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ghostbustermelanieking · 3 years

Note

For the AU-Jon wakes up from his coma before Martin accepts Peter's offer?

1. Oliver Banks comes sooner. No one knows why it happens this way, but this is the way it happens, and it mostly goes the same. Georgie shows up, Oliver leaves, and Jon starts to breathe again. It all just happens earlier.

Basira doesn’t tell Martin right away, when Georgie shows up. He’s taken this whole thing so hard, and it might be nothing, it might be nothing at all. She resolves to call him as soon as they have more details—when she has a hold on the whole situation.

2. This happens only two days after Peter has made his offer. He gave Martin a few days to “think it over,” and Martin still hasn’t come to a clear decision. (He thinks that the decision should be obvious—should be—but he isn’t that brave, and he’s never been the hero, and the decision seems impossibly stupid at times, and what if—what if Jon wakes up?)

Peter’s offer is still sitting like a stone in his mind, and he’s halfway considering visiting Jon, for some grasp at clarity—or maybe an attempt to say goodbye—when Basira texts, tells him to come to the hospital. She doesn’t offer many more details besides that, and Martin is out of the Institute and in a cab before there is even time to consider what this might mean. He halfway wants to call Basira up and press for information. The thing that sticks in his mind—the thing he thinks it must be—is that Jon is dead. Jon has finally died, and Basira’s called him there to say goodbye—and that just makes him want to press Basira even more, to demand answers, because what if he’s heading to the hospital with even a glimmer of hope and it turns out to be the exact opposite…

(Or what if—what if he’s awake? What if he’s alive?)

Martin doesn’t let himself hope. Doesn’t know how to. He keeps going over the possibilities—He’s probably dead, or worse—keeps reapproaching Peter’s plan—If Jon’s dead, I’ll have to take it, it’s the least I can do for the others, what will I have keeping me here then… He goes straight to the hospital, and up to Jon’s floor—the nurses know him, and wave him on through—down the halls to Jon’s familiar room, to Jon’s door, all the while bracing himself for bad news.

3. Basira is waiting by the door, and she looks up when Martin comes down the hall. “What’s happened?” Martin snaps, immediately. “What’s going on? Is he—” His throat closes at the prospect of finishing that sentence; he can’t do it, can’t say it…

Basira’s expression is closed off enough that Martin can’t read it, can’t tell if it’s bad news. But then she says, “He’s awake,” and the force of it is like a gut punch, nearly bending Martin in half. His hand immediately shoots for the door, and Basira puts an arm out as if to stop him. “Martin. It isn’t what you think.”

“What is it, then?” Martin snaps, and he yanks the door open, the word pushing out of his mouth entirely of his own accord—”Jon…”

Jon is awake. Jon is sitting up in bed, with a crumpled statement in his lap, and a tape recorder running on the side table, and Martin can’t breathe. Jon looks almost exactly the same as he has for months now, except that he’s awake and alive and looking at Martin. “Martin?” he says—a lot of emotions crammed into this one word—and Martin doesn’t know what to say, can’t get past the reality of Jon actually saying his name.

“Martin, you’re… here,” Jon says, quietly, the statement crumpling in his hand. “I-I didn’t know if… you’re all right?”

Martin starts to cross the room slowly, to the chair he’s more or less grown accustomed to sitting in when he’s visited. He hasn’t said anything yet—hasn’t found the words—and Jon is still talking. “I wasn’t sure if… y-your plan, Elias, Basira hasn’t… hasn’t filled me in, and I… you’re all right? You aren’t hurt, are you? Martin?”

Martin shakes his head numbly as he sits. Looks down at the bed and almost reaches for Jon’s hand—a long running habit, this isn’t his first visit, they’ve become as routine as anything—but he stops himself. He doesn’t know if Jon would want that. Maybe Jon never would have wanted that.

“You, er,” Jon begins, stops. He takes a slow breath, and his voice sounds remarkably well put-together, even after months of disuse. “It’s, uh. It’s good to see you here, Martin.”

Martin chokes a little. “Jon?” he says—he isn’t sure he has the words for anything else—and he looks up, and Jon is looking back at him—something unreadable in his eyes, something almost like affection, maybe—and one of them, or maybe both of them, move before Martin even knows what is happening. Martin jerks forward, and so does Jon, and then they’re embracing, leaning over the bed, Jon’s fingers digging into Martin’s shoulders, Jon’s heart thudding in his chest—Martin can feel it now. And he doesn’t bother to stop himself from crying anymore. He just holds onto Jon—Jon, awake, Jon, alive, Jon's head on his shoulder—and keeps telling himself, over and over again, that it’s all okay, it can all be okay now.

4. Jon ends up staying with Martin. It makes sense—Jon doesn’t have a flat, and neither do the others—Basira and Melanie have been living in the Archives, and Georgie hasn’t said anything to either of them since the hospital (Martin has still never met her). But Martin still has a flat. And Jon deserves better than a cot, after months of hospital beds, so Martin offers to let him stay, and Jon agrees.

The marvel of it is too much—after months of quiet in the Archives, months of growing apart from Melanie and Basira, months of isolation and feeling lost, months of Jon being asleep… the reality of Jon standing in his kitchen, Jon drinking tea at his dining room table, is genuinely overwhelming. There’s a dozen things Martin wants to say without knowing if he should, a dozen things he wants to explain. Basira filled him in on most of the important things, but they haven’t gotten a chance to talk about any of them, and there’s even more things Martin wants to say, if he knew how to say them. He wants to talk to Jon about how much he’s missed Tim—how much of his mind has been stuck in the reality of that first year, when Tim was alive and Sasha was alive, and aside from Jon sort of hating him, everything mostly being all right. He wants to tell Jon about how much he’s missed him, when he was asleep—wants to say all the things he’s been able to say to Elias and a goddamn tape recorder, but not to Jon himself. He wants to tell Jon about his mum. He wants to tell Jon he visited every single week, sometimes two or three times. He wants to talk about how horrible this all has been, and what they do next, how they move on from this, because he genuinely does not know. He wants to talk about all of it.

He wants to tell Jon about Peter’s offer, and he wants Jon to tell him not to take it. Because a part of him still thinks he needs to take it. He thinks about Peter’s warnings, and his promises to keep them all safe. And yes, Jon is awake now, but shouldn’t that be even more reason to take it? To keep Jon safe, too, now that he’s awake and can be put in danger? And there’s still the others, in the same danger they would’ve been before, and they deserve to be safe, too—and Martin isn’t the hero by a long shot, but he wants to be, wants to do something more to make a difference besides lighting some fires while Tim and Jon went off to die. He wants to make the noble decision, even if it will be a thousand times harder with Jon here in front of him. But he also wants Jon to talk him out of it.

Martin doesn’t say any of this to Jon, because he can’t. Not with everything Jon’s been through—in a coma for months, how selfish can Martin be? He makes tea, and he sits at the kitchen table with Jon, and he answers Jon’s questions about what he’s missed, and he tries not to think about Peter’s offer. The urgency in his voice that was probably a lie. He keeps getting paranoid that Peter will see him sitting here with Jon (Peter is not Elias), and that Peter will insist that he can’t be doing this, that he’s breaking their agreement (except Martin never agreed), and then try to tell Martin that the deal is forfeit now, and it’s too late. And it’s absurd, because Martin doesn’t want to take the deal—except he’s scared about what not taking it might mean. Scared about how this will all end, scared that if he doesn’t take the deal that something will happen—and what if Jon (or Melanie, or Basira) die and it’s because of him, because he turned down this chance? Except that he was only going to take it because Jon wasn’t ever going to wake up, and now he’s here, and how can Martin leave now, after everything?

There is simultaneously too much and not enough to talk about, and Jon doesn’t seem to know how to initiate it either, so they talk about nothing. They end up on the couch, flipping through the television channels, and Jon asks some lighthearted questions about what he’s missed on TV shows Martin didn’t even know he watched. It’s easy enough to make that kind of small talk, over other kinds, and it’s enough to get them both laughing a little. They stay on the couch for a long time. (Martin halfway expects Jon to be tired, to need to get more sleep—and halfway decides to leave a couple of times, an attempt to give Jon space, before deciding in the other direction—but Jon never mentions needing sleep, and Martin guesses if he was sleeping for months on end, he probably wouldn’t be tired, either. So he stays on the couch with Jon.)

At some point, they do start talking: about Tim, about the missing months, about how hard everything has been. Martin doesn’t bring up the thing with Peter, not yet, but he talks about all the rest. (The tremor in Jon’s voice when he tells Martin he’s sorry about his mother is almost too much to take. There’s still a lot Martin hasn’t talked about yet.) Martin tries to find the balance—he doesn’t want to put too much onto Jon, with everything Jon’s been through, he can’t do that—but he’s honest, too. He says, I… I missed you, Jon. We all did—but I… He says, It’s been… bad. Hard. While you’ve been gone, and he tries not to think about how often Jon was gone, before the Unknowing; how far Jon pulled away after Prentiss. They had time—limited time—between America and the Unknowing, but then Jon was asleep, and now—if Martin takes Peter’s deal; if Jon has to leave again…

Jon takes a sharp breath. The room is dark, and Martin isn’t looking at him, but he feels it when Jon, tentatively, takes his hand. (Like a dozen nights in his hospital room except Jon’s awake and his hand is warm, his pulse beating against Martin’s thumb, and Jon initiated it, and it’s all okay now.) “Well,” says Jon, uncertain and reassuring all at once, somehow. “I’m… I’m here now. And I don’t know how much help I’ll really be, with… everything. But Martin, I promise… I-I’m not going anywhere. Not anytime soon.”

5. And Martin decides, in that moment, and in the moments after, and in the email he writes out the next morning, in frank, firm language. He decides then. Jon is back, and there has to be another way out, a way that they can figure it out together. So Martin doesn’t take Peter’s deal.

(send me an au and i'll give you 5+ headcanons)

#i sort of hate this but!! here it is #tma au #tma fic #i wrote this

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calaofnoldor · 3 years

Text

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings:��18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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Twisted 17 - Mind Games [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, angst.

Word Count: 4700

Summary: Love demands sacrifices.

Not even once in your life had you ever imagined yourself in handcuffs, in an interrogation room on the wrong side of the table.

You weren’t even at the FBI headquarters though. The police had taken you to the station after the hospital, taking a blood sample and your fingerprints, then they had handcuffed you and left you there with a glass of water.

Of course they suspected you. Of course they thought you had murdered him.

Murder was your father’s legacy, after all.

You traced the handcuffs over your wrists, already feeling the bruises forming there. The shock still hadn’t worn off but you were starting to think it was a good thing. It felt as if you were watching all of this from behind some kind of glass window, perfectly aware of every single emotion but unable to actually feel them.

Spencer had said when you felt threatened, your body produced nervous energy, some sort of a fight or flight reaction but for once you weren’t trying to do any of that.

You just sat there, completely frozen.

“You look calm,” the police officer spoke, making you look up, trying to ignore the faint yelling coming from outside, possibly from the end of the hall.

“I’m sorry?”

“Most people would be traumatized if this happened to them, they’d be crying, shaking…” he motioned at you, “But look at you. Still as a statue. You look pretty calm.”

“Would you rather if I were crying?”

“I’d rather if you were acting like a human being,” he said, “Why are you so calm?”

Why were you so calm?

Because your mother had taught you this much. Showing emotion when you were afraid meant weakness.

“My father was a serial killer,” you stated, looking him dead in the eye, “I’ve had a complicated childhood.”

“Yeah, I’d say…” he leaned in slightly, “You know, I’ve watched that documentary about your father. His interviews too.”

You raised your brows as he sniffled, trying to look like he was nonchalant about this whole situation.

“And I’ve spent sixteen years on this job,” he said, “After a while, you don’t even need anyone to speak for you to know what they’ve done. It’s all in their eyes and little girl,” he clicked his tongue, “There’s nothing behind your eyes but ice and death.”

You couldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry. Not in front of people, not even if they tried to kill you. No matter how much they tried to hurt you-

No emotions.

“Impressive,” you managed to say, “Very poetic. Have you ever considered changing your career?”

“You know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”

“I think you wanted to follow your father’s footsteps,” he said, “I think you killed Anthony, and all those other people. It’s not even your fault, is it? Some people are just born broken.”

That was more than enough to make your eyes snap up to his and you could feel the lump in your throat but you bit your tongue so hard that you swallowed blood, making sure to keep your expression still.

“Nothing to say?”

“You’ve already decided what to think of me,” you said, “And I already told you what happened. What more do you want to hear?”

“Right,” he scoffed, taking a look at the file in front of him, “You went to bed around 12, didn’t wake up whole night, when you woke up you found him like that. Lying in a pool of his own blood, in your kitchen.”

“You don’t look like a whiskey girl.” an unfamiliar voice made you turn your head and you lowered your glass, tilting your head. The guy smiled at you, and stole a look at the whiskey glass you had put on the bar.

“Yeah?” you asked, “What girl am I then? If you’re such an expert?”

He thought for a moment, “Hmm, wine?”

“Depends on the occasion.”

“What kind of an occasion does whiskey call for?”

“Apparently an occasion for meeting guys with bad pick-up lines.”

He let out a chuckle, “Yeah, I swear I’m normally smoother than this.”

“I would hope so,” you grinned, and offered your hand, “Y/N.”

“Anthony.”

“But you failed to mention the part you texted him to come to your apartment.”

“I didn’t text anyone.”

“We have your phone Y/N.”

“I didn’t text anyone,” you repeated, “Someone must’ve drugged me and taken my phone, the same person who killed him, the same person who obviously broke into my apartment.”

“How convenient.”

You clenched your jaw.

“I always wake up during night,” you said, your voice completely calm and controlled. “Always. I never woke up last night, there has to be a reason for that.”

“If you’ve been drugged, it will come up on the blood tests.”

“Good.”

“While we wait for that,” he said, “Why don’t we go over what you did last night?”

You took a deep breath, “I woke up,” you said “Went to work. I left work at 7 to go to my sister’s place. I left there around eleven, came home and went to bed.”

“Nothing else happened.”

“Nothing else happened,” you repeated and he sat up straighter.

“Okay. Well just so you know, Dr. Spencer Reid—” he started and your head shot up, your heart slamming against your chest, “He is giving us his professional opinion at the moment, about this case and what might have really happened this morning. Do you have anything you want to change in your story before he’s finished?”

You gawked at him, blinking a couple of times before you turned your head to look at the one-way mirror on the wall.

The BAU was there, behind the mirror.

“….They came back?”

“We’ve sent them the report, yes. They landed an hour ago.”

It was as if somebody was trying to claw your stomach out of your body as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, trying to ignore the burning behind your eyes before you turned to the officer.

“I don’t have anything to change,” you managed to keep your voice stable, “It was a terrible thing, it definitely was but I didn’t do it.”

Someone knocked on the mirror, making you and the officer look that way before he pushed his chair back and left the interrogation room. You closed your eyes for a moment, focusing on your breathing through the blinding headache but opened your eyes when the door opened again.

Luke.

He offered you a small smile and pulled himself a chair.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, sitting up with your back straight, your hands clasped.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you stole a look at the one-way mirror, “Is he there?”

“Reid?” Luke asked and shook his head, “I had to basically wrestle him out of the hall, he’s…he’s not allowed here. Conflict of interest. He’s giving his statement at the end of the hall as we speak.”

You nodded, digging your fingernails into your palms. “Okay.”

“He also called your sister on our way here. Couldn’t reach her, but left a message. Listen, he can’t request it on your behalf, but you need to ask for a lawyer.”

“I didn’t kill Anthony.”

“I didn’t ask if you killed him, I’m saying you need to ask for a lawyer.”

“Does he think I did it?” you asked and Luke shook his head again.

“No,” he said, “But it doesn’t matter what anyone else believes at this point, Y/N. Ask for a lawyer.”

You kept your back straight, rolling your shoulders. “If Spencer left a message to Mina, she’s coming.”

“Is she a defense lawyer?”

“No but she knows a lot of them.”

He took a deep breath and put the bottle of your pills on the desk, “The officers also found this.”

You tried your hardest to focus, moving your wrists to help with the soreness of the handcuffs. “They’re prescribed.”

“I can see that. The side effects say confusion?”

You arched a brow, “I’m sorry, do I sound confused to you right now?”

“No, you sound way too controlled right now, I may as well have been talking to a robot.”

You gritted your teeth, trying to control the panic bubbling at the pit of your stomach, sending anger through your veins.

“I’m not confused,” you stated, “Besides, I haven’t been taking them lately.”

He threw his head back, pressing his lips together, “God, Y/N, you can’t say that. A psychiatrist prescribed you something and you—“

“They’re just for nightmares, they don’t make you…” you took a deep breath, commanding yourself to stay calm, “I didn’t kill him. I found him like that. It was terrible, but I didn’t do it.”

Someone opened the door again and Emily Prentiss cleared her throat.

“Luke,” she murmured, “Spencer.”

You could feel your heart skip a beat upon hearing his name but kept completely still as Luke left the room and Emily and JJ walked into the room.

“You’re taking turns now?” you asked and Emily cleared her throat,

“Me and JJ are the only people in our team who haven’t spent as much time with you, so we figured it would be better if we interrogated you.”

“I didn’t do it.”

Emily pulled herself a chair as JJ crossed her arms, standing by the wall.

“Can you walk me through what happened this morning?”

You took a deep breath, “I woke up,” you said, “With a headache. I knew something was wrong, I felt it. My window was open, the front door was half open and my phone wasn’t where I left it. I stepped outside my room, saw the blood, went to the kitchen and saw—“ you gritted your teeth and clenched your fists, “Saw my ex-boyfriend there. Dead. Lying in a pool of his blood.”

“But you heard nothing.”

“I never sleep for the whole night,” you said slowly, “Check my blood test. Something happened last night.”

“We don’t have your blood test results yet, but there was no sign of any sexual—“

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” You cut her off, a shiver running down your spine, “That’s not it. Whoever it was, they didn’t touch me, they wanted…”

“What did they want?”

You shrugged slightly, “I don’t know. They wanted me to see it I think. My…my father’s crime scenes.”

JJ took a deep breath and pushed herself off the wall.

“And you don’t think it’s a little too convenient?”

You pulled your brows together, looking at her and she stepped closer to the table, her eyes fixed on you.

“Two victims so far,” she said, “The ones that we knew that were in the same place as you, they had some connection to you. That woman who was killed at the charity ball, you didn’t get along when you were kids, you turned her down as a client before she was killed, and now your ex-boyfriend ends up dead, in your apartment because you sent him a—“ she scoffed, “I’m sorry, someone sent him a late night text, inviting him to your apartment.”

“JJ,” Emily started but JJ held up a hand while you tried to wrap your head around it.

She had a point. Two victims so far had some connection to you and that was not a coincidence, it couldn’t have been.

“You think I did it,” you rasped out and she scoffed.

“I think you had something to do with all of this,” she said, “I think you’ve been trying to manipulate Spencer for something. The best case scenario, you were cheating, that’s why Anthony was there and something went bad, the worst case….” She shook her head, “You’re behind every single murder we’ve been looking into, and Spencer was just a tool for you. He’s my best friend, and if I find one single proof that you put him in harm’s way, I swear to God I will destroy you.”

Two people had ended up dead, and that was your fault. The copycat was going after people who had some kind of connection to you, and apparently no one except you and your family was safe.

The idea was way too painful to even exist inside your head, but it was clear as day. JJ was right, you were putting Spencer in harm’s way just by being with him, and if it were him, if you had seen him lying in a pool of his blood, his eyes wide open—

You dug your fingernails into your palms until it hurt before you managed to lift your head, that invisible wall which kept you safe from anyone and everyone who could possibly see anything you felt going up again.

“You…” you trailed off, your throat burning, “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“What does that mean?” Emily asked but before you could say anything, someone slammed the door open, making you and the agents turn.

Mina.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?�� she asked no one in particular and stepped aside so that 4 lawyers could walk inside before the police officer rushed to you to remove the handcuffs off your wrists.

“You’re not saying another word,” she snapped her fingers, “Come on, we’re leaving.”

“We’re going to need her to sign some papers,” the officer said as Mina grabbed your wrist to pull you out of the room, making you hiss in a breath and she froze, lowering her glances to check your sore wrists for any bruises.

“What did they do to you?”

You shook your head silently, and something in Mina’s gaze shifted. You had seen it only a couple of times, including that time you were getting stitches after some girls in your classroom had ambushed you in the bathroom, and more importantly, you had seen that look on her face when Lily had fever that one time and you all had to rush to the hospital and the doctors said she couldn’t see her.

It was fire, similar to yours, ready to burn everything in its path.

“Don’t say anything to anyone. You two,” she motioned at the two lawyers, “Read whatever she’s supposed to sign.”

The lawyers approached the desk by the door as Mina put her coat over your shoulders, rubbing at your arms as you swayed slightly on your feet, trying to focus.

“We’re leaving, okay sweetheart?”

“Miss—“

“No,” When Mina turned to the police officers and the BAU team, any trace of softness in her voice disappeared, “You don’t talk. If you don’t want to get into even more trouble, you’re going to listen to me right now.”

The officer that had been with you at the interrogation room just blinked a couple of times, obviously taken aback.

“Do you have any idea what you just did to yourself?” she asked, “What you did to this whole precinct? Because allow me to explain, my sister was a victim in this scenario, and you tried to pin this shit on her to make her a scapegoat,” she shook her head, “We will be suing you for defamation of character—“

“Mina, your sister—” JJ started but she snapped her fingers at her.

“I haven’t even started with you yet, wait for your turn.”

“Mina…” you murmured but she didn’t even look like she could hear you,

“Where was I? Defamation of character because press will be all over this, intentional infliction of emotional stress and wrongful arrest and hey, to make things fun we will also be requesting the security footage in the interrogation room and if I see one very small slip of anything that wasn’t supposed to be said and done in that room…” Mina tilted her head, “Well, let’s just say that by the time I’m done with you guys and this whole precinct, the only thing you will be able to afford is going to be a typewriter and a desk.”

One of the lawyers came to tell you the document was alright to sign and as soon as you approached the desk, a door by the hall opened and Spencer stepped out.

It was almost excruciating not to be able to run to him. He looked as shocked as he was and he took a step towards you but JJ stepped in front of him as you grabbed the pen, ignoring the way your name spilled from his lips in a whisper.

“Oh, hi genius.” Mina called out, “Were you getting a glass of water while your team was hounding my sister or something?”

Spencer looked almost confused only for a moment before he turned to look at JJ who deliberately averted her glances from him.

“Mina, this is not necessary,” you croaked out as you signed the papers and she shook her head.

“No, this is very necessary, trust me. You need to show these people what you’re capable of or they will try to fuck you up, case and point.” She turned to Emily, “You’re the one in charge, I suppose?”

“I am.”

“Good. Consider this your warning, because the next time anyone in your team, including the puppy dog eyes over there gets any closer to my sister, we will be getting a restraining order for each and every one of you.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, still swaying on your feet and you hugged the coat around you tighter.

Not that you could do anything other than watching this.

“Your sister is an active part of this investigation, your father specifically asked for—“

“My sister is a civilian,” Mina growled, “She has no responsibility for this case, you do. How about you surprise me and do your fucking jobs?”

You took a breath to say it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t their fault but Mina turned to look at you.

“Get in the elevator, we’re leaving.”

You were way too tired to fight her, way too tired to even stand there so you followed the army of lawyers to the elevator, while Mina shot the officers and the BAU members a fake smile.

“Pleasure, let’s never do this again,” she said, and got in the elevator with you, and you tried to keep your expression still, Spencer staring at you until the doors slid close.

“4 lawyers?” you managed to say, “I don’t think even Bundy had four lawyers.”

“Tell that to mom,” she said, “She was on the phone with a congressman the last I checked.”

You couldn’t even smile at that, but Mina let out a breath before pulling you into a bone crushing hug, making the tears rush to your eyes as you wrapped your arms around her.

“Never do that to me again, you hear me?” her voice cracked for the first time and you nodded slowly.

“I won’t,” you said, “I promise.”

***

It was as if someone had pulled all your energy out of your body. You were exhausted, you could barely understand what anyone was saying but you knew there was no way you could sleep anytime soon.

The blood test, as the lawyers had informed you, finally came back and just like you suspected, they had found traces of chloroform in your system. That and your team of lawyers combined were more than enough to get rid of any kind of accusations against you, so at least you had that.

On the other hand, the fear, the guilt, the sadness were still there inside of you, even if you felt way too numb to reach it.

You wondered if Spencer would have a scientific explanation for that.

Your mother had insisted you would never step a foot into your apartment again, she was already looking for a new apartment for you, one with multiple security systems and until that happened she had told you you would be staying at her house.

The damn thing was way too big anyway and you and Mina had grown up there so you figured it would serve as some sort of shelter.

If it even existed for you.

“Here you go sweetheart,” your mother pushed the tea cup towards you, “Drink it, it’ll make you feel better.”

“I’m fine.”

Kenzie heaved a sigh, “It’s okay if you’re not,” she said, “No one expects you to, anyone would be traumatized.”

“The real estate agent already sent me three apartments,” your mother said, “Huge windows, you love a bright apartment.”

“Mom,” Mina said silently and she heaved a sigh.

“It could help her distract herself,” her head shot up, “Y/N, you should go on a vacation! Somewhere far away from here.”

“Somewhere peaceful could be nice?” Kenzie added, “I think that’s a good idea.”

You and Mina exchanged glances.

“I heard Fiji is lovely this time of the year,” your mother said and you let out a breath.

“Mom, two people died because of me,” you croaked out, “I’m not going to Fiji for vacation.”

“Honey, you could use some peace,” she held your chin carefully and lifted it so that she could look at you better, “You look so…”

“I look like how I feel,” you said and turned your head when the doorbell rang, making Mina sit up straighter.

“Who’s that?” she asked when the maid walked in.

“Spencer Reid?”

“What?” you and Kenzie asked at the same time, your heartbeat getting faster and Mina jumped on her feet but you stopped her, shaking your head.

“It’s okay,” you sniffled, nodding to yourself, “It’s….it’s fine. There’s no point in dragging it out.”

“Dragging what out?” Mina asked you but you walked out of the living room and reached the front door, trying to ignore the warmth filling your system as soon as your eyes caught the sight of him. You stepped out of the house and he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his nose into your hair and inhaling deeply as if it helped him calm down while you just stood there, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay.

You had to do it. No matter how much it hurt you, no matter how much you didn’t want to.

No matter how badly it would rip your heart out.

“You okay?” he asked you, his fingers pushing your hair behind your ear, “I tried your apartment but I figured…”

“Yeah, I’m not going back there,” you shrugged your shoulders, “I’ll move out, it’s fine.”

“Do you want to stay at my place?” he asked quickly and you closed your eyes for a moment, every cell in your body begging you to change your mind.

You couldn’t though. You’d rather die than see him lying in a pool of his blood, all because of you.

“Don’t say that,” you whispered and opened your eyes again, “Please don’t say that.”

He looked almost confused, tilting his head to the side like a puppy before it dawned on him.

“Is this about the file on me?”

You shook your head and he took a deep breath.

“About today?”

“I didn’t send that message,” you said, “To Anthony, I mean. I wouldn’t…. I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“I know that.”

“And I didn’t kill him. I don’t know if you heard, but the blood tests came back positive for—”

“I never doubted that, not even for one second,” he insisted, “With or without blood test.”

“You might be the only one,” you murmured and he paused for a moment.

“What did JJ say to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Because we had an argument on the jet on our way back here and whatever she said…”

You shook your head again, trying to smile.

“I get it,” you murmured, “She’s your best friend, she’s protective of you. That’s normal.”

“Yeah but if she thinks that you’re capable of—”

“I want to break up.”

You could swear the words burned your mouth, some invisible hand clutching your heart tighter and tighter as you willed yourself to keep your eyes on the street, because you were sure that every wall you built to keep your emotions under control would crash down the moment you looked at him. Out of the corner of your eye you could see that he froze and he blinked a couple of times, as if he was lost.

“What?” he asked silently and you tried to swallow the lump growing bigger and bigger in your throat.

“Y/N, wait—no,” he said quickly, breathing hard, “Listen, whatever they said to you today during the interrogation, if that’s what this is about—”

“It has nothing to do with that,” you forced yourself to say, crossing your arms and he took a step closer to you.

“Whatever the problem is,” he rasped out, “We can solve it, okay? Don’t do this.”

That was when it dawned on you.

It wasn’t enough to push him away. You had to make sure to burn that bridge so that neither of you could ever find your way back to each other.

“It’s not one of your cases Spencer, you can’t solve this one,” you muttered and finally turned your head to look up at him, your stomach churning at the sight of betrayal on his face.

“I don’t understand.”

“You—it’s—“ you stammered, trying to find the words, “It’s going way too fast, alright? It’s going way too fast and it’s going to fucking crash, and I can’t—“ you cleared your throat when your voice cracked, “I’m not going to crash with this, I can’t.”

Your father had taught you this way too long ago, when you were too young to even question it.

Stab the prey, twist the knife, pull it back and watch them bleed.

Stab the prey.

“I mean come on Spencer, we’re not in love or anything,” you shrugged your shoulders, “Should be easy enough.”

He stared at you for a couple of seconds, his mouth slightly agape and his brows furrowed, shock written all over his face.

“We’re not in love?” he repeated, “You…you don’t love me?”

Twist the knife.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

His eyes searched your face, as if looking for any kind of clue that could tell him you were lying, or that it was a trick but for once, it was in vain.

You’d had spent years learning how to control your emotions and your expression when it came to heartbreak.

Pull it back.

“It’s not my fault if you’re in love,” you said, each word making you hate yourself more and more, “I can’t be held responsible for that.”

Stabbing yourself would’ve been less painful, you were sure of that but you knew you had to keep going. One last step, one last sentence and you would be done.

Watch them bleed.

“I never told you to love me.”

Then, silence.

You had to give it to him though, it took him faster than it would’ve taken you to pull yourself together if you were the one on the receiving end of this. He blinked back the tears, clenched his jaw and in a second, his gaze turned cold, exactly like yours.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, nodding, “You didn’t.”

But you had forgotten one small detail.

Spencer knew how to withdraw that knife and stab back.

You cleared your throat and turned around to get inside the house but before you could step in, you heard his voice.

“I was wrong.”

You looked over your shoulder, clutching at the straws to keep it together, “I’m sorry?”

“I was wrong,” he stated, his voice was distant and held no trace of its usual warmth, “Before, I mean. In terms of behavior and psychology, you’re exactly your father’s daughter.”

With that, he walked away from the house, and you just stood there for a moment before stepping into the house and closing the door behind you, that comfortable haze of shock slowly withdrawing from your mind like mist. That hand squeezing your heart twisted it in your chest and you tried to breathe, pressing a hand on your chest.

“Sweetheart?” your mother called out as she stepped into the hallway, then slowly approached you, “You okay?”

It was impossible to stop the tears rushing to your eyes now and a gasp escaped from your lips as you shook your head.

“Mom,” you whimpered, “Please, my—my heart hurts...”

She rushed to you and shushed you gently, pulling you into a tight hug and caressing your hair as you slipped to the ground and you buried your face to her shoulder.

Then the sobs came.

Chapter 18

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer imagine #spencer imagines #reid #spencer #reid x you #reid x reader #reid imagine #criminal minds imagines #twisted

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azaleavi · 3 years

Text

Woman Like Me - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky meets someone in Madripoor who reminds him of himself a long time ago

Warning(s): language, bad writing lol

Author’s Note: this is my first time writing so any feedback is appreciated and i didn’t know how to end it so it’s horrible but i tried

Word count: 2.2K

Part 2

“Selby will see you now”

The three men walk through the corridors and into the room where Selby is waiting for them. It is full of cash and guns on tables.

“You should know Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand, an offer” Zemo sits down on the couch while Sam and Bucky stand on either side of it.

“A lot has changed since you were here last” Selby eyes Bucky up and down, clearly recognising him as the Winter Soldier “By the way I thought you were rotting away in a German prison” she turns back to the man sitting in front of her and lifts her eyebrows “How did you escape?”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo shrugs “I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for”

“Yore taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger” the woman points at Sam then smiles at him, not paying attention to Zemo anymore. Sam nods slightly, trying to speak as little as possible. Selby playfully purrs at him, joking about his name. Sam looks away not wanting to give her the satisfaction of replying to that. She turns back to Zemo and smiles.

“What’s the offer?”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum” Zemo stands up walking over to where Bucky is standing acting like the Winter Soldier “and I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course” he holds Bucky’s shoulders while he tries his best to not react. That was not part of the plan. But of course you can’t trust Zemo to not change it to whatever benefits him.”He will do anything you want” he grabs a hold of his chin insinuating things Bucky doesn’t even want to think about. He hates it. Feeling like a toy between the two and he can’t do anything about it. Not if he wants to succeed in getting the information they need.

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember” she smiles, pleased. “I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately” Zemo sits back down on the couch waiting for Selby to start talking.

“Yeah you were right to came to me. Arrogant, but right. The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or…” she looks at Bucky for a second “condemn, depending on what side you’re on.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?”

“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free but the bakery is gonna cost you Baron. And unfortunately you don’t have the means to pay me” she stands, walking closer to Sam. Bucky immediately tenses, ready for a fight. Something doesn’t feel right.” I don’t need your Soldier” she smiles, something sinister behind it ”as I have my own little puppet. Tell her to come in” the three of them freeze as one of the men with guns goes through a door in the back.

They hear his voice but can’t make out what he says. When he stops talking a woman walks out, into the room they’re in. Bucky feels like his world is turned upside down. The woman is fully decked out with guns and knives and is wearing tactical gear with combat boots. But that’s not what unnerves Bucky. It’s the dead, soulless eyes that stare back at him. A cruel reminder of what he used to look like.

“Come here girl” Selby smiles and the woman complies without a question never taking her eyes off the strangers in the room “look at that. Isn’t it amazing what a few words can do a person’s mind when said in the right order?” Bucky finally looks at Selby realising she is watching him “Isn’t that right Winter Soldier?” Bucky can’t speak. He knows he can’t break character, but it’s damn hard not to when he sees someone like him and he knows he should help.

“How is this possible?” Zemo breaks the silence, clearly baffled by seeing another winter soldier-like person.

“Well it was quite easy to get a hold of Hydra’s files in Madripoor” Selby walks behind the woman who can’t be older than 25 and puts her hands on her shoulder. “Don’t worry though, they were sadly destroyed after we used it once on her. But we got the perfect soldier out of it” Bucky tenses at the mention of the perfect soldier. That’s what he was called back then. I need to help this girl he thinks I can’t let her go through the same shit I had to go through. He looks at Sam who is already looking back at him. They seem to think about the same thing.

“Harcos…” Selby starts talking in a foreign language but she is interrupted by a glass window shattering. Bucky sees Selby on the floor dead, a bullet hole in her chest and he immediately goes into fight mode. The woman or harcos he should say doesn’t waste any time and takes a gun off her back but before she can start shooting he is in front of her. He tries to twist the gun out of her hands but he finds out that she is strong. Too strong for her to be human. She is a super soldier which shouldn’t surprise him at this point but it still does.

They start fighting but their strength is evenly matched and Bucky doesn’t want to kill her. He uses his metal arm to finally grab the gun from her and throws it to the side. She kicks him in the chest and he is flung backwards into the wall. Bucky gets a hold of the gun he threw away and knocks her out with the back of it. The others finish fighting as well and they look at each other.

“Now what?” asks Sam looking at the woman lying on the floor.

“I recommend we kill her” chimes in Zemo before Bucky can start talking.

“We are not killing her” Bucky goes and picks her up, thinking about how they could get her out of here without drawing too much attention. He hold her bridal style and puts her head against his neck, hiding her face.”we need to get out of here and fast” Zemo walks to the door, opens it a little and looks through the open space.

“Put down your guns and follow my lead” the other two are hesitant to do what Zemo says but they don’t really have any other choice. They walk through the doors and out into the streets trying to look as casual as possible. Well, as casual you can be with an unconscious woman in your hands. But in Madripoor it’s not an uncommon sight so no one really pays attention to them. That is until every single person in the vicinity starts getting text messages and looks at them. Shit they know what happened Bucky thinks and they start to walk faster. Suddenly the people around them get out their guns and start shooting at them. Zemo runs to the right while Bucky and Sam start running straight down the street.

“I can’t run in these heels” Sam shouts trying to keep up with Bucky who is running slower than he could so he doesn’t leave Sam behind. They turn into a darker alley with to people on motorcycles following them. Suddenly two shots rang out from somewhere in one of the buildings and the motorcyclists are dead on the ground.

“You seem to have a guardian angel” Zemo shows up, out of breath from all the running.

“Well this is too perfect” Sharon shows up out of nowhere holding a gun in her hands. Her eyes immediately go to the woman in Bucky’s hands and the men can see her surprise. “Please tell me that’s not Harcos in your hands” Bucky looks down to see the woman, who seems to be calmly sleeping. How she didn’t wake up while they were running around is beyond him, but he is glad he doesn’t have to fight her again.

“Would you believe me if I said no?” asks Sam trying to lighten the situation.

“We need to get out of here before they see you carrying around Madripoor’s most valuable asset.” Bucky tenses, pulling her closer and not liking how that sounds. Asset. The word brings back horrible memories of times he would much rather forget. He needs to help this girl. He will not allow someone else be called asset “come on, I have a place in High Town where you can lie low” Sharon starts walking and the men follow him, Sam dragging Zemo with him.

They walk into her place which is filled with stolen artwork, that turns out to be the original.

“So can you tell us who is this harcos that Bucky decided to save?” Sam sends a look at Bucky who is putting the woman down on the couch. She is still out cold which is starting to get concerning.

“Y/N L/N. 24 years old. Has been a super soldier since she was a kid. She was Nagel’s first patient” she draws air quotes with her fingers ”well… the first successful one anyway. And when the Blip happened Selby used the chaos to get the files on the brainwashing and used it on her. Her memories are not gone like your resident Winter Soldier here but she still has trigger words that turn her into a mindless killing machine” they all watched the girl who started to stir awake from her deep sleep.

“Uhm… how are we going to go about this?” Sam watched her intently, getting ready for a fight. Bucky was still standing next to her when she opened her eyes staring straight into his. She sat up, panicked trying to crawl back from him. She obviously knew who he was and she was scared. How is she scared of him? She is supposed to be a super-soldier.

“What do you want?” she speaks for the first time.

“Hey it’s okay, we don’t want to hurt you” Sam walked over to her trying to calm her down. She snaps her head at him.

“Well then I would like an explanation” Y/N is till unsure about them but once in her life she wants to trust people and maybe the Avengers would be a good start.

“Do you remember fighting me?” Bucky speaks up.

“Yeah, kinda hard to forget fighting the Winter Soldier” she looks back at Bucky.

“I’m not him anymore” he shakes his head.

“Well at least someone got out of this thing” she shows a pained smile

“I head you have trigger words too”

“Yes and I would rather you don’t say them” he can’t understand how she can joke about something like this.

“We don’t even know the words” Sharon speaks

“Although I wish I did” Zemo smiles trying to get a rise out of y/n. But he doesn’t know her so he doesn’t know that that’s a very hard thing to do. Oh she gets angry easily but she was trained to not show it and not act on it.

“Very funny Zemo” she sends him a mock smile. He seems surprised that she knows who he is which she notices “Yes I know who you are, don’t be so surprised. So what are the Avengers doing in Madripoor?” she turns to Sam.

“A group of people got hold of the super-soldier serum and they used it on themselves so we are trying to stop them” Sam explains

“Sounds fun”

“I think she would be a valuable help” Zemo speaks again and Bucky immediately thinks that he has some ulterior motives.

“Stop your schemes Zemo” Sam shuts him down but y/n seems to be deep in thought.

“I mean she could help…” Bucky starts but Sam sends him a pointed look so he shuts his mouth.

“We do not need another liability with us” Sam looks at y/n who is already looking at him “No offence”

“None taken, but I agree with James” she stands up and walks over to Sam “I understand that I’m not stable, but I know what it’s like to have the serum in your veins and I want to help any way I can. As long as no one says the words I’m good”

“Yeah that’s exactly my concern. What if someone does know the trigger words and uses it against us? Against you?” he points at her. She thinks about if for a second.

“Okay how about this? I go with you but only step in to help when you say I can.” She offers, a hopeful look in her eyes. Sam knows she just wants to help but it’s still risky. He sighs.

“You can come if you do what I say. But if I feel like you are risking our mission you are sitting it out and only come in when I tell you to. Understand?” he says firmly, holding out his hand. She takes it and they shake hands.

“Let’s get these super-soldiers”

#bucky barnes #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #bucky #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #marvel #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #sebastian stan #winter soldier #woman like me bucky

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shelobussy · 3 years

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ASH’S TMA HURT/COMFORT/FLUFF REC LIST

For the gays. (And @damcrows who’s been dead for the past 24 hours. Rest in peace babe. Read some gay fic. Deny the inevitability of canon. <3)

___

the end, but the start (of all things that are left to do) by @ajkal2

Jon wakes up.

aka. mag200 tore out my heart

(Very smol, very short, very spoiler. Def recommend for anyone who just finished the podcast.)

remind me how to smile by @tamerofdarkstars

Jon is probably fine, just hiding out somewhere while the whole murder thing blows over and that's... fine. Martin is fine with that explanation. Really. He's got plenty to distract himself - like listening through the entire What the Ghost episode library, for example. Or watching Georgie Barker's Instagram livestreams.

(Yea this was in the last rec list, but you don’t understand THE ADMIRAL GIVES CUDDLES)

Chamomile by Dribbledscribbles

Whatever the ex-tea was, if it really had ever been that last bag of chamomile Martin claimed he’d found tucked in the back of the cupboard, it was fast now.

Martin had tried catching it, chasing it, blocking its way with shoebox lids and plates and an upended footstool, but the thing was just too quick. Jon knew as well as Knew that he might have left off the attempts completely if not for the creature’s preferred game.

The game was, See How Many Times I Can Push Martin Towards Cardiac Arrest Before He Comes at Me with The Broom.

(Scottish Honeymoon Era. Adorable and weird. A vampire gets harassed.)

hey stranger by @ennuijpg

It’s a late night Tesco run, how eventful could it be? It’s not like Martin is going to run into his boss who’s wearing something absurdly different from usual and get the most acute form of whiplash possible from seeing him, right?

(Martin runs into Jon at the grocery store and has an existential crisis.)

roses roses, roses. by @judesstfrancis

Rose scented laundry detergent. Running into Jon in the breakroom. Running into Jon on his way back to his desk. Rose scented detergent. Running into Jon. Roses. Jon. Roses, roses, roses.

(Canon enemies to friends to lovers au-ish. Martin POV. Very pining much sweet.)

go softly by doomcountry

And there is nothing else besides this.

(More hurt/comfort than fluff. Scottish Honeymoon Era. Mild eye mutilation.)

Not Alone by @backofthebookshelf

After the coffin, Daisy and Jon are both fragile. They hold each other up.

(Post-buried Jon&Daisy starter pack. Very hurt/comfort.)

trust my love by antlsepticeye

“you… you’re real, aren’t you?” jon whispers, the fog slowly dissipating from his mind. “it is not a trick?”

“i’m here,” martin says softly, reaching up to grab jon’s hand that was resting on his cheek, intertwining his fingers with jon’s and squeezing. he moves jon’s hand to martin’s chest, resting it over his heart. “you’re alright. i’m alright. take your time, love. let’s just take some deep breaths, okay?”

(TOUCHSTARVED JON HAS ENTERED THE CHAT.)

reaching out by Athina_Blaine

By the time things settled, when Martin had finally managed to crack through his cold shell, feel some of his old self returning to him in bits and pieces, they had found their little routine.

One that had the two of them sleeping in the same bed, making breakfast, going to the mart. Where Jon reached for his wrist while they slept, and Martin luxuriated in the gentle warmth of his fingers.

But not one where Martin reached back. One that had Martin kissing Jon awake or taking his hand over the breakfast table, because ... Martin never had the courage to try. And then it never became a part of the routine.

And Martin desperately wanted it to be.

Martin and Jon have an important conversation.

(More Scottish Honeymoon Era for the soul. Hurt/comfort/fluff.)

Belabor by @janekfan

Jon's given the position of Archivist and is falling apart at the seams. Tim and Sasha are upset and playing games. Elias is overbearing and manipulative.

And poor Martin is stuck cleaning up the mess.

(THEE first fic I ever read for tma. Season 1, hurt/comfort/fluff, and hints of Jmartin. janekfan is the absolute master of seasons 1-3 hurt/comfort. This is my favorite, but pls check out the rest of their fics.)

tea, blankets, and a damnable stubborn attitude by ivelostmyspectacles

“Are you really gonna stay here and pester Jon all evening?”

“I’m not pestering him,” Martin retorted, sounding vehement if not busy going through the cupboards. “I’m heating up soup.”

“Oh, you might as well make him another cup of tea while you’re at it.”

“Oh, good idea.”

Jon shot Tim a withering look.

(The one where Jon is ill, Martin makes tea and they watch doctor who together. Fluff 1000%.)

A Kind Hand by @voiceless-terror

Jonathan Sims was adjusting just fine, thank you very much.

In which a minor workplace spill causes Jon to realize that he might have friends.

(Ah yes, the other master of seasons 1-3 fic aka voiceless-terror being my other fav author in the fandom. This one is also season 1 hurt/comfort/fluff.)

A Weather In The Flesh by @cuttoothed

"There is a span of years where Jon doesn’t touch anyone other than the occasional hand shake. It’s not so bad. He’s never been someone who’s needed physical affection."

Jon has never been any good at making people want to stick around.

(More touched starved Jon! Much hurt/comfort!)

Something Old, Something New by @cirrus-grey

Months have passed, and everyone is doing better than they were. Daisy and Basira are getting married, Melanie is feeling her old self, Georgie is as much herself as she has ever been, and even Jon has stabilized on his wild fall away from humanity. Everyone is doing better.

Well. Almost everyone.

(Daisy/Barsira wedding! Melanie is a bitch and we love her! Jmartin dance! Post-canon (almost) everyone lives!)

The Weight of Love by @voiceless-terror

Jon is a restless sleeper. Martin attempts to adjust.

(The fic where Jon is literally me and Martin attempts to sleep for 1k words.)

The Art of Conversation by @voiceless-terror

"Do you ever stop talking?"

Jon has a complicated relationship with words. Difficulties come and go.

(Jon has adhd and Martin is in love.)

Novelty by @backofthebookshelf

Jon experiences A Sexual Attraction; Martin has A Concern. They figure it out.

(Any fic that explores the ace spectrum is a 10/10. We stan all ace interpretations of jon on this blog.)

Half a Hug by Dathen

I know you weren’t going to hurt me, I trust you, he said again and again. And then a different kind of fear shone through, hollow and echoing: “Please don’t stop touching me."

Or: Life is hard when you're touch-starved but have trauma related to your closest friend. Spoilers through TMA 132.

(Honestly bless every author who saw jon&daisy and was like. They’re siblings. No I will not elaborate.)

the loneliness never left me (but i can put it down in the pleasure of your company) by Athina_Blaine

It was about Martin making Jon feel safe, treasured, and loved. And it had been so, so long since anyone made him feel that way.

And, in the face of it all, Jon was starting to flounder.

(At this point I just need to make separate rec list for Scottish Honeymoon Era.)

you can watch me corrode by scarletfish

"So, how long have you been pulling this shit then?"

"I… excuse me?" Jon’s indignant, certain she can’t mean what he thinks she means.

"When was the last time you ate?"

(Georgie decides Jon and Melanie need a normal day off. Jon learns that he and Melanie have more in common than he thought.)

(Look, Melanie isn’t my favorite person in tma, but she and Jon are like THE SAME PERSON and I adore fics that elaborate on their relationship.)

Out of the Wind, In From the Cold by @ostentenacity

There are two bedrooms in the safehouse, and two beds.

For a moment, Jon considers asking to share, but decides against it with a wince. “I really loved you,” Martin had told him. Loved. Past tense. And Martin doesn’t exactly have a lot of choices right now in terms of company; it would be cruel to demand he play at feelings he no longer has just to make Jon happy.

(For a moment, Martin considers asking to share. But he dismisses the idea with a shake of his head. Jon has already done so much for him. Martin isn’t about to ask for more, especially not when it’s something he doesn’t really need. He has his right mind back, and he has Jon’s friendship. That should be enough for him. It’ll have to be.)

---

Jon thinks that Martin doesn’t love him. Martin thinks that Jon doesn’t love him. They do not, of course, discuss this. Unrequited love is already awkward enough, right? No need to dwell on it.

(THEE SCOTTISH HONEYMOON ERA FIC. IT’S ABOUT THE PINING, BEING MUTUALLY OBLIVIOUS AND FALLING IN LOVE. 10000/10.)

I Do by @voiceless-terror

“I, um- this was supposed to be a lot more romantic, I swear.” Martin looks down at the dirty bar floor. “I had it all planned out, I-I was going to take you somewhere nice, and then we’d go for a walk in the square- I’ll still do it!” He hurries to explain, as if that’s the most pressing part of this situation. “It’ll be really nice, I’ve already hired a photographer-”

In a fit of protectiveness, Martin proposes to Jon.

(Everyone lives, Martin accidentally proposes and Jon is crying in public.)

________

#lmao follow for more fic recs #ash recs #ash's rec list #ash recs fics #tma fic list #tma fics #jmart #jmartin #jon sims #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tma fic recs

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thran-duils · 3 years

Text

And Those I Can’t Charm, I Can Kill (P.3)

Title: And Those I Can’t Charm, I Can Kill (Part Three) Summary: Fem!Reader x Mafia!Tony Stark. Too many fringe gangs were making ties and your father noticed. He reached out to the Stark mob for an alliance, offering up a piece of his territory at first. When Stark told him he had enough land, your father offered up the next best thing: you. He knew Stark needed a wife and what better way to solidify a relationship between the two mafia families? You were not naïve, you knew the life and you were trained with guns and negotiations. Your father had made sure of that. The two of you had seen each other on multiple occasions at mafia get togethers and knew of each other. Stark accepted the transaction but little did he know he was going to get a little hellion handed over to him that would not kiss the ground he walked on. He would grow to love it too. Words: 2,559 Warnings (more WILL be added, I am sure): Eventual smut, power dynamics, sexism, smut, public sex, fingering, dom/sub powerplay, kidnapping, violence, death, knife kink, gun kink, angst with a happy ending Author’s Note: I’ve been listening to this song on repeat for AN HOUR as I’ve been writing this. What a club song.

Part Two || Part Four || Masterpost mobile || Fanfic masterpost

A handful of days later, you were following a bouncer through a crowded club. You and your friends had gone out to dinner and Tony had told you on the phone to come here after dinner. It was Natasha’s birthday, and you were supposed to be there to celebrate it with them. He had granted you permission to bring some of your friends. You were unsure if it was just him being nice or if he wanted to know who your friends were for a better read on you. Perhaps it was both.

“This is nice!” One of your friends said in your ear as the group of you were let into the roped off VIP area.

The plush, white seats of the multiple long booths were glimmering in the neon lights and your eyes were drawn to the sectioned video screen, watching the underwater animation on the different screens. Some people were already here, but the only one you recognized was Bucky. He was sitting with a couple of other men, and he gave you a little wave. You acknowledged him in return and noticed he took his phone out. There was a large chance he was texting Tony to let him know that you were there. Keeping tabs still and the thought of it made you scowl.

Even more so when you knew Tony was not there yet. If he wanted you here so bad, where was he? You could have gone to a bar after dinner for a while rather than just coming straight here like he requested. He had been on a business trip the last couple of days, and you were not close to Natasha. It was all about appearances for him. Appear happy. Appear like a power couple. You had acted your part well the other day in the restaurant and he had been satisfied with that. You had felt a flutter of pride seeing how he smiled at you, how impressed he had been at how you handled yourself. Like he saw some worth in you other than a trophy wife.

“Where are the drinks?” Your friend asked, interrupting your thoughts, and you snorted.

“My thoughts exactly.”

<><><>

Tony walked into the VIP section, followed by Rhodey and Bruce. His eyes were running over the people in there, some of them from his crew and the others, Y/N’s friends. He quickly realized Y/N was nowhere in sight and he sighed, annoyance bubbling in his chest. He had specifically told her to come here after they finished dinner. It was after 10:30pm; there was no way she was still eating dinner.

He had been in Atlanta the last couple of days and had just gotten back home mere hours beforehand.

Donning a mask of contentment, he walked over to the table where Natasha was sitting with Clint. He held out the bag he was holding, and Natasha waved him off.

“You did not need to buy me anything. You already provided this amazing space to celebrate me.”

“Take it or I’ll make you open it,” he half teased.

She kissed his cheek and he smiled in response, handing the bag off to her.

Standing straight again, his eyes landed on the ladies in the booth. Bucky was nowhere in sight, so he could not ask him, so he walked over to the women. They eyed him, some looking at him with curiosity, others with arousal.

“Ladies,” he greeted.

“Mr. Stark?” one of them ventured.

He flashed a smile, “Guilty. Can any of you tell me where my lovely wife is? Did she leave?”

“She’s dancing!” The woman closest to him answered over the music.

Tony exhaled, “Right. Okay. Thank you.”

“Thank you for inviting us!” the first girl said and he nodded.

“Anything to make Y/N feel more comfortable.”

<><><>

Near the railing, Bucky had already realized himself Y/N was not upstairs with the group when he noticed Tony arrived, so he was putting eyes on the crowd outside the VIP section where he had a better view of the dance floor. He was hoping to get an eye on her before Tony did in case anything was less than savory. She had left the section awhile ago and had not come back. In his drunk haze, he had not been paying close enough attention to the amount of time. Stupid stupid stupid. She was a target as much as Tony now, probably even more so because she could be held for ransom as collateral. He should have been paying more attention. He was not her body guard though; that had been Erick. And he had followed her down.

“Christ,” Bucky said to himself as he spotted Y/N near the bar.

“What?” Bruce asked him, his hand coming to rest on the railing as he peered over the crowd.

Bucky startled at Bruce’s voice but recovered quickly. “Where’s Tony?”

“Right here,” Tony answered from behind him. Bucky swallowed sharply before turning his head. “Where’s Y/N? Her friends said she was dancing.” He joined them at the railing. “Has she been drinking a lot?”

“They had a couple shots when she was up here. She left about twenty minutes ago to go downstairs. Erick went with her,” Bucky informed him. He saw Erick was off to the side though, not interfering with the scene in front of him. “She’s by the bar… with that guy.”

<><><>

The man’s hand slipped up your skirt and you stiffened.

Trying to pull away you turned around to face him. Taking a step back you kept dancing but carved out some space for yourself. The guy looked amused by the action and his hands were pawing at your hips again, yanking you close again. His hands slipped back, gripping at your ass.

“Okay,” you forced out a laugh, hands coming to his arms. “Let’s keep it friendly.”

“I’m being perfectly friendly,” he answered, refusing to let you get away.

Attempting to pull away, you said, “Friendly as in PG. No hands up the skirts.”

The guy chuckled, trying to pull you back to him. “Sweetheart, with legs like that, can you blame me for trying to touch you?”

“Yes, I can,” you told him, pulling away with more force this time. “We’re dancing, not dry humping.”

“Is there a difference?” he asked, still all smiles but you could see the tight lines at his eyes. The smile was becoming more forced. He was getting impatient. He was on you again, hands coming to your sides.

“I’m married. There’s a big—” you started to say before you were suddenly jerked away from the guy and a figure came in between the two of you.

It took you a few moments to register it was your husband. His back was to you but you could sense he was enraged.

“The fuck is your problem?” the guy shouted at Tony above the music.

“My problem is you’re touching my wife!”

The guy’s eyes shot to you, where you were standing behind Tony. He tried to brush of the awkwardness by crassly laughing, “Maybe you should tell your ‘wife’ to not be such a slut and guys like me wouldn’t put their hands on her!”

Tony’s fist collided with his center, right below the rib cage. The guy’s eyes bulged, gasping for air. Tony socked him again in the same spot with precision, causing his knees to buckle. Tony’s closed fist came down hard across his cheek, whiplashing the guy’s head and knocking him completely to the ground. The crowd had parted, and it was just the pair of them in the small circle, the music still bumping. The guy had not even stood a chance.

He turned on you now and your eyes were wide, shocked he had just beaten the crap out of someone in front of everyone.

“You. Me. Upstairs,” Tony ordered loudly to you, his hand clamping down around your arm.

“They’re gonna call the cops!” you gasped.

“They shouldn’t. I own the place,” Tony responded gruffly, his hand tight around your arm as he dragged you away.

When had he taken over? This place used to be Balthazar’s. Erick was there suddenly, and he was already pulling the guy to his feet. He told Tony he had it and Tony barely registered that he had heard him. You felt eyes on the pair of you as he moved through the crowd that parted easily for him at first but the further you got from the scene, it was a normal inebriated crowd dancing their lives away.

Tony was pulling you up the stairs and turned you away from where the VIP section was on the other end of the upper floor.

“What are you doing? Where are we going?” you demanded.

He did not answer you and took you down the hall that was marked Exit. He held up his watch to the door and it unlocked, and he pulled you inside. There were a couple of men sitting on the couches inside the room – you guessed it was the manager’s office.

“Get out!” Tony barked at them, and they scrambled to do what he said as quickly as possible.

As the door locked close again, Tony whipped you around him and let go of your arm in a fluid motion. His nostrils flared, his eyes wide with his anger. He was visibly shaking when he snarled, “How dare you disrespect me like that! Not even just in public but in my own fucking club!”

Just as enraged at being handled like you had been, you shouted back, “I didn’t ask him to touch me like that, Tony! I was trying to get away from him! Or were you too wrapped up in your own damn ego to notice that?”

Tony snorted, “You didn’t have to ask him if you were already dancing on your own! Seems to me you were looking for trouble! You should have stayed upstairs!”

“Yeah well, good thing you were there! I apparently need a handler!”

Tony was on you, hovering. “I’m glad you recognize that because you drive me insane!”

You shoved him and his eyes were wild, angry you had done it. Well, fucking good! He was blaming you for something you had not done, and he did not need to be so goddamn close. You did it again when he still didn’t give you space.

“I drive you insane?” you demanded.

“Immensely!”

“Right back at you!” you retorted. “Maybe you shouldn’t accuse me of things I haven’t done! You did the right thing taking me away, but your anger is completely misdirected! I wasn’t trying to disrespect you! I wanted to just dance! And then some guy comes and lays hands all over me! I told him I was married and he didn’t care! That was the problem! Not me wanting to dance! Redirect your anger, you pompous asshole!”

Tony’s hand came up to lazily point at his chest, sarcasm dripping, “Oh, I’m an asshole?”

“Did I stutter?”

“According to you, I just saved you from an uncomfortable situation!”

“Do you want me to throw you a fucking parade for acting like a decent human being who saw someone in trouble and came to the rescue?”

“You’re so goddamn overdramatic!”

“Overdramatic?”

“Did I stutter?” Tony spat back.

Your chests heaving from your passion, the anger thrumming, the two of you stared daggers through the other. The music was muffled by the door, only the bass thumping.

The air was tight.

Tony’s lips parted ever so slightly, and your eyes fell to the movement for a brief second before meeting his gaze again.

Too tight. It was spilling over.

You threw hands at him but in a different type of aggressiveness. Your fingers curled into his shirt, yanking him to you instead of away. Your lips crashed together, and his arms found their home around you. Your back hit the wall and he was grinding his pelvis into you, both of you gasping for brief air in between passionate kisses. His hands ruched your dress up over your hips and he quickly came to grip at your ass as he groaned into your kiss.

“Unzip me,” you gasped and he did so without any more direction, shoving the dress down your body, leaving you in your bra and thong.

Tony was breathing erratic, watching you hungrily.

“Lose them,” you told him, meaning his jeans, tugging at them, and he caught the gist.

The two of you moved in tandem, shredding clothing left and right until you found yourselves up against the couch, the back of Tony’s calves hitting it first. Climbing up and straddling him, you dipped down, holding his jaw as you kissed him with fervor. Tony’s tongue slipped past your lips, swirling around you own. You moaned into his mouth, grinding your hips and he responded in like.

His hands were gripping at the base of your ass, pulling you closer, forcing your pussy to brush against him harder.

You pulled away and he instinctively followed, his lips still pursed. You smiled at the sight, and he noticed, expression falling if only for a moment. You guided him to your entrance and you sunk slowly. His fingers flexed, his breath catching.

“God, you’re drenched,” he murmured, his cock fitting inside, brushing every nerve. “You’ve been such a goddamn tease.”

“A tease?” you asked, sinking completely and he groaned loudly, fully seated inside. “Maybe I was waiting for you to prove yourself! Apparently you can handle me.” You pulled back up, only his head buried in your folds to tease him. “What a coincidence.”

Tony responded with digging his fingers into your thighs and he thrusted hard.

Nipping at his nose, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Stop stalling,” he growled. He was impatient.

He had been waiting for this for so long, you could gather that. If what your friend had overheard at the wedding was any indication of that. Well, you were going to let him have it.

You were bouncing, your thighs slapping against his. You were falling into the complete and pure pleasure. It was different with him; he was yours, you were his. You controlled the movements and he let you. He was so goddamn attractive and you felt the emotion overwhelming you that you were really married to this man. You needed to stake your claim and it only made you ride harder.

Tony held you close, whispering about how beautiful you were and how lucky he was. Bite marks were left along the top of your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipples and sucking in. He was worshiping you, completely lost.

And when he gripped you tightly, you gasped when you felt his cum coating, finishing deep. His hand came down, almost slapping, and his thumb found your clit between your bodies. He was rubbing with precision, encouraging you in soft tones.

“C’mon, baby.”

He had you tumbling and him still fully seated inside, the two of you shared in a moan as you clenched.

You grinded your hips once more, enjoying the feeling of him inside. The intimacy was what had been missing, the two of you holding out on the other, too preoccupied with being shielded. This felt good and you hoped it was not a fluke.

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl

Fic tags: @patheticallysentimental

#tony stark x reader #mafia tony stark #mob tony stark #mob!tony stark #mafia!tony stark #my shit

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arashikitten · 3 years

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Dark Danny Should’ve Come Back at Least Once

I think most of the Phandom can agree that The Ultimate Enemy was one of the best Danny Phantom episodes ever made, and for good reason. It was incredibly dark of a kid’s cartoon, especially one made by Bitch Hartman, and on top of that, it provided some very interesting lore and characters. We get to see Danny pushed to his absolute emotional limit in a way that I don’t think the show ever did before, save maybe for My Brother’s Keeper in season 1, and we get our first glimpse at Clockwork, who thanks to @five-rivers fanfic Mortified, has become one of my favorite DP characters. And of course, we get to see Dark Danny, or Dan.

But there’s one little thing about this episode that’s always bothered me: the very ending.

Because at the very end of TUE, we get a shot of the Fenton thermos that Dan is sealed away in rocking back and forth, before Dan’s face forms a massive dent in the side, his laughter echoing as the screen fades to the end credits.

You would think, with an ending like that, that Dan would come back in a later episode. That he would return in the series finale is this last big bad, this final demon for Danny to confront once and for all.

But that’s not what happens. And it kinda pisses me off.

Dan should’ve come back. We should have gotten at least one more episode with this guy, exploring more of his character, more of his side of the story, anything at all. And you know what would be a great way to do this?

Vlad.

Imagine this, if you will.

Dan makes his escape from Clockwork’s lair, dead set on finishing what he started. Eventually, he discovers Vlad’s portal (let’s say that Vlad decided to rebuild his here) and, upon coming face to face with the man who made him like this in the first place, freaks out. Dan makes an attempt on Vlad’s life, and Vlad just barely manages to escape.

Once Vlad is sure this strange new ghost won’t find him so easily, he realizes that this new ghost had Danny’s insignia on his chest, and puts it together that Danny must be involved in this somehow.

So Vlad makes his way to Amity Park to confront Danny about this new ghost. Danny assumes that Vlad is there to try to kill Jack or whatever, the two get into a massive fistfight, before Vlad finally tells Danny that he’s only here because a strange new ghost wearing Danny’s insignia popped out of his portal this morning attempting to kill him a second time.

And Danny freezes. He goes from snarky and flippant to sheer, raw terror that has Vlad actually worried. Danny demands to know what this new ghost looks like, and Vlad’s concern turns to fear when Danny’s face goes white with horror because this is the same kid who went up against Pariah Dark without a second thought, who has faced countless ghosts who’s powers could be considered godly with a fearless smile on his face, and Vlad may not have much respect for Danny but he knows what the kid lacks in intelligence he more than makes up for in bravery.

Meaning that whoever this new ghost is must be incredibly powerful, incredibly horrific, and incredibly dangerous.

Danny tells Vlad to go to Danny’s house and tell them to put the ghost shields surrounding the town up, to not try anything funny, and don’t. Leave. The Shields. No matter what.

For once, Vlad decides to take Danny’s lead. He appears on the Fenton’s doorstep, Armani suit ruffled and hair disheveled, telling them that there is a very powerful ghost making it’s way toward Amity Park and they need to put the ghost shields up now, or risk a Pariah Dark-level threat again.

Then Vlad makes his way toward the edge of town, because he still hasn’t gotten an answer from Danny as to who exactly that ghost was, and he’ll be damned if he can’t get an answer.

Meanwhile, Danny is just outside the ghost shields, waiting for Dan to arrive. He’s absolutely terrified, because what if Danny isn’t strong enough this time? What if he fails again, like he almost did before Clockwork turned back time? Would Clockwork do that for him again? Would he have to watch his future burn down this present that he’s taken so long to keep up?

Then Dan arrives. Right as Vlad makes it to the edge of the shield.

And Vlad watches with awe as the two fight. He watches as Danny holds his own against this ghost that had almost decimated Vlad barely 2 hours prior, watches as Danny outmaneuvers, outsmarts this menace, watches as Danny fights tooth and nail in a way that Vlad is sure he’s never seen before, and he realizes that Danny has been holding back. Maybe not at first, maybe not during those first few months, but definitely for a while now, because Danny is holding his own now when Vlad couldn’t.

But then that leaves the question as to why? Why is Danny going all out now? Why was he so scared of this new ghost? More importantly, when did Danny encounter this guy?

Because he had to have fought this ghost at least once before, to have had that reaction to Vlad’s description.

And then, he hears the other ghost’s voice, one that sounds like a strange mixture of his and Danny’s, and he hears him say “It doesn’t matter what you do, Danny. You might’ve stopped that explosion, but there are still so many other things that lead to me. A car crash, an unlucky ghost attack, the ecto-filtrator, Vlad getting lucky, all of them could still happen. Your friends, your family, all gone, and you still turn into me.”

And suddenly, everything makes sense. That ghost that Danny’s fighting, that ghost that attacked Vlad, that is Danny, or it was, before something twisted him into an unrecognizable monster, and Vlad has a creeping suspicion that it has something to do with him. And he realizes that Danny is so much more than he ever gave him credit for. He sees Danny, fighting his own future with a hope that Vlad would call naive if not for the fact that Danny had already thwarted whatever horrible future lead to this at least once before, and he understands that he was wrong about Danny.

Because this? Fighting against the personification of all the worst parts of yourself not once, but at least twice? It would require a maturity, a strength of will that Vlad knows he himself lacks, and he comes to the stunning realization that for all the childish quips and petty pranks, Danny is far more mature than Vlad ever was, far stronger than Vlad ever was.

And then, Danny does the ghostly wail.

And if Vlad was surprised before, then he's absolutely terrified now. That’s enough power to destroy an entire city, that single wail, and the sound is a bone-chilling scream that rubs the older halfa wrong in every way possible because that sound should not come from someone as young as Danny.

And now Vlad is caught between two realizations: that Danny is so much stronger than Vlad could ever be in every sense of the word, and that the only reason Danny is that strong is because he has to be, because he’s a child being forced to go against all manner of ghostly and cosmic horror all on his own, and Vlad suddenly feels intensely guilty because he should’ve been helping Danny, and instead he’s done nothing but make his life harder.

At that point, Jack and Maddie arrive. They freak out because Vlad is so close to Phantom and this other extremely powerful ghost, what the hell is he thinking!? And Vlad is trying desperately to get them to leave, because Danny looks exhausted and Vlad might be an ass, but he’s starting his redemption arc now and that means making sure Danny’s secret, and by extension Danny himself, is safe from his parents. Vlad knows what it’s like to be on an examination table, knows how terrifying it is to have doctors looming over you with knives and bright lights while you have no idea what’s going on, and he’ll be damned if he lets Danny (who he again reminds himself is very much still a child) go through that with his own parents.

But it’s too late. Danny detransforms right there on the street, in full view of Jack and Maddie and everyone else who’s gathered there (Dan’s been sucked back in the thermos at this point).

Danny turns around, covered in scratches and burns and bruises, blood in his mouth from where Dan punched him in the lip, left arm hanging in an unnatural angle, and he sees everyone: He sees Vlad, icy blue eyes so similar to Danny’s own filled with uncharacteristic worry.

He sees Sam and Tucker, both with wide, scared eyes, and he can just barely see the faint shimmer of tears gathering in their eyes.

He sees Jazz, face pale and her knuckles white as she grips the Fenton peeler with all her strength.

He sees Valerie, her helmet down and exposing a flurry of emotions ranging from shock to anger to horror to pain.

He sees his mom and dad, clinging to each other as they stare at Danny, at their son, and come to the realization that their son is dead, their son is a ghost and he has been for a while now and how did they never notice? How could they not notice that they had been shooting at their own son for at least a year now, that their boy had been putting his afterlife on the line for them while also trying to keep up with school, and evade capture by the GIW, all at the same time?

And Danny is scared, he’s so scared, because his parents look horrified of him and they think he’s a monster, and they hate him, because why else would they be looking at him like that?

He feels his fathers arms wrapping around him and he’s sure, he’s so sure that they’re about to haul him off to their lab to be pinned down and dissected by his own parents, because they saw Dan, they saw what he would become, they saw what he is now, they know now. But then his mom and dad start apologizing, because they never noticed, and they should’ve, they should’ve seen that Danny’s low grades and missed curfews and skipped classes were because he was putting his life on the line for everyone in this town over and over and over again. They apologize for not making him feel safe in his own house, because how many times did they rant about dissecting their own son right in front of him? How many times had Jack and Maddie shown Danny a dissected blob ghost and effectively told him that he was the next one on the list? How much hell did their own son have to go through on his own, because his own parents couldn’t see what was right there?

And Danny finally realizes that no, he’s not going to end up on a dissection table, that his parents do accept him as he is now.

But there’s still this lingering fear because they don’t know. They don’t know what Danny might turn into, and he can’t keep that from them anymore, because Dan is a secret he can’t keep anymore.

Jack and Maddie are confused when their son pulls away, and for a moment they’re worried that Danny’s upset with them, that he’s angry at them, because why wouldn’t he be?

Then they see this nervousness, they see how he’s shaking and tense, and they might not always be able to read the room that well but they can tell that there’s something else going on here that Danny wants to tell them, even if he’s scared to.

So Jack and Maddie ask Danny if he wants to talk about whatever it is back at the house, and Danny says yes, but Vlad, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz should also be there, because Danny needs some level of support and he knows that Vlad won’t stop pestering him about Dan until he tells him.

Valerie steps in at this point, finally getting over her shock to demand to know what the hells going on, was Danny Phantom the whole time? Who was that other ghost? Why did that other ghost say that Danny would turn into him?

Sam and Tucker, who have been through the emotional wringer watching their best friend fight his evil future self, then reveal his identity to his parents, are kinda pissed at Valerie, because Danny’s already stressed out enough as is, she doesn’t need to be adding on to it. A fight almost breaks out between the three of them, which only stopped when Vlad of all people, steps in saying that while Valerie does have a right to know what’s going on, all of this yelling will do nothing but cause problems.

The three simmer down, and they all head over to the Fenton’s house, where Danny tells them everything: the portal, Pariah Dark (Vlad suddenly finds a particularly interesting spot on the floor), and Dan. He tells them about how Jack, Maddie, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker died in an explosion in that timeline, how that timeline’s Danny turned to Vlad to take him in, how Alt!Danny asked Vlad to remove his human half so he wouldn’t feel that pain anymore. How Alt!Phantom had been driven insane by the separation (he leaves out the part where Phantom fuses with Vlad’s ghost half: he’s not sure Vlad wants him to tell them about his halfa status), killing his human half before destroying most of humanity. How Danny had been forced to fight Dan a year ago, when he had attempted to blow up his friends in family in this timeline to ensure Dan’s recreation here.

When he’s finally done, about an hour and a half later, Danny looks around the room: at Valerie, at Vlad, at his best friends, at his sister, at his parents, and he sees not only acceptance, but respect. Pride. Because they saw that Danny was willing to look his fate in the eye, and say that he would change it no matter what. They saw him fight tooth and nail to protect them, they saw him defend them from his own demons with a bravery most grown adults don’t have, much less a 14 year old boy.

And they accept him.

#Danny Phantom #long post #how I think the finale shouldve gone #Dan Phantom #vlad masters #vlad plasmius #jazz fenton #jack and maddie fenton #sam manson #Tucker Foley #valerie gray #angst #Dan shouldve been the series finale villian and I will fight anyone who says otherwise #Vlad could’ve gotten a redemption arc where he realizes that Danny is technically a kid and is so much stronger than Vlad gives him credit #like yeah I made a post on how Vlad is both an incel and a boomer not two days ago #but like #his character could’ve been so much better?#Danny could’ve gotten a mentor dammit!#BAMF Danny

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crowfootwrites · 3 years

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The Boyfriend | Part II [Taza Romero x Fem!Reader]

Y'all! I did it! I wrote a second part! I actually sort of struggled with the setup of this, but once I started writing the angry, angsty shit I was like, "OH, WE IN BUSINESS." So, please enjoy.

Warnings: language; family drama (arguing); attempted physical violence; pregnancy | Words: 1,734

Part I of The Boyfriend

“What do you mean he wants to come see your motorcycle?” you asked, panic rising in your voice. It had been a few months since the ill-fated family dinner, and aside from a few texts asking about work, you hadn’t heard from your father. So, you assumed his motorcycle chat with Taza had just been polite conversation.

Taza glanced at you across the kitchen table, his full fork of frijoles pausing halfway to his mouth. His eyes softened when he saw the concern in your expression.

“Relájate, mi amor (Relax, my love). He doesn’t have to come here. I can meet him somewhere else,” he said calmly. He watched as your head dropped into one of your palms on the table and the other rested on the top of your very noticeable baby bump. He paused, then put his fork back down on his plate.

“(Y/N), maybe this would be a good opportunity to tell them,” he started, keeping his tone gentle. “I know you don’t want them involved. I understand that, and I will do whatever I can to keep things the way you want them.” He reached across the table to rest his palm against your knuckles. “But the baby will be here in a few months, and hiding it from them is just drawing out the inevitable.”

Emotions rushed over you. You knew that telling them didn’t have to mean anything more than that; Taza would protect his family no matter the cost, and if you didn’t want them involved, they wouldn’t be. But the prospect of having to deal with your mother filled you with a deep-seated dread. You knew she wouldn’t approve. And you didn’t need her approval, but your relationship with her had always been messy and complicated. And some part of you still wanted her to accept and respect you. Angry tears sprang to your eyes, which made you even more frustrated – the pregnancy hormones made you feel like you were losing your mind.

A tear dripped onto the wooden surface of the table and Taza was immediately out of his seat, tugging you out of yours and wrapping you in his arms. He smiled at the feeling of your belly pressed between the two of you.

“Hey, abejita, está bien (little bee, it’s ok). We don’t have to do anything that will make you uncomfortable,” he murmured against your ear, rocking you side to side slowly. He rubbed circles on your back as you regained your composure.

“No, you’re right,” you said with a sniffle. “We need to get this over with.”

Taza’s lips pulled into a wry grin. “That’s a wise choice, I think.”

***

“Ok, I think everything’s pretty much ready,” you told Taza as you flipped the final tortilla on the comal. He came to stand beside you and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“How can I help?” he asked as you pulled the tortilla off with your bare fingers and tossed it into the basket, waving your fingers as the heat sank into your skin. He laughed and gripped your hand, blowing gently on your scorched fingertips.

You couldn’t help the affectionate tears that collected in the corners of your eyes. In an effort to keep you as comfortable as possible, Taza suggested hosting dinner with your parents on the ranch. You would be on your own turf and could call the shots. If anything got ugly, Taza promised that he had no qualms with making your parents leave. To your modest relief, you also felt a little more like yourself today, like you’d happily tell someone where to shove it if they upset you.

“Just being here with me helps,” you mumbled, tucking yourself into his arms.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” he said quietly. The two of you lingered like that for a moment, enjoying the calm embrace before the storm you knew was about to happen.

And sure enough, a moment later, the doorbell sounded. Your eyes jerked immediately to Taza’s. You struggled to discern if the rolling in your stomach was pregnancy-related or anxiety-induced as perspiration collected on your palms.

He ushered you onto the back patio, helping you to sit in the worn wooden rocking chair before heading back inside to welcome your guests. You listened nervously for the creaking of the front door, which was quickly followed by the drifting voices of your mother and father.

You pulled yourself out of the chair, straightening the soft cotton of your dress over your bump, just as Taza stepped through the door. He came immediately to your side, schooling his features into a calm and neutral mask, tossing an arm around your shoulders. Your father was the next through the door and you bit back a grin at the series of emotions that passed over his face in the span of just a few seconds. Confusion, certainly, and shock, but then pride and excitement and finally, unbridled joy.

Time seemed to slow down as your mother stepped towards your father, her confused gaze traveling from your father’s face to you, eyes widening as they landed on your belly. For the first time in your life, your mother was speechless. She stood on the threshold of the patio door with her mouth open as your father rushed towards you.

“Oh, my baby girl!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a loose hug around your bump, kissing your cheeks delightedly. He turned immediately to Taza, pulling your boyfriend into a strong embrace, clapping him heartily on the back.

“Congratulations, you two! This is wonderful news! Oh, goodness, I’m going to be a grandfather!” he announced in wonderment as he pulled back, turning to his wife, whose eyes were still glued to your stomach.

“Dear?” he asked her, cautiously, but with a hint of something firm in his voice. It was something you had never heard from your father before. You wondered fleetingly what that was about.

His voice seemed to snap her out of her trance. Her eyes met yours and she smiled tightly. “Congratulations,” she forced out and you noted acrimoniously the clenching of her jaw.

Your eyes narrowed. Your heart sank with her false smile and immediately, resentment scrambled into place to protect you. You suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to haul off and smack her, but you quickly chalked that up to hormones. Probably.

Intent on making this a pleasant evening for your completely delighted father, you turned away from your mother with a withering look and plastered on a smile, motioning for everyone to take a seat at the table laden with food you had spent most of the day preparing.

Dinner was an awkward affair. Taza sat beside you, his hand never leaving its reassuring place on your thigh, as the two of you answered your father’s abundance of questions.

Baby Romero is due in November.

We’ve decided to wait to find out the sex.

We don’t really have a preference as long as they’re healthy.

Your mother’s eyes bore holes into you, but she remained silent, except for one question, manifested tersely into the space between the four of you. “Are you going to get married?”

“We haven’t really talked about it,” you replied, surprising even yourself with the strength in your voice. Your mother blinked at you, her expression disappointed, but she said nothing, returning her gaze to her plate.

When everyone had finished eating, your father clapped his hands together and asked Taza if they could take a peek at his Harley.

Taza turned to you, searching your eyes. “¿Estarás bien a solas con ella (Will you be ok alone with her)?”

You nodded at him with a wily smile. “Yo sé dónde están todos los cuchillos en esta casa (I know where all the knives are in this house).”

A loud, deep laugh belted from Taza’s chest as you stood and began collecting plates. You could see him shaking his head out of the corner of his eyes, motioning your father towards the garage.

You were standing in front of the sink, rinsing dishes when you heard the clicking of heels behind you, your mother coming to stop across the counter. You waited with bated breath for the inevitable confrontation, your stomach in knots.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked finally, a bitter edge of hurt creeping into her voice.

You looked down into the sink, realizing you were white-knuckling a spoon. “Why would I?” you demanded. “The last time I saw you, you made it very clear that you don’t approve of Che.”

“I just want what’s best for you!” she insisted, her hands clenching by her sides.

“You don’t know what’s best for me! I’m not you!” You slapped the faucet off and grabbed a kitchen towel to violently dry your hands, coming to face your mother completely. You watched as her eyes flickered quickly to your belly and then back to your face, the sight seemingly fueling her fire.

“I do know that you have no business having children out of wedlock with a man who’s twice your age,” she snapped, stepping closer to you, and your body reacted to the perceived threat, your heart thundering against your ribcage, heat radiating from your face.

“You don’t get to make those decisions for me! Che is the best partner I’ve ever had and he’s going to be an incredible father. Which you would know if you even gave him a chance, but you won’t. You refuse to accept that this is my life, and I’ll live it however the fuck I want!” You could hear your volume rising, but you were beyond controlling it. By the end of your rant, you were screaming, inches from your mother’s furious face, her eyes glinting and her lips set into a scowl. Suddenly, Taza was running into the house and coming to a stop behind you, pulling you gently away from your mother while your father tugged your mother away from you.

“I can’t believe I raised such an ungrateful bitch,” your mother spat, and you swung. Luckily for your mother, Taza had pulled you out of reach, and your fist missed her by several inches.

“Get out of my house!” you hissed, struggling against Taza’s arms, angry tears staining your cheeks.

Your father, looking appropriately mortified, dragged your mother out of the front door and into their car.

Part III of The Boyfriend

#mayans fx #mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans imagine #mayans fanfic #mayans x reader #taza romero #taza romero x reader #taza romero imagine #che taza romero #mayans oneshot

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damn-stark · 3 years

Text

My fault

Reiner Braun x reader

Requested by @rxvxr “i was wondering if you could do a reiner x fem!reader where they’re “enemies” but both have secret feelings for each other, and one day the reader gets really badly hurt by one of the other scouts and tries to hide it, but Reiner notices and asks “who did this to you?” and he’s like so unbelievably furious and she doesn’t think he would care and he just gets really angry at himself for not noticing her injury earlier and is like SO protective? sorry it’s so specific i’m just in a mood. thank you🥺🥰”

Warning- talks of blood and injury, fluff and swearing

———-

“Shit,” you hiss, “shit.” You roll down your pant leg over your bleeding wound and try to hide the fact that you had been hurt during the fight. There were more significant things to worry about instead of wounds you sustained while you had been a little reckless.

Instead you focus on your comrades barely managing to keep themselves awake, heaving and panting as they try to get on top of the wall.

You throw your hand out to grab a hold of Bertholdts, and struggle to pull him to the top. “Are you okay?” You question.

He nods whilst he lets you go and falls back to try and catch his breath. You turn back around and look down at Reiner to throw your hand out towards him. He doesn’t hesitate and wraps his hand around yours, trying to help you out by using some of the strength he had left to pull himself up as you helped him to the top of the wall. Once he’s safely secured on top, his hand unlike Bertholdts lingers around yours.

It’s a moment you let happen, even if you both had a complicated relationship and tended to argue a lot, even if sometimes you “hated” each other, you don’t pull your hand away. You enjoy the moment, let the warmth of his hand bask yours and bring comfort to your tired and panicked state as you look up to the clouded sky.

It’s not until a sharp, burning pain shoots through your leg and makes you pull your hand away to throw your body forward and briefly grab onto your wound, but stopping as you remind yourself that you had to keep this fact hidden for now. Instead you pretend that you had intended to stand up.

“What are we going to do now?” You wonder as you try to hide the strain in your voice. “Are we really going back home?”

“We have the Jaw Titan, that’s all we need now.” Reiner reminds you.

You scoff and keep yourself from trying to grab onto your wound. “Gone for five years, and we return with something we left with,” you sigh, “we’re going to die.”

“We have information we didn’t leave with,” Bertholdt tries to assure the group.

From the corner of your eyes you watch as the boys and Ymir sit up, they still struggle to control their breath, but you all felt much safer. Or as safe as you could feel here now that the Scouts knew your real identity.

“Beast should be here soon, rest up, we’ll most likely have hell to pay.” There was nowhere to go on top of the wall to hide, but you walked off far enough to feel as alone you could possibly be. Now you had time to deal with your bleeding and throbbing wound.

First you hastily made sure no one was looking at you, albeit that’s when you should’ve taken your time to actually make sure because when you turned away suddenly Reiner was next to you, casting a tall shadow over you that makes you freeze and pull your pant leg down in hopes he didn’t see your wound.

“Do you—”

“When did that happen?” He cut you off.

You avert your gaze and pull off the green cloak that was no longer any use to you to tear off two long pieces of its material. He regardlessly walks before you and demands an answer in a much louder, and angrier voice. “Who did this to you?!”

Your eyebrows furrow at the sound of his voice and you finally make yourself look up to him to give him an answer. “One of the Scouts.” You blink to look back down and continue cleaning your wound to attempt and wrap it the best you could until you could properly heal it. Seeing the shadow still over you, before hearing footsteps begin to quickly pace beside you. “What are you doing?”

“Why didn't you say something sooner?” He seethed.

You scoff and just shrug nonchalantly. “Because I didn’t want to worry anybody. Plus it’s not like I thought you cared.”

He suddenly stops and you feel his eyes burn into you. You continue cleaning your wound, hissing softly as it slightly stings. You didn’t expect him to say something, but you were proven wrong in that next moment because out of the anger you didn’t know he felt, he kicked an abandoned wooden box over the wall, causing you to snap your eyes over to him and fall silent and drop the guarded and angry act you carried around him. “It’s okay.” You hesitantly assure him.

“No,” he snapped back, “you could’ve died and I wouldn’t have known because I wasn’t paying attention!”

Your breath hitches and you feel as if your heart skips a beat, feel your face burn at the sound of his comment. There were moments where you did share your concern over one another, it wasn’t ever with words, but actions, those small vulnerable moments. It was in those times, like the one now, where you dropped all the “hostile” behavior towards him and let those true feelings you tucked away seep through.

Hiding them was a tacking thing, but it was better that way because if something were to happen no one would get hurt. No one would need to react like how he did now.

“It’s okay,” you assure him once you snap away from your train of thought. “I’m alive, and this will heal.”

“It’s not,” he argues whilst he swiftly turns around to face you. “I was reckless, I was foolish.”

“Stop.”

“I didn’t pay attention, it’s my fault.”

“Stop!” You exclaim as you jump to your feet out of frustration. “It wasn’t your fault, I was the one that hid that I was hurt, I didn’t tell you. I got hurt because I was reckless, not you. So please stop blaming yourself, just stop….” You pause and shoot him a pointed look that hid what you really expressed in your eyes. You wanted to play it off that you were angry, but knowing he was worried didn’t allow you to feel anything but touched, and happy; that was before the pain from your wound shot throughout your leg let you feel anything but pain in one moment from the next. Causing you to groan sharply and clutch onto your throbbing leg.

“Fuck.”

“Hey, be careful!”

“Yeah,” you sneer, “I know.”

Reiner walked closer to you and sat you back down, grabbing the cloths you had torn and not hesitating to continue doing what you had been trying to do.

“You don’t have to do that.”

He glances up at you and a soft blush paints on his cheeks. “Let me.” When he doesn’t hear you argue in return he quietly continues to wrap your wound so at least the bleeding would stop. Adding one more thing after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “I’ll do better next time, I’m sorry.”

Your eyes flicker over his face and a sigh leaves your lips, you pull your hand from your side and hesitate for a second before you cup his shoulder. “You saved us, you saved me from the Titans, and from the Scouts. None of us died because of you. You did great.”

Reiner’s light eyes lift to look at you, to share a speechless look while the corner of his lips twitch and his cheeks burn hotter. He clears his throat and doesn’t add anything to your comment but a slight scolding comment. “Just promise to be more careful next time.”

“I can’t promise,” you smile. “I'd be lying if I did.”

Reiner scoffs and finishes wrapping your leg to pull away, grabbing your arm to help you to your feet. “Does it feel better?”

“It hurts,” you exhale, “but at least the bleeding stopped.” You continue to hold onto him as he takes you back to your small group, feeling your smile widen at the warm feeling of his hands around your arms. You let yourself enjoy this small moment and don’t give into the “anger” you faked towards him. “Thank you for helping me.”

The corner of his lips tug slightly and he looks at you while you’re not paying attention to say, “always.”

#attack on titan #Reiner Braun #aot #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan requests #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan imagine #reiner braun imagines #reiner braun fanfiction #reiner braun imagine #reiner braun x reader #reiner imagine #aot reiner #reiner x reader #aot imagine #aot imagines

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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

Text

Picture Perfect

AYO! its me back with more content for the second time this week while i ignore my other wips again. this is a lil gift for @queen-o-leen who i promised wholesome content for! I hope you like it!

Timinette/Timari Oneshot 1.9K words (not related to my other timari oneshots)

Summary:

“Tim spends a nice day in a park in Paris and takes a picture of a pretty girl.

He somehow gets an almost date out of it.”

no warnings this time. completely family-friendly. I know i surprise myself with this one too.

without further ado

He would be the last to admit that Jason was right and that time away was what he needed at this point in life but it can’t be ignored that, for the first time in possibly three years, Tim was having a wonderful day. He was having a wonderful week actually. After one too many unsuccessful cold cases and the simmering anxiety of off-world missions, his family, primarily Jason, for some reason, demanded that he take some time off and away from his unusual brand of normal. How that meant being sent across the Atlantic Ocean to Paris of all places, he wasn’t entirely sure. Alfred probably had a hand in that decision given that, as part of his forced vacation, Tim was not allowed to actually plan any of it. Him. Timothy Jackson Drake. The guy who stalked and manoeuvred his way into Batman’s house and team. The guy who tracked and found said man when the universe thought he was dead but was actually drifting through time. Yeah, Tim was not pleased about being led blind on his vacation.

At least Paris was a nice city. And he brought his camera. He figured he could use this time to get back into old hobbies and what better hobby to start up again in the city of love than photography? He’s taken pictures of every tourist attraction worth visiting by his second day and began to take candid shots of people and animals. Would Damian like the animal pictures? Maybe, if they came from someone who wasn’t Tim. Is he going to try and give them to him anyways? Absolutely not. He liked his liver where it is, thank you very much. They would serve as great bribing material however. But that’s a thought for another day.

Right now he was working on capturing what could possibly be described as the stereotypical outing with friends. He’s sitting along some bushes near the entrance of a park and staring at a group of teens his own age hanging around. He spots a brunette with thick curls of hair animatedly speaking with a guy in a vibrant cap. She’s waving a camera herself, and he appreciates her taste in equipment. Her eyes spark with fox-like mischief while the cap guy has a peaceful aura about him; like an old turtle. Next he sees a blonde, her hair is in a ridiculously high ponytail and she’s in a deep conversation with a red head off to the side of the whole group; her words are rushing out of her and she’s a buzzing bee with excitement. Another blond is in the area, but he sits in a broad patch of sun possibly napping with an open book on his chest. Very cat-like Tim supposes. He barely pays them more than a second of thought however. No.

His focus is on the quaint beauty directly in his line of sight. She’s poised up against the giant tree trunk with a sketchbook in her lap and pencils surrounding her. Her hair hangs by her shoulders in twintails and it’s a colour so dark it seems to absorb the shade of the tree. She’s scribbling furiously on the page before her and her tongue is slightly peaking out to the side. Her forehead is creased with stress lines and her shoulders hunch slightly over her frame. She’s the vision of deep concentration and dedication and Tim would be a fool not to capture her. He’s gotten wide shots of her companions but now he wants to focus on her.

Looking through the lens of his camera he zooms in on her profile. When his camera focuses, he spots a constellation of freckles across her cheeks, barely there, almost blending in with her complexion but Tim is nothing if not hypervigilant. He goes to take another photo when a bug flies into view. It’s a ladybug. It lands precariously on the tip of her nose and it’s just the thing that breaks her out of her work-induced trance. Tim is watching her now, long forgetting to click the shutter. Her eyes cross as she stares intently at the black-spotted creature and its presence seems to amuse her. She’s giggling to herself, as if sharing an inside joke with the bug and reaches a slim finger to swipe the insect gently from her nose. She inspects it and smiles a smile so soft that not even a feather could compare. He feels like an intruder. More so than one who takes pictures of cute strangers in public.

Coming back to his senses, he takes another picture, the final picture, and lowers the camera from his face. He looks back at his temporary muse and finds that she is already looking at him. Her head tilts in confusion. Apprehension. Possibly a bit of fear. Which is valid given that Tim was pointing a camera at her from across the public park. What should he do though to quell her fears?

He felt his face lift into a grin; he didn’t need to look at himself to know it was awkward and forced. A shrug of his shoulders and a flimsy wave of the camera in his hand was the only thing he did. Before he could begin to stumble over himself in apology, however, she surprised him. With a cautious hunch, her shoulders brought up to her ears, and an embarrassed smile to match his own, she slowly flips her sketchbook around and he comes face to face with, well, his face. It was a portrait of him. She had drawn a portrait of him. And she was showing him. Feeling embolden, he flips his camera to show her the screen but she’s too far away. He gets up on unsteady legs, cramped from his uncomfortable position, and begins a slow stride towards her. She meets him in the middle.

“Hi.” He barely speaks those words. They’re more like an exhale or a sigh of relief that he hadn’t scared her off.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind the drawing.” Her voice is high and light. Like a spring breeze. She’s daintily waving at him and he sees that her fingers are rough, and calloused. Unexpected but he finds it rather charming. Before he could get another word in, she’s off like an engine. “I just saw you there, and you had your camera so I figured you were taking pictures of us and thought that if you were then you wouldn’t mind me sketching you in kind but I should have asked and I’m sorry for breaching your privacy—”

“Wait, slow down.” He fears that if he hadn’t interrupted her when he did she would run out of oxygen. Did she even breathe during her spiel? A voice in his head, that sounds like Cass, utters a soft ‘pot, kettle’ and okay, he sees a lot of himself in her mile-a-minute style of speaking.

“No need to apologize. I’m flattered, truly. You were right, I was taking pictures of you. And your friends!” he hastily adds that last part. He turns his camera so the display screen faces her and he feels himself hold his breath in anticipation.

A blush rises to her cheeks, red like the ladybug that interrupted her. He quite likes that colour on her. His eyes drift to the sketch and he’s further impressed by her skill. She has an eye for detail. He notices a bird in the background. It’s a robin. That piques his interest and lights a flicker of fear within him.

“May I ask,” he begins slowly, unsure of what that little addition could mean. Did she know? How could she? Was his identity compromised?

“Why did you draw a robin in the background? It’s lovely but I’m curious,” he finishes. He’s going to play dumb until he has more information. She seems taken off guard by the question and raises her shoulders to her ears again in an embarrassed hunch.

“Well,” she starts, but she seems unsure and the words die on her tongue. She tries again.

“I just saw it fly by and then it landed behind you. So I thought ‘why not?’ and drew it. It seemed fitting.” She wasn’t looking him in the eye and now he felt kind of felt like a jerk for baselessly accusing some random girl. Of course it was just a coincidence. This bat-paranoia was going to be the end of him one day. It’s by sheer miracles and luck why it hasn’t already.

“Oh, no worries. It just surprised me because it’s my favourite bird.” Right. Lie to the pretty French girl. But what else could he do? Tell her the truth?

“Then it’s a cool coincidence, huh?” She seems encouraged by that tidbit of information.

“Yeah, pure luck on your part.”

“What?” She seems more startled at that than Tim thinks she should be but before he can think deeper into it she speaks again and he would be a fool to not give her his undivided attention.

“Why did you take a picture of me with the ladybug? If you don’t mind me asking.” That stumps him because, to be honest, he does not know why himself. It just felt right. So he tells her as such.

“Well that would be another coincidence because ladybugs are my favourite insects.” She gives him a full smile alongside that statement and the brilliance of it almost blinds him. He wants to capture that smile for eternity.

The thought strikes him. He doesn’t want this moment to end. He knows by the Friday of next week he’ll be flying back to Gotham where it’s business as usual and Red Robin won’t have time for commitments and puppy love. But right now? Right now Tim Drake is on vacation with a week and half left and all the time in the world to entertain the idea of a spring romance. Making the decision, he goes for it and takes the chance.

“I was getting a bit hungry. Do you know anywhere that’s good to eat at?” It’s an offer, open to interpretation. If she just lists some place, he knows where her interests lay. If she offers to escort him somewhere, then she’s taken the bait for exactly what it is, an invitation for more; whatever more is. He hopes she takes the bait.

“Yes I do actually! My parents own a bakery just outside the park.” Her enthusiasm is uplifting and the offer of a place so personal is a good sign in Tim’s book. “Let me show the way, and I could join you if you would like.”

“Perfect. That’s wonderful. It will be my treat since you’re going out of your way on my account.”

“Nonsense. Like I said, it’s my parents’ bakery. They’ll be more than happy to give some complimentary snacks.” She loops her arm around his and begins to drag him to the park gate. She’s strong and her grip is firm and Tim feels lightheaded at the ease with which she pulls him. He can’t help but be swept up in the tides that is this girl.

“I’m Tim, by the way. Tim Drake.” He offers his name, something he should have done at the beginning.

She looks back at him over her shoulder and he’s caught up in the oceans of her eyes. They’re alight with joy.

“Nice to meet you, Tim. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

They’re almost by the bakery now, he can smell the fresh baked goods from here, and he can’t wait to sit down and get to know this girl better. Maybe get her number by the end of their lunch.

Yeah. Tim was having a wonderful day.

#timari #timinette #maribat #ml x dc #family-friendly content #who would have thought #tumblr dont fucking try me

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

Text

time travel aus, amirite? since we’ve all decided to start talking about our ideas, i thought i’d throw my hat into the ring. i’ve actually had this idea for a while, i just wasn’t sure what to do with it because i barely have the patience for one-shots, let alone the continuous plotted longfic this would need

it’s not my idea, of course, i’m incapable of original thought. it’s based off this can-i-really-call-it-a-genre-if-it’s-two-fics-with-the-same-premise where some combination of maedhros, maglor, elros, and elrond land in the blessed realm before - even the unchaining, in my take, when the ambarussa are still children and the world is blissful. it’s more specifically my take on this fic, which takes elrond and elros from very early in their captivity and maedhros from just before the silmaril theft and maglor from several centuries into the second age. i just plugged my own characterisations into it, and, uh. the specific setup this not-genre uses is that maitimo and makalaurë *~mysteriously disappear,~* throwing their extended family into chaos, blah blah blah, and then a few decades later -

well. with my characterisations, we have a nightmare hellbeast who’s burned up everything he used to be in singular pursuit of an unreachable goal and has carved his very self into a weapon, a completely drained beaten-up husk barely cognisant of reality past the screaming in his mind who’s so utterly broken it’s debatable if he even counts as an elda, and two extremely young extremely traumatised children in a completely unfamiliar land- and skyscape whose only adult they can maybe-kind-of trust is currently bleeding from the eyes and shrieking wordless notes of utter despair

yeah, this au’s Fun. elrond and elros have maybe eight words of quenya between them, most of which are obscene, maedhros will act completely normal until he suddenly stabs himself in the arm because can’t this stupid hallucination end already, he has a character arc to tank, and maglor seems completely unaware he’s not still on the beach having the same cyclic arguments with the ghosts of the people he failed. the elves of valinor aren’t completely unprepared to deal with this, at least not the ones who remember cuiviénen, but it’s still a massive shock to see two of the children they came to the land of the gods to protect twisted and scarred like the worst victims of the dark. especially since noone can figure out why

so yeah. i have trouble finishing oneshot collections, so i doubt i’ll ever write this out in full, but i do have a lot of Scenes. fëanáro staring in utter horror at the oath, whispering ‘i made this.’ elros and elrond’s somewhat hole-filled explanation of their backstory devolving into a sindarin argument, and when the family asks tyelkormo what they’re talking about he freezes before saying ‘they’re arguing about whether maitimo killed their mother.’ the moment maglor finally managed to get through what happened after they got the silmarils to maedhros, who immediately switches from off-the-cuff self-harm to well-planned suicide attempts. the five-minute period the family hellspawn’s working theory was ‘they’re maitimo and makalaurë from an alternate universe where we’re evil’ (‘is there an evil version of me??? does he eat kids???????’ - tyelko) finwë going full bulldoze taniquetil in the background. fun times, might write some snippets in the future

but i like to think through the mechanics of this kind of time travel story too much, so i started wondering where maitimo and makalaurë, yanno, went. i quickly came to the conclusion that they probably swapped places with their evil future selves, giving me three time travel aus for the price of one! technically four but (a) i’m not sure if or with who the twins would swap and (b) if they did their alternate selves are probably having a really bad time and i don’t particularly want to think about it. the stories maitimo and makalaurë are in... they’re not necessarily any happier, but they are a lot more wtftastic

maitimo falls asleep under the light of the trees, on a relaxing retreat from the demands of court life and family-induced disasters. he wakes up in a world that’s almost completely dark, surrounded by plants he’s never seen before and wearing clothing designed for a much warmer climate, the scent of death in the air. now permanently separated from all his old problems, maitimo rapidly acquires several exciting new ones, including but not limited to:

everyone he ever loved being dead or worse

the lone possible exception, his last surviving little brother, being an almost unrecognisable blood-drenched kinslayer who hates everything in the universe especially himself

said blood-drenched kinslayer almost immediately imprinting on him like a grouchy murderous duckling

his future self having apparently wanted to kill even more people, why

getting dogpiled by like thirty dudes in full armour the instant they showed up at the army of the west’s camp to surrender

getting soul-scanned by eönw two minutes later. not fun

arafinwë pulling him into an enormous hug and then bursting into tears

the subsequent explanation as to just what happened to him and his brothers, which somehow got worse after he’d already thought they’d hit rock bottom like four separate times

proceeding to lose a staring contest with findaráto

the way everyone in camp looks at him like he’s an incredibly dangerous wild animal that might bite at any time

how if half of what arafinwë said is true he can’t even blame them, fuck, fuck

the twin half-elven(?????????????) princes he and his brother apparently kidnapped and held hostage for years, inflicting unimaginable cruelties as far as anyone knows

his first meeting with the kids happening when elrond broke into where they were holding maglor to scream at him in very loud very fast very angry sindarin for like half an hour

maglor just staring at him, eyes wide, ears pinned back, the whole time, and then trying to maul the first guard who mocked him for it

getting saddled with kinslayer containment duties in the aftermath of that whole incident

elrond punching him in the collarbone when he tried to apologise, shouting ‘you weren’t there, don’t you dare try to tell me what it was like’

elros’ visible half second of pure terror after the blow hit home

elros then using recognisable techniques from maitimo’s debate team circuit during a speech to the edain

like, clearly some shit did happen, but it’s obviously not what the local leadership’s afraid of

this sour-faced scar-covered warrior slipping out of the shadows in an unpopulated part of camp, kneeling before him, intoning ‘the swords of the host remain at your disposal my lord’ and then immediately vanishing

he didn’t recognise them until after they’d left but they were definitely one of his philosophy club friends, what even

just generally having woken up in a future a thousand times worse than his darkest nightmares

his natural instinct is to try and fix things, but how?? what’s even left to fix????

maglor sometimes goes into these unhinged desperate spiralling rambles directed at the older brother who exists in his head rather than the one in front of his eyes. whatever’s left of maitimo’s biggest little brother is clearly in so much pain

all the things he’s trying extremely hard not to think about because if he slows down enough to he’s pretty sure he’ll collapse

all the people he’s never met who hate him for pretty understandable reasons and whose social structure he now has to learn to have any hope of making it out of All This

the edain’s collective insistence on calling him pasthros

curufinwë isn’t even a hundred how does he have a kid

makalaurë, on the other hand, wakes up on a beach beneath a giant glowing orb. finding himself in a land so much barer than what he knows, among people whose souls don’t even work like his, his initial working theory is he’s been abducted by aliens

#silmarillion #my terrible fic #maedhros #maglor #elrond #elros #house of feanor #suicide ///#self harm ///#or in other words #late stage feanorians #other mental images include:#nelyo getting stupidly drunk with a bunch of edain enablers #random human fisherman: better not go out to the shore by night. there's a wandering spirit that sings of death and devours souls #kano: wow. you got a lot of those around here or #nelyo and kano glowing like beacons (they were just in the treelight after all) and constantly being surrounded by curious humans #nelyo talking the elro twins into talking to earendil while they still have a chance #galadriel: how dare you show your face around here kinslayer!!!#kano: ... wait are you artanis #he subsequently meets elrond and then serves as a sounding board for elrond's maglor issues #elrond: you know you act a lot like he did when he was blatantly faking being happy #kano: ... WELP #honestly i do feel like nelyo hangs out more with the edain than the other elves #for fun at least. he is bodily dragging mags into lorien he's never going to see these people again ever #as for the political situation... bless him he's trying #idk how all these aus interact i suspect there's divergent timelines involved #one last image:#seeing as how if he continues how he is everyone and everything he's ever loved will burn and die #feanaro steels himself up for the impossible #making up with nolofinwe

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asset35-maya · 3 years

Text

RED DRESS

Part 2/2 of Nice Things

“Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“Five minutes, sweetheart. Please.”

Gavin rolled his eyes and sat down on the bed with a thump. The day had finally come when the human was more punctual than the android. He sniggered at the thought but refrained from saying it out loud. Nines looked far more serious than he ought to for a Friday night.

“Babe, it’s just the guys. And Tina.”

Nines ignored him in favor of twirling a mascara wand through his lashes.

“We’re literally going to Abick’s. That’s like the oldest, grungiest cop bar you can-”

“It’s not the place or the company, sweetheart.”

Gavin watched Nines finish off with eyeliner. Somehow even androids’ mouths hung open in concentration while doing that.

He stood up from the little pouffe and shook his long hair out with a flourish. Taking that as his cue, Gavin got up and pressed himself up against his lover’s back. He curled his arms around Nines’ trim waist and rested his chin on his shoulder.

Their eyes met in the mirror of the wooden dresser that Gavin had built for Nines.

“Whatchu so gorgeous for?”

Nines tried, but couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

“Shut up and zip me up.”

It wasn’t like he couldn’t reach behind himself and do it on his own. The RK900 model was supremely dexterous, flexible to the point of double-jointedness.

It was more of an implicit request for the human’s approval of the outfit. Nines didn’t need it, but he asked anyway… just like later that night, Gavin would ask him if it was okay to splurge on a bacon cheeseburger or order an extra shot in his whiskey coke…

They were codependent like that.

Gavin left one hand on the android’s stomach and placed the other on the small of his back, just at the opening of the dress. His thumb grazed the zipper, but he didn’t demonstrate any further intent to pull it up.

“You said we were going to be late.”

Gavin swept the dark curtain of hair aside and pressed his lips to the exposed skin at the nape of Nines’ neck. When he spoke it was a whisper.

“Why’s my babydoll looking like something out of a movie for my dumb little promotion party?”

His hand slipped into the open flap of the dress. It was a simple knee-length a-line. Fairly modest, but something about it set Gavin’s heart racing. Perhaps the colour. A vibrant, lusty, sexy, show-stopping red in sharp contrast to the milky white synthskin.

Nines couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him at the touch. Sighing, he tipped his head back and let Gavin nuzzle his neck.

“Hmm?”

“Now we’re really going to be late, sweetheart. Zip… hhhhh… zip… me up…”

“Come on, doll. I don’t want someone accidentally spilling beer or mustard on this pretty little thing you got on. It’s just gonna be a chill night out with our friends. They demanded a treat for my promotion, and Hank said he’d come too, so I picked a place he’d be more comfortable at, and I realise that’s not exactly your scene, but I’m glad you’re coming with me, but I really gotta say this dress-”

Nines turned around in Gavin’s grasp and silenced him with a kiss.

“It’s not the place or the company,” he repeated, putting his arms around the human’s neck.

“It’s your promotion party. It’s about your achievements, your hard work, YOU. And in case you haven’t noticed, you’re the most important person in my life. My partner in more ways than one. My everything.

Your rise in stature means as much if not more to me than my own accomplishments. I’m not the RK900 with the impeccable solve rate. I’m Sergeant Reed’s better half.

If I had it my way we’d be doing something much grander, but this is how you want to celebrate and that’s fine, but please don’t stop me from dressing for the occasion.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Steel blue and storm green locked in stalemate.

Then Gavin pulled Nines into a tight embrace. He released him abruptly and spun him around, zipping up the dress in a flash. Avoiding eye contact lest the tears pricking his eyes betray him, Gavin caught the android’s hand in his and marched out of the apartment.

Connor greeted them at the entrance of the bar and waved them over to where the motley crew sat, already well into their first round of drinks.

Hank raised his beer glass in greeting, wearing an orange striped shirt he apparently deemed worthy of festivities. Tina enveloped Gavin in a giant hug. For a good thirty seconds he could see nothing but flannel. Then Miller, Person and countless other officers took turns congratulating him and bringing up past cases or incidents they couldn’t believe hadn’t held Gavin’s career back.

Nines extricated himself with an artful wave of long fingers and settled onto a bar stool beside his older brother Sixty and his husband Allen. Serious, snarky and clad in their usual black leather, these two were more Nines’ speed.

Ignoring Sixty’s irritated grumble, Nines took a sip of his thirium drink to see if he liked the taste and ordered one for himself. He was prepared to spend the rest of the night sitting still and not touching the many sticky, greasy surfaces in the bar. It wasn’t his idea of fun, but he was happy to let Gavin and his friends do their thing.

Gavin, however, didn’t seem to be in the mood. He humoured his friends (many of whom were now his direct reports) and played along with whatever they insisted on doing, but Nines felt his partner’s eyes on him the entire evening.

“You punishing him?”

“Hmm?”

Sixty was squinting at him shrewdly.

“For coming to this shithole to celebrate. That’s why you wore this? Poor bastard can’t keep his eyes off you.”

Nines swatted his brother on the chest.

“I don’t play games like you.”

“Who says I play games?”

Allen shook his head but didn’t look up from his phone.

“I have a fashion sense, Six, not an agenda. I’m not punishing him for anything.”

“Well, you’re certainly distracting him. Reminds me of the time Allen said something stupid while we were getting ready for a shift so I put on lingerie underneath my gear. He nearly fell off a roof that day.”

Allen buried his face in his hands while Nines laughed out loud.

“Shiiit. Your guy looks fucking lovesick. In front of all his staff too. They’re gonna think he’s a total sap. A new authority figure like him has got to show some grit.”

“Six, your husband follows you around like a lost puppy but that hasn’t interfered with his ability to lead your unit. Gavin will be fine.”

Allen didn’t know whether to consider that an insult or a compliment and settled for sipping his drink in silence.

“So what are you gonna do?”

“To?”

“Make the torture worth his while.”

At that exact moment, Gavin gave Nines a look from across the bar that could have only one interpretation. Sixty noticed and barked a laugh.

Nines self-consciously tucked his hair behind his ear and smoothed down his dress. If he were human he’d have blushed bright red.

Back to idly scrolling through his phone, Allen spoke without looking up.

“Let him do whatever he wants.”

Nines’ eyes widened. Sixty nodded wisely.

“His imagination is probably running all over the place right now. All you have to do is let him act on it and you’ll make him the happiest man on earth. It’s his promotion. You should be the prize.”

Allen put down his phone and scooted closer to Sixty, wrapping his arms around the android. They both looked at Nines with identical expressions that were anything but innocent.

“Yeah, Nines. Dress like a present, expect to be unwrapped.”

Raucous cheers erupted as Gavin lost yet another game of beer pong. The new sergeant barely noticed and took the shot glass thrust into hand by a very jubilant Connor. Nines raised his glass in a silent toast and the two downed their drinks together.

The rest of the evening was an exercise in painful self-restraint. Gavin entertained various playful requests and posed for photos and thanked each and every one of his colleagues for their strong support. Hank clapped him on the shoulder proudly, and Tina even teared up at one point, emotionally overcome with happiness for her oldest and closest friend. Nines watched it all quietly from his perch beside Sixty and Allen.

As soon as they slid into an autonomous taxi, Gavin’s lips were on his, smothering him in heated, demanding kisses. Intoxicated and utterly uninhibited, the human put his hands in Nines’ hair… all over his body… and up the pretty red dress. No words were exchanged the entire ride home.

The fact that android skin could not be marked or bruised was the only thing that let them walk through their busy lobby and ride the elevator up with dignity intact.

As soon as the front door slammed shut, Gavin was all over Nines. He touched and groped and claimed and conquered.

The dress zipper was pulled down as quickly as it had been pulled up before they left for the bar. Nines stepped out of the puddle of red fabric as delicately as he could and pulled Gavin’s shirt off too. It was only the high quality gyroscope of the RK900 model that kept them from crashing to the floor before making it to the bed.

Nines allowed himself to be pushed onto the bed and parted his legs for Gavin to easily settle between them. From there, he expected things to go at lightning speed… for Gavin to plough into him and come with a loud roar after a couple minutes, finally sated after a night of frustration.

The exact opposite occurred.

Even after all the tequila shots Connor and Tina made him do, Gavin was somehow still lucid enough to put his lover’s feelings over immediate physical needs.

“Babe, I… am soooo… sorry…”

One hand wound up in his hair and the other gripped his hip.

“Like.. you dressed the phck up… like you looked soooooo damn beautiful, baby… I’m gonna cry.”

For a moment, it honestly looked like that was a possibility until Nines reached up and stroked the human’s stubbled cheek.

“I know Abick’s is kinda crusty but you came anyway… looking like a million bucks but I didn’t spend a second with you… T and Con and the crew… they kinda took over…”

“It’s fine, sweetheart. It was our whole team’s night as much as yours. I’m glad they all had their fun.”

“I didn't. Have any fun.”

“Really? Not even when Chris did that Fowler impersonation?”

“Couldn’t stop… thinking of you… you’re so damn good to me… and I…”

“I was fine. You invited Six and Allen to keep me company and it was fiiiineee.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Now come on, sarge. Show me who’s boss.”

Nines rolled his hips against Gavin’s and that was all the conversation there was to be had for the night. They were both still getting used to having nice things… but they were doing well.

Inspired by @marndraws

#reed900 #rk900 #dbh rk900 #dbh nines #dbh gavin #gavin reed #gavin900 #gavin x rk900 #gavin x nines #background allen60 #long haired nines #red dress #tooth rotting fluff

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emospritelet · 3 years

Text

Heatstroke - chapter 24/24

Last time, Gold confronted Zelena over trying to frame Regina, and Lacey caught the whole show on tape. This is the final chapter! Happy endings FTW!

[AO3]

Lacey set down the camera on the shop counter, and raised an eyebrow at Gold.

“So,” she said. “What do you want to do?”

He inclined his head, lifting a hand and letting it fall.

“It appears you have a story to tell about Miss West,” he remarked. “I feel the choice is very much yours. Perhaps Mr Glass can be persuaded that running an exposé is in the public interest.”

Lacey hesitated.

“Yeah, I think he would,” she acknowledged. “It’s just - Mayor Mills doesn’t know, does she? About Zelena.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I think maybe we should tell her,” said Lacey. “Before it all comes out, I mean. That would be the decent thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” he agreed, and let out a heavy sigh, his head rolling back. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“What is?”

He raised his head again, sending her a stern look.

“It appears I’ve discovered a conscience,” he said. “The rumour was I didn’t have one. I blame you for this outrage.”

Lacey giggled, and leaned in to kiss him.

“Does that mean you’ll come with me to break the news?” she asked, and he offered his arm.

“To the Mayor’s office,” he said. “I’m sure Regina will be just delighted to see us.”

“This can’t be true.” Regina was staring at Lacey’s phone, having watched the recording twice. “This - this is impossible!”

“This must be a hell of a shock,” said Lacey, and Regina shook her head.

“I always thought she disliked me, but Mal told me I was being paranoid,” she said. “All this time she was plotting to ruin my life because my mother abandoned her? The nerve of the woman!”

“I guess sibling rivalry’s tough to deal with,” said Lacey. “Makes me glad I’m an only child.”

“Well, she certainly has my mother’s ambition and vindictiveness,” said Regina, with a sigh. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the father?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Gold. “Did your mother ever hint that you had a half-sister?”

Regina shook her head.

“She never spoke about her youth,” she said. “Other than to tell me she had to fight for anything she could get and I should do the same.”

She handed the phone back to Lacey and frowned at Gold.

“Exactly how long have you known about this?” she demanded, and he smiled.

“I heard what you did,” he said.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” she said coldly. “I know you, Gold. Were you holding onto this information until it was of use to you?”

“You think I’m working against you?” he asked, in a mild tone.

“I think you never do anything that doesn’t benefit you.”

“Well, perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think,” he said. “Or perhaps we assess risks and benefits differently. Either way, you have Miss French to thank for the investigation of her past and this recording. I merely - encouraged a confession.”

“Quite the sleuthing team,” said Regina, in a dry tone. “Can we expect a new office in town? French Gold, Private Investigators?”

“I don’t mind investigating his privates,” said Lacey, and Gold shot her a very level look as Regina curled her lip.

“Thanks, I’m going to spend the rest of the evening trying and failing to get that image out of my head.”

“You’re welcome,” said Lacey cheerfully.

“The question for you,” said Gold, “is how are you going to handle this? Miss French has quite a scoop on her hands, but she wanted to bring it to you first before raising it with Mr Glass.”

Regina shot Lacey a grateful look before sitting back in her chair with a sigh.

“There’s supposed to be a debate,” she said. “The two of us up on stage. You think it’s her intention to reveal the whole sordid story in front of the whole town?”

“I don’t believe she wants the rest of the town to know,” said Gold. “If they did, then her whole campaign reeks of sour grapes. She’ll want to play on the image she’s created while she’s been here. However inaccurate it is.”

Regina growled under her breath.

“I can’t believe I’m having to go through this charade!” she snapped. “I’m supposed to stand there and - and debate her when she’s trying to frame me for corruption and destroy my life!”

“We don’t have any actual evidence that she’s tried to frame you,” said Lacey, and Regina nodded impatiently.

“I know, I know. Nothing court worthy on that tape, however much she hinted at it,” she said. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to hand it over to the Sheriff, get him to look into it.”

“If you agree to an exclusive interview with me after the debate, sure,” said Lacey quickly, and almost blushed as Gold shot her an approving look. Regina drummed her fingers on the desk.

“She’s far too good for you, Gold,” she said abruptly. “I hope you know that.”

He smirked at that, winking at Lacey.

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

Gold was finding it hard to stop grinning like an idiot now that he and Lacey were dating, and even found himself unexpectedly granting rent extensions, much to the surprise of nervous tenants. He made dinner for her again later in the week, and she stayed the night, Darcy curled at their feet as they drifted into sleep. It was pleasant being nuzzled awake by a purring cat and finding Lacey in his arms. It was a feeling he could get used to.

They had eventually managed to finish the interview, most of which was carried out in bed, and he had found himself telling her things he had previously had no intention of revealing. He blamed that on Lacey; it was difficult to maintain his usual cool distance when she was wearing his discarded shirt and looking at him as though he was a particularly delicious snack. She kept her word about giving him the final say on the article, however, and upon reading her draft, he noted that she had kept some of the more personal details to herself. He only felt the need to redact a couple of minor points about his early life, but was happy to let the remainder stand as it was. If the rest of Storybrooke was surprised at the intimacy of the piece and his sudden desire to be open about his life - well, they could all go and fuck themselves, as far as he was concerned.

The only opinions he cared about were those of his family, and it wasn’t too long before Neal called. Gold sighed as he looked at the number flashing on his phone. They’re gonna tease me relentlessly about this. Emma especially.

Shaking his head and smirking to himself, he picked up.

“Dad, hi,” said Neal. “Thought you might have called to let us know how your big social occasion went. You’re not avoiding the issue, right?”

“Of course not,” said Gold. “Been a busy week, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. Emma thought you’d say that.” Neal sounded amused. “She’s been dying to find out about the dance, so I said I’d call for an update.”

“Tell her she needs a better hobby than worrying about my social life,” said Gold dryly. “How’s Henry? I was wondering what to get for his birthday.”

“Nice attempt at deflection, but I’m not done with you,” said Neal. “Come on, how did it go?”

“Uh - it was fine,” said Gold.

“Did you ask Lacey to dance, like I said?”

“Yes.” Gold hesitated. “We’re - uh - sort of dating now.”

Neal whooped, making him grin.

“Way to go! See, I knew you could do it!”

“Yes, well.” Gold scratched the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “It’s early days, I suppose. Very early days, but it’s going well.”

“I am so happy for you, really. Wait until I tell Emma.”

“She’s gonna tease me, isn’t she?” said Gold dryly.

“No more than usual.”

“A lot, then.”

“Hey, her teasing comes from a place of love.”

“Hmm.” Gold was amused. “Well, you can tell her I love her too.”

“And you can tell Lacey we can’t wait to meet her,” said Neal, and Gold’s grin widened.

“I believe the feeling’s mutual,” he said.

“Good. How about in two weeks’ time?”

Gold smirked to himself.

“Excellent timing,” he said. “It’s the Mayoral debate and election.”

“I’m almost certain we can find something better to do than listen to some crusty old politicians.”

“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” said Gold. “It could be an interesting night.”

The evening of the debate arrived more quickly than Lacey thought possible, and she was nervous about more than just reporting the evening’s events. Gold’s son and daughter-in-law were due any minute, and there was a tiny part of her that kept whispering that they wouldn’t approve, that they would wonder why the hell Gold, with his money and power and class, was dating the likes of her. Stressing over her coverage of the election was a welcome distraction from the unwelcome internal monologue, and she concentrated on getting her things together for the debate, checking the recording equipment on Gold’s kitchen table and fretting about the sound quality.

“You’ve already checked it three times,” he said. “It’s fine.”

“I’m supposed to be writing the front page article!” she snapped. “What happens if I fuck up and don’t get anything recorded? I’m gonna look like a total idiot and Sidney won’t trust me with anything more complex than the hot dog eating contest!”

“I can record everything on my phone, if you’re worried,” he said. “Besides, don’t you do shorthand?”

“Yeah, but—”

“You’ll be fine,” he said gently, and kissed her head. “I promise.”

The doorbell rang, and Lacey started, heart thumping.

“Relax, that’ll be Neal and Emma,” said Gold, heading for the door. Lacey frowned at his back.

“Relax, my arse,” she muttered, shoving the recording equipment into its bag.

There were voices from the hall, and a sudden burst of laughter, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to calm the hell down. Footsteps from the doorway made her look up, and she was greeted by a warm smile and an outstretched hand. Gold’s son had his eyes, and curling dark hair above a ready grin.

“I’m Neal,” he said. “Really pleased to meet you.”

“Lacey,” she said, shaking his hand. “Uh - likewise.”

She was reminded vividly of the fact that she had flashed him on their first encounter, and felt a blush start to rise in her cheeks. If Neal was thinking of it too, he was better at hiding it than she was. His wife was a pretty blonde, with a kind look in her eyes and a plump baby in her arms, who was glancing around curiously at everything.

“This is Emma,” added Neal, “and that’s Henry.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” said Emma, shooting Gold a teasing look.

“Well, I won’t ask if it was all good, because I’m willing to bet it wasn’t,” said Lacey, and they chuckled.

“Maybe not at first,” admitted Emma. “Don’t hold it against the old bastard, though.”

“Oh, believe me, the feeling was mutual,” said Lacey.

“I’m standing right here,” said Gold evenly.

Lacey caught Emma’s eye and returned her grin. She felt herself relax a little, and leaned over to kiss Gold’s cheek.

“We got there in the end,” she said. “Uh - how hungry are you guys? I didn’t even think about dinner.”

She shot Gold a look, hoping that he would suggest something, and he nodded.

“We’ll head to Granny’s after the debate,” said Gold. “I have no doubt that Lacey will be demonstrating her excellent skill as a journalist, and I’d hate for you to miss it.”

“No pressure then,” said Lacey, and he smiled.

“You’re writing the article for the Mirror front page,” he said. “You have an exclusive with the Mayor herself after the debate. Sidney Glass clearly believes you to be as capable as I do.”

“Yeah, because I got that interview with you,” she said. “I didn’t tell him we were naked when I got most of that info.”

Neal closed his eyes with a pained expression.

“Shows ingenuity if you ask me,” said Emma abruptly. “I can usually get a ton of stuff out of Neal when we’re naked. Must run in the family.”

It was Gold’s turn to look pained. Neal put his hands over his face with a heavy sigh, and Lacey and Emma chuckled. Lacey decided that she liked both Emma and Neal very much. She zipped her bag and nodded to Gold.

“Okay,” she said. “Wish me luck.”

The town hall was filled with residents, chatting amongst themselves and casting curious glances at the empty stage. Ruby was seated next to Leroy on the third row back, and she winked at Lacey as she and Gold took their own seats. Ruby had been delighted to hear that the two of them had started seeing one another, and had only made a salacious comment to Gold on one occasion. Maybe two.

“Big turnout,” said Neal, glancing around. “I had no idea the people in this town were so into politics.”

“Usually they don’t bother,” said Gold. “The Mayor getting some competition appears to have piqued their interest.”

As though his voice had summoned her, Regina walked onto the stage, chin held high, looking calm and competent in a sharp black suit. Zelena followed, in a green dress with a soft silk scarf around her neck and gold hoops in her ears. A green folder was tucked under her arm, her hair tied up, and Lacey thought she was going for the image of a respectable school teacher. A gleam in her eye spoiled the look.

Dr Hopper was moderating the debate, and Lacey quickly checked her recording equipment and opened her laptop, rattling off a few sentences about the tense atmosphere of the hall and the opening statements from each of the candidates. Zelena gave a speech about decency and traditional values, at which Regina seemed to be stopping herself from rolling her eyes with some difficulty. Regina spoke of her record on town planning, law and order—she shot Zelena a look at that point—and prosperity.

“Thank you, ladies,” said Dr Hopper, when she was done. “Now, perhaps we’ll go to some questions from the press before we deal with those the townsfolk have submitted.”

“I have a question for Miss West,” said Lacey, in a loud, clear voice, shoving her laptop at Gold as she got to her feet.

Zelena’s mouth twisted, her smile more of a grimace.

“Of course,” she said lightly. “It’s - uh - I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

She waved a languid hand, and Lacey felt her mouth flatten.

“Lacey French, Storybrooke Mirror,” she said evenly, and Zelena let out a tinkling laugh.

“Of course, silly me,” she trilled. “How could I forget Storybrooke’s eager young reporter? Lending the local newspaper such an air of class in that - lovely - outfit.”

There was a muttering amongst the townsfolk, and Lacey distinctly heard Ruby say ‘What a bitch!’, but she smiled sweetly as though she hadn’t understood the insult.

“Yeah, I have a question about your motivation for running for Mayor,” she said. “You said yourself you’ve never been involved in politics, so what inspired you to make this move now?”

Zelena smiled widely.

“Well, as I said, I thought about where I could do the most good,” she said. “Storybrooke is a wonderful town, with many excellent qualities, but talking to its residents has made me realise that there’s a feeling that it may be lacking direction. I sense a need for a return to the basics of community. Neighbourliness. Family values. The traditions of small-town America that we all grew up with.”

“But you grew up in England,” said Lacey. “Wasn’t your father a diplomat? How do you know this view of America is either accurate or desirable?”

Zelena’s nostrils flared as she continued to smile brightly.

“Well,” she said. “Who’s been doing her homework?”

“Yeah, it’s just that people hear politicians mention tradition and family values, and all too often it’s a smoke-screen to hide racism and homophobia,” went on Lacey. “How would you address those concerns?”

Zelena spread her hands.

“I’d say look at my record,” she said. “Since I moved here I’ve made it clear that I’m happy to work with people of all backgrounds. It’s important that no one feels left out, and my initial conversations have led me to believe that there are concerns, and that some residents feel that their interests are not - fully appreciated - by the Mayor.”

“What kind of interests?” asked Lacey quickly, before Zelena could turn away, and her mouth twisted again as she tried to keep smiling.

“As I said, some feel that traditional family values are being lost in the push for modernity,” she said. “I’d like to reassure them that I stand for everything that Storybrooke represents. Decency. Morality.”

“Does that mean you think the Mayor is immoral?” asked Lacey, and Zelena pulled a face.

“I think there have been some questionable decisions at city hall under her watch, yes,” she said. “Does anyone really think that a seedy bar called Queens of Darkness is fitting for this town?”

“It’s a jazz club,” said Regina. “And there’ll be dance lessons each week. A perfectly respectable establishment, run by three accomplished businesswomen.”

Zelena let out that insincere laugh again, and Lacey sat down, retrieving her laptop from Gold and opening it up as Zelena addressed the room.

“Well, it’s not only the company the Mayor keeps,” she said. “We’ve all heard the rumours. Missing money, accounts not holding quite as much as people thought…”

“That’s an outrageous lie,” said Regina coldly. “Where’s your evidence, Miss West?”

Zelena smirked, as though she had been waiting for that very question. She held up the green folder, showing it to the room.

“I have the evidence right here,” she announced. “A brave employee of city hall managed to smuggle this out to me. Evidence that the Mayor has been embezzling town funds!”

There was a shocked intake of breath around the room. Lacey typed furiously.

“How dare you!” snapped Regina. “That’s a lie and you know it!”

“I believe this is my allotted time to speak!” Zelena snapped back. “I think the people of Storybrooke deserve to know exactly who you really are, don’t you? They should understand the choice before them!”

The doors at the end of the hall opened, and there was the sound of heavy boots on the floor. Zelena looked surprised, and then somewhat nervous, and a low-level muttering started up in the audience. Lacey glanced over her shoulder, watching as Sheriff Graham Humbert walked towards the stage with his deputy Dorothy Gale by his side. Regina appeared to be drumming her fingers on the lectern, and Lacey couldn’t work out whether it was anxiety or impatience.

“Miss West,” said Graham. “We’d like you to come with us, please.”

“Why?” demanded Zelena. “I’m a little busy winning this election, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s a matter of obstruction of justice,” said Graham. “If you could come to the station, please.”

Zelena opened and closed her mouth, a sudden flicker of fear in her eyes.

“What if I say no?”

“I’d prefer not to have to handcuff you,” said Graham.

“But we will if we have to,” added Dorothy, folding her arms.

“This is a conspiracy!” blurted Zelena, waving a finger at Regina. “Did the Mayor put you up to this? This is exactly the kind of corruption I’m talking about! The Sheriff being used as the Mayor’s enforcer!”

“Miss West…”

“Mayor Mills will do whatever it takes to silence me!” she went on. “She’s scared I’ve exposed her for what she is!”

“Miss West, I didn’t want to have to arrest you, but…”

“One hint of competition and she calls in her - her goon squad to crush it!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I know you’re my sister!” said Regina loudly.

Silence fell, and Lacey hurriedly typed a few sentences, describing the shocked atmosphere of the town hall. Zelena was staring at Regina, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

“I wasn’t going to mention it,” said Regina, curling her lip. “I wanted to give you a chance to be a decent person and deal with this in an honourable way. But since you’re determined to try to ruin my life for no good reason, then yes. I’m well aware we share the same mother, and frankly she’d be disappointed at this pathetic bid for attention.”

“How dare you—”

“I believe it’s my turn to speak,” interrupted Regina. “We’ve listened to enough of your rambling this evening. Since you’d been dropping hints about corruption in my office, I had Sheriff Humbert investigate. He told me earlier this evening that someone had been planting evidence to try to frame me. No doubt that’s what he wants to speak to you about.”

“This is—”

“The residents of Storybrooke know how seriously I take my duties as Mayor,” Regina went on, addressing the room as a whole now. “They know that I value their support and their trust. Of course I’d want any threat to that to be investigated. I’m just - I’m beyond disappointed that the threat comes from my half-sister.”

Her voice echoed around the silent room. Lacey was watching the townsfolk avidly, their eyes fixed on Regina as she spoke.

“I had no idea that my mother had had a daughter before me, no idea that I had another family member out there in the world,” she went on. “Her coming to Storybrooke should have been a time of joy and reunion. But instead of her reaching out to me, she tries to undermine me, to take away the most important job I have in this town.”

She looked down, shaking her head, and Gold leaned in close.

“I wonder how much of this is for the benefit of the voters and how much is genuine,” he murmured.

“Maybe fifty-fifty,” Lacey whispered back, and he nodded in agreement.

Regina raised her head, taking a deep breath, as though steeling herself for something unpleasant. Graham and Dorothy had edged towards the stage, Dorothy removing the cuffs from her belt.

“All I can do now,” said Regina, “is trust that justice will take its course.”

“You know nothing about justice!” shouted Zelena, as the Sheriff started reading her her rights. “You’ll pay for this! All of you!”

She was still yelling when Dorothy handcuffed her and marched her from the room. The sound of the doors closing was very loud in the silence that remained.

“Well,” said Regina, placing her hands on the lectern and looking around the room. “I think we can all agree that this was one of the more - eventful - political debates this town has seen.”

There was a ripple of nervous laughter, and she smiled.

“I truly hope that Miss West gets the help she so desperately needs,” she went on. “And when she has, I want her to know that she’s welcome to visit with Mallory and I. After all, we may not be able to choose our family, but that makes it all the more important to nurture the bonds we share with those around us.”

There were noises of agreement from the audience, and Gold leaned in close again.

“Ever the politician,” he murmured, and Lacey nodded.

“Storybrooke is like an extended family to me,” went on Regina, “and all families have their moments of conflict and frustration, but underneath that there is respect for one another, and a common set of values. I believe I have lived by those values for every year that I’ve served as your Mayor. I will always reach out to those in need and I will always act in the best interests of this town. Under my leadership, Storybrooke will continue to prosper. I guarantee it.”

There was applause, and a couple of cheers, and Regina nodded, looking extremely self-satisfied. She started taking questions, and Gold kissed Lacey’s cheek and whispered that he would see her in the diner when she was done. She watched him leave with his family, Emma balancing the baby on her hip and Neal pushing the stroller after them. Lacey turned back to listen to Regina field a question about the state of the town’s roads, bent her head to her laptop, and began typing up her article on the Mayoral debate.

She emailed the article over to Sidney before leaving for the diner, and walked back there with Ruby, who was chattering about the drama that had unfolded. Regina had been in her element when answering the remaining questions, and Lacey had felt a surge of satisfaction over her part in exposing a crime. Perhaps small town life offered the chance for rewarding work after all. She could see Gold and his family through the window, and his face lit up as she entered, making her stomach flip. Damn the man. I’m falling in love with him.

“Excellent job this evening,” he said, getting up to pull her chair out and kissing her cheek. “I got you a rum and coke, I hope that’s okay.”

“Perfect,” she said fervently, and took a slurp, relishing the taste on her tongue.

“How’d the Mayor look at the end of all that?” asked Emma, and Lacey pulled a face.

“The whole place gave her a round of applause, and she was looking about as satisfied as she could, I guess,” she said. “I still feel kind of sorry for her. Not every day you find out you have a half sister. Especially one that’s out to get you.”

“Well, it could have been a lot worse,” said Gold. “I very much doubt Miss West will present much of a challenge from a jail cell.”

Lacey nodded, taking another sip of her drink.

“Does this mean you and Regina are friends now?” she asked, and Gold smirked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “What’s that term the kids use these days?”

“Frenemies?”

“That’s the one.”

“Kind of like we were,” she observed, and he laughed.

“Regina would fillet me with a letter opener if I even contemplated looking at her the way I look at you.”

“No, I don’t mean that,” she said. “I just meant - well, we kind of had that thing where we poked at each other to get a reaction, right?”

Gold looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh, and she swatted his arm.

“Stop thinking about dirty stuff! You know what I mean!”

“I do,” he acknowledged. “And I, for one, am very glad that we - er - got the reaction we wanted.”

“You’re still thinking about dirty stuff, aren’t you?” said Emma shrewdly, and Gold shrugged.

“Maybe a little.”

They ate ribs, sticky with Granny’s special sauce, licking it from their fingers and washing it down with beer and wine and rum. By the time they got out into the cool night air, Lacey felt wonderfully tipsy, and regretted putting on her high heels earlier in the evening. At least there was no one else around to see if she fell on her arse, she supposed. Neal and Emma were walking ahead, pushing the stroller and talking quietly, and Lacey let out a sigh, slipping her arm through Gold’s for support, and resting her head on his shoulder.

“I ate too much,” she said, and Gold chuckled.

“We all ate too much.”

“You didn’t throw half of it over your lap, though.”

“No, I thought I’d leave that to you.”

“Stupid gravity,” muttered Lacey, and he laughed, squeezing her arm with his.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Yeah. Long day.”

“Maybe you should have an early night.”

She glanced up at him, and he was grinning at her, his eyes twinkling.

“How’s that gonna work?” she asked flatly. “Your family’s staying over. No way I’m letting you give me screaming orgasms while they’re in the room next door.”

“In that case I could sneak over to yours,” he suggested. “You could scream to your heart’s content.”

Lacey giggled, barging him affectionately with her shoulder.

“I think I love you, Mr Gold,” she said, and Gold stopped dead, turning to face her with a stunned look on his face.

“Really?”

Lacey turned to face him, taking his hand.

“Really,” she said. “I mean I’m kind of drunk, but that’s not why I’m saying it. I think I’ve sort of been in love with you for a while now. Is that okay?”

He was staring at her, wide-eyed, and a softness seemed to spill over his features, making his eyes gleam as he smiled.

“Well,” he said. “I think I love you, too, Miss French. Is that okay?”

“More than okay.”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then raised his chin.

“D’you want to move in?” he asked.

“Can I bring Darcy?”

“Of course.”

“Then you got a deal.”

He was grinning, and she found herself grinning back, her heart swelling with love for him.

“Let’s wait until after Neal and Emma go before I move in, though,” she said. “I think you said something about screaming orgasms?”

Gold’s grin turned wicked, and he bent his head to kiss her.

“I’ll be over later.”

She let his lips pull at hers, leaning in to feel the warmth of his body as his arms went around her, and let out a sigh of contentment. Yes. Life in a small town could be amazing.

#fic: heatstroke #golden lace fic #rumbelle fic #golden lace #rumbelle #my fic

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djmarinizelablog · 3 years

Text

Ultimate Bonding Experience

Summary:

Hange and Moblit follow Levi and Petra on a date. It's a disaster.

Tags:

one-shot, fluff and humor, nonbinary Hange, they/them pronouns for Hange, officemates, best friends forever, friends to lovers, jealous Hange

Notes:

This is for the Levihan Filo Week Day 4 Prompt, Tourist Destinations, featuring Greenbelt, Makati (Yes, the audacity of me.)

—

"You're going out on a date with Petra?” Hange stood up too quickly, knocking down the pen holder on their office desk in process. “As in… Petra Rall? From the Marketing Department? As in, sweet-as-candy, honey-bunny, gorgeous glam girl Petra?”

Levi swiveled his computer chair to face his best friend. "She asked me out."

"Hmm. And you didn't say no?" Hange was absentmindedly tapping the end of the pencil against their lower lip.

He gave a half-shrug. "Wanted to try something new for a change."

This was really new. Hange was incredulous. Levi never went on dates. Levi went on food trips and grocery shopping and karaoke nights (mainly due to Hange’s persistent nagging), but he never agreed to a date. There were always other people around whenever they hung out. The two of them had been best friends since college, and now as colleagues, Hange could tell from the numerous awkward and sort-of romantic encounters with Levi that Petra wasn't exactly his type.

"Is this a joke? Is this for a dare?" Hange kept prodding. They would bombard him with questions nonstop until he gave in. “Did you hit your head somewhere? Are you dying?”

"No, I just told you, Four-Eyes, I wanted to try something new.” Levi returned to his work and continued typing on his computer. “She said she already has planned something for tomorrow."

"This isn't you, Levi. You don't like itineraries," Hange said, sitting down to compose themself, gripping the pencil in their hand and holding it too tightly against the notepad.

"Maybe it's about time I do."

“So you’re choosing her over me?” Hange was already upset. Their hand was already shaking at this point, the tip of their pencil threatening to break. Levi would usually hang out with them to binge-watch a show or series on Saturdays over pizza and cheap beer, which reminded her, “What about our UBE?”

“Our—what?” He looked over his shoulder, confused.

Hange gave him a hopeful smile, hand still resting on the paper. “Our Ultimate Bonding... Experience?”

Levi glued his eyes to his computer screen once more. “You can Netflix and chill on your own for one night.”

The pencil snapped in half.

—

It was only 6 pm and Hange had already downed half a bucket of beers this Friday evening. Tomorrow morning, Levi would meet up with Petra somewhere for their date, maybe have lunch, a movie, some hand-holding and kissing, and then the two would possibly end it up with a bang. Something was really boiling deep inside Hange as these imagined scenes flashed through their mind.

And Erwin had to bear with them for tonight.

"I just don't understand, 'Win," Hange started, "Why would he do this? Why would he trade our pizza night for a girl he can't even relate to?"

Erwin was Hange and Levi's colleague in the same department before he got promoted to an executive position in corporate. Times like this, he would lend an ear to his friends' complaints and act as some sort of a part-time counselor, part-time therapist, and full-time drinking buddy.

Hange should be thankful Erwin had never charged them for these sessions before, but now with all of their whining, he was probably regretting that he gave them for free.

"Last I checked, you guys are just best buddies," Erwin commented. "Have you ever told him how much he means to you?"

Hange pouted.

"I'll take that as a no," Erwin said.

Their friend had a point.

"I can imagine it already, " Hange mused, eyes already watery, "I can imagine him walking down the aisle with pretty-face Petra and making babies with her, while I end up becoming that unknown relative who sends them presents for Christmas every year."

"Ah, I can imagine all the regrets you'll be having for the rest of your life."

Hange grabbed a fistful of hair in both hands. "What do I do now? I want Levi to be happy, I really do. I want to see him be happy, even if it's not with me. But why am I getting all riled up about this?"

"Then follow him," Erwin simply said as he wiped the beer of his mouth with his sleeve. "Follow him to the ends of the earth. Maybe you'll see for yourself."

Erwin had meant it as a figurative speech. When he said follow, he meant Hange supporting Levi all the way through. He never meant Hange stalking their best friend on his date.

Obviously, Hange had gotten it all wrong, because now they just blinked once, twice, a grin forming on their face. As if an epiphany had appeared before them. "Hmm. You're right."

Follow him.

This could be the greatest thing that Erwin Smith had ever come up with. Brilliant idea. Superb, even. One-of-a-kind strategy by none other than the genius Erwin Smith—oh, yes, yes, yes.

Erwin was still finishing up his beer when Hange tackled him into a hug out of gratitude, their smile wider than before. "You really are the best of the best, you know that?" They told him. This could work, Hange thought.

The plan was to follow Levi, literally.

—

"Boss, why did you pay me a hundred bucks to follow them?"

Hange was wringing their hands together. "We’re doing this together, Moblit! I wanna see how Levi acts around this girl."

"That's it?" Poor Moblit couldn't believe what he's hearing.

"I just wanna make sure he's making a good impression!"

They’re both sitting in a cafe right across Levi’s apartment. He and Hange were dressed up in plain clothes with matching sunglasses and baseball caps. Moblit had no choice; Hange was going to strangle his neck if he declined.

Moblit rested his head against his palm. "Aren't you jealous?"

"Pffft, me? Jealous?" The sour look on Hange's face was enough to tell Moblit that they weren't fooling anybody. It was just Levi’s attitude towards the entire ordeal that was tearing Hange apart. “I’m sure I’m not being rude.”

Moblit scratched his head and sighed. Hange as a boss could be really demanding at times, but the two of them were also friends in real life, which is why he agreed to this. "I thought Petra was head over heels for Oluo?"

"I thought so, too."

"He's dense, though," Moblit said. "Maybe this was just a ruse to get Oluo to confess?"

But Hange was already distracted by the sight of Levi coming out of the building.

"Ooh, he's leaving." Hange pointed towards the familiar figure. They then put their shades on as part of their undercover mission. "Let's go."

The two of them hid behind the fast food mascot of the big fat stupid ugly bee. Levi really knew how to dress up, Hange had noticed. He was wearing a plain button-up with dark pants, his hair neatly trimmed and his face cleanly shaven. He never dressed up like this whenever they hung out. It hurt Hange to see him this handsome. Levi then headed straight for the nearest station and waited for the next train to arrive. Hange and Moblit then took the same train but stayed on the other rail cart, catching a glimpse of Levi every now and then to make sure that he hadn't alighted by then.

“What would you do if they do end up together, Boss?” Moblit had to ask.

“I'd sign my life away as a single person for the rest of my years. Be an old cat person, maybe.”

The skyscrapers of Makati were passing them by, huge billboards left and right of commercial ads and government campaigns looming over them. If they looked far enough, they could see shanties and informal settlers nested in small alleys here and there. Hange had been seeing this for the past few years of their lives; Metro Manila could be daunting, but they wished they could spend away from the noisiness and busyness of the capital.

“He's getting out at Ayala Station, Boss!" Moblit pointed out. "They’re probably meeting somewhere in Greenbelt.”

“Ah, fancy-schmancy. Who could have known?”

Makati was the place only for the very rich, or for the very poor. There was no in between. Nobody dared to bat an eyelash at the rickety houses behind the skyscrapers. The shopping district and the high-end restaurants where affluent people would gather: celebrities, business executives, expatriates, anyone who could call themselves rich, rich, rich. Hange was none of those. Levi wasn't either, but he could easily pass off as one if he wanted to.

When they got off at the station, Hange and Moblit crouched behind the dumpster, craning their necks enough to get a glimpse of Levi coming up to Petra who stood waiting in front of the fountain.

“Ah, I’m so glad you’re here,” Petra said, her smile warm and happy as Levi walked alongside her. “Shall we?”

Petra was effortlessly gorgeous. She had her hair clipped into place, her slender figure matching the nice summer dress that she wore. She had also put on some light makeup, but even without it, Hange could tell that Petra would still be as breathtaking.

There really wasn't anything that Hange could hate about Petra Rall. Petra was attractive and alluring, sweet and shy, probably the ultimate dream girl of every person in their office. Hange would date Petra if she were even into them, provided the two of them had a spark.

But Hange's attention was all for Levi. Always had been. Always will be.

"Shall we, Boss?" Moblit interrupted Hange's train of thought.

"Right."

Tonight they felt that they had to accept the possibility of Levi ending up with someone else. Regardless of how this would end, Hange had decided they'd be there for him.

—

They didn't really blend in with this fancy-schmancy place. This was one of the most expensive fashion malls in the area; the price tags made broke people cry, and the restaurants were considered artisan for their taste. People were dressed up in crisp polos and cocktail dresses, the faint smell of perfume wafting here and there. The gardens had a beautiful landscape, stoned paths paving the way, and the lights were carefully draped on the trees around them, glowing like stars. It was a romantic setup for lovers.

Petra was pointing out all the different sights around the area, holding onto Levi's arm. Levi remained stiff all throughout their date, not even shedding a single ounce of emotion when Petra popped a joke. It ended up being a lousy one, though, since Levi didn't even scoff. Hange felt smug after that; their own jokes were terrible as well, but at least Levi would call them out for that.

"I think it's going well, don't you, Boss?" Hange's assistant teased.

“Oh, yeah, perfect, I can see how compatible they are.” Hange was being sarcastic.

Petra had chosen a place called People's Palace. It had a five-star rating on the internet, and even the cheapest item on the menu could break a whole in someone's wallet. There was no way they could eat there. Levi didn't even protest, though. He must have been saving up for this all along. Thankfully, the restaurant's walls were a solid transparent glass, and Hange could see the two of them from afar without having to go in.

Petra was saying something in a hushed tone when Levi came over to her side. He then put a hand on her face, tenderly brushing her cheek, as if he were about to go in for a kiss.

The moment Levi held Petra that close, Hange had to stifle their gasp which ended up like a strangled cry.

The sound made Levi look over his shoulder. Moblit had to cup his hand over Hange's mouth to shush them up, pulling them down behind the huge pots of plants.

"You alright?" Petra asked him, craning her neck towards the source of the sound as well. "What was that?"

Levi clicked his tongue. "Probably some lost bird. Well, more like a dying one."

The two went back to their meals and didn't bother to check if they were being followed. Moblit then let go of Hange and sighed in relief. They were safe, for now.

Everyone in the restaurant looked classy and elegant, soft lights all over the room. After Levi had paid for the meal (he didn't look too happy when he saw the check), he and Petra stood up and exited through the other door on the farthest end. Hange had forgotten about that. The People's Palace had an entryway connecting to the indoor gardens. They would have to enter the premise in order to follow Levi and Petra.

Without any further thought, Hange immediately stood up to barge into the restaurant, urging their assistant to follow. "They're probably confessing to each other in the gardens!" Hange was already right through the entrance. "Moblit, hurry up, I need to—"

"Boss, watch out!"

The warning came in too late. Hange had already knocked down a drink from the waiter's tray right behind them, the liquid spilling all onto the customer sitting nearest to where they were. The huge beefy man was furious, the steam already coming out of his reddened ears.

"Why, you, son-of-a-gun—"

Hange held up both hands in front of their face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!"

"Do you even belong here, you prick?" The stranger grabbed the front of Hange's oversized shirt. There were gasps from other customers, and one of the servers left to call the manager.

"Please, don't!"

The man started shaking Hange. "Filthy, pathetic, piece of—"

Somebody grabbed his wrist before he could even do anything else. "Let go."

It was Levi.

"And who the fuck are you?"

He was small, but his presence was intimidating, firm. "My friend already apologized. Isn't that enough?"

The stranger released his hold of Hange and held out the stained fabric. "Fucking pay for this shirt, asshole!"

Hange was mouthing 'sorry, sorry, sorry,' to him, their eyes filled with apology. Levi didn't bat an eyelash. Instead, he quickly took out twenty bucks from his wallet and shoved it into the huge man's hand. He then grabbed his friend by the elbow. "Hange, come on."

"Hey, this isn't enough, shortstack," the stranger grumbled, crumpling the bill. He gestured once more to his stained shirt. "Do you know how much I bought this for?"

"You could buy a similar one from one of the thrift stores downtown for less than half the price. I doubt anybody would notice." He tugged at Hange again and headed for the exit.

"What did you say, you little—"

They were out of the restaurant before the man could even finish. The manager had kept the customer in his seat, trying to console him with a discounted coupon.

Outside was a breath of fresh air, the coolness of it enough to clear their minds.

“You alright?”

Hange was still trembling. Their lips quivered, too. They had never been roughly-held like that before. Levi calmed them down by rubbing their back, urging them to take slow, steady breaths.

"Levi?" Petra called after the two of them. "Are we still heading to the movie?"

Hange had feared this all along. They didn't want to ruin his date with Petra; they merely wanted to see Levi, and now they had done it. Hange held their own face in both hands. Levi saw it and knew what he had to do.

“I’m sorry, Petra, but we should probably call it off at this point.”

"Should we re-sched?"

Levi paused before responding. "I had a good time tonight, Petra. But I think... once is enough.

“Oh. Okay.” Petra stood still for a moment, disappointed. They expected her to cause a scene, to thrash at him or at Hange, and then complain about her evening. But to Petra's credit, she merely broke into a smile and said, "Thanks for giving me a chance, Levi. I had a good time, too. You guys enjoy the rest of the night."

The huge beefy man suddenly burst out of the glass door, the restaurant manager no longer able to hold him back. "You fucking punks, I'm going to call the police—"

Hange hid behind Levi out of instinct, which didn't make any sense, considering that he was a couple inches shorter than them. "What now?" Their hand was still in his.

"Go ahead, Petra's safe with me," Moblit assured them. "I'll text you guys once we get home safely."

Levi nodded and took off with Hange.

They ran past the gardens, past the expensive shops, past the fountains and the bright lights. Everything seemed like a blur. Hange's senses had overloaded their brain at this point, especially since Levi's hand was still holding on to theirs. It was warm. They never expected any of these to happen. Levi would look over his shoulder once in a while to see if Hange could still keep up. They ran as fast as their legs could carry them, and with every tug of their hand, Hange felt like they were living in a dream. The two of them had already reached the station, heavily panting as they clutched their chest.

"So much for trailing me all this time, Four-Eyes," Levi heaved. He knew.

Hange was beyond apologetic. "I'm sorry, okay! I just wanted to see how you'd act around someone while on a date."

Levi made another scoffing sound. For a minute, Hange thought he was mad. But the intensity in his eyes was full of longing, like somehow, he did want Hange to follow him. And then Levi sighed. "Erwin told me you might be spying; my suspicions were confirmed when I saw you hiding behind the plants."

“Oh.” Hange had nothing else to say. “Well, then, I, uhm, I should probably head home. Sorry for ruining your date."

They were about to leave when Levi held their hand once again, stopping Hange in their tracks. "Where do you want to go?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"You already ruined my date, so you might as well hang out with me for the rest of the night."

Hange couldn't believe what they were hearing. It was almost too good to be true. But the reality dawned upon them; they were still in Makati, and they couldn’t really afford any of these places. "Uh… well, I don't really have any money, and I'm not really sure I want to dine here…"

"It's fine,” Levi said. “I know a place to go."

-------

Part 2 coming up soon!

#levihan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #levi ackerman #captain levi #levi attack on titan #hange zoe #hanji zoe #fanfic #fanfiction #greenbelt makati #mine #writing #djmarinizela

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captainrexisboo · 3 years

Text

Ice

-DJ Khaled voice- Another one.

What the fuck?? Four fics in just one weekend?? After two whole months of inactivity?? Aha, I am in no way as productive as you think I am. I’ve been sitting on all of these projects for almost three months now lmao- but they’re here now for your viewing pleasure, babes! This is a one shot Rex x Jedi!Reader, but they are not together. They do not get together. This is just Rex, pining for some oblivious Jedi General (you) and dealing with it by being grumpy and thinking he has the upper hand in teasing the reader. I left the gender of the reader pretty ambiguous I think? I hope?

No warnings apply, except I guess foul language if you don’t like that. And vague imaginings of semi steamy scenarios. Some angst if you squint. But really, it’s just fluffy pining, with a needy (and in denial) Rex. Comments, questions, reblogs and replies absolutely welcome and encouraged!

“T-take off the a-a-armor.”

The jaig eyes turned to you, the blue and white blending into the Pantoran ice and snow effortlessly. This would be the only environment suitable for their stark white armor as camouflage, and here you were demanding him stripped. Knowing you couldn’t read his bewildered expression, Rex tilted his head to you in a curious motion, “Why?”

“It’s fekkin’ f-freezin’ Cap,” you spoke through chattering teeth, pulling your robes tighter around you. He chuckled at your cursing, no other Jedi talked so blunt like you did, so casual. It was even worse when you were outside the temple, falling out of regulations and decorum the moment it was just you and your troopers. Hell, they didn’t even have to be your troopers. Force knows how often you’ve snuck around the barracks on Coruscant, going from battalion to battalion, whoever had furlough, making sure every clone gets at least a moment's worth of normalcy in their too-short life. Rex would be lying if he said it wasn’t endearing, and he may have felt a slight smidgen of pride that, aside from your own men, you seemed to find yourself in the 501st bunks the most.

“So? I’m perfectly toasty in this specialized insulated armor. You’re the one that decided not to wear your cold-assault gear until we got to the surface, General L/N,” Rex teased, drawing out your name and title nice and slow, biting back a bit of laughter at the way you scrunch your nose whenever you got annoyed, “Why would you want me to de-kit? To be cold with you?”

“Don’t c-call me that, Rex,” you bit out, groaning at the formality, and the chill going down your spine, “Y-you know I’m just Y/N.”

“I’ll stop calling you proper, when you stop being a Jedi,” he chided, prodding some more at the fire in the dim cavern, the only light being the glowing embers in front of you and whatever was being illuminated off the snow right at the mouth of the cave. Your ship had crashed into the freezing moon in the midst of a brutal blizzard, luckily right next to the base of a mountain with accessible caves. Unluckily, you were also 15 klicks west of your rendezvous point, with the wind and snow causing major damage to your transmitters and interfering with the signal in your commlinks. You weren’t going anywhere, or talking to anyone, until the storm let up.

You huffed at his strict persona, you know Rex only acted so dogmatic to rile you up. You saw how nonchalantly he acted around Anakin and Ahsoka, even Obi-Wan at times. No, with you it was entertainment, a game to see how much you could take before breaking, and he loved it. Even without the Force, you could see it in the shake of his shoulders at his quiet laughter, hear the coy smirk in the dip of his drawl, watching the extra swing in his stride as he walked away triumphant every time, so sure he had succeeded in driving you crazy. This time, he had nowhere to run.

Ignoring his baiting taunt, you crawled around the fire to sit right next to him, “P-please, Captain? I’m r-r-really kriffin’ c-cold, and while the fire is so delightful, I think i-it’d be in both o-our best interests to h-have a second source of heat.”

Rex nearly dropped his stick he was using to poke at the kindles, tensing slightly before clearing his throat, “Oh? And what ‘source of heat’ did you have in mind?”

“D-don’t play dumb,” you shivered again, pouting at how you stuttered while he sat a little too well composed for your liking, “I know the K-Kaminoans t-taught you all about s-s-survival tactics. I d-do it with my boys a-all the time. Strip to your b-blacks, m-me to my t-t-tunic, then I’ll wrap my robes around the two of us. B-body heat, Rex.”

Your boys. Your affectionate term for your ever-faithful battalion, that apparently frequently slept and cuddled with you in the most innocent and familiar of ways. Still, something about it made Rex’s stomach stir, his mouth twisting from a smirk into a silent snarl under his helmet. He wasn’t against ‘cuddle puddles’ with the vode, every single brother took part in them, and it wasn’t unusual to find a stray jedi or padawan compacted in the very middle of the pile. He knew for a fact that the 212th had regular arguments as to who’s turn it was to use General Kenobi as a pillow (and that Cody never partook in those bouts- no, he was always the General’s pillow). In theory, he knows it's more than a possibility for you to be a part of them, especially with your extremely relaxed extroverted personality, but actually hearing you say it out loud had something ugly rear its head to sour the Captain’s mood. He attempted to shoo the little creature away, trying to scare it off with a forced cough to make it scurry back into hiding and leave his inner peace alone. His mind clear again, he peered into your pleading doe eyes through his visor, seeing the flames flickering reflections off your irises in a whimsical dance. His gaze went lower, following the slope of your nose, before tracing the shape of your full pout, lips trembling and reddened from the cold, nearly beginning to chap. The slight clicking of your teeth as he watched you shiver under your robes made him resign to your request, sighing as he removed the cowled helmet, “Fine. Why you didn’t just wear your own cold-assault gear is beyond me, but I’ll help you stay warm this time.”

“Oh, thank the force,” you whimpered, immediately dropping the outermost robe from your shoulders, staying on your knees as he stood up to remove his layers. Rex nearly dropped his cuirass, watching you unwrap your tan-colored linen underneath to reveal a gripping white tunic, clinging to your every curve and muscle, no part of you left to the imagination except the actual flesh itself. You even discarded your boots and breeches, leaving you in opaque black tights. Without the safety of his helmet, Rex tore his eyes from you, desperate to hold onto some semblance of rectitude, taking a deep inhale through his nose before continuing his own removal. Rex could feel the tip of his nose numbing just slightly, shaking his head at what the hell was he doing-

“You know, if we get found like this-”

“We’ll s-say I got hypothermia and you were ‘d-doing your duty t-to protect the Jedi’,” you giggled, a little forced, hands coming up to rub at your shoulders, attempting to create some friction, but wincing at the iciness of your fingers, “Rex, hurry!”

Your whine of his name had him hesitant to remove the bottom half of his armor, already starting to feel something forbidden gathering in the depths of his stomach. He tried to fend off the feeling by turning his head to the stone wall and talking- though whether that was an effective decision remained to be seen. “I’m just saying, can’t you use the Force or whatever to warm yourself up? Isn’t that something you can do? I know you can use the Force for healing purposes, this’d be like that, right?”

“If I had f-followed the path of m-m-medical practice, sure,” your breath came out in little clouds as you puffed through another tremor, wrapping your dark robe around your shoulders as you waited for Rex to finish, “But, I didn’t, I chose the kn-n-nights, and so I’m here, and n-now I’m your problem.”

“My problem,” Rex grumbled under his breath as he sat back down, tugging at the final parts of his boots, not caring that you could actually hear him, “Skywalker is my problem. Tano is my problem. Kenobi can even be considered my problem at times, but you, General? No, no, no. You’re not my problem, you’re-”

Turning back around to face you, he nearly choked on his own spit. He hadn’t realized how close you were, and without his helmet, his nose brushed against yours in an innocent bunny kiss, the brief friction making him jump back nearly a foot away. A teasing chuckle left you at his skittish reaction, cocking your head to the side as you opened your robe back up and beckoned him closer, “Wrong way, Captain. C’mere.”

His throat felt tight, closing off almost everything, even air, and despite his discarded layers he was certain the back of his neck was beginning to sweat. The way you so carefully had folded your legs, thighs pillowing together in such an enticing way, leaning on your elbow to pronounce the slope of your hips and curve of your waist...he could so easily wrap his arms around you perfectly, before settling his head to rest on your chest and memorize the beat of your heart- the pinch of his nails digging into the meat of his palm drew him out of his mind before he could fall any further down that rabbit hole. He cleared his throat, throwing his gaze to the floor as his entire being tensed, “This…i-is not regulation, General.”

“Oh my maker you’ve been hanging out with Echo too much,” you groaned, throwing your head back dramatically, “Rex, please?”

He swallowed down a hard gulp of air, inching his way over to you, without looking up from the floor. You met him halfway, dragging your thickest robe behind you, and sighed in relief at the natural waves of heat coming off of him. Every single clone ran hot, and you trapped that heat by throwing the robes over the two of you, wrapping your hands around the back of Rex’s head and pulling him into your neck as you leaned against a standing rock.

One minute his eyes were counting cracks and jagged holes scattered over the cave floor, and the next they were gifted with a gracious view of your form, so close he could smell your clean body wash, a soft mint that tickled his nose, and he had to count to ten to control his breath so he didn’t just inhale you instead of oxygen. It was a concentrated effort made extremely difficult due to the delightfully sharp pressure of your nails against his scalp. You already felt like heaven, he had to tense himself from wanting to grab for more of you- which he didn’t have to do anyways. You had pulled him into you, his nose brushing over your neck, the tip still chilled, making a breathless giggle leave you, “Oh, your nose is s-so icy!”

“Who's fault is that,” Rex grumbled into you, mumbling to try to keep his lips from mouthing over your exposed collarbone. What he couldn’t stop was the delighted shiver that ran through him as your hands started massaging the tired planes of muscle in his back, making him lose a bit of discipline and dropping flush against you. He made a horrified sound, the breath strangled in his throat as he felt a nervous sweat thickly dripping over the back of his neck, before that sweet amused sound left you once again.

“Rex, you're so tense! Here, lemme just-”

Your hands worked in smooth motions, rubbing deep into his tired tissue. He could feel his eyes roll back into his head, biting the swell of his lip to keep any lewd sounds from leaving him, focusing on syncing his breath with the flow of your touches. His form was finally slack, keeping you trapped underneath him as his arms tentatively found their way around your waist, holding you to him, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You hummed at the coverage of him over you, leaning to nuzzle against the side of his head, the prick of his blond tickling the tip of your numbed nose. You whispered to him, eyelids growing heavy as you curled into him, “Thank you, Captain.”

Your breathing evened out, deep and slow, your hands coming to a rest, stopping on the small of his back and between his shoulder blades. Rex couldn’t believe it; you had fallen asleep in his arms. His eyes slowly peeked open, and he wiggled a bit, getting to a place where he faced you instead of the rock you were both leaning on. His eyes were nearly level with your jawline, he could trace the profile of your parted lips, still threatening to chap in the cold air, but your breath didn’t stutter anymore from the chill. He really was helping keep you warm.

He had dreamt about those lips, memorized the way they shaped his name, watched the direction you preferred to run your tongue over them while you were deep in thought. He licked his own lips in just that way, thinking about how maybe it’d feel if he were to do that to yours.

Maker, he was awful. Thinking about his wretched togue playing at your perfect lips, while you laid so peaceful and trusting underneath him.

Rex prided himself as a man of honor, he wasn’t so foolish as to attempt anything, but even just thinking about you in this vulnerable way as you let him hold you… he felt slimy, unworthy to be in your good graces. He let out a shuddering breath, not in the cold but in longing, exhaling your name as his arms brought you impossibly closer to him. For however long the two of you had, however long the storm lasted, he would treasure this. He would treasure you.

He was a fool for fighting you on this. Being lulled by your breath to join you into rest as the blizzard raged on, the only thing he would change would be how late he was in agreeing to your conditions. When you both awoke, with the snow settled and communications running, when you were both with your respective teams, and yourself in proper gear, Rex would still have tonight in his memory. He would still be holding you in his arms, breathing you in, and playing the memory of your heartbeat, the soft thumping tempo so soothing, on repeat in his mind.

#captain rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex imagine #captain rex x y/n #captain rex x you #pining #cuddling for warmth #oblivious reader #grumpy captain #hes done with your shit but fucking hells youre so damn cute #swtcw fanfic #commander rex #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars #my writing #liz speaks #jedi!reader #oblivious!reader

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