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gamerwoo · 3 years

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Seventeen: The Xperiments (Part Eighteen)

Characters: Seventeen x female reader

Genre/warnings: superhuman/experiment au, angst, i don’t think there are any specific warnings in this part but if i overlooked anything please let me know!! [please read the warnings in the intro]

Word count: 2,657

a/n: things in bold are in english

Previous | Next | The Xperiments Masterlist

The hardest part of the plan might’ve been getting into the car without Jiwoo noticing. The three of you didn’t sleep all night, waiting for any sort of sign that Jiwoo was getting ready to leave to go to the lab. That was when you got out of bed and opened the door to your bedroom, rubbing your eyes liked you’d been sleeping this whole time, with a pout on your face.

“_____?” Namjoon asked, getting up from where he was sitting on the hallway floor with Jungkook. “What’s wrong?”

“I had a nightmare…” you told him quietly as he approached you. You stood a few feet outside the open doorway, giving Wonwoo enough room to slip out while he was invisible. “Can I sit with you and Jungkook for a little while?”

“Of course,” he nodded before guiding you to sit with the younger boy in the hallway.

“Can we sit by the window at the end of the hall?” you wondered. “I like looking at the stars in my room.”

“Sure,” Jungkook said as he got up to move with you and Namjoon to where you wanted to sit.

You weren’t sure what time it was, but it was still dark outside. Jiwoo was downstairs, making last minute preparations before she snuck into the lab on her own to retrieve the remote. She’d already gotten the forged ID card that said she had come from the lab in Thailand. She was given a whole disguise that not only consisted of nice slacks, a button-up shirt, and a lab coat that looked similar to those who worked at the lab, but also had a black wig that was put up in a ponytail.

While you had the two boys distracted at the opposite end of the hall of Minghao’s room, making them focus on the stars outside in the sky, Wonwoo managed to sneak into the foreign boy’s room and get him out without anybody noticing. You gave them about ten minutes just to be safe before deciding you were ready to go back to sleep. Namjoon walked you back to your room and poked his head in to make sure Hansol and Wonwoo were both okay. Seeing the sleeping lumps under the blankets, Namjoon bid you sweeter dreams before closing the door.

You walked over to the window and pushed the inner frame up. You poked your head out and looked around in the darkness, waiting to see or hear one of the two boys. Sure enough, you heard a whisper of your name down below. You took the earpiece from your nightstand beside you and put it in your ear before tapping it to turn it on.

“You trust us, right?” Wonwoo asked in a whisper you could barely hear.

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be doing this,” you replied.

You glanced behind you at Hansol still sound asleep in his bed. His face was peaceful in the moonlight shining through the window. You felt a pang of guilt, realizing that he would panic when he realized in the morning that the lumps under your blankets were just bunched-up clothing. He’d probably be in a frenzy as he called for everyone else and--

“_____?” Wonwoo asked.

You shook the thought from your head and climbed out the window onto the little ledge of the ‘roof’ of the first floor. You turned to close the window silently behind you before you sat on your bottom and scooted toward the edge. Wonwoo and Minghao stood across from each other, their arms out between them.

“Be careful, okay?” Wonwoo whispered up to you.

“Falling off a roof isn’t really careful anyway,” you quipped as you slowly stood up.

You turned around and crossed your arms over your chest in an ‘x’ shape. Then you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and let yourself fall backwards.

You landed with a huff in Wonwoo and Minghao’s arms. Your eyes opened to see the two boys looking down at you. Minghao was smiling at you, while Wonwoo seemed surprised that the two of them managed to catch you.

“That worked,” he almost asked rather than stated.

“You’re forgetting you’re not exactly human,” you chuckled.

“Yeah, but,” he frowned slightly as him and Minghao stood you up on the ground, “we’re not exactly you or Mingyu. We don’t have superhuman strength.”

“We shouldn’t stand around talking,” Minghao pointed out.

Wonwoo nodded, “You’re right, let’s just go wait by the car.”

Wonwoo grabbed both of your hands before turning invisible. You almost forgot what the weird sensation of being invisible was like, but you didn’t have time to think too much about it because he was tugging both of you to the car that was already turned on judging from the lights that were on and the running engine.

“We unlocked the car while we were in the kitchen,” Wonwoo told you as Minghao opened the trunk and the three of you piled in, laying on the floor.

Wonwoo tugged it shut, and the three of you patiently waited until you saw the lights inside turn on before hearing the door shut. Then you were moving.

The three of you laid there, unmoving, for who knows how long. Your bodies began to ache, but you refused to move to get comfortable. The last thing you were going to do was blow your cover when you’d managed to already make it this far. None of you made a single noise the entire ride that lasted until the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon.

When Jiwoo parked, the three of you waited for a moment after she closed the door and locked the car before you moved.

“Let’s go,” you said as you let go of Wonwoo’s hand, your palm warm and sweaty from holding it for so long.

You got up and climbed over the backs of the back seats before leaning toward the front. You pressed the unlock button, and Wonwoo opened one of the back doors before hopping out. You followed behind him, with Minghao being the last out. He closed the door and the three of you looked around the parking garage.

“I remember seeing the blueprints,” Wonwoo recalled, holding his hands out for both of you to take. “I know where Jiwoo headed. Let’s go.”

Invisible once more, the three of you walked to where the main entrance must’ve been. You walked quickly, wanting to catch up with Jiwoo so you could all slip in behind her. Thankfully, she was still waiting at the entrance to be let in, so the three of you stood close behind her, but still far enough for her to not feel you there.

Trying to squeeze your way into doorways that closed behind her was difficult, but you made it work. The doorways didn’t close until they sensed the people had passed through, so they never closed on you. But you were worried that the white coats and Jiwoo would get suspicious that they doors took a couple seconds too long to close.

Jiwoo followed a man around that you didn’t remember ever seeing, and you weren’t sure if Wonwoo or Minghao recognized him. They obviously didn’t say anything even if they did because somebody would surely hear it.

Being back in the lab brought back awful memories for all of you. You could feel Wonwoo’s hand shaking in yours since he spent more time there than you did, therefore had more bad memories than you. But still, being back in the labs made you want to turn around and leave. It made you want to throw up and cry at the same time. But you had to push on. You had to get that remote so Seungkwan would be safe.

Despite the urge all three of you got to turn and run straight out of the lab and never return, you continued to follow Jiwoo and the unfamiliar white coat. Jiwoo had told the man she was sent over to work there from Thailand to help the white coats recover the escaped experiments. After that, they continued to just make small talk on what things were like in the Thailand lab.

“We do have one left,” the man explained to Jiwoo after polite laughter over something she’d said had died down, “but he’s being kept isolated elsewhere.”

“Oh?” Jiwoo asked. “Is he new? What can he do?”

The pair walked through another door that required a key card. But before the three of you could walk through the door, you were being yanked to the right, the doors closing before you could hear what the man had to say. You almost shouted in protest, wanting to hear what the white coat had to say, but your eyes went from glaring at Wonwoo to widening when they saw the man that Wonwoo was now pulling you and Minghao to follow.

Dr. Yuen.

There was no doubt in any of your minds that he had the remote and was the one controlling Seungkwan. He was always the main white coat that led all of the tests performed on you. Whenever something happened, he was there. He was like their leader or something, so he absolutely had the remote or knew where it was. Wonwoo wanted to know who this mystery experiment was too, but he knew following Dr. Yuen was the key to finding the remote.

Following Dr. Yuen down a few different hallways, he came to a stop in what seemed to be some sort of security room. There were a bunch of different monitors that were labeled in the top left hand corners to say what each room was. You recognized the empty training room, and even saw that the machine that Mingyu had broken to get you out was still shattered. But you also recognized the isolation rooms and the testing rooms, all of which were empty. There were three monitors that weren’t working, showing just snowy grey and read: ISOLATION TANKS, ISOLATION ROOM 5, and LAB 3 with their translations in Korean below.

What were isolation tanks?

Dr. Yuen stood at the monitors and looked them over as he fished something out of his coat pocket. He hummed softly, placing something on the desk and letting out a soft sigh before he mumbled something about getting the cameras fixed and left the room.

But Wonwoo and Minghao didn’t move to follow.

You were too engrossed in the monitors to notice Minghao reach forward and grabbed the item off the desk. Sure enough, it was the remote that you didn’t grab when you had the chance. The two boys shared looks, smiling at their victory. Now all you had to do was get out to the car and wait for Jiwoo to come back.

“Hang on,” you muttered when Wonwoo tugged on your hand to leave.

You recognized the empty bedrooms, reading each label. They were numbers you didn’t recognize, but you could guess they must’ve matched up to each of you since they were your rooms. There were 14 of them, too.

“These must be all of the rooms in the lab,” Minghao noted.

“Big lab…” Wonwoo nodded slowly. “Bigger than I thought.”

“Because they never let us see all of it,” you replied. “We were only allowed to see certain rooms.”

Wonwoo continued to work as the middle man for translating for Minghao, so he replied, “It might’ve been dangerous to show us other parts -- dangerous for them, I mean.”

You nodded, “Yeah.”

The three of you continued to look over each monitor just out of pure curiosity. But Wonwoo suddenly leaned forward, tugging both of your hands since he was still holding them.

“What’s this?” he mumbled.

The two of you leaned down to see what he was talking about.

On a smaller monitor was a black screen with white, pixelated writing. It listed all of your names in alphabetical order, but there were numbers following them in parentheses. You realized the numbers matched those on the bedroom monitors.

CHAN (1399211) X

HANSOL (1298218) X

JEONGHAN (295104) X

All of you were there, and beside the numbers, there were red x’s.

Except…

“What’s that?” you asked, pointing to the green checkmark beside one of the names.

Wonwoo’s brows furrowed, “That can’t…”

The two of you noticed Minghao’s fingertips of his free hand tapping against the desk. You both looked up to see him staring into space, his eyes focused somewhere you couldn’t see as he mumbled almost too quiet to even hear.

“Paper, paper, paper…” Wonwoo mumbled to himself as he scanned the desk, letting go of your hands.

He picked up a pad of sticky notes and a pen. He put the pad on the desk in front of Minghao before shoving the pen in his hand that was fidgeting. Minghao began drawing scribbles -- much like the ones he mimicked to try to make his fake vision seem real -- as he continued to mumble incoherently to himself.

Neither of you knew it, but seeing one of the names was what caused him to suddenly get thrown into a vision.

Minghao’s eyes re-focused a moment later, his hand freezing. He dropped the pen, grabbed a key card that was left on the desk, and immediately headed for the door, “I know where he is.”

“Where who is?” you asked as you and Wonwoo went to catch up. “There’s-- The computer can’t be right...right?”

Minghao waited by the door, holding a hand out behind him for Wonwoo to take before Wonwoo took one of yours again, “The computer didn’t make a mistake.”

“There’s no way…” Wonwoo said softly before Minghao opened the door.

Minghao walked like he’d been through the maze of halls a hundred times. He saw it all in his vision. He knew who he was looking for and he knew exactly where to go. He burned the way there into his memory because he had to get to the room he saw. His visions never lied. The computer didn’t lie.

“In here,” Minghao said quietly as he stood at another door.

He held the key card up, and the doors slid apart for you. Inside the room were large tanks in the shape of tubes. They looked like they were made of glass, but you weren’t sure if that was the case.

“These are the isolation tanks,” Minghao said as the door closed behind the three of you.

He let go of Wonwoo’s hand, knowing the cameras in here didn’t work. So Wonwoo dropped your hand too, seeing as the three of you were the only ones in there.

At least at first glance.

The isolation tanks seemed to be empty. There were at least ten of them, give or take a few more. But Minghao looked to the end of the room like he saw in his vision, and then he was running.

“Here!” he called.

The two of you looked over to him before you were running too, seeing something in the tank at the very end.

No, not something. Someone.

Someone familiar.

“Oh my god!” Wonwoo cried.

The three of you stopped at the tank, staring at the person inside. They were on their knees, their shirt removed and showing different tubes taped to their neck, arms, and torso. They looked up hearing Wonwoo’s voice, and Minghao pressed his palms against the tank.

“Minghao?” he asked in a hoarse voice as he scrambled to move closer to press his hands against the glass as well.

“Is this real?” Wonwoo chuckled, though his eyes were filling with tears. “Is this really you?”

You were speechless. This couldn’t really be him, could it? It was impossible. You knew he was dead because even some of the black masks saw it happen. The other experiments saw it happen! Wonwoo was right there when it happened!

Inside the tank, was Seungcheol.

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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Dreams, Chapter 19

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 19

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4274

Summary: Life settles into routine as summer comes in Wisconsin.

Warnings: FLUFF, swearing, some smut

You’d never been so aware of the date after that, somehow feeling like you’d reset your circadian rhythm to know precisely how long two weeks was. Mercifully on the part of the universe, Dean had been right about the lack of reset function as long as you stayed within the same mind; once, just to try, you had entered Sam’s dream and found that Sam Barbie and Sam Mike hadn’t met Dean yet.

At Dean’s request Sam put a huge amount of effort toward ‘being normal,’ integrating into the community in a more purposeful way. You became friendly with a couple cheerful hairdressers from the salon in the next town over when they started coming to the bar for after work drinks and Sam began getting invited to the poker games Steve hosted. One of your favorite of these new habits was going to the farmer’s market dutifully every week. It reminded you every time of how simple this new life was, where you had spare mental capacity to think about whether you wanted nectarines or peaches because there was no terror dangling just overhead. It also helped distract you from all-consuming thoughts of seeing Dean on alternate Sunday nights, the way your body felt like it vibrated with anticipation for the few days before.

The two of you had been going for months by the first market in July, long enough to know all the first names of the regular vendors and greet them as you went. You were feeling somehow even more acutely anxious-excited at the upcoming Sunday, Dean having told you both last time that he had a surprise planned. It encouraged you to give more of a concerted effort to linger at every single booth, extend every single moment of killed time you could get from the outing. Sam let you lead the way, ring and pinky finger loosely linked into yours as you walked up and down the aisles of tents and tables in the overgrown gravel parking lot. He had a canvas bag half-filled with beets, green beans, some local honey, and a small carton of apricots. You paused to lean into his chest, waiting for Sam to bend down and kiss you in front of a table of essential oils decorated with macrame. The next one caught your eye, some hand-hewn jewelry, and you pulled him gently along.

“What do you think?” you asked, holding up some earrings clearly too gaudy to match your style with an exaggeratedly fashionable face.

“I think those really capture your essence, yeah,” Sam smiled.

“Or maybe this?” You slipped your hand into a heavy bangle absolutely covered in turquoise that felt like wearing an ankle weight.

He hitched the bag up on his shoulder and watched the show you put on for him, sweeping some hair back from your neck to let you see a set of earrings in the tiny mirror on the table. His gaze flicked over the wares and he gingerly picked up a small gold band from a tray. It was probably the most understated piece on the table, and definitely the one most likely to fit with the no-nonsense jewelry you tended to wear—the things you were drawn to being more sentimental reminders than ostentatious presentation, intended to be put on once and never taken off.

“I think this one looks the most like you,” Sam hummed, offering it up for you to try on. The band was medium-thick with rounded comfort edges and when you slipped it on it fit perfectly, just barely tight enough to feel exactly secure on your finger. He was right; it looked good on your hand like you had re-found an old piece that you’d lost, and you considered it for a second before you realized Sam was talking to the woman behind the table as she finished a transaction with a trio of teenaged girls getting matching woven bracelets.

“That one’s part of a set,” she cooed over to him, her hands resting in a homemade apron covered in embroidered flowers. “They should really go to the same home.”

You were impressed at Sam’s ability to keep himself from rolling his eyes at that kind of faux sentimental bullshit, but she had already turned her back to you, rifling in another box under the plastic table. She turned around with a larger copy of the ring and darted out, grabbing Sam’s hand quickly enough that he almost stumbled forward as she started to slip it onto his finger.

“Oh, I don’t really wear jewelr—” he started helplessly.

“See? Meant to be, it fits perfectly.” She clasped her hands in front of her chin excitedly, beaming over the table at you and Sam. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the expression on his face as he tried inconspicuously to get the ring off.

“Um—wow, that’s really on there—how much for that one?” Sam asked, awkwardly pointing to the ring on your finger with his pinky as he kept working to try to get his off.

“$50 for the both of them.”

“Even the one has gotta be more than that,” he insisted, based on the displayed prices of the gaudy jewelry you’d played around with.

“I’d feel better knowing they were being appreciated together than I would with the money.”

You looked up at Sam with the kind of melting cotton candy look you felt like had been plastered to your face for weeks, soft and gooey and something you would’ve made fun of a stranger for. He abandoned trying to get the ring off and tongued a molar before pulling out his wallet and dropping 5 $20 bills on the table, pushing them across with the customer service smile he used at the bar. “Thank you, they’re, uh, they’re beautiful.”

She only unclasped her hands to stuff the bills in the apron, mouthing a “thank you” at the extra money and winking at Sam as the two of you walked away from the booth.

“Should we get you a big chain? Or I could pierce your ears with an ice cube and an apple back at the cabin,” you teased, getting used to the way the ring felt on your hand.

Sam couldn’t keep from rolling his eyes over a smirk. “I really can’t get it off.”

“I think maybe you just wanted to match me.”

He stopped walking and you spun around to face him, gazing up into his hazel eyes. “Matching you isn’t so bad.”

“Oh yeah?” You watched as a slow smirk spread across his face and he looked down at his feet between you. “Thank you, by the way. I really love it.”

“Just think you, um, deserve nice things.” A little color rose in his cheeks, and there was something so unbelievably sweet about it, being shy with you of all people. You had to press up to your tiptoes and pull Sam’s neck down to kiss him, but it was perfect, the light northern chill that sometimes drifted through the air even in July reminding you of your first kiss on that sledding hill except now it was your hand on Sam’s neck, blood seeping warm and loose through every capillary rather than the cold throb of anxiety you’d had then. With his lips on yours, delicate metal on your finger, and the earthy smell of the fresh produce in the air, you tried to commit to memory how unequivocally good the moment was, how completely outside the realm of possibility this would’ve seemed a year ago. Sam’s hand slipped to your lower back and pressed you to him. “Wanna get out of here?” he murmured into your ear, and it was all you could do not to jump him right there as you wound your fingers in his and wove through the booths to get back to the Impala.

“Baby—you’ve gotta—fuck, I’m driving,” Sam laugh-moaned, shifting his hips just a little up into the hand you danced along the fly of his jeans.

You leaned across the bench seat and licked the faintest trail up his jugular vein. “Then pull over.”

His eyes closed deeply for a beat and hard swallow as he took a deep breath and took a right turn into what was likely a private driveway. It was a calculated move; probably not visible from the rural highway but if the people living here—the place sure to be occupied on a July weekend even if it wasn’t year-round—decided to leave they’d catch an eyeful of graphic roadblock. Knowing he was willing to take the risk made your heart race even faster, and Sam had barely thrown the car into park before he was on top of you, hand in your hair and tugging back roughly to bite-suck at your neck so hard and delicious you gasped before even realizing.

He grinned into your skin as he kissed you. “Gonna—tease me—like—that? After looking so good—being so sweet—all morning?” You slid your hands in his hair and pulled back, crashing into his mouth and tasting the honey he’d sampled with you at the farmer’s market. You hooked your leg around his hips and rolled up into him, almost salivating at the firm length of him against you and the friction of the denim. He pressed you flat to the bench seat and started working the buttons of your shirt, so lightning-fast he ripped one of the last ones clean off, sending it skittering across the dashboard as it flew. “Sorry,” he smiled as you bit his lip, not looking very sorry at all.

When your top was finally open Sam tugged at your bra, bypassing the clasp altogether in favor of exposing your nipples above it, somehow grazing his teeth and breathing cool air over them at once to send goosebumps flushing all over your body. You tried to undo the buttons of his shirt somewhat unsuccessfully for a moment before Sam leaned back and yanked at the back of his collar, tossing it in the backseat without looking as you flicked open his belt buckle and jeans. You grabbed either side of the open belt and tugged, making Sam’s chest press against yours and giggling into his lips at his tiny “oof,” when he fell forward onto the seat, throwing his arm out to avoid landing on you with his full weight.

With his torso against yours, he kissed you like he was gorging himself on candy; hungry and playful as you pushed and pulled against each other until you guided his cock out of his boxers and circled the tip with your thumb. Sam whimpered softly, just once and softly enough you might’ve thought it was a sharp inhale, but the broken concentration was enough for you to catch him off guard and shove him back on the seat across from you. He stretched back against the leather and door, pleasantly surprised behind widened pupils as you quickly got out of your shirt/bra tangle and kicked off your boots. It could’ve been some kind of pseudo-pornographic ad, Sam with tousled hair and undone jeans up against the door of the Impala, taut skin and muscles of his abs on full display as his arms spanned an impossible amount of the windowsill and seatback. If you’d had the self-restraint, you might’ve taken an extra second to soak it in, but as it was you pounced on him the moment the fabric of your clothes left your hands, slipping your fingers under his waistband enough to expose his cock and immediately sliding it into your mouth, hands still working to get him further out of his jeans.

Anyone else making the sound he did would never have had the same effect, but the gravelly moan your tongue forced out of him dissolved you into jello and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again. Rhythmically working the spit-slick between your mouth and hands, you dragged your head up to look Sam in the eyes, heavy tip of him weighing down your bottom lip as you spoke. “Hold my hair?”

Sam’s eyes went fuzzy and dark as his eyebrows raised into a dazed smile, gathering your hair in a huge palm and making that amazing noise again as you slid all the way down him, nose grazing the dark hair on Sam’s abdomen. After a few minutes his hips bucked a little under you, Sam beginning to writhe on the leather. “Fuck, that feels so goo—hold on, wait,” Sam stammered with sex-frayed vocal cords, using your hair to tug you to his mouth and suck your tongue. The sensation stunned you for a moment but you could’ve stayed there forever, held up in his palm and flayed open for Sam to take.

He trailed down your jaw and pulled firm when you tried to turn into his kiss. “Out of your jeans. Now.” You could feel the smirk against you and immediately started shimmying them off, loving this new edge to Sam, able to fully appreciate the grit knowing how soft he would be if you showed even the slightest hesitation. When you’d gotten the denim about halfway down your thighs he put a strong hand on your hip and flipped you over in the seat, your cheek flush against the glass of the window where he draped over your back like a predator. “Don’t. Move.”

The shudder was involuntary but it was covered by Sam practically ripping the jeans the rest of the way off your legs and subsequent hoisting your hips into the air as he shifted your knees up to the leather, your chest pressed against the door of the Impala as you looked back at him. You didn’t have any warning when Sam slipped his tongue inside you, shooting your arm out to grab for anything to stabilize yourself and ending up with a handful of seatbelt. Your calf curled up as he worked those sensitive nerves, swirling a thumb into your clit as he went. Sam locked the freed ankle with an iron grip. “I said don’t move.”

You whimpered and whispered dirty nothings you wouldn’t have been able to remember with a gun to your head until he smacked your ass hard enough you knew there’d be a red facsimile of his hand on you, and then you completely fell apart, shuddering and melting into the door. Sam crawled up behind you, chest flush to your back, and bit your earlobe. “I. Said. Don’t. Move.” You could hear the playful challenge in it and that made you even more crazy for him, wiggling under his weight a little involuntarily. He didn’t make you wait too long, pushing into you until his thighs pressed to yours, holding you in place so you couldn’t squirm forward.

“Holy shit, Sam,” you breathed. You could feel your muscles flex and relax experimentally around him.

His tongue flicked around your ear as he pounded into you. “You’re so fucking hot, baby—can’t believe you’re my girl. Are you my girl?”

The sounds you made were vaguely affirmative but to be honest, Sam’s rocking into you was pretty effectively scrubbing your mind clean of coherent thought.

“Tell me. Say my name,” Sam murmured, voice low with sin against your spine.

“I’m your girl, Sam—your girl, I’m your girl Sam, I—holy shit—” you moaned as he picked up the pace and circled a sucked-wet finger around your clit and then you hit that sweet, sticky spasm, hand splaying out wide on the window. Sam covered it with his, interlacing long fingers into yours and something about the way the metal of the two new rings clinked against each other was so tender even as you were being rammed into the door. A couple moments later he drew back with a tense groan, dressing your lower back with hot spurts of himself while his breath started to return with ragged shudders.

“Jesus,” he sighed as he eased off of you, suddenly gentle again. “Oh—uh, here, sorry.” Sam extended a veined arm over the front seat to snatch his shirt from where it had landed and gently wiped off your back. You let the cool glass settle your racing heartbeat for a beat before sliding back to the seat and the small pile of clothes Sam had retrieved for you. It made you smirk a little to watch Sam’s internal struggle over what to do with the dirty shirt, deciding to toss it on the floor before refastening his belt shirtless like he was in some Country Hotties calendar—Mr. July indeed.

You opted not to tie your boots as you’d only be walking from the car to the door and looked over at Sam once your feet were inside the loose laces. He opened and closed his mouth but couldn’t come up with any words, smoothing his hair nervously back into place and chuckling against a bitten lip.

“Yeah, I agree,” you giggled, leaning over to kiss his cheek before lacing your fingers together. “Do you want anything specific for dinner? We have a bunch of chickpeas, I thought maybe we could try making our own falafel.”

He gazed back at you for a reverent second before turning the key in the Impala’s ignition. “I love you,” he smiled, throwing an arm over the back of your seat to reverse out of the woods.

Tracing the angles of his face in the sunlight as he drove, you picked your joined hands up to kiss his knuckles. “I love you too.”

After a few minutes of endorphin-filled silence, Sam turned to you. “So do you know what this surprise is Dean has planned for tomorrow night? I figured he’d have to tell you what it was going to be if you’re the one whose head it’ll be in.”

“No clue. I thought at first maybe it was like, the Grand Canyon or something but ran into the same issue. Unless Cas’s taught him some new trick, he’s only ever been able to pull up places or things I already know—pick my brain for it, or whatever.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The air in the car held the content pensiveness for a few minutes of sunny road. There was no real heat behind it, just like there was no real heat in choosing between different rattan baskets of produce at the farmer’s market, and that same appreciation of the serenity itself washed over you. A surprise was just a surprise, not a potential threat, a date with Dean was just a date with Dean, no longer a finite, losable resource that had to be clawed at and fought for. You didn’t miss the heat. There was more than enough warmth in the sun streaming through the windows and Sam’s palm in yours.

As it did frequently, Dean’s face in your driveway flashed in your mind, the memory somehow simultaneously old-picture washed out yet vibrant—could dreams even be memories? aren’t all memories dreams, in a way?—collar of his jacket flicked up against the cold as he said “you have to get good with this,” the flit of tongue you could see as he shaped ‘th’ enough to shape a painting class around, send a dozen art students into psychosis for inability to capture it. It had been so hard to figure out how the fuck he expected you to, how cruel it felt for him to ask it, and the only way you’d gotten your head around it was that same Dean Winchester Denial & Self Sacrifice Special and accepted it at face value. When he’d died you hadn’t felt like so many movies and books about tragic loss, where the strong but sensitive woman you’re supposed to relate to spent a few months in poetic sadness growing waifish and crying picturesque tears in solitude until she realized she could carry on.

You couldn’t carry on.

You couldn’t carry anything—were dragging yourself along in the most generous of descriptions, some half-dead, half-smashed zombie version of yourself clinging to any will to live like a barnacle out of devotion and need for Sam. Getting Dean back felt like life raft thrown into the water. You really had wanted to spend the rest of your life asleep and were more than content to ingest as much dream root as it would take to decompose into the cabin’s mattress next to Sam, let your landlord find your skeletonized bodies after a few months of unpaid rent. Fuck him, kind as he’d been to two strangers who’d needed help, and fuck hunters’ funerals for you and Sam if it meant you didn’t have to keep drowning. Fuck Dean’s wishes especially, let him bend to someone else’s will for once.

At first, maybe the first month after the dream root, only logistical reasons kept you from following through. What you wanted—needed, would’ve ruined the world for—was Sam and Dean together, and you couldn’t find a way to get Sam to agree no matter how obliquely or obviously you asked. He was unbelievably patient with you during this period of near-psychosis, and you suspected that a lot of the new habits he constructed, maybe including your beloved farmer’s market, were designed to keep you away from the greenhouse for as many hours a day as possible. You knew what he was doing, but the bright glare of panic in his eyes whenever you ‘joked’ about growing bigger patches of those little white flowers slowed down your singular focus enough to humor him, telling yourself it was just stalling until you could make your move.

But damn if it hadn’t worked. Not that it stopped that tick-tick-tick in your brain counting down to Dean, but it made the days bearable. Just bearable, at first, the newness of your surroundings and the newness of Sam, all the things you hadn’t known about him after years of sitting inches away from each other in the Impala. And then it stopped being so much about fuck you Dean fuck getting good with you being gone and a little more about getting good with the way Sam’s hair dried if he went to bed right after showering, floppy, glossy loops and easy curls at the base of his neck; getting good with racing him down the rickety pier on the cabin’s shoreline, knowing he was letting you win and squealing all the way down anyway, jumping into the lake at dusk on Memorial Day with all your clothes on together as Sam cannonballed in behind you. Getting good with Sam’s arms around you as you both shuddered in the water, shrieking with laughter and a smile on his face of genuine, unbridled joy. Getting good with waiting for every other Sunday, because sometimes waiting was Sam bringing you a root beer float in your favorite mug while you read, and sometimes it was feeling him fall asleep against you while you scratched his back.

Then getting good with the way it became less taboo to talk about him, being able to casually repeat old jokes of Dean’s without feeling like you were being stabbed in the chest or being terrified of sending Sam into a spiral. Getting good with memories of your old life together, your old friends, truly able to appreciate them. Because Dean was right, you had been ‘upset because you wanted something that didn’t exist.’ You could stay upset about it, stay so fucking mad about the unfairness of it all, that after all Dean had done—for you, for the world—that he was fucking gone, didn’t get to live in a cabin or have a couple daughters to braid Uncle Sammy’s hair—God, Dean saying that had haunted you maybe more than anything—and let it necrotize you from the inside out. Or you could let the ways he had permeated your very being serve as more commemoration than most people ever dream of, appreciate that the Impala still felt like an extension of him, see glimmers of the way he and Sam were still connected every day.

And, of course, visit him at night to take the edge off, love him and kiss him and scream until you laughed. Annoying as it was to admit it, all that getting good slowly let you see what he’d been trying to open your eyes to in that driveway. You had so much more than anyone in the world. How stupid, how greedy, to have all of that and cut yourself off from anything else because it wasn’t exactly the way you wanted it to be. Looking back at it felt like watching a home video of yourself as a kid throwing a tantrum, but for ages, and you almost couldn’t believe Sam had stuck right by your side through it all, guided you gently and patiently even through his own battle. Sweet, beautiful, loyal Sam.

As if on cue, he looked over at you. The sun poured through the windshield and shone off his hair like a halo, sparkled like glitter in his eyes. Someone who’d had a normal life would’ve said he looked angelic. But you had so much more than that, got to see both that golden hour was giving you a bit of a heavy-handed metaphor and that Sam was not only more than angelic, he was the whole world. He was the life raft all along, Dean’s Herculean return to you the lighthouse that let you see what had been there from the start, what had never left. His fingers tightened around yours a fraction. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

The smile splitting your face felt like the first delicious stretch after sleeping in on a rainy morning. “Wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without you.”

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 20

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silentexplorer18 · 3 years

Text

The Nights I Hold You Close

Summary: As painful memories from your past are brought to the forefront of your mind, you have difficulties sleeping. Feitan notices and provides a surprising amount of support.

Pairing: Feitan Portor x Reader

Warnings: Nightmares, flashbacks, nervousness.

Word Count: 3,000+

Note: I was going through my old drafts and found a few I hadn't posted. I really liked this one, so here it is. Hopefully it brings everyone some joy!

Read on AO3 ▪ Masterlist

Night watch was almost always boring, which was never a good thing. However, lately two things in particular were making it worse. First, your latest mission with the Troupe—the mission you were currently guarding the hideout for—had stirred some deeply unpleasant memories from the forgotten abyss of your psyche, resulting in flashbacks and other horrors you would rather have avoided. Secondly, Feitan, your closest friend and constant night watch partner, had figured out something was off.

In all honesty, you should have expected it. The lack of sleep, the memories that would flood your brain at random times, the emotional overwhelm in your gut that put your whole body on edge, it was all evident in your—still remarkably subtle—body language. Something was off.

The rest of the Troupe hadn’t realized anything was amiss yet, but that wasn’t particularly surprising either. They didn’t know you as well as Feitan did. How that came to be was partially a mystery. When you’d been accepted into the Troupe, natural ability had placed your skills on par with Feitan. Whenever possible, the two of you gravitated toward partnering up. Eventually, when the group parted for individual pursuits, Feitan had contacted you, asking for backup on a mission. You’d been working together off and on ever since.

It was only natural that he’d notice the subtle change in your demeanor and body language. But that didn’t mean you had to like it. Or want it to happen, for that matter.

Your only saving grace was that he hadn’t figured out exactly what was bothering you. However, with the quiet, exhausting nights watching for enemies that would never come, it was only a matter of time before he figured it out. Or asked.

If he asked you directly, you wouldn’t lie. You trusted him, and, although he would never say it, he trusted you to some degree as well. You wouldn’t dare put that trust in jeopardy.

But that didn’t mean the glances he kept giving you weren’t unnerving. It didn’t mean you wanted to tell him the truth, even though you would.

He’d been staying closer than normal. Usually, even when alone on guard duty, he put some space between the two of you, settling for an upper position while you sat in the middle, staring down the hallway. However, lately he’d been right by your side.

“You quiet tonight,” he said, breaking the silence.

Maybe that was part of why he was figuring things out. You were so tired. The exhaustion had been building for days. The lack of sleep made it more difficult to handle the flashbacks during the day, but sleeping was somehow so much worse.

It was like you were falling and burning all at once. But that’s what you were doing now. It was dark, but oh, so light, nearly blinding behind your eyes. It throbbed against your chest in harsh pulses. A fire? A flame? Your heart? The sun? Yet you were still falling, and your body braced for an impact that would never come. It hurt to breathe, but it didn’t. The screaming was loud but the room was silent. Feitan was silent. Everything was silent.

Your eyes blinked back into focus, seeing again a vision of your friend who was now staring back at you. His eyes were wide, face watching with a surprisingly visible amount of concern. You breathed out through your nose, releasing a breath you hadn’t noticed you were holding.

“Where you go?” he asked gently, watching your vision completely focus in on him again.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. You hated when it happened in front of other people, especially him. Usually nobody noticed under the cover of darkness, but he was just so damn attentive. “Somewhere I don’t want to be.”

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments. Your hands moved to work the dirt out from under your nails. It was a welcome distraction from your mind.

“I go there too.”

You bit your lip, trying not to look as surprised as you felt. Fei was always one to shy away from emotions rather than bring them up. “How do you make it stop?”

His eyes filled with amusement as he looked at you over his bandana. “If I know, I not go anymore.”

You chuckled. “Fair point.”

Neither of you moved as Uvogin and Nobunaga came down the hall. “Ready to tap out?” Uvo asked with a grin. He was far too excitable for the middle of the night. Nobunaga looked much less jovial.

“Are you sure neither of you want to sleep?” you asked. “I can stay for an extra shift.”

They both shook their heads. “We’ll be fine. Besides, there’s not much else to do around here.”

“Well then,” you hopped up, stretching slightly. “Have fun.”

“Yeah,” Nobu nodded, scratching his chin. “Right.”

You headed down the hallway, the moonlight illuminating your path. Feitan followed alongside you, silent as always. His room came first. Regardless, you wouldn’t be going to your room anyway. The nights were awful when your headspace was unpleasant, so you’d been spending much of the night perched on the windowsill at the end of the hall. There was a pond out that way. In the mornings, you could see ducks. It was peaceful.

When Feitan dropped away from you, you reached above your head, stretching out as you continued down the hallway. Your muscles ached; there was nothing to do but train or play games while waiting for Chrollo’s next set of instructions. Sitting and waiting all day was almost as uncomfortable.

You tucked into the corner of the window, gaze trailing the horizon. The trees rustled in the breeze, water rippling gently. The world was so much more beautiful than you’d ever give it credit for. Despite all the atrocities humans created, nature seemed to make small paradises. If only people like you didn’t exist to tarnish them.

A voice to your right startled you, Feitan staring intently from the shadows. “You not sleep?”

You tried to get by with a shrug. “Don’t feel like it.”

“Why?” He knew the answer, but he wanted you to say it. He had a way of prodding things out of you; he was a master interrogator, after all.

You worked the dirt out from under your nails again, grateful for a way to avoid looking at him. “It’s hard to sleep,” you conceded. “Bad dreams.”

“What you dream about?”

He watched as you hesitated, memories threatening to cascade across your vision again. He didn’t want that to happen; he wanted you to feel better. Although he enjoyed working with Phinks, you were his favorite teammate. He didn’t want you to truly suffer.

“Come with me.” He turned, looking back over his shoulder. “We talk in private.”

You hadn’t intended to follow, but before you completely realized what you were doing, Feitan was ushering you into his makeshift room.

A mat was placed on the floor, blanket folded neatly on top of a pillow. Undoubtedly, all of it was stolen. Like the rest of the Troupe, he only brought what he could carry on his person. Everyone traveled light.

He pointed to the mat expectantly, and you sat on the edge of it. He settled beside you, gaze gentle but expectant. “You not tell me what you dream about?”

You bit your lip. Although you trusted Feitan, your dreams were intense, almost too much to verbalize.

He nodded, your silence the answer he needed. Then he frowned, appearing to be deep in thought before turning back to you. “You no need to. But tell why dreams bother you.”

Why they bothered you? “I… I wake feeling frightened and…” you searched for the right word, tongue swiping across your lip as you avoided his gaze. “Alone.”

“You sleep here tonight?” he offered. To anyone else, he would’ve sounded nonchalant and uncaring, but the fact that he offered was jarringly compassionate in and of itself. He stood, walking away from the mat towards the other side of the room. It wasn’t large, but there was enough to create a sizable distance between the two of you.

But it was too much, too nice of him. You were a Hunter. You were a Spider. You should have been able to handle something as trivial—and common to both of those professions—as nightmares. “I couldn’t impose,” you said, already moving to stand up. Your room was just down the hall. “It would be a hindrance to you.” If you ran, you could probably beat him down the hall, though not into your room. “It wouldn’t be right—”

His expression stopped you in your tracks. “We are team. You need sleep. I think you feel better not so alone.” The look in his eyes was one of challenge, no, determination. He wanted you to stay. Then his lips upturned, eyes lighting with mischief. “Better for Spiders, too. You no work well when tired. Too cranky.”

You scoffed in indignation, eyes only slightly teasing. “Fine, then. Maybe I will stay, let your sleep suffer on purpose.”

He nodded, satisfied, and you inwardly grumbled. He’d only pushed your buttons to get you to stay. It seemed fitting his Nen didn’t lend well to manipulation; his personality could handle that all on its own.

“You change?” he asked, hiding how much your glowering amused him behind his bandana.

Oh. You hadn’t thought about that. You didn’t have a blanket, so you’d been sleeping in all your clothes. But Feitan had stolen something thick and fluffy to use as a blanket. You’d probably be too warm as you were. Your jacket would be too much. Even your overshirt might be too warm with your long pants on.

“Yes, if that’s okay with you.”

He turned without a word, back toward you. He trusted you completely. The realization was almost enough to make you dizzy. Quickly, you removed your overshirt and jacket, leaving you in an undershirt. It was modest, but still the most unkempt he’d seen you yet.

“I’m done.”

He turned as you snuggled under the blanket on one half of the mat, resting on your side. Slowly, he slid down the wall, sitting on a stone. His head leaned back against the cement, eyes closed, breathing already evening out. But you wouldn’t allow that.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleep. What you need to do, too.”

“Then why aren’t you getting into bed?”

He peeked an eye open at that. When your gaze remained unwavering, he shook his head. No.

“If you don’t want to, I’m going,” you said, already shifting to stand up. “I’m not stealing your bed from you, Feitan.”

Sighing, he stood, undressing. You froze, watching as he moved methodically. When his chest and shoulders were bare, clad in nothing but a pair of pants, he settled in beside you. “You too stubborn.”

You grinned. “Yet somehow you still like me anyway.”

“Miracle can happen.”

His hands rested across his stomach, lying on his back. On your side, you admired him for a moment. Feitan was easily the most skilled person you’d ever met. But it was more than that. Whatever tentative friendship the pair of you had formed made your heart light. With him, you felt seen and understood in a way you seldom were. Even when he didn’t know exactly what to do, he still managed to do it. Closing your eyes, you gave him a reprieve, succumbing to the cumulative fatigue a few minutes later.

You woke warm, the sun just beginning to filter through the grime-coated windows. It took a moment for you to realize it wasn’t your room, and you could have laughed. Of course Feitan would find the only room in a deteriorating building that had fully intact windows. He was acutely aware of personal safety.

Feitan.

Eyes widening, you realized whose chest you were lying across. His arms were above his head, not touching you. Sneaking a glance, you saw his eyes were closed against the morning light, resting but not asleep.

He must have been acutely aware of your position on his body.

Someone as skilled as he was in combat wouldn’t have completely slept, especially not with a body squirming on his torso.

You shifted away, a bolt of nervousness echoing through your chest when his eyes peeked open.

“Sorry,” you whispered, feeling the tone adequate so early in the morning. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He smirked, and the expression in such close proximity made your heart leap. “I not mind. You no move too much.”

But it was enough. Anything within a few meters would have been enough.

“I didn’t want your sleep to suffer for mine.”

He dropped the arm farthest from you, brows furrowing into that trademark frown and fingers smoothing over the edge of the blanket. “You sleep better than alone?”

He always found a way to the core of the issue, deflecting your thoughts back on yourself. But it was true, he had helped like he predicted. “Yes. It was much better than before. Thank you for that. I was so tired.”

He nodded, hair pointing wildly across the pillow. The soft smile on his face, barely there, was enough to tell you he wasn’t upset about the lost sleep.

But still… “I’m sorry I made your sleeping worse, though. I can leave, if you want. Take an extra shift. That’ll give you some time to rest properly.”

His hand caught you, pulling you back into his chest before firmly wrapping around your side. “Stay longer. We get more rest.”

You froze for a moment before nodding against his shoulder, knowing better than to argue against his sharp tongue. After a few moments, you snuggled closer, nerves and adrenaline falling away to peaceful fatigue yet again. You barely heard him ask his next question, but you heard it nonetheless. “Come again tomorrow?”

Your arm slipped around his chest, fingers gently wrapping around his side. “I’d like that.”

So that’s exactly what you did.

But things didn’t go exactly to plan, whatever the plan was. Because it was hot. Too hot. Though it wasn’t your body. Oh, no. It was the fire. The sun. The world was plummeting, and you could hear the screaming. It was too much. You would have ran, but your legs couldn’t find the will to move. Maybe it was the burning. The searing pain in your chest was back. Was it your heart, or something else? It was hard to tell, impossibly hard to know. And yet the screaming continued. That was even worse than the burning, the darkness. It was all too much, but you had to fight back. You just had to. Something had to be done. But your body was falling, and all you could do was brace for impact—

The air was cool against your skin. That was the first thing you noticed when you opened your eyes. It was cool, and goosebumps prickled across your arms. That’s because it was dark; there was no sun.

The second thing you realized was that you were crying. You could only tell because Feitan—who you guiltily realized was already awake and watching you—was blurry.

You sat up, trembling from the adrenaline and the cold. He must have taken the blanket off you when you’d begun to panic. The world was eerily quiet except for your sniffles, ones you attempted to muffle as your eyes watered. It was all too much.

“I’m sorry,” you began, disappointed you’d ruined his sleep two nights in a row. You’d never wanted to burden him more when complying with his wishes. But he interrupted you with a swift raise of his hand.

No. He was telling you no. You shouldn’t apologize.

That only made you cry harder, water dripping from your chin as you muffled your cries with your palm. Tentatively, Feitan’s hand came to rest on your shoulder. When you didn’t brush it away, he kept it there.

It took you several minutes to regain your composure. During that time, his hand stayed firm—but not unkind—on your arm. The pressure was comforting, and when your cries reduced to mere sniffles, he pulled the blanket back over you, moving his hand from your arm in a silent gesture that you could hug him.

You hesitated, damp cheeks glistening in the faint moonlight slipping through the windows. He’d already done so much for you…

He sighed at the contemplation on your face. “It no bother. Me want to.” His hold was sturdy and sure, chest grounding under your cheek as he laid down with you. “You need to talk?”

Your eyelashes fluttered against his skin as you shook your head. “Not really.” After a beat of silence that threatened to allow your mind to wander, you bit your lip, snuggling a little closer. “But… could you?”

The silence you received in return almost made you tremble, embarrassment coursing through your body nearly as strongly as the adrenaline had.

But then he spoke. Melodious words flowed from his tongue, words foreign to your ear, but beautiful nonetheless. While chasing away your demons, he pacified his own, telling you the things he couldn’t find the words to say in English. In those whispered words, he poured more of his heart to you than he had to anyone ever before. As your breath fanned across his chest and his arms rested securely against your body, he told you everything he could think of, sounding much more eloquent to your ear than his own.

When it finally felt like his voice might go hoarse, he stopped, pulling you a little closer against him. He knew you weren’t asleep yet, but you were close enough that he hoped the silence wouldn’t bother you.

However, before you could succumb completely to your fatigue, you found the hand on his stomach, squeezing it gently in thanks. “Fei?” you mumbled. “What does that word mean?” You repeated if for him, feeling him tense slightly under your body. He’d used it so many times before, muttering it under his breath on missions with you. In his whispered ramblings, he’d repeated it over and over.

He could lie to you, but he wouldn’t. There was no way he’d jeopardize your trust like that.

Closing his eyes, he squeezed you a little tighter, willing you to understand all the words he had and hadn't said.

“Love. It translate to love.”

Masterlist

#feitan #feitan portor #feitan x reader #feitan portor x reader #hxh feitan #feitan hxh #hxh #silent writes

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anaiswriterr · 4 years

Text

Evil Lives Here

Pairing: Kirishima x Reader

Rating: T

Warning: This story contains the following subjects that may not be suitable for younger audiences or those who don’t like scary things: murder, blood, gore, language, and emotional feelings. Please be aware of you are easily triggered from these kinds of things and enjoy.

Synopsis: You press your hand hard against the cold glass shield that divides the two of you. Burning hot tears swell up in your eyes, you press a picture of a girl, a young girl who was brutally murdered and found in the woods. Clutching onto the jail phone in your separate hand, desperately attempting to catch your breath. You mutter out the words no wife should ever mutter, “Eijirou Kirishima... did you - do this t-to her?” Your voice wavers, eyes stinging to catch his reaction to the crime scene photo. He’s emotionless, “No.” He couldn’t of done this, there is not possible explanation.. he’s innocent. When the love of your life, the father of your two year old daughter, your best friend ends up being a mass serial killer you suddenly realize the man you solemnly swore to love till death was living a double life.

- evil lives here - screamtober series part two -

•

“Do you, Y/N L/N, take Eijirou Kirishima, to be your solemnly wedded husband; through sickness and in health, for poorer or richer till death do you two part?”

The memory swirls in your head, hand in hand with your longtime boyfriend, now husband. Freshly graduated from high school, with barley any money you wore a cheap dress from the nearby thrift store, it was short, tailored just above your knees. The nervous sweat softened your hands against his rough ones.

“Yes.” You said in a soft whisper.

Your hands tighten around the steering wheel, you wipe a tear away from your soft skin. Lightly tapping away the stray tears with a tissue, throwing the crumpled piece away at the dash. “Who are you here to visit?” The operator in the Prison Reform entrance asked tiredly, wiping the sleep off his eyes and taking a sip of his cup of coffee. But you didn’t blame him, neither of you wanted to be there especially this early in the morning.

“Prisoner Eijirou Kirishima, I-I’m his wife.” You duck your head down in shame, after refusing to visit after months and months of healing. You needed to know, at least for yourself. He gives you a quick stare, later pressing a button to open the gateway. You step on the gas and proceed to enter the parking lot.

Your hand bare without the wedding ring you wore for years on end, a marriage he ruined. A family he tore apart with reckless actions and lies, a two faced snake this entire time. Living with a monster, loving a monster. Making love to a seemingly loving, caring man.

You lay your head against the wheel, turning off the ignition.

“Say cheese, Ruby!” You cheer, counting down the seconds for the cameras timer to go off. “Happy birthday, munchkin!” Kirishima exclaims, pressing a small kiss to her forehead. The flashing light just capturing the happiness in that moment with a single polaroid that joined the cases of other polaroid's that you swore you’d organize into a scrapbook one day. Your daughter clapped her hands in excitement, your lips form a small ‘O’ as you and Eijirou help her blow out the candles, an assortment of cheers and whoops come from the audience of her family. Katsuki Bakugou, her godfather and uncle, is invited to take a separate photo with her in his lap. A small smile creeps onto his lips, allowing the soft spot he carried for his niece to envelop him as he held onto her tiny frame. Laughing at her giggles.

The golden days of your youth often involved your days with Eijirou, someone you met in your years of primary school. Though you were bullied by some of the other kids, Eijirou found you in particular interesting and fun. Befriending you in nearly a day, which meant you were befriended by Mina, Sero, Kaminari, and oddly enough Bakugou. Eijirou, was different. The one to walk you home to make sure you made it back safe, to make sure you had food, to give homeless people the extra pocket change he had or buy them a meal, he wasn’t the smartest but the most caring. Never a killer, a serial killer at that.

Psychology states that when a person murders it’s a chemical imbalance in their head, the need for more. The need to keep hunting the prey that walked around at night, alone, wishing to go home to their families. They all say he said the same thing, the survivors, those who instead of accepting the fate of death instead chose to fight for their lives and manage to get away. He said the same thing.

“Suspect number one, may you please come forward and repeat the lines that were just previously mentioned.” An officer orders, standing protectively beside a shaking young girl, probably in her late teens. Her hands cold and clammy, pressed against one another.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you to not get in the car with strangers?”

She’s nods her head no, and the officer asks the next person to move forward. The voices don’t match a single one until, Eijirou Kirishima steps up. How did he get in that suspect line, he didn’t know. I mean sure, his friends teased that he looked awfully alike to the description - but those were just jokes - nobody really took it seriously.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you to not get in the car with strangers?”

A panic arose in the girl, nearly jumping off her feet she points. “That man, his voice, it’s him!” She accuses. Not even a minute later Eijirou is placed in handcuffs and escorted towards a holding cell awaiting trial.

You should’ve just taken the first sign and packed your bags, but they say love can blindside you from the truth. And the truth was Eijirou Kirishima was the serial killer that roamed the dark alleys of Japan, living a two faced life. One where he shared with his wife and a beautiful daughter, and the other, preying on the weak. You huff, rubbing your tired, aching eyes. Eyeing the folder a detective handed to you in hopes you’d get something - anything - out of the liar you called husband. The bland folder sitting on top your passenger seat, mocking you with the content inside. The sudden urge to throw up washes over you, you’ve seen those pictures a million times, it’s practically burned into your memory. But this one, the only picture that sat inside the skinny - nearly empty - folder would haunt nearly anyone. You take one last deep breath, and step outside.

The hot, humid, October weather brushed over your skin as you lean forward to retrieve your purse, keys, and the folder. “Make this quick, Y/N.” You mutter, shutting and locking the car door behind you. If there was one thing that Kirishima taught you, it was that you should always lock your doors, and move quickly. You always thought that he meant it to be something sweet, that he cared about your safety. Instead, it was just something he knew most working and busy woman never really took into consideration. Each step feels like your walking on cracking thin ice, liar.

The fuming burning hot anger.

Wake up! This has to be some sort of dream, some nightmare, the lies. The piling lies and deception, an affair you believed. For months you believed he was having an affair, but instead, you learn the awful truth. An affair you could handle, something fixable. But murder, his daughter is known as the child of a killer. You wish you could hit him, kick him, anything. It dwells on you that maybe you he was always like this.

And yet you were the exception - along with many other of his friends - you stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Clutching onto the folder, you steady your breathing.

***

bzzzzzz

“Visitor for Prisoner Eijirou Kirishima, serial code 0926.” They call him down, chewing on the inside of your cheek you wait patiently behind a call booth. Tear stricken stained face and raging eyes. Your foot taps against the metal tile beneath you, until your breath is caught.

In a bright orange jumpsuit, his hands are handcuffed together and his ankles are chained to him. You duck your head down into you sleeve in shame, in disgust, but him, he had on a huge grin as he laughed off a joke the guard seemed to tell. He holds out his wrists in front of him before being seated and was uncuffed from the tight metal restrains. You watch him slowly reach out for the phone on his end, the grin he wore still as intoxicating as when he was just a teenager.

Psychopaths don’t have much emotion.

Except for the inappropriate emotions at inappropriate times they invoke out into the world.

You don’t immediately reach out for the phone, your mind is wondering off to when the loud banging of the front door woke up your daughter from her sleep after being sick for a week - she hadn’t gotten much sleep and neither did you for the fact of the matter - the loud screams from her room as police officers nearly broke down your door. Red and blue flashing lights dance across the walls of the living room as they peered through the cracks of the window blinds.

You are brought back to the sounds of three taps against the glass. You reach towards the phone hesitantly, the cord following behind as you pressed it to your ear.

“Please! My husbands innocent! He’d never hurt another person!” You cried as he was pushed into a patrol car, your daughter screaming for her father. “Ma’am, this man isn’t who he says he is.”

“Long time no see.. where your ring?” His voices makes you seize in the cool metal chair, his cool and calm demeanor taunts you. “I’m not here to make conversation, Kirishima.” You hiss. He ignores your warning glares and smirks, “It’s been a couple months, and I haven’t seen my daughter Y/N. I just want to see my family, I want to see you-”

“Cut the bullshit, as long as I’m alive you’ll never see Ruby again!”

You huff pushing passed the tears that pooled at the corners of your eyes, he stares into your glossy E/C ones. “Where’s Ruby?”

“Bakugou’s babysitting her.”

“Somebody else is babysitting my kid, what let me guess you guys are hanging out with each other more? I knew you’d eventually sleep with him.”

“Shut the fuck up! I haven’t done anything with him, he’s just being a a father figure Ruby needs not some psychopathic liar.”

He chuckles, “I told you, I didn’t do it.” You slam your hand o the glass in frustration, pressing your hand hard against the cold glass shield that divides the two of you. Burning hot tears swell up in your eyes, you take out the printed imagine in the folder and press a picture of a girl, a young girl who was brutally murdered and found in the woods. Clutching onto the jail phone in your separate hand, desperately attempting to catch your breath. You mutter out the words no wife should ever mutter, “Eijirou Kirishima... did you - do this t-to her?” Your voice wavers, eyes stinging to catch his reaction to the crime scene photo. He’s emotionless, “No.”

“Hey! Do you need a ride?” A man calls from his car, looking at the young girl who’s barley pushing eighteen. She nods, “I’m kinda lost! I just moved here, do you know where I can find the nearest payphone?” A smirk forms on the adults face, he unlocks his passenger side door, he adjusts his baseball cap.

“Hop in.” He pats his passenger seat, the young girl was so desperate to hitch a ride she was willing to jump into any trustworthy looking person she could find; Kirishima was handsome and his face painted trust and caring. But inside those deceiving eyes were a need to kill. They pass by the payphone after a five minuet ride, “Hey, I think you passed the-”

“I know.” He smiles, turning the steering wheel into the direction of the nearby woods.

“What are yo-”

A chuckle escapes him lips, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to not get in cars with strangers?”

TAGLIST: @pavlovs-titties @explosivefireworks @utopiamiroh @hikaru-mikazuki @strangethingsatthecirclek @myheroesaretired

Next: Aizawa x Reader - Tag You’re It

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boredoverlord · 3 years

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Bucky X Reader - Hold the Line

I came in here to show you a good time, so here's my personal work and my very first fanfiction of all time. And because I'm a thirsty bitch, of course it's smut.

Summary : As a young and talented psychologist specializing in difficult people in prison, you believed in a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work with the SHIELD. Turned out you were tricked to work for HYDRA.

For three years they made you do horrors in the name of an ideology you despised, but you may have found the occasion to finally make a change for the good, when they introduced you to your new patient.

The Winter Soldier.

Rating : Explicit, please kids, look away ( of course you won't because you're cute little rebels, but please do it)

Word count : 6.4k (chapter 1)

TW: Light BDSM (for now) Because Bucky is a massive Sub and it seems nobody agrees with me, so I have to do the lord's work here.

Foul language, mention of violence and murder, Masturbation, male orgasm and a tiiiny bit of choking. I started lightly

Please consider reading this on Archive of our own or read it below the cut. Lemme know what you think !

Chapter 1: A Story of Almost Everything

You never were the type to brag. But one thing you know is : you’re damn good at your job. Years and years of psychology studies, you barely got to parties, you hardly made any friends, and your sleeping schedule is still a nightmare. Those were sacrifices you did for one sole purpose : helping others. To be the last resort for people who have lost everything. You always firmly believed that you could make a change in the world, even the slightest, even for just one person. That would have been enough to make your lifetime worthy. What's more noble than just a genuine try to make it better, after all ? So you wasted your youth on studies, without a damn blink. And never one ounce of regret. You did it because it felt right. You’re not very brave, but you decided to face your fear a couple of times. You even were an intern in a high security prison, talking to broken men and women who hated your guts. Trying to lead them to another path of life. You heard stories that could break any mind. Only time could tell if you actually helped them. But that’s part of the job. Hope. And hard work.

That’s why when you started to have a growing reputation, at 26 after five years of studies and several years working in prison and rehabilitation, you were ecstatic when S.H.I.E.L.D contacted you. You quit everything, starting with your homeland in Europe, to fly to Washington DC, to visit the headquarters. The new building, the thrill of novelty, the clean rooms, the medical wing, and Alexander Pierce himself coming to shake your hand and telling you personally the wonders they have in mind for the psychology field. You could prepare people to save the world, you could have all the resources to make research, and fix minds that were supposed to be beyond repair. It was supposed to be just a quick trip, but the visit wasn’t even done when you looked at your guide with enthusiasm : you weren’t going home. Just cancel the fly. You’re taking the job immediately. It was three years ago.

Enough to understand how fucked you are.

You didn’t save anyone, you didn’t even work to make the world a better place. Oh but you did work to make a change. A change for HYDRA. They tortured you to make you swallow their ideology, but even if your body surrendered, your mind didn’t, even if it was still a perpetual work on yourself. You never believed in this masquerade, but you know it doesn’t matter. Because HYDRA knows how good you are at your job, and you’re a precious asset. So precious that they pushed all your buttons to make you obey. You tried to act and escape. Their last resort is the Damocles sword they put over your family’s head. Next act of rebellion, heads will roll. And it won’t be yours : no, no. HYDRA won’t give you this relief. It will be your loved ones. So you’re doing what you have to do. It’s the most cowardly choice, you know it. And you’re ashamed. But you’re too terrorised to make it otherwise. So you’re here to twist people's minds to swallow whatever Hydra wants. You make them understand the importance of the organization, when they can’t take it anymore, you make them understand that not only they can, but they must . You saw vulnerable people giving their life to this awful cause, and you are the person to make them understand it was the right thing to do. They gave you kind people with dreams, morals and passion, and you turn this into anger, hate and war, worshipping a crazy doctrine that spoils everything you believed and fought for. You have blood on your hands. You’re THAT good at your job.

So when they called you for a highly secret mission, you weren’t exactly surprised. Just disgusted by them, and mostly yourself. In the guts of what was called the Ideal Federal Saving Bank, you’re obediently following the chef himself : Alexander Pierce, to your next place of action. “I believe you have read your mission’s order, Y/N ?” “Yes Sir.” You said. “It did mention I will have the whole file today, though. I need to take a look at my patient so I can work in proper condition.” “Whatever you call it.” He said, opening the door of the clandestine laboratory in the now abandoned bank. If not for the machinery, we could still believe that those art deco walls filled with safes would still contain treasures of a lifetime for some people. Now there is nothing of value in here, not even the very skin of every PoS present. And you were including yourself. Making your way in the middle of the heavy set up, you slowly reach the pod in the middle, chewing secretly the interior of your cheeks. You know what’s inside, and it makes you want to puke. Mr Pierce continued “Doctor, as your mission was presented to you, your one on only assignment will be the physical and mostly the psychological perfect condition of the Winter Soldier, for the entire length of this mission on american soil.” Basically, be sure his brain is a fucking slushy. You reluctantly nodded and drew closer. “What’s his condition ?” At the top of your height, barely 5’3, you tiptoed to actually look at him by the window of the cryostasis chamber, since you never got this close of a look, not without the file and basically crumbs of info that were thrown at your face. They expected you to keep a dog on a leash, not making actual work on him, and it shows. White man, late 20s to early 30s, approx 5”7, long dark messy hair, not shaved, geez, it seemed like the poor guy was barely cleaned up before being pushed here. Good physical condition, breathing was steady. You could see the steam of his breath on the glass. He may be clinically asleep, but she highly doubted he would be in his best shape. He looked uncomfortable, and tired. It wasn’t a restorative sleep. It was a prison. You couldn’t help but notice his prosthetic arm, even if that was the only thing you knew about him. It’s a fascinating work of science, that’s for sure. And even if transhumanism and biomechanical wasn’t your forte, you wanted to have a closer look, to satisfy your curiosity. One of the scientists watching his screen responded : “He’s gently defrozing, should be half conscious in 5 minutes. You may want to take a step down.” You ignore that, and lean your hand to your superior. “May I finally have what I have been asking for ?” With the most irritating smile, he gave you the Winter Soldier’s File and you quickly opened it to have a first look at all the fuss. Basic physical information, previous missions report, date of entering and ending of cryostasis, bare minimal medical record, notes by her predecessor, fucking trigger words to make him kneel like a 12 years old in front of any boysband... nothing about his previous life, his antics, his name, actual disorders, no name, nor adresses… You glaced a bit at Pierce and threw a polite smile. He knows what he’s doing, and he knows you know. You’re extremely good with very violent patients. You have endured rapists and murderers spiting in your face and swearing to bite your head off and fucking your skull. You were traumatized and you cried yourself to sleep, but the following day you did your job again. You’re just here to handle the worst of the worst. And you’re going to do it.

Or he’s going to break your neck and fuck your skull. You’re fine with that.

“Thank you it’s going to be very helpful.” As helpful as a band-aid on a wooden leg. “What’s this device ?” You point your chin to another machine not far away from it. One of the two men finishing installing it, raised his head to look at you. “A memory suppressing machine. Usually he doesn’t need it as much as he used to, but it’s mainly for safety. He must be prepared.” “He’s in a state where he willingly takes it. So don’t hesitate if he’s starting to be annoying, or excited. That can happen. But that mean you would probably have to work more with him to make him fully ready for his mission,” “Understood, thank you for clarification gentlemen.” You smiled and they smiled back. You’re a woman, so you’re used to it. Basically this shit was supposed to hack his brain, and it must be painful. “I would strongly recommend not using it at such a time. From what I quickly read he needs stability and time. Wiping everything out will more likely create more confusion.” You took a look at the file again and took it upon yourself to not have your eyes double in size and screaming at this bunch of idiots. “... and it does seem he’s using it a lot.”

“We want the asset to be as focused as possible.”

“I understand that, but that's a temporary solution at best. He’s got a brain, not a harddrive. We still don’t know how it can store information, and if it can…” “The last time we used him was five years ago…” Started Pierce, with diplomaty, but also with a tone that wasn’t allowing any more debate on the matter. “And this mission is an absolute priority. The asset is strictly under cryostasis procedure as soon as he’s not needed anymore. The machine will be used if needed.” “I understand your point.” You absolute psychopath. “Then my request is simply to be here if it happens, and to be able to control the shocks. Also, I insist that he must be in perfect condition when you launch the procedure, I’ll personally make it happen and give you a green light.” “Thank you for your hard work.” He said, raising his hand, that you promptly and politely shook. You could feel the angry grasp. “I know you’re the perfect woman for this hard job. Your work is an inspiration for us all.” You wish you could end your life right here right now, instead of being told such atrocities. But you think about your mom and dad. At this time of year they start to prepare the pool for the summer, for the future neighborhood barbecues where they will brag to everyone about their incredible psychiatrist daughter who is doing secret stuff over sea to help save the world. You have to be strong. At least for them. At least for now.

“Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra.” You responded, while your tongue feels like sandpaper.

“Ok he’s starting to wake up…” Someone warns, as Pierce leaves the room, unbothered. The pod opens before your eyes, as the asset -you hate this term- is being roughly handled and carried away by two dudes to his seat. The one dangerously close to the memory suppressing machine. You squatted in front of him, the time for him to blink several times and look around him. Confused, but it’s not exactly his first rodeo either. His eyes are quickly focused on the first thing in front of him : you. He looked like he was trying to remember who you are, but quickly realized he didn’t know you. Two blue spears digging right into your soul. That’s making you a bit uncomfortable. The same weird feeling of unease you have when a cat is watching you taking a shower. “Hi.” You started, in english, even if he could be from italy you had no freaking clue. You guessed that he was probably slavic. But the file says he’s speaking more than ten languages. And it wasn’t specified when and how the hell did he learn that. “Can you hear me?” He took a few more seconds to look at you, probably the time to finish reading every embarrassing moment of your life, right into your eyes, like your drunk 18th birthday when you finished in your panties swimming in a city fountain, but he nodded eventually. You actually know this look. But it’s the first time you have a super soldier in front of you so it’s of a rare intensity. He’s dissecting you. Gathering information. His eyes moved slightly down : a recent scar on your neck. Right : an ex piercing on the top of your ear, now unusable. Down left : he just realized you’re slightly unbalanced so he knows you have a hip issue. And down right : he’s looking at your hand, you don’t really know what he saw here, maybe calculating how to break them ? You were literally a foot in a viper’s nest. Were you terrified ? Absolutely. Will that forbid you to do your job ? Nope. “Can you follow the light ?” You asked, moving slowly your phone’s lamp from left to right in front of his eyes. He did it without questioning. “Ok good.” You tried a smile, not really knowing why. If he was at least a tenth as clever as the file said he was, he perfectly know that you’re here to fuck him up. But you couldn’t help it. Poor dude. He was visibly more or less your age. He could have been a prince, or thief, a womanizer, or a priest, whatever, HYDRA took everything from him. From his free will, of his right to grow old, to his sleep. “Can you tell me your name ?” He frowned, perplexed. “Winter Soldier.” Shitty answer but at least he was fully aware, and his tongue was working properly. “Nice to meet you, I’m doctor Y/N. We’re here to work together in preparation of your next assignment. Do you understand ?” He nodded, unimpressed. “Good, can you get up ?” He did, so you did it too. And he realized that you were… very short. His eyes literally went up and slooowly down. That was a bit mean, actually. You carefully took a glance behind you, and your eyeroll could probably trigger an earthquake. “Can you all nice gentlemen let down a bit of their weapon ?” You said at the 6 dudes with rifles literally fixed on him, ready to shoot at the wrong twitch of muscle. No wonder he wasn’t talkative. “You won’t say that when he will break your neck with two fingers, ‘mam.”

“He’s pretty stable for now. Plus he’s not fully awake, let’s give him time before threatening him, shall we ?”

Nobody moved for ten seconds before one of them complied, since you didn’t move. The rest of the bunch reluctantly followed . You looked at your patient, hoping that that would have made him a bit more relaxed. Nope, he didn’t give a shit. He wasn't even looking at them. He was looking at you. You’re the mystery of this room to him. But you didn’t need extra vision to understand that Docs treated him like a guinea pig, so he was very understandably extra careful with you. Standing on his feet, all his muscles ready for action, that’s the exact moment you realized how close you two were. Indeed, if he decided to, your jaw would fly across the room in a single move. You never had such a display of sheer raw strength, and you could feel the heat of his body radiate.

“He needs a shower, and clothings.” You said, having a look at his 5 years old combat suit still reeking the smell of his sweat. It was intoxicating. They didn’t even allow him to clean himself. Poor dude was frozen in his own filth for the last five years. And you didn’t know why you took an even deeper breath. “And I’m talking about comfy workout clothes, no combat suit. Please escort him and handle him with care, before bringing him to my office.” You actually decided to be sure he wouldn’t be mistreated, by waiting outside the man’s bathrooms. You weren’t certain of how he could react, and you didn’t trust anyone here. If one of them decided to do a piss contest with your patient, it could end badly. So you put your hands in your pockets, looking at the two armed men waiting for the most dangerous assassin in the world to finish scrubbing himself with soap. The atmosphere was heavy and the silence was loud in itself. Even the sound of the shower was stressful and menacing.

When the Soldier was escorted to your improvised office into the archive, directly linked to a storage room that will be your bedroom for the next weeks, you let him take a seat and promptly blocked the access to the room of the two escort members. “Thank you sirs, that will be all. Please wait here.” They look at you like you just told them you were dating their daughters. “Sorry Miss, but we can’t…” “Sorry Doctor , and I can’t work properly with weapons in my office.” You raised your hand, showing your device on your wrist. Something that would not only call for aid by a simple pressure, but could stun an opponent. Neither them nor you were stupid : it wouldn’t stop The Winter Soldier, maybe he would blink a second at most. But you really wanted to be alone with him. Was he dangerous ? Yes. Were you absolutely certain that you would leave this room alive if you closed this door to their face ? No. But it’s been three years since your priority wasn’t your survival anymore. So you forced a smile and slapped the door. They needed you more than you needed them, so they will obey.

“Douchebags.” You muttered to yourself while coming back to your desk. Your patient didn’t even move a muscle at your little argument. He wasn’t totally inexpressive actually, mostly terribly broody. His hair was still wet from the shower he took, wearing cargo pants, heavy boots and hoodies, generic clothes by HYDRA. You got those too, since you’re not allowed to carry anything personal for mission to mission. You had a tablet for books, music and movies, but that was it. You haven’t opened your shelves yet, but you know it’s full of ugly clothes and generic black panties of doom.

You took a large inspiration, sat on your desk in front of him, and started : “Ok ‘Winter Soldier’... how are you doing ?” He didn’t even flinch. He was staring into your soul with his eyes lost into dark circles. Depriving someone of proper sleep is a basic rule for brainwash. “You enjoyed the shower ?” Nothing. You waited for a bit to see if he would finally respond. Ten seconds. Twenty. fourty. a minute. When he gathered that you were actually looking for an answer, visibly a first one for him, he finally gave you the courtesy of one. “Yes.” “Perfect.” You didn’t hide your slight smile and tiled your head. “I’ll be sure you’re in your best condition for your next mission. If something’s on your mind, I need to know about it. Nothing will get out of this room. Both of our priorities are your goal, and your condition is the key to success. Which makes you , my high top priority. Do you understand me ?” “Yes.”

“Ok so let’s get going.” You took another file, and took a picture out, ready to handle it to him. “Is the name : Nicholas Fury, ringing some bells to you?” “Yes.” He took it inside his titanium fingers and finally moved his piercing blue eyes away from you to look at the picture. “In two weeks, you’ll be in Washington DC. An entire squad will be deployed to assassinate him. Fury is the leader of the S.H.I.E.L.D, not a mere target. He will break free and fight back. That will be when you’ll show up.” He wasn’t looking at the picture anymore. One thing for sure : at least he was paying attention to you, and what you were saying. And that made you actually kind of proud of yourself. “That was part one. I’ll personally supervise your training with the VR machine and your physical health and condition. I really need you to communicate with me all the time about anything that could be in your mind. The more focused you are, the more Hydra’s plan will succeed.” And what’s that plan ? You have not a single clue. You were a cog in the machine, disposable. Not much more than him. “Do you understand ?” “I understand.” Oh shit, two words this time!

“Good.” You smiled. He didn’t. You move your hands closer to him, to take a grip on the picture. He opened his prosthetic hand, leaving you to take it back. Nothing in his gesture seems dangerous. Just normal, somehow cordial. “I must ask : are you in any pain right now ?” His eyes significantly get from right to left. He must probably wonder why you are asking him that. Did nobody ever ask him such basic questions like : ‘are you in pain?’ This man's sole purpose was to fight, that made no damn sense for you.

“Sir ?” You insisted for an answer, even if the ‘sir’ sounded absolutely ridiculous to your ears. You didn’t know his name, and you don’t feel comfortable calling him “Winter Soldier” , “Soldier”, “Sir De Winter”, “Hey you,he soviet assassin” so it will be “Sir” for now. “Sir are you in pain right now ?” “I’m not in pain.” A complete sentence, that’s progress. You breathed a bit better “Ok good.” You got up from your desk, which was honestly barely taller that him remaining on his chair. He didn’t let go of your eyes and you decided to make a bold move. For now, he was always being responsive so you slowly moved your hands toward him. To his prosthetic hand. “May I take a look, please ?” You glanced at each other, nobody made the first move. In complete silence, if it wasn’t for both of your breaths. You’re almost sure that it has been at least 5 minutes since you decided to speak again. Slowly, and gently, with no signs of confrontation in your body language or speech. “I will not do it until you comply. And you can refuse the contact.” He didn’t answer right away but he finally nodded.

Slowly, you took his hand into yours, lifting it from his thigh where it was resting. At the beginning it was just taking a look. But he wasn’t making any moves, so you decided to take your observation a little further. You used your other hands to start to move each finger separately, taking a step closer to him. Finally, you made one of your hands slowly sliding into the hoodie, to feel the muscles, the nerves, how it feels like a real arm. It was cold, but you felt it shudder to your touch. That was the line you decided to not take it further.

“Thank you, Soldier.” You said with a smile, taking away your hands from him. You moved behind your desk, opening your notepad to take a bunch of notes, breaking the contact with him. Just a second. But when you raised your eyes again, The Winter Soldier wasn’t in sight.

You shuddered and didn’t make a single move. If it wasn’t for your fingers grasping your desk. You did your best to have a steady respiration and not start to panic. Your throat dried up immediately. You took a deep breath and say : “Please, get back to your seat.” You slowly moved your head to look right back at him. He was standing. His eyes were black, taking loud deep breaths, fixing your behind your shoulder. Tall. Dangerous. You were terrorised. And he could smell it. He didn’t move so you stood up as well, and slowly faced him. You try to remain in total control of your body and not start to fidget. You could scream for help, but for whatever reason, you still had the feeling you could handle the situation. Trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t the first time a patient was disobedient. The only difference was that this one could crush your skull in a bat of an eye,

“Get back.” You said once again, bearing his piercing eyes, but he didn’t budge. So you took out your hand and put it on his chest. You felt like an ant against a mountain, but you pushed him a bit. “We will go nowhere this way.” You resumed trying to get a step closer, even if it will be creating a proximity that could be even more lethal to you. “So please, get back to…”

Something happened. It was obvious, and clear as day : you felt the bulge between his legs. Right above your navel. Hardening even more now that he could feel your body. You decided immediately to repress the shameful feeling of your very inside warming up and tickling you. “Winter Soldier.” You growled, angry but trying your best to remain as professional as you could. Of course, of fucking course. This guy was gorged on serum and hormones, quick, violent actions, and adrenaline. Pumping in his veins, burning 24/7. His body was on the edge all the time, and he just awoke from a dreamless slumber. He was a human, whatever all these idiots were thinking, not a freakin’ cyborg. When was the last time he saw a woman that he didn’t smash the head on a wall ? You even suspected that Pierce was counting on it. Nonetheless, you were alone in an office, literally glued with the world's most dangerous assassin, who was having a massive hard-on. Throbbing against you. You had your share of very awkward situations in your short life time. But nothing, nothing prepared you for this. And you had even less of an idea of what to do because he was doing nothing . He was feeling uncomfortable, that you could say, but he wasn’t really doing any moves to attack you, or even take you. He was standing here, with heavy breathing, his eyes still piercing you. And you slowly slided your gaze to his lips, finding the vision of his hard laboured breath strangely mesmerizing.

Short of ideas, your reflexes took the best (or the worst) of you, and without you realizing it, your hand was around his neck. Your palm pressured on his glottis, and you clearly felt him swallow. As clearly as you felt him becoming even harder. Your breath was starting to shake, as you felt a not-so subtle chill coursing your spin. You drew his face and your face closer, as you finally moved forward, forcing him to move as well. Forcing was a strong word : the last time you hit a punching bag, you hurt yourself and sobbed for an hour. But for whatever reason, he did whatever you wanted. As if he was testing your resolve to make him obey. But there was nothing on his file about this behaviour. He tried to attack, kill and escape. Nothing about testing the limits of anyone.

“You. Will. Sit. Down!” you spat, through your teeth, forcing even more your grip around his neck, as your other hand was reaching for his hair. You pulled it, not too harshly, but you could definitely smell the musk, and the wetness of what stayed of his shower.

You did it. He was sitting down again. And your bodies departed for one another. For once he tried to escape your gaze, which was a strangely human reaction. You both managed to get your breath back, before you decided to call the guard to adjourn your observation.

As soon as the door closed behind them, you felt your legs giving up and you sat on the ground, back against your desk, a small wimp leaving your throat. You felt your eyes starting to wet, and your teeth rattled a bit so you tried to cuddle yourself to try to retake control on your body. Your hands were shaking uncontrollably as his intoxicating smell was still all around you. It was by far one of the most terrifying experiences you ever felt, and it was all clouded by the phantom feeling of his body against yours. You could still feel his gaze, his heat, his… well, his cock against your belly. You were still chilling, trying to repress whatever you were feeling at this instant. Because it wasn’t right, for you. Nor him. Everyone in this godforsaken organisation was treating him like a dog, just here to attack and do tricks, but you swore to yourself not to do the same. You will succeed at your mission, but you’ll do it from the crumbs of humanity and morality that HYDRA left you. You will do anything possible that the mission will be complete, the most painless possible for this broken man you just saw. Wait a second.

Painless .

You jumped on your feet, ignoring the numbness of your legs caused by the shock, and you ran at the door, screaming at the three men at the end of the corridor. “HEY !” The guards startled a bit and looked at you “I changed my mind. Bring the Winter Soldier back to my office.” They briefly exchange what seems to be a bunch of insults about you, but they comply to bring the Soldier back. Him ? He seemed absolutely unbothered.

You closed the door behind the both of you, to the face of the guards yet again. He was standing here, showing his back as you slowly got back in front of him. Hands in your pocket, not really sure of what to do nor how to do it. He was looking at you, this same feeling of unease than before. And for reasons : a small glance confirmed that he was still rock hard. You didn’t make any move for a long time, until you finally put your hand on his chest. You felt his breathing becoming slightly quicker. “You’re not in pain.” You whispered, and he shook his head, negatively. “That was the wrong question. I’m sorry... “ Without you noticing, you had the palm of your hand on his cheek, scrubing lightly his stubble with your thumb as an apology. You breathed in, just couldn’t believe what you were about to say. “Do you need help ?” His expression didn’t change, but his eyes ? They became a bit brighter, you could even see a bit of relief when you saw him nod.

You swiftly move your other index on his pillowy lips as you still lower your voice. “They cannot hear us.” He nodded again as the only feeling of your finger as close to his mouth made him shiver with anticipation. He was literally dying of anything that could relieve him. And for what you understood, as your conversation continued, he trusted you with his body, to provide him with the sweet touch he has been totally deprived of. You slowly push away your index to gently slide your thumb between his lips, and he sighed with pleasure as he took it with an eagerness you would never have believed possible. The most deadly assassin in the world, the legendary Winter Soldier that everyone wishes he wasn’t real, was purring while sucking your finger. If you weren’t the shrink, you’ll be needing one immediately. You gently moved him to make him sit in his chair, he was way too tall for you to handle this with ease. “What about the showers?” You asked him, as you removed your thumb to make it gently slide on his lips, your other hand crawling across his chest to his pants. He swallowed before whispering. “I could but... “ his well built square jaws started to tense, with a visible revulsion. “... They can watch.” Disgusting. He couldn’t even close the damn door of the shower. “You’re safe here.” You said as your hand was finally reaching the bulge behind his Hydra cargo pants. You didn’t know what you expected but… it was way beyond that. He hissed a bit at the feeling of your hand as you started to touch it gently over the fabric.

Now he was panting, looking at you as you were a single oasis after years of thirst in the desert. “Please…” You heard, barely audible when he was starting to lose it. “I got you, but you have to promise me to be good.” “Anything. Please…”

And at your very surprise, you obliged him. Using your hand to plunge into his pants, while the other fast pressed into his mouth, muffing the immediate deep moan that escaped at the very second you touched his pulsing penis. He started panting even more, as he used his flesh arm to drive you onto him. His forehead against yours. You couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer and closer. Actually you let go of his -massive- erection a second to just drop out his pants, and his breach. You stopped a second, only to watch him begging you with his eyes, as you could feel his saliva at the palm of your hand while you muzzled him. It was it. You realized what kind of power you have over this man. He has been used and abused in every single way, but for once : someone’s finally doing what he wanted. You had his pleasure in your very hands, and for once in years, you could finally help someone. So you’re gonna do it, you’re going to make him feel good. Very good. “Good boy.” You muttered, without knowing where the hell that could come from, and you reached him again. Stroking your hands up and down his shaft, nourishing yourself over the vibration of his muffled moans against your hand. His eyes weren't leaving yours, if it wasn’t for when they seemed to roll to the sky. His vision periodically blackened by the waves of forbidden pleasure he was feeling over his body, who was barely him anymore. Your eyes were gorging on the vision of his handsome muscular man, surrendering himself to your touch, sweating, trembling and panting for you. You were saluted by an utterly satisfied noise the moment you decided to lean over his manhood to drip a large amount of your own saliva moist what was already on the edge of ruin. You rolled your thumb against his tip, massage his veins with just one finger… anything to make him feel something. Anything that wasn’t pure anger, hatred or apathy. You were inclined to believe the file saying that he was nothing but a perfectly built weapon for HYDRA to command. But now, when you tickled, teased and made him shiver, and you felt all his sincere gratitude, you were certain : There is a man in here. And he was finally feeling good .

But soon, it wasn’t enough anymore. Seeing his bare thighs, powerful, thicken by years of training and super soldier serum, tensed by all the nerves and muscles deliciously answering to your call, made your inside warmed up. Your core was aching, screaming for proximity and intimacy, and before you understood what happened, you sat astride on his left thigh. The soft flesh between your legs immediately responded with delight, making you shiver. Almost instantly, you felt his grip on your hip, of the cold metal digging into your flesh with despair. It was a super soldier, with the stamina of several dozen men, but it’s been so long, and you were touching him with perfection. You felt his head on your shoulder, and slowly you started licking his temple, tasting the very fruit of your hard work : his sweat.

Galvanized by his intoxicating smell, and the thrusting he started giving to your hand, you started to move like a snake, rocking against his skin, looking for some pressure despite the fabric of your pants, mercilessly acting like a barrier of your own pleasure. You could get it off, but it was a limit that you forbid yourself to cross. But it’s true, as you were working him, you couldn’t stop yourself to think of how this would feel. Sliding inside you. You were so very short and fragile, and compared to your hand, his phallus was gigantic. He could ruin you, split you in half, using his bare hands and make you do anything. But the only person in control here, were you. And only you. You never felt anything like this before. And it’s highly probable than neither did he. You tried to vanish the thought, but the more you could feel his thigh between yours, the more you became obsessed.

The more he was approaching, the more eager the soldier became. Both of his hands firmly gripped on your behind, almost certain that it will leave bruises, but you didn’t care at this very moment. His grunts against your hands became more and more intense, and you started to feel he was about to give in. In between your fingers, small drips of salivas were started to escape. You couldn’t give up your grip now, so you made it even more tight, drawing your lips closer to your hands, you whispered as your sore wrist fastened its path “I’m here for you. Give everything to me.”

His panting became incontrolable, his eyes rolled out, his head dropped back, before he finally reached his peak. You felt the deep vibration of his ultimate cry on your hand, as your other hand was dripping of hot seed. You slowly removed your other hand from his face, and could contemplate your masterpiece : the Soldier absolutely looked like a mess, with his red face, his eyes blinking furiously, covered with his own saliva. You left his leg, both your hands dripping of his bodily fluids. You used the one that was on his lips to pick his head and forced him to look at you. You ravished your vision of this man who absolutely surrendered to your good care, deeply satisfied with your attention. You cradled his face, and you took a large lick of his spit from his chin to his mouth. Where he leaned for a wet and warm kiss. You took a good taste of him, intoxicated by whatever pheromones he could diffuse around you.

You look at him another few seconds, before recluandly moving away, to the bathroom where you not only washed your hands, but came back with a wet towel. You first cleaned with infinite care his face, and then his genitals, making sure he wouldn’t have any kind of unpleasant sensation as he had a big day ahead of him. You were his doctor and caretaker, and he had a mission to prepare. He seemed to respond well to the cleaning, not really expressive, but he made no sudden move. You could see him sighing with ease, closing his eyes as he rubbed his cheek in your palm again, when you were caressing him with the wet towel. You could still hear a loud satisfying purr. If you didn’t specifically ask him to kill someone less that an hour ago, you would actually find this absolutely adorable.

You breathed in and out, making sure he was okay. “Are you feeling better ?...” He nodded, visibly relaxed, as he was closing his pants but not much more expressive than before. He stood up, in front of you, like nothing happened. “Yes.” But to your surprise he added a second later. “Thank you, doctor.” You smiled at him as you couldn’t keep yourself from making your knuckles caressing his cheek, and finally tracking the shape of his jaws. “Good boy.” You heard yourself say, wondering what the fuck was wrong with you.He didn’t react. All the shivers, purring, sighing, and moans disappeared as soon as his pants closed. It was for the best, and you quickly took your hand back, clearing your throat. You call the guards. The Winter Soldier was fully ready for his mission preparation, and you asked them to give him some time to recover from… his cryostatic, before you would start the procedure.

In the meantime, you need a shower. A long, hot, steamy, shower.

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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 8 - Parisian Nightmares

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Summary: With Neil MIA you have some time to think about everything that happened. But you are not allowed peace at all..

Warnings: Swearing.

Author’s Notes: The longest chapter yet, so sorry for that. It’s a little bit of a filler slower one so hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think!

Supposedly the idea of having lunch with TP would have scared you more if it was not for the way he guided you through the experience. He ordered food from the dining hall and made sure you had your coffee before starting any serious topics. Your tired and confused self really appreciated the efforts.

“So what do you want to talk about?” you asked after finally feeling more like a functioning human being.

“I thought we could discuss the things to come…” he briefly searched for the right words “Parts of it is what Neil already knows, but some details are not meant for him” he looked at you with a serious gaze “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course” you nodded, feeling both intrigued and nervous.

Ever since the topic of The Algorithm has been first breached, you hoped to learn more. Probably Neil’s presence would have helped at the moment, but if that was not possible then you just had to face the truth calmly. If not now, then when?

“Can I ask something first?”

“Go ahead”

“My recruitment… it wasn’t just because I was recommended by my professor, was it?” you felt like you already knew the answer but had to ask anyway.

“No” TP smiled “I knew from a good source that we had to recruit you”

You stared at him, desperately trying to comprehend what he meant. Suddenly you understood Neil and his despise of half-truths.

“Can I ask who’s that source?”

TP just smiled apologetically, and you groaned.

“Right. Did Neil know?”

“No, I only told him that you have to be enlisted” at your questioning stare, he added “It’s safer that way” he shrugged as though it explained everything.

It did not, but you began to understand that it was not meant to make sense. A sentence said during one of your early lectures rung out in your head: Don’t try to understand it. Feel it. Maybe that was the whole point.

“So that’s how you know that I’ll be needed during the plan? From the source?”

“Kind of” he grinned again “It’s a very reliable source, I must add” he looked at you pointedly and laughed at your confused face “I swear this will get clearer with time”

The reassuring smile made you feel somewhat better. Taking a sip of the coffee, you considered what was being said.

“When does it all begin?”

“With action in Kiev Opera in a month, more or less. But in reality, it already began years ago”

You frowned, feeling your head go blank. TP was smiling, clearly enjoying your utter confusion.

“It’s okay, you’ll catch up eventually”

“Thanks, that’s encouraging” you lightly smacked him in the shoulder.

“I’ll give you more information leading up to Kiev and then after” he explained after a short silence “But you can’t know the whole progression of events. I’m the only one who is cursed with that”

The sudden change in the tone made you stare at him curiously. But his face was like a mask.

“For now though, you don’t need to worry about it” he smiled again “I’m sending you out on a quiet mission to Paris with one of our agents”

That was surprising. But you could do with a distraction.

“Okay… what’s the deal?” you leaned onto the table and flashed him a brilliant smile.

“You have to research one shady guy in Paris. It’s just observation so no need for engagement. The only trick is that you have to pose as a newlywed couple” he looked at you expectantly.

Oh…

“How long will this take?” you tried to focus on the details, not to think too much about the implications of the cover.

“Three weeks” he smiled at your glare “What? It’s gonna be nice! Three weeks in Paris and all you have to do is observe our target, Pierre or whatshisname, and cosy up with Jasper” the overly enthusiastic tone made you laugh.

“You made it sound almost fun” you admitted after calming down a little.

“Well, it’s always a break from spending time with Neil” TP looked at you with an amused expression “I’m sure you could use some of that” he winked.

You shot daggers in his direction, all the while feeling your face grow warm. Admittingly, time without Neil could be useful. You just were not sure it would do much at this point. You were beyond saving.

“When do I begin?”

“You’ll have a mission briefing tomorrow, and that’s also when you’ll meet Jasper” you nodded “And now I think you should rest a little” he eyed you carefully.

“You’re probably right” you both got up “Thanks for the lunch and the chat… It helped” you smiled lightly.

“My pleasure” he ignored your outstretched hand and gave you a quick hug.

After a small hesitation, you returned the gesture. It felt familiar, and you had no clue why.

“If you ever need anything, you know where to find me” TP smiled at you warmly.

“I’ll remember that” you grinned back and moved to open the door.

“Oh and don’t worry about Neil” you stopped in your tracks and turned to stare at him “I know that he can be extremely annoying, but he really cares about you”

You were speechless and could only nod in response. The Protagonist laughed at your expression before shooing you out of the room with a gesture. You gladly did just that.

*** One thing was for certain, life without Neil could be boring. You found out that much from the moment you came back to your room. After making sure the main casualty of the mission – your dress – was in the washing, you spent most of that afternoon staring at the ceiling. You were mostly thinking about how much your life has changed in the last weeks. And trying to avoid thinking about him because that could never end well. But of course, the universe had other plans.

Just as you were dealing with the fact that the dress was utterly ruined, your phone buzzed. It was late, and the number was used solely for personal reasons, so the sound made you frown. You looked at the screen to find a text message from an unknown number:

“How’s the dress?”

There was no signature, but you knew.

“How did you get my number?” you replied and quickly saved his contact details.

It didn’t take him longer than a minute to respond.

“Used the charm you’re so quick to ignore”

Ah, Anna’s help then.

“Why?”

“Couldn’t imagine not bothering you for too long”

You covered your face with your hands for a few seconds before typing back.

“The dress is ruined, so thanks for nothing”

The speed with which he responded took you aback. Surely he’d have better things to do...? It did not seem so.

“It’s hardly my fault, is it? That wasn’t my idea” you could almost imagine the self-satisfied grin.

“Point taken” you hit the sent button and then took a deep breath.

It’s not too early for double texting, is it?

“Where are you?” you typed another message before throwing the phone on the other side of the bed.

When it buzzed again, you regretted the decision. Pretending that you would be able to resist reading the message immediately was pointless. You reached for the phone and read his answer:

“On the way to Boston airport”

Great. At least now you knew that he is not around, and you can have time to think. But with those texts, it might be harder to do. Before you could overthink the response, another one came through.

“Be honest, how bored are you without me?” you wondered how someone could be so annoying via text message.

“I’ve been assigned a little mission in Paris, actually. With Jasper. So not that bored, thank you very much”

This time it took him longer to respond. Approximately 6 minutes. Not that you were counting.

“You’ll be bored soon enough if you’ll be stuck somewhere with Jasper. What’s the cover?”

You did not like the assumption, but who were you to argue.

“Newlyweds enjoying honeymoon” you typed back and closed your eyes.

Somehow his response to that information mattered a lot.

“I guarantee you’ll wish it was me soon enough” Fucking hell.

“That’s a bit narcissistic, don’t you think?”

“Maybe a little. But once you meet him, you’ll know I’m right”

“Well then I won’t hesitate to report back after the meeting” you replied and made sure to prepare yourself for the mission brief.

After you were done with planning the outfit and packing your folder, you glanced at the phone.

“Please do. I need to know what dear Jasper is up to these days”

“If you’re so curious about him, maybe ask Anna for his number ;) Sure she’d never deny you anything”

You weren’t sure where that came from, but sure enough, you were not going to take it back.

“Wow… Is that jealousy I’m sensing?”

“You wish” you glanced at the clock and realised how late it was.

“Goodnight, Neil” you sent him another text and went to the bathroom.

When you were back there was a message waiting for you.

“Sweet dreams, darling”

You groaned. In the end, it seemed like you will not be able to get a break from Neil. What a shame.

*** From the moment you stepped into the conference hall in the morning, you knew that Neil was right. Jasper was not one of the most entertaining people you have ever met. When you were introduced to each other he barely glanced up from the folder to look at you and half-heartedly shook your outstretched hand. You took a long look at him and his short brown hair and hazel eyes. He did look decent, to be fair. But he was not Neil. And you hated that your brain made that comparison straightaway.

“So what’s the task, boss?” the first time you heard his voice was when he addressed the Protagonist.

“You have to observe the target, Pierre Armand, who’s an inverted weapons dealer. You’re supposed to watch his every move and send daily updates but don’t engage. That will be the job for another team” TP looked at you both intently “Your cover is a newlywed couple going by the surname Morgan and who have just moved into their lovely suite next door to Armand” you’d swear he winked at you.

You glared back while your newly assigned partner studied the folder attentively. You wondered if he ever did anything else.

“When do we leave?” you decided to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Your plane is tomorrow afternoon” you nodded “Any other questions?” when neither of you spoke, he added “So I’ll leave you two to get acquittanced”

You stared at TP panicked, but he only flashed you one cheeky smile and left the room. That did explain why he and Neil got along so well. Grudgingly you turned towards Jasper, who was still pre-occupied with the damn folder. You cleared your throat, and he glanced up.

“So… have you been working here for a while?” you were shit at small talk.

“For three years now” he eyed you up sceptically “You’re the new recruit from London, aren’t you?” you could almost hear the condescension.

“Yes” it was not looking promising “Neil recruited me, and we’ve just been on a mission together in New York” you added.

It was a mistake. At the mention of Neil, Jasper’s eyes flared up, and he looked at you sharply.

“I heard that mission was a major fuck up” the vicious smirk took you aback “And poor Neil got shot”

You could only stare in confusion at the man in front of you. Boring and clearly having issues with Neil. Just bloody perfect.

“Anyway, I got to prepare” he got up “But mind you, Paris won’t be at all like an operation with that idiot” he glared at you.

“And what’s an operation with him like?” you were genuinely curious at this point.

“Overly dramatic” he made a grand gesture with his hands before slamming the doors in the wake of his exit.

He did have a point there. You sighed, grabbed your documents, and exited the hall. On the way to your room, you decided to give in to the temptation and typed a message to Neil.

“With grief, I have to admit you were right about Jasper”

You were not expecting a response instantly, so the buzz when you were pouring coffee into the cup made you jump up. Neil could make your life harder, even remotely.

“Told you. How is he doing?” you read the reply and grinned at the casual tone.

“He’s grumpy and hates you for some reason. Can’t wait to be stuck with him for three weeks” you sighed and accepted the grim fate.

“Sounds like him then. You never know, you might bond over your shared hatred for me”

You nearly choked on your coffee then. A fellow agent passing by on the corridor stared at you. This could only get worse.

“Think my hatred towards you has nothing compared to his. Any ideas why he’s like that?”

“Nothing concrete, but I’ve got a few vague theories. I’ll tell you when I’m back”

“Hope so. What time is it there?” closing the door to your room, you could finally behave like an idiot.

“Past 11 pm. Excited for your outing with Jasper?”

Asia then… You tried to think about any possible places he could be but came up with too many options.

“Not at all. Fully expecting my days will be spent wandering around Paris alone or watching French HGTV”

You decided to look through the folder to distract yourself from the increasing stress. This time you were supposed to be Amelia Morgan, wife to Nicholas Morgan. Amelia’s occupation was being an accountant, which sounded extremely boring, but at least you would get to experience the city. Your study was then interrupted by another text.

“You can always message me if you’re bored”

Tempting.

“Careful because I might”

“You better” To that, you did not know what to say,. so you just got lost in the preparations for the mission. This one was not looking good but there was no other choice. So you just focused on learning about your target. At least this time, there was no one to distract you.

Until another text came, a solid hour later.

“One clue about Jasper: Anna”

Oh not her again.

“Don’t tell me he’s hopelessly in love with her”

“Perhaps… And well, she has eyes for someone else so” and then “Not to be smug naturally”

You grinned at the screen.

“You do sound smug”

You had to admit that if Neil’s theory was true, it was rather heart-breaking for both Anna and Jasper. Not that you felt sorry for either of them.

“He might decide to take revenge upon me by breaking your heart”

You stared at the text and the many implications he could have meant it by it. And it was too much to figure out right now. Instead, you just typed back:

“Good luck to him” and then, with heart thumping wildly “Would you care if he did?”

You tried to ignore the phone when the answer came. But after an agonising minute spent reading the same two words over and over, you gave in.

“Maybe”

Right… You just had to add that question to the long list for when he’s back. You closed the folder with a flourish. All mental coherence was gone.

*** It turned out that Neil was not right about everything. If Jasper ever intended to claim and then break your heart, he was utterly shit at it. Since the day you moved into your cosy Parisian flat, he barely spoke a word to you. Most of the time, he was buried nose deep in the mission briefs or books related to strategies and secrets of arms dealing. If you had tasks to complete, he would often sideline you before doing the job himself while ignoring any help you offered. To put it straightforwardly, he pissed you off.

And yet, his eagerness to be entirely self-dependent meant that you had time to discover Paris and relax while still completing the mission in any way you could. You also had more than enough time to text Neil, who always responded to your messages promptly. You sometimes wondered if he ever slept or did anything but talk to you. Not that you did mind, of course.

Your patience towards Jasper, his silence and superiority complex snapped for the first time after a week and a half. You have both been sitting in the living room of your condo, just after finishing quiet dinner. You were bored, extremely so. You have reached for the television remote with the intent to put on some background noise to ease the tension. But the moment you have switched the tv on, Jasper spoke:

“Don’t turn this shit on, it’s distracting” he has not even lifted his head from the folder he was studying.

You glared at him sharply and decided that you have had enough.

“Distracting from what? It’s not like you’ve not read this at least five times today already”

That made him look up. And he was not happy.

“I’m working. You should try that sometimes” he eyed you pointedly.

“I would if you ever gave me a chance to do anything” you shrugged, already not liking the conversation.

“I gave you a few opportunities, but you were just lazy” he placed his documents aside and went back to glaring at you “All you do is knock around Paris and stay on your phone for hours” a vicious smile appeared on his face “You’re texting Neil, aren’t you?”

You were taken aback by the whole situation and unable to deny the truth. “Even if I am, that’s none of your business” you were desperately hoping he would shut up.

But it was too late, and Jasper has clearly been triggered.

“That’s quite pathetic. You should know he never actually cares about all those girls he flirts with” he seemed to judge you “And I don’t see why you could be different” the smug smile was cruel.

Now you knew why it was better when he stayed quiet. You scrambled for any words of defence, but he managed to hit the mark. Swallowing hard, you schooled your face and replied in the most neutral tone you could muster at the moment.

“I think you’re just pissed Anna prefers Neil over you”

That worked. You watched with satisfaction as his eyes widened, and you silently thanked Neil for the information.

“Anna has nothing to do with this” it was his turn to stumble over the words “You’re just unwilling to face the truth” this time his harsh words lacked the sureness.

You were winning.

“So are you” you shrugged “I’ve had enough of this. You can go back to your precious mission briefs” you got up and left the room without a further glance.

You had to admit that his words did upset you. Even when you almost certainly knew he was wrong your brain had its own doubts. Because what if he was right? That would hurt, more than you could acknowledge.

But before you could begin the overthinking, the phone you threw onto the bed buzzed. He always knew when to message.

“How’s married life with Jasper going?”

And naturally, he always asked the right questions too. You did hate him for that.

“Now I know why it’s better he reads his documents instead of talking” you replied and debated what to do next.

“What did he do?” Neil quickly texted back even though you were pretty sure it was early morning hours for him.

You did not want to get into a serious conversation over the texts.

“He got a bit riled up and said some bullshit that wasn’t fun to listen to” that seemed like an easy way out for now.

“Do you want me to send a team to eliminate him? It would look like an accident”

You laughed at the tempting proposition.

“I’ll think about it”

“Are you alright?” you stared at the new message.

You were not exactly alright.

“I will be”

Why did lying feel so bad?

You switched off the lights in the room and lied on the bed. Just a week and a half to go. You’ve got this… right?

*** The last week in Paris passed in relative peace. Mostly because you and Jasper stopped speaking to each other entirely. Occasionally you would notice his cruel smirk appear when he caught you texting, and you did your best to ignore it. However, it did hurt, and you had to admit that one argument has managed to uproot all the confidence you have had.

Peace ended abruptly on the penultimate day when it became clear that you were being followed. Jasper caught on to the fact after he noticed someone shadow you on your walk through the city. You hid in one of the cafes as soon as he has signalled the fact to you. You knew he was right the moment a random man peered into the darkened premises and then went on to loiter nearby.

“Right, what do we do?” you looked around, trying to stay calm.

It seemed like no one else was onto you. Jasper already looked pissed off, and you wondered if it meant that more pleasant things would be said.

“I suspect they’ve got doubts about the authenticity of our story” he was intensely scanning the horizon, looking for any threats “He’s still there, waiting for us to blow the cover or prove him wrong” he turned to you with the most unhappy face you have ever seen.

“What is it?”

You were not sure you wanted to know the answer.

“We made it this far. I’m not letting them fuck it up” he leaned towards you and closed the gap.

You were frozen in horror before your brain caught up with the fact that Jasper was kissing you. Then you closed your eyes and tried to reciprocate with the minimum effort needed for it to look believable. It was pretty horrible, to put it simply. He was kissing you sloppily with a tempo that you could not match. You felt his hand clumsily entangle in your hair only to make you flinch when he ripped out a few hairs. After a solid 30 seconds long snog, you decided that had enough. You leaned back, ignoring the overwhelming urge to wipe your lips with the napkin. He stared at you briefly with that same disgusted face before discretely looking for your trail. The man was gone. You could only hope it worked as you exited the café, holding hands.

On the way back to the apartment, you refused to look at him, somehow hoping that would get rid of the awful way you felt. Naturally, being a spy did involve doing things like that but for some reason, it was not easy. You hated the fact that your brain kept on rewinding memories from New York and, in the process, making you feel worse. Once you made it back, you locked yourself in the room, leaving Jasper to fill in the report. You were tempted to message Neil just for the sake of knowing his thoughts on what happened.

“Today was my lucky day, and I got to experience PDA with Jasper. Send help”

That would do nicely, right?

“Must say I didn’t expect that”

As you were desperately looking for something to text back, your phone did something you did not expect it to do. It rang. You stared in shock as Neil’s number flashed as the caller ID. With a shaking hand, you picked up the phone and pressed the green button.

“Neil?” your voice sounded incredibly awkward.

Great start.

“What happened?” hearing his voice after those three weeks felt surreal.

Was it your imagination, or did he sound slightly tense?

“Um… we were being followed outside, so we entered a café. The tail was observing us and…” you took a deep breath, suddenly extremely nervous “And Jasper decided to kiss me to authenticate the cover”

Neil was silent, and that did not help with the irrational anxiety, so you rambled on, losing control of what you were saying.

“Well, it was more of a snog judging by how it lasted for thirty seconds, but I think they bought…”

“Okay, stop” he interrupted you abruptly “I’m not sure I want to know the details”

“Why not?” somehow out of the mixture of anxiety and insecurity, annoyance emerged “Are you jealous?”

You regretted the question as soon as it left your mouth. And did not want to know the answer. Luckily he did not respond. Instead, he did what Neil does best:

“Who’s a better kisser?”

You could not believe the nerve of this man.

“You can’t be for real” you muttered and heard him chuckle on the other side.

“It’s a legitimate question” you could picture the shrug and a cheeky smile.

It seemed like the initial awkwardness was gone. At least for him.

“I…” you huffed, unable to express the mess of emotions you felt.

“Oh, I know it’s you, but I’m asking about me and dear Jasper”

If he were in front of you, you would have punched him. But instead could only let out a frustrated groan and attempt to answer the question. There was only one way to do it.

“You” you mumbled, making sure your voice was barely coherent.

But of course, he heard you.

“I’m flattered” he had the smug tone nailed to the t.

“Fantastic” you sighed “Why did you call me?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice”

“Right”

“And to get you to answer the question”

“Of course” you sighed again “Now I should finish before Jasper barges in” That was partially an excuse, partially a real concern as you glanced nervously at the thin doors separating the rooms.

“Sure, don’t want you upsetting your husband. However, I’d love to see his face when he hears that I kiss better than him” Neil mused, and you gave yourself the liberty to just listen to his voice.

“Well, I’m not telling him that so feel free to do so when you meet up”

Your ears perked up at the sound of footsteps in the hall. Surely Jasper would not eavesdrop on you…?

“I’ve got to go, bye Neil” you hoped your tone sounded at least half as urgent as you felt.

“Goodbye, love. Don’t let that idiot get to you”

“I’ll try”

You hung up just as the doors to the bedroom opened. Sure enough, Jasper was stood there, with a scowl on his face.

“What were you doing?”

“Just being pathetic, I guess” you shrugged and walked past him without a glance.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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topperthornton · 3 years

Text

forever stuck in our youth- ch 1

summary: A CUTE LIL FIC ABOUT A SUMMER CAMP CLOSING AND A WEEKEND GETAWAY, A SLOW BURN FIC

pairing: platonic obx cast x y/n, eventual drew starkey x reader

word count: 1.7k

a/n: so i didn’t want to write about (redacted) being rudy’s gf since i know like 3/4′s of the fandom is not a fan of her so i made up an oc and yes.... she’s me. i also gave jd a gf too, just go with it bc he deserves just as much love. also i have no idea if madison used to work at a summer camp, pls don’t question it

When Madison walks into the hair and makeup department of set one morning, you can immediately tell she’s upset.

“What’s up, buttercup?” you ask as she sits down in her usual chair. She lets out a long sigh and you frown as you take her hair out of the top knot sitting on top of her head, wondering what’s got her in such a bad mood.

“I just found out the summer camp I used to work at is closing down,” she rests her cheek on her palm and pouts. “I know it’s silly to be upset about it but I really loved it there, it was a big part of my life. Kinda felt like a place I grew up is just getting torn down.”

“It’s not silly,” you reassure her quickly, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze in attempt to comfort her. “I loved summer camp, I can see why you’re so upset.”

“I just wish I could at least go say goodbye to it,” Madison sighs again before looking down at her hands. You’re quiet for a few seconds as you begin to think, the silence filling the trailer uncomfortably.

“Well then, why don’t you?” you ask. She looks up immediately at your reflection in the mirror with her nose scrunched up in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” she asks.

“Filming for this season is almost over, you’ve got a lot of time on your hands. Why don’t you go spend a weekend or something? I’d even go with you! It could be tons of fun!” you smile brightly at her. Madison turns around to look at your face, her eyes bright and full of hope.

“Really? You’d do that?” she asks, her voice about to break. You nod rapidly.

“What’s going on in here?” Madelyn asks as she walks into the trailer, you assume Chase isn’t far behind her.

“Y/N and I are gonna take a trip to the old summer camp I used to work with, you should come!” Madison says, her voice now happy and full of life.

“Is this just a girls trip? Because if so, you know I will be crashing,” Rudy’s voice startles you, you turn around and see him sitting in the back of the trailer and you wonder how long he had been sitting there or how you didn’t notice him before.

“Why don’t we all go?” Madison suggests. “Cline, Chase, JD, Y/N, Mariah, Rudy you could even bring Lily if you wanted.”

“That sounds like so much fun!” Madelyn says as she jumps up and down and claps her hands excitedly.

Rudy smiled at the mention of his girlfriend. “JD will want to bring Tayla too,” he points out.

“That’s totally fine.”

“Great, I’ll be the only single one there,” you let out a laugh, Madison hits you in the stomach lightly with the back of her hand.

“Shut up, it will still be fun,” she assures you and you nod along with her words.

“I know, I can’t wait!”

About a week goes by when suddenly you find yourself packing all your summer essentials in one suitcase and sleeping soundly in a car as you and all your loud friends make your way to what Madison had described as ‘a little piece of my childhood.’ You were excited, really, but watching all the cute couples around you made your heart sink. Sure, you were all happy for them, but you wanted someone to experience a summer romance with you too.

“So I talked to the guy who owns the camp,” Madison explains as she turns around in the front seat to look back at the rest of you. “He said that he left a lot of the old equipment there and that we’re free to use any of it since it’s probably just gonna be donated at the end of the summer anyway.”

“What kind of equipment are we talking about?” Rudy calls from the very back seat.

“Fishing poles, bunk beds, oh and did I mention jet skis?” Madison smiles which causes the whole car to erupt in loud cheers.

“What did you wanna do first, baby?” Mariah asks as she looks over at her girlfriend. Madison reaches over and grabs her hand.

“I think we should settle in first, unpack and get everything ready, then we can go for a good old fashioned swim in the lake. After it gets dark out maybe we could have a bonfire and make s’mores or something?”

“That sounds amazing,” Mariah smiles.

The ride continues on, the sound of all your friends conversations are drowned out by your headphones. Eventually you feel a soft shake of your shoulder and open your eyes only to realize you had fallen asleep on Jonathan’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” you mumble, your cheeks growing an intense shade of red as you took off your headphones.

“No big deal,” JD lifts his shoulders into a shrug. “I just wanted to wake you up since we’re here.” You look out the window and see a bright red cabin sitting under the sun.

You smile and immediately jump out of the car, shielding your eyes from the brightness as you take in your surroundings. It looks just like a cliche summer camp with an arch over the cabin door that says the camp name. You get a feeling you’re on the set of a bad 80′s horror movie.

“So where are we staying?” Chase asks as he pulls suitcases out from the back of the van. You can’t tell if hes being sarcastic or not, considering the bright red double story cabin standing proudly in front of you.

“This is where the counselors would stay,” Madison explains as she gestures to the large building. “And the campers would stay a little farther down. The counselors have a bit more privacy and it’s nicer but technically speaking if you wanna be alone you can stay in the campers cabin.”

“Can we go look at the campers cabins?” you perk up. Madison turns to look at you with her nose scrunched slightly in confusion “As much as I love all of you guys, I don’t really wanna be rooming with only couples and hearing what you guys get up to in the middle of the night.” this causes Rudy to laugh.

“No, you definitely do not,” he agrees as he wraps his arms around his girlfriend whose face you notice is getting significantly pinker. JD lets out a gag.

“Yeah, I can show you the way to those cabins. Are you sure you want to be all alone though? It can get a little scary at night,” Madison asks you, her voice suddenly full of concern. You purse your lips together and nod your head.

“Yeah, I mean how bad can it really be?”

Bad, the answer to that question was.

It turns out unpacking and settling in took much longer than expected and you were all exhausted by the end of it, plus the sun had already gone down so there was no point in trying to go swimming and you were all too tired to start a fire. So you all just decided to call it a night.

And being alone in the campers cabin was definitely not a good idea.

First off, it was freezing at night so you were left to wrap yourself up tightly in your blankets. Secondly, it was so loud. The animals outside decided it would be a good idea to scream outside your window so you were left listening to owls and wolves howl the entire night. However you would have much rather preferred those noises to the ones you were sure were coming from Rudy and Lily’s room.

And lastly, no one talks about how scary it is to be alone at night.

You thought you hadn’t been scared of being alone at night since you were a little kid. Turns out old habits really die hard. You were sure someone was going to burst through the front door and put a bag over your head and drag you off into the night with you kicking in screaming. So naturally this resulted in you having horrible nightmares and a bad nights sleep. But you refused to tell that to your friends when you met up for breakfast in the morning.

“Hey, how did everyone sleep?” Madison greets, holding her cup of coffee with both hands and close to her face in attempts to warm herself up.

“Great!” Rudy announces, his mouth full of his breakfast.

“From the sounds and looks of it, you didn’t get much sleep did you?” you tease him, looking over at Lily who has tired eyes and is in the middle of a yawn. Rudy shrugs.

“What about you, y/n? How was your experience alone out in the campers cabin?” JD perks up, desperate to change the subject.

“From the sounds of it, I think I slept better than all of you guys combined,” you joked even though it was a complete lie. Everyone in the group laughs.

“Are we ready to go swimming?” Chase asks, throwing his napkin down on his plate.

“Aren’t we supposed to wait 30 minutes until after eating to go swimming?” Mariah asks.

“Isn’t that bullshit?” Madelyn rebuttals.

“LAST ONE IN THE WATER IS A ROTTEN EGG!” Rudy calls as he stands up and runs out of the room, JD running quickly after them which causes Tayla and Lily to yell for them.

“None of us are wearing our bathing suits!”

Eventually, everyone did make it down to the water. Rudy ended up beating JD in their mini race which resulted in JD pushing him off the dock which made everyone laugh, even Lily. Everyone else jumped in the water after that and were swimming around for a while before someone spoke up.

“Are we expecting anyone else?” Lily asked.

“No, why?” Madison asked. Lily points to the front of the camp where another car is pulling up. Turns out, this is a campy horror movie which will result in your death.

“Is that-” Chase starts. “No way, he said he couldn’t make it this weekend.”

“Who? What? What are you guys talking about?” you ask as you examine everyones faces and notice it was someone they all recognized. Then, out of the car, wearing swim trunks and a button up, steps out one of your close friends.

“I finished up filming early, now the fun has arrived!” Drew yells, causing you to smile.

Looks like you won’t be the only single one on this trip after all.

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

A/N: AYYYY FIRST CHAPTER IS UP!!!! this fic is based off a cute dream i hate that i told tayla @taylathornton about and she persuaded me to write a fic about it so.... here it is. also i hate the ending to this but whatever.

#outer banks #outerbanks #obx #obx fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #drew starkey #drew starkey fic #drew starkey x you #obx cast

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chipper9906 · 3 years

Text

Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 6: No More Tricks

<- - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 8,958

Overall Word Count: 57,236

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (6/?)

Chapter Preview:

“Good to meet y’all,” Miss Minutes said with that unnerving smile, walking – but not really – across Mobius’s desk and over to Loki and Sylvie. “I’m sure you can’t wait to get to work protecting the sacred timeline!”

“Oh, simply ecstatic,” Loki said with as much sarcasm as he could fit into one sentence. “Something to finally give my pathetic life some meaning. How about you, Sylvie?”

“Like a dream come true…” Sylvie drawled.

“Great to hear!” This Miss Minutes was, apparently, incapable of picking up sarcasm.

Link To Fic

Click Below To Keep Reading

* * *

One of the (few) good things about the sprawling size of the TVA was that there were often parts of it with no one in sight. It was on one of these floors, where the files hadn’t been disturbed for so long that they were collecting dust, that the Gods of Fate had smiled upon them and opened up the Time-Door into.

Mobius’s head was the first to peek through the Time-Door, looking both left and right down the miniature hallway. Once he had confirmed there was no one that had seen the Time-Door manifesting from nowhere, he waved both Loki and Sylvie through, before stepping fully back into his place of work.

“This feels so wrong,” Sylvie complains as they walk, tugging at the restricting dress shirt around her neck. Loki regards her from the corner of his eye, scanning up and down her body as he takes in her new uniform.

“It is a little weird seeing you without your armor.” Loki reaches out to tug at the lapels of her TVA blazer, grinning unabashedly when she smacks his hand away with a weak glare. “–But for the record, I think you look stunning whatever you choose to wear.”

“Oh dear God,” Mobius groaned dramatically in front of them, forcing Loki and Sylvie’s gaze away from each other and over to him. “Is your plan to just constantly flirt with each other to get me to find these files faster? Coz I’ve gotta say, it’s working.”

“It almost sounds like you’re eager to be rid of us,” Loki said, sounding almost offended. Almost.

“You’re both probably bearable on your own, but the two of you together?” Mobius shook his head. “Nightmares, the both of you. An insane amount of people exist out there in the Universe – now made even bigger with this whole mess you’ve made – countless amounts of variants you could have run into, but no, you had to go and find versions of yourself and hook up with them!”

“First of all, are you telling me you aren't a little bit curious to know what another variant of yourself would be like?” Sylvie asked, bringing Mobius to a grinding halt and turning to face them.

“No, actually. I'm not,” Mobius said in disbelief at her question. “I could have happily gone on with the rest of my life without ever thinking that, thank you. And now I know I won’t be able to stop thinking about it.”

“Give it a try,” Sylvie said, throwing a wink in Loki’s direction that nearly made Mobius groan out loud again. “And secondly… no one understands you better than yourself. We have our similarities – a few Loki traits that seem to stick no matter what form we take – but… we’ve both walked different paths. Genetically different, souls the same; but whilst they were formed the same, they’ve been molded by our experiences. So, whilst we may not see things the same way sometimes, at the end of the day, we just…”

“Understand each other,” Loki finishes for Sylvie with a tender smile.

“God, it really is like puppy love,” Mobius mumbled as he turned back around and continued onwards. “Feels like I’m watching a couple of teens trying to figure out how feelings work…”

“That’s… an apt comparison, actually,” Loki admitted as they both picked up the pace to keep up with Mobius, not wanting to get lost in the maze of TVA corridors. It was only occasionally that they walked through a section with a worker milling about the place, or saw an occasional Minute-Men either patrolling the area or simply passing through to wherever it is they had been ordered to go to.

“Things seem calmer than last time,” Loki noted. He wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad that the TVA wasn’t still freaking out about the whole multi-versal situation they had on their hands. Every now and then, as they passed through different corridors, Loki would see a flash of that horrific statue proudly displaying 'Him' as he stood over all his subjects. At least they knew now that Sylvie’s guess of being able to select a previously opened Time-Door and return them to the same TVA was correct…

“Things seem empty,” Mobius corrected him. “This place is usually bustling with activity -- and now it’s a ghost town. If we’ve dispatched most of our workers out into the field, then…” Mobius sighed deeply. “Things can’t be doing too well…”

Mobius came to a sudden stop as they rounded a corner, nearly walking straight into a TVA worker who had also been rounding the corner. The man blinked in surprise at Mobius, not even registering Loki or Sylvie behind him. The man pushed his glasses back up his nose, frowning at Mobius before looking somewhere behind him.

“Mobius? Where have you been? They’ve been looking everywhere for you, man. Judge Whittle’s about to blow a fuse if you don’t get down to his office stat.”

“Forgot I need to grab these guys,” Mobius lied smoothly, gesturing with a flick of his head back to Sylvie and Loki behind him. “They have some, uh… some research I asked them to collect for me that I think could be of some use.”

The man finally looked over to them, thankfully not looking too suspicious of them as his eyes darted between them both. “Right… Well, you better not keep Judge Whittle waiting. What with everything going on, I think he’s trying to hold onto some sense of time, and being late again might just snap his last thread.”

“That’s why I’m headed there now,” Mobius assured the man with a pat on his shoulder and a friendly smile. The man returned the smile, giving all three a respectful nod before walking past them and disappearing out of sight around another corridor. Mobius released a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, fixing his already tidy tie as a force of habit.

“I have to say, you’re an excellent liar,” Loki commended Mobius. “Are you sure you’re not a variant of us, too?”

“God, I hope not,” Mobius retorted, continuing to lead them forward once more.

“Wait, hang on-,” Sylvie said, tugging at Mobius’s arm. “Did he say Judge Whittle?”

Mobius looked back to Sylvie with a confused frown. “…Yes?”

“What about Judge Renslayer? What happened to her?”

Mobius stopped outside of a stereotypical-looking office door, pausing with his hand on the door handle. “Judge who?”

Both Sylvie and Loki shared a look of surprise, strangely unsettled by the idea that Renslayer apparently didn't exist in this timeline. Or, at least, hadn't been taken from her life to work in the TVA. What other changes would they have to expect to come across in this timeline? And how much of an effect would each small change have?

"Doesn't matter," Sylvie told Mobius. "Just... someone we know from another timeline."

"And by 'know', do you mean 'have killed', or...?"

"Us personally? No," Loki answered. "But last we saw you — the other you — you were headed back to the TVA to give Renslayer our regards, so... we don't actually know what happened to her."

“Given my fighting skills? Nothing, probably,” Mobius guessed, yanking down on the handle and swinging the door open. It was only once Mobius had stepped inside and out of the way of the door that Loki noticed the little golden plaque attached under the little window, the name ‘M. Mobius’ etched into the metal.

“Come on. I don’t know how much time we have,” Mobius called them into the office. “Considering I’m expected in Whittle’s office, we probably don’t have long until someone comes to fetch me.”

“You have an office?” Loki said in surprise, stepping into the room with Sylvie close behind.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“The you I know never took me to his office,” Loki replied, glancing around the small space that had been allocated to Mobius. It looked… well, like everything else in the TVA, really: neat and organized, drab and boring; painted with soul-sucking colors that, at this point, reminded him of a prison.

“Maybe he didn’t have one.” Mobius dropped down onto a squeaky office chair, fiddling around with the buttons on one of those ridiculously bulky-looking computer monitors until it whirred to life. “I can’t imagine every variant of myself is good enough at their job for—”

“He was just fine at doing his job, actually,” Loki was quick to defend Mobius. Which was quite strange, as he was defending Mobius to… Mobius. “Managed to out-lie me a few times, which I can assure you is a tricky thing to do.”

“He was the only one of your bumbling workforce that was able to keep hot on my tail,” Sylvie joined Loki in defending Mobius, much to Loki’s surprise and… a little bit herself, if she was being honest. “I was able to stay one step ahead of him until he roped this idiot in—” Sylvie jabbed a thumb in Loki's direction. “—And he led you right to me.”

“To try and recruit you.” Loki now had to defend himself. “I wasn’t exactly a volunteer worker; it was work with them or be reset.”

“And here comes the old couple bickering…” Mobius mumbled under his breath. Before either Loki or Sylvie could point out that, whilst technically over a thousand years old, they were still considered young by Asgardian standards, Mobius had opened up some sort of application that brought up some virtual files in a holographic display.

Much to both Sylvie and Loki’s displeasure, these files were also accompanied by the cheery bright orange face of Miss Minutes. Sylvie barely restrained herself from unsheathing her sword hidden beneath her blazer and slicing the southern-speaking mascot in half like she desperately wanted to do back in the Citadel.

“Well, hey there!” Miss Minutes greeted them, sounding as chipper as ever. “Ooo, new faces! Do we have some new recruits, Mobius?”

“You could say that…” Mobius answered, brow pinched in concentration as he swiped through the seemingly endless amount of files in the TVA’s database.

“Oh, simply ecstatic,” Loki said with as much sarcasm as he could fit into one sentence. “Something to finally give my pathetic life some meaning. How about you, Sylvie?”

“Like a dream come true…” Sylvie drawled.

“Great to hear!” This Miss Minutes was, apparently, incapable of picking up sarcasm. “Is there something you needed my help with, Mobius?”

“Yeah, actually.” Mobius scratched across his upper lip, disheveling his neatly combed mustache. “I’m, uh… getting out new recruits up to speed with what they need to know about… about ‘Him’.”

“Have they had the talk yet?”

Loki wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about that question made him want to shiver off this layer of discomfort that seemed to coat him. At the same time, the last time someone had ‘the talk’ with him, he was unable to look his mother in the eyes for a good few days.

Mobius’s eyes flickered up from the monitor to Miss Minutes. “Yeah, they’ve had the talk; they know why they’re here.”

“Well okay then!” Miss Minutes chirped, crossing her arms behind her back with a gleaming smile. “Anything in specific you need me to find?”

“Yeah, any files we have on His TemPad,” Mobius said, wheeling himself back a bit from the desk and yanking open one of the drawers.

“Bit of an odd request,” Miss Minutes commented as she began flipping through the holographic files in front of them. Mobius continued digging through his desk, searching through different folders with a look of concentration. For a moment, Mobius’s hands stilled over something, but Miss Minutes' overexcited voice stole away their attention.

“Alright, here we go!” Miss Minutes flicked the holographic file through the air, and both Loki and Sylvie wore matching frowns as it disappeared from sight. The question of where it had gone was answered as Mobius pulled his TemPad out from his desk drawer with an “Ah-Ha!” of success, proudly waving the TemPad in their direction.

“Anything else you need me to do for you?” Miss Minutes asked, sounding both polite and… terrifying.

“Uh, no -- this’ll do.” Mobius returned Miss Minute's politeness with a smile of his own – even if it did appear quite forced and strained. “Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome!” Miss Minutes said before disappearing in a weird move where she seemed to fold into herself, all three in the room thankful for her absence.

“I never thought a cartoon clock mascot would make me fear for my life,” Loki said, still staring suspiciously at the space where Miss Minutes had vanished from.

“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here…” Mobius muttered, fingers dancing across the TemPad as he brought up the files Miss Minutes had just sent him. His eyes scanned rapidly across the screen, skipping to what seemed to be the most important segments of information.

“Interesting…” Mobius leaned forward against his desk, resting his head on his hand and tapping his index finger against his upper lip.

“What’s interesting?” Sylvie asked, not appreciating that she couldn’t see the information she needed, whilst knowing that it was right there in someone else’s hands.

“Oh, just how vastly superior that thing on your hand is to this,” Mobius answered, waving his TemPad around like it was now useless. “For one, the efficiency on that thing? From what I’m seeing, it’s probably… four or five times more so than ours?”

“So, you’re saying that this TemPad can do more before it runs out of battery?” Loki asks, pointing to Sylvie’s hand.

“Not that you even have to worry about that,” Mobius said with a disbelieving chuckle. “You noticed how that thing doesn’t have a port to charge it?”

Sylvie shot Mobius an annoyed look, crossing her arms across her chest. “Just how oblivious do you think I am?”

“Man, you guys really do find a way to turn people’s words into an insult against you,” Mobius noted, sounding almost amused by the revelation. “Is that a self-conscious thing, or…?”

Sylvie, on the other hand, did not look amused. “I’m good on the therapy session, thanks. You were saying about charging it?”

“Oh, au contraire -- I think therapy would be an excellent choice for you guys,” Mobius teased with a grin, which he quickly wiped off his face at the death stares he got in return. “Alright, alright. The thing about charging this TemPad is… well, that you don’t need to.”

“Come again?” Loki asked.

“From the looks of things, His version of the TemPad kind of… recharges itself?” Mobius struggled to find the best way to explain what he had just read. “Well, not entirely from itself. The TemPad makes a connection, if you will, with its owner. Or… master, I think would be a better word.”

Sylvie raised her hand up closer to her face, peering down at the TemPad. Almost on cue did its surface come to life, emitting a soothing hum as power ran through its complicated circuits.

“And… what does the connection do?” Sylvie asked, looking away from the TemPad back to Mobius.

“It uses you as its batteries,” Mobius answers. “It recharges through you. Your life force, your energy, whatever you wanna call it.”

“Uh, should we be worried about that?” Loki asked, just barely resisting the urge to yank the TemPad off Sylvie’s hand and throw it as far as he could at the thought of it draining away her life.

“Considering ‘He’ is still alive after eons of using it? No, I don’t think so,” Mobius assured them – although just barely. “At the end of the day, ‘He’ is human, just like us -- uh, well, me, anyway. Taking into account the fact that you guys are both demigods with access to magical powers, I’m pretty sure the TemPad will barely scratch the surface of your energy.”

“Then… how did it not affect ‘He Who Remains?’” Loki asked. “Something that needs that much energy… it has to take its toll.”

“Maybe you can ask him before you kill him,” Mobius suggests. “My best guess? ‘He’ probably needs to ‘recharge’ himself. You know: sleeping, eating; all that boring mortal stuff?”

“You say that like we don’t need to eat and sleep, too.” Sylvie retorts.

“Uh-huh. Still doesn’t change the fact that you’re gods. I mean, how old are you guys again?”

“Point taken,” Loki conceded on both their behalf. “How long does the TemPad take to charge, then?”

“Depends on how drained it is,” Mobius says, turning his attention back to the displayed file. “It’s charging all the time, so as long as you’re not opening up Time-Doors left, right, and center, it usually has enough power that you don’t even have to think about it. If you somehow do drain the power enough that it’s nearly empty then… from ‘His’ experiments, it seems it takes a day or so to get it back to full power.”

“Experiments?” Sylvie picked up on the word. “What kind of experiments?”

“Well, ‘He’ didn’t always spend his time behind a desk organizing the strands of time. Before he created us, it was just him out there -- jumping from timeline to timeline, trying to bring some semblance of peace and order to the chaos.”

“About that–,” Loki interjected. “–The whole ‘jumping from timeline to timeline’ thing... Did ‘He’ jump between those timelines randomly?”

“Uh…” Mobius turned back to his TemPad, scrolling through the block of information it displayed. “Seems like it, for the most part.”

“So there’s no way to select a specific timeline?” Loki asked, casting Sylvie a down-trodden look. “No way to find a specific timeline?”

“We weren’t exactly designed for that,” Mobius replied, flicking away the information on his TemPad. With a few more presses of his fingers, the screen of his TemPad displayed a diagram of the sacred timeline -- if it could even be called that anymore. What he showed them more closely resembled a plate of spaghetti than the single straight line of the timeline. “See this right here? This is exactly what we were supposed to stop. We weren’t meant to travel between timelines, because the very existence of another timeline outside ours means we failed at our jobs.”

“But that’s what it was like before the TVA was created,” Sylvie pointed out. “Somewhere in there is the timeline we came from. We just need to find it again and travel back to it.”

“What for?” Mobius asks. “Why’s your timeline so important?”

“It’s the sacred timeline,” Sylvie answered, quickly continuing when Mobius opened his mouth to argue. “Yeah, I know, your timeline was also the sacred timeline, but it wasn’t until me killing ‘Him’ created all these different timelines.”

“Okay, sure-,” Mobius said with a nod. “That still doesn’t explain why you want to go back to that timeline. You killed that version of ‘Him’ in that timeline, didn’t you? Why else do you need to go back?”

“Because that timeline contains a few people that could be useful in defeating the other versions of ‘Him’,” Loki answers.

“And… how do you know that?”

“Because they were the only versions of themselves that were able to kill another mad ruler,” Sylvie says, glancing at Loki with her face softened in pity. “The only being who was destined – and able – to kill us…”

“Oh…” Mobius cleared his throat awkwardly, unsure whether to continue scrolling through his TemPad or keep talking. “Uh… I don’t know if this is inconsiderate of me to say, but… maybe it would be worth getting that guy to join your team? Since he was able to kill you, maybe they could-,”

“No.” Loki didn’t even need to give a reason why he was against that idea. The tone behind that one word said more than any explanation he could give.

“Fair enough, scratch that idea-,” Mobius made the smart move and returned his attention to his TemPad. “Selecting certain timelines, selecting certain timelines… Ah, here we go! Seems it’s… huh.”

“What? What’s huh?” Sylvie asked.

“There is a way to select a specific timeline. Kind of,” Mobius answered, standing from his chair and making his way around his desk to them. “Could you hold up the TemPad for me?”

Sylvie did as Mobius asked, holding out her arm in front of her so the TemPad was on display.

“You remember what I said about the TemPad making a connection with the user?” Mobius asked, getting nods from them in return. “Well, the connection goes deeper than that. So much so that… only the person who has been designated as the leader of the TVA can use it.”

“What?” Sylvie splutters. “I’m not the leader of the TVA-,”

“Tell that to the TemPad,” Mobius returned.

“Sylvie… I think he might be right,” Loki said, getting Sylvie to snap her head towards him. “He wanted us to rule the TVA, remember? Someone to take over his job. He offered us the position, took off the TemPad, and then-,”

“But I didn’t accept it!” Sylvie argued, looking more and more horrified with every passing second. “I just-”

“Took the TemPad,” Loki cut her off, filling in what she was about to say.

“Far as the TemPad is concerned, you’re the leader now,” Mobius told her. “You see those gold lines running across the surface?”

“Yes, but what’s that got do with anythi—”

“They’re not just for design,” Mobius answered before Sylvie could finish. “Those lines? They’re actually timelines.”

Sylvie blinked in surprise, glancing first over to Loki, then down to the TemPad.

“You see, ‘He Who Remains’ wanted to make sure he could return to his timeline whenever he needed to,” Mobius continued, nodding to the TemPad. “Mostly to make sure none of the other variants of him were wreaking havoc on his timeline, but also… just to return home, I guess. Do me a favor and run your hand along its surface, would you?”

Sylvie shot Mobius a curious look, but did as he asked anyway. The surface of the TemPad shifted, the squiggly lines running along its surface passing by in a blur of movement. Then, it seemed to settle on a certain design, displaying the usual bright gold line with branches coming off of it.

“That right there?” Mobius began, looking between the two of them, and then down to the TemPad. “That’s your timeline, Sylvie.”

Sylvie’s head shot up at that, feeling her heart clench at his words. It was… it was impossible. Her timeline didn’t exist anymore. Judge Renslayer and her Minute-Men had made sure of that.

“Now see, if I try and select a timeline-,”

Mobius’s hand moved towards the TemPad, and almost on instinct did Sylvie pull it away from him, holding it protectively to her body. Mobius let out an exasperated sigh at the defensive action, dropping his hands back to his sides and shoving them into his pockets. “Really? Isn’t trust supposed to be a two-way system?”

“From what I’ve heard,” Sylvie said as Loki unconsciously tried to move closer to her. He had done this a few times before, and this time, she found herself moving closer to him, too. “Not sure your argument works when you clearly don’t trust us, either.”

“Can you blame me?” Mobius asked, getting you a genuine huff of laughter from Sylvie.

“No. If anything, I respect you for it,” Sylvie said.

“Good form of self-preservation, really,” Loki added.

“Fine. I won’t touch it.” Mobius turned around on the spot, strolling back over to his side of the desk. “Guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“What would have happened?” Even if Sylvie didn’t want Mobius to touch it, that wasn’t to say that she wasn’t curious as to what he was trying to show her.

“Nothing,” Mobius answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “It wouldn’t have responded to me -- because I’m not its owner.”

“But… why would He have just given it up like that?” Sylvie asked. “I hadn’t agreed to anything yet.”

“‘What’s the worst that could happen,’“ Loki mimicked He Who Remains’s words. “Either we took over, or an infinite amount of Him manifests into existence and fights to get back to where He was. No matter what option came to be, he no longer needed that TemPad.”

“Still seems strange to me that he just… gave you the TemPad,” Mobius thought out loud, placing his hands on the desk and resting his weight on it. “That is what I saw, right? He just… took it off and slid it across the desk to you.”

“Yeah… He did,” Sylvie’s face pinched into a frown, slowly looking up to Loki. “Loki, did you ever notice how… he seemed almost excited at the idea of me killing him?”

Loki mirrors her frown, thinking back to what felt like a lifetime ago now. “In what way?”

“He was looking at you guys kinda funny during your big fight,” Mobius said, drumming his fingers across the desk.

“Was he?” Loki asks. “I was a little too distracted at the time to notice.”

“He even looked strangely invested when you guys, uh…” Mobius trailed off awkwardly, hoping they would fill in the blanks for themselves. When Loki and Sylvie only stared blankly back at him, he hung his head with a dejected sigh. “Oh, for the love of… When you kissed, for god's sake…”

“Oh…” Loki was surprised to feel the flush of heat to his face. “Again, a little distracted -- which, I think was your plan.” Loki cast Sylvie an annoyed look at that last part.

“Already said I’m sorry–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah -- how about we move on from that.” Mobius hurried them past the miniature bickering session that was likely to start. “Or… no wait, let’s go back to that.”

Loki and Sylvie looked to each other at the same time, like they were somehow able to communicate through eye contact alone. “Let’s go back to… us arguing?” Sylvie wanted to clarify.

“Yes! But, no, don’t actually argue—” Mobius somehow made this all the more confusing. “What was it that He said to you guys? Something about trust, or… being unable to trust—”

“He asked me if I could trust Loki.” Sylvie, of course, remembered this. She knew she’d never forget. “And… if I could trust anyone at all."

Mobius nodded to himself, staring down at his feet as he thought. “Why would he say that? If he wanted you to work together, to lead the TVA together, then… why would he plant those doubts in your head?”

“It almost seems like he was trying to get us to fight,” Loki said to Sylvie. “Maybe… he never really wanted us to take over.”

“You think he wanted to die?”

“I think he wanted to be reborn,” Loki corrected Sylvie. “I don’t think he was just tired; I think he was bored. After countless years of writing everyone’s stories – himself included – I think… I think he wanted you to open up the multiverse, to live an infinite amount of lives outside of his own script.”

Sylvie shook her head with a bitter laugh, her lip curling in disgust as she looked down to His former TemPad. “My whole life, I only had the thought of watching His life drain away to get me through the day… And now, it turns out I did what he always wanted, anyway.”

Sylvie reached out a hand towards the TemPad, the glow of its timelines reflecting in her shining eyes. She ran a finger softly across the timeline – her timeline – watching as the TemPad slowly moves with her finger, displaying the different branches that come off of her timeline.

“Is this really my timeline?” Sylvie doesn’t look away from the TemPad.

“It’s what the files say,” Mobius tells her.

“How is that possible?” Sylvie tears her eyes away, looking up to Mobius. “My timeline was pruned.”

“Exactly. It was pruned,” Mobius says. “But now we have this whole mess of branches, forming into a whole mess of timelines.”

“So?”

“So, somewhere out there is a timeline where you were never picked up by us,” said Mobius, looking pointedly to Sylvie’s TemPad. “Oh, right -- it’s that timeline right there.”

“A timeline where the TVA never interfered…” Loki says in wonderment, turning wide eyes towards Sylvie. “Your timeline never would have been pruned…”

“My family…” Sylvie whispers, finding herself frozen in shock. “My home… my life…”

“So… we’re on Sylvie’s timeline now?” Loki asks Mobius. “How would that work when we, apparently, don’t exist…?”

“This isn’t Sylvie’s timeline,” Mobius said, scooping up the TemPad he left laying on his desk and tucking it into his jacket. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. When you grabbed the TemPad and opened a door here, it should have opened up into a TVA on your timeline. But… it didn’t.”

Mobius took a seat on the edge of his desk – despite the perfectly fine chair right there in front of him – crossing his arms against his chest with his back partly turned to them. “What were you doing whilst you were opening the Time-Door? Was there any interference?”

“Oh, um…” Sylvie glanced awkwardly to Loki, whose raised questioning eyebrow quickly dropped into a look of realization at her pointed look.

“Ah…” Loki drawled out slowly, scratching at the back of his head. “Would us, uh… touching be classified as ‘interference?’”

“Oh, you were–” Mobius cut himself off with a burst of laughter, slapping at his knee. “You opened up that Time-Door whilst you were kissing, didn’t you? That explains it…”

“Does it? Feel free to pass on that explanation to us -- you know, if you feel like it.” Sylvie didn’t appreciate being the recipient of Mobius’s ridicule.

“The TemPad was trying to open up the Time-Door to your specific timeline. Problem is… it didn’t know which one of you to focus on. Can’t open one door into two separate timelines, so, it had to compromise. Instead of opening up a Time-Door into either one of your timelines…”

“It opened up into one where we don’t exist.” Loki guessed correctly.

“You both canceled each other out,” Mobius tacked on.

“And what about the others?” Sylvie asked.

“The other… what’s?”

“The Apocalypses we jumped to,” Sylvie clarified. “Were they… were they my timeline?”

“If it was just you touching the TemPad? Then yeah, it would have been your timeline.”

“That must have been why it was different,” Loki said in realization. “Those attackers… they came earlier than they were supposed to, didn’t they?”

“One small change can lead to a whole ton of butterfly effects.” Mobius slowly made his way to the side of the desk, sliding the drawer closed as he went. “Some of those changes can be small, like… like someone speaking one word on one day differently. And then the other changes…”

“Can breed a multi-verse ending conqueror,” Loki finished grimly, getting a shrug of agreement from Mobius.

“So… we know we can get to my timeline. Is that the only way we can select a specific timeline?”

“Right, the uh, the other sacred timeline,” Mobius mumbled, scratching at the back of his head as he thought. “Well… you came from that one, right? You made a connection between that timeline to this timeline when you shoved Loki through that Time-Door.”

“But we’ve moved on since then,” Loki pointed out. “If Sylvie touches the TemPad, it’ll display her timeline, won’t it?”

“If that’s the one you select, sure. But–”

“But the TemPad saves previously opened Time-Doors.” Sylvie already knew where Mobius was going with this. “That’s how we got here in the first place. I opened up a Time-Door I had already opened before, back in the Citadel.”

“Which is the timeline currently on display,” Mobius said. “All you’ve gotta do is follow that timeline back… and it’ll connect to the timeline you came from.”

“Hang on…” Loki turned his attention back to Sylvie, his brow furrowing in thought. “What about my timeline? Would… would that have been re-created too?”

Sylvie placed a comforting hand on his arm, giving his bicep a kind squeeze with an understanding smile. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Loki looked genuinely taken aback as she unwound the TemPad from her hand. For a moment, she simply stood and held this greatly powerful device in her hands. She kept her eyes locked with his, a note of understanding passing between them as she slowly held out the TemPad for him to take.

Loki didn’t take it. Not right away. “It might not work. Not just because my timeline might still remain erased, but… what if the TemPad can’t have two owners?”

“’He Who Remains’ made it clear he wanted both of us to rule.” Sylvie pushed the TemPad into his chest. She grabbed hold of his hand, pulling it up to the TemPad and curling his fingers around it. “Besides… we might be two separate beings, but our souls exist as one and the same. If it works for me? Then I know it’ll work for you, too.”

“You are very confident,” Loki noted with a small smile, his weak grip on the TemPad strengthening as he finally took the TemPad from her.

Loki couldn’t bring himself to look at the TemPad as he slid it onto his hand, experimentally flexing his fingers to get used to the feeling of the cylindrical object sat atop his hand. Sylvie nodded at him in encouragement when his eyes landed on her, letting her hand slip away from his arm to make sure they were no longer touching.

Loki finally dropped his eyes down to the TemPad. Sylvie’s timeline continued to blink up at him, just waiting for its new owner to press his touch into its surface. Loki let his hand hover over the TemPad, a moment of shaky hesitation passing before he swiped his finger across the flat surface of the TemPad.

In the blink of an eye, the surface began to change. Billions upon billions of timelines flashed before his eyes as the TemPad searched for his timeline, and for one heart-stopping moment, Loki wondered if it would simply be searching forever, his timeline removed from all of existence.

And then it stopped. It stopped, and Loki and Sylvie could only stand and stare at the brilliantly gold streak of lightning that stared back at them. Right there was Loki’s timeline. Right there was a universe where none of this had ever happened -- an unlimited expanse of possibilities his life could have taken.

And that’s when Mobius held the pruning stick to Sylvie’s neck.

Loki knew it was foolish of him to let his guard down, even if in the presence of – who he supposed – was a friend. But it wasn’t his friend. This Mobius might have been witness to the events that led to their friendship, but he didn’t experience them. And that was made all the difference, it seemed.

One second, Sylvie was right there next to him, looking at the TemPad just as he was. The next, she was just… gone. Loki’s head snapped up in a daze, taking in the sight of Sylvie struggling vehemently as Mobius wrapped an arm around her neck, keeping her pinned to him as he held the glowing end of the pruning stick much too close to Sylvie for either of their comfort.

Sylvie looked more pissed at herself than she did at Mobius. Just like Loki, she had made the foolish mistake of letting her guard down. The entire time she had been here, she had every possible guard up and alert, just waiting for the moment this all went to shit. And then… and then Mobius had told her that somewhere out there is the family she knows, the family she never got to grow up with, and she had stupidly returned back to the state of that little princess of Asgard who had no reason not to trust anyone.

“Don’t struggle.” Mobius’s words did not come out as a command. Not that he wanted them to sound like it. It was more a word of advice than anything. “I don’t want to accidentally catch you with this thing.”

“Then why are you holding it to my neck?” Sylvie forced out through gritted teeth, continuing to struggle despite Mobius’s warning. She kept her gaze focused on the pruning stick Mobius had snuck out of his desk drawer, her hands dug into the arm around her neck, tugging uselessly at them to get his hold to loosen. Except, every defiant pull to his arm only resulted in the pressure against her neck tightening, coming dangerously close to cutting off her air supply.

“Mobius, what are you doing?” Loki spluttered out, yanking out his dagger from his jacket pocket in a flash of metal.

“What I have to.” Mobius took a cautious step back away from Loki, dragging a very uncooperative Sylvie with him. “And don’t you think about going for that sword, Sylvie. The moment I feel your arms move anywhere down, I’ll prune you before you can even come close to touching it.”

Sylvie laughed mockingly at that. Loki stood in a battle-ready stance, looking very much not amused by Mobius’s words as Sylvie had. “You’re not used to the whole ‘threatening demeanor’ thing, are you?” Sylvie goaded him.

“I’ll admit it’s not my forte.” Mobius carefully maneuvered himself back around the desk, placing it between him and Loki. Loki slowly moved forward with him, coming to a stop just in front of the desk. “Especially when I don’t want to be doing this.”

“Then why are you doing this?” Loki hoped his pleading tone would get through to Mobius in some sort of way.

“Because it’s my job,” Mobius forced out the words with as much authority as he could muster.

“You’ve seen the truth!” Sylvie grunted, still fighting against Mobius’s hold. “You know what He did to you! To all of us!”

“That doesn’t change the importance of my work.” Mobius’s words make the weight in Loki’s chest sink heavier. “Or the importance of His work. I agree with you that this whole thing ends with Him; I just don’t agree with your method. I think… I know that the strands of time are only safe in His hands. Only He can untangle and sort out those strands and ensure the timeline runs through to the end without any problems.”

“Mobius, no–” Loki desperately hoped he could get through to him. “If that was the case, then we wouldn’t be right here, would we? You wouldn’t have existed if that was the case. Sylvie and I wouldn’t exist. But that’s what's happened, whether by His deciding or not. If we just sit back and let him rise to power once more… what’s to stop this from happening all over again?”

“And what if your version of Him isn’t the one that comes out on top?” Sylvie asks Mobius, lessening her struggles now that Mobius held the pruning stick even closer, buzzing away mere inches from her face. “Somewhere out there is a variant of him that isn’t interested in pruning the other timelines. Instead, he only wants to rule over them all.”

“It’s up to Him to decide what we’ll do about that,” Mobius replied, much to Loki’s dismay.

Mobius sighed lightly, ducking his head with his eyes clenched shut. “Please, just… do as I say. I meant it when I said I don’t want to be doing this. I think… I think you guys could be of some help to us–”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Sylvie groaned. “You’re trying to recruit us now?”

“Not right now,” Mobius corrected her. “I know you won't right now in this moment. But… you’ll see. You’ll see that this is the only way. Now, please, if you’d just… hand over the TemPad. I promise we won’t reset you, or put you in a time-loop -- nothing like that.”

“Mobius–” Loki tried again, only to be cut off by the man in question.

“It won't be long before someone comes into this office. I can’t guarantee they won't do something drastic if they come in and see you like that with your weapons. But if you come cooperatively–”

“We’ll be slaves to the TVA, just as you are?” Sylvie asks, voice soaked in disgust. “No thanks -- I’d rather take my chances with the pruning stick.”

“Yeah… yeah, that’s a good point,” Mobius mumbled, much to Loki and Sylvie’s confusion. “You… you voluntarily pruned yourself, didn’t you? The both of you were pruned, and you made it out…”

“We did,” Loki confirmed, taking a single step closer, feeling the wooden panel of Mobius’s desk pressing into his knees. “And we both took down the creature He himself tamed and weaponized to devour timelines whole.”

“In other words… do it,” Sylvie spat at Mobius, giving one last attempt at breaking free that yields no results. “You know as well as we do that that’s not a threat to us. Not really.”

“No, I suppose you’re right,” Mobius agreed. Seeing Mobius deactivate the pruning stick briefly filled Loki with a surge of hope, wondering if maybe, just maybe, they had found a way to deescalate the situation. That hope prompted surged out of him, however, as Mobius flipped the pruning stick around in his hand, now holding the pointed, sharp spear end of the stick against Sylvie’s neck. “You might be able to escape pruning… but can you come back from a blade in your throat?”

No. No, they could not.

“Mobius, please,” Loki begged one more time, holding out a dagger in front of him. “Stop this. You’ve seen reason, I know you have. I don’t want to do this as much as you don’t–”

“Then just hand over the TemPad,” Mobius said like it was a no-brainer decision. Loki felt his muscles coil in anticipation as the very tip of the spear pierced Sylvie’s flesh, clenching his jaw hard when he saw the small trickle of blood slip down her neck. He had to make a decision–

“You know your magic doesn’t work here,” Mobius reminded him with an almost pitiful expression. “This is it, Loki. No more tricks from the trickster.”

Loki decided.

“No. There’s no magic,” Loki agreed, holding out his dagger like he was about to drop it in surrender.

Loki dropped his hand down in a flash, connecting with the surface of the TemPad, just as he had seen He Who Remains do back in the Citadel. Mobius blinked, and then Loki was gone. He startled, not even having time to ponder over what had happened before Loki blinked back into existence behind him – not that he could see – and slid the dagger he held in his hand right in the small of his back. Mobius jolted at the searing pain that erupted from his back, barely able to get out a gasp of pain as his body locked up.

“–But I still have your technology,” Loki completed the rest of his sentence before yanking the dagger out from Mobius’s back.

Sylvie took advantage of the slackening of Mobius’s grip, forcing an elbow back hard into the side of his ribs. Mobius had completely let go at this point, but she still spun around on the spot, bringing up her leg and kicking Mobius hard in the chest. Mobius went down without much resistance, slamming into the wall behind him with a pained grunt. He slid down to the floor, leaving behind a trail of red against the wall as he went.

“Huh…” Mobius’s eyes were unfocused, staring blankly to the ground in front of him. “You know, I… I could have sworn I heard you said to that other me that… that you were done stabbing people in the back.”

Mobius dredged up just enough energy to raise his eyes up, meeting Loki’s agonized ones. There was… nothing in his eyes. No blame, no hatred, no fear. But… there was nothing good there, either. No forgiveness, no kindness he’s seen from Mobius plenty of times before. It was just… blank. He was blank.

One second, Loki's staring at a man whose heart was still pumping, whose blood still circulated around his body. Then, he was actually able to see the moment the life drained away from him, like a candle being blown out. Any semblance of the man he knows disappears from Mobius’s eyes, his head dropping down to his chest before he slowly slumps down to the ground, staring without seeing.

The weight of the dagger in Loki’s hands had never felt as heavy as it had before. His shaking hands lift the dagger up, the buzzing fluorescent lights of Mobius’s office reflecting off the shining surface of the blade. The dagger had served its purpose, had done what it was designed to do. And yet, as Loki stared down at the offending item and took in the sight of Mobius’s blood coating the once perfectly clean metal, he wanted nothing more than to cast it into the eternal flame and watch it melt into nothing.

How many times had he done exactly this? He was far from inexperienced in battle, and far from inexperienced in hurting those he cares about for his own gain. So why, this time, did he feel the burn of bile in the back of his throat? Why, this time, did his hands shake so hard that he let his trusted weapons drop to the ground? Why, this time, did he find himself stumbling down to the ground, breaths coming short and fast as he stared at the corpse of the only friend he’s truly ever known?

“Loki…” Sylvie’s voice sounded far away and muted, as if they were underwater. In the back of his mind, he registers that she’s moved in front of him, blocking him from seeing Mobius’s corpse. Her concerned face fills his vision, blurry as if his eyes were filled with tears. Wait… were they? It would certainly explain the stinging sensation he felt in them, and the wetness he could feel rolling down his face.

Her hands cup his face, desperately trying to bring him back to himself. Just like Mobius, his eyes had gone scarily blank. “Loki, it’s not your fault. It’s not, okay? That’s… that wasn’t him. That wasn’t Mobius -- not really.”

Something flickers back to life in his eyes. They shift around, searching across her face as if he was finally seeing her here, still with him, sat right in front of him. He swallows hard, his gaze drifting to where he knows Mobius’s corpse lies behind her.

“I know.” Simply hearing Loki speak out loud helped to lessen some of the fear that had been constricting her chest. “But… it also is.”

Sylvie didn’t even know what she could say right now that would be of any comfort to him. She had never really had to comfort someone before, or had someone comfort her. Except… well, she supposed that Loki had attempted to comfort her a few times: back on Lamentis when it seemed like the end of the line; or in ‘The Time-Keeper’s chambers when they realized the Time Keepers weren’t real. But then, even if she did know how to go about comforting him, this certainly wasn’t the place to do it. Not with Mobius’s body sat right there behind her, and not in a place where they could be locked up at any moment.

Sylvie turns her head towards the office door, just waiting for the sounds of rushing footsteps to echo down the hall. A part of her thinks it would almost be better than the silence they found themselves in -- apart from the repetitive tick of the clock hung in the top middle section of the wall Mobius was slumped by.

She needed to get Loki out of here. She didn’t care where, or what timeline it was, it just had to be not here. Sylvie brushed her thumb tenderly across Loki’s cheek, wiping away a stubborn tear that clung to his skin. She dropped her hands away from his face, turning to Mobius’s body with a grimace. Avoiding looking the corpse in the eye, she reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the TemPad he had stored in there, trying her best not to disturb his body too much.

“Sorry, Mobius,” Sylvie whispers as she moves away from his body, casting him one last regretful look before straightening herself into a stand. The TemPad in her hands was at least familiar, and yet… it felt wrong to use, now. Shaking her head, she flipped open the screen to the TemPad, letting out a breath of relief that it was fully charged. She entered in the information for the Time-Door without much of a thought, its manifestation enough to force Loki’s gaze away from Mobius’s body.

“We need to go,” Sylvie reaches out a hand towards Loki, grateful that his eyes follow the movement of her hand instead of settling back on Mobius. Loki nods, hesitating for a moment before he picks his dagger back up from the ground. His TemPad clad hand clasps onto Sylvie’s, taking her offered help as she pulls him up to his feet. She doesn’t let go of his hand, even when he’s stood back on his feet, and when Loki squeezes her hand in thanks, she knows she's made the right decision.

“Don’t look.” Sylvie moves in front of him, forcing his eyes onto her. Loki does as she asks, forcing everything in his vision apart from her to go blurry and out of focus. Sylvie slowly starts walking back towards the Time-Door, pulling Loki with her as she goes.

What Loki and Sylvie didn’t know was that, after they stepped through that Time-Door, someone did come into Mobius’s office. But it wasn’t just a group of Minute-Men. Nor was it Judge Whittle.

Deep purple robes brushed against the floor as the figure stepped into the room, calculated dark eyes scanning across the room before falling on Mobius. The man sighed, more in irritation at not having caught the intruders red-handed than in the sadness he should have felt for having lost such a devoted worker.

“They found their way in,” The man calls out to the security detail stood post next to the door. “Get someone to retrieve this body once I’ve looked over it. We need to check for any cross-contamination.”

The man waited until one of the security detail had hurried off to carry out his orders before stepping further into the room. He strode over to Mobius’s body, crouching down onto one knee with his head tilted to the side as he looked him up and down. He reached out, grabbing Mobius’s arm and rolling him over onto his stomach. Immediately, he took sight of the dark patch of red soaked into the back of Mobius’s jacket. With careful hands, he pried the jacket off of the body, followed shortly by the now stained white button-up shirt.

The man clicked his tongue, resting an arm on his knee as he looked to the open wound that had been carved into the center of Mobius’s back. There’s a tentative knock to the office door he had closed behind him, looking over to it as it swings open. The Minute-Men he had requested filed into the room, standing at attention and ready for orders.

“You—” He points to one of the Minute Men in line, who somehow manages to stand straighter now he had been singled out. “—Come here.”

Obediently, the Minute Man hurries over to the man, nervous eyes fixed dead-ahead as he waits for further orders.

“I want you… to take a look at the wound,” The man instructs him, folding his hands behind his back and nodding his head towards Mobius’s body. “Look at the shape of it… the size of it. Do you recognize the weapon that inflicted it?”

“Um….” The Minute Man stammers out, voice trembling with nerves as he kneels down by Mobius’s body to take a closer look at the wound. “It… it seems like a small blade, Sir.”

“Hmm… I’d have to agree with you on that one.” The man places a hand on the Minute Man’s shoulder in what should have been a comforting gesture, but was far from it. “A small blade, expertly wielded, by someone who is… intimately familiar with the weapon in question. And… considering the placement of the wound, I’d have to say familiar with this analyst, wouldn’t you?”

“I… I suppose so, Sir.”

“You suppose? Okay, well, I’ll give you my final theory.” The man’s grip on his shoulder tightens, feeling the trembling of the Minute-Man underneath his hands. “I think… the damage done here was by a dagger. Do you know what that means?”

The Minute Man remained frozen under his hands, wisely letting the man monologue away instead of actually answering.

“It means it’s them. It means that they’re finally starting to make a move… It means that what I saw, and what I heard, was true. It means… it won't be long before they start hunting down me.”

Next Chapter - - - >

#sylki #sylki fanfiction #sylki fanfic #pro sylki #loki/sylvie #lovedagger #enchantricks

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moonlit-jeno · 4 years

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love sick (m.)

chapter 10

pairing: nct dream ‘00 line + reader

chapter warnings: angst, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral

words: 3.1k

summary: It’s both the best option and your worst nightmare

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This is by far the longest you’ve driven so far. You’re not sure whether you’ve actually been driving for a long time or if it just feels like you have been. Either way, it’s not fun.

Maybe it’s because it’s the first time you’ve realized that you’re never truly safe. Before, even if you didn’t think the houses were safe, you always had a plan B- get to the car as fast as possible. What could possibly be safer? It locks, it can move insanely fast, and it has heating. Perfect, right?

Except it clearly isn’t. Jisung had been ripped out of the car right in front of your eyes, shattering your perception of safety. That could have been any one of you guys. And it isn’t fair that it was Jisung. It isn’t fair that he got his life cut so short, and it makes you want to scream in frustration, but life has clearly shown that it doesn’t give a shit about what’s fair or not.

Every bump in the road has you jumping, every rock that hits the windshield has you holding your breath. It’s obvious that you’re not the only one feeling like this.

And sure, the scene was horrific to watch, but you can’t even imagine how Chenle feels. Jisung was all he had for months, and to have him ripped away from him- you feel sick just thinking about it. He’s sobbing loudly, curled forward with his head pressed against the back of the seat in front of him.

Jaemin’s doing pretty bad, too. Besides Chenle, he’d been the closest to Jisung. You’re sure he’s blaming himself right now, and you want to scream at him that it’s not his fault, but you know it won’t help. He won’t listen. And the silence in the car is suffocating- you’re sure Jeno would snap if you broke it.

He’s been driving with an iron grip on the wheel, his knuckles white from holding it too tightly. You pass countless houses, all of you too scared to stop at one of them in case you choose wrong. All of your previous choices have been good, but it only takes one wrong move to end it all.

It’s unrealistic to believe that you can keep moving forever. Jeno’s eyelids are growing heavier by the second, and none of you know how to drive. There’s Jaemin, but he’s not exactly in the right headspace. The car slowly rolls to a stop outside of a massive gate.

“Here?” You ask, craning your head to peer in. Jeno shrugs. “Why not?”

“How are we going to get in?” Donghyuck asks. “You’re insane if you think we can climb that.”

“There’s a call box. Maybe the house isn’t empty?” Jeno rolls down his window and reaches out to press the button. Led fills your stomach. It’s both the best option and your worst nightmare. There could be normal, human survivors in there willing to help you out. Or it could be filled with… not so human guests.

Jeno leaves his window down as he waits for someone to answer. Oxygen seems to escape you as you struggle to breathe, your chest tight with dread.

“Are you infected?” The voice is a little staticky, and your eyes widen as you realize what this means. There are people inside.

“No. We’re all healthy. We just need a place to stay for the night.” Jeno responds.

“How many of you are there?”

Jeno pauses to count. “Five.”

There’s no response. Disheartened, Jeno reaches out to press the button again. You stop him with a hand on his forearm.

“Jen, look.” The gate is opening. Quickly, Jeno rolls up his window and takes his foot off the break, darting past the gate. You watch it close behind you .

You drive up the path slowly, keeping your eyes peeled for movement. A glance behind you reveals Donghyuck holding tightly onto Jaemin, his face buried in the younger boys neck. Jaemin stares blankly out the window with red-rimmed eyes.

The house- or really, mansion- sits at the end of the long driveway. Two guys come out of the door, both armed with guns. One of them holds his hand up.

Jeno slows to a stop and rolls his window back down.

“Get out of the car.” They order. And while you’re not really in the position to argue, something doesn’t sit right with you.

“How do we know that you’re not infected?” You ask, making no move to leave the vehicle. Jeno already has his seatbelt off and he shoots you a look of what the fuck are you doing?

One of them is significantly taller than the other. He laughs. “We’re not infected. We’re not going to attack you, either, unless you give us a reason to.” It’s not a perfect answer, but it’s the best you’re going to get considering the circumstances. “Alright.” You all pile out of the car. Chenle still has tears streaming down his face but he holds his head as high as he can. Jeno throws an arm around the boy and squeezes his shoulder.

“I’m Lucas.” Says the tall one. He throws you a bright smile but keeps his gun trained on you. You smile back meekly. He nods at his friend. “That’s Winwin.” Winwin is considerably less friendly. He blinds you with a flashlight in each of your eyes and checks your wrists to make sure the veins aren’t black. When he’s satisfied, he pats you all down.

“Okay, they’re clean.” Winwin tells Lucas. To the rest of you, he says: “We still can’t let you guys in the main house, though. We have a side house where you can stay. Just until we’re positive you won’t kill us.”

You all exchange glances. It sounds pretty decent to you. They obviously have a pretty good protection system set up. Jeno looks to each of you before turning back to Winwin. “Okay.”

Their ‘side’ house is the same size as your actual house. If this is what they consider a side house, then you’re scared to see what they consider their main house.

It’s detached from the rest of the house, complete with its own kitchen. Winwin shows you around, before turning to leave. “We only keep non-perishables here. Lucas will come by a bit later and bring you, uh, fresher food.” Your jaw drops at the thought of fresh food, whatever that means. You’re assuming that he means fruits and vegetables, and the thought of a strawberry has your mouth watering. “Holy fuck.” Winwin laughs, and leaves with some final instructions to keep the windows and doors locked. Basic stuff. Chenle immediately heads for one of the bedrooms. You watch him go with a heavy heart, wishing you could do something to ease his pain.

“Shit. I can’t believe they’re calling this a side house.” Donghyuck says. “What would they call my house- a closet?” You giggle, thankful that he’s trying to lighten the mood. Jeno snickers. “More like a pantry. Anyways, I’m wiped.” He turns to leave, giving you a tired smile.

Donghyuck turns to follow him. “They probably have the thousand dollar mattresses. I’d be a fool not to take advantage of that.”

That leaves you and Jaemin. Jaemin makes his way over to the living room, plopping down on the couch. You debate joining him, but you figure he needs his space. Those thousand dollar mattresses are calling your name.

It’s a few hours later, and you’re wide awake. You’d taken a nice nap- Donghyuck was right, the beds were nice- woken up by the delivery of fresh food. Lucas had laughed as you and Donghyuck salivated over the fruits and vegetables in the bag, along with-

“Is that meat?” Donghyuck had looked up at the man with wide eyes. Lucas grinned.

“Yeah man, we raise chickens here. Enjoy.” He’d left with a wink.

You, Jeno, and Donghyuck had torn through the food. Even Chenle had eaten a fair amount, smiling at the sight of green beans. Jaemin had eaten the small amount of food that Jeno had force fed him, and that was that.

Everyone went back to bed after dinner, leaving you alone and painfully awake. Jaemin’s still on the couch, staring off into space. You bite your lip before moving to join him.

“You alright?” Jaemin looks up when you sit down, offering you a tight smile. You hesitate for a moment before curling up against his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” His voice sounds strained and your heart aches for him. You want to do something that can make him feel better, want to take his pain away, but you don’t know how.

You take his hand in your own, giving it what you hope is a reassuring squeeze. Jaemin’s eyes lock on the action before raising to your face and you meet his strong gaze. “If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”

His lips are on yours in the next second. It startles you, but Jaemin doesn’t give you any time to recover. The kiss is rough, his lips insistent against yours. It takes you a moment to process what’s happening.

Jaemin groans deeply when you kiss back, tilting his head to the side in an effort to deepen it. One hand moves up to cup your jaw, sliding backwards into your hair. A moan leaves you when he nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue.

He lets go of your hand in favor of sliding his hand up your thigh, grabbing at your ass in an effort to pull you closer. And he feels so good, you want to lose yourself to him so bad, but something’s off. His lips slide down to your neck and you gasp as his teeth scrape against you, open mouthed kisses pressed almost as an apology. “Jaemin,” You moan, arching against him. “Jaem, we shouldn’t.”

Your protests go unacknowledged, Jaemin continuing his attack on your neck. A part of you wants to give in, mind already clouding with lust, core throbbing with want. But there’s also guilt swimming in your gut and you reluctantly speak up again. “Jaemin, stop. It’s not right, you don’t- you don’t want this.”

His lips stop moving against your neck but he doesn’t move away from you, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder. Jaemin doesn’t respond, just breathing heavily against you. You furrow your eyebrows until you realize that his shoulders are shaking, your skin damp. He’s crying.

“Oh, honey.” You wrap your arms around him, rubbing his back in what you hope is a soothing action. “Shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Jaemin’s silent crying gives way to full on sobs and you hold him through it, tears filling your own eyes as you listen to him. He’s shaking against you, his arms wrapping around you tightly. It’s a little hard to breathe but it’s okay, it’s what he needs right now.

He finally pulls away with a shuddering breath, looking up at you with pain in his glassy eyes. “Please,”

The word is whispered, but his voice holds so much pain and desperation in it that your heart breaks all over again. “What do you need? Tell me what you need, Jaem, and I’ll do it?”

“Distract me. Take the pain away, even if it’s only for a little bit. Just- please.” There are still tears streaming down his cheeks, his voice shaky and choked. It’s not until he slides his hand back down to your ass, to your thigh, that you realize what he’s asking.

“No, Jaem, that’s- you’re not in the right mindset right now. It’s not what you want.” His eyes hold so much emotion and you nearly cave, just wanting to bring the sparkle back into his dull eyes. But you can’t do that to him, you can’t take advantage of him like this.

“It is what I want, y/n, I swear. I’ve wanted you for so long, but I need you now. Just take the pain away.” His sentence ends in a sob. “Distract me.”

You grapple with yourself for a minute, mind running a million miles a second. “Are you sure?”

A nod. “Please.”

Hesitantly, you nod. You don’t move, don’t lean forward, don’t try to do anything. You give him the room to make the first move, to let him change his mind.

He doesn’t. It’s back to the same desperation as earlier as soon as his lips press to yours. He bites at your lip and sucks on your tongue, hand gripping at your shirt as if to rip it off of you.

You stop him before he can, moving his hand lower to rest on your thigh. He immediately grips at the flesh, tugging you on top of him.

The sex isn’t gentle. It’s Jaemin fucking into you at a brutal pace. It’s Jaemin groaning as you tug at his hair and leave scratch marks on his shoulders. It’s Jaemin slapping your ass and demanding you ride him harder, faster. It’s rough and it’s raw, you and Jaemin clinging to each other for dear life.

Jaemin pushes you off of him, jerking himself quickly until he comes onto his stomach. You watch, chest heaving, core aching for some sort of contact. You were so close, but now your orgasm draws further and further away.

“You didn’t come.” Jaemin says after a moment. You consider lying, but he’s already scooting off the couch and onto the floor between your legs.

“No, Jaemin, it’s okay. You don’t have to.” You protest, wanting him to go take a nap and rest. Maybe you could force him to eat more than the meager portion he had earlier.

He looks up at you with dark eyes, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I want to. Please let me do this.”

It’s messy how he eats you out, fucking his tongue rapidly into your hole, pulling away to wrap his lips around your clit. Every tug of his hair earns you a moan, the vibrations delicious against your sensitive core. Jaemin looks up at you the whole time, but the situation reminds you so much of Renjun that you have to tear your gaze away and throw your head back to avoid thinking about it.

Jaemin rests his head against your thigh after you’ve come, sighing happily as you play with his hair. You tug on the strands to get his attention. “Come on, let’s get you some food.” He allows you to shovel fruits and vegetables down his throat, even manages to drain an entire Brita filter worth of water. You watch him fondly, tugging him upstairs to one of the bedrooms. You shove him onto the mattress. “Sleep.”

Jaemin pouts at you but acquiesces, pulling you down on top of him. He’s asleep in seconds.

You wake up the next morning before Jaemin, wiggling out of his hold when your bladder, stomach, and throat start screaming at you simultaneously

The bathroom is just as nice as the rest of the house, though you can tell it hasn’t been used in a while. There’s a thin layer of dust on the mirror and you wipe at it with your shirt sleeve, wincing at your reflection. Jaemin really didn’t mess around yesterday. Your neck is fucking purple.

Your stomach screams at you again and you shrug, deciding that you don’t care that much. Pancakes are much more important.

Jeno and Donghyuck are both sitting at the kitchen table when you walk in. Donghyuck holds up a teapot, eyebrows furrowed in question, and you nod gratefully.

He pours you a cup and then sits back in his seat, staring at you as you make your way around the kitchen. You raise your eyebrows at him. “What?”

“Just wondering when you got mauled.” Donghyuck shrugs, motioning to his neck. “Didn’t realize zombies could do that.”

You huff a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Hilarious.”

He waits a moment to respond. “So you and Jaemin, huh? I guess you decided you could choose, after all.”

You freeze at his words, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. It should be easy to say yes. He’s basically giving you an out, giving you a chance to say that you chose, giving you the chance to stop the emotional strain you’re putting on all of them.

It’s not. “What? No, I didn’t choose anything. He needed comfort and I- I was there to give it to him.”

“I think we could all use some comfort right now.” Jeno shoots back. You look between the two boys with wide eyes.

“What?”

“You said you couldn’t choose. So don’t. Have all three of us.” Jeno says. Like it’s that simple.

You gape at him. “No, I can’t- I can’t date all three of you. It’s selfish and-”

“It’s not, y/n. And don’t say that it’s weird, either, because we’re in the middle of the zombie apocalypse. That’s not exactly normal.” Donghyuck interrupts. He takes a deep breath, releasing it in a whoosh before continuing. “And I wasn’t exactly being fair to you before. I know I blamed you for using us to fill the gap left by your family, but I think we were all doing the same thing.”

“We lost our lives, too.” Jeno adds, smiling grimly. “Hyuck’s right. Nothing about this is normal. We don’t need labels or anything, it’s not like we need to worry about following the status quo.” He’s got a point. It’s hard to be judged by a society that no longer exists.

Donghyuck walks closer to you. He glances down at his feet for a moment before raising his gaze, taking your hands in his own. “I know I've been an asshole to you. But if you want all of us, then that’s fine. I’m happy with that.” Jeno chimes in with a “me too.”

You nod. “Wow. Okay. I need a minute. I’m gonna go and. Process that.” He lets go of your hands, letting you turn away to collect your thoughts.

“Y/n?” You poke your head back into the room at the sound of your name. “That wasn’t me apologizing, by the way. You definitely deserved some of it.”

A laugh leaves you. “Okay, Hyuck.”

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wherevermyway · 3 years

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like covalence // binchan // oneshot // 18+

❄ part of yuki’s favourites! ❄

pairing: bang chan x seo changbin | past lee minho x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: friends-to-lovers, past character death, angst, hurt/comfort, insomnia, explicit sexual content. also, this fic is soft as hell and i love it, okay? word count: 9,746 also on AO3

originally posted: 09 december 2020

Waking up in the middle of the night to surprise phone calls always caused a panic to arise in Chan. The last time he received a call so early in the morning, it was his best friend, Changbin. He was panicking because his boyfriend was admitted to hospital and was dying.

This phone call, however, isn't nearly as horrifying. Changbin is having a bad bout of insomnia, nightmares preventing him from sleeping, and he needs a little help. So, Chan offers to talk him through it. Neither of them, however, expect for their conversation to take such a dramatic turn.

Sometimes, two people are meant to be together, their attraction pulling them into each other to make something greater, like covalent bonds.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

Phone calls at two in the morning were never good. When Chan’s phone trilled, ripping him from his dream, he bolted upright, eyes still glued shut from sleep. He reached over to the nightstand, miscalculating the distance and mistaking it for his nightstand back home. A sleepy grumble rumbled in his throat as he pushed himself further and managed to half-open one of his eyes. The bright screen caused him to squint his half-open eyelid further closed in discomfort.

Changbin. Shit, why was Changbin calling him at two in the morning? The last time Changbin called him in the middle of the night… No, it was probably something minor. It had to have been minor.

Chan fumbled his thumb a bit, swiping his finger against the bottom of his phone to accept the call. “Bin? What happened?”

“Shit, I knew this was stupid,” a low voice echoed in Chan’s ear canal. “You…” the voice trailed off. The younger man cleared his throat on the other end of the line and sighed. “You said I could call you if I ever needed anything, right?”

“Did you get thrown in prison or something?”

“What? No, dude.” Changbin squeaked, then cleared his throat again, lowering his voice. “Why would you think that?”

Chan groaned, turning to the desk lamp on the nightstand, fumbling with the drawstring to turn it on. “It’s two in the morning. You don’t sound panicky, so I figured nobody died or some—” Oh. Chan’s eyes go wide, and he slaps his forehead as he realizes the gravity of what he just said. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Changbin decidedly ignores Chan’s statement, and is quiet for an extended pause. “I can’t sleep, Chan.”

“Again?”

There’s a whimper on the other line. “It’s getting out of hand, dude. I’m starting to see shit, hear things that aren’t there. I try so hard to fucking sleep, but whenever I close my eyes, I just feel so tense. I can’t stop thinking. He’s there, he’s everywhere. The dripping of his IV, the beeping of the machines, the alarms, how fucking pale he looked. God dammit.”

Chan settles up against the flat pillow of his hotel bed, bringing the back of his hand to his forehead as he stares up to the ceiling. “You’re having nightmares about Minho again, aren’t you?”

There’s a bit of a sniffle that comes from Changbin. “Yeah. I know it’s only been ten months, and I can’t imagine what I’m gonna be like when the anniversary comes around. All I know is that I miss him and it fucking hurts.”

“You’ll get through it, Binnie. I’ll be there with you once I’m back from this business trip in a couple of days.”

“That’s not gonna help me sleep right now, though.”

“I’d get on a flight back to Seoul right now if I could, just to smack you upside the head really good and knock you out that way.”

Both of them laugh. “That might be the nicest act of violence someone’s ever threatened me with,” Changbin quips.

“I do what I can.” A soft laugh comes from Chan. “I mean it, though. I’m here for you, Binnie. Let it all out. Maybe it’ll help you sleep.”

“Can I,” Changbin pauses, and there’s some shuffling on the other line. “It’s gonna sound kinda stupid, but I wanna see your face. Are you decent enough for video?”

Chan’s face flushes, and he runs his lips in between his teeth for a moment, releasing them with a pop. “Yeah. Hair might be a mess, though.”

“Your hair’s always a mess.”

“Man, fuck you.” They laugh again, and Chan pulls his phone away from his face, tapping a couple of buttons on screen. “Gimme a sec and… okay, there.” There’s nothing but black on Chan’s phone for a bit. Shortly after that, there’s some shuffling and choice words coming from Changbin’s line as he turns a light on.

Chan sees what he assumes to be Changbin’s ceiling, until the younger man comes back into view, grabbing his phone, running fingers through his black hair. “I wasn’t expecting that without notice. You could’ve warned me,” he whines. There’s a bit of a glare reflecting on his glasses for a moment as he flops down onto his pillow. “Man, you look pretty out of it.”

“You woke me up at two in the morning, dude, what were you expecting?” Chan rolls his eyes, feigning irritation, but the way a smile creeps up on his face, showing off the dimple in his cheek, throws any sense of seriousness out of the window. “Those bags under your eyes aren’t helping you, either.”

Changbin frowns and flips off the camera. “You’re an asshole.”

“I could hang up the phone right now,” Chan shrugs.

“Please,” Changbin’s face twisted into a pout, “don’t hang up on me.” There was a sadness reflected in his eyes, something that looked like it had been building up for a while. The younger man turned onto his side, towards the light on his desk, and a tear fell down the side of his face. “Sorry, I know you were joking, it’s just… I’m tired of being alone, Chan.”

The older man pursed his lips, knitting his brows together as he shifted into a more comfortable position. “You’re never totally alone, Bin, you know? I’m here for you. I might not be able to be there right now with you, but I—”

“Can I move in with you?”

The question caught them both off guard.

“Wait, shit,” Changbin shook his head and groaned, burying his face into his pillow. “That was horrible timing. Fuck.”

Chan scoffed. “Of course you can move in with me. That sounds kinda nice, actually,” he smiled, showing off a bit of his teeth. “My apartment’s been quiet lately, anyways. Should probably try and settle down at some point, but I can’t seem to find the right person. While Jisung sure wasn’t good for me, I have to admit that it’s been so quiet since he’s been gone.”

“Oh, god,” Changbin awkwardly laughs, pulling his sweatshirt up over his chin and nibbles on the inner seam of the tip of the fabric. “You and Jisung,” his voice is slightly muffled through the sweatshirt, “you two were a clusterfuck of bad ideas. He was definitely not the right person for you.”

The older man scowls, staring directly at the tiny camera on his phone. “Come on, we weren’t that bad.”

“Chan,” Changbin stresses, rolling his eyes. “I really don’t need to remind you of the time you showed up at my apartment — unannounced, mind you — shortly after midnight, because you found out he was cheating on you the first time.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll give you that.” Chan shrugs. “That was over a year ago, though.”

“He cheated on you three times and you went back twice, dude. Twice!” They look at each other over the phone, and Changbin tuts, shaking his head in disapproval. “I’m glad you didn’t go back the last time.”

“Me too,” the older man huffs, then rolls on to his stomach. “He’s dating a new guy now. Some bakery owner. Think his name was Felix?”

Changbin drops the sweatshirt from his mouth and rolls onto his back. “At least he’s out of your hair now. You should seriously stop stalking him on social media.”

“I’m not stalking him!” Chan pleads, “Seungmin’s the one that told me when me met up a couple weeks ago. He thinks he’s doing me a favour by keeping tabs on my ex so that I don’t have to, or some shit.”

“You’ve got some weird friends.”

“You’re easily the weirdest of the group.” Chan smiles. “Kinda why I like you, though.”

Changbin’s eyes go wide for a very brief moment, easy to miss with how quickly it happened. He nervously laughs and looks away from his phone. “Yeah,” he says without confidence, rubbing his hand against his forehead.

“What?” Chan cocks his head to the side. “Should I not’ve called you weird?”

“Nah,” Changbin shakes his head and smirks, bringing his free hand down his face, covering his cheek and part of his mouth with his sleeve. “It’s fine, I am weird, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Why are you acting like it bothered you, then?”

Changbin waves his hand in front of his phone. “It’s nothing, dude. You’re reading too much into it. Anyway, don’t you have to work early tomorrow? I really shouldn’t be keeping you up so late.”

“Stop it,” Chan firmly presses and frowns. His tone causes Changbin to recoil and turn into himself a bit. “Don’t ever apologize for needing me. We’re best friends, this is what we do. So what if I’m a little tired for work tomorrow? I’ll get coffee and deal with it. You’re my best fucking friend and I’ll do anything for you. I can’t take away your pain, so this is the next best thing I can try to offer.”

“Chan,” Changbin starts, his eyes starting to turn glossy again. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead shakes his head, rolling onto his side and buries his face into his pillow. He drops his phone and Chan assumes that he’s about to start crying.

The older man stifles a sigh. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Changbin.”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” Changbin chokes a bit and muffles something incoherent into his pillow. Chan lets him unravel a bit, knowing that his friend clearly needs it.

The younger man never really showed his emotions to most people; Chan and Minho were likely the only two people that had seen Changbin cry so openly. He put on a tough exterior, only letting it fall just enough around their friend group. Until recently, Chan had only seen him cry a couple of times: once, when he got mad at Chan for going back to Jisung after being cheated on the first time; the second time was when Minho had died. Changbin had collapsed at his hospital bed and completely broke down.

Losing Minho really damaged Changbin. He had steeled himself further in never being outwardly emotionally vulnerable, but in response to suppressing his emotions so dramatically, he broke down like this more often than he would admit. There had been numerous times where Chan had called or stopped by, and it was obvious Changbin had been crying. His voice would be raspy, his eyes bloodshot, face flushed, and he was unusually withdrawn and reserved.

After a bit, Changbin cleared his throat. He didn’t pick up his phone, but continued the conversation as if nothing happened. “Sorry,” he chokes out, then clears his throat. “I don’t know what I did to get lucky enough to have a friend like you. I just,” the younger man sighs and his lips vibrate against each other with a hum, “you and Minho are the world to me, and now Minho is gone. I’ve only got you. I love you, man.”

“I love you too, Changbin.” There was a burning building up in Chan’s chest, almost like he wanted to cry because he knew that his friend was so miserable; it felt like he was going through the emotional turmoil himself. “If I could take away the pain of your loss, I would.”

“I couldn’t put you through that, dude.” Changbin picks up his phone, pointing it back down to his reddened face. “You know, I watched a movie once. Don’t remember what it was called, but there was a quote that stuck with me for a while.” He looks far past the camera, up towards the ceiling. “I didn’t really get it until after Minho died. The quote was something like, ‘there’s a poem at the temple called loss. It has only three words that the poet has scratched out, since you cannot read loss, only feel it.’ It hurts, but it’s true.”

“We watched that movie together, you dumbass,” Chan scoffed, then laughed. “Memoirs of a Geisha or something.”

“Oh,” Changbin laughs softly, biting his lip. “That was our in-house double date, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Chan smiles, fondly looking back on the memory, and how Changbin seemed so happy with Minho. His smile was so bright, so carefree, so full of light and love, so much softer than it was now. “Minho picked the movie at random and none of us were really paying attention to it because we got kinda drunk. It was fun, though.”

A smile spreads across Changbin’s face. “That was a good time. Jisung was kind of annoying that night, but you looked really happy with him.”

“He was just awkward. Barely knew you two, so I can’t really blame him.”

A tsk. “Dude, you gotta stop defending him,” Changbin cocks his eyebrows and shakes his head. “Look, I should’ve told you sooner, but you always deserved better than him. I always thought he was so shallow and one-sided. Like, he never looked at you like you were his first priority in life.”

Chan tries to think of something to say in response, but simply shrugs his shoulders. “I guess you’re right.”

“I know I’m right, dude. You need someone that loves you like—” Again, Changbin’s eyes go wide, as if he catches himself about to say something stupid, then he shakes his head. “Someone that loves you like you truly deserve. Like you’re their reason for waking up in the morning, someone that’s always happy to see you and will accept you for who you are, no matter what. Chronically messy hair included.”

A gnawing feeling envelopes Chan’s abdomen, causing him to feel a bit uneasy. “Someone like a best friend,” he mutters, then quickly realizes how that comes off and corrects himself, “someone like Minho was to you, yeah?”

Changbin nods, but there’s a strange tension between them now. They stare at each other with slight nervousness behind their eyes. “Like Minho, yeah, or,” Changbin says each word as clearly as possible, looking like he was carefully thinking over what he was saying, “someone like a best friend.” The words came out slowly, with calculus. He knew what he had said, and exactly how it was going to be interpreted.

The feeling in Chan’s stomach had ballooned across his entire torso as he realized what was really happening between the two of them. “Changbin,” he manages to squeak out, nearly dropping his phone on his face from how badly his palms had started to sweat. “There’s something I’ve gotta ask.” Chan sits upright, too enveloped in the moment to pay attention to how he looks on camera.

Changbin sits up, too. He brings the hem of his sleeve up to his mouth and anxiously chews at it as he nods. “What is it, Channie?”

The older man tenses at the nickname rolling off his friend’s tongue. Changbin very rarely ever called him Channie, and that somehow made him all the more nervous. “I,” he stutters out, “maybe I’m just reading into this too much, but there’s something happening here, isn’t there?”

“Something…” Changbin shrinks into himself a bit, looking down at his sleeve.

They sit in awkward silence for several moments too long. The discomfort was overtaking Chan, and he felt like he was about to explode, until he decided he couldn’t take it anymore. He let all of his pent up thoughts spill from the bottom of his heart. “It started before Minho. Years before Minho, I know it. Back at the end of high school.”

The younger man peers over the frames of his glasses, but doesn’t move, nor does he say anything.

“I think we were too stupid to realize it when we were younger. Probably too afraid to act on it and fuck up our friendship. God,” Chan wipes his face, not realizing that the nervousness of pouring out all of his feelings had caused a couple of tears to spill from his eyes. “You started dating Minho after we started our senior year of university. I remember you being really scared about it, saying you were worried you weren’t the right person for him, but now I think you were worried he wasn’t the right person for you.”

Changbin buries his face into his elbow, saying nothing.

The burning in Chan’s abdomen starts to alleviate a bit, like a knot is unravelling, but the nervousness still courses through his veins. He was in too deep to stop now. “You got lucky with him, and I know you loved him as much as he loved you. You deserved someone like him, Binnie, you really did. It was unfair that Minho was taken from you so early.”

A choked noise comes up from Changbin as he drops his phone, the camera angled in such a way that Chan can see him pull his knees into his chest as he tries to avoid crying again.

“I know you miss him, and you should. But you’ve been running to me a lot ever since you lost him. I don’t believe it’s because you have no one else to turn to, nor do I think it’s an unhealthy thing. Clearly, we trust each other a lot.” Chan took in a long, deep shaky breath. There was no turning back, so he was going to pull out all of the stops. “You’re my best friend, Changbin. I love you and that’s never gonna change. But, it’s only fair that you know that I love you as more than just a friend, and I’m gonna guess that you love me like that, too, even if you don’t admit it.”

“Channie,” the younger man whines, still curled up in himself.

“You know I’d do anything for you, Bin. I’ve always said that, and I’m always going to mean it. I’m gonna say it again, and I want you to hear it clearly: I love you, Changbin.”

There are tears rolling down Chan’s face, now. Not tears of sadness, but tears of relief. The knot that had been coiled up inside of him for years had finally unravelled, causing all of the tension built up inside of him to finally release.

“I,” Changbin lifts his head from his elbow, then shakily reaches for his phone, bringing it up to his face. “I love you, too. I have for so long, but I didn’t realize that’s what it was until after Minho died. I just thought I was being an idiot about my feelings, and..” His voice trails off, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head. “I didn’t wanna lose you, Channie.”

“You idiot,” Chan scoffs, wiping his face. “It’d take a lot more than that to scare me away. We know too many dark secrets about each other to have something threaten our friendship like that.”

“You mean too much to me,” the younger man whines, tucking his chin into his chest. “It sounds nice, though.”

“What does?”

“You telling me that you love me. It feels different now, but I love hearing it.” Changbin flops backwards onto his pillow, turning his head to the side so he can rest his phone against the pillow as he closes his eyes. “It’s like the way a satisfying chord hits in a song and you just feel warm in your entire body.”

Chan hums, gently rolling onto his back, imitating Changbin’s positioning. “That’s oddly specific.”

A grin spreads on the younger man’s face. “I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, dude. Let me be weirdly specific.”

“Changbin,” Chan whispers with a smile.

“Hmm?” Changbin cocks his head upward.

“Look at me.”

The younger man whines as he opens his eyes. “What?”

“I wanted you to see my face when I tell you that I love you.”

There’s a soft shade of scarlet that tints Changbin’s face as he parts his lips, mentally replaying the words over in his head. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Changbin.”

“Yeah,” the younger man closes his eyes again, smiling widely. “I love you too, Chan.”

“I suppose that does sound good, doesn’t it?”

Changbin softly nods his head and hums.

“Are you falling asleep on me?” Chan’s eyes grow heavy as he watches Changbin slowly melt into his pillow.

“No,” the younger man whines, pulling his brows together, as if he were going to protest. “Insomniacs don’t sleep, stupid.”

Chan smiles a bit and nuzzles his cheek against his pillow. “Yeah, yeah,” he closes his eyes and listens to Changbin’s breathing on the other line. “Insomniacs…” his voice trails off as he drifts into sleep.

“Fuck!” Chan bolts upright in a cold sweat as the soft rays of dawn start to pour into his hotel room. He looks over his shoulder at the digital clock, reading 05:47. Once he realizes he hasn’t slept through his alarm, like he did in his dream, a sigh of relief escapes his lips. He unceremoniously flops back down onto his pillow, grabbing his phone to watch Changbin.

The younger man is still asleep, covering his face with his elbow. Some soft snoring can be heard if Chan really focuses on it, and taking in the moment warms his heart. There’s a moment where Chan realizes something, and he gets a look of determination on his face as he taps around on his phone.

“Oh, that’s perfect timing.” He mutters some other words incoherently to himself as he continues tapping away until he sends off something and relaxes. “Well, that’ll take care of that.”

Changbin didn’t mean to pass out on the line, but it was inevitable. For the first time in months, he actually felt relaxed enough to sleep for longer than a couple of hours at a time. His eyes fluttered open, greeted by the sunlight from his window. It felt later than Changbin expected as he stared out at the Seoul skyline. He sleepily reached for his phone, not surprised that the call had been terminated.

It was 09:13. He had a mass of texts from Chan, which he immediately opened after he unlocked his phone.

06:57 | chan: ok so i’ll admit i’ve been up for a while just staring at you, watching you sleep and it’s just 06:58 | chan: holy shit that sounds really creepy without context… whatever 06:59 | chan: i don’t know what to say 07:00 | chan: i love you binnie 07:01 | chan: sorry i have to cut our video call short before you wake up but i’m glad you finally slept for once 07:02 | chan: i’ve got a busy day ahead of me but we should chat later, yeah? 07:02 | chan: gonna say it again just because i can, you can’t stop me 07:03 | chan: no, literally, you can’t because you’re asleep lol 07:04 | chan: wow that was a stupid joke. anyway! 07:04 | chan: i love you, text me when you wake up

“Oh,” Changbin whispers to himself. Memories of the night prior had started to flood back up, causing him to flush in slight embarrassment. He really admitted that he was in love with his best friend, and he hadn’t just dreamt of it. It was completely unexpected, but he welcomed it with open arms.

He shot off a quick “morning, love you too, weirdo” text to Chan, still nervous over what exactly to say. Honestly, the encounter last night felt a bit like a fever dream, caused by his insomnia. He figured that he had exaggerated a bit of it, but these texts confirmed how real it all was.

Changbin stared at the ceiling for longer than he’d like to admit, eventually shifting his way to his feet, shuffling away to his washroom to shower. As he stripped his clothes off, nearly ready to step into the warm shower, his phone vibrated against the porcelain of the sink. Normally, he would have ignored it, but on the off chance it was Chan, he didn’t want to risk missing it.

09:40 | chan: “insomniacs don’t sleep” huh? 09:40 | chan: are you working today?

A bit of a grin curls up on Changbin’s face as he reads Chan’s messages. He shoots off a “nope, stuck at home so you should call me when you’re free” text, then sets his phone down on the sink before retreating off into the shower.

His shower is brief, just enough to quickly wash off. It couldn’t have been more than maybe eight minutes before Changbin was back out on the cool linoleum floor, rubbing a towel around his head, then wrapping it around his waist. As soon as the towel is securely tucked around him, he grabs his phone to see he’s missed two calls from Chan. He wastes no time returning the call, surprised when Chan picks up on the second ring.

“Changbin!” The excitement in Chan’s voice startles Changbin a bit. “I thought you said you didn’t have to work today?”

“I don’t,” the younger man grumbles, “I just wanted to take a quick shower. Didn’t think you were gonna be so quick to call me.”

“You said you’re staying home today, right?”

Changbin squints as he looks at himself in the mirror, parting his hair with a comb. “Yeah, I mean, I usually do on Sundays. Why?”

“What are you doing right now?” Chan sounds a bit too excited over the phone, causing Changbin to feel a bit suspicious.

“I just told you, dude,” he sighed, setting the comb down on the countertop. “I was showering, saw I missed a couple calls from you, so I’m standing in the washroom, freezing myself half to death because I didn’t grab any clothes to put on right after.”

There’s a deep breath on the other line. “Changbin,” Chan starts, his voice a bit nervous.

“What?”

“You should go to your front door.”

Changbin furrows his brows in confusion, shaking his head a couple of times. “Why?”

“Would you just trust me? Go on, just go.”

The younger man opens his mouth to protest, but the line goes dead. Changbin pulls his phone away from his ear, staring at the “call terminated” message on his screen before it disappears. “What a fucking weirdo,” he grumbles to himself, but makes his way out of the washroom and towards the front door anyways. “This is dumb,” but yet, he still unlocks his front door and opens it. He looks down at the ground, seeing nothing, then pulls the door back, looking at the front of it and, again, sees nothing.

“The fuck? Goddammit, Chan.” Admittedly, Changbin had gotten his hopes up that something or someone would be there because, honestly, why else would Chan have called him to tell him that, then hang up on him? As he slipped back behind the door, moving to close it, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“You know,” the voice chirps up from around the corner, and Changbin’s eyes go wide, “I did say I’d come by and smack you upside the head to knock you out, but you already slept. Guess I’ve gotta come up with something new, huh?” Chan came around the corner, wearing a cocky grin as he made eye contact with a very surprised Changbin.

“I thought,” the younger man shakes his head in shock, “you weren’t supposed to be back for… how are you even?”

Chan shrugged his shoulders and waved a hand in the air. “I may or may not have fabricated a bit of a lie, saying that someone I knew was sick and I needed to come back to Seoul to take care of them. They didn’t need me there to begin with, anyways.”

The air between them is tense, but not with a nervous tension. There’s a pining energy between both of them, causing Changbin to take an inviting step back as Chan steps forward into his apartment. He swallows hard, letting go of the door as he backs up into the wall. “So, this person that’s sick, I assume you mean that’s me?”

The older man closes the distance between them, and the front door slams shut. “Yeah,” Chan lowers his voice. “Guess you’ve come down with something.”

“That’s a drag,” Changbin’s voice quivers a bit with nervousness, yet he confidently looks up at Chan. “Suppose I need someone to help take care of me with whatever I’m sick with, huh?”

Chan takes his hands, placing one on Changbin’s hip, and places the other one on the side of his neck. The touch causes the younger man to shiver and melt into his hand, softly exhaling. “Lovesickness,” Chan whispers with a coy smirk on his face, craning his head down next to Changbin’s ear. “There’s only one thing that cures that.”

Changbin wants to laugh at the stupidity of how cheesy that sounded, but instead, he found himself bringing his hands up to Chan’s back, digging his fingers into the soft cotton of his shirt. He gently rubs his cheek against the older man’s, whispering into his ear. “How are you going to cure me?”

“With this kind of sickness,” a quiet tsk comes from Chan, and it causes the hairs on the back of Changbin’s neck to rise, “the only thing I can do is give aggressive treatment.”

Before Changbin can make a proper comeback, Chan takes the hand around the younger man’s neck, sliding his thumb around his jawline to get a steady grip. The older man pulls back, making brief eye contact with Changbin before he hastily brings their faces together, crashing their lips against each other.

There’s soft electricity that bounces between the two of them, like this moment was meant to happen for so long, and there was finally a delicious payoff. Changbin expected more awkwardness between them for their first kiss, but everything just blended together. He drags a hand up to Chan’s neck, pulling him in closer.

Chan chuckles against Changbin’s lips, opening his mouth a bit as an invitation. The younger man wastes no time pressing his tongue forward, rolling it around cautiously against the older man’s tongue. He accidentally lets out a bit of a whine, which causes Chan to pull the two of them together, subconsciously grinding up against one another.

Changbin pushes up against Chan, bringing his hands down the older man’s body, down to his hands. He pulls away from the kiss, tugging at Chan’s hands. “Come on,” he whispers, “I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

“Impatient, are we?” Chan grins, not budging as Changbin tries to pull him along.

“It just feels,” there’s a pause as Changbin sheepishly looks down at his feet. “Feels like it should happen, you know?”

Chan shakes his head and scoffs. He pulls back, then ducks down and scoops Changbin up under his knees and pulls him off the floor and into his chest.

“The fuck are you doing?” Changbin practically shouts, eyes wide with panic as he’s hoisted up into the air.

“Working on giving you what you want, duh.”

Changbin huffs in embarrassment, but still wraps his arms around Chan’s neck. “Awfully brash of you, don’t you think? We’re not even dating, dude.”

“Oh, come on. You were thinking about this, too. You literally just said it feels like it should happen,” Chan scoffs as he maneuvers them both through the bedroom door. “Like not dating someone ever stopped either of us from sleeping with people in university. If you’re worried I’m gonna see you naked and be upset,” he pauses, gently placing Changbin onto his bed before crawling over him. “Well, I mean, really, every time we’ve gone to the gym together? Really?”

“Your arrogance truly knows no bounds,” Changbin frowns as he quips.

“Admit it,” Chan smirks, “it’s a big reason you love me, isn’t it?”

The words cause Changbin’s brain to short circuit for a minute before he rapidly blinks himself back to reality. “Yeah,” he sputters out, “yeah, I love you. All of you. Your stupid arrogance and all.”

It’s apparent that Chan wasn’t expecting such a serious response, but he smiles genuinely down to Changbin. “I love you too, Binnie.” He presses a quick peck to Changbin’s forehead, then pulls back and grins. “It’s way better saying that in person.”

“It’s better hearing it in person, too,” Changbin reaches his hands up to Chan’s face, pulling him back down for a proper kiss. “It’s not fair, though,” he whines in between kisses, “you’re a bit overdressed for the occasion.”

“That so, eh?” Chan pulls back, sitting on his heels. “Guess we’re gonna have to do something about that.”

Changbin sits up and cocks an eyebrow and smirks with arrogance. “Way ahead of you.” He reaches down to the bottom of Chan’s shirt and pulls it up, the older man easily complying with his nonverbal demand. Changbin haphazardly tosses the shirt to the floor, then catches himself staring a bit too long at Chan’s torso. “Oh,” he manages to breathe out. “I must not have looked at you close enough the last time we worked out, because this definitely would have gotten stored in my head for later.”

“For later?” Chan smirks.

“Wait,” Changbin vigorously shakes his head and his face reddens. “No, no, no, not like that. I mean, yeah, I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about it, but I wouldn’t just…” He stops speaking, and sighs heavily, burying his head in his hands with embarrassment. “Fuck.”

“You think about me, hmm? You only think about me, or is there something more to that blush you're trying to cover up?”

There’s an awkward pause between them, and Changbin grumbles something to himself before speaking coherently. “Goddammit. Fine, yeah. But only, like, a couple of times.”

Chan reaches forward, gently pulling Changbin’s wrists away from his face, forcing them to make eye contact. “Guess it’s only fair to tell you that the feeling’s mutual,” he whispers.

“What? Seriously?”

“Yeah, but that’s not important right now, not when I’ve got the real thing in front of me.” Chan shrugs and presses a quick peck to Changbin’s lips, then continues offering small kisses down his jawline to his ear. He takes the lobe between his teeth and softly nibbles on it. “Tell me about what you think about when you think of me. Maybe I’ll make it happen.”

Changbin squirms, gasping softly as a jolt runs through him when Chan rolls the sensitive flesh between his teeth. “All I can think about is the fact that you’re still overdressed,” he manages to speak, his voice airy and distracted. Changbin’s clammy fingers tremble as they dance down Chan’s shoulders, down his torso. “You wouldn’t be this dressed if I were to think something distasteful about you. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Hmm,” Chan steadies himself on his knees, reaching down to grab Changbin’s wrists. He pulls them up and brings the younger man’s arms above his head, looking down with confidence. “Have a little patience.”

“I don’t wanna be patient.” Changbin pauses, darting his eyes down, pursing his lips together. “I’ve been waiting for what feels like years, Chan.” His words come out at a low voice as he nervously mutters down into his chest.

Chan must have picked up on the nervousness the man beneath him was feeling. He takes one of his hands and gently lifts Changbin’s chin up. “Look at me,” he whispers as they make eye contact. “Trust me, I’ve been waiting for this for a while, too. I don’t wanna fuck it up,” he sighs and his confident aura drops a bit, “and I guess I’m a little nervous, too.”

Changbin frowns slightly. “Are you hesitating?”

“A little bit, I guess?” Chan shakes his head and shrugs. He scans Changbin’s eyes over a few times, then starts to pull back.

“No,” Changbin interrupts, taking his free hand and quickly pulling Chan in closer to him by the back of his head. They crash their lips together in an awkward, rough kiss. Chan lets go of Changbin’s wrist, softly caressing the younger man’s face as he pushes deeper into the kiss. “You wanna know what I think about?”

“What?” Chan’s response comes out muffled against Changbin’s lips.

Changbin takes Chan’s wrist, guiding his hand down to his neck. “I think about how your hands would feel here,” then he drags the hand down to his sternum, “how your fingernails would scratch against me here.”

Almost as if on reflex, Chan digs his fingers into Changbin’s skin, grazing them down ever so softly. “Like that?”

A soft gasp comes between Chan and Changbin in response. “Yeah,” the younger man breathes, letting go of Chan’s wrist. “I think about how your nails would feel as they dragged down my stomach, all the way down…”

Chan continues trailing his fingers down, as if Changbin’s words were a set of instructions. “Then what?” His fingers stop at the younger man’s hip bones, and he dips his thumb into the corner of the bone, causing Changbin to arch his back and break away from the kiss with a strangled cry.

“Fuck,” he whines, “I wasn’t expecting that.” He dips his head back down, looking up to the older man with nervousness and excitement.

“Well, what’s next?” Chan cocks his head to the side, brushing his thumb against the skin above Changbin’s hip bone. “What do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Changbin whines, rolling his hips up into Chan’s touch. “I want you, Chan.”

For a fleeting moment, a soft smile appears on Chan’s face, before he takes his hand and slides it down, hooking into the towel around Changbin’s waist. This causes the younger man’s eyes to go wide. He licks his lower lip, then nibbles on it as he anxiously nods. “Please,” he whines.

Chan tugs at the taut towel, eventually causing it to unravel. Changbin sighs in approval, letting his eyes flutter shut. He keeps his eyes closed until he feels the bed shift and sees Chan rifling through his nightstand. “What are you doing?” He grumbles, frowning at the distraction. “Why are you going through my shit? Are you looking for something?”

“Yeah,” Chan bites his tongue as he sifts through various papers and paraphernalia in the drawer. “Where the fuck is your lube?”

“Have you ever thought about asking, dude?” Changbin rolls his eyes and moves to the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. “You really think I’m dumb enough to keep it in the nightstand that’s close to my bedroom door?”

“Come on,” Chan pulls back a bit, desperately trying not to let his eyes wander down. He watches Changbin rifle through his belongings, as he brings his fingers to the waistband of his jeans. The button pops out of the hole effortlessly, and he can’t help but feel relieved as he tugs the zipper down, giving his erection a little bit of relief as it presses up against his boxer briefs.

“Here,” Changbin says, tossing the bottle of lube over towards Chan, not realizing that he wasn’t prepared to catch it. The bottle smacks Chan in the chest and falls just to the side of Changbin’s legs, somehow, thankfully missing any tender areas.

“Ow,” Chan rubs his chest and glares at the younger man. “Why the fuck did you throw it at me?”

Changbin, however, doesn’t respond. He finds himself too distracted by the way the colour of Chan’s navy briefs complements his skin. His head slowly tilts to the side and he stares at the outline of Chan’s cock against his underwear and he blinks a couple of times.

“Why are you staring?” Chan tuts, resting his hand on his hip. “You’ve seen it before.”

“Context,” Changbin shakes his head and stares up at Chan in disbelief before he sits upright, getting into the older man’s face. “Yeah, I’ve seen it, but like, I’ve never seen it like this. Not hard, and definitely not hard for me.”

A bit of a smile creeps up Chan’s lips. “You don’t know that. Maybe you didn’t pay enough attention before.” He winks as he hooks his thumbs into his jeans and underwear, making deliberate eye contact as he slowly pulls the clothes down.

It’s obvious that Changbin is desperately trying not to watch Chan’s clothes sink to the bed, pooling down at his knees. “I’m paying attention now, though.”

“I can tell. Now,” Chan grabs the lube next to Changbin’s leg and takes a finger, pushing it against the younger man’s chest, “lie down, so I can give you what you want.”

Changbin rests back on his elbows, still trying to maintain eye contact with Chan. “What makes you think I belong down here? Maybe I’d rather ride you?”

“Oh, please,” Chan rolls his eyes as he squeezes some lube onto his fingers, then haphazardly discards the bottle to the side of the bed. “I know you too well. You’re an observer, not a performer. You’d rather be down there watching me put in all the effort.” The older man winks and slides his fingers between Changbin’s legs.

A frustrated huff comes from Changbin as he lies fully on his back. “Yeah, yeah,” he frowns. “I guess you have a point. I’m not always like that, though. Besides, this lack of sleep has me exhausted, so I really don’t wanna put in too much energy.”

Chan raises one of his eyebrows as he teasingly rubs a finger around Changbin’s entrance, eliciting a soft gasp from the younger man. “You know,” he whispers as his index finger slowly glides inside, “I did just get on an hour-long flight on very little sleep to come and see you. I even lied to my boss, saying you were sick. Maybe I don’t wanna put in effort either, and maybe I do wanna watch you ride me.”

Changbin’s eyes shut tightly as he loses himself in the sensation of how Chan’s finger explores his insides. “We agreed, though,” he breathes out and grips the sheets underneath him, “lovesickness, or whatever stupid cheesy thing you came up with. You said you were going to ‘aggressively treat’ me, or something like that.” He opens one of his eyes and looks up at Chan. “So do it. Show me what you’re gonna do.”

“Oh, I’ll show you what I’m gonna do, all in good time. I do have to commend you, though,” Chan tuts as he slides his middle finger inside, causing Changbin to choke on his own saliva, “you’re a lot bolder than I expected you would be in the sheets. Always pinned you as the pillow princess type, and you’re kinda proving my point.”

“Fuck you,” Changbin shakes his head and growls at Chan. “I am not a pillow princess.”

Chan slips his middle finger completely inside and grins as Changbin’s cocky demeanour falters a bit in reaction. “You totally are. You wanna roll your head back and let go completely right now, that much is obvious. You’re just pretending to channel some arrogant energy and I see right through it.”

“I hate you,” Changbin spits through his teeth as he reaches up to Chan’s shoulders, gripping them tightly.

“No, you don’t.”

Changbin rolls his eyes and shoves Chan back a bit, then rolls him around onto his back, causing the older man’s fingers to slide out of him. “You specifically riled me up because you knew I’d do this, didn’t you?”

Chan, while still a bit shocked by Changbin suddenly reversing their roles, manages to flash a cheeky grin. “So, maybe I did? It worked, didn’t it?”

“You’re insufferable, you know?” Changbin rolled his eyes, then grabbed Chan’s lubed hand as he positioned himself over Chan’s stomach. “I’m not done with you, yet, though.”

Picking up on Changbin’s intentions, Chan moved his hand closer to the inside of Changbin’s thighs. He worked his fingers back inside the younger man, causing him to stumble forward a bit and grab the headboard. “So nice of you to consider my exhaustion in all of this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the younger man sighed. “I still can’t believe you think I’d lay here and do nothing, though.”

“Come on,” Chan scoffs and slowly works his ring finger inside, making Changbin dig his nails into the headboard a bit harder. “I don’t actually think that. Honestly, I have no idea what to expect from you. All I know is that you’re easy to rile up.”

“Seriously? Fuck you,” Changbin whines with insincerity, arching his back as Chan’s fingers stretch him out.

Chan licks his bottom lip, nibbling on it a bit as he watches the arrogance dissolve from the younger man above him. He rotates his middle finger around, offering soft, circular strokes inside of him. When he pushes a bit firmer, it causes Changbin to twitch and let out a bit of a mewl. The older man arrogantly smirks, circling around the sensitive spot a bit more before he pulls each finger out slowly. As Changbin stares down at him in disbelief, Chan shrugs his shoulders. “You could do that. You seem stretched out enough to fuck me.”

For a moment, Changbin looks like he was considering saying something unsavoury, but instead bites his tongue — literally. He shifts back a bit, then grabs the bottle of lube, carelessly squeezing some of it into his hand, then works some of it on to Chan’s cock. “So much for ‘aggressive treatment’, if I’m the one doing all the labour.”

“Hey now,” Chan breathes out, clearly enjoying the way Changbin’s hand feels on him. “Sometimes, you’ve gotta put in effort to be fully healed. Besides, I did my part in stretching you out.”

Changbin shakes his head in feigned irritation. “Yeah, I guess you’re technically right. Makes you the pillow princess now, though.” He playfully winks, then rubs up against the head of Chan’s cock to prevent him from protesting. Once he’s lined up, he slowly slides down, electricity coursing through his veins as the sensation of being filled overtakes him.

“Fuck,” Chan slaps a hand down on to Changbin’s thigh, rolling his head back into the pillow. “Bin, you feel incredible.”

“You’re not even completely inside of me yet,” the younger man’s voice trembles a bit as he grits his teeth. Changbin takes his hand, placing it on top of the hand on his thigh. They both scramble around for a moment, fingers shakily interlacing into each other. “Other hand,” Changbin whines, “gimme your other hand, Channie.” The older man obliges, reaching out to Changbin. They tangle their fingers into knots, and Changbin finally takes Chan fully inside of him, tightly gripping the fingers interlaced with his.

Changbin looks down to Chan’s torso, catching his breath as he lets his body acclimate to the feeling of being connected. Chan presses his elbow down into the bed, releasing his hands from Changbin’s, as he sits upright. He takes his other hand and grips the younger man’s surprised face. “I wanted to be able to kiss you,” he whispers, then tentatively presses his lips to Changbin’s forehead.

“You could’ve just told me,” Changbin sighs, not from irritation, but from contentment.

Chan tsks, kissing a line down from the younger man’s forehead, down his nose, then softly presses his lips against Changbin’s lips. “Wanted to be closer to you,” he punctuates the space in between each word with a quick peck. “I’m not gonna fuck you like a one night stand.”

“Ah,” Changbin nods his head once, grinding his hips up, “so you’re a romantic type, huh?” His voice quivers a bit, and he presses his forehead against Chan’s. “Guess I should’ve known.”

“Doubt you’d complain,” Chan whispers, digging his fingers into Changbin’s back and gripping his neck a bit firmer. “Are you ready, Bin?”

The younger man nods rapidly, hastily pressing his lips against Chan’s. “Yeah,” he affirms, dragging his teeth against Chan’s bottom lip.

The movements are slow, calculated. Chan rolls his hips up into Changbin, letting go of the younger man’s face, placing his arm behind him to support both of them. Changbin leans forward, pressing his weight into his knees as he holds both sides of Chan’s face between his hands. He lifts himself off of his heels, slowly making his way up and down Chan’s length, both of them working in tandem with each other.

“Chan,” Changbin whines, trying to connect their lips together as he gradually increases the pace at which he moves. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Changbin,” Chan complies, bringing his hand up from the younger man’s back, digging his nails into the soft skin as his fingers glide up. “You mean everything to me.” He brings his hand to Changbin’s neck, stroking his cheek with his thumb. Chan breaks away from their sloppy kiss and presses his forehead to Changbin’s.

“I’m thankful you let me be your best friend,” Chan continues. “You’ve been there with me for over a decade now, and I know I wouldn’t have been able to get through half of the things I’ve been through without you.”

Changbin sarcastically scoffs, breathing heavily as he keeps riding Chan. “I wouldn’t be here,” he shudders as Chan rotates his hips up, changing the way he feels inside of Changbin, “fuck, I wouldn’t have made it through this last year without you.” The younger man whimpers a bit, trying to catch his breath. “I needed you, and you were there. I just, fuck— I love you, Chan. I love you, I love you so much.”

Chan pulls Changbin in closer, trying to kiss the younger man, making a pointed effort to make sure their lips connect. They awkwardly kiss a bit until Changbin moves his hands down to grab Chan’s shoulders, allowing for a bit more control. He moves faster, getting more of a verbal reaction from the older man underneath him. Changbin opens his mouth and Chan wastes no time pushing his tongue into the open space.

They let their tongues dance around each other, exploring the new unknowns, trying to memorize the warmth and dampness of the other’s mouth. Chan drops his hand from Changbin’s face, and the younger man pulls away to protest until he feels the warm hand wrap around his cock, his protest being replaced with a mewl.

“Sorry,” Chan pulls away with a gasp, looking at Changbin with a bit of embarrassment. “I’m already close and I wanted to make sure you got there, too.”

Changbin twitches and rolls his head back, letting out a desperate moan. “Chan,” he whines, “if you keep going, it’s not gonna take me long to…”

“I don’t care,” Chan interrupts, “I wanna see how cute your face looks when you come all over me.”

“Fuck you and your stupid, ah,” Changbin grits his teeth, losing his train of thought as he tries to contain his emotions and fails. “I’m gonna… Chan, I—” He involuntarily leans back on his heels, his head rolling back as his back arches. His shoulders roll up to his ears and he lets out a whine as his body convulses, cum shooting up into the air and landing on both of their stomachs.

Chan bites his lip as he watches Changbin fall apart in front of him. “Can I come inside?” His voice is breathless, words caught between pants as he continues rolling his hips, haphazardly thrusting upward as his motions become slightly jerky and more erratic.

The younger man pants as he nods and reorients himself, bringing himself to collapse into the chest in front of him. “Yeah, yeah, come inside me, Chan.” Changbin nuzzles his head up into Chan’s neck, then firmly sinks his teeth into the sensitive flesh in front of him, eliciting a small gasp from the older man.

“Changbin,” Chan whines, drawing out the last syllable of the younger man’s name as he curls inward and his body trembles. He grips Changbin’s back tightly, squeezing him into a close embrace as he comes. His body quivers for a few moments, then eventually calms down. As his breathing slows to a normal pace, Chan shakily sits upright, exchanging a smile with Changbin. He kisses the younger man’s lips softly, reaching up to his shoulders and pulls them both down to the bed.

A tiny squeal comes up from Changbin as he’s rendered horizontal. “Chan,” he whines as he tries to sit upright, but Chan pulls him into a deep kiss.

“Shut up for a minute,” Chan whispers against Changbin’s lips. They exchange tender, tired kisses for several minutes, until Chan pulls back. He looks up to Changbin, smiling softly. “I love you so much. I really do mean it, Bin. Like, you mean the world to me.”

“I love you too, Chan. More than I could put into words.” Changbin smiles back, brushing some of Chan’s stray hairs out of his face. “You also look really hot right now, literally and metaphorically.” He sighs, taking in the way Chan looks, glistening in sweat and covered in his cum. “As much as I love looking at you like this, though, we’re gross and should absolutely shower.”

“Ah,” Chan shakes his head, trying to force himself to stay awake. “Yeah, good point. Sorry to make you shower again so shortly after you already cleaned yourself up once.”

“It’s fine, I’d say it was a fair trade-off.” The younger man dismissively waves his hand in the air. He shudders as he gets off of Chan, making his way to his feet and offering a hand to the man curled up on the bed beneath him. “You can throw the sheets in the wash and help me make the bed later to make up for it, yeah?”

“Deal.”

Changbin rests his damp head against Chan’s chest, listening to the way his heartbeat thrums against the walls of his ribcage. “As much as I love hearing you tell me how much you love me,” he whispers, “I think listening to your heart might be my favourite thing.”

“Why’s that?”

“Means you’re alive.” Changbin lets his eyes flutter shut. “I could record you saying ‘I love you’ to me and listen to it over and over, but it would be hard to capture exactly how your heartbeat sounds over a recording.”

Chan laughs, the sound blending in nicely with his heartbeat. “As romantic as that sounds, you sound like a bit of a serial killer.”

“You never know,” Changbin tuts, tilting his head up to look at Chan. “I could be. Maybe I hide the bodies in my laundry closet.”

“Oh, please,” the older man rolls his eyes, “you don’t have it in you.”

Changbin walks his fingers over Chan’s chest, towards his nightstand, but stops halfway. “I could keep a knife in there, you know.”

Chan deadpans. “Dude, I know you have one in there.”

“What?” The colour drains from Changbin’s face.

“Yeah,” a laugh bubbles up from Chan’s stomach. “I mean, I don’t know where exactly you keep it, but you told me you had one in your bedroom somewhere. Remember that one time you told me that Minho wanted you to do some kinky shit with a knife, but you both chickened out because you were too afraid you were actually gonna hurt him?”

Changbin’s forehead collides against Chan’s sternum with a thud. “Fuck,” he groans, “I forgot I told you that.”

“You were drunk and Minho was really fucking embarrassed. ‘I can’t believe you’d tell Chan that!’, he yelled at you, and you were all like, ‘Chan knows everything about my sex life, I tell you this all the time!’ and then Minho threw the last of his rice at you and missed.”

Both of them laugh so hard, recalling the memory. “Oh my god,” Changbin doubles over as he laughs. “I totally forgot about that. Then he cried because he couldn’t believe he threw something at me, but then he was more upset that he had missed.”

Chan calmed his laughter down and sighed. “He was quirky. I liked that about him.”

“Me too.” Changbin wraps his arm around Chan’s torso and closes his eyes. “Sometimes, I can still hear his laugh when I walk through the empty apartment. It’s like I can see him on the couch, cats curled up in his lap as he had his feet up on the table, working on some management proposal.

“He’d bite his lip until it bled,” the younger man continued, “he’d get so focused on his stupid work projects. ‘I can’t let them be lost without me,’ he’d tell me after I would’ve scolded him. ‘Gotta make the transition easy, since it could be any day.’” Changbin sighed and shook his head, burying it further into Chan’s chest. “That idiot was more concerned about work than his own health.”

Chan brought up a hand to stroke Changbin’s damp hair. “Concerned over work and you. I think you forgot that he was always so worried about you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Changbin rubbed the back of his hand against the underside of his nose as he sniffled. “He put everyone before himself, which is probably why he got so sick so fast.”

“Hey, no, stop it,” Chan whispered, rolling on to his side as he pulled Changbin into an embrace. “You sound like you’re about to start blaming yourself for something you and I both know was out of your control.”

“But—”

“Changbin,” the older man interjects, “it was terminal. Sure, Minho dying was out of the blue, but you couldn’t’ve stopped it. None of us could have.”

There’s an air of tension in the room, silence filling the void for several moments. “You’re right, I know,” the young man buries his head into Chan’s chest. “Doesn’t make it suck less.”

“It doesn’t,” Chan agrees, “but you’ve gotta live on, keep living the best life you can in his memory.”

“I suppose you’ve got a point.” Changbin nuzzled his way around Chan’s chest to hear the older man’s heartbeat again. “Don’t leave me, Chan.”

“I would never dream of it.” Chan whispers as he runs his fingers through Changbin’s hair. “I’m never gonna leave you. I love you, Changbin.”

“I love you, too, Chan.” Changbin whispers back, and the two men lay there in silence, wrapped up in one another, until sleep overtakes them.

For the first time in nearly a year, Changbin finally slept through the night without a nightmare haunting him.

#like covalence #skz smut #skz fics #binchan #bang chan x seo changbin #seo changbin x bang chan #chan x changbin #changbin x chan #wherevermyway

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bangtan-madi · 4 years

Text

All Of Our Lifetimes — Eight: Camera Shutter

Pairing — Taehyung x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au

Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)

Word Count — 4.2k

Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?

Part — 8 / 15

Warnings — language, stalking

Previous — Next

The first item in the box a plastic bag. From the label of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency on the surface, the Korean Eagle's wings spread over the mugunghwa flower, you sense that this item is from the very end of the story. The inside is full of clothing articles. Even without opening it, you see a suede trench coat, a dark sweater, and a purple scarf. Another bag has a pair of men's boots, dark slacks, and a button-down dress shirt. All of the items are covered in blood.

Taehyung takes the other bag, the one with the men's clothing, and closely inspects the label on the surface. Your eyes remain intent on the lavender scarf. Something about the item causes your heart to ache, and you replay your nightmare over in your mind in an attempt to identify it.

"Look here," he murmurs, pointing to one of the lines on the plastic. Glancing over, you see that a name is scribbled on the surface.

His name.

You should be shocked, but at this point, the number of odd coincidences that have come up the border on the insane. Instead, your gaze shifts to the bag in your lap. In your heart, you already know what name you'll see. The other Taehyung didn't reveal his wife's name in his portraits; he only referred to her as the sunlight through the rain.

Kim [Y/n].

Taehyung glances at the name, tilting his head slightly in the process. Heaving a sigh, he glances up to you. "I guess that settles it, then?"

You push the crime scene bag further away on the table, motioning for the box instead. "Let's keep going."

Between the two of you, the rest of the contents of the box are divided and browsed through in less than a half-hour. The box has everything from personal items to jewelry to documents and all sorts of things in between. It's surprisingly little for what Ms. Jwa stated it was, the entirety of Taehyung and [Y/n]'s life.

Like everything in Seoul, there's a familiarity that envelopes you. It's more than just that, though. You feel as if these things belong to you. In some strange way, you feel like you've caught a little piece of home. As bizarre as it is, with Taehyung beside you and these belongings strewn across the table, you feel a sense of peace wash over you.

Peace and closure.

Closer to the bottom, you find a handful of items that appear much older than the 80s and 90s memorabilia. A silver hairpin with an intricate swan on one end and a key-like appearance at the other, a series of handwritten notes dated around the time of the Korean War, and a pair of tiny shoes that look like they once belonged to a small child. The bottom of the shoes have the inscription of the name Kim Sung-ki, and the dates 1905 — 1909. Surely, these items couldn't have been the Kim's. Maybe they belonged to their parents or grandparents?

As you're occupied with the tiny, children's shoes, Taehyung retrieved the last item from the very bottom of the crate. It's a smaller, metal box sealed with a lock. The brunet looks around for a key, mumbling to himself under his breath.

You shake your head slightly and place the shoes to the side. "Here," you reply, picking up the oddly-shaped hairpin and offering it to Taehyung. "Try this? It looks sorta like a key at the smaller end, doesn't it?"

He tilts his head, eyes glancing over the item in your hand before he takes it. He places the pin into the lock, gives it a slight turn, and watches in awe as the lock pops open.

The silence continues as Taehyung removes the metal lid. Inside, you see two distinct items: a photobook and a film reel. Reaching first for the photobook, you scoot your bench closer to Taehyung's so that you can both peer inside at the same time.

The first page says that the book belongs to Kim Taehyung. It gives his address, an apartment not far from where you are now, and his contact information at work, aka the Museum you're under right now. The second page gives the first date, only the year of 1975. The handful of pages that follow are filled with polaroid photographs. Some blurry and out of focus, but always of the beauties of daily life. There are even one or two of Kim Taehyung himself.

The man in 1975 is young, probably not even twenty. Despite the different era, it's clear to both of you that he's the same man as the one sitting beside you.

Half of the photobook is more of the same, covering the latter part of the 70s and most of the 80s. Daegu and the Korean countryside seem to have been his home for most of his childhood, teenage years, and early twenties. His art has a veil of innocence and peace about it.

As the years progress, Kim Taehyung's photography skills become more refined and his camera quality improves. The digital era of the early 90s is when you truly see him start to take off. From 1985 onward, there are images of downtown Seoul; he must have moved sometime in that year. A plethora of urban photographs follow, as well as images of his work for the Museum.

In 1994, the images slowly shift from everyday life and scenic landscapes to a woman. Pieces of her are everywhere this year. Like the Museum, this private gallery has mostly aesthetic snapshots that make it hard to tell who she is. However, every few pages, there's a full portrait of this person, this woman who's caught Kim Taehyung's attention.

And she is you.

The last photograph is once again a polaroid. It's of Kim Taehyung and Kim [Y/n] sharing their first Christmas together. Snow flurries everywhere around Taehyung as he struggles to hang the lights on the small apartment window. His face is hidden by a familiar purple scarf, and it's turned in the direction of the camera. A hand adorned with a wedding band reaches out to him.

"Is this the person you've seen in your dreams?" Taehyung inquires, pointing a slender finger towards the last image.

Biting your lower lip, you nod once. "That's him, exactly like that."

Taehyung glances at you, dark eyes focusing intently on your face. "I don't think there's any denying it anymore. Too many things have added up. The timeline, the appearances, your dream...even finding each other in Seoul, at the Museum of all places, no one can convince me those are all coincidences."

"So...what does that mean?"

Your companion flips the pages back to the clearest portrait of the other Kim Taehyung and Kim [Y/n]. "I think—I know that in another lifetime, you and I were these two people." There's a pause as he takes a deep breath, nervousness filling his baritone voice. "What about you? What do you believe?"

Despite your shaking hands and quiet voice, you clear your throat and muster the courage to turn and return his gaze. "I've known you my entire life—and I think before it, too—so this feels more like a confirmation than a discovery."

Taehyung's hand flinches, and for a second you think he's going to reach for yours, but he pulls away and diverts his attention to the photobook. "Where does that leave us?"

"Maybe...Maybe we can see what's on the film? Maybe the Kims left us answers."

The brunet hops up from his seat, hair hiding his face as he pulls the reel from the metal box. "There's no projector. Do you think the Curator has one somewhere around here?"

Following his lead, you go back to the cabinets in search of the device. Finding nothing in any of them, you venture back into the warehouse. In the back, next to the cases of historical films, you find exactly what you're looking for. A huge grin spreads across your face as you trudge back to Taehyung, the surprisingly heavy device in your arms.

"Will this—oof—ah shit, don't fall! Will this work?"

Taehyung chuckles as you try to balance the item in your arms, haphazardly trying to keep it from falling. "That's perfect." He quickly takes it from your grasp. "So long as you don't drop it."

Heat rises in your face, and you pat your chilly palms against your cheeks as Taehyung sets up the device.

"Hit the lights," he asks over his shoulder as he places the reel onto the side of the projector.

As darkness descends, the gears begin to turn. Images flicker to life, grainy and dim against the empty wall. Taehyung sits cross-legged on the floor, and you join him. The tiny date stamp in the corner marks December 8, 1993, 12:01 A.M.

A woman sits in front of the camera. Though the area around her is hardly lit, there's an obvious ambiance of a hotel room. There are two beds, and she sits on the one nearest to the large window. Travel guides are strewn across the bed, along with a small suitcase and purple scarf.

The lone figure appears to be distressed; her hair is in disarray and her clothes are rumpled. The bags under her eyes show her exhaustion, and the way the room is hardly set up tells that she's only just arrived. She bites her lower lip in anticipation, a small smile crossing her face as she stares ahead into the camera.

There's no possibility that anyone could miss the resemblance between you two. Her hair is styled in a typical 90s fashion, and her clothes would now be considered retro, but the face is the same. Even if a bit more aged.

"I made it to Seoul," she sighs. "Finally."

Her voice even sounds like yours. It has an American lilt that's unmistakable.

"Shit, what timezone am I in? What time is it?" She glances down at her watch, which is no help due to travel. With an eyeroll, she turns her head towards an unseen clock on a nearby wall. "And it's my birthday. Happy birthday to meee." Though she draws out the last word sillily, her voice is quiet and disparate.

"I'm thirty-seven today. Thirty-seven." The other [Y/n] stares up at the ceiling for a moment. "I don't know why I'm making this now. I just...turned on the camera and hoped for the best, I guess?" She turns back towards the camera. "I wanted—I was hoping to document my search in Korea. Going to Europe, to France, that did nothing. He wasn't there...he never is...but damn it. I was hoping something would be different this time around. And getting into South Korea was near impossible, and I'm only here for a few weeks at a time due to my job..." She trails off, then pats her cheeks in an attempt to get her to focus.

"I'm not making any sense. Let me start over." As she straightens, [Y/n] takes a deep breath. "I'm making this mostly for the one that comes after me. This means if you're watching this, then I've already died." A sad smile tugs at her lips. "Not a fun thought, but that's reincarnation for you. I wanted to film this lifetime as much as possible so that the next time around, you don't have to wait so damn long to find each other. Next time, it can be faster. Next time, you won't waste all these years looking for each other."

She adjusts her position on the bed as she continues. "Every time Taehyung and I die, we're reborn into new bodies and new lives. It's been this way for centuries, but I'll get into the origins and the why's later. For now, all you need to know is that when you—when we die, that's not the end. Never is for us. I don't know about others.

"The next thing you need to know is that it's never as easy as retaining your memories. When you're reborn, you forget everything. All about your previous life, all the lives you had before, they're all gone. That is, until one of you turns twenty-one. That day is special for reasons I won't go into; just trust me on this one.

"Every other lifetime, one of you will remember at age twenty-one. Taehyung and I have alternated this story for lifetime upon lifetime. Last time, he was the one that woke up and found me. He had to get me to remember who I was, who he was, who we were, and everything after that. Once you find each other, the memories will start to come back. Given time and self-discovery, you will both remember. And no, it's nothing as cliche as true love's kiss or some bullshit like that."

She laughs softly, and shakes her head. "Taehyung found me last time, so this time it's my turn. I got some of my memories back when I turned twenty-one, and they've been showing up in dreams ever since. Slow at first, always the same one—the events that led up to my death—and then they started piling up. I knew I had to find him; he won't reawaken without me. And if one of us dies without remembering?" She shivers at the thought. "I don't know what might happen. Will that break the cycle? What happens if we both die at the same time? I don't have those answers. All I know is that once I had a name a little over two years ago, I've searched the world far and wide. South Korea is the only place left to look. I have plans to get to Daegu one of these days, and Seoul is massive, but things are still tricky here so I can only stay for small spurts."

There's a long pause where she stares out the dark window, shoulders sagging and eyes downcast. "I have a name now. I can feel him so close. Everything about Seoul is terrifyingly familiar. He has to be here. He has to be. Otherwise..."

The camera turns black, and the film reel keeps rolling. New images appear, B-roll from [Y/n]'s travels around Seoul. The city in its late 20th Century splendor is a welcome sight.

The next lengthy shot is of [Y/n]. She's turned the camera towards herself, an awkward angle on such an old device. "I looked for two weeks. Didn't really come up with anything, but I'll be back next month. Maybe the new year will do me good." She forces a smile, and the camera turns towards Incheon International Airport. "Cheers to 1994."

The projector ticks on, and a black screen flashes before the next shot. The timestamp says January 15, 1994, 3:34 p.m. [Y/n] sits on the balcony of the same hotel. She turns the camera around to view the city before settling it on the table to film herself.

"I've decided to move to Seoul," she announces. "Quit my job last week. I'll be moving here permanently once my visa is approved. There's a much better chance of finding him if I stay for longer than a few days." She wags her finger in the direction of the camera. "Kim Taehyung, if you're watching this, you're damn near impossible to find. Maybe try making yourself easier to find next time?"

Both she and you give a small chuckle at the same time. Easier? That he most certainly did.

The montage that follows is of the Seoul Museum of Art—the exterior, the interior, and the people. From behind the camera, [Y/n] says, "This view might be familiar to you next time. I got a job as a curator. Finally, a way to put my art degree to good use!"

Cut to a week later. [Y/n] records from a new location, one you assume is her new home in Seoul. Her face is drained of color, and her eyes are wide and watery. She stares ahead, not focusing on anything in particular, letting a small laugh slip out.

"I...I finally found him. T—Taehyung. Holy shit, I can't believe it. After all these years, of all the places he could've been, he's been under my nose this whole time."

Shaking her head, she tries to get a semblance of focus back. "Sorry, I'm not making sense. Taehyung's a curator and artist at the Museum I started working at yesterday. I didn't meet him my first day because he was out, but when he came in today, I just about collapsed. I couldn't believe it. I still can't."

A tear slips from her eye, and she wipes it away quickly with the back of her hand. A smile spreads across her face, one of relief and joy and peace. "He doesn't remember me, but that's okay. I didn't expect him to. That'll come in time. At least...At least I have him back. The rest can work itself out."

The clips that follow are sporadic and unplanned. Clips of [Y/n] and her companion at the Museum, at cafes, on the streets of Seoul. You never quite see either of their faces, but from the voice, you know it has to be Taehyung. From the laughter and flirty-aura around the various conversations, you realize that these videos—which span the time from winter to spring—are the months that they fell in love.

Towards the end of the last small clip in the montage, [Y/n] is filming the skyline from her apartment. The night is dark, but the buildings twinkle like stars. "Look how stunning Seoul is," she murmurs.

A voice from behind her says, "Not as stunning as you, Jagi."

[Y/n] gives a hearty laugh. "If you keep saying cheesy things like that, I might just film you."

"Against my will?" Taehyung gasps playfully.

His companion turns the camera towards the interior of the apartment. Reclining in the chair across the space, Taehyung holds a book in one hand. His attention is split between it and the camera.

Once again, you're taken aback by the resemblance between both this person and your dreams, as well as with the man sitting silently beside you. Glancing sideways, you look at Taehyung for the first time since the projector came to life. He hasn't uttered a word, and his dark orbs are glued to the wall.

"You say you hate being filmed, but you're too pretty not to, Tae."

"I'm an artist. I prefer being behind the camera."

"But you're art, too!"

Taehyung scoffs, shaking his head as his gaze evades the camera.

Another cut to black, then [Y/n] appears again. It's a month after the previous scene, and she breathes a heavy sigh from her usual spot in front of the camera.

"I told him everything," she murmurs, running a hand through her hair. "I don't think he believes me. He's remembering some things, I can tell that much, but he's still not quite there. It might take time, but I—I don't want to lose him between now and then." She shakes her head and lowers her face into her hands. "Did I speak too soon?"

Another pair of scenic shots later, and [Y/n] is all smiles again. The date is June 21, 1994, 11:10 a.m. "Taehyung remembered something big," she states with joy. "He told me he's been having dreams of his past life, and he's seen me in them. The longer we're together, the more he's remembering. He says he's been putting things together since we met but that he didn't want to believe it. I think everything's going to be okay!"

The projector continues to roll. When you glance back at it, you see the film roll is more than halfway done. Nervousness fills your stomach. The summer of 1994 was the last your previous life had. Every filmed moment that passes only brings you closer to that death.

"At first, these films were to create a shortcut for my next self," [Y/n] states with a grim demeanor. The date is July 2, 1994, 11:23 p.m. "But now I think I need to film this because I want to preserve this life, this love. It's been over six months since I met Tae, and we started dating shortly after that. It's been the greatest half-year of this lifetime, but I'm terrified it's all going to come to an end."

She clears her throat and shifts her eyes away from the camera. "There was an incident at the Museum yesterday evening. A guy showed up with a knife. I don't know how he got it through security, but he went to Taehyung's office and threatened him, screaming something about the order of things and how off-balanced the universe was. I wasn't there. I didn't see it, but Tae looked shaken. He's tried to hide it, but I'm too good at reading him. He's sleeping here, at my place, for now. Just to be sure. I had to hold him to get him to sleep."

She glances back at the door behind her, one you assume leads to the bedroom where Taehyung slumbers. "It was such a great day up until that happened. We went out, Taehyung only had to run by the Museum to grab something, and..." She sighs, then holds up her left hand. There's a glittery addition to her ring finger. "It was the best day."

The next several minutes show a montage of scenes. A rehearsal. A wedding. A dance. A view of Paris from the air. A pair of newly-weds exploring the city that they both remember from lifetimes ago. For a moment, there's an aura of pure joy and happiness and hope.

Then the shot changes. The camera shakes in [Y/n]'s hands as she aims it towards the window of the Parisian apartment. From the second story, the silhouette of a man can barely be seen. He stands across the street, clothed in darkness, veiled in an ominous aura. Between the shaking hands and pitch-black darkness, you can't quite make out his face.

You don't need to. You know exactly who that man is.

And from the way Taehyung draws in a sharp breath, you sense he's starting to put things together as well.

"Get away from the window, [Y/n]," the other Taehyung whispers from a place behind the camera.

"He can't see me," she retorts, voice trembling. "I wanna get him on camera."

The man walks away, heading in the direction opposite the apartment, and [Y/n] drops the camera onto the nearest table. It doesn't turn off, continuing to film as the woman stumbles into her husband's arms. Her breathing is erratic as she buries her face into his shoulder.

"He—He followed us to France," you murmur into his sleep shirt. "Why does he always find us? W—Why does he keep showing up all the damn time, and why us? Why you? Why—Oh, god."

Taehyung holds her tight, pressing constant butterfly kisses against her hair. "Shhh, love. You've gotta calm down. Just breathe. I got you." To put emphasis on his words, he clasps one hand on the small of her back while the other tangles in her hair. "You're safe; we're safe. He's gone. You're safe."

"Are we? Are we really, Tae? He could've killed you in June. He's been shadowing us for months. I never thought he'd follow us on our honeymoon, but he—shit, he was right outside!"

"I won't let anything happen to you," he reassures in a soft timbre. "Neither of us."

"You can't promise that," she whimpers, clutching him tighter. "Time has told me that. What happens if he finds you again? Or worse, what if he finds us both? What happens if we both die at the same time, Tae? Would—Would that be the end?"

A remorseful expression crosses Taehyung's face, but he quickly hides it as to not risk his wife seeing it. "I know I don't have all the answers. There's still a lot I don't remember, but I know this: I will protect you. My memory is getting stronger every day. I love you and it feels like we wasted so much time already, trying to find each other in a world that feels too big. And me putting up such a fight against the whole idea of past lives. We got through all of that. I won't lose you now. Not ever. Not in this life or the next. You hear me?"

[Y/n] offers a small nod as she pulls away slightly. Her eyes evade his, but when he cups her face in his hands, their gazes meet. Taehyung offers her a small smile, and she returns it.

"I love you, too," she murmurs.

Taehyung brushes his thumbs across her cheeks as his grin widens into a signature boxy smile. "That's my girl." Another kiss to the forehead, and he nods to the dresser. "Grab your things. We're leaving for the airport."

You hear a clicking as the last frame freezes. Both you and Taehyung look over your shoulders, seeing the film reel spinning to its end. He hops up to stop the machine, and the last picture disappears from the wall.

Taglist — @just-call-me-trash-can, @jaienn, @happyhrsme, @butaes, @peter-pan, @twoteen-yup, @dreamcatcherjiah

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myhockeyworld87 · 4 years

Text

Not So Dangerous Liaison - Sidney Crosby - Part 5

Word Count: 2,287

POV: Sidney’s

Warnings: Language, Small spaces (if you have a fear of that)

Notes: Here we go part 5. I really like where this story is going, and I hope you guys do too. As always feedback in appreciated.

Not So Dangerous Masterlist

It was funny how lack of sleep could make a person more irritable with each passing moment. The plane ride to DC was miserable, the weather was so bad, that it was like riding on a roller coaster, so sleep was something that didn't happen. You'd even abandoned playing video games for when you hit a patch of turbulence; you'd end up hitting the wrong button. By the time you finally made it to the hotel and got your key from (Y/N), you were ready to rip someone's head off.

"Sid," Phil yelled as you headed for the elevator.

"What!" you snapped back at him.

"Jesus, you don't have to take my head off." You took a deep breath, softening your mood before he continued. "I just wanted to see if you told (Y/N) that dinner was at seven?"

"Shit," you'd completely forgot about dinner. All you wanted to do was head to your room and order dinner in, hopefully eliminating any run-ins with (Y/N). Obviously, that wasn't going to happen now.

"I'll take that as a no."

"Yeah, I sort of forgot about it." The doors to the elevator opened then and Phil got inside.

"Well she's right there, I'll see you in the lobby at seven." The doors slid closed and so did any opportunity of not seeing the girl who seemed to be torturing your dreams.

You turned around, and standing not twenty feet in front of you was (Y/N), with Beau beside her. It was as if your worst nightmares were coming true. "Miss the elevator, Sid?" Beau chuckled.

"Something like that." God, if he wasn't injured, you consider wiping the smirk off his face. "I needed to talk to (Y/N)."

"Oh, well in that case; I'll talk to you both later." He made a move towards the elevators but stopped short. "Thanks again for everything you did last night (Y/NickN)."

"Part of the job there, Sunshine." Ugh, god now the two were calling each other by their nicknames. Beau ducked into an open elevator, and (Y/N) turn her attention towards you. "So, what do you need Sid? More pillows or do you need something for the game. I'd be more than happy to run and go get whatever you need."

Why did she have to be so helpful? It made her so much harder to stay away from her when she was being so nice. "No, no. I don't need anything. I just wanted to remind you that dinners at seven tonight. We're all meeting in the lobby at six forty-five to walk down to the restaurant."

"Yeah, Phil told me earlier." What the hell, why had he….You were gonna wring his neck. "But thanks for reminding me. I'll see you down here shortly." She stepped into a free elevator then. "Are you coming?" There was no reason you had to stay by the elevator bank, so you joined her in the small confines. "So, was your room ok in Ottawa, I wasn't sure if you…" The elevator stopped suddenly, jarring you both as everything went black for a moment until the emergency lighting came on. You reached out and steadied (Y/N) purely on instinct. "What the hell."

"I think the elevator's stuck." You stated, arm still around her waist.

"Well can you make it unstuck?" You looked over at (Y/N) and she looked white as a sheet. Her skin was pale and you noticed her breathing was shallow. Reaching out, you hit a couple buttons and nothing happened.

"Yeah, I don't think we're going anywhere, at least for a minute or two."

"Well, we should press the emergency call or something." She sounded on edge. It occurred to you then, that she was having a panic attack.

"(Y/N), look at me. It's ok." Her eyes darted around the small space, and you could tell she was having a hard time breathing. "(Y/N) it's ok." You repeated to her hoping to reassure her. You grabbed her by the waist more forceful then and forced her to look at you. "Take a deep breath with me. In….ok and out….In….and out."

She finally calmed a bit. "Thanks, I'm sorry; I just really hate small spaces." Your hands didn't move from her waist, for she felt good in your arms. "I blame my brothers they locked me in my mom's hope chest when I was little as a joke. It was on them when my mom found me sobbing and they got grounded for two weeks." She smiled then and you could feel her relax even more.

"I'm surprised you handle the plane so well."

"I don't. Beau's been really nice telling me jokes at least until I'm comfortable in the air." So that's why the two were always laughing. "Some of them are so horrible, but it's so nice of him to take my mind off of it." God, you'd been such an ass, thinking that Beau was making a move on her; well he still could be, but this sort of put a whole new spin on things.

An operator came over the loudspeaker then, from when you'd hit the emergency call button. "This is hotel maintenance, we're aware of the problem and are working on it. It's our understanding that a transformer blew in the area and they are giving us a time frame of about an hour before the power is back on, and then we'll have your out of there right away. Are you ok in there at the moment?"

You looked at (Y/N) who nodded her head, that she was ok. "Yes, we're fine." You answered for the both of you.

"Ok then hang tight. If anything changes just hit the emergency button again."

"Are you sure you're ok?" While she'd already said yes, you just wanted to double-check.

"Yeah, I'm a little better now. Thanks." She moved out of your arms then, and you felt the loss more than just physically. "Guess we're going to be here a while." She plopped down on the floor and patted the spot next to her. "Might as well get comfortable." Thankfully, you'd both traveled in comfortable Pens clothing, instead of business suits, so it was easier to sit down on the floor beside her. "I'm now wishing I would've gone back for seconds at breakfast."

"Well, you're in luck." You grabbed your suitcase and opened the front pocket. "I'm not sure if you've heard this or not, but there's this new member working on our team. She does the best care packages in our rooms, and I so happen to have a little something left from mine." You pulled out a candy bar you had left and were saving for later tonight. She smiled, a bright beaming one that was directed solely at you and no one else. "Care for half?"

"Oh, you're a godsend." You broke the bar in half and handed part over to her.

"So, I have to ask. How did you know my favorite candy bar, being that I never handed in the form and all? Though I promise I will get it to you as soon as we get back home."

She swallowed then covered her mouth, in this cute little gesture. "Well I have to confess, I called your mom and asked." A cute pink blush stained her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to introduce myself and well she was so incredibly sweet. We just got to talking and well one thing led to another and she gave me some insight. I hope you're not mad."

"Mad? No how could I be." You actually hadn't spoken to your mom in a couple days, but you were sure she was going to rave about (Y/N) the minute she picked up the phone. "She probably talked your ear off."

"We had a really nice conversation. I can't wait to meet her."

"Well, that will be probably soon. I'm sure they'll be in town for playoffs." Was it wrong to hope that the two would get along in person as well? You sure hoped not.

"This is sort of changing the subject, but I want to well…I guess clear the air about last night." Why was she bringing him up, when you were fantasizing about her meeting your mother and not just as someone who worked for the team.

Still, you found yourself saying, "You don't have to explain anything."

"Well I know it looked bad, but Chris asked if I would help Beau into his room after all the pain meds that they gave him. I had planned on leaving right away, but then he started whining." She laughed obviously thinking back. "At any rate, I fell asleep in the chair. I didn't want to wake him up, so I just crept out the door and well I ran into you." She stopped you before you could say anything. "I should've said something last night. I don't know why I didn't, but I didn't want you to think that I didn't take this job seriously, or that something was going on with Beau and I when there isn't or wasn't. Ok, now I feel stupid."

"(Y/N), I didn't think anything was going on." Even though you totally did, but it was nice to hear it from her own mouth. "I've heard Beau whine before." You chuckled then. "It's not pretty."

"I know right. I was afraid he'd wake the whole floor up." God, the sound of her laugh did unholy things to you.

Once her laughter died down, you decided to get something off your chest as well. "As long as we're confessing things, there's something I have to tell you." She cocked her head at you in question. "The first day in Ottawa, at the meeting, when you asked me if my room was ok." You rubbed the back of your neck as you were a bit embarrassed about this next part. "I hadn't actually noticed anything that you'd done." She didn't really react. "It wasn't anything about you. I just hadn't slept the night before, and the minute I got in the room; I crashed. After we talked, I went to the room and saw everything. It was really nice, what you did for all of us…well for me specifically."

"I'm glad you liked it. I'll admit, I thought I totally fucked up, especially with the book."

"God no. I love it; I'm halfway through it already." It really was a great read. She looked visibly relieved when you said that.

"I hope you like the one left you here. Well, if we ever get out here."

"Wait, did you do another one of those for this place?" That damn blush again, crept up to her cheeks, and you wondered if you kissed her, would she turn that shade as well.

"That's kind of what I'm supposed to do right? Make your jobs a bit easier. Which is why I don't feel bad that I made you share that candy bar." You laughed from deep down, something that didn't happen too often. (Y/N) was like this rare gem, that you only came across once in a lifetime and you were realizing more and more you didn't want to let this particular rock go.

"Well, I promise to share the other one, once this elevator starts moving again." You actually wanted to share more than that with her, which was a bit scary.

"As long as we don't have to split it while trapped in this elevator it's a deal."

"It hasn't been that bad, has it?" You asked her because honestly, you weren't sure if you ever wanted it to be unstuck.

"Honestly, it's been kind of fun." She smiled at you again, it wasn't that bright one from before. It was more secretive and you could be wrong, but a bit seductive. You found yourself leaning in towards her, as your hand glided over to her leg. Her lids started to drift closed as your mouth came closer to hers. It was if the whole world felt right in this one moment, and then the elevator got power and started back up again. The two of you flying apart and scrambling up from the floor. Neither of you said a word, though you could swear there was a look of disappointment in her face; that you were sure yours reflected as well.

It took about a minute before the doors opened, and there stood hotel maintenance to check on you both. "Are you guys ok?"

"Yeah, perfectly fine." (Y/N) answered as she stepped out; you following behind her.

"We're so sorry this happened. Is there anything we can do for either of you?"

"I think we're good, eh?" And (Y/N) nodded her agreement.

"Again, we apologize for the inconvenience."

"No problem." You told them, as they headed down the stairs back to their job. You stood there for a minute while they left, wondering what to say next to (Y/N), but she beat you to it.

"Thanks for keeping me calm in there. I should let you go rest and stuff…I'll see you in a little bit?"

This wasn't exactly how you saw this ending, but you could definitely use some time to regroup. "Yeah, I'll see you in the lobby in a couple hours." She headed down the hall in the opposite direction of where your room was; you watched her go, thinking that maybe waiting until playoffs were over to win (Y/N) was no longer an option. Flower was right, there was too much of a chance for someone else to capture her attention. The only thing left to do was figure out how to make a move tonight.

#Not So Dangerous Liaison Series #Sidney Crosby #sidney crosby imagine #Sidney Crosby Imagines #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction

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