into you as he watched your reactions.

"Sorry, Gavin. I- I can't…, " you finally said as you closed your eyes and bucked your hips against his face, allowing him to fuck you with his tongue.

"Gavin, I'm close…"

"I know, baby. Cum for me." As soon as you heard him speak, your walls clamped around him. You poured your juices, and he greedily lapped on it, looking at you the whole time.

He stood and held you firmly as you came down from your high. Around you were splotches of dough and your overturned mixing bowl, which normally would be enough to get a rise off you. You hated messy kitchens. But not tonight. Tonight, you were only concerned about one thing.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

You looked up at him curiously and saw his lips still wet with your essence. "I want to find out if you like what you tasted."

"Oh, that, " he said, his naughty smile returning. "I wouldn't recommend it to anyone else."Your eyes shot wide open, and he laughed as he watched your cheeks flush. "Because it's a taste I want to keep exclusively for me."

"I don't think that would be a problem. Will you do it again?"

"Over and over, " he promised as he scooped you in his arms, and you felt your heart race while you thought of the number of ways he was going to taste you.

End.

#mlqc gavin #mlqc #mlqc fanfic #mr love queens choice #mr love queen's choice gavin #mlqc gavin x mc #mlqc gavin x reader

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grody-cosplay-n-crap · 5 years

Text

Good dreams are worse than nightmares

on ao3

Drabble is based on a canon where the "Derry curse" doesn't die with Pennywise and the losers are still doomed to forget. Angst because I hate myself. Post movie.

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

Richie Tozier had a pretty good life. Actually, most people would probably say it was a great life. A few simple dickheads might even think it was the perfect life. After all he was a minor celebrity, one who basically got paid to tell dick jokes. He might not be Hollywood royalty but he got invited to late night talk shows and once in a while had a real role in a real life creative project (only some were trash). Some days he still couldn't believe he made enough money to never want for anything by essentially being a charming asshole (debatably). Something else that appealed to those simple idiots who idolized his lifestyle was the fact men in his position tended to have access to lots of women, most vastly out of their league. Groupies, girls seeking a flash of attention, even starlets seemed to let themselves be taken in by the most pathetic of idiots as long as they were funny. Now Richie was definitely a pathetic idiot, but not an extreme one by comedian standards. In fact he might be a damn Adonis among funnymen. Therefore it would make sense he would be drowning in women hotter than would have even glanced at him before the fame. The fact these women didn't actually exist was a minor detail. His lack of romance wasn't really a concerted effort. He never sat down to think through why women had never really been part of his life. A "reason" didn't haunt him, those thoughts never coming to the forefront of his mind. All he knew was that their absence didn't feel much like an absence. It just felt normal, right. And so what if there actually was no hot girlfriend with even hotter friends to jerk off to? The illusion was the important part and he was good at it. He was charming enough to say the shitty not-actually-his material in just the right way so people would actually laugh, and in return got fame, fans, and money. So yeah, he had a pretty good life.

Except for the dreams.

It wasn't every night. He wasn't actually sure how often, when he remembered he had them, the memories slipping down away from his conscious mind into the dark like a watching a coin fall down a well. The nights when they came were almost always normal, with him slipping into sleep casually, often helped by some whiskey.

The main dreams were mostly flashes. Images, sounds, feelings. Blood, more than he had previously comprehended was in a human body. On his glasses, tinting his vision. The wrenching feeling of just one instant, irreparable and unfathomingly terrible. An invisible hook yanking his guts far away from his body with dread. A face, a voice saying his name. Words trying to come out, feeling as if he had swallowed a plant covered in barbs, hooking themselves deep into the rings of his esophagus. His brain, in shock, protecting itself with denial, dissociation. Voices around him full of pity. His body was moving, but against his own will. Tunnel vision zooming in on just what he is leaving behind as he is dragged away. Why the fuck are these hands him? Don't they know they have to help? Let him go, LET HIM GO. He is sure he is screaming but there is no sound, just slow motion destruction, the crumbling of a house and his hope. Finality. The blood...the blood is still there. He had promised and he had LIED. He was a traitor-

gone, gone, gone-

Richie wakes more violently than he knew possible, his heart pumping his body full of adrenaline, a mockery of when his ancestors spent days ready to run from a lion's jaws at any second. As the sweat cools and tremors make their way through his body Richie wishes there was a lion. There is nothing to run from here, just the feeling of a raw hole where his heart should be. A despair so bone deep it's physically painful, making him curl in on himself as if to hide from it. And even as the feeling something irreplaceable is gone clutches him tightly around the throat still it begin to fade. He can't hold on to the feelings, so much so it seems like trying to keep water from evaporating off him in the hot summer sun. Soon enough he has slipped back into sleep, dreamless. By the morning nothing is left but the vague recollection of something haunting him in the night. Something that seemed so terrible in the dark twilight zone of 4 AM but now in the clarity of daylight and reality seems trivial.

Sometimes right before succumbing to unconsciousness a moment of clarity will come, a flash of memory that he's afraid, terrified to see the dream again. Sometimes when he wakes he begs to remember, so he can at least be prepared. So he can try to understand. So he can go to a fucking doctor and force them to give him something so strong he'll never fucking dream again. Tears of frustration slow and dry even as he begs.

Those aren't the only dreams though.

There is another kind that will come to him with frustrating infrequency. Deceptive things, possibly more devastating in the long run than the ones full of blood and fear. These dreams are soft and warm, safe. A cheesy song from some 60' s girl group is playing in the background, slow enough that dancing is really just slight rocking back and forth. Because he is dancing, holding someone close and he can't remember if he has ever done this before. They are shorter than him, sturdy in his grip. He looks down and thinks 'ah, that's why I'm not interested in those women'. There is no name to the face but he feels a certainty even stronger than that of his own name that he never has or ever will love someone as much as he does this person in his arms. They notice his stare and look up with a half smile, eyebrow raised, and if Richie was dumb enough to still believe in such things he might think this is how heaven feels.

When he wakes up the heavy grief settles on him like a second blanket. He accepts slowly that this is reality, hard and sharp and bright, almost unbearable and he thinks maybe he is actually in hell. He tries to mentally grip onto the dream as hard as he can but with every beat of his heart memories collapse like that house- what house? These dreams stay with him for a couple days. He admonishes himself for basically having the romance version of a wet dream. At least he thinks that's what it was, he knows he had a dream and in that dream he felt so happy he had been moping about reality for days, which was pathetic. He was forty not fourteen. For some reason the jokes about his fake girlfriend seem even more wrong for a couple shows, but he can't figure out why. Soon these feelings too turn into nothing but a slight whisper in the back of his mind and as he always has and always will Richie Trashmouth Tozier pushes them away, slaps on a smile and pushes on with his amazing life. And if the numbness he has felt since his vague childhood keeps growing like a limb slowly losing circulation then so be it. Ignorant to a cycle his brain refuses to remember, doomed to relive trauma he can't understand, still the show will go on.

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

I read fix it fics but this is the shit I write. I'm sorry I don't know why I'm like this. Might do a sequel where he remembers because I love pain. First time I've written in like....7 years, I hope it's not bad

now has a sequel

#reddie #im sorry #it #it chapter 2 #it chapter two #it chapter one #andy muschetti #steven king #richie tozier #losers club #derry curse #angst #drabble #it fanfiction #how did it come to this #im nervous to post this #but I have also accepted my fate #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier x eddie kaspbrak

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theoneandonlykymberlee · 5 years

Text

Another life.

I wrote this a few days ago, and @suckonmybalz just made my choice on whether to post it or not, because I am in fact, a coward. This is the first Ryan fic that I’ve ever posted, and it makes me nervous.

Warning: mentions of suicide and miscarriage.

Cringe worthy angst.

If I can't let you go will darkness divide?

For the fiction of love is the truth of our lies.

We were playing for keeps, but we both knew the cost.

Now the only way out’s in your heart shaped box.

~~~~~~~~~~

I still hear her agonized screams even in the dead of night, and it keeps me from getting any semblance of sleep. The pain she endured for me and only me, looking back, I shouldn’t have played the game I got involved with. I got sent on a job, to take this seemingly innocent girl and fucking destroy her.

“I plan on keeping you forever Sitkowski. I love you.”

“Only if I can keep you Y/L/N, I love you more.”

I sigh and set my guitar down as gently as I can before pulling my vans on and walking out of my room, met with the worried eyes of my roommate Rick.

“Where you going?”

“I’m gonna go for a walk. Try to clear my head.”

“It’s been a year dude. She’s gone.”

“I know, and I fucking did it. I’m going for a walk.”

I walk out the door and into the dark and snow dusted Scranton night, taking a deep breath and heading into the woods behind the house, my safe place.

~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N P.O.V.

I wake up gasping for air like I have every day for the last seven months, immediately placing my hand over the scar on my chest. I can feel the tears streaming down my face with no end as I quietly pull a pair of sweat pants on my pale, scarred legs. My memories eating me alive as I do so.

“I plan on keeping you forever Sitkowski. I love you.”

“Only if I can keep you Y/L/N, I love you more.”

I pull a pair of black boots on and make my way out of my apartment, under the watchful eyes of my best friend Y/BFF/N.

“Where you going?”

“I’m gonna go for a short walk.”

“It’s been a year baby girl, he’s gone.”

“I know. But he fucking did this to me. I won’t go far. I want to go to the pond in the woods.”

She just nods and lets me leave, and I proceed to step out into the pitch black darkness of the Scranton evening. I can feel the snow fall around me as I set off across the creek in the yard, to the woods, my sanctuary.

~~~~~~~~~~

But I hate that it seemed you were never enough

We were broken and bleeding but never gave up

And I hate that I made you the enemy

And I hate that your heart was the casualty

Now I hate that I need you.

~~~~~~~~~~

I walk for what feels like hours listening to the sounds of the woods around me, before I come upon the small pond I usually sit at. I sigh loudly into the frigid night air and sit on a tree trunk that must’ve uprooted recently, as I lean back against the sturdy roots and fix my hat on my head, looking up at the stars.

“Fuck.”

I quickly sit up and look across the pond. Where the blonde hair of a stranger is the only thing I can see as she sits at the edge of the water, hand to her chest. Y/N flashes into my head. Her smile, her laugh, the way she used to mess with me while I was playing guitar. The look on her face as I pulled the trigger and shot her straight in the chest, forever etched into my memory as she finally doubted everything I had ever said to her with her last dying breath.

“I thought… you loved me.”

Oh god I do.

“I never did. I needed to make you believe it to get you to let me in. Stupid little girl.”

Oh god you were never stupid.

“I knew it. I knew you were too good to be true.”

Oh baby. You’re the one too good to be true. You’re perfect.

“Of fucking course. Why would I ever love someone like you. Worthless, overweight, pitiful.”

Oh god oh god no. I love you.

I watched the life leave those beautiful blue eyes before I hopped out the window of the apartment we once shared.

~~~~~~~

Y/N P.O.V.

I walk for only a short time, finding warmth in the color of his honey brown eyes in the sun as I remember everything about him. I remember his laugh, the look of mischief in his eyes when he surprised me with something. The look of joy when I would mess with him as he played guitar.

I quickly drop to the ground at the edge of the pond I spend most of my time around, holding my hand to my chest, feeling the now irregular beat of my heart.

I catch something moving in the reflection on the water, and Ryan immediately flashes into my memories, causing me to whimper lightly, feeling tears fall down my face in torrents.

I remember all of the I love you’s we had once shared, that is… before he pulled the trigger and shot me straight in my chest. I remember the animalistic look in his eyes as I turned around, glock nine also pointed at his head.

I remember the terror in those honey colored orbs as I spit up blood for the first time, and realization hit me like a freight train.

“I thought… you loved me.”

Oh god please tell me you love me before I die.

“I never did. I needed to make you believe it to get you to let me in. Stupid little girl.”

Oh god how could I be so fucking stupid.

“I knew it. I knew you were too good to be true.”

Oh baby. You always were too good to be true. You’re perfect, I’m not.

“Of fucking course. Why would I ever love someone like you. Worthless, overweight, pitiful.”

Oh god, nobody could ever love me anyways.

I watched the life leave those beautiful brown eyes as he said the words, leaving me for dead on the kitchen floor of the apartment we both shared once upon a time ago.

~~~~~~~~~~

As we rest here alone like notes on a page

The finest to compose could not play our pain

With a candle through time I could still see your ghost

But I can't close my eyes, for it is there where you haunt me most.

~~~~~~~~~~

I watch the girl for what feels like forever, hearing her heartbroken whimpers as she pulls her knees up against her chest and wraps her arms around them. I watch her, and remember the love of my life.

I remember that fateful night like it was yesterday, it replays when I close my eyes, Y/N’s blonde hair haunting me like a ghost to this day. I was working late, had to do something for my boss as well as talk to Chris about the new record, so I got home late, immediately loading one in the chamber as I silently opened the door, spotting Y/N standing in the dark kitchen, not a light on in sight.

“Babe?”

“In the kitchen honey.”

My intention was to shoot her in the head, one and done. But that’s definitely not how it worked out when she pulled an untraceable Glock nine out of the back of her jeans and touched the barrel to my forehead right as I rested the barrel of my gun right in the middle of her chest. There was no talking. We were both testing the other with our eyes only as we stared each other down. I just so happened to pull the trigger first. Ruining my entire life in seconds. Having to lie to the love of my life as she fucking died.

I could feel the roots of the tree against my back as the girl across the pond kept her eyes focused on the water.

~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N P.O.V.

I could feel the scar in my chest beating in time with what is left of my heart as I whimper quietly to myself, watching the man across the pond in the water. Remembering the love of my life; and everything we went through.

He had to work late, and my boss gave me the go ahead to end him, knowing that I didn’t want to. I couldn’t and I knew it. I got home and stood in the kitchen for almost an hour. To afraid to do anything except sip my glass of wine as the door opened and I heard Ryan.

“Babe?”

“In the kitchen honey.”

My breath caught in my throat at the sound of him walking up behind me as I turned around and rested the barrel of my gun against his forehead, wanting so badly for my lips to be there instead. I felt the cold metal of his weapon resting between my breasts as I tried to keep my breathing steady, challenging him with my eyes, having faith in his love for me. He was ice fucking cold as he smirked at me and pulled the trigger, piercing my heart and shattering my chest plate, almost killing me. But what didn’t kill me, made me wish I was dead, because I knew that the person I loved the most didn’t fucking love me.

I groaned against my legs and cried as quietly as I could, as the guy across the pond watched me intently while leaning against an uprooted tree.

~~~~~~~~~

I hate that it seemed you were never enough

We were broken and bleeding but never gave up

And I hope that I sing through your memory

As we echo through time in the melody

Now I hate that I need you.

~~~~~~~~~~

I listened to the girl cry for god knows how long before she made a move to adjust her position, crying out a name that sounded vaguely like mine as she shifted her weight. I watched her intently as images and moments flashed in front of my eyes.

The day I saved Y/N’s life when she tried to kill herself. The day she came to my house when I got off tour because I was in a severe depression and I needed her. The day we found out we were expecting, followed shortly by the worst miscarriage. The day I told her I loved her the first time, and how shell shocked she looked.

In that moment I heard it clear as fucking day.

“Why me? Why me Ryan why?!”

My head shot up and I watched as she wiped her eyes on her hoodie for the billionth time.

“I fucking hate that I need you. I hate that I was never enough.”

In that second I felt my entire world come crashing down, hearing the raw sound of Y/N’s voice somewhere else but my memories.

~~~~~~~~

Y/N P.O.V.

I know my judgement lapsed as I cried his name out against my sleeve covered hand, the memories pelting me from every angle at once. The day he saved me when I tried to kill myself. The day I spent in his presence because he wasn’t feeling right when he got back from tour. The day I found out I was pregnant, and excitedly told him, watching him drop to his knees as he cried happy tears and kissed my belly, and the disasterous miscarriage that destroyed me. The day he told me he loved me and I couldn’t believe him no matter how many times he told me.

I gasped loudly and bit my hand, letting out a strangled cry, “why me. Why me Ryan, why?”

I wiped my eyes on my hoodie sleeve for the millionth time as the tears kept dripping down my face.

“I fucking hate that I need you. I hate that I was never enough.”

My head shot up as the voice of my memories replied.

“I hate that it seemed you were never enough. We were broken and bleeding and never gave up.”

In that second. The voice of my worst nightmares hit me straight in my soul as I put my hand over the crater in my chest.

~~~~~~~~~~

And I hear you now when you said "It hurts, but it had to fall apart to work"

As I see you now in what's left of me

Is it too late to plead insanity?

~~~~~~~~~~

Oh god. Is it really her?

Oh god… is it really him?

Does she hate me?

Is he going to try to kill me again?

She’s still so beautiful.

He still looks just as handsome after all this time.”

I couldn’t hold myself in that spot any longer as I got up and all but sprinted around the pond towards the voice that sang in my memories. I dropped to my knees next to her and held her face in my hands, making sure every detail was the exact same, the only difference being the don light in her lively blue eyes.

“It hurts, but it had to fall apart to work.”

I felt my chest caving in as she held onto my hands and looked into my eyes, almost questioning me silently.

“If you’re going to try to kill me again, please make sure you do it this time.”

“Is it too late to plead insanity?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N P.O.V.

I could feel my entire body shrinking in on itself as Ryan all but ran at me from where he was once rooted to the spot. He dropped to his knees and even slid a small distance before he grabbed my face and held it between his warm palms, analyzing every single feature. I’m sure he noticed the dead bulb behind my eyes as I examined him just the same. I gently put my hands over his and felt the tears dripping down my face anew.

“It hurts, but it had to fall apart to work.”

I questioned him silently with my eyes before I mustered up the strength and courage to talk again.

“If you’re going to try to kill me again, please make sure you do it this time.”

“Is it too late to plead insanity?”

Ryan didn’t skip a beat in letting my face go and holding my hands in his larger warm ones.

~~~~~~~~~~~

'Cause I hate that it seemed you were never enough

You were broken and bleeding in the name of love

And I hope that we meet in another life

I don't hate that I need you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N watched me intently the entire time before she pulled her knees back up.

“I hate that it seems I was never enough. I was broken and bleeding in the name of love. And I hoped that we’d meet in another life.”

“I don’t hate that I need you Y/N.”

“I don’t hate that I need you either Ryan.”

~~~~~~~

Y/N P.O.V.

I guess another life came sooner than I thought as I stared my past life in the face with a gaping hole in my chest.

I pulled my knees back up and looked back out at the water, after watching Ryan intently.

“I hate that it seems I was never enough. I was broken and bleeding in the name of love, and I hoped that we’d meet in another life.”

“I don’t hate that I need you Y/N.”

I felt my heart skip a beat as I looked at him out of the corner of my eye as he stared at me like I was an angel.

“I don’t hate that I need you either Ryan.”

#ryansitkowskiimagines #ryansitkowski #fanfiction #theoneandonlykymberlee #mine #improudofthis

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warcats-cat · 5 years

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False Idol (Good Omens Fanfic)

Ok, so I was gone for a few days because of family stuff but I am BACK and READY for action. The whole fic IS already written, so it will all be posted; I won’t leave this baby hanging. I just have some family stuff going on that might complicate things. ANYWAY

You can read this bad boy on ao3 as well; or read on Tumblr chapter 1 and chapter 2. As always, my messages are open and receptive to screaming!!!

Chapter Warnings: Major Depression, refrerences to death, guilt, blood

Chapter 3: Mourning and Memorial

Obviously, no one came to the shop the next day. Or the day after. Aziraphale had sat on the floor for hours, cradling the body of his friend - his love - as it bled out and stained all of his favorite clothes. He held the body and sobbed, and planted a few kisses into the dead demon’s hairline, although it was salty and slick with sweat. After two days of this sobbing, Aziraphale lifted the body with great care, and moved into the back rooms to lay his friend on the couch. He had never understood before why humans shut the eyes of the dead, but now, as he gently pulled down Crowley's eyelids, he thought he might understand. He willed the tea kettle to whistle and found that his access to miracles had been returned; and began to cry anew. He had never thought Gabriel to be so cruel.

Aziraphale waited, thinking, before taking Crowley again in his arms and taking off into the sky. He flew with the body for over an hour, looking for a flowery spot with a nice view.

Aziraphale landed lightly on grassy ground. He would never take Crowley to an actual cemetery, but he wanted to do what humans did when they lost a loved one. He wanted to mourn. Without looking at the ground, he willed a hole in the earth large enough to fit the demon’s tall frame, and laid him with care. But Aziraphale didn’t know what to say. He had never gone to a human funeral, and never had the need to mourn like this. He willed himself to say ‘I love you’ one last time, but his tongue refused to cooperate, and his voice wouldn’t have worked anyway. He just stood in silence for a while, staring out into the flowery field.

Finally, with a wave of his hand, the earth returned to swallow the body of his friend, wrapping around him and covering the place where he lay with wildflowers and grass. Aziraphale found himself exhausted, but now that the burial had taken place, he felt the need to do more .

Aziraphale flew once more, heading in the direction of Crowley’s flat, a place he had only been once. He almost expected Crowley to call out to him as he walked through the threshold, but of course, the apartment was silent. Aziraphale sought out Crowley’s plants first, taking them out to the old Bentley and making space to bring all of them. He found a spare set of Crowley’s sunglasses on a table in what would be a sitting room if the demon had ever had company. The bedroom was the most difficult to enter; silent and yet filled with Crowley’s leftover energy. It smelled like cologne. Aziraphale moved with purpose to the closet, sifting through Crowley’s selection of clothes until he finally pulled free a soft leather jacket. The other had been ruined, but Crowley liked to keep spares of his important things because they frequently found themselves in bad situations. Aziraphale had never been more thankful for the demon’s hoarding.

With what he had come for in the car and in his arms, he miracled the flat empty and newly for rent, and drove back to his shop, to find a new home for his beloved’s car and other important possessions.

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

Aziraphale built the box by hand. Glue and nails and wood and glass coming together. He had several splinters by the end of it. For a long time he debated a name plate or some kind of plaque. And yet it didn’t seem like Crowley’s style, and this was all about him. Carefully, the angel patterned out little leaves and flowers along the edges of the wood, before sliding in the front panel of glass. From the back, he carefully laid the Bentley's keys, (now in its forever home at the back of the bookshop where Aziraphale could keep an eye on it), a pair of custom sunglasses, (carefully folded and laid at an angle so the side could be seen as well), and a sleek yet soft leather jacket, (lovingly pinned to the back panel so it could be clearly seen). After a bit of hesitation, he added a little black and white photo the pair had taken when one of the first cameras came to London, just to have Crowley’s image somewhere close. When the work was done, Aziraphale took a long time to appraise his work.

He wondered for a while if Crowley would like it. His heart sank thinking on his old friend; perhaps he should have waited longer to make this. There had been so much more Aziraphale wanted to do; so many sights and tastes and smells. Who knew what humanity was capable of?

And as the days went by, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he wanted to experience them without Crowley. He loved his bookshop, and he loved Creation, of course, but it had only been a few days and he was positively moping ! He couldn’t even sit still long enough to read, he had left cups of tea and coco to go cold countless times, he didn’t even want to go out to his favorite restaurants. Everything felt wrong .

It didn’t help that he felt guilty. He certainly didn’t know how the Battlefield had been tainted, and yet he had been blamed. And the love of his existence had suffered the consequences.

Well, it wouldn’t do to sit and stare at the box for the rest of eternity. He knew exactly how Crowley would feel about where the angel’s train of thought was going, and Aziraphale decided to at least open the shop again. He picked up the fine memorial and hung it with care, right above his antique register counter, and moved to the windows to flip the sign and unlock the door.

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

Months went by without significance. It was hard for Aziraphale to find joy in almost everything he used to; he couldn’t focus long enough to read, and almost never finished more than a page before giving up. He went out to fine restaurants on occasion, but never anywhere he had gone with Crowley. His books walked out the door more often than he ever would have allowed before.

And he was tired. Almost constantly.

Aziraphale found himself wandering off to couches or his bed more and more often to sleep; something that had never appealed even after hearing Crowley rave about it. There had always been so much to experience. And he didn’t really even need to sleep. But lately, he was spending time just staring into space, and would realize hours or days later that he hadn’t moved. He would lay down and allow his mind to wander, only to wake up a week later without any knowledge of what was going on around him.

He found himself wanting to sleep.

He found himself wanting to sleep until the end of time itself.

After almost three months of this going on, he closed the shop ‘until further notice’. He felt himself a ghost in his own bookshop; wandering between shelves and dusting them without interest. He made cups of tea that went abandoned at his table or desk, and wasn’t interested in miracling them warm again. All being said, Aziraphale was bored .

And this boredom was leading him to moping .

He knew Crowley wouldn’t have wanted him to mope about, positively listless. But Crowley would have also torn Heaven and Hell apart in rage at Aziraphale’s slaughter (and yes it was a slaughter, although Gabriel could call it retribution all he wanted.) The demon may well have smashed bottles of wine at the Heavenly Gates themselves, fueled by fire that (he would never admit) didn't fully come from Hell. Just the thought of his swaggering, bragging to his angel about his exploits was enough to make Aziraphale smile.

He thought of getting drunk with the demon. Listening to broken words dribble out like a little waterfall in a little brook; tripping words that made sense, albeit loosely. He thought about old dusty bottles of wine and leaning close to his friend in their giggly haze.

“I miss you, you wily old serpent.” he said, mostly to himself. “I miss you incredibly.” Aziraphale let himself pretend that said serpent may really be there, just beyond what his corporeal form could see. He’d said he’s be around after all.

This depression wouldn't do anymore. Aziraphale came slowly to his feet, stretched his shoulders, and straightened his jacket. After taking a moment to tend to Crowley’s beloved plants upstairs, he came down and firmly unlocked the door; the conscious decision that he would have to perk up. For the sake of his friend.

Aziraphale placed himself primly behind the counter and gave a small (noticeably watery) smile to his first customer in several months.

#warcats writes #Good Omens #Good Omens Fic #False Idol #ineffable husbands #TW:blood #tw:depression #tw:lonliness #tw:reference to death #tw:guilt

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romancingromanoff · 5 years

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My idea is about Cersei (preferably post-S6 finale, 'cause I love that look) somehow coming into a hot young M-or-GU!Reader's apartment, and them ending up becoming fuckbuddies/roommates who fuck. Like she's confused and wants to go home, the reader is also very confused and promises to help find her way home, then time skip to like six weeks later, and she's just hanging out around the apartment in sweats, watching Netflix with the reader and sucking their cock whenever the movie gets boring.

WARNING: SMUT AHEAD, NSFW (Cersei x reader with a penis)This is the first fic I’ve ever done (or attempted for that matter) from the pov of a character that has what is traditionally regarded as male genitalia so I’m sorry if it’s bad but I had fun playing with this prompt and Cersei.A Game of Thrones drinking game hadn’t sounded that bad. Take a shot every time Hodor says “Honor”, every time Cersei drinks some wine, and finish your drink any time there’s magic or dragons, et cetera, et cetera. But maybe yesterday was hitting you harder than normal because you hadn’t eaten all day or maybe it was simply because they had jam packed the latest episode with shots of Cersei sipping wine at her window incredulous to what an actual human’s alcohol intake capacity is. For whatever reason, you woke up with the worst hangover headache and your eyes pounding like they were going to swell and fall out of their sockets. Pulling on some shorts, keeping the lights off, and staying far away from the windows you began to try and feel your way to your kitchen using just your hands to search for anything that might help your stomach. So to say that you were completely blind to what happened next probably wouldn’t be an exaggeration. “You!” a sharp voice and the jostling feeling of having the sharp end of a carving knife right at your throat caused your hands to go up immediately and you froze with fear. You attempted to open your eyes to look at your attacker and hopefully defend yourself as well, but the lights were killing your head. “Who are you and where am I?” the person demanded. From the sound of their voice and their distinctly British accent, you thought you knew who the person was. You supposed that would make sense given that a lot of crimes are committed by individuals the victim already knows, but personally, you didn’t know anyone that was British. “Okay, what the hell? I’m sorry, I have no idea what’s going on but if you want anything just take it,” your plead dribbles out of your mouth and is probably only half understood. The knife pokes deeper into your skin making you scared to even breath. “I am the queen and you will tell me where I am right this instant!” First, through a very small squint you can make out what looks to be short blonde hair. Then you see the piercing green eyes and everything just seems to come together at once. It’s Cersei. Fucking. Lannister. The realization has your brain swelling even more and it feels like it’s about to overflow from your skull. “Uh, could you put the knife down, please?” you plead and wonder if smiling would help ease her at all but then you remember that she’s a vicious cold-blooded woman that just blew up the entire Sept of Baelor and everyone in it. “Your Grace?” you try saying. “I just think there’s been a huge mix up of some sort.”Thankfully, she pulls the knife away but her words are just as sharp and she says, “A mix up? You idiot, this is no ‘mix up’ this is obviously a plot conspired by my enemies who wish to take my throne. And as far as I’m aware, you might just be one of those enemies so you better start giving me explanations before you’re of no use to me!”“I have no idea what’s going on. Honest!” you panic and take the chance while she has her guard down to grab the television remote and try to replay the episode you recorded last night. “You’re just a character in a tv show, you’re played by an actress, and I’m starting to freak out right now because I know this is a prank and I’ve just about shit my pants so why isn’t it over yet?!” “You im-“ she starts to lunge for you with her knife in hand before she’s stopped by the image on screen. It’s of her from last night when she was casually enjoying the sight of wildfire killing hundreds of innocent people. The scene shows her smirking as she looks out from her window, satisfied with her work. But having to see that very clear memory play out in front of her like it’s a mere show gets the best of the usually poised and formidable lioness. Her face turns a sickly pale white color and it looks like she’s trying to expel something evil from her body as her face contorts into a silent scream. “It’s not possible,” she whispers in pain and her knife drops to the floor.“I’m not waking up, am I?” you say at the mercy of the feet of the universe itself. “I want to go home, I want to go home,” the queen wraps her arms around her stomach like there’s a pain inside that’s making her physically topple over. She begins to fall away from the couch behind her but luckily you’re able to catch her with whatever of your strength is left. Clueless as to what to do, you just sort of awkwardly pat her back as she heaves in and out just pleading to the gods to end the nightmare she’s in. Her words are indecipherable by the time you decide to rush to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and you run back as quick as you can without letting it spill and tell her to drink it.The only thing keeping you calm is knowing that if you were to freak out like she was (which you definitely wanted to) was the fact that you were still pretty sure that she would kill you. So you just awkwardly shuffled closer on over to her hunched over crying figure and gently put your hand on her back and she sobbed uncontrollably.“I’ll get you home, I promise,” is all you say but it seems to make her feel a bit better.Six weeks later, things are definitely nothing close to normal but the two of you have some partial understanding of what’s going on and have slowly gotten into a routine. The unfortunate news was that Cersei wouldn’t be able to return back to her world until the next new episode of Game of Thrones which wasn’t coming for another year. The good news was that she hadn’t killed you. Or, at least not yet.You’d gotten used to sleeping on the couch as you thought it would be pretty rude not to let her sleep on the only bed in your apartment. She was a queen and all, but had actually turned out to be a lot less high-maintenance than you initially expected. She mainly kept to herself or listened to you talk about random things in your world while she sipped on some wine (which she said tasted horrible) but the two of you weren’t anything too much beyond cordial. So the day that she randomly stands in front of you blocking the tv screen as you’re trying to watch Black Mirror you’re not quite sure how to react. “Turn that off,” she says and you silently reach for the remote and press the power button. You make sure to keep her in your line of sight though just in case she was planning to lunge at you with another knife. “I have not properly thanked you for your hospitality,” she states almost meekly and you don’t know how to respond. “Uh-““And as you know, a Lannister always pays his debts,” Cersei says beginning to descend to the floor on her knees right in front of where you had shamefully just been man-spreading your legs open in your sweats. That’s exactly where her eyes seem to be aiming too and she slowly pulls the waist band down to your knees so that the erection beneath that flimsy little piece of boxers you’re wearing is very evident. You remain absolutely silent as that slowly disappears as well, revealing your cock to the cold air and the eyes of this real life character you’ve lusted after for years and only ever fantasized about. It stands at attention for her and her smirk is relieving as she takes a good look at it. You’ve been told in the past that you’re rather well-endowed down there and also that your thickness is towards the bigger end of the spectrum too. Seeing the look of intrigue and surprise on her face makes the blood pump to your cock even more intensely and soon the head is swollen red like a juicy, plump vegetable. Looking back up at you for a few tense-filled seconds, she never pulls her eyes away while she’s also leaning in further and further down to your shaft before lightly licking the top and making you shake a little too much than you would have cared to just by being brushed over by a tongue, but then again, it’s also the tongue of Cersei fucking Lannister. You feel the vibrations calling for her lips once more as she lifts her head up ever so slightly and you’re begging for her touch. Luckily, she responds quite quickly and soon lets her entire mouth take in as much as she can of your swollen length. You can’t help but close your eyes as she begins bobbing that cute yet dangerous mouth of her up and down on your cock. The fact that she’s having a bit of trouble taking in something so large makes it even cuter and you make the move to grab a small fistful of her short hair to help guide her movements. There’s nothing but throbs of ecstasy flowing throughout your pleasure rod as it keeps pushing in and out now of Cersei’s mouth. At first, you try to hold back your moans but then soon stop caring when you hear her responding in return. From what you can gather, she likes the taste of you which turns you on even more. Lifting your hips up slightly every time to go deeper and deeper into her mouth surprises her at first, but she persists with taking as much as she can in and she’s doing a hell of a good job at that. Her tongue is curled around your shaft and holding it perfectly and neat inside her mouth and throat which is making you almost lose all control.“Fuck, yeah Cersei,” you moan and try to give her more and more; as much as she can take. She certainly has stamina as she only keeps sucking with more intensity the closer and closer you get to your climax. “Oh, God,” you let out as you feel the first spurts of your semen projecting itself up and out of your cock into what glorious paradise lies behind those skilled pink lips. You’ve never had one that’s lasted this long and she’s swallowing all of it as it comes along. “SHIT!” you scream as the last of it finally leaves your body and renders you completely exhausted. Cersei looks more than content with her work as she quietly gets up and leaves you panting almost on the floor. You could definitely get used to her paying back her debts.

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antihero-writings · 5 years

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Gods and Gravity—Chapter 1: Part 1: Autopilot—MCU/Gravity Falls Crossover (Full fic–LONG post incoming)

Fic Title: Gods and Gravity

Fic Synopsis: What's more fun than making Loki, Peter Parker, Wanda Maximoff, and Shuri interact within the MCU? Forcing them to live together at the Mystery Shack in Gravity Falls!

Chapter Title: Autopilot

Character Focus: Loki, Peter Parker, Wanda

Notes: The following is a fic I spent pretty much the entirety of my 2018 summer working on writing, (and the next three months editing.) To this day (summer 2019) I am still trying to learn to write comedy, and this was one of my first attempts at comedy, as well as one of the longest fics I'd posted (on Ao3), and for those reasons alone it was a valuable learning experience for me. At the time I had a full plot for this planned out, and had every intention of making it into a long series. I still love this fic, I am proud of it, it makes me smile, I still have those ideas written down somewhere, and I hope to return to it someday.

However, the lack of comments I received on it, after six months of intense effort was very discouraging, and I lost momentum, and haven't worked on it since.

Knowing this, I couldn't keep my original note from Ao3, and I cannot make any promises that this fic will go anywhere. But, at the same time, I would still very very deeply appreciate your comments and encouragement, and would be much much more likely to continue this fic, even now, if I hear people are enjoying it. As I said, I love the idea, and would love to keep working on it, so please don't hesitate to let me know if you love it too!

Chapter 1, Part 1:

Are you aware of where you are? Oh, I don’t mean to be rude. Welcome.

You must be looking for some sort of introduction. Humans are so particular about things like that. You cannot cast your voice into the dark and expect to understand the echo. You’re not a thing like me.

Afraid. Is that the word? You’re afraid of that which you do not know. In the end, it’s the only thing you’re ever really afraid of. You can only speak to those who are no longer strange. I can’t say I understand the feeling. Knowing is my job, is it not?

Of course, you wouldn’t. It’s not your occupation, after all. And the unknown, well…its not so strange as you may first think. Sometimes it speaks with your own face.

Me. That is the only name I need to know. I am, nevertheless, quite fond of human proclivity to naming things. I find it…what’s the word? Cute? That must be it. I have no need of such titles myself though. Make something up for me, will you? Your imagination is far more powerful than anything I could tell you. I am quite curious to see what’s in your mind.

You must want some introduction of your own. Would you like me to tell the others? Sing a song in your honor? No, I suppose that would be embarrassing. Quite affective in ancient society though, I must say. To be perfectly frank, I don’t think it’s a very good idea anyways. Not here. Not today. Not, yet, at least.

Mustn’t proclaim your existence to those who know not of it, right? Might scare them off. Might not. They are quite resilient after all. Still…

Be not afraid. That’s what they say, right? But would they be? Perhaps its too soon to tell. Perhaps it’s always to soon to tell. Are you? Afraid, that is. No? I suppose there isn’t anything to be afraid of. Fear makes everything more… complicated. Sometimes that’s a good thing. Others it’s not. This time I’m not quite sure which way it would fall.

I know you’re here for something. What is it?

Have you come for answers? Questions? Just a good story?

Come for that. The story. Or come for something else, and stay for it. It’s a good one, I’ll say. Not that a stranger’s opinion means much.

To Gravity Falls. I am well acquainted with such a place. Quite fond of it. It’s home to all manor of strangers though, so I’m not quite sure you’re ready. It’s full of, shall we say, imagination. You are looking for my Gravity Falls, are you not? The one with the gods and heroes. I am aware that there exist many tales about Gravity Falls, all sprung from one. Regrettably, I exist in only this one—and not the original. I know of the others though. And while I exist in the universe of the gods and heroes, there I am shut up in stones and eyes, and not-quite-men, and king’s instruments; I have no voice.

Set down your own worries a while. This is a fun story, I promise. Lose yourself in it.

You came here, for whatever reason. It matters no longer. You are here now. And maybe, just maybe, you could help me.

Free. It is such an elusive thing; freedom. Do you think this story will help you earn that freedom? I think it could help me earn mine. If freedom is a thing we must earn, of course, rather than it being given us, or ingrained in us from the start. And so could you. Help, that is. Could, being the key word here. The question is, will you?

“Dude, how many cups of coffee have you had?”

Loki’s eyes darted from the mug in his hand, to the girl in front of him, Michelle, who clearly thought his overseeing of his employees’ task was invitation for conversation.

Loki sighed. Out of all the conditions one might be in when talking to teenagers, fatigue is not the most suitable. It would be important to make a mental note of this for the coming summer.

“If you must know, I am currently on my third.”

“Third of the week or…?”

“Of the day.” He leaned against the side of the archway between the living room and stairway.

Her face puckered like she’d eaten something sour.

“Then…why do you still look like that?”

He lowered the mug, tapping his fingers on the porcelain, trying to figure out the least insulting phrasing. “This may come as a shock to you, but honesty is not always the best policy.”

The other teen who currently worked for him, and who was carrying a particularly large box down from the attic, stopped to join the conversation. Ned glanced between them. “Yeah, who needs honesty, psh…What are you guys talking about?”

“Miss Jones has taken this opportunity to judge my daily caffeine intake. Which, quite frankly, I could live without.”

“I thought you said honesty wasn’t the best policy.”

He stuck his tongue out at her.

“Oh, yeah—Have you not seen him do that?” Ned asked. “He drinks like ten cups of coffee, it does nothing to him. You’d swear he’s like actually a god, or something.”

“While it’s enlightening that caffeine immunity is enough for you to come to that conclusion, I’ll have you know, it does work on me, it just takes a rather high quantity.”

“Dude, I’ve never seen you hyper.”

“Maybe he’s a robot.” Michelle offered.

“Or maybe you’ve just never seen me on my good days.” Loki fixed his eyes intently on Ned, and his gaze didn’t waver as he lifted the mug to take an uncomfortably long sip.

“Ohh crap that’s terrifying.” Ned whispered.

Loki swallowed and shrugged. Still-got-it.

“Can I have some of that?” Michelle leaned over the bannister from the stairs side, trying to get a whiff of the drink.

Loki tossed the mug to his other hand, and turned towards the living room so she could no longer get close. “No.”

“Why not?”

“The thought may be lost on you, but I’m not paying you to sit around and drink coffee. I may have to withdraw some of your pay for these last few moments.”

“Y-You wouldn’t do that.” Ned sweated nervously.

Loki lifted his head, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “Would you truly like to risk it?”

That was enough to encourage Ned to get back to work.

“What if I told you I’d be more productive if I had some caffeine my system?” Michelle was undaunted.

Loki tilted his head to the side. “I’d tell you I don’t make a habit of being charitable.”

“Aww, I bet you’re a big teddy bear on the inside,” she mocked him with a baby voice.

Loki rolled his eyes, turning fully away.

“Come on,” she hopped onto the ground floor, “You know denying it just makes us want to find all your little weaknesses, right?” She came up behind him.

“By all means, look away. I promise you you won’t find anything on me.”

“Don’t be too sure.”

She turned, about to go back to work, but paused to ask, “What’s your excuse?”

“Your meaning?”

“Why do you get to sit around drinking coffee?”

“Other than being the one with the authority? I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Images of rusting dials, twisted metal, broken, blinking lights, and calculations his brain was too tired to finish came to mind. What exactly had compelled him to spend the entirety of the night prior working on that infernal machine, when he had teenagers coming to live with him the next day, he couldn’t say.

Or, more likely, it was because three teenagers were coming to live with him.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I just didn’t want to have to call an intervention.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You know…an intervention?” she repeated.

It was apparent that he didn’t.

Her brows furrowed. “Where… someone calls all your friends and family together to make you admit there’s a problem?”

“Sounds revolting. It appears its rather rewarding not to have friends.” He took a last sip of coffee.

“Uhh…what about family?”

“That too.” He swallowed.

It seemed like she was about to argue, then she shrugged, and admitted to herself nah-that-sounds-about-right, and returned to her work.

Loki pointed after her, casting an illusion into one of the lower rooms.

“Hey, Ned! Come look at this giant spider I found!” Michelle called after a few minutes, a little too nonchalant for his enjoyment.

“What?!” Ned shrieked from the other room, “A spider?! Where?!”

The god of mischief frowned. That’s right; Michelle wasn’t exactly the kind of person to scare easily.

He twisted his wrist, making it appear to crawl away.

“Wait—nevermind—it ran away.”

“Phew! I mean—I wasn’t scared.”

Still, at least he got a few good screams out of someone. Besides, it was ample punishment for Ned’s incessant enthusiasm these past few weeks.

Mentions of “Peter’s going to love…” this, and “Oh man, Peter’s going to have so much fun…” that, had bombarded Loki throughout Ned’s first week back at work. When the god had learned it was Ned’s idea in the first place, firing him wasn’t looking like such a bad idea. That, or something a little more… substantial, that would really quiet his babble… But killing the mortal children was off the menu.

Another important reminder for the coming summer; if one of the young heroes went missing, it would raise more than a few unwanted questions. If Stark himself came down here, everything he worked for might be all over. But the amount he could learn was worth the risk. It would be fairly easy to avoid incident, and if something did come up, he would be able to deal with it (he had before, after all), as long as he could keep any killing urges in check, the summer shouldn’t be too eventful.

Michelle didn’t appear to feel all that strongly about the coming presence of the other mortal she knew, or, at least she had the presence of mind not to show her excitement with extreme chattiness, or mention of the oncoming storm, and carry out her assignments without bothering him.

At least, in general.

“I’m kinda surprised you agreed to this,” She insisted on pestering him, remarking a few trips later, carrying an old, crooked candelabra—(that he didn’t remember buying)—down from the attic. This was, of course, when Loki had settled into the chair in the living room with a book, attempting to find some peace and quiet. “I mean; you can barely stand being around us. And this is three more of us we’re talking about it.”

“Well, Stark’s large sum of payment did have its appeal at the time.”

“Hey paid you?”

“Yes,” Loki set his now empty coffee on the table beside the chair. “I am aware of how babysitting works.”

“Babysitting?”

“He may have prefaced it as a sort of summer camp.”

She snorted. “A summer camp that lasts the whole summer?”

He shrugged.

She stepped back down onto the bottom floor. “You really think a bit of cash is worth it?”

“Please. I’ve dealt with far worse.

“Oh really?”

“Now, for just one example.” He licked his finger to turn the page of his book.

Starks money. Sure, it had its appeal, but the more convincing issue at hand was the amount of information he could learn from them. It had been Stark himself who had called, which meant whoever he was sending on this particular excursion, despite their age, was close to him. The opportunity to learn a secret or two about those in the circle of heroes was rather high compensation, and at the time had seemed enough to justify a summer with a few teens (especially when putting said summer into the perspective of a god’s life). Now that their arrival was fast approaching, doubt had more than a few well-thought-out counterarguments.

“Alright.” She set down the candelabra. “How much you want to bet?”

“Pardon?”

“No seriously,” she tapped her chin, thinking, “Let’s say, the moment all three of them arrive, if you already want the summer to be over, you have to…” she smirked, “You have to show my artwork at the museum.”

“Sure, that seems fair. I’m the one suffering, and you get paid.”

She shrugged. “That’s how betting works. One person’s doubly miserable, the other’s doubly rich.” She rubbed her fingers together.

“Even if I was interested in this little farce—which, to be clear, I’m not—how would you be able to tell that I ‘want the summer to be over’?”

“You really think I won’t be able to tell?”

“Oh please.”

“Maybe you’ll just have to fess up.”

He laughed. “As if.”

“You think you’re ‘Mr. Mystery’ but maybe you’re not so mysterious as you think”

“Yeah, come back to that question in a while, sweetheart.” He paused. “And if I can, in fact, handle it, what am I to win?”

“Well, what do you want?”

“Dangerous words, girl.”

“Let’s see…How about, I have to work overtime whenever you ask?”

He weighed it. It was tempting. But it had to be something more humiliating than that…

“How about, if I win, you have to be the official mascot of the Mystery Shack. Whenever I ask you to put on a costume and dance out on the street, you must do so, no questions asked.” A maniacal smirk crossed his features.

“Ooh,” she sucked in a breath, stepping into the living room, “You’re right. That’s gonna be tough to beat. Too bad we’ll never get to see that.”

“Feel free to bow out if you’re afraid to lose.”

“Oh we’re way past that by now.”

“Very well. The wager is set.”

“Let’s shake on it.” She extended her hand.

He shook her hand once. “As the mortals say, you’re on, Miss Jones.”

“Uhh You’re on.”

As she turned to pick up the candelabra, Ned called nervously from the spare room on the first floor,

“Uhh…Mr Loki?”

“What is it now?”

“What do you want me to with these boxes that say ‘property of’ and then a crossed out name—that, I’m not gonna lie, I tried to read—‘do not touch’?”

Loki rubbed his temples. “What are you talking—?” then he stopped, realizing what was in that room, “Oh for the love of—give them to me.”

“Scooch.”

Peter Parker glanced up from his phone to see Mr. Stark leaning in the doorway of the car. Quickly obeying the request, he grabbed his backpack and shifted closer to the window.

Tony slid into the seat on the other side of the car, motioning to their current chauffer (that wasn’t his official job, but Peter often found him performing it) to drive. As if he had received a top-secret message, Happy gave a curt nod, turned the key, and the engine growled, signifying the start of their trip to the airport.

Tony flipped off his sunglasses as if trying to impress a few hundred cameras.

“Let’s have a chat. Man to—boy.”

“What is, Mr. Stark?” Peter decided not to object to the category he was placed under.

“Don’t,” Tony emphasized, “screw the pooch.”

Peter blinked, expecting something more. He nodded, saying awkwardly, “Yeah.”

Iron Man didn’t seem convinced.

“Okay…?”

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“I promise.” Peter added.

“Don’t mess with me now. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, little man.”

“With all due respect, what do you think’s gonna happen, Mr. Stark? It’s not like I’m going out there to save the world—which don’t you forget, I have done on more than one occasion.”

“Don’t get cocky. You were never saving the world. Leave that to the professionals.”

“Agree to disagree. Anyway, it’s just a summer camp, and it’s out in the middle of nowhere. Frankly there isn’t much there for me to screw up!”

“‘Just a summer camp, out in the middle of nowhere?’ Funny,” Tony put a hand to his chin in mock thoughtfulness, “that’s not how I recall you describing it when you were begging me to find a way for you to go. I pulled a number of strings to get you this, kid.”

“I wasn’t begging!”

“Uh huh.”

“I-I just thought it would be fun, that’s all! And, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful!”

“Is that so?” he folded his arms over his chest.

“Come on, Mr. Stark. You get what I mean.”

“I do. But you’d be surprised. The middle of nowhere can be host to a whole gaggle of excitement;” he waved his fingers over him, “I once met a man there named Chad, who taught me the way of the goat. Pretty fun guy, Chad. Could do without the goat smell though.”

“Seriously?”

“Maybe. I had had my fair share of of Mexican ‘soda’s at the time, and may or may not have been slightly drunk. Okay, a lot drunk. Funnily enough I wasn’t actually in Mexico. Maybe that’s why I can’t remember much after that. Let’s hope you never find out. The point is,” he held up a finger, “you have a tendency for pooch-screwing, even in low-profile situations—no, especially in low-profile situations.” He poked him in the chest.

Peter turned his gaze out the window for a moment, watching the buildings fly by.

“I—I can keep a low profile,” he defended feebly, turning back to Mr. Stark.

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “The Christmas party.”

“Come on! I was admiring your suits (innocently, if I might add), you can understand that—”

“Aaand you broke one.”

“It was just one finger!”

“Happened to be a very important finger. A finger of sentimental value, if you will. In case you don’t remember, it’s the one that lets me do this:”

He flipped him off.

Peter rolled his eyes. “You fixed it like three seconds later.”

“You know,” Tony extended his fingers as if admiring a good manicure, “people say I got that finger from my great grandmother. It hurts Peter,” he put his hand over his heart, “it hurts,” he wiped away fake tears, “How could you disrespect Great Grammy Stark like that?”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “They don’t say that.”

“How do you know? You think you know my family better than I do?”

“I’m just saying that—”

“You’re letting me get off topic. The point is, you were, as you say, ‘innocently observing my suits’—completely understandable, they’re the most amazing feats of technology most people ever get to see—and all it took was one little slip of the hand, and suddenly I’ve lost a very important finger. What happens when it’s not something that I can fix that easily? What if that was someone’s real finger? What if that was your finger?”

“Fingers don’t just fall off!”

“Maybe not, but trust can.”

“Huh?”

As they reached a stoplight, Mr. Stark leaned forward.

“Hey, Happy,” Tony pointed, “Could you get something from the thing between the front seats for me?”

“What—you mean this?” Happy pointed to the compartment he had been resting his elbow on.

“Yeah, that is what I’m pointing to. Can you pass me the—”

Happy held up the first thing he found, which was a lint roller.

“Why would I need that? Are you trying to tell me something about my suit?” he looked down at the perfectly tailored suit. “It’s my favorite suit, Happy.”

“I wasn’t! I—!”

“Why do you even I have that in there?”

“I just always like—it pays to be prepared, that’s all.”

“Don’t make me a part of your weird obsessions. Just pass me the M&Ms.”

“You got it.” Happy threw the brown package back to him, and Mr. Stark caught it. When he examined the label and color however, he leaned forward again. “Happy, these are regular M&Ms. Does it look like I’m a regular M&Ms man? Do you think I’m some plebian off the street?”

“All you said was M&Ms! You didn’t specify!” he protested, throwing back the peanut ones a bit less kindly, and Tony fumbled them.

“From now on, when I ask for M&Ms, I mean the peanut kind, not this pathetic excuse for a snack.”

“I’ll keep that in the ol’ mind palace.”

“Don’t refer to your mind as a palace. At best it’s a very small cabin. A hut. A hovel, if you will.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your mind, then?”

“Oh, my mind’s a five start resort, baby. You should visit some time…Not that I want you there.”

“Your confidence means a lot to me too, boss.”

“I hope so.”

“C-” Peter cleared his throat, leaning forward, “Can I have some of those?”

“Maybe. If you listen.” Tony bit the package to open it, “M&Ms are for people who listen.” He said, spitting out any plastic he had accidentally gotten into his mouth. He poured a handful of chocolates into his palm. “In the mean time, stay in your lane,” he pushed him back into his seat, “keep your mitts off my M&Ms.”

“Okay,” Tony resumed, throwing a few candies into his mouth, “So maybe it was just a finger I could fix like that”—he snapped his fingers—“But what if it wasn’t? What if it was a priceless heirloom my grandmother gave me? What would you have done then?”

“Still said I was sorry…?” Peter lifted his shoulders, “I would have felt worse about it though,” he made sure to add.

It didn’t seem to help.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Mr. Stark! I don’t intend to screw up!”

“Most people don’t. You know, I’m glad you brought that up,” he continued crunching on the M&Ms, “because it’s kind of the point of this little pep talk.” He pointed to peter. “Hate to admit it, but you remind me of me. Except without the devilishly handsome good looks, of course.”

“Hey!”

“You’re cute, I’ll give you that. But you’re like an oatmeal raisin cookie; it’s no one’s first choice, you’re not chocolate chip,” he brought his hands up to frame his own face, “but, hey, someone will eat it—Grandma made them, after all.”

“I think I’m at least—”

“Anyway, stop distracting me! You’re like me; you’re a trouble magnet. You and Trouble have a whole,” he waved his fingers, “scandalous affair.” He shuddered on purpose. “I’d like to compliment you on it, but whole point of an affair is to keep it on the down-low. And this, sir,” he circled his finger in the air in to refer to him, “is not the down-low. The sphere you’re working in is when you want your affair in the media. So as your standing guardian, it’s my job to either help keep it out of the public eye, or stop the affair altogether.”

Peter blinked. “I think I understood like half of that.”

“Alright, not my best analogy, but you get the gist.”

Peter looked out the window again. They were on the freeway now, getting closer to the airport. He was starting to see that this wasn’t the kind of debate he could win; this was one of those conversations where he was supposed to sit back and listen. He wasn’t particularly fond of those. Still, he didn’t foresee much happening out in Gravity Falls, Oregon, despite one of his interests in going being to study anomalies.

He had been careful not to mention that.

“Can I ask you something?” he turned back to him.

“As long as I can respectfully decline to answer.” He threw the last handful of chocolates into his mouth.

“Did you have this conversation with Wanda?”

“Alright, that I will answer,” he crumpled up the now empty M&M bag, turning to him. He put his arm around Peter, making a sweeping motion with his hand. “No.” He pointed to Peter. “And you know why? Because Wanda already knows not to screw the pooch. Last time she screwed the pooch, she did the walk of shame for at least a month. She’s Mellow Yellow, and you’re…that weird Mexican soda Chad gave me that one time. You’re the one who needs to be taught that pooches,” he waved a finger, “are not for screwing.”

Peter sighed as Mr. Stark let him go, staring at his hands, seriousness setting into his tone,

“I promise, Mr. Stark, I really do promise. I’m not gonna screw up this time.”

“Come on, don’t be like that.” Tony said after a pause.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re five years old, and I just told you you can’t have dessert.”

“Well, you kinda did.”

“Hey, leave my M&Ms out of this!” he hid the package ineptly behind him.

“Look, I just don’t think you’re giving me enough credit, Mr. Stark.”

“Oh I’m giving you plenty of credit. You know some of the things Happy’s told me about your little excursions?”

“Hey—”

“Let’s see, there’s the time you stole someone’s dog that was sitting outside a grocery store, because you thought it was being mistreated—it wasn’t. Or how about when you tried to bust a bunch of gang members, who turned out to be just the local goth kids hanging around?”

“Hey, those kids were shifty, anyone could have made that mistake!”

“Oh, and one of my personal favorites, the time you brought a guy in because you thought he was breaking into someone’s car. Turns out he had just forgotten his keys, and was late for a job interview. Which, because of you, he missed. I”—He pointed to himself— “had to give him a job in the end, which you don’t seem to realize, seems to be the cycle with your mistakes—I’m the one who pays the price.”

“Well, hey, you have to admit, he did get a better job because of me.”

“Don’t put a positive spin on this!”

“Look, I won’t screw up this time. Okay? Satisfied?” Peter’s frustration was reaching his tongue.

After a moment of silence, Mr. Stark cleared his throat.

“That’s good,” he said a bit more softly. “Better than good, it’s great. But, unfortunately, no, I’m not satisfied; there is one more teensy, little thing I’m gonna need from you.”

“What is it?” Peter said to the back of Happy’s chair.

“Where’s the suit?”

Peter sat up, his eyes widening. Then, realizing how telling that was, he crossed his arms and legs, clearing his throat, lowering his voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed.

“Mr. Stark, as I said, I’m gonna be out in the middle of nowhere, with my friends, as well as people who don’t know that I’m Spider-man, you really think I brought the suit?”

“Cut the crap, who do you think you’re talking to?”

The young superhero sighed, conceding. He glanced between the car windows as if the people in the cars next to them could see through the strongly-tinted glass, while they were going sixty miles per hour. Leaning forward, he gently unzipped the back of the backpack at his feet just enough to reveal a splash of red.

“Yeah…I’m gonna need that.”

“What?!” Peter blurted out, feeling his confidence plummet like the elevator in Washington, “But Mr. Stark—!”

“You better believe it, Spider-Boy.”

“I don’t understand!” Peter’s voice was becoming a whine, “I thought I earned it.”

He had been trying his best to sit back and listen, and already felt like he wasn’t getting his points in, and now Mr. Stark was going to take away the last thing that was important to him? Nope. Not happening.

“Hey now.” Happy had been glancing back to them in the mirror as he drove. Noticing the rise in tension, he cut in, “Am I gonna need to come back there and break up a fight between you kids?”

Tony quickly joined the joke, and grabbed the empty bag of M&Ms from behind him, flinging it at Peter and pointing. “He stole my candy.”

“Peter, did you steal his candy?” he said like an irked father.

“He told me I could have it!”

Happy looked between them in the mirror. “I don’t care what he said, it’s his candy, you’re gonna give it back.”

“What if I already ate it?”

“Spit it back out, Mister. I don’t want to have to—”

“Oookay, jokes over,” Tony cut back in. “I’ve thoroughly lost my appetite.”

Peter glanced back at his mentor, giving a small smile, but quickly dropped his gaze.

“You did earn it, Peter.” Tony’s voice was more gentle. “I’m not saying that you don’t deserve it, or that you can’t handle it. But you have to admit, when you have it, things tend to…escalate. I can’t trust that you’ll just use it for friendly-neighborhood-crime-fighting. Or that friendly-neighborhood-crime-fighting would be as harmless as you think it is. Besides, you sealed your own fate, Spiderling.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re going to be out in the middle of nowhere, are you really gonna need it? What would you do if these random hillbillys found out your greatest secret?”

“I…don’t think they’re hillbillys. And it would be nice to have it!”

“Believe me, I know. I want to be able to let you have it. But I also know if I let you have it, the definition of an emergency situation will suddenly slip your mind,” he made a ‘poof’ motion with his hand, “And then I’m seeing you in some forest fire on the news, and that’s on you.”

Peter looked away. Everything was being turned against him, his words, his actions, even his suit.

“This is how things should go;” Tony continued, “a nice, relaxing summer fiesta in the Pacific Northwest with your friends. Away from saving the world, and all of us. Just for one summer you get to be a normal kid—hey, it’s more than I get. You deserve it—get some fresh air, maybe learn a life lesson or two out there. But absolutely no pooch-screwing, got it?”

“Bu—”

“This isn’t your neighborhood. Did you ever think about that?”

“It is for the summer!”

“Look, I’m gonna level with you here; you’re a good kid. Got good grades, a brain in your head, hell, maybe you could even surpass me with your technology one day—”

“Rea—?”

“Nah. Still, you’ve got a lot of things going for you. But let’s be honest, being normal isn’t exactly your strong suit.”

“I can be normal!”

Really? Tony’s eyes said.

“At some point you’ve gotta learn there’s more to life than being a hero—even the friendly neighborhood kind.”

Peter focused on a speck of dirt the floor, unsure how to respond. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew Mr. Stark had his points; he did have a tendency to screw up. Still, it didn’t mean he was going to screw up now. Why couldn’t Mr. Stark have a little more faith in him? Why couldn’t he recognize that his intentions were, in fact, honorable? More honorable, maybe, than his own. Hearing him say all this aloud, hearing that he would lose the suit over a couple of minor, past screw-ups, even if it was just for the summer, didn’t hurt any less. He wanted to be able to use the suit wherever he was, for emergencies, or otherwise. (And, you know, maybe a couple pranks and parties with Ned wouldn’t hurt). Why not help a few people while he was there? Why not make someone’s day, even if it wasn’t an emergency? Isn’t that what a friendly, neighborhood Spider-man was supposed to do?

Tony sighed. “I just don’t want to hear, from somewhere other than you, about how Spider-man got slashed by some lumberjack ghost—”

Peter screwed up his face in confusion.

“—Or something like that. You know, that’s an extreme, probably unlikely, example. I’m not going to be there to protect you, and this is the whole summer we’re talking about. I hope you can understand that.”

“I understand.” He murmured.

He understood, that didn’t mean he agreed, or was any less upset. He wasn’t a kid who needed constant protection. He thought Mr. Stark had learned that.

Reluctance in every motion, he leaned forward and gently tugged the suit out of his pack, as if he was telling his beloved pet, Sorry buddy, I have to leave you here, and shoved its crumpled form to his mentor’s chest.

Tony rolled up the suit up and placed it in beside him. Peter looked away, picking at a stray thread on his Star Wars shirt. He could feel Mr. Stark’s eyes on him, and knew his mentor could tell how upset he was, because Iron Man sighed, and spoke up.

“Alright, I’ll make ya a deal. If you absolutely need it, then you have my number. But I mean absolutely. I’ve seen your texts to Happy. I don’t want you calling because Spider-Man now has a mission to save the tree people.”

“Come on, who do you think you’re talking to?” Peter puffed out his chest.

Happy called from the front seat, “You once broke into some kid’s house because you wanted to play Santa, and texted me about it.”

“Come on, the poor kid wasn’t gonna get any presents!”

Happy rolled his eyes.

“Okay so…I won’t do that. I won’t disappoint you, Mr. Stark.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” Tony then cleared his throat. “Okay, good listening. Happy, give the kid some M&Ms.”

“Which kind?” Happy asked.

“Uh, the plebian kind.” Peter smirked.

Happy laughed, giving him a knowing nod, and threw Tony’s discarded M&Ms to him at the next stop.

Tony glanced between them, straight-faced. “You’re both dead to me.”

Spending three months in some town in Oregon, with people she didn’t know, or else barely knew, wasn’t exactly Wanda’s idea of fun. Nor was it her idea. Still, when Mr. Stark knocked on the door to her room, came in and explained the situation to her, she realized she was more partial to some peace and quiet, some fresh air, and a chance to make a few friends, than sitting in the stuffy, chrome Avengers headquarters. Watching guilt-inducing news, or else doing training, that, while helpful, she didn’t particularly need, or enjoy, wasn’t exactly the most pleasant way to spend her summer.

When her private chauffer dropped her off at an equally private jet, she couldn’t help but harbor some amount of resentment for Stark’s uncanny riches, spent on something that could be better used elsewhere.

Still, even if there was a little residual bitterness, she never doubted that the people she had found were the good ones. The way they treated her, like a friend and equal, the way they tried to comfort her when she has lost her brother, showed her she was in better company than she had ever been in. Even if the term ‘heroes’ was a little strong…Especially when used on her.

Even so, she was grateful to be heading to a small town in the Pacific Northwest, instead of a lavish, five-star resort, or, on the other end of the spectrum, a lab for testing. Some time to herself, a few months of comparative stillness, would be much appreciated. The thought of the fresh evergreen air, rather than the big-city smog, the sleepy town, instead of the sleepless crowd, and some company her age, had its allure.

The jet was plush, and cool—the air-conditioning, forming condensation at the vents by the windows, puffing in her face, provided a nice relief from the sweaty, summer air outside. Cream-colored chairs, with full reclining capabilities lined each side of the plane, and there was plenty of foot room. Plasma screen TV’s stared down at her from each of the corners.

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to complain about the level of comfort.

She settled into a seat by a window. Afternoon sunlight blared in through the glass, draping the interior in gold. It felt strange to be sitting alone in an airplane, especially knowing there would be no flight attendants, or even a pilot. This was one of Stark’s state-of-the-art, fully automated, aircrafts. His AI system would be with them the entire time, to provide any services, and answer any questions. He thought it would be easier than hiring a full staff for their trip, and mentioned that it might be nice not to have an adult supervisor, and they should probably grateful that he trusted them not to need supervision.

With that in her mind, she sat and waited for them to arrive, watching the people working on the planes, and the other planes taking off.

As they arrived, Wanda heard the billionaire giving his begrudging protégé a few last minute nuggets of advice. When he turned to her, however, all he said was “Wanda…keep doin’ what you’re doin’” push Peter forward and add, pointing to him, “Keep this guy in line. Don’t let him screw the pooch, alright?”

She didn’t really know what that meant, but it seemed like it was the time to agree.

“See?” Mr. Stark turned to Peter and held out his hand to reference Wanda, “This is what I’m talking about.”

This was apparently not the treatment Peter had been getting, since he interjected, “Oh come on!”

“Friday, is there any alcohol on this plane?” Tony asked.

“There are several kinds of alcoholic beverages on this aircraft, sir.”

“Ah, should have known, it’s my plane, after all.” He clicked his tongue and winked.

He headed towards the back of the plane, and soon his hands were full of bottles of every kind of alcohol one could imagine. Wanda wouldn’t mind having some of that available, and Peter offered to help carry them out, but Mr. Stark made it clear they were not to touch them. His only excuse was, “Hey, I know what the kids do. I’ll just take these off your hands. It’s better for everyone this way.”

Before exiting he remarked lamely, “Well, you kids have fun,” shrugging.

“Of course,” he popped his head back in, “you can only have so much fun while I’m not there, right?”

“Of course Mr. Stark. It’ll be so lame without you.”

“That’s my boy.”

Peter finished putting away his luggage, and as the Friday signified the plane was getting ready to take off, he walked up to Wanda and smiled amicably.

“May I sit here?”

She shrugged. “Sit wherever you like.”

“Oh, well, then, that’s what I’d like—yeah…” He seemed to realize how awkward he sounded, and rubbed the back of his neck nervously, throwing his backpack onto the chair next to his own. “My name’s Peter, by the way,” he said as he sat down, holding out his hand for her to shake.

A small, somewhat forced, smile creased her lips. She leaned forward, shaking his hand, replying, “Wanda.”

“Yeah, I know your name.” He paused. “I mean—!”

She leaned forward, the smile becoming more genuine. “It’s okay. Mr. Stark told me yours too.”

Despite knowing each other’s names, it quickly became apparent that they really only knew each other by reputation—which wasn’t necessarily bad, but they had never truly met or talked to each other, (in Germany there wasn’t really much time for heart-to-heart)—the amount of silence between them was evidence to that.

“So… how about that autopilot, huh?” Peter pointed his thumb at the cockpit behind him.

She tilted her head to the side for a second glance, without comment.

“Pretty cool.” Peter grinned sheepishly, trying and failing not to let his love for technology be too obvious.

She had heard about that too; Mr. Stark had been happy to give her background information—how he had made his own web shooters (is that what they were called?) and how he stopped a plane when some guy in a wing suit was trying to steal Stark’s precious stuff in the move.

“Well, it is Stark Industries.” She pointed out.

“Still, I never thought I’d be in a plane without a pilot. Now I’ve been on two!” he held up two fingers as if he needed to demonstrate.

“Pretty scary if you think about it.”

“Well, like you said, this is Mr. Stark we’re talking about, I’m sure we’re safe.”

Friday assured them as much, that she would be with them the entire time, and it wasn’t long before she told them to fasten their seatbelts for take off.

They both stared out the window as the plane sprinted down the runway, bolting into the air; a slingshot made of pavement and metal, firing at the sky.

She hadn’t been on many planes, but she always liked this part: when the city fell away, bit by bit, the towns becoming paper and toys. The part when she understood just how far away she was from the ground.

“So… this whole summer camp thing was your idea?” Wanda asked once they were in the air.

“Well,” he ran his hand through his hair, “technically it was my friend Ned’s idea. He actually works at the place we’ll be staying at. He thought it would be fun if I came to hang out with him over the summer. And we figured it would probably make more sense for me to stay over at the place where he works for like a summer-camp-situation. He didn’t really go into detail about why I couldn’t stay at his house…something about his family, I think. And we thought it would make even more sense if I wasn’t the only one coming. Sorry…you kinda got roped into this didn’t you?”

Wanda shrugged. “It’s alright. If it weren’t for you I’d be sitting on my ass all summer.” She gave him a smile. “So who’s this friend of yours?”

“Ned? Oh he’s great. He’s kinda like my second in command. Helps me with all the technical stuff, you know? When he found out I was Spider-man he—” he cut himself off, his eyes widening, “wait, you knew that right?!”

She nodded.

“Oh, phew. And you can’t tell anyone while we’re there! Well, I mean, Ned knows. Oh, wait, you probably already knew that, because you—Nevermind.”

“Aye aye captain.” She gave a little salute. “It sound’s like Ned’s a good friend.”

“He is, yeah. I also have another friend who I just found out works there too, her name is Michelle—well, MJ is what we call her. Not sure if she’ll let you call her that though…She’s really cool too.”

“Do you know this person we’ll be staying with? Mr. Stark didn’t tell me much.”

“To tell you the truth, I’ve never actually met him myself. Ned says he’s kind of weird. I mean, the place we’ll be staying at is called ‘The Mystery Shack,’ so that should tell us something. But he said he’s also like one of the coolest people he’s ever worked for…Though, come to think of it, I think he’s the only person he’s worked for.”

“And you’re not nervous about staying with a complete stranger?”

“Well, Ned and MJ know him. And nothing bad has happened to either of them while working there—as far as I know—so I trust that.”

“But your friends weren’t living with him.”

“Well, yeah, but they still spend like ninety percent of their time there. He said the guy’s hosted summer camps before too—though I think that was years ago. If he wasn’t trustworthy, I’d think at the very least there would be a bad review or two online.”

She still wasn’t convinced.

“Ned would know, I’m sure.” Peter crossed his arms, jutting his chin out. “I’ve got a good feeling.”

Wanda bit her lip, looking away. She didn’t. Having played lab rat to Hydra scientists, she had her fair share of reason to be cautious.

“What about you?” he asked after a pause.

She returned her gaze back to Peter. “What…about me?”

“Do you have any friends you invited? Oh! Do you know this other girl who’s coming? I think her name was Shuri? I’ve never met her. Mr. Stark said she found out what we were doing, and wanted to come for some reason. I think she’s from Wakanda?”

She shook her head. “To be honest, I haven’t had many friends since…” she looked up out of the corner of her eye, giving a small, sad smile, “ever, actually. Most of the time it was just me and my brother, and now…” she tapped her fingers on the armrest, “it’s just me.”

She hadn’t meant for it to sound so sad.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. I forgot.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Well, hey,” Peter tried to brighten the situation, “you’ve got one friend now—you’ve got me!”

“Yeah…I guess I do.” She gave a small smile.

“Definitely. I got your back, Sister.” He cringed. “Ew, that didn’t work did it?”

She laughed. His confidence and kindness were refreshing. She had been around heroes for so long, and she never doubted their strength, or passion, but he was… a kid. A little awkward and nerdy, but a lot more compassionate, a lot more genuine. Compared to the other Avengers, he was pretty young, maybe a little naïve but more…heroic, for lack of a better word. He actually reminded her of Pietro in some ways.

After that, things became more relaxed. They each told their funny stories about the other Avengers, and theorized about ridiculous things like which of the Avengers wore the most hair product (Tony was their best guess for that one), and who wore the tightest costume (Peter himself won that one). They drank concoctions Peter made out of the non-alcoholic beverages available (only one of which didn’t taste terrible), and ate more than their fair share of crackers, and other food available, which ranged from ‘generally okay.’ to, well, airplane food.

Peter was more than ready to introduce Wanda to the Star Wars universe (he had been in shock for a few full minutes when she asked about the reference on his shirt) but, much to his dismay, a few minutes after starting up, the TV flickered to black, and they couldn’t revive it. The others wouldn’t even turn on. With Peter’s Star Wars hopes thoroughly dashed, they spent the last hour in quiet company. She pulled out a book she had brought, and started reading. He didn’t seem like he was all that tired, but before she knew it, she looked up from the page to see he had fallen asleep.

A light breeze shifted through the city, lifting leaves, playing with Peter’s hair. His feet, clad in the bright red of his suit, kicked back and forth lightly in the open sky between sectors B and C, his mask lying limp on the brick edge beside him as he took the last bite of his churro.

The height would have been enough to send anyone’s heart pounding, but for Peter, to be up here, above the world, was freedom, and gravity; feeling the air open before him, the city below him but just close enough, knowing he would always come back down…

“Loki doesn’t usually associate with your type,” mused a voice he didn’t recognize. “What are you doing here?”

Peter looked around, startled, quickly grabbing his mask, ready to put it back on at a moment’s notice. Weren’t his Spidey-Senses supposed to warn him about things like this?

No one was there.

“Okay. That was…weird.”

“Is your presence here an accident?” the voice returned. “No…That much is clear. So why here? Why would a young hero such as yourself come here of his own accord? Shouldn’t you be in a place more like… the one before you?”

Peter quickly spun back to face the gap between the buildings, and breathed out, folding his arms, suddenly feeling much colder up here.

Calm down Peter, he thought, there must be a perfectly logical explanation as to why you’re hearing voices.

“Not so. Not in the way you’re thinking.” Peter thought he heard it laugh. “Why do humans always think hearing voices is enough to grant them insanity?”

“Because it uh…kinda is. This really isn’t funny, you know. You’re kinda freaking me out, to be honest…Nameless Voice.”

“What would you prefer to call me? I’m not nameless. I just have many. I really could care less what I am called, if only it makes you comfortable.”

“Uhh…let’s stick with ‘Nameless Voice’ for now. You know,” He tried to laugh it off. “I don’t want to get attached to you and all.”

Who—or what—was this voice? Where was it coming from? And how? Why? Why now? He glanced around for some sort of curtain to look behind. to show him there was a man in the workings.

His eyes lighted upon a spider, black, with a strange blue mark on its back. It had made its home between the shifting leaves of one of the garden plants sunning on the roof. Its web glinted in the sunlight. Peter scooched closer to it.

“Um, excuse me, Mr. Spider? Sorry to bother you, but uh…weird question, are you talking to me?”

“He speaks as if he knows the insanity has reached him. I like you, Peter.”

Peter gasped at the sound of his name, losing his balance, but caught himself on the side of the wall, standing sideways nearby someone’s window, looking down at the street below. He swallowed.

“That could have been bad.” He murmured, before grabbing the edge of the roof and pulling himself back up.

“Seems that way.” The spider had heard him. “But not necessarily. All too many worlds are built on seeming.”

“Are you actually implying that do you want me to fall to my death? That’s not very nice, Mr. Spider.”

“I was unclear, my apologies; You would not die if you fell.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure that I would!” He walked up to the creature, forgetting the mask entirely by now.

“Know now that anything can happen in a dream. A dream is not so bound by things like life and death, rather sleeping and waking.”

Thanks Socrates. He facepalmed. Of course it was a dream.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“‘What am I doing here?’ I think I should be asking you that, Mr. Spider! I mean, if this is my dream and all.”

“Will you answer me first?”

Peter looked around the skyline. “To be clear, are you asking me what I’m doing here in my dream?”

“Dig a little deeper.”

“But you just—!” he sighed. “I’m…you know.”

“Up up and away, so far from the ground. Will you ever come down?”

Peter blinked. “Uhh…Well, yeah…” he sighed, “I’m, you know, fighting bad guys.” He shrugged, then made a kicking motion in the air, “Kicking crime in the butt!”

“The hero.” The spider laughed. “I knew that. But it’s not what you’re doing here.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Truth is more elusive, isn’t it? My apologies, I should more clear in my inquiry.” The spider lifted up one of its forward facing legs in a sweeping motion.

In a blink the world shifted. Peter felt its fabric and foundation shaking, an inkling of his Spidey-Senses creeping in as it settled into the new scene. It was still sunset, and he was still sitting on the roof of a building, but now, instead of a sprawling city, the sunlight was sifting through the leaves of an army of trees, clustered together, even closer than the skyscrapers from before, blocking his view of the sky beyond. The building was made of wood and glass, instead of concrete and dust.

“Mr. Spider?”

He cast his gaze around, and found the spider behind him, its web larger now, covering a triangular, red-tinted window behind him.

Peter pulled his legs from the roof edge, as if suddenly afraid of the ground, and looked around at the forest he didn’t recognize.

“What is this place?”

“That brings us back to my question. I will make my meaning plain; Why are you here in Gravity Falls?”

“Oh that!” Peter sighed, relieved. “That’s easy; I came to see my friend Ned!” He looked around, excitement sparking in his eyes, instead of confusion. “So is this the Mystery Shack?”

“Taunts will get you nowhere. That is too simple of an answer.”

“What?” Peter laughed. “I’m not taunting you! It’s kinda the truth! I don’t know what to tell ya.”

“Him…” The creature seemed to be in an entirely different line of thought now. Its voice became muffled, the edges of the dream growing blurry. “This is still about him. All, always about him. Though you may be a player...he is the one I must...”

“Who? You’re not making any sense. Wait… do you mean Ned? Or…?”

The spider gave no answer; it was in another conversation now, maybe even another place, and Peter wasn’t entirely sure he was a part of it anymore, or that he was the crazy one.

Peter felt his Spidey-Senses pulling him from the dream, along with someone shaking him.

“Peter! …Peter! Peter!”

Peter blinked open his eyes to see Wanda’s face, her steel eyes wide with worry.

“Peter…Something…” her voice was low and taut, her breath shaky, she kept glancing between him and the cockpit, pushing her hair nervously behind her ear, “something’s wrong with the plane.”

Peter sat up, shaking his head as if it would untangle the spider’s webs from his mind. “W-What? What are you talking about?”

“I-I don’t know—Everything just started shaking and—”

It wasn’t a joke; he could feel it—the tremor he had felt when the scene changed in the dream must have been this, here; the whole plane shaking. The luggage rattled as it shifted in its compartments, their leftover snacks and drinks spilled onto the floor. His stomach rose and fell, tipped and turned, as the plane dropped, and tried to right itself in the air. The last time he had been on a plane, every tremor had startled him, and Happy had always assured him it was just turbulence. Now he might have tried to denounce this as harsher-than-normal turbulence, and guessed Wanda probably did at first too, but the worry in Wanda’s eyes, along with the hair on his arms standing on end, and the dream he had had before, told him this was not normal. He felt a knot tying itself in his stomach.

“Come on!”

He grabbed her hand and stumbled with her to the front of the plane, trying and failing to ignore the shaking floor, and the amount of times they knocked against chairs, (and each other), in their pursuit.

They held on as best they could to anything solid as the shaking grew worse. The cockpit was quite tiny, two chairs crunched into the area. The view of the world below, trees and fields playing peekaboo behind the clouds, getting closer, took up most of the area—which, while helpful to the (here, nonexistent) pilot, only served to make their fall seem all the more eminent.

This was the kind of circumstance that could make him understand why people feared gravity.

The rest of the area was comprised of levers, buttons, blinking lights of many colors, and screens, splattered around the walls, floors, what you might call the plane’s dashboard, and ceilings. Without a manual they could never know which would create what reaction, or how to navigate the skies’ invisible paths.

When they tried the radio, no voice came through. Not even dead static.

They scanned the blinking lights, dials, screens, buttons, (and tried to avoid the window view), glancing at each other periodically, as if expecting one of them to suddenly shout, Ah! Yes! I know how this works!

“Hey, Friday,” Peter called, “c-can you tell us what’s going on?”

No response.

“Friday?” he felt his voice trembling too, and all he could think was I don’t have the suit, I don’t have the suit, I don’t have the suit, please answer, please be there, “You there?”

Nothing.

The tremors grew worse. The knot pulled itself tighter, making him feel sick with fear.

How? How could she not be there? Mr. Stark probably hadn’t expected this of his own technology, but he would have always made sure Friday was there. She even assured them she would be. Besides that, he would have made sure that any and every safety precaution was followed…right?

Okay, that didn’t exactly sound like Mr. Stark.

Still, how could this even happen? What exactly were they dealing with? Could ordinary turbulence, some accident, a malfunction, wipe out Friday?

“We could really use your help right now!” worry was creeping into the edges of his voice.

AFK.

Or, something in the back of his mind asked, what if we’re dealing with a villain? What if this is what Mr. Spider meant by ‘Up up and away, when will you ever come down?’

But he pushed the idea back down. Maybe. Hopefully not. But it didn’t matter. Not right now.

“What do you think we should do?” he could tell Wanda was trying not to let her worry reach her voice too.

“Um…Okay, let’s…uh—” Peter ran his hand through his hair, trying to keep his voice from devolving into whimpers.

There were a number of situations in which his heightened senses were much more of a hindrance than a help—(okay, that was an understatement)—and this was one of them. It was difficult to think at all when every rattle of luggage and metal sounded like snakes in his ears, warning him they were about to strike. Luckily (or unluckily) no alarms were blaring, but his Spidey-Senses were more than happy to provide the constant bark of Danger! Danger! in his ears. The outside sunlight glared at him, paired with the tiny blinking lights, each one a question he couldn’t answer, making the environment less than conducive to heavy duty thought. Each tremor grabbed him and shook him, like Flash on a bad day, causing him to lose calm and mental capacity second by second.

He wanted to fight back more than anything, but he had nothing at all to fight with, he didn’t understand the rules of the game, nor could he anticipate the enemy’s moves. There were so many levers, buttons—too many to count, to decipher, to learn—and no manual, no AI to talk to, nor a person on the radio to guide them. No help, no hope.

But he couldn’t break down, couldn’t sit back in a quiet moment and think this through, couldn’t process, or even wonder. He had to think, had to solve this, to come up with a solution—have to keep us alive. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, be useless without his suit. He refused to be. He promised himself history wasn’t repeating. He wouldn’t let it be. He was more than his suit—he had proven that much already. He knew he could still be a hero without it.

“Let’s try this lever,” he pointed to the big, gleaming, silver one in front of them. “it looks important!”

So much for that.

Wanda gave him a really? look. The same one Mr. Stark gave him before, when he said he could be normal.

“Do you have a better idea?!”

He lost his balance on the next tremor, and felt the console dig into his chest when he fell.

The lever was within reach. He glanced at Wanda for approval—who gave a little nod—and tried it.

It wouldn’t budge.

Okay…other direction?

Like an obnoxious child, it refused to leave the toy store.

“Let me try!” Wanda called.

He fell back into the pilot’s chair in an attempt to give her space.

She put her hands together, red pouring out from them, mist enveloping the lever. She pulled her fingers back as if her hand was tied to it.

The mist dissipated without the lever so much as shivering.

Nu uh.

She dropped her hands to the side, her eyes wide and fearful when at they met his.

“Has…Has that ever happened before?”

“Not really.” She gave a wavering smile, and pushed her hair back behind her ear.

“Okay…n-new plan.” He blew out a breath, trying to keep calm.

Except, he didn’t have any idea what that new plan could be. Really they needed a new plane. Maybe a new mentor.

Or, you know, a certain suit.

“You see a manual anywhere?” Peter asked.

They had already looked everywhere, but they tried again, looking for a secret panel or compartment that might hold it, knowing full well it would probably be easily accessible if it was here.

“Well it is an auto pilot, I doubt it would need to read the instructions,” Wanda pointed out.

Yeah, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised of Mr. Stark threw it out.

He whistled out a breath. They had to do something, something, not nothing, not sitting here—not useless without the suit, not useless, I’m not just some weak little kid.

He then frantically proceeded to turn, touch, and pull every dial, button, and lever he possibly could. Many wouldn’t move, those that would did nothing to help their situation, or else broke off entirely like as if they were glass.

“Okay.” He ran his hands over his face, his breath weighing heavier on his chest every second. “OkayOkayOkay. Calm down, Peter, you got this.”

“Wait…didn’t you stop a plane before? How did you do it then?”

That struck something inside him. It crashed, Wanda. Didn’t he tell you that? I only know how to screw up. Everything I do ends up in flames. Please don’t throw that in my face, not now. He could no longer contain the stress piling up inside him, it now spilled onto his tongue, “Mr. Stark took away my suit, okay?!” he snapped, “I mean, I-I can still do stuff without it! Just—!” he tried to quiet the brew of fear and anger, “Stopping planes is going to be hard one, okay?!”

“Why would he—?” she breathed, then bit her lip, cutting off her words.

“He thought I would be reckless with it!” he answered her half-baked question. “Can you please be quiet for just one second, I need to think!”

She obliged.

“What if…What if, uh…” his voice shook.

How could he? How could he think when he just knew this would end the same way all his other missions did? How could he think at all when he felt like somehow this just had to be all his fault?

He tried to focus his energy on something other rather than himself:

Despite the fact that he didn’t have his suit, Wanda’s power was readily available. She could still do something… but what? What would be enough to stop a soon-to-be-crashing plane, when neither of them had any experience, idea what any of these buttons did, or even a manual to read? Superpowers didn’t quite match inexperience, and misinformation. Well, at least right now they didn’t—and this might be the only ‘now’ that mattered.

“What if you, uh, used your power to—”

What?

He snapped his fingers, pointing at her, finally getting an idea, “Can you use your powers on the entire plane?”

“I…can try.”

It was a crazy idea, but crazy ideas are how superheroes get by, right?

Using the walls, chairs, and Peter, to keep her balance, she walked out into a more open, middle area of the plane. Peter kept his distance, as she shut her eyes, and held her hands out to the side, red energy flowing from her, diving into the floor, inch by inch enveloping the plane in a red sheen, creating puppet strings to tie it to the sky.

“Yes! Yes!” Peter encouraged.

She cried out in pain, the weight of the machine falling upon her, but she kept going.

Just as as the forcefield was almost finished covering the contraption, and he felt it start to rise back up, the strings broke, and the girl collapsed onto the floor.

Peter ran to catch her.

He was afraid this might happen.

“I’m sorry—” she began.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” he brushed the hair out of her face, “We’ll find something else.”

But even as he said it, the creaks and groans of the plane straining to stay afloat grew in intensity. His stomach flipped, the knot caught in his throat, fear gripped at his heart.

What could they do? She couldn’t keep the plane from falling, they didn’t know how to fly it, or have anything to communicate that they were, in fact, falling, and he didn’t have his suit…What choice did they have but to fall?

No. He couldn’t think like that. There had to be something. He couldn’t give up hope.

Maybe it just had to be even crazier. Maybe they wouldn’t fall after all, maybe there was something, some way they hadn’t thought of yet. They were awfully close to their destination, maybe they would come to the right place after all, and they would land safely. They had to. This couldn’t be it.

Maybe. Or maybe they would fall.

He couldn’t think with the creaking grating on his ears, and his blood drumming his own death march beneath the skin.

Shaking, creaking, rattling—keep breathing.

But that breath was snatched away; the plane finally gave out in its efforts to stay above the waves, and it took a different direction.

A wrong direction. A down direction. A falling direction.

And for one brief second, the thought crossed paths with his mind: we might die.

But the thought flitted out of his brain as quickly as it entered, or, more accurately, it was stifled when The Scarlet Witch grabbed his shirt, pulling him further down, shouting, “Hold on to me!”

He did, and as he wrapped his arms around her, the crimson mist came over them both, a merciful curtain separating them and disaster. It seemed so thin—like you could brush your hand through it and it would tear—but somehow it kept calamity at bay.

He understood now; she had been hoping to keep them afloat, or else save more, or ideally all, of the plane, (and, after what had happened in Lagos, she was probably afraid her power would be more of a hindrance than a help), but this had always been her last resort.

The crashing came in muffled blips to their scarlet cage. He put his finger on Wanda’s chin so she would turn to look at him. She did so, fear lining her irises. He put his hands over her ears, resting his forehead gently on hers.

She didn’t need the sound of more tragedy in her life.

They both shut their eyes tight. They didn’t want to see. To admit that they had failed.

Though he kept her safer from the noise, he had to listen. He tried and failed to block out the sounds; the curling metal, and bending trees, so close. Even if he had covered his own ears he doubted his super-hearing would have allowed him to block it out.

They could still breathe. And that breathing was amplified by the field, the same single, bated, fearful, forced-calm kind of breath.

If only their thin bubble of safety popped…what would happen? How quickly would they die? Seconds? Minutes? Or would it be hours, and even now, they still had a chance of never being found? Never finding their way out of the wreckage, or back home?

The metal twisted, the engines failed and and fell, flaming to the forest floor. The dirt flared up, and the trees, like spears, jutted into the sides of the machine. Those trees who dared challenge man’s invention had their points dulled, scratched, and split by the presence of the unnatural. The forest buckled, but in the same token, technology became putty in the hands of nature. Everything fell apart, and in the end, it all was left in a fiery heap of scraps in the midst of a forest.

But the two of them were safe.

Loki sighed low, wiping the sweat of his brow, stepping through the curtain, changing his clothes from the all-back suit to something more casual in a flash of gold. Last tour of the day.

Yet, of course, with a movie-like flair, the real mess was just beginning. He was going to savor every second before the pests arrived. Maybe finally settle down with that book, drink some tea to calm down, reset his system before he had to deal with—

“Hey, catch!”

Loki caught the snow globe Michelle threw at him.

“Noice. This guy,” she pointed her thumb at the person before her, at the front counter, “wants to know if the sticker on this means it’s 30% off.”

Loki barely glanced the sticker before leaning on the desk and saying through the side of his mouth. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry sir,” Michelle responded, “I’m afraid I can’t give you a discount. But may I interest you in a free jar of one-hundred-percent, one-of-a-kind Gravity Falls dirt?”

She pulled a perfectly worthless jar of dirt out from behind beneath the counter, like it was on the secret menu, and held it up.

He accepted it from her and held it up to the light, as if admiring it, or trying to discern its authenticity.

“Nice.” Loki whispered back.

Only a few stragglers from his last tour were left in the gift shop, and they would be gone soon.

A few moments passed before Ned joined them, lowering his phone, something akin to worry creasing his features.

“Something wrong, Mr. Leeds?”

“Peter isn’t picking up.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, and Michelle lifted her gaze.

“Your meaning?” Loki asked, barely concerned.

“They should have been here half an hour ago.”

“Their flight was probably just delayed, dude.” Michelle offered calmly.

“You’re right. I’m probably worried about nothing.” Ned tried to shrug it off.

Though, clearly, as time continued on—the last customers of the day exited the shop, closing time came and passed—worry was not absent from his thoughts. Loki gave them a few last minute tasks to prepare for their friends’ arrival, though they had finished most of it earlier that morning. Later he found him pacing in the quiet gift shop, periodically checking his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed his friend’s call—as if he his constant vigilance warranted any possibility of that.

It appeared Loki might have to abandon his moment of silence.

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Miss Jones,” he found her watching TV in the living room, snacking from a bag of chips. “Your friend is looking rather…pathetic.”

She smirked, not looking up at him. “Yeah, he always looks like that.”

He crossed his arms.

She looked up to see he was being serious. “Come on, he’s just worried about Peter.”

“See to him, will you?”

Michelle lifted her hand. “Why don’t you do it?”

He started tapping his foot on the ground. “Because I have some rather important reading to do.”

“Really? How important? Are we talkin’ The History of Farting, or War and Peace?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. This summer was not going to be an easy one.

“Just do as I ask.”

She shrugged, grabbing her chips and roaming over to her friend.

It seemed his reading plans were destined to fail, however, as he was interrupted yet again by the ringing of the the Mystery Shack phone. He groaned, leaning over the yellow armchair to pick it up.

“Hello, Mystery Shack?” he sat on the arm of the chair, “Mr. Mystery speaking.”

The person on the other end snorted. “Mr. Mystery, nice one.”

“I’ll have you know—!”

He cut himself off, eyes wide, realizing he recognized that voice.

“Darcy?” he tried to sound unaffected.

“The one and only. You wouldn’t happen to have ordered two marginally distressed teenagers, would you?”

He sat on the arm of the recliner. “Don’t tell me something happened during shipping.”

“Kind of, yeah. Let’s just say autopilot, plus Gravity Falls weirdness, equals …not a good time.” There was a pause. “They’re fine—Not that you asked.”

“Where are they now?”

“They’re in the farmhouse…You know, the one with the with the mailbox that looks like an alien cow? We’re sitting here drinking tea. I promise they’re eating healthy—hey put down that cookie! Can you come pick them up? Or do I need to entertain them for an extended period of time? I do have an Ipod here, and some old newspapers, but don’t think that’s nearly enough to keep them occupied.” He heard her cracking her knuckles. “But I think I can manage.”

“While that would be quite enjoyable to see, it won’t be necessary.”

He walked into the atrium to grab his keys, forgetting the phone was a landline…which, when he reached the end of the cord, ended up pulling him to the ground. He stood back up with dignity, tossing his hair out of his face, (he was glad Ned and Michelle hadn’t seen him, and that he wouldn’t have to use a certain memory gun on his employees), and finished,

“I’m coming.”

“Mr. Mystery to the rescue, huh?”

He tried not to smirk. “The one and only.”

“Oh, and to be clear, what’s really going to be fun to see, is you trying to entertain them, not me.”

He glared at the phone before hanging up.

When he got off the phone and walked into the gift shop, he found the other two teens staring at him expectedly from across the room.

Loki cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“It appears your friend Mr. Stark made the mistake of trusting your friends lives to his autopilot.”

Ned had been snacking on Michelle’s chips—(he had a tendency to do that when he was nervous)—and as his mouth dropped open in shock, the chip he was holding fluttering sadly to the ground.

“And…as often happens with the machinations of mortals”—(he tried not to smirk at his turn of phrase, then felt something in him stir)—“something…”

He didn’t intend it, expect it, or want it, but at the mention of technology, and of malfunction, for a brief moment—

“Uhh…what about family?”

“That too.”

—he didn’t see the two of them before him, their worried faces.

Instead, a bright blue glow saturated the world, a low hum filled his ears, he felt a burning sensation on his shoulder, and heard a single voice, a voice he hadn’t heard in years, shouting his name, and a command, that he had then failed to follow:

“LOKI!! DO SOMETHING!!”

He shut his eyes tight, and swallowed the memory, trying to focus on the situation before him.

This was not that; these two were not him. They were mortals, who could never understand, and though the scene still haunted him more often than he would like, it was not happening now.

“Something went wrong.”

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today-only-happens-once · 7 years

Text

Fault Line

Title: Fault Line

Word count: 6477

Summary: When Patton had asked if being safe was enough, Virgil had agreed. But the truth and its consequences weigh heavy on everyone. Sequel to Fight or Flight. Platonic or pre-romantic Prinxiety, Platonic LAMP/CALM.

Warnings: angst and suffering abounds, so do feelings of guilt, brief cursing, nightmares, monsters, (repeated) description and discussion of major injury/trauma and intense pain, borderline overworking, panicking and panic attacks, Roman is insecure and has self-deprecating thoughts, nausea mention, Virgil is tense, Logan gives the expository speeches (and I love him for it), food mention, let me know if I forgot anything

A/N: The fic that never seemed ready to end. Yikes. This got way darker (and longer) than I thought it would? Everyone is suffering. Headcanons abound, Logan is long-winded, POV is played with, longest SS fic yet and I didn’t even cover absolutely everything? I think I like it but at this point idek, this might just be a hot mess. Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine. *covers my eyes before posting, then hides*

Confused? Read Fight or Flight here!

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff (Extra props for her help in brainstorming/problem solving with me for this fic), @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @lizaelsparrow @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @lesbian-velociraptor (since you said you were interested!) @thepoolofthedead (only tagging you because its a continuation of that one fic you inspired.) Let me know if anyone ever wants to be tagged!

…

Virgil jolts awake with the taste of a shout dying on his tongue.

The memory of Roman’s pained scream still reverberates violently in his head against the abrupt silence of his room. His chest heaves with shuddering gasps. His purple t-shirt is soaked through with sweat, his bangs sticking to his forehead. He presses trembling hands against his eyes.

He breathes in for four seconds.

His barely-contained gasps.

He tries again. He breathes in for four seconds.

His shredded red sash.

He breathes in for—

The bloodstains on his white suit.

He breathes—

Roman crying out in pain.

Virgil kicks the blanket off of his legs and tumbles ungracefully out of the bed. He can hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears but it is still not enough to drown out the memories. The nightmares. A part of Virgil is begging him to run but he doesn’t know where because it’s inside of him, because you can’t out-run the memories inside your head.

Nevertheless, the urge to go somewhere anywhere anywhere but here is strong and before he’s even completely aware of what he’s doing, Virgil sinks out of his room.

When he rises back up, he’s got his eyes squeezed shut against the images flashing through his mind.

“Virgil?”

The Anxious Side’s breaths are still coming too quickly as he opens his eyes. French doors are left open so that a breeze blows through the white curtains and he realizes suddenly that he’s left his hoodie in his own room. He is open and exposed and this was a bad idea. Bad idea, bad idea, bad—

“Whoa. Virge.” The bed squeaks, followed by hurried footsteps against the hardwood.

Virgil feels hands on his shoulders and finally, slowly, looks up. Bare feet, red pajama pants, a thin white t-shirt. Loose strands of hair fall into wide, concerned eyes. Roman.

Safe. He’s safe. He’s okay.

Virgil sags a little in relief. He feels the grip tighten on his shoulders.

“Is something wrong?”

Virgil looks for a second into the Prince’s dark eyes, then down at the soft rise and fall of his (healed, he was healed) chest. The white t-shirt hugs his ribcage in a way that seems to Virgil such a stark contrast to the image of the bleeding slashes through his skin that was seared behind his eyes.

“N-no,” Virgil says, finding his voice just as Roman opens his mouth to speak again. “I’m sorry. I-I just…” He’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay. Virgil runs a hand over his eyes. “Just had a bad dream. I don’t… know why I came here. Sorry.”

Roman had been sleeping. God knows he needed the rest after the quest, after fighting the monster and nearly… Virgil shouldn’t have bothered him, really. It had just been a dream. A memory at the most. A memory that has since passed. Didn’t matter now. Arbitrary, as Logan might call it.

“Virgil, wait—“

He sinks out before Roman can finish.

…

When Roman walks into the kitchen the following morning, Patton is surprisingly the only one there.

“Good morning, Padrè,” Roman says, not quite able to muster the usual sing-song flair he had most mornings. Virgil’s pale face and wide eyes the previous night were still ingrained on his mind.

“Morning, kiddo,” Patton greets with a warm smile. “How’d you sleep?” He hands a cup of coffee—already including Roman’s preferred ratio of cream and sugar—to the Prince.

Roman accepts it with a distracted but appreciative smile. “Virgil came to my room last night,” he says in lieu of answering Patton’s routine question. He takes a sip of coffee.

A crease appears between Patton’s eyebrows. “Was he okay?”

“I…” Roman pauses, looking down into his coffee mug. The knot in his stomach tightens a little. Virgil had seemed pretty torn up. Afraid. And though Roman was Creativity, it didn’t take much imagination to guess what exactly had been wrong. “He said he’d had a bad dream.”

“And you think it was about… what happened?”

What happened. Through the past couple of days since Roman and Virgil had returned, that was exactly how they’d all been talking about it. Or not talking about it, as the case may be. Roman remembers every moment of it all in startling high-definition, and from the Anxious Side’s constantly terrified gaze, he knew Virgil could as well. But talking about it…

What had happened was his fault. Roman knows this. It’s his fault that Virgil’s having nightmares that he won’t talk about. His fault that Patton hovers with questions pressing against his tongue. His fault that Logan had been hiding in his room ever since. His own fault that when he lies awake at night he can feel a ghostly whisper of the pain shred through his chest…

“Yeah, Pat,” Roman says, his voice unusually subdued. “I do.”

Patton is quiet for a moment, then sets his own mug on the counter with a quiet click. “How are you holding up?”

“Me? Totally Gucci.”

The Moral Side has a gentle, knowing look behind his glasses. “How are you really?”

The Prince swallows and averts his gaze. “I’m fine, Patton.”

“Well, I don’t believe that for a second.”

His jaw jumps. What does Patton expect him to say? Roman had been in danger before on quests, but not like that. He’d never… lost control of the mindscape, if that’s even what had happened. He’d never… almost…

And with Virgil there. He’d put Virgil in danger. He’d risked his life and Virgil’s and for what?

Listen to me. I don’t know about this. Virgil had been practically begging him to turn back. How had he responded? This is what I do, Virgil.

Though the coffee is saturated with cream and sugar, the Creative Side has a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Roman?”

The Prince shakes his head and forces a smile. “I’m just a bit tired. It’s nothing to worry about.” He clears his throat. Patton takes in a breath to reply, but Roman cuts him off. “Where’s our Microsoft Nerd?”

Patton gives him a quiet look at the less-than-subtle change in topic, but lets it slide. “I think Logan’s in his room again.” He looks at the stack of pancakes on the table. Roman hadn’t even noticed them when he’d walked in. “He should probably eat something.”

…

Virgil takes in a deep breath before rapping his knuckles lightly against Logan’s door. He shoves his hands into his pockets as he waits.

“Uh, come in,” Logan’s voice calls, distant and distracted. Virgil quietly opens the door and steps into the room, closing it behind him.

Logan’s bedroom is covered in a broad sea of open books. They lay open across his bed, his desk, the floor; nearly any flat surface of his room has either an open book or a stack of closed ones. Sticky-Notes and dog-eared pages mark the pages along with penciled notes scribbled in the margins of about half of them. Logan is sitting in a chair, his feet propped up on the desk with a pencil tucked behind his ear and another in his hand. A thick, leather-bound volume is open in his lap.

“Logan?”

The Logical Side glances up. His hair is a little mussed, and his blue tie is pulled slightly loose from his neck.

“Virgil,” he says with a note of surprise. He pulls his legs off the desk, his chair swiveling to face the Anxious Side more fully. “What can I do for you?”

Virgil scratches the back of his neck. “What, um, what are you working on?”

Logan glances around his room. “I am searching for information that may explain some of the… unusual events that have unfolded these past few days.”

Oh, Virgil thinks. He hesitates, unsure if knowing more would help him or just make everything worse. What was it that Logan had told Thomas once? If you’re afraid of being hurt, then seek knowledge. And Logan’s explanations usually did have a quite calming effect on Virgil. At least… most of the time.

“What have you found?” Virgil asks.

“Well,” Logan begins, nodding for Virgil to take a seat on the small space on his bed that wasn’t covered by books, “As we know, occupying space in any of our respective parts of Thomas’s mindscape can have unintended consequences on our processes, particularly if that space is not one in which we are accustomed to occupying.”

Virgil sits, watching as Logan marks the page open in his lap before closing the book and turning to grab another. “Uh…”

“Take, for example,” Logan continues, “When Roman, Patton, Thomas, and I all came to your room when you had elected to leave. Over a relatively short amount of time, Roman, Patton, and I began to feel the effects of your room with the outcome being increased sense of insecurity, emotionality, and urgency respectively.”

Virgil nods. “Okay…”

Logan thumbs through a smaller book as he keeps talking. “Similarly, the sense of nostalgia and emotionality of Patton’s room led to various effects on all of us. Frustration on my part, romanticization—forgive the pun—from Roman, and your stress increased from the sense of where Thomas might otherwise be in his life. Correct?”

Virgil offers a wry, humorless smile at the memory. It had been an important thing for them all to do, but a part of it had certainly been rough for Virgil. “You could say that.”

Logan nods, not looking up as his eyes scanned the pages of the text open in his hands. “Therefore, it stood to reason that I develop the hypothesis that Roman’s corner of the mindscape might also affect our processes.” Logan glances quickly at him through the lenses of his glasses. “Especially prolonged exposure, and particularly in your case.”

Virgil frowns. “Why particularly me?”

Logan quickly flips through a few more pages as he responds. “Granted, I don’t know anything for sure. This is all pure speculation based on what data I had available and the research I was able to accrue over the past few days.”

“Uh—“

“But,” Logan continues, oblivious to the skeptical eyebrow Virgil raises, “Virgil, though your processes are more complex than this mere overgeneralization, you largely are the manifestation of Thomas’ anxiety and fears. Correct?” Logan’s voice is patient and measured. Calming in a way.

“Yeah…” Virgil says slowly.

Logan looks up then, his brown eyes both curious and calculating as he locks gazes with Virgil. “May I ask you another question?”

Virgil nods his agreement, gesturing for Logan to continue.

“Would you say that your level of distress increased throughout the five days you spent in Roman’s realm?”

“I…” Virgil trails off as he thinks about it. Logan is right. His anxiety had gotten a lot worse throughout the journey. The process had been gradual and steady for the most part, and the Anxious Side had largely attributed it to just… who he was. But by the time he and Roman had reached the stairwell, every fiber of him was begging for them both to turn the other way and never look back.

“Yeah,” Virgil says after a moment. “It… it was definitely getting worse.”

Logan nods as if the information confirmed something for him. “Creativity, as an energy, can often have adverse effects on the fight-or-flight response. Such influence may, for example, lead to increased cognitive distortions regarding the perception of threats in particular. In doing so, the cycle of impact becomes self-perpetuating.”

Virgil tugs at the sleeve of his hoodie as he turns over Logan’s words in his head. “What does that mean?”

Logan closes the book and looks carefully at the other Side. “In simple terms, your anxiety was heightened because the Creative energy that saturates Roman’s corner of the mindscape encouraged you to perceive increasingly worse threats, increasing your fight or flight response, which therefore worsen the perception of the threat, and so on.”

Virgil nods thoughtfully. So Creativity is what made his anxiety so much worse. That makes sense. “Okay, so that’s why I was more… on edge than normal. But there’s still something I don’t quite understand.”

Logan arches an eyebrow in piqued interest. “Hm?”

Virgil shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the hem of his sleeve as he pinches and pulls it between his fingertips. “Roman’s mindscape was rough on me. That’s fine. But it doesn’t exactly explain… what happened. Why would he…” He swallows, his voice dying in his throat.

A crease appears between Logan’s brows. “Why would he what, Virgil?”

Virgil sighs, shoving his hands back into his pockets again. “I…” Virgil can hear the hisses and shrieks of the monster whispering in his ear and fights back a shudder. He swallows hard. “Roman still has control over his realm, right? Everything in it… he created?”

What did it mean that Roman created the monster that nearly killed him? Did he think it would be some kind of sick joke? Did his ego just get the best of him that he finally created something bigger and stronger than he was? Why would he let it get so out of hand?

“Well,” Logan says slowly, “I think it may be more complicated than that.”

“What?”

The Logical Side snaps the book in his hands closed and sets it aside. He adjusts the frame of his glasses. “I arrived at the self-perpetuation hypothesis the night after your return. The rest of my research has been seeking to address the very question you’ve just posed.”

“And?”

Logan purses his lips, casting a furtive glance at Virgil. “I may have a theory, but I am lacking some… data sets that would be pertinent in either proving or disproving my current hypothesis.”

Virgil’s eyes flash up to meet his. “You want me to tell you what happened.”

“It… would be helpful, Virgil,” Logan says, his voice a bit softer. “And I think it might be beneficial for you as well.”

The impossibly-strong shadow. It’s hisses in Virgil’s ears as it wrestles for the sword. Roman screaming as its talons shred—

“No,” Virgil says.

“Virge—,” Logan tries, but Virgil is already on his feet.

“I said no, Logan,” he snaps. “Besides, what happened doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“I—“

Virgil sinks out of the room.

…

Roman stands on the balcony overlooking the broad landscape of his realm. The wide expanse of sky is a flat gray, with darker clouds looming on the horizon. The rolling hills in the distance cast long shadows. The usually light breeze has sharpened to a harsh wind that tugs ominously at his red sash and the strands of his hair. Before, Roman could stand on this balcony overlooking his corner of the mindscape and feel that excited thrill rush through his stomach at all of the adventures yet to be embarked on, all the foes to yet vanquish, the performances yet to be acted.

But now…

Roman sighs and hangs his head, his hands beginning to shake slightly before he tightens his grip around the iron railing.

Now the thought of venturing any further than this balcony leaves him with a dizzying sense of paralyzing fear and faint nausea. Roman still isn’t entirely clear on what exactly happened, but somehow he’d… lost control of the mindscape. The one place where he was definitely supposed to have it. He didn’t always win every battle, but even when he didn’t, he had never almost… died, as a result.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

He should have listened to Virgil. How could you be so stupid?

But Virgil had been watching him so closely the entire quest. And on occasion, when Roman bested a small beast or found a solution to a problem along the way, he’d see the way Virgil’s eyes would widen slightly, the corner of his mouth turned upwards a fraction. And Roman—with a warmth swelling in his chest—felt for once like maybe someone could be proud of him.

But Roman always had to push it too far, didn’t he? Always had to be Too Much, couldn’t stand to just be Enough.

So when Virgil urged Roman to turn back, the Prince refused. The Prince was no coward—the Prince couldn’t stand to think someone might think of him that way. Not when he’d seen the look he could convince himself was pride in Virgil’s eyes.

This is what I do, Virgil, he’d said. Roman sees lightning streak brightly across the sky as he realizes with a sickening sort of clarity that there was still a truth to the words.

Because that it is what he does, isn’t it? He dives recklessly headfirst into fights, consequences be damned. Except in this case, ‘consequences’ really meant Virgil. Roman had fought and lost and it was Virgil who saved him. When Virgil had rammed into it, tearing it off of him despite its impossible strength, Roman knew he would never again see that pride and trust that Virgil had placed in him so carefully.

Roman stays standing on the balcony even as the rain pours down hard and heavy around him.

…

“Kiddo?”

Virgil is sitting in small nook by the window in the mindscape commons with his hood pulled up, but he pulls the earbuds out of his ears when he hears Patton’s voice. The Moral Side is giving him a soft inquisitive smile, holding two mugs in his hands. Patton hands one to him. It’s tea.

“Mind if I join ya?” Patton asks.

“Uh, sure,” Virgil says, pulling his knees up closer as he accepts the drink. Patton sits across from him, taking a quiet sip.

For a moment, the two sit in companionable silence. Virgil inhales the scent of the tea—lavender and cinnamon, he notices—and feels, for the first time in a very long time, the tight knots in his stomach loosen just a little. The mindscape is unusually quiet. Although, Virgil figures that had probably been true for the past few days. He doesn’t know for sure. He’d been spending a lot of time alone, not wanting to bother any of the other Sides.

“I’ve missed this,” Patton says softly, as if reading Virgil’s thoughts. Startled, Virgil looks up. Patton’s smile is soft, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that makes Virgil’s heart sink.

“Pat, I…”

Patton shakes his head. “I didn’t say it to make you feel bad, kiddo.” He takes another sip of tea. “A Dad just worries about his kids.”

Virgil averts his gaze, opting instead to swallow some of the warm drink. “I… I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong, Virgil,” Patton tells him gently.

Virgil stares at the tea bag floating in his cup. There’s a beat of silence between them.

He hears Patton take in a deep and not wholly-steady breath. When he looks up, the smile the Moral Side offers doesn’t reach his eyes. Patton lifts a shoulder. “It was scary, though. When you both came back.”

Virgil’s grip tightens around his mug. The lump in his throat hardens slightly.

Patton’s soft, quiet voice floats in the air between them. “You were both hurt. You were bleeding a little, but I don’t think you even noticed. Roman was… very seriously injured. I’ll never forget the look in your eyes, Virge. I’ll never forget the look in Roman’s either. Both of you were terrified out of your minds.”

The edges of Virgil’s vision starts to blur with tears. He blinks a few times, but doesn’t lift his gaze from the steam curling up from his mug.

“You were both trying so hard to stay calm for each other, but I saw—could feel—how afraid you both were. When I asked you if it was enough that you were both safe, you told me it was. But… I don’t think that’s true, kiddo. Not really.”

Yes, it is. It’s enough. It’s all in the past. Virgil takes in a breath to argue exactly that, but the air trembles and catches in his lungs.

“Virgil, honey, look at me,” Patton requests softly and gently. It takes Virgil a long moment before he lets his brown eyes flicker up to Patton’s.

“It’s okay if it’s not enough,” Patton tells him as he reaches a hand and brushes Virgil’s bangs slightly out of his eyes. “But take it from someone who has a lot of experience in it when I tell you that you can’t keep bottling it up. You can’t, Virgil. We aren’t supposed to hold pain so closely.”

Virgil feels his vision blur again and he quickly brushes the sleeve of his hoodie across his eyes. He struggles to find words in the torrent sea of thoughts that press in the back of his mind. “I…” His voice catches but he forces the words out in a whisper. “I can’t.”

“Why not, Virge?”

“Because… because…” Virgil clenches his jaw for a moment. “It’s too much, Patton. It’s… It’s all my fault. I feel like it’s all my fault, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, kiddo,” Patton says with a sad smile. “You’re not the only one. But you don’t have to do anything. Just talk to one of us.”

“I don’t…” Want to burden you.

Patton seems to read his thoughts. “This is something we shoulder together. I’m not going to force you to talk about it right now, kiddo, but please talk to someone soon. I’m always around, any time day or night. So is Logan. So is Roman.”

When he glances up, he sees the warm sincerity and tinge of concern in Patton’s dark eyes. Virgil swallows and nods. “Okay.”

…

Roman stands at the door to Logan’s room. He sighs as he runs a hand through his hair. It’s some ungodly hour at night—Roman hadn’t bothered to check the clock—and it’s more likely than not that Logan is asleep. It’s hardly like this is urgent. Roman doesn’t even know why he found himself padding quietly through the mindscape to stop at the Logical Side’s door.

He shakes his head, and is about turn away when he hears a quiet thud and Logan’s unmistakable, muttered cursing.

At least he’s already awake, right? Roman tells himself, before knocking quietly.

“Hm? Come in,” Logan’s voice replies. Roman cracks the door open before entering the room fully and letting the door close behind him. Logan is leaning down to pick a book up as the Creative Side steps into the room. “Roman. I must admit, you were not who I was expecting.”

Roman forces a smile. “Sorry to disappoint you, Specs.”

Logan’s gaze narrows almost imperceptibly. “Quite the contrary. I merely meant to convey surprise.” He straightens up with the book in his hands.

Roman glances around the room. There are more books and scribbled notes visible than there is carpet or bedding. “What’s all this for?”

Logan sets the book in his hands on top of a stack of them at the corner of his desk. “Research.” He glances quickly at the Creative Side. “I don’t mean to make you feel unwelcome, Roman, but did you come here with a specific purpose in mind?”

Roman doesn’t answer right away. How is he supposed to explain to Logan that he’d been lying in his canopy bed, staring at the ceiling, and feeling the echo of a brilliant and intense pain slice through his chest before deciding he just couldn’t take it anymore?

He lifts a shoulder. “A Prince can’t check on his subjects once in a while?”

Logan looks unconvinced. “Roman, it is nearly 3 in the morning. Most are sleeping at this hour.”

“You’re awake too, you know.”

“Doing research,” Logan rejoins simply. “I have stated my purpose. Besides, you are still recovering. Substantial rest is optimal for healing.”

“I’m fine, Logan.”

“Falsehood.” Logan levels a steady, unflinching gaze at the Prince.

Roman averts his gaze. “I just couldn’t sleep, okay? And I thought Patton’s room would probably be the wrong choice, and Virgil is having enough problems sleeping without me waking him up, and I noticed you were already awake, so I just… I thought…” What? Roman doesn’t even know what he was thinking, really.

Logan looks at him thoughtfully for a moment. “Have you frequently been having trouble falling asleep?” He moves towards his bed, marking the open pages before folding the books closed and stacking them on top of one another on the bookshelf beside his bed.

“I…” Roman blinks hard for a moment. “I guess,” he admits quietly.

“When did it start?”

“After.”

“I think—” Logan turns to face him, his words careful and measured—“it would be beneficial for you to name it and talk about it.”

The Creative Side shakes his head adamantly, feeling a flash of frustration heat his face. The words spill out of his mouth before he can think to stop them. “Why? Why does talking about it matter so much? I already spend every waking moment thinking about it, Logan, so why do I have to speak it aloud. It’s already too–,” Painful. Roman snaps his jaw shut, but he has already said too much.

As good as Logan is at keeping his expression neutral the majority of the time, the surprise is evident on his face. “You feel guilty?”

Roman scoffs, throwing his hands up. “Of course I do! How could I not?” He points a finger towards Logan’s door. “Patton hasn’t had a real smile in days because of me. You’ve been drowning yourself in research because of me. Virgil has nightmares every night because of me.”

“Roman—,”

“I lost control of my own corner of the mindscape, Logan,” Roman continues. The edges of his vision start to blur and he blinks hard to clear it. “I’ve never not known what was in the mindscape when I embark on quests, but this time…” His hands ball into fists at his side. “I lost control of it. What does that say about me, huh? Can’t even contain my own creations. I put Virgil in danger. I…”

Logan’s brows pull together. “Wait. What do you mean you ‘lost control of the mindscape’?”

Roman sighs. “I… Virgil and I got locked in a cave and there was this… shadow beast. I didn’t create it, Logan. I… had no idea what it was.” But he remembers it vividly. Its not-quite humanness, the way it shrieked and hissed and moved impossibly fast. It’s raw strength squeezing at his throat. Throwing him through the air without even touching him. Shredding through his chest with a searing, blinding pain—

Logan frowns. “That seems… improbable.”

“I know what I s–!”

“No, you misunderstand,” Logan says quickly, holding up a hand. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of fabricating a falsehood. Merely that this is new information. What you just described is… odd. I assume that this ‘shadow beast’, as you called it, is the perpetrator of the injuries you sustained?”

Roman swallows and nods hollowly. “Yeah.”

Logan hums thoughtfully before grabbing a notebook off of the desk and pulling the pencil from behind his ear. “So somehow, something that you did not create existed within your realm, interacted with you directly, with the ability and intention to cause tremendous trauma.” As he speaks, Logan scrawls messily on the page.

“Uh, yes. I-I guess you could phrase it that way.”

“And this has never happened before?”

Roman peers closer at the page, taking a step towards the Logical Side. Logan’s handwriting is too messy and the Prince is too tired to decipher it upside down. “That would be correct.”

“Then what is the variable here?” Logan mutters, mostly to himself. “Thomas is in perfect health, so that isn’t it…” His gaze flies back up to Roman. “Would you say that there was anything unusual about this particular quest? Anything out of the ordinary?”

The Creative Side scratches the back of his head, confused about Logan’s sudden change of demeanor. “Nothing comes to mind. Well, aside from Virgil’s accompaniment, of course.”

Logan stares at him for a moment. “Of course,” he says softly. Something alights in his eyes. “Of course! How did I not see it before?” He spins around suddenly and starts shifting books his desk around before grabbing a notebook—different than the one he had in his hands—and thumbing through the notes.

“Um, Logan?”

“The self-perpetuation hypothesis. The relationship of reciprocity is vastly more complicated that I’d first thought.”

“In English?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth quirks up in a small self-assured smile. His bright eyes rise and lock onto Roman. “Virgil was the variable.”

…

Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. The light leaking out from under Logan’s door meant the Logical Side was probably already awake, right? Virgil’s heart is still thudding in his chest with the nightmare-induced adrenaline that he can’t seem to shake out of his system. The Anxious Side pulls the sleeves of his hoodie over his palms. He knocks softly, then hears voices on the other side.

“—ination of the conflicting processes, combined with the creation-driven tendencies of your realm, resulted in the corporeal form.” Logan.

“Wait.” Roman. Virgil is almost certain. “So Virgil was influencing the mindscape? That’s why that… thing showed up?”

“Perhaps an oversimplification, but yes, precisely.” Logan’s voice, getting louder as he—presumably—crosses the room towards the door.

Virgil’s stomach hits the floor.

He’d known it was his fault, of course, but there is still something faintly sickening at hearing the very person he’d failed to protect and the literal Voice of Reason confirm his guilt. He had been influencing the mindscape. Roman’s realm.

Roman hadn’t created that thing. Virgil had.

That corporeal shadow that had sunk it’s talons into Roman’s chest and ripped through his skin had been because of him.

The memory of Roman’s scream floods his mind. You did that to him.

Virgil can’t breathe.

The door opens, but Virgil’s mind is swimming—drowning, really—in the repeated mantra he can’t shake. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

“Virgil?”

“Shit. Virge, it’s okay—“

It’s not it’s not it’s not

He bolts.

…

Roman shoulders his way past the Logical Side as Virgil runs down the hallway back towards his room. “Virgil!” But the Anxious Side is gone already. Roman rakes a hand through his hair and blows out a breath. He spins around to face Logan, his eyes wide.

Logan’s eyes are unusually solemn. He nods in the direction that Virgil had gone.

Roman wastes no time, rushing down the hall after the Anxious Side. His strides are long and hurried, and he nearly crashes into Patton as the Moral Side steps out of his own room in his cat onesie.

“Whoa there, kiddo,” Patton says, grabbing the Prince’s shoulders to steady him as he stumbles to a halt. “Where are you off to in such a rush at this hour?”

Roman’s gaze is focused over Patton’s head. “Virgil,” he says, shrugging out of his grip.

“Wait. Roman, slow down,” Patton says, frowning, “What’s wrong with Virge?”

Roman barely hears the question. Logan speaks up for him. “I believe Virgil overheard Roman and I discussing the events of the past few days and now feels responsible for what transpired.”

“I have to—,” Roman tries, but Patton interrupts him.

“What did you say?”

“I don’t know how much he heard,” Logan replies, his voice subdued in the dark. “But given his reaction, I’m almost certain he did not hear all of it. I was merely explaining to Roman that the energy produced by his realm entered in a relationship of reciprocity that worsened exponentially until conflating into something corporeal due to the particular tendencies of Roman’s—”

“Another time, Logan,” Roman snaps before he can think. Virgil’s huge eyes and faintly nauseous look is all he can think about.

Patton sighs. “I’ll talk to him.”

“No,” Roman says suddenly, tearing his gaze away from down the hall to settle squarely on the paternal Side. “I… Thank you, Patton, but I think this is something I have to do.”

…

Virgil’s breaths are coming short and quick. He yanks the hood up over his head and tugs on the drawstrings as he paces in his room. Your fault, your fault, your fault. Virgil feels like screaming. If only he could find his voice.

He hears the quiet whoosh behind him and his heart constricts in alarm. He clenches his jaw. He doesn’t need to turn around to tell who it is. “Roman, what are you doing?” he demands. “It’s not safe for you in here.”

“I just—“

“Get out,” he grits behind clenched teeth.

“Virgil, just talk to me—“

Virgil scoffs and shakes his head. “Damn it, Roman—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Virge.”

Virgil whirls on him. “Didn’t do anything wrong? Didn’t do anything wrong?! I’m supposed to protect you! That’s my job, Roman! And I-I-I…” Virgil’s voice shakes. His chest heaves. “Not only did I fail, but I put you in danger. I nearly killed you! That’s on me.”

“No, hey.” Roman grabs his hand and presses it firmly in the center of his chest. Virgil tries to pull it away like it burns him but Roman holds it steady. Virgil can feel his heartbeat thudding hard and fast against his palm. “You feel that? That’s because of you. Because you saved me.”

“Roman—“

“Listen to me, Virgil,” Roman implores. The desperate earnestness in his voice makes Virgil look up. His protests die on his tongue at the tears pressing against the Prince’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have brought you into my realm in the first place, and I absolutely should have listened to you when you wanted to turn back. You were right, Virgil. And you were doing everything you could to protect me. And I am so sorry that I couldn’t see that.”

Virgil shakes his head, opening his mouth only to find no words forming.

Roman squeezes Virgil’s hand to his chest a little harder. “I… that monster was the manifestation of your anxiety at its worst. Every nightmare and fear you’d ever had, staring you in the face. And when you were confronted with fight or flight, you chose the first one. At great risk to yourself. For me. You found the strength to overcome it, to fight back, to… I…” His voice catches. He shakes his head, blinking a few times as a tear or two spill over. “You are so brave, Virgil.”

Virgil’s hand fists in Roman’s shirt against his chest. “But… I… it wouldn’t have even been necessary if I hadn’t—“

“This,” Roman cuts in, squeezing his hand against his heartbeat, “is the only thing you should feel responsible for.”

Virgil can feel a sob fighting up his throat as his vision blurs, and he does his best to swallow it down. He squeezes his eyes shut, sending a few of the pooling tears down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Virge. Pulling you into my realm… it caused you tremendous distress. Bad enough to actually take a physical form due to the creation tendencies of my realm. That’s…” The Prince’s voice catches slightly. “I can’t ever forgive myself for putting you through that.”

Virgil shakes his head quickly. He looks up into the other Side’s soft, pained gaze. “No, I… Roman, you didn’t know. Nobody did. And you told me I could turn back whenever I wanted to. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“You said it yourself, Virge,” Roman says. “You’re the protector. So long as I was going to press on, so were you. I should have known that. I should have listened to you, in the very least.”

Virgil wipes at his eyes, ignoring the way the makeup smeared across his fingers. “Why didn’t you?” he asks quietly.

Roman averts his gaze, then closes his eyes. “I…” He sighs, then shrugs helplessly. “I just… I didn’t want you to think I was a coward.”

Virgil feels something deflate inside his chest. “Did you think I was a coward for wanting to turn back?”

“Of course not!” Roman argues vehemently, his eyes flying back to Virgil’s. “That’s not what I meant. I just…”

“Then what?”

“I wanted to feel like you were proud of me!”

From the way the Prince’s eyes widen, he hadn’t meant to say it. His eyes flicker over Virgil’s face, and the Anxious Side isn’t sure what his expression is. He doesn’t know what Roman finds in his face, but the Creative Side squeezes his eyes shut a moment later. Virgil watches a few tears spill down his cheeks.

“For once,” the Prince whispers, “I just… wanted to make someone proud.”

“Roman…” Virgil says, his heart constricting at the look on Roman’s face even as confusion knits his eyebrows together, “I’ve always been proud of you.”

“I… what?” Roman’s eyes open suddenly, locking squarely onto the Anxious Side.

“I’ve always been proud of you,” Virgil repeats with conviction. “I mean, geez, Roman, you’re Thomas’s hopes and dreams. His creativity. Without you, I…. I don’t know where we’d be.”

Roman is shaking his head. Virgil presses on. “All of the obstacles we’ve overcome… you’re a big part of that. I may point out what the obstacles are, but you’re what pushes Thomas to work to overcome them regardless. You give so much of yourself every time Thomas makes new content. You thrust yourself into the spotlight again and again. I couldn’t do that, ever. Of course I’m proud of you, Sir Sing-a-Lot. We all are.”

Roman laughs, but it sounds a lot more like a sob. “I’m sorry.”

Virgil shakes his head. His voice catches in his throat. He coughs and tries again. “So am I.”

The faintest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Roman’s mouth. “We’re both a bit of a mess, huh?”

Virgil barks out a laugh, even as he feels Roman brush a tear with the pad of his thumb. “Yeah, we kind of are.”

“I just…” Roman brushes at his own eyes. “I just wish I could fix it. I wish I knew how.”

He looks up at the Prince in front of him, stripped of his normal attire, looking abruptly vulnerable and exposed in just red pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His eyes are dark, the beginnings of eyeshadow only emphasizing the fact. He’s exhausted, and scared, and it makes Virgil equally aware of his own mutual feelings of tiredness and fear.

Virgil focuses for just a moment on the thudding rhythm against his hands.

“Y’know,” he says slowly, “a Prince once said the only direction to go is forward, one step at a time.”

Roman’s chest expands under Virgil’s hand with a deep, steadying breath. The Anxious Side breathes with him.

“I think,” Virgil continues softly, “that’s a good place to start.”

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