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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

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She's A Bird! She's A Plane! She's...Spiderwoman?

Justice League x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: IDK where this came from but I was watching ITSV, so...there's that. Enjoy! -Thorne

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“This is your fault,” Barry griped, hacking away at the glowing fauna with the makeshift machete—in reality it was just a really big stick that had a really sharp rock tied to the end. “I told you our trajectory was off and what did you do? You said, ‘I’m Hal Jordan, the greatest pilot in the world. Watch my big head crash us on an alien planet where our central battery gets displaced during the impromptu crash land and thrown miles from our position’.”

“Do you want some cheese with all that whine, Bar?” Hal asked, an unimpressed scowl on his face as he illuminated their footpath. “It’s not my fault the orbital windspeeds were faster than the sensors picked up on. Blame the tech, not me.”

“That sounds like you’re just trying to pass off the blame,” he shot back, swiping down at another vine that wriggled like a dying snake and spat out fluorescent blue liquid on the broken end. “Y’know? Like you do best?”

“Seriously, find a better thing to do than complain, Flash. We’ve got bigger fish to fry than blaming each other.”

“Each other? I didn’t do anything! This was all you!” Barry spun on Hal and glared at him.

They glowered at each other when a clicking sound echoed above them and they both jumped a foot in the air, spinning back-to-back as they looked around in every direction, up and down and side to side.

“What the hell was that?” Hal worried.

“I don’t know,” Barry replied, just as concerned. “It sounded like clacking.”

“That did not sound like a chicken.”

“Clacking, Hal, not clucking.”

“Same thing,” he retorted, lifting his arm in the air, shining a bright green light amongst the glowing red treetops. A bunch of branches, neon red leaves and purple flowers, a darting limb—a darting limb?

Hal shifted the light back, jolting Barry’s shoulder in the process. “What is it?”

“There’s something above us,” he whispered, watching with cautious eyes as something shifted on the main branch of the tree, the outline of a dark head coming out, just enough to catch the edge of their bright gold eye. “It’s watching us.”

The something shifted back into cover, the clacking sounding once more, then the treetop ruffled, dropping red and purple fauna on the two men as it jumped to another tree. Hal tried to follow it, but it was too fast for his eyes; the only thing it left behind though was a string of long white webbing, hanging down from the blue tree branch. And Hal being the idiot he was, decided to touch it to see if he could figure out what it was, and only managed to get it all over his hands.

He pouted, trying to pull apart his hands. “It’s sticky.”

Barry let out a long and heavy sigh, placing one hand at the small of his best friend’s back, the other holding the machete. “Come on, dumb-dumb. Let’s go find that thing again.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of how the survivors live? I know we’re white, but I didn’t think we were that white.” He was half tempted to see if he could gnaw the webbing with his teeth. “This shit isn’t coming off.”

“Here,” Barry said, vibrating his hand as fast as he could and to Hal’s surprise, the webbing cut, falling to the ground.

“Thanks!” he chirped, holding his arm out again to shine his ring. “What do you think that thing was?”

“Alien lifeform.”

“No shit, Sherlock. What gave it away? The alien world?”

“I’ve just about had it with you,” Barry growled, cutting through another rough patch of vines. As the path cleared, they stepped out of the heavily forested area to see one older tree in the center of the circle. It rested atop what looked like an ancient cave, the rocks crumbling around the front.

“I’m not going in there,” Hal immediately stated. “You couldn’t pay me all the money the US owes in debt to go in there. Fuck that.”

“You’re such a big baby,” Barry chuckled, walking up to the entrance; it was about the twelve feet high and ten feet wide, big enough for the two of them to walk in. “Come on. It went in here.”

“Barry, please! Why aren’t you more worried about this?” Hal begged. “You should be more worried!”

“Hal, if it wanted to hurt us, it would’ve done so already.”

“Or maybe it’s luring us to our deaths!” he countered, even though he was following Barry into the cave.

There was more webbing along the walls of the cave, swirling around patterns of purple and blue. The farther they walked the stickier it got, and at one point, they were struggling to lift their feet off the cave floor to take the next step.

“Christ, what is this stuff?” Hal asked and Barry bent down, poking at the webbing.

“It’s like spider webbing, but stickier and stronger.” He vibrated his hand to dislodge it from the strings, then did it around Hal’s feet. “You might wanna float for now. I’ll vibrate my feet to keep from sticking.”

“Good idea,” Hal agreed, lifting a few inches off the ground. “Do you think the lifeform is intelligent?”

“Intelligent us or just intelligent?”

“Intelligent us.”

“Anything’s possible. It seemed sentient so I believe it’s probably intelligent.”

“What do you define as intelligent, Barry?” Hal questioned and the forensic scientist hummed.

“If it’s capable of calculus it’s intelligent.”

“Really? If it can do math homework you think it’s worthy?”

“Calculus is a difficult skill. You need the ability to think and to calculate in order to solve and understand it. That requires sentience and intellige—oh shit!” Barry’s words tipped into a yelp as the ground gave way beneath him and he sunk down, shouting all the way.

Hal’s eyes shot wide, and he flew down the hole. “Barry!” he yelled. “Barry where are—oof!” he collided with more of the webbing, this time enough that the entire left side of his body was stuck to it.

“Hal! You okay!”

He looked over, seeing Barry stuck on his back. “I’m okay? You!”

Barry nodded. “I’ve been better. What is this?” they looked around the best they could. Spiral upon spiral of iridescent webbings surrounded them, stuck to the walls for support, them in the center.

Hal’s eyes narrowed and he glowered at Barry. “I fucking told you it was luring us here.”

“Shut u—”

The clacking sounded above them and with panic, they both turned their eyes to the ceiling, watching as the alien lowered down near them. It looked like a human, two arms and two legs, no extra limbs at all. Hell, it didn’t even look like an alien spider; it just looked like a normal human, gazing down at them with two normal eyes. That was until it opened all six of its golden eyes and stared down at them with it’s mouth open, two one-inch fangs protruding from where the canines were.

“Ohshitohshitohshit,” Hal whispered, about to shit himself in terror.

The alien reached for Barry, and he watched as his friend sunk back into the webbing from the outstretched hand. Except he couldn’t go any farther and turned his head to the side, quietly whimpering as the long black claws touched his cheek.

“Barry!” Hal hissed and blue eyes met his, then,

“Friends!” the alien shouted. “New friends for Rhiezheveir to have!”

Their expressions pinched in confusion as the being started to twirl in the air, one hand holding to the webbing they’d lowered down on, the other elegantly flowing in the air.

“You can understand us?” Barry wondered and they looked down.

“Yes!” leaning down, they got in his face, and he saw the rather feminine looking features. “Rhiezheveir saw the ship come in the sky and land! I waited until you left it to search! The ship’s memory functions in this language!” she seemed rather excited. “Rhiezheveir found the core you were looking for! I did not know how to get you here to return it!”

She climbed up the webbing, disappearing quickly only to reappear with the ship’s core under her free arm. “Here it is! Rhiezheveir brought it back!”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Hal inquired and she lowered down next to his face, hers right in front of his.

“Saying what?”

“Rhieza-something-reservoir?”

“Rhiezheveir?” she offered, and he nodded.

“Yeah, that.”

“Rhiezheveir is my name! I am named after the brightest star in the Kosialaran sky!”

“In the what sky?” Barry asked.

“Kosialaran!” she answered. “This planet’s name! My planet!”

“Are there more of you?” Hal questioned. “You’re the only intelligent life we’ve seen besides bloodthirsty beats trying to eat us.”

“Yes, I saw you fight with the Erqurcus. They are not nice lizards. They like to bite Rhiezheveir when she tries to feed them.”

“Why do you refer to yourself in the third person?” Barry piped up. “Sometimes you use first too.”

“In Aissaveed culture, we commonly refer to ourselves in the third, though I learned from watching, that humans use first. Rhiezheveir is learning to mix them.” She smiled and the clacking sounded again.

Hal tried to look at her. “What is that noise?”

Bending down to his face again, she flashed her fangs. “They click when I get excited!”

Barry cleared his throat. “Um, Rhiezheveir, are there more of your kind in the area?”

“Not here. On the other side of the planet there is. Rhiezheveir has travelled far to get away from her people’s hunters. They do not like me.”

“How come?”

“Rhiezheveir broke tradition. Refused to be royal consort. Fled and hid here.” She let the tips of her toes touch the delicate silk webbing and then crouched, the web bouncing lightly with the weight. “Rhiezheveir is not welcome amongst her people anymore. I am alone now.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Barry murmured, even empathetical of the alien. “You’re here all alone?”

“Yes! Though not anymore!” she patted both Hal and Barry’s thighs. “New friends!”

Hal wiggled. “I hate to break it to you, Reservoir, but—”

“Rhiezheveir,” she corrected, and he sighed.

“Rhiezheveir. But we have to get back to our own planet. We have responsibilities.”

Barry nodded. “We need to get back to our ship.” he tugged against the webbing. “Can you help us get out of this? We’re stuck.”

“Of course!” she chirped, starting to snip the webbing with her claws.

“Wait a second!” Hal exclaimed. “There’s nothing underneath meAHHHHH!” the last thread snapped, and Hal tumbled down the dark and dimly lit cavern.

“Rhiezheveir!” Barry yelled. “What are you doing!”

She held up a finger in a wait motion, then a wet plop sounded, followed by, “NEVERMIND! I’M OKAY! THIS WATER SMELLS FUNNY THOUGH!”

The Speedster sighed. “Oh, there’s water down there.”

She looked at Barry oddly. “Rhiezheveir would not try to kill her new friends. That is not nice.” Snipping the lines around him, she held on as he fell and she let out a squeal as they dropped, though as Barry hit the water, she merely held on to the web in her hand, just above the body.

Barry broke the water and spit out the remaining in his mouth. “Water tastes funny too.”

Hal rolled his eyes. “Rhiezheveir, how do we get out of here?”

She smiled. “Follow me!” she shot out her free hand and another string of webbing left her hand, attaching to the roof of the cavern; letting go with her other hand, she swung like a monkey on a vine, then repeated the process, alternating her hands. And boy she was fast. Barry and Hal had to freehand like they were in the Olympics to keep up, and even then, it wasn’t fast enough.

***

By the time they made it back to the ship, their hair and clothes had dried off. They noticed that she didn’t like to be on the ground and crawled along the tree limbs above them. Bioluminescent flower petals shook from the branches every time she moved, creating an aura of beautiful red and purple around them.

Barry took the battery from her and slot it back into place, watching as they ship powered back to life; he walked over to Hal who was sitting in the first seat. “Everything good?”

Hal nodded. “A few nicks here and there, but the engine and all other vital systems are good.” He looked up. “We should be good to go once the power levels reach operational.”

The Speedster smiled and turned to her. “Well, Rhiezheveir, this is goodbye.”

She merely blinked. “What do you mean goodbye? I am coming with you.”

“There’s not enough room,” Hal said, and she smiled, those fangs clacking as she raised her arms.

“I will make myself small!” her dark body illuminated in a bright gold, then the shape began to shrink and shift, eight long legs appearing out of the main shape that had evolved into two orb like shapes. When the glow dispersed, she raised her front legs and waved, then skittered up Barry’s leg and body to his head.

“I have a spider on my head.” He said dumbly. “I have an alien spider nuzzling my hair.” Barry looked at Hal. “There’s a spider in my hair.”

Hal shrugged. “So long as it stays on you, we’re good.” He peered at her. “Rhiezheveir, can you understand us in there?”

She waved her front legs as Barry climbed into the ship, sitting on his seat; she scurried down his head to his shoulder and sat there, perfectly balanced, her beady golden eyes occasionally blinking.

“That’s a big ass spider,” Hal noted.

“She reminds me of a Goliath birdeater.”

“A what now?”

“Goliath birdeater. It’s the biggest spider on earth.” He examined her. “But her legs are so long…like a huntsman spiders’. I wonder if she’s got the abilities of different species?”

Barry reached up, holding out his hand and she climbed on it, letting him lower her to his lap. “Can you sit there while we take off, Rhiezheveir? Once were out of atmosphere, you can wander around the cockpit.”

All she merely did was raise her front legs and wave them once more before settling on his thighs, curling her legs in contently; he smiled down at her, then the realization of what bringing her meant and he blurted out, “I have no idea how we’re going to explain this to the others.”

“What do you mean?” Hal questioned.

Barry looked at him. “The crash land will be easy—you’re an idiot.” He ignored Hal’s outcry of offense and gestured to her. “How do we explain we picked up a shapeshifting spider…lady?”

Hal shrugged. “Hostile environment navigated by a peaceful intelligent lifeform who managed to be a stowaway?”

“I like the first half up until ‘who’.” Barry met his gaze. “She was threatened by her own people and begged to help her flee?”

The pilot pursed his lips. “We’ll need to use her reasoning for leaving. The whole royal consort business.”

“Sounds good.” Barry glanced down at her. “Rhiezheveir, does that sound—oh…I think she’s asleep.”

Hal looked down to Barry’s lap and sure enough, the hand-sized spider wasn’t moving on his legs other than the occasional leg twitch. “Sure she didn’t die?”

“Hal!” Barry hissed. “Don’t be mean!” he gently scratched her the top of her abdomen with his pointer finger.

“You’ve pack-bonded with a spider,” Hal noted. “Nice job, buddy.”

“Oh, come on. Like you don’t find her friendly.”

“She’s a spider.”

“She’s an alien who turns into a spider.” He watched the planet get smaller and smaller as they exited the orbit and into the stars. “Bruce isn’t going to be happy that we brought an alien back.”

“I think the pressing matter is that we have no idea what she eats.”

“Bugs?”

“You said she was an alien who turns into a spider, Bar. What’s she going to eat when she’s human…like?”

“Meat?” Barry wiggled his fingers in Hal’s side. “Man-flesh.”

Hal choked on a laugh, batting at the hand against his ribs. “Stop that.” He steered the ship through a debrief field with ease. “We’d better figure out or she’ll eat somebody in the middle of a fight.”

“In a fight?” Barry asked.

Hal shot him a look. “We didn’t take this Lady Spider with us just to get her off her home-world. She’s gonna help out somewhere.” He shrugged. “Might as well stick her in the Justice League.”

Barry’s lips pulled satisfactory. “That’s…actually a good idea.” He smiled. “I can’t wait to show her to Bruce. You know he doesn’t like spiders?”

“He’s scared of spiders?”

“I didn’t say he was scared of them, Hal. He just doesn’t like them. I think creepy crawlies make his skin crawl.”

Hal shoved him in the arm. “Don’t call her creepy crawly. She’s a pretty spider.”

“What happened to making fun of her?” Barry smirked. “You pack-bonded with the pretty alien spider lady, didn’t you?”

“Shut up,” Hal griped, going still when she shifted and crawled up the dash of the ship and stared out the window; she turned, waving her front legs. “Yeah Rhiezheveir? What is it?”

She pointed to the stars, drawing her front legs in downward arcs as if to say, “Wow!”

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Barry murmured and she did it again; he looked curiously at her. “Hey Rhiezheveir, you can understand us, right?”

She waved.

“Okay. Since you can’t talk to us until we get back, how about this—front legs up is ‘yes’ and front legs down is ‘no’. Do you understand?”

She lifted her legs up and he grinned.

“Good. Now, do you like warm places?”

Her legs went up, then down.

“Sort of?”

Up.

“You like warm and cool weather?”

Up.

“We’re going back to our world. There’re many habitats there. Some really hot and really cold. Others are in the middle.” He explained, watching her almost nod. “We’ll be meeting the group Hal and I work with on another ship. You’ll have to stay there for the time being. Is that okay?”

She lifted her legs up.

Hal leaned over. “Rhiezheveir, are you a spider that sometimes turns into a lady?”

Her legs stayed down.

“So, you’re a lady that sometimes turns into a spider?”

Up.

“Nice. Can you fight?”

Up and waving wildly.

Barry looked at Hal then back to her. “You said you refused the position of royal consort. Were you chosen because you could fight?”

Up.

“So, you escaped because you didn’t want to be forced into that position?”

Still up.

Barry nodded solemnly. “Rest assured, Rhiezheveir, you won’t be forced into anything like that on Earth. You’ll be free and able to live openly and not in hiding.”

Her legs stilled in the air, then the curled and Hal muttered, “I think you overwhelmed her emotionally.”

The Speedster cupped the spider in his hands, letting her crawl back into his lap. “Sorry, Rhiezheveir. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She merely snuggled into his lap and stayed there.

“Rhiezheveir,” Hal started. “Your name is really complicated for humans to say. While I think it would be a good identity for a superhero life, I think you should find an easier name for people to use.”

She waved a single leg, signaling she was listening.

“How about (Y/N)?”

Barry smiled. “Ooo, I like (Y/N). That’s a pretty name.”

She raised her front legs and waved them excitedly.

“I think Rhiezheveir likes it too.” He scratched her torso. “Welcome to the Justice League (Y/N). You’re gonna fit in perfectly.”

(Y/N) waved her front legs, rearing up on her back.

“HOLY FUCK LOOK AT THE SIZE OF HER FANGS!” Hal shouted.

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thefanbasewhore · 3 years

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Above all else.

Part 1 /? || Master post.

summary: steve and bucky have to learn to live with the heart break once reader leaves them.

paring: stucky x female!reader

content: so much angst, heart break, kidnapping, smut (18+, minors DNI)

author's note: hi guys!!! I haven't written anything in so long and not going to lie, this took me months to write. I will write more but the end of my semester is coming quick so it won't be for a while but I really wanted to post this because it took me so long!

"You're lying." Steve's teeth grit under the fury of his jaw, an accusing finger pokes at the material of Clint's chest and rubs again the thick, boisterous cloth of the tac suit. Clint straightens up, holding his ground with a puffed chest as if he was a match for the two hundred and fifty pounds of super soldier muscle.

"I saw it with my two eyes! She has been playing the two of you! All of us!" Clint snarls as a hand collides with Steve's wrist as a way to release the finger that pressed just a little too hard. "She went with him! He said one word and she crawled to him."

"You're wrong." Steve denies, ignoring the eyes that flicker in slight commiseration. The only thing he can think about are the to a pair of steel blue eyes next to him that match the betrayal in his own. "Our girl wouldn't do that? Right Buck?"

Bucky sways for a moment, the news leaves him daze, confused even as his should leans into Steve, needing the extra support. Bucky chews at his bottom lip nervously, "I-I don't know anymore, baby. She's not here and I -."

A sudden ball of emotion forms in the back of his throat. Bucky can't speak, the pain in his chest takes over and his bottom lip quivers. Steve's hand raises to the underside of his jaw with a sad smile before pulling him into an embrace. "Hey, hey. We don't know anything yet. We can't assume things, we don't know the whole story."

"You're right. She wouldn't leave us like this."

****

Weeks pass without a word, left with no course or indications of where she might have gone. The two super soldiers have no closure, no explanation of where their girl could have gone or why she would leave them until Tony Pat's Steve shoulder one day.

And that's the problem, it's friendly.. too friendly and uncharacteristic. Steve immediately stiffens and sits straighter, flipping the mission report close, "What's wrong?"

Tony nervously scratches the back of his neck, "I've managed to recover the surveillance tape from when she went missing." He starts, "I-, honestly don't know what to say but Clint he was telling the truth."

"I want to see it." Steve's eyes flicker to the tablet tucked under Tony's arm and in response he sighs, shifting his body from Steve's out stretched hand.

"I don't think that's the best idea." Tony suggests. The last two weeks for the super soldier's have been nothing but pain and loss, this without a doubt would send them over the edge.

"I want to see it," Steve insists, a little touched by his friends need to protect him but it's too late now, he's been heart broken weeks now. No matter the case he has to stay strong for Bucky.

Bucky has been through too much... The news of this would crush him. HYDRA had spent years scrambling his brain and pushing him to commit heinous acts but was finally making progress, this would jeopardize everything.

Tony nods unsurely and hands the iPad to Steve watching the way his body tenses. The video is already pulled up, he could clearly see her face and the small silhouette catches his attention immediately. With one nervous gulp he presses the dreaded button and watches as the scene unfolds in front of him.

It just doesn't seem right...

They way she nods robotically, the way she answers the man's questions with "Yes sir." It's uncharacteristic the way she gets down on one knee and bows.

"That's enough." Steve pushes the tablet across the table and tries to blink the forming tears away as his worst fear as confirmed. Tony let's him have a few minutes and stands awkwardly, he never knew how to comfort people but with a pathetic, awkward hand cups his shoulder.

"Bucky does not see this or hear a word about this, okay? Not yet at least." Steve feels his own heart drop into his stomach thinking about how much this will ruin him. "It's going to break his heart."

"Steve -."

"Not a word Tony, I will tell him when I think he's ready." It's funny how things change. As children Bucky would always protect Steve but now, Steven often finds himself thinking about how to protect his Bucky. Truth be told Bucky isn't the same as what he used to be, he's a fragile, tortured soul that has been through hell and back and was finally accepting that life will never be the same as it used to be but that's when he had both Steve and her.

This would crush what little soul he had left.

***

Days turn to weeks, weeks turns to months and the two super soldiers are just as clueless as the first day. There's no other information of her whereabouts or even why she left in the first place. Bucky still isn't handling it too well, he's trying to hold on for Steve's sake but even getting out of bed is hard.

Nothing feels right anymore, it's not the same. There's a piece somewhere out in the world that is missing from their home, from their hearts and it just hurts.

Bucky has taken to running something that would seem normal except he teases Steve every day about how much he runs. Bucky hates cardio, he hates the burn of his lungs and the trembling that follows afterwards but running so far that call he can think about is the lack of oxygen that burns his chest numbs his mind. He doesn't have to think of the fact she left or that him and Steve don't talk like they used to.

Nights are the hardest, the bed is sudden three times the size it used to be, even with two, two hundred plus pound men. Even though they hold each other close at night, it never seemed more lonely.

Steve was coming off a two hour run, sweat gathering across his forehead as he enter the small cottage. Pretty yellow flowers she assisted on now turning brown and curling before they fall to the ground. Nor Bucky or Steve would water them, they're nothing just a painful remembrance of what they've lost.

Two steel blue eyes greet him, which any other time would make his heart skip but the two large arms are crossed against his chest, a prominent frown forms creases on his forehead.

But then Steve notices that iPad, tucked inside his elbow and huffs, he should have figured it wouldn't be long until Bucky found out and the exact look on the brunette's face is the reason he hid it in the first place. Heart broken eyes, glossy with tears as he bites his bottom lip, "Why did you hide this from me?"

"Bucky, what is it?"

"You had no right - you -." But he can't even finish the sentence, the ball of emotion in the back of his throat doesn't allow him to.

Steve closes the door behind him, taking a step closer to comfort the man but he puts a hand out and at the end is the iPad, the security video plays again and again.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Steve means it, "You're just so upset, I didn't want you to -."

"Go crazy? Turn into him again?" Bucky grows defensive, nostrils flaring as he points a angry finger into Steve's muscular chest.

"No," Steve whisperers sadly and uses two hands to pull Bucky close. "You finally stopped crying yourself to sleep, I wanted you to have some moment of relief."

Bucky sniffles softly and buries his head into Steve's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Stevie, it just looks nothing like her, the way she talks, the way she moves, that's not our angel - it's just not."

"I know Buck, I know." Steve brings him closer for one more hug, fingers running through his hair affectionately. "We're gonna get through this, sweetheart."

***

It's only a few days later, late hours of the night when Bucky pulls Steve close, the metal click and shutter of robotic plates fill the room as the false appendages roam across the dirty blonde's scalp, applying just enough pressure that Steve sleepily groans and peers at Bucky with half hooded eye lids.

Bucky's heart hurts, it has been for months but at the moment it hurts for Steve. He's been so wrapped up in missing her that he has been neglecting Steve. His first lover, his everything.

“Sweetheart…” Steve mutters against the shell of his ear despite already knowing the answer, “Are you doing okay? Why aren't you sleeping?"

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Bucky’s bottom lip quivers, as tears fill those baby blues. Steve nods lips finding his cheek to press a meaningful but sad kiss. “It hurts to much and I just love you so much and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry baby."

"What are you sorry for buck?"

Bucky leans forward, just enough to press a soft, meaningful kiss against his lips. "I haven't been here with you and Im sorry."

"You don't need to apologize to me, I understand. I love you Buck, always have and always will."

Buck hums in agreement, curling closer into his boyfriend’s heat as his heart clenches inside his chest. Bucky presses one last kiss to Steve's bare shoulder, "There's been.." he pauses, "A lot going on lately and it's been so hard but we are forever. I'll never leave you."

And Steve would never leave him. They were forever.

***

The first time they go out without her, is weird. It's a few night before Halloween. The air is chilly, leaving the land bare and dead. Colorful leaves crunch under the weight of their boots.

The pumpkin patch is buzzing with life, parents and small kids laughing and trying to find the most perfect pumpkin. Bucky looks over and gives Steve a sad smile.

They're supposed to be enjoying their time together but it's hard for Bucky. Being around other people, not to mention the fact that their girl would love this place.

If she was here right now, would be dragging them by their hands to the corn maze or the nearest apple cider tent.

"We can go," Steve leans in, fingers interlocking with Bucky's as he presses a kiss to the shell of his ear. "We can go home, it's okay."

"No." Bucky answers honestly, a small twitch of a smile, "We are going to find some pumpkins and carve them, damn it."

"Yes, sir." Even though their hearts are still an open wound, it will get easier..

***

The river is a constant reminder to Steve. He thinks of her every time he sees it, actually he runs past it every morning in hopes he will see her reflection in the rippling water. Most times he just grows annoyed and ends up throwing rocks instead, watching them skip and deform the image. Memories come pouring back and it's hard to hold his tears.

He sees her face in the bright blue sky, smells her perfume as the wind burns his face, hears her sweet laugh every time a rock skips. It's suffocating, fills his heart with burning agony.

It hurts to love.

***

Bucky sees her in the stars, almost every night he sits in the backyard alone, staring up at the sky.

The stars twinkle like her eyes once did, beautiful and bright, when he closes his eyes he can see them. Along with a beautiful smile that lit up the room.

No matter how much he tried not to, tears would sting his waterline. The many nights they all spent here, watching the stars replay, a time where they were all happy but it was all fake.

It was a lie.

***

It was supposed to be a simple in and out. Collect the information and leave. Bucky and Steve didn't want to go but after all, this was supposed to be her first solo mission. It took hours and hours of begging but finally they agreed to let her come but she's not here anymore. Bucky and Steve were finally getting used to it. Someone had to do it.

It's an old HYDRA base, one crawling with what is left of the very few and because of that; they had to wait until all are confined into one place. They will wean out the left over people, get the files they need and leave before the rest of the guards come back.

Bucky drops from the vent silently, the drop from the ceiling doesn't seem to matter because not a sound is heard. Steve follows right behind turning in the total opposite direction in order to protect Bucky, they move throughout the hallway back to back in one fluid motion, a team.

The base is pretty vacant, a few stragglers but nothing Steve or Bucky can't fix with a bump on the head or headlock. Finally they make it to the file room, opening the door quickly.

The gun almost drops from Bucky's hands and all of Steve's breath pauses - not a sound could be heard as they stare at her. It's been months, she looks different, tired, rundown, hair thrown up but almost like it hasn't been brushed in days.

To her immediate left, a man, smirking at the super soliders as his hand presses against her hip, "Missing something boys?"

Bucky presses his arm out, scanning the room and blocking Steve from inching closer. She looks at them with sadness, wincing in pain under the finger tips that dig into her skin, "She sure missed you."

"What? Why?" Bucky is the first to speak, he knows this man. He knows him from when he first escaped HYDRA but he though he had killed him. "How are you -?"

"Alive? You should really make sure you finish the job next time." The man evilily smirks, "Getting to you was easy, steal your girl, break both of your heart. I will take away everything you love."

"You went with him because of this?" Steve hisses, betrayal knotting his eyebrows.

It's uncharacteristic how quiet she is, Steve moves against Bucky's arm to move closer but Bucky stops him again. As a warning the a cold, pale hand wraps around her throat and she squeaks at the contact.

"Ehh, ahh, one step closer and I crush her throat." Both men are forced to watch tears gather in the inner corner of her eyes, fluttering them shut and taking a deep breath. It isn't the first time, somehow she leans into it, ready to take whatever she's given. It's the only way she's survived for months. "Look at her, such a good girl. That's why after I get my soldier back, I'm keeping her."

He doesn't get a chance to press his ugly fingers deeper into the her windpipe, it's a sudden blur, the bullet that whizzes past her head and hits him dead in the forehead. Steve lowers the gun with a heavy breath as she lets out an audible whine, hand reaching up to sooth the burn in her throat. Lungs are filled with fire, burning as she coughs away the heat that fills her chest.

Two hands press against her shoulders, Bucky's steel blue eyes find her own and before she knows it her cheeks are pressing against his sold chest. There's no feeling to compare, Bucky thought he'd never see his girl again, his chest is filled with warmth, tears string at his waterline. Two other hands cup the underside of her jaw as Steve moves her head back and forth looking for any further injuries, he lets out a sigh at the forming bruises against the soft skin of her neck, the shapes of finger pads a deep purple with a yellow hue already forming around it.

The way Steve stares into her eyes is heart breaking, the seafoam eyes are broken. The look of betrayal tugs his lips into a frown and wrinkles his forehead.

"He was the reason you left?" Steve palms at his beard. Suddenly there's an ocean storm in those eyes as they darken in anger. "We didn't need your protection, you should have came home."

"He wanted Bucky - he was going to take you too if I didn't come - I wouldn't let that happen." Chest tightening with emotion, the tone is exaggerated but not apologetic.

Steve ignores the way Bucky's eyes warn him, this isn't the time but he chooses to ignore them. "We thought -." Suddenly he's louder, voice booming as he backs away from his two lovers, "You don't get to make that decision on your own, we were a team! We have been heart broken for months thinking you left us. We could have protected ourselves."

"Steve, hey." Bucky reaches over to clasp his shoulder noticing the way he chokes and pulls away from Bucky. "Hey, hey, what are you crying?"

"She -." He chokes but can't get the words out as he pushes Bucky away and leaves without another word.

Bucky sighs, turning his attention towards the women who's haunted his dream for months now, beautiful as ever with tears in her eyes, "Bucky bear, I -."

Steve has always been stubborn and proud while Bucky is understanding and soft. A catabolic mix that more then they would like to admit blows up in their faces. Bucky tries to stay mad, hold his ground but the walls slowly start to crumble down, he would always understand. "They were going to hurt the both of you, I had to."

Bucky's eyes soften as he loves closer, a hand rests on the underside of your jaw and rubs the skin softly, "I know doll, I understand, you were scared."

Bucky admits under his breath, "I would have done the same for you two."

***

The ride back on the quinjet is quiet, neither man bothers to talk, exhaustion of the day as completely taken over. The car ride back to the shared home is even quieter, Bucky and Steve sit up front, not a word is muttered, not one glance is taken. Bucky grind the wheel white knuckled while Steve aimlessly stares out the window. Every once and a while two different shades of blue eyes would meet hers through the front mirror - almost as if they were checking if she was really there.

Bucky had at least talked but Steve, he would barely even look at her.

"Steve.." With the call of his name he visibly tenses, sits taller in the passenger seat but does not answer. The treeline begins to form into familiarity, it resembled home. It was enough to have tears collect in the corner of her eyes, a relief do be safe again. "I'm sorry, Stevie, I- please talk to me."

"No." The words make her stomach flip, tied in knots as a ball of emotion forms in the back of her throat as he continues, "I can't look at you."

"That's enough. We will all talk about this later." Bucky nudges Steve with an elbow, a gesture to be quiet.

Steve scoffs, a hand palming his beard. "Why do I have to stop? I'm the one who's been holding you for months as you cry asleep. And you take her side?"

The words sting, seep deep into her skin almost itches as she rubs a hand over the surface of her chest to relieve the sting. Steve mumbles those words with clench teeth and pure hatred.

“I am not taking anyone’s side, pal.” Bucky sighs, “We all need to calm down before we have this conversation, that is all.”

“Stop the car.” Steve's hand presses against the handle as if he couldn't spend another second in the confined space.

"Steve, we are almost home." There's only about a fifteen minute car ride left, Bucky tries to get him to stay.

“I want to walk to rest of the way back.”

***

The first walk into the house makes happy tears gather and a few loose ones manage to slip past her eyelashes. She never thought she would be here again, with her two soulmates, it's almost like a fever dream but the hand that presses against the small of her back reminds her it's real.

Bucky feels his heart break, he always thought she left because she didn't want him or Steve anymore. It never occurred it was against her own will, he can only imagine the things she's been through.

"You're okay." A pair of soft, pink lips press against her temple, "You're here, safe."

"I know." She admits quietly, "I just never though I'd be here again. and Steve-."

“He hates me, Buck.” Bucky's arms wrap tightly around her, curling into his chest as tears soak through the material of his t-shirt. "I know I shouldn't have but i- now he hates me."

A hiccup interupts, “He wanted the winter soldier back and after everything you’ve been through, all of the healing and therapy I couldn’t let him do that. And Steve, he was going to do the same things to Steve. ”

"You did what you had to. Steve is just," he needs to find the right word, "In pain, we have missed you so much."

The way he pulls away to pull her face to his own with teary eyes breaks her heart, it's her fault they're both like this. A large hand cups her cheek as he angles her face to meet his own, her bottom lip quivers. "I thought I lost you forever. I missed you so much."

With one last kiss to the top of her hair as a gentle hand rubs the small of her back. "I'll be back soon, honey. Steve is hurting, I'm going to find him."

***

Days turn into weeks, Steve refuses to even look in her direction or let alone be in the same room unless Bucky is there. Speaking of Buck, he's conflicted, torn between his two lovers but Steve made a decision for him. He decided to stay away from the both of them, not coming home until late hours at night and even going as far as sleeping in the guest room.

It was an endless cycle, she tries every day, apologizing, making his favorite foods but he would act like she never existed. Bucky was a good sent during these times, rubbing her back and pressing a kiss into her hair, "Give him time."

Bucky and Steve would get their alone time, disappear for a few hours to talk. He may be distant but not towards his other lover. Sometimes she would hear their declaration of love, the sounds of the thumping headboard against the wall was a clear indicator. It made it worse, she should be in their sandwiched between the both of them, always the missing puzzle piece but now realized just how big of a hole she's left in their heart.

She could hear the whispers of Steve, "It hurts to see her, she broke my heart and is all I can think about."

Level headed Bucky is always there, sweet and calming as he replies, “She is trying. Whether you want to admit it or not, she did what she thought was best, sweetheart. It's like the way you would protect her with your life is the same thing but she actually did it.”

"I know, I am trying."

"Are you really?" Bucky asks but Steve doesn't want to hear it, he walks out but not before meeting her eyes but walks off without a word. Before Bucky could even manage to leave the bedroom she gets up, tears blurring vision as a sharp pain crumbles inside her chest.

The truth is, they would be so much happier without her. Or so she thought. She's nothing but a constant reminder of the worse parts or their lives. Or that's what she has to tell herself as she shoves her belongings into a suitcase. It's best for them.

Her leaving would allow them to concentrate of each other. Bucky wouldn't have to constantly worry about loving them both when they're so far away. It's going to break his heart but he has Steve and Steve could care less if she left.

Being convinced they would be so much happier she made up her mind. She would not be the person who get splits Bucky and Steve. The car is only a few feet away but she pauses; glancing down at the key tucked in her hand but she powers through, opening the back door of the Jeep and throwing her bag into the seat but before she can turn all the way and close the door she feels a strong chest press against her back.

She turns slowly and to her misfortune Steve stares back at her, arms crossing against his chest as eyes shape with confusion. It's the first time in weeks they have been this close, the earthy smell takes over. The wintergreen and dewy grass is something she's missed and she just can't look away from those vibrant eyes.

Steve’s eyes twitch, hard lines forming against his forehead and his mouth falls into a snarl. “You were going to leave again, just like that?”

"I-I." She tries to speak, "You would be happier."

"Happier?" Steve scoffs, "You're impossible. Happier that you left us again? Buck, God, you would crush him."

"He has you." She argues, "And you have him and I won't get between that anymore."

"Between that? Do you hear yourself?" Steve takes a step closer, it even surprises himself. "You're so..."

Steve doesn't even finish the sentence, instead he presses a rather rough kiss to her lips. It's consists of every ounce of anger he's felt these last few weeks. His lips form against her bottom one, bitting it harshly but instead of pulling away fingers find their way into the brown locks, tugging at the ends of his hair. Steve doesn't say a word, but pushes her into the back seat of the car and flips her around so her stomach presses against the back seat.

"You are ours. Bucks and Mine." The last word is said between clenched teeth and soft lips press against her shoulder but only have teeth sink in soon after to harshen is words. "You seem to forget that, you run away on us and then try again. but don't worry sweetheart," The way he says the words makes her stomach drop, "I'll remind you, yeah?"

"Yes, missed you." It wasn't a lie, to feel his hands cup the roundness of her hips, finger tips dance across her neck is breath taking. It's been so long without him but he doesn't seem to care; his fingers curl under the waist band of her leggings and pull the underwear down with them.

But he's anything but gentle, he's demanding, taking the months and months of frustration out in the very moment and she couldn't care less. Those beautiful lips press against her neck as the (bulbas) head of his cock presses into her slopping cunt from behind.

"Mmmm," Steve hums against the shell of her ear, "So wet, so sweet."

"Steve, please, want it." She huffs but he uses the base of his palm to push her head into the sit.

"You'll take what you get, stop complaining." He's bluffing, speaking in anger so she moves her lips to rub his hard cock against her glistening folds but stays quiet.

Finally he pushes deeper, just enough to feel her walls clench around the head of his cock and let out a loud groan. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as her sweet pussy swallows him inch by inch and he pauses, it's been months and he has no doubt from the amount of sweet moans that leave her lips that she's hasn't been touched.

He's thankful for that. That his sweet little flower hasn't been defiled and didn't have to suffer the trauma, so much that he releases her head from the seat and draws lazy fingers against the side of her jaw.

There's a pleasurable sting of having Steve inside her again, filled to the brim and at the moment all she can think, smell is Steve.

Steve's eyes flicker from her fluttering eyes lashes to where her pussy swallows him whole, a sight he's missed. Hips against hips as she lets out a pain of seemed like pleasure and pain as he nudges ever further into that spot touches the junction before her stomach.

With one last look to her side profile, he swiftly leaves the warmth of her cunt to find it again with a harsh, deep trust.

The squeal she admits one of pleasure that treads on the line of pain but sexy, so fucking sexy as her cunt clenches around him. Her hand presses against his abdomen as if she could stop him but he only takes her wrist, pinning it against her back.

Hips snap faster and faster and he can’t look away from the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing into her silky opening over and over again. Juices drip from between them, slide down their legs to the leather of the car seats but the sound of skin slapping against skin is distracting.

Sparks of pleasure dart up her spine every time Steve hits that spot that makes her mewl, vision blurring as he squeezes the fat of her ass.

"God, baby, missed this pussy." It's more then she's gotten in weeks from him. He's so out of breath, flustered and desperate, mouth falling open as his eyes roll back into his head. "Always my good girl, knows how to take me so well."

Steve feels a tremble of weakness as her presses into her velvety walls over and over again, stretching her repeatedly. Heat erupts across her forehead, building deep inside her stomach as hips hit with deep, rough strokes.

Legs start to shake under his roughness, one hand tightening around her wrist and the other pressing fingernails into the pudge of her hip. She begs for more, wetness smears his abdomen, runs through her ass crack as he curses under his breath.

She is so so close, shocks of pleasure makes her toes curl, begging for more, ask him to go harder, fuck the hate has for her but truth is.. he could never hate her.

"Mmm, gonna come, please, please daddy - more." Steve nearly chokes at the name it's been months since he's heard it and he almost cums right there but instead he presses two fingers against her clit with smooth, soft circles. The hand releases her wrist and instead thugs at the end to bring her up and against his chest. Using his nose to press against the shell of her ear, feeling her racing pulse under his thumb.

"Give it to me, I'll give you what you want. Fill you up but gimmie -," he doesn't even get to finish his sentence as a her orgasm hits her suddenly, toes curling as her mouth falls open in silence. Her pussy spasms against him, tightening and clenching and there's no doubt she's going to feel him for weeks.

Just like that a warmth washes over him, balls tightening as his hips stutter but he continues to milk himself so deep that his legs visibly shake. Finally with a soft moan, he lines her pussy with thick ropes of cum and stuffs her so full it drips where they connect but the pair doesn't seem to care.

She doesn't get a moment to catch her breath, Steve turns her around and pulls her into a (breath taking kiss). A gentle hand taps her chin, moving her eyes to meet his own, "Don't leave."

But that's all she gets before Steve pulls her pants back up and hisw own. He's gone without another word.

Hours later Bucky's arms spoon her from behind, nuzzling his nose against her neck. It's three past twelve, she can't sleep and poor sweet Bucky has been yawning for at least two of them, fighting sleep because he's worried.

"Go to sleep Buck."

Bucky doesn't get to answer as the bedroom door opens, to both of their surprise Steve actually walks in. He's quick at pulling his shirt over his head and slipping his pants off and actually... gets into bed. He doesn't saw a word doesn't even acknowledge the two people staring at him like (something).

Instead he turns to the opposite side refusing to face them but it's a step. Bucky can't think of the last time the bed was full with three.

"I heard you two today," Bucky says matter a fact with a smirk. He can feel the dip of her smile against his cheek.

"Shut up, Buck." Steve mumbles sleepily, hiding the smile that's hidden from them both.

***

The morning comes quick, along with a pair of smooth lips that press into her temple. A beard tickles her face, crinkling her nose she groans. Stupid Bucky and his stupid 6am kisses before his run.

But the loud snoring in her ear is enough for her eyes to open, if Bucky is next to her snoring then Steve must have..

She manages to catch the quick glimpse of Steve leaving before she squeals excitedly and presses two hands into Bucky's chest to nudge him awake. "Bucky, buck!."

"Shut up, I'm trying to sleep -."

But instead she takes both of his cheeks into her hands, squishing them until his lips mishape into a pucker, "Buck, he kissed me! I didn't have to force it! He kissed me!"

Steel blue eyes greet her as she feels his smile form under her fingertips, "God, you're so adorable. I told you give him time, sweetheart."

Bucky can't help the way his heart skips a beat even she smiles, leaning forward to cupping her cheek and press a long, wet kiss against her lips.

Before they both realize, Bucky slips his tongue past her lips, large hand cupping underneath her thighs to push her up and over onto his lap but the small hiss followed by her hand coming up to squeeze his shoulder stops him.

He looks panicked, wild eyes searching for an answer, "Are you okay? I'm sorry baby, what is it?"

"Steve - yesterday -." Just like that he sighs, pressing his forehead against her shoulder with relief. "We can still -."

"No, baby." Soft, gentle lips press against the shell of her ear, "It's okay, don't want to make it worse. You hungry? Pancakes sound good? Surprise Stevie when he comes back?"

Before he could try to move, the sudden impact of a body into his chest causes him to loose his base of support, falling onto the mattress with a 'umph'

Two soft hands he missed so much dance across the hem of his pajama pants with a smirk, "while pancakes sound amazing, I'm hungry for something else."

#bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers imagine #stucky x reader #stucky #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #Bucky Barnes

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Note

Jonmartin with 20 or 76 for the kiss prompts!

kiss prompt list!

20 - surprised kiss | 76 - top of head kisses

this is both! ft. domestic married jmart in a no-supernatural au

A small mmrp! is the only warning Martin gets before something very fluffy and very orange jumps onto the kitchen counter beside him.

“Hey, no,” Martin chides, scooping the as-yet-unnamed cat into his arms and lowering him gently to the ground. He points a stern finger at the small, curious face staring up at him and says, “I know you’re new here, but you’ll have to learn the house rules eventually. And I know I’ll have to be the one to enforce them, because the moment Jon sees your cute little face he’s going to just- just let you do whatever you please.”

The cat lets out another mmrp before rubbing his face affectionately against Martin’s leg.

“Right,” Martin says with a soft smile, crouching down and scratching underneath the cat’s chin. “You haven’t met him yet, but Jon’s going to love you. You’re just going to have to- to look at him and he’ll love you.” Quieter, to himself, Martin mumbles, “I hope he’ll love you.”

A cat isn’t a typical anniversary gift, sure, but it’s not like they hadn’t been talking about it. They’d looked into a few shelters, made a list of the things they’d need to buy in order to make their flat pet-friendly, but Jon’s workload had increased drastically a few weeks ago and discussions had fallen to the wayside. Martin had spent a frankly ridiculous amount of time scanning through Jon’s meticulous notes about preferred breeds, ages, and dispositions before spending an even more ridiculous amount of time visiting every shelter within a 50-kilometer radius of them.

He may also have two cardboard boxes full of cat toys, food, litter, and other items stowed away in the back of the linens closet. He’s nothing if not prepared.

The quiet thump of paws on marble drags Martin out of his thoughts, and he looks up to see the cat stood atop the counter again, tail swishing back and forth with excitement.

“No,” Martin says, standing and lifting the cat carefully up so he can look him firmly in the eyes. “We do not jump on the counter. The counter is where we cook, and Jon stress-cleans enough as it is—we don’t need to give him the extra incentive.”

The cat’s mouth stretches open in a wide yawn, revealing rows of sharp teeth, before blinking passively at him.

“Right,” Martin says again with a resigned nod. He tucks the cat against his chest experimentally, feeling the rumbling purr against his skin, and presses his nose into the soft orange fur on the nape of the cat’s neck. “Did you know that Jon and I got married a year ago today? Oh, of course not, you're a cat. Well, we did. Honestly, though, it- it feels like yesterday. Things since then have just been… nice. Christ, so nice, and- and I love him, you know? You’re going to love him too—he’s got this, like, this thing where cats just adore him on sight. Tim likes to call him the ‘cat whisperer,’ and Jon pretends like it annoys him because, heh, you know, otherwise it would go right to Tim’s head, but Jon adores you guys. With your- your little paws, and your little ears, and your- ow, ow, your claws—"

Martin gently, yet gracelessly, lets the cat spill free from his arms and onto the lino. He rubs at his arm, gives the cat a stern look, and says, “Is that any way to treat your father?”

The cat looks up at him and meows loudly.

“Don’t talk back,” Martin says with faux disappointment, crossing his arms across his chest. After a moment, his resolve breaks, and he bends down to scratch between the cat’s ears gently, a fond smile spreading across his face.

Martin’s halfway back to standing when the doorknob rattles. His first thought is oh, Jon’s home early. Then: wait, Christ, nothing’s ready yet. Then: shit, the cat!

Martin’s reflexes are, predictably, less acute than the fluffy apex predator who’s currently making his way to the front door at breakneck speed, meowing loudly enough that Martin’s sure Jon can already hear it through the still-closed door. Martin has just enough time to take a few, anxious steps toward the door before it swings open and Jon shoulders his way through, arms laden with stacks of folders and books and papers. Martin decides that he'll chide Jon for bringing work home on their anniversary later and instead prioritizes coming up with a speech he thought he still had several hours to prepare in approximately five seconds.

“Oh, hello,” Jon says, kicking the door shut behind him and rearranging the pile of work in his hands so it doesn’t slip. “Elias let me go early—albeit with a mountain of paperwork, good Lord—so I thought I’d…”

He trails off as a small, insistent mmrp! cuts through the air. Martin squeezes his eyes shut and says, quietly, “Ah, right. That’s… that’s nice of him?”

“I… I suppose,” Jon says, sounding a bit lost. There’s a shuffling noise, and Martin opens his eyes a crack to see Jon depositing the stack of papers on the side table by the couch before turning, slowly, back to the cat. “Is… sorry, I- I’m not… is there meant to be a cat in our flat?”

The cat meows, and Martin says weakly, “Happy anniversary?”

“Oh,” Jon says. Then, after a moment, his mouth curves into a small smile, and he repeats, softly, “Oh.”

Jon crouches down and shifts so he’s kneeling on the ground, sitting back on his heels that way Martin’s never been flexible enough to do. “Hello,” he says quietly, holding out a hand for the cat to sniff. “And who might you be?”

“He doesn’t have a name yet,” Martin says, still reeling from the abruptness of the last thirty seconds. “I- I thought… you might like to name him?”

Jon hums in thought, letting the cat push his head into his hand before beginning to scratch gently underneath his chin. “I… I don’t really know,” he says. “Georgie was always the one who was good at naming, I- I just sort of went along with it for the Admiral.”

“Could always go generic,” Martin suggests, feeling his heart swell with affection as the cat yawns again and Jon’s face lights up. “You know, like- like Whiskers, or…”

Jon gives Martin an unimpressed look. “Certainly not. That would be like naming our child… Leg, or something equally ridiculous.”

Martin tries to ignore the way his heart stutters at the words our child and says, in a small voice, “Yeah, that… that would be silly.”

Jon’s expression folds into something soft and fond, and he says, “I’ve… I’ve always been partial to Clarence, if… if that’s all right with you, I suppose.”

Something must show on Martin’s face, because Jon quickly clarifies, “For- for the cat, that is, not, er- not for a… an actual child—”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Martin says quickly, his cheeks growing hot.

“—because- because Clarence isn’t really- well, it’s, it’s not bad, it’s just, I don’t—”

“—absolutely, yes, I- I agree, one-hundred percent—”

“—just, just for… for the cat.”

“Mm-hmm,” Martin says in a high-pitched voice, fully giving up on pretending like his face isn’t flushed a bright red. His mouth twitches up into a smile, almost against his will, and he says, “For the cat. Of course.”

“Of course,” Jon echoes. The moment of silence between them is broken by an accusatory meow, and Jon’s laugh at that is something that Martin wants to bottle up and treasure forever. “My apologies, Clarence,” he says, scooping the cat up in his arms and pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “I wasn’t giving you nearly enough attention. A grievous error on my part.”

“You’re going to spoil him,” Martin says teasingly. “He’ll be insufferable.”

Clarence lets out a happy chirp of agreement.

Carefully, Jon stands, Clarence still tucked securely in his arms, and steps closer so he can press a soft, lingering kiss to Martin’s lips. “Thank you,” he whispers, pulling back just enough that he can rest his forehead against Martin’s. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Martin says.

There’s a disgruntled mmrp, and Jon’s mouth curves into an amused smile. “I love you as well,” he says, giving Clarence another kiss on the top of his head. Then, teasingly: “Maybe even a bit more than your father.”

Martin lets out a long, exaggerated groan. “I can’t believe this. Less than five minutes in our home and you’re already stealing my husband from me.” He reaches over and scratches Clarence’s belly fondly. “Disrespectful. Utterly abhorrent.”

Clarence makes a pleased little noise before starting to purr audibly.

“We’ll need food,” Jon says absently, one hand scratching underneath Clarence’s chin. “Litter, bowls, toys…”

Martin grins, a bit giddily. “Oh, way ahead of you.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #guinevere01 #my writing #my fic

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sweetsbfreex · 3 years

Text

love me for me, it’s all i ask

Summary: Bucky meets your family, but your nerves clouds you judgment

Warnings: angst!!!

Pairing: Bf!Bucky x reader

Dating your Bucky is filled with a mix of gentle touches, insecurities and reassurances, long yearning stares, love running so deep he had Tony install some kind of metal warmers–– so you wouldn’t shiver every time you cuddled into his arm or he decided to wrap it around your waist while you slept. It was heaven, but of course there were bumps in the road.

Dating the Bucky Barnes or what most people saw as the “Winter Soldier'' was filled with: anxious walks down the street with his hand holding your waist tightly, his natural habit of looking over his shoulder, and his need to wear a pair of black,leather gloves no matter where you went. It wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, you loved him too much for it.

“Buck, calm down, it’ll be fine.” You chuckle, keeping your eyes on the road, yet lifting one hand off the wheel to briefly squeeze his anxious leg.

His leg stops shaking and he only nods his head, but when he realizes you can’t see he chokes out a sorry. Instead, he begins to twiddle his gloved thumbs and turns his head to look out the window. He watched the shops and trees pass by in a flur, there wasn’t much on his mind other than what he would say when he got there.

You slow the car at a red light and turn to see him in the same state. "It's okay if you want us to go back to your place, I can take a u-turn right here, and we can meet them another time." you tell him, extending your fingers to tangle with the ends of his hair.

“I’m fine doll really...just excited,” He semi-lied through his perfect teeth adding a small smile.

You were both on your way to your parents house, only ten minutes away now. Bucky coming along wasn’t anything planned.

Your mom had called two nights ago, at the same time you and Bucky snuggled in bed watching his latest fix on Hulu. Streaming platforms are something he enjoyed about the modern world. He liked that he could have things like Shirley Temple in a pinch, anytime and anywhere he wanted.

Anyway, Your mom had called, interrupting the trance Tom and Jerry had on the both of you at the moment.

“One second” you tell him, unraveling from his hold before getting hold of your phone. Bucky makes a move for the remote, but you assure him that it’s fine so he goes back to watching the cartoon.

And you answer, “Hey mom.” When Bucky heard who it was calling, he side-eyes you for a few seconds, curious.

“Hey! y/n/n, you haven’t called in awhile are you okay? Me and Snicks miss you” The call of his name causes you to hear a bark in the background.

“I’m fine, it’s literally been a day. Are you okay?” It’s not weird for her to call during this time, but nonetheless you know she has something she needs to say.

“‘Perfectly fine honey. I was calling because Daisy is coming down the day after and we’d thought it would be nice for the three of us and aunt to come down too. You’re not busy are you? Maybe you could take a quick detour and visit?” She lived alone in your childhood home, refusing to let all the memories die in the cherished home. Going as far as making you and your sister promise one of you would possess the house when she passed on.

At the mention of a little reunion, you decided it would be best to take this somewhere with more privacy. You couldn’t explain, but you thought it would be better for Buck not to hear it. He hasn’t met your family and you don’t want to pressure him into meeting them if he isn’t ready or uncomfortable. You also didn’t want to ask him...in case he wasn’t ready or comfortable.

“Uhh one second” you mute your phone, telling Bucky you’ll be in the hallway prior to giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Mom?”

“I’m here!”

“Yeah I can make it, shouldn’t be busy, it’ll likely be me though.” You pace the hallway up and down as if it was the only place to walk in the whole house.

“That’s great, okay, I’m gonna text Shirley to come by earlier so we can make a bit extra of everything”

“Extra? Isn’t it just the four of us?”

“No, honey, you know the kids and your sister said she’s bringing someone. Well I don’t know! You know how these things go”

The call goes on for a minute or more. Your mother tells you whatever information is vile and sends you a goodnight. Which you return.

“Sorry, she wanted to inform me of something” you tell him as you walk through the door. Placing your phone in charge once again and like a kitten nestling yourself into his side once again.

He lets his metal arm lay over your shoulders and you interlace your hands together.

Silence passes by and gets broken by Bucky who clears his throat to speak up. “Uhm” he starts his free hand coming up scratching the back of his neck. “Do you want me to act like I didn’t hear the conversation?

You sit up in surprise at his confession. “You heard that?!”

He sends you in an unimpressed look. His finger points to his ear then his hand hovers his body, going up and down wildly. Unimpressed at the way you forget he’s pumped in this super serum, he can’t help how far his hearing is.

“Sorry I just forget you’re not human human”

He takes a beat of silence to himself, “I’m not human human?”

“No! Baby, not like that. You know I mean like I forget that you these special abilities–– other than your arm–– inside that I can’t see...y’know”

“It's fine doll” he pulls you back into his side, “Are you going?”

“Yeah…”

“Do you need company? If not that’s fine I just wanted to ask––” he goes by the question quickly, scared that he’s made it weird between the two of you.

“You want to visit my family with me?” you ask astounded.

“Only if you’re comfortable with it?” he reassures you in a haste, a hand going to your bare thigh.

“Are you comfortable with it?” you ask.

“Baby, I just said––” he laughs in a delicate manner.

“I know, I know. Sorry. I just didn’t know you would want to, I know how anxious you get with a bunch of people, Which is fine! But I don’t want to nudge you in something like that”

“I think it would be perfect, honestly”

“I’m happy you think so” you smile.

Currently the car parks in the driveway of your former home. The leather enveloping Bucky’s hands wring together. You don’t say much, only getting out of the car, jogging to Bucky’s side of the door, until you could open his door.

You tug him into a gentle hug. Standing between his legs once he’s adjusted himself to take every last of you in. You squeeze him once and smile when you feel the nerves and tension falling from his shoulder.

You okay?" you ask. It may seem like a dumb question at the time, but one thing you've learned about Bucky is. A simple question like that allows a spacious answer, it helps him a little more.

You don’t pull away but adjust your face to place a kiss to his cheek.

“Yeah” he breathes out. “...What if they don’t like me, we’ll still be together right?”

That question right there drops a bucketful of guilt over your head, but you know what you’re doing is right.

You pull away , after a second, letting your hands fall to each side of his neck.

"Of course Buck with or without approval you're still mine. Doesn't matter anyway, everyone will love you 'cause you're amazing." You smile, your fingers roaming over his very recently shaven under jaw.

“Thanks, doll”

“Nothing to thank me for” you give him one last squeeze, “You ready?”

“Yeah...I don’t know if I’ve told you, but you look really good today”

You wore nothing but a flowy, yellow, long sleeved surplice front dress and a pair of platform sandals.

“Stop trying to stall time!” You tease.

“I’m not. Promise I’m not” he throws his hands up in surrender, a bright smile on his face. As quick as he throws them up, they come down around your waist. “Ready when you are”

Having said that, Casual, black slacks hug his lengthy legs lackdasically. A short sleeve, white polo accentuates his waist, and his hair pulls back into a low bun.

It's so unbelonging to him. But the night before Bucky's been filling with worry about how he should dress to impress.

While you’re still standing between his bent legs and your fingers settle on his neck. You take one hand to pull the hair tie from his hair. Watching his curtains fall around his face

“Doll?—“

“I know you don’t wanna wear your hair like this, it’s fine. I promise Bucky they’ll love you.” You reassure him this time with a kiss, pulling away to entangle your fingers together.

When you go to close the door he holds up a finger. You watch him stand there hesitation on his face. Before he decides to shrug off the leather jacket and slip off his gloves.

His bionic arm is perfectly bare for anyone to see and you couldn’t be more proud when he sends a shy smile your way.

So soon, you’re both at the doorstep, hands linked together. You knock on the door.

“Coming!” The sound of your mom’s voice brings a smile to your face, but only makes Bucky’s nerves sky rocket.

When you hear the sound of the doorknob rattling, you give in at the last moment releasing the mutual hold of your hands. In nerves you miss the gaze and frown of Bucky–– more like brush off, but you play dumb for the sake of it all.

“Y/N––” your mother starts, voice dying and a gasp let out, looking like a guppy out of water when she sees the man standing beside you. Bucky seems none the wiser. Sure he expected some kind of reaction, not like his whole isn't on blast or anything.

She composes herself when she glances at you, but you only give her a hard stare. “Hello, I’m Lisa”

“I’m Bucky...I got these for you, y/n said these were your favorites” he outstretched a bouquet of plumerias.

“Oh...Thank you so much, very thoughtful. Come in” Lisa moves out the way and you let Bucky walk ahead of you. You’re about to cross the doorway when you feel weedy fingers clasp your upper arm.

“Are you out of your mind!” she whispers in your ear.

“Can you atleast get to know him first” you tell her, catching yourself up with Bucky.

When you both were walking to the front door. The music, screaming children, so much noise was everywhere. You weren't sure how there wasn't a noise complaint from neighbours.

When you and Bucky enter the backyard to most of your family. It's like the scene from Shrek when the Kingdom meets Shrek and Fiona, as the music and everyone quiets down. You wish were joking.

It wasn't hard to notice when everyone lit up at the sight of you and then saw the Winter Soldier right next to you.

Bucky was trying to be patient, he was, but it was tiring getting the same reaction when you introduced him to your family. He could understand the shock of being in the same room as a murderer–– no that isn't him anymore or was never him to begin with.

“And this is Bucky” every single time, that’s the line you used to introduce him.

Now you both are at a rounded table in the shade. Your sister is next to you and her boyfriend. Your aunt, her husband, and two of your closest cousins are around the table too. A plate of food in front of both of you, Bucky raves to your mom and aunt about how good the cooking is, warming your heart.

Other than that conversation flows like the sea, in a mismatched pattern. Your main priority being it doesn’t become too bare, but of course it all fails. But Bucky can only think about how the most affectionate one of the two (you) hasn’t tried to hold his hand once. Most likely isn’t appropriate to touch each other in front of her family, is what he comes up with.

“So Bucky, how are you adjusting?” your sister asks.

Oh god.

“It’s going well, not everyday is easy, but I have help” he responds, smiling down at you.

“Must be crazy how different times are, huh?” your uncle jumps in.

“Definitely” he chuckles “All the tech is cool. I will say I thought the prices before were outrageous, but nothing beats now.”

“I’ll say” your uncle agrees.

You sit back a grin on your face, enjoying the way conversation between everyone and Bucky flows. He was starting to get comfortable and your family was getting over their epiphany. He was making them––especially your uncle–– laugh which was an accomplishment in itself.

“Did you have a lot of family or siblings growing up, Bucky?” your sister asks.

You feel like you might lose your calm, why is she acting this way?

“Oh...uh. I think three. I know I had a little sister, Rebecca”

“You think?” the tilt in her voice doesn’t fly by you unnoticed. You flick her shoulder, mouthing a knock it off.

“When you’re under for so long things just start to fade y’know.” He informs her, a breathy laugh follows behind nervously as his leg bobs vigorously.

She definitely didn’t know. No one around this table could relate. Not something the average person goes through, but Bucky wasn’t thinking too much when he let the last bit out. Everyone could see the result of that with the silence that made its way back.

“How long have you guys known each other?” your aunt asks. You let out a breath of relief and gratitude.

“We’ve known each other for eight months” you answer.

You wish you could’ve taken Bucky’s words away next, “Dating for five” he publicized proudly.

You shrink into yourself at the wide eyes and wilting postures of everyone around you. Of course, at that moment your mom your mom walked over.

“Dating?!”

“You’re dating each other”

The shrill sound of their voices causes you to become more antsy.

At that moment, everything clicks for him as he turns towards you, but you don't look at him. Keeping your vision on the food on your plate.

“What?...Y/n.” you can hear the uncertainty in his voice when he calls out your name, but you won’t look at him and it’s pissing him off.

“Y/n. Do they not know we’re together?” he asks and when you finally look at him and see the furrow of his eyebrows and the lines between them. His lips in a thin line and the grip he has on the table, the guilt goes from a bucket of water to a whole tsunami.

Watching as your eyes wouldn't keep contact with him. Darting from his and to whatever was around him, is enough to answer his question. He stands up, he takes in how everyone gets startled and how your mother takes a step back.

He scoffs before making his way through the house, out the door, waiting for you outside.

You ignore the stares, keeping your head down. Rushing after Bucky. You find him standing against your car, arms crossed looking up at the sky. Taking notice of his clenched hands and the clinch of his jaw.

“Bucky––” you start lightly.

“I don’t want to talk right now” he swore, eyes staying ahead.

“Well I think we should...I didn’t tell them because I didn’t want them to judge you before getting to know the actual you?”

“Were you even there?” he questions astonished, his head whipping towards you, at your claim. “That’s bullshit and you know it”

“It’s not! You’re seeing this with tunnel vision! I just wanted them to see you for you first”

“You’re embarrassed by me! You didn’t even tell your ma––god y/n, I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“I’m not embarrassed!”

“You let go of my hand before we even walked in the house”

“Yeah so they wouldn’t know, so they could get to know you! Why aren’t you understanding?”

You're getting frustrated and you know your voices are less than quiet. Standing in the middle of the driveway like banshees.

“You know how this shit is for me...What? So if it was Steve or fucking Sam you were bringing you wouldn’t have told your family?”

“That’s different! they’re praised wherever they go, people don’t see my bucky first they see the winter soldier. I’m sorry, but it’s true I was just trying to protect you”

You try to hold back the tears on your face, your eyes stinging. With the way red rims his eyes, glazed over, and the rough breathing through his nose. You can tell he's trying to do the same.

“Take me home” he demanded, it was the end for him and he had no reason to keep hearing you spew these excuses.

“Buck?”

“I’m serious. Take me back to my apartment.” He looks away, the clue that you were going to bring him home were your footsteps distancing.

You walk back in the house with a huff, making a beeline to the table where your bag and keys were. Thankful that the table was scarce except for your sister who watched you pick your things up, like mad. Her hand comes down on your phone when you go to grab it.

“What?” you ask.

“You’re leaving?” she asks.

“Of course, I’m leaving Daisy. He wants to go home, no thanks to you.”

“Me?”

“Yes you, what was up with your awful questions?” you question her.

“Excuse me for being surprised that my little sister brought an assassin to a family reunion. Let alone dating him?” she tells you, standing her ground.

She's always been protective of you and you can understand that. Shifting the blame towards her won't do any good between you and Bucky anyway. But, you've also had enough and need to find a way to fix things.

“I’ll call you later, tell mom I said bye” you tell her, taking a brisk glance.

You both sat knee deep in silence. Everytime you tried to take a glance at Bucky he only looked ahead, saying nothing. Hand raising up, time to time, to wipe away a tear or two . When you were at a red light or stop sign , it gave you a chance to turn your head. But, everytime you tried to take a proper look at him he'd look out the window. Leaving you to turn your head back, your grip on the wheel tight.

The moment you arrive at his complex and put the car in park, he hops out of the car. Never looking back, only grumbling, “Don’t bother calling. We’re done.”

“Bucky!” but the door slams shut and he ignores whatever you have to say.

He meant that with every being in his heart. Any time you tried to call he let it ring until it came to the point where he blocked your number. You got the hint and hadn’t seen him since.

i’ve been sitting on this for sooo long, ofc my first bucky fic is angst

if you enjoyed this pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it<3

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #boyfriend!bucky #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier x you #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 5

More people said yes to Hannigram, which is good because Will is already involved in the plot and it would be awkward to have him just disappear. Also, I had someone request a Hannigram x reader in my asks. Apologies to the one person who voted no; I promise there will be more solo Hannibal x reader content in the future.

Hannibal decides to that y/n could do with some extra protection, but doesn’t anticipate what she has to tell him.

I have no idea how to make a proper tag list but @deadman-inc-bikeshop and @dovahdokren here you go

Trigger warnings: discussions of alcohol, victim blaming

“When I saw his face, I immediately knew he had never once experienced the touch of his own hand, let alone that of a woman.” Charissa read out loud to everyone on staff. “Or, that he was buried so deep in the closet he found Narnia, but those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

It was expected to be a slow night, as was normal for an ordinary Tuesday. On nights like those, you could get away with more, like reading a tabloid article out loud for everyone to hear.

“I can’t believe [F/N] actually went public.” One of the new busboys commented. “What an absolute madlad.”

“Did you just unironically use reddit terminology in an actual conversation?” You narrowed your eyes at the kid.

“[F/N], you are making a very dangerous enemy.” An older waitress said, cryptically, from the corner of the room.

“Who, Jason?” You gestured to the busboy. “What’s he gonna do? Make me cringe myself to death?”

“You know that’s not who I mean.” She frowned. “I’m talking about Chase Mulvaney.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You shook your head. “He’s not stupid enough to come back here.”

Charissa made a noise that denoted her doubt. “I dunno, [F/N]. You’d have to be pretty stupid to start stabbing people at a crowded restaurant in broad daylight.”

“But he was smart enough to get away, right?” Jason asked. “That’s gotta count for something!”

You and Charissa exchanged glances. Neither of you had the emotional bandwidth to explain white privilege again. Instead, you just humored him.

“Yeah.” Charissa lied. “He was smart enough to get away, meaning he probably knows better than to come back.”

"You're kidding yourself." A third waitress, who's name you couldn't seem to place, added. "People always say that killers are these galaxy-brained superhumans, but they're not. Mulvaney believes he's divinely ordained, so any thought that pops into his coked-out head is a sign from god."

And so shattered your thin firmament of denial. You made a point to never learn this person's name just out of spite.

“Oh, shit.” You said, trying to hide your genuine fear with a sarcastic voice. “Maybe he is coming back for me.”

Charissa glared at the two other waitresses, equally pissed at them for scaring you.

"And it'll be your own fault for provoking him with that article." The older waitress said.

"Holy victim-blaming, batman." You mumbled.

“Alright, listen up, y’all.” Matthew announced to the group. “In ten minutes we open for dinner. Remember, if you want to switch shifts with another person, you have to run it by me first. I don’t want to see anybody but [F/N] at the bar tonight, capiche?”

“Yessir.” You saluted him and made your way over to the bar. You’d been doling out your bartending shifts left and right to avoid even the possibility of being cornered by another Freddie Lounds. You were only prolonging the inevitable, though. Eventually, you needed to return to the bar.

You passed the hostess's stand, where Charissa was stationed. Suddenly, you felt someone grab at your arm.

"Fucking hell, dude?!" You flinched violently and your heart rate jumped. "Don't do that!"

"Shit, sorry!" Charissa looked immediately regretful. "But, look!"

You followed her gaze through the window where a fancy car was parked. He leaned against the door, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt.

Now your heart was beating fast for a completely different reason. You squeezed Charissa's hand, trying to keep a lid on your nervous excitement.

"I think your luck's starting to turn." She said in a sing-songy voice.

"Yeah, I bet he'll protect me from the Baltimore Butcher." You whispered, trying not to giggle like an elementary school girl.

"Oh, could you imagine those arms around you?" She sighed deeply, her hand firmly against her chest. "I would die."

"Not until he sinks his teeth into your neck." You smirked, gnashing your teeth together.

"I would let him." She rested her chin on her hand.

"Yeah, me too." You agreed.

"I would give anything to trade shifts with you." Charissa groaned.

"Well, you heard the boss." You shrugged, suddenly feeling much better about your assignment. "I gotta stay behind the bar."

"Oh, pobrecita." Charissa rolled her eyes. Underneath the stand, she put up her middle finger in your direction. "Suck a dick, [L/N]."

You walked backwards towards the bar, keeping your eyes on your friend. "That's the plan, baby."

You tried to make yourself look busy. You dared not look at him as he entered the restaurant.

He exchanged pleasantries with Charissa then took his seat at the bar. You pretended not to notice him right away, only to give you an extra second to compose yourself.

"Hi there." You greeted, knowing you'd feel stupid no matter what you said. "Er- good evening."

"[F/N] [L/N], I assume?" He asked.

Fuck, you thought. His voice was dark, low and made your insides tremble. Even though part of you knew he was going to know your name, it still felt so sensual passing his lips.

You realized you had waved to him with your bandaged hand. That's how he was about to identify you so quickly. "Yes, I am she. I mean- her. Me."

Way to go, dumbass. You thought. Now he knows you're nervous and he's going to wonder why.

“God, I need to stop wearing this damn thing.” You said, clearing your throat. “What can I get for you tonight?”

He was quiet for a moment. "What do you recommend?"

"Well, that depends." You said, pulling your gaze from him and grabbing a few wine glasses down from a high shelf. It was the only way you could maintain your composure.

"On?"

"What you're having for dinner, for one." You said. "And whether or not you're a vulpine tabloid journalist trying to corner me into a dubiously ethical interview. That's also a factor."

"So that's how Miss Lounds wore you down?" He concluded. "With wine?"

You rested your elbows on the bar, filled with an intoxicating confidence. "She tried wine first. Then she tried to get me fired because she asked for chardonnay and I brought her chablis. And when that didn't work, she siphoned my gas."

"I wish I could say that was out of character for her." He looked at you, apologetically.

"I take it you've had your own run-ins with Freddie?" You smiled.

"She's tried to infiltrate my practice multiple times." He sighed. "She's entered my office under a fake name with a recording device in her purse."

"What a sick fuck." You said, before remembering you really weren't supposed to curse in front of customers. You covered your mouth. "Sorry."

The corners of his mouth turned up into an amused smile. "Don't apologize. You're right."

“So you’re a doctor?” You asked, hoping he wasn’t the type to be offended by questions.

“I’m a psychiatrist.” He nodded. “I used to work as a surgeon, but I find the mind much more compelling.”

"Seriously, though." You pushed yourself back to your feet. "What can I get for you?"

He eyed the wine menu and then looked back at you. "What is your favorite red?"

"My favorite red?" You placed your hand on your collarbones. "On a night like this, I enjoy a nice, dry Argentinean Malbec."

"In that case," he thumbed through the list once more. "I'll have a bottle of Cobos Chañares from 2016, please."

You smiled. You wouldn't mind taking a sip of that if he offered. "Right away."

You carefully pulled the solid black bottle from its crevice and placed it on the bar. You removed the plastic seal and reached for the corkscrew. The bottle opened with a satisfying pop, filling the air around you with the strong, complex and seemingly contradictory aromas.

You poured a bit of this criminally expensive wine into his glass. He smelled it, then swirled it for a moment before taking a sip.

"Redcurrants and vanilla," he began. "With floral notes that operate with the precision of interlocking gears in a clock. Everything in its place."

"So you're a sommelier and a poet?" You tilted your head and filled his glass. "I'll bet you make women swoon at every corner."

You never had the best grasp on flirting, but even you knew that line was awful.

“Are you flirting with me, Miss [L/N]?” He asked, clearly not too worried about the consequences and enjoying the flattery. “Or are you just trying to get a taste of this Malbec?”

“Little bit of column A, little bit of column B.” You shrugged. “Though you are as handsome as everyone says, I’ve had my eyes on that wine for slightly longer.”

You fought the urge to slap your hand over your mouth. You had just broken the cardinal rule of workplace gossip. Panic reverberated through your body as you tried to break down his unreadable expression.

Once again, he just looked amused. “I’ve seen those lingering glances, the way you all whisper and giggle. It’s flattering.”

You felt your cheeks growing hot. “...I see.”

“If you tell me what they say about me, I’ll let you have a taste.” His eyes bored into yours.

You paused, trying to decipher exactly what he was offering. Then it hit you.

“Oh!” You interjected. “The wine.”

“Yes, that’s what I meant.” He said. “Dare I ask where your mind went?”

Your cheeks stung from all the uncomfortable smiling. “I’d really like to keep my job, thanks.”

“Have you never heard of bartender-client confidentiality?” His voice lowered and his eyes found your lips. “Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls.”

Your insides turned to jelly. He rested the wine glass in his hand and offered it to you. Your hands shaking, you cradled the glass like an 18th century French village prostitute being offered a mug of hot soup. You brought the glass to your lips, the strong, overwhelming smells assaulting your orifices.

You let the wine grace your tongue. You had taught yourself to overcome the sting of the alcohol and focus on the undertones. Your eyes rolled back in to your head and you let out a little noise of pleasure.

“Christ on a bike, that’s decadent.” You said, gasping for air a little bit. You quickly passed the glass back to him before Matthew could see you. “Thank you.”

“Now, indulge me.” He instructed, glancing at the fresh pink lipstick mark on his glass. “What do the lovely women of Terroir whisper while I’m just out of earshot?”

You rested your elbows on the bar and leaned in close. “They say you’re a vampire.”

Judging by his unchanging neutral expression, it clearly wasn’t the first time someone had made that connection. “Perhaps they’re on to something.”

“One of our line cooks used to say you were the devil.” You informed him, hoping that was one he hadn’t heard before.

“Used to?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Until Chase Mulvaney came around.” You instinctively ran your fingers over your bandages, as if to make sure they were still there. It was a nervous tick you’d developed anytime someone brought up that day. “He’s stopped talking about, like, anything having to do with his religion ever since.”

“It takes a lot to get an evangelist to stop evangelizing.” He refilled his glass. “Do you think he lost his faith?”

“I heard someone say in passing that it was because he and Chase Mulvaney went to the same church.” You whispered. “But I can’t verify that.”

“I’d say it’s more likely than a regular customer being a vampire, wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t trust their word because they made a regular customer into a vampire.” You corrected, hoping he would overlook the fact that you were one of them. “Secrets may stay within these four walls, but they tend to bounce around. It’s only a matter of time before one escapes, and you’d better hope it’s not one of yours.”

This man must have been an exceptional therapist, because, there you were, baring your soul to him after fifteen minutes and one sip of wine. Occasionally, you were pulled away from the conversation by another customer who had the audacity to also want a drink. But, very few people came to you with the sole intent of drinking on a Tuesday evening. You and the sommelier talked until closing time.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Miss [L/N].” He said pulling out his wallet. “You are as delightful in person as you are on paper.”

“Thank you, but I never caught-” you said, but stopped yourself. “I mean, you never gave me your name.”

He signed his name on the paper check, then pulled out a fifty and unceremoniously handed it to you. “Now why would you want to ruin the mystery?”

“Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls, remember?” You grinned and crossed your arms. “Come on, I won’t tell anyone.”

He took the customer copy of the receipt and scribbled something down on it. He the folded it in half and slid it in your direction as if it contained nuclear launch codes.

“Join me for dinner someday.” He ordered. “I’ll supply the Malbec.”

#hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal x you #hannigram #hannigram x reader #the sommelier #wine #tw trauma #tw victim blaming #tw alcohol

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

For Vampire Chris! What if he and Jake went to a museum and came across some of Tooley's paintings? And Chris has a panic attack! We would finally get some Jake comfort. And maybe Chris would reveal more horrible things that Tooley had done to him.

CW: Discussion of death, blood, vampire whumpee, caretaker and whumpee

The sun sets early in the winter, and it's the only reason they can make this work.

Chris is barely awake even so, sipping from a coffee cup Jake filled with the contents of one of his blood packs, hoping he doesn't trip and spill and lead to Jake having some very awkward, panicked explanations to make to anyone nearby.

He'd slept in the truck Jake borrowed from Nat most of the way over here, curled in the passenger seat. He looks for all the world like any high schooler who stayed up too late the night before, dragged out by his family, forced to go learn when all he wants is rest.

Chris is draped in a hooded sweatshirt pulled on over his head, hair mussed from sleeping in the closet in the little nest-bed he made for himself in there. It sticks out like stray from beneath the hood he's pulled up, coppery strands occasionally covering his eyes and making him shove them out of the way with a snort that has no right to be as adorable as it is, considering the monster who makes the sound.

Not a monster, no. Not really.

Or his monster, anyway, the same way his mother is his mother. Jake is starting to understand the little vampire - more than three times his own age - has chosen him for family now.

The sweater he wears is kind of a joke, actually. Jake bought it weeks ago from a website that puts the covers of books on clothes, and it's an old cover image from Dracula.

Jake thought it was funny, anyway. Nat was less amused. Chris only smiled and said something about being happy the hairy palms thing isn't true.

The air is chilly, and Jake shivers a little as they head in from the parking lot across a small sidewalk next to a park and toward the museum itself, but of course Chris doesn't even notice. He seems to be enjoying it, the way it blows around his hair as they make their way slowly up the steps and past the row of Grecian-style columns that mark the entrance.

Jake has to visit for one of his classes, an extra-credit something-or-other, and Chris had asked to go along with him.

Jake had been hesitant, but seeing the way the vampire's green eyes sparkle as he moves around in public like any other person, well... he feels like he made the right choice to bring him along now.

"Finish up your drink, you can't take anything in once we pay and get past the lobby," Jake says, and Chris nods, gulping the last of the blood as fast as he can as they push through wide double-doors. Jake tries not to imagine how it must feel, swallowing thick congealing cooled blood. Someone's life, someone's heartbeat, down your throat...

Really, is he that much different? Jake has eaten a dozen cows' worth of beef in his life.

Does Chris see them all as just livestock? He doesn't act like it, but then, there are people who treat pigs or cows like pets and not like food...

His stomach flips a little and he forces himself to look around, up at the chandelier at the high ceiling, the heavy wooden desk they have to walk to off to the side to get their tickets. To stop trying to understand if Chris is a sort of stray they've adopted, or if he's a higher-level predator living with prey.

Once Chris drops the cup into a trash can, Jake throwing a couple wadded-up tissues on top so no one can accidentally see the smear of red around the edge of the lid, they buy their tickets, and wind their way through and past the little velvet ropes that mark off the entrance.

The museum opens before them into a grand hall, with paintings the size of two-story buildings on either side, permanent installations in the museum. Commissioned for its opening, sometime back in the 70's.

Jake picks up a brochure so they know which way to go - LGBTQ+ Art in Pre-War America is the temporary exhibit he's here to see, traveling work that is usually housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

"Oh, nice, it's on the first floor. Looks like you go through a couple of 'specialty' rooms, just showing off stuff from the in-house collection. Sounds cool, right?"

Chris, looking from side to side at the gigantic paintings that hang on the walls in the opening hall, hums softly, a tuneless constant sound. He doesn't answer Jake's question. He hums often, and Jake barely notices any longer, but there's something edged to it, now. As if just being around the paintings is making him nervous.

"Okay, little man, let's go over here." He touches Chris's arm, lightly, through the thick fabric of his sweater. The vampire looks over at him, smiling with his lips pressed together to hide his teeth from any potential prying eyes.

He follows easily, but he sticks closer to Jake than he normally does, and his eyes are constantly roving. They move through an exhibit of Pre-Colombian pottery first, on their way to the room in the back where the temporary showcase is.

Jake watches Chris's fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to learn by feeling the bumps and ridges in the ancient clay, and how he holds back as best he can. His urge to lift the clear protective plastic boxes right off the pottery so he can get at it is nearly physically painful.

Jake pretends not to see it when Chris's fingers trail along a column, settling for the white-painted rectangle the pottery is balanced on, taking in the rough texture smoothed by the matte paint.

"Did you ever meet anyone like you that was old enough to have made stuff like this?" Jake asks, stopping in front of a water jug in the shape of a man playing a flute with a dog at his feet. The dog wears a carved smile marked with disturbingly human-looking teeth. The paint it must have been covered in is worn by time, leaving the reddish-brown of the clay behind, with the faintest streaks of white still in the crevices.

"No," Chris replies, tilting his head, making direct eye contact with the statue in a way he never quite can do with any real person. Not comfortably, anyway. Jake has seen him force it and shudder afterwards, overwhelmed. When he'd asked about it, Chris had said he never liked looking at anyone's eyes, even before, when he was alive. It's too much, was all he would say. It's always too much. "None, um, none of us live that long."

"Why not?" They're alone in the room. It's the only reason Jake feels safe asking.

Chris's tongue runs over the sharpening bumps of his growing-in fangs, pressing against them, easing the itch and the ache of their return. After a second, he pulls a plastic bat on a cord from inside his sweater and puts the bat into his mouth, chewing on it idly, jaw working. "I, I, I don't know. That's just what what what my, my, my pack told me."

"I thought vampires lived in covens."

"No." Chris doesn't elaborate on this one. He can be weirdly secretive about how he lived before he came to Nat's, before he was pulled out of a basement, a living drug for a wealthy asshole.

Secretive, or just forgetting whatever wasn't essential.

He moves away to another pedestal, a shard broken off of a larger vessel, marked with a deep white and intense black angular design. He hums again, and Jake takes the hint and leaves him alone.

They spend several more minutes looking over the pottery before they head through a second room full of what must just be the favorite pieces of museum employees, as there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason, and each little card with the name of the piece and its maker has a paper next to it with a note on why each employee loves this piece in particular. Chris lingers around older things, a woven tapestry from medieval England, landscapes from the 19th century. He stares for a while at a painting called The Country Path by Joseph Poole Addy, a pale watercolor of winter trees with bare branches breaking the line of sky and a woman bundled in a coat carrying a basket down an equally colorless road.

Chris's humming getting louder, and he rocks a little, forward and back, his eyes moving again and again through the lines of the painting.

Jake wonders what it is about this one specifically that catches Chris like that, and when the vampire finally moves on he checks the employee's statement. Joseph Poole Addy, Irish painter in the 19th and 20th centuries, blah blah, something something countryside... Jake frowns, and glances over at Chris, who isn't looking back. He's moved on to something else.

Jake decides to ask him later.

They make it to the exhibit they're here to see, and Jake whistles under his breath as he enters. There are vibrant, saturated paintings lining the walls, a couple of large sculptures on the floor that still are taller than he is, a few smaller ones on pedestals. The work is mostly figurative, although there's some early abstraction there, a hint of the contemporary push to take even figurative work out of simply being an echo of a real life thing.

Chris looks at a sculpture, his head cocked so far to the side it looks almost birdlike, not quite human. Jake thinks his own neck would ache for days if he tried to do that. "Must've been, um, later," He mumbles to himself.

Jake files that away in his mental list of things to talk to Chris about later.

He walks slowly along the line of paintings. The whole point of being here is that he's supposed to pick a specific piece and write a short essay about it and the artist who made it, prove he saw it in person.

The class itself is about how to encourage better outcomes for healthcare in marginalized populations - but if she's giving out extra-credit for looking at queer art, well, Jake is happy to spend an hour in a museum.

After his dismal performance on the last test, he could use whatever credit he can get. Besides, the exhibit is actually kind of cool with that in mind. Every one of these artists was in some way outside of the sort of het ideal, and Jake smiles a little as he catches the heaviness of a look between two men seated across a table from one another, looks over the clasped hands of women, sitting with everything from shoulder to hip touching, who are listed as 'friends visiting the riverbank'.

Art that celebrates, hidden in plain sight. Art that rebels by sliding details in under the surface where only those looking for them will find them.

Each piece has another little paper, although this just has details about the artist and their work, what they were known for. He can use it as a jumping-off point for his paper, anyway.

"You, you, you finished her," Chris whispers, standing in front of a sculpture of a woman with her head thrown back as if in uproarious laughter, a woman with curls expertly carved so that her hair seems to have been there before the stone it's made of somehow. "I wonder if she, um, if if if she saw it."

"What'd you say, Chris?" Jake blinks, pulled out of his own internal reverie.

"Nothing," Chris responds, and walks slowly around the statue. The woman's smile is a shining light in the room. No one could carve like that without being at least a little in love with the subject.

Jake wanders away and then comes to an abrupt stop before a large painting, probably taller than Chris is. The background is near-total darkness with only a suggestion of stone, a single beam of light shining down to illuminate the central figure.

A naked boy clothed only in scraps of torn cloth that only emphasize his nakedness everywhere else is crouched in terror. His knees are bent and his feet are on the floor, one hand holding his weight with fingers slightly curled, his spine bent and arched as if he is caught in the midst of turning to look up to find the direction of the light. His other hand is thrown out, as if trying to ward off an attack.

He bleeds from a dozen or more places, the blood curving perfectly around his form, giving it extra weight and heft that makes it seem like he'll step out of the canvas, grab Jake, and shake him.

Jake's heart starts to race as he stares.

There are bones littering the ground around the thin, wasted boy, not bleached but sort of yellowed, marked with little notches as if cut with a knife. There might still be bits of skin attached to some of them, a hint of muscle. The detail makes Jake sick, but his panic, that comes from something else entirely. Just behind the panicked boy there is a body, as if just fallen, the eyes still open in the final terrified throes of death. The body's fingers are still dug into the dirt floor as if the dead man had been trying to pull himself somewhere, to escape.

A skull watches with eerie cheer from one corner of the painting, a few teeth missing and knocked out from its garish grin.

Barely visible, a thin wash of grayish-white, there is a pale, gnarled hand near the bottom reaching out from the background as if to grab the boy's ankle and drag him into the darkness.

Count Ugolino's Last Son, oils, 1932, reads the little plaque beside the painting. Its faint brassy shine glints in the carefully calibrated light. Edward Tooley, 1907 - 1936.

Jake swallows, but the lump in his throat doesn't budge, and he swallows again. And again. He can't take his eyes off the boy's painted hair, a dirtied copper, strawberry-blond badly in need of a wash. The wide green eyes with their terror writ large and clear, painted with lovingly perfect detail.

The boy in the painting is the perfect identical twin of the vampire who is still staring at the sculpture on the other side of the room. The fear in his face is so expertly done as to seem more photographic than painted in oil. The blood that drips to the ground follows his anatomy with absolute perfection. The bones are not bleached by they so often are in paintings, no, these...

These...

Jake holds his phone up and takes a photo, and then another of the little plaque.

"Chris." His voice cracks and Jake clears his throat. His heart is still pounding. "Chris, come look at this."

"Yes, Jake," Chris answers, sounding a little faint, and then he seems to simply appear at Jake's elbow, the teenage boy who has seen two world wars and a half-dozen smaller, stupider ones.

He goes still at Jake's side when he looks up. Jake looks over, just slightly, glancing sidelong to see a look of something like... wistfulness on the vampire boy's face.

"Tooley," He breathes. His hand goes up, and out, and he would have touched the canvas if Jake hadn't reached out and grabbed on to stop him. Chris jumps a little and turns to meet Jake's gaze. His eyes are pink-tinged in the whites, as if he's holding back tears. "Is, is, is he famous?"

"I guess. He's... he's here, isn't he?"

"He always wanted to, um, to to to to be famous." Chris's eyes move over the details, but it's not with surprise, it's with easy familiarity. He's seen this painting before.

He's been this painting before.

"That's you, isn't it?" Jake asks in a hushed voice. "Like, that was really you."

Chris looks away again, a faint flush in his cheeks. He's full enough of blood for it to happen, and you'd never know he isn't alive if you didn't already. "Yes," He whispers, and wipes at the corner of his eye with one hand. "That, that, that's me."

"Were you his model?" Jake blinks, looking back over the painted twin of the vampire beside him. The fear in the boy's face, woven in with a kind of awful resignation. It's all so perfectly rendered.

"Yes. Sort, um. Sort of. He, he, he kept me in a room." Chris exhales, slowly, and his eyes shift over to the paper with the little bit of biographical information on it. Edward Tooley's early works focused on landscapes or retreads of common historical subjects, only to find greater excellence and focus when he began to paint, again and again, the same figure - a representation of the darkness of the human soul - he stated appeared to him and demanded to be portrayed... art historians believe Tooley was driven by the demons of the Great War that had taken his family from him one by one to seek out uncomfortable subjects that force viewers to see the damage humans do to one another...

Chris's nose wrinkles as he reads, his lips moving slightly with the words as he takes them in. "I never did that. Never, um, wanted to be painted. Also, um this, um. He was... wasn't... he wasn't... wasn't like the paper says."

Jake looks over, reads it himself. Gregarious, sociable, popular with the libertine art crowd... he frowns. "What part is wrong?"

"This." Chris points, this at least he can safely make contact with, and presses the pad of his finger under a sentence that reads took inspiration from the ugly side of the city hidden under its shining lights. "He, he, he he didn't care about anyone in the city. He thought everyone who, who who who who-who wasn't him was, um, was stupid."

"What did he care about?" Jake imagines telling his professor that instead of an essay, he's going to bring in a vampire who literally knew one of the artists in person. How she might react.

Probably call the cops and report an unsecured vampire loose on the streets. But maybe she'd listen to what Chris had to say first.

"Blood," Chris says, softly. His voice is getting lower and lower, until it's barely more than a whisper. "Pain. Fear. Being... being the the the the last person who, who saw someone. He, he, he, he liked to lay them out and paint them, liked me to, to, to... arrange them for him."

Jake's eyes go unwillingly back to the dead body behind the scared boy in the painting. The grasping fingers, the open eyes that look sightless, lifeless, at nothing at all. When he looks, he can see - more suggestion than made clear - that the body's throat is torn open, as if by an animal's teeth.

Now, only now that he's looking for it, does he realize there is the slightest hint of red tears on the cheeks of the painted boy, a sheen of pink on his teeth where he begs for mercy from the grasping singular hand coming out of the dark.

His stomach flips again. "Chris, are you saying-"

"His, his, his name was Ben." Chris nods at the dead body in the painting. "I asked. Before..." He gestures, a little vaguely. "That."

Jake feels a sudden, wild urge to look up missing persons cases from New York City in 1932. See if there's anyone named Ben on there. He knows without having to do so that there definitely will be.

"What happened to him... after?"

"I don't know. I, I, I was never let out when Tooley was gone. I... wonder how, how, how many of me there are." Chris looks up at the echo of his own face, his head tilting again. His lips tremble, just a little, and then part to show the hint of white teeth wet with pinkish saliva. "On walls, in houses, in... in places like, um. Like this. How many there are... is, is, is, is that what I still look like?"

Jake clears his throat again, looks down at his feet. This feels, suddenly, like he's walked in on someone looking down at his own dead body in a funeral home. Interrupting a moment so immensely private it shouldn't even exist.

"Yeah," he says, a little gruffly. "Yeah, that's it. More or less. Except I hope I scare you less than that. Also you wear a lot more clothes with us."

Chris laughs - it's a huff of sound, barely-there. Then he turns away from himself. "We, we, we can't see ourselves, in mirrors," He says, and he's got the little plastic bat back in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved silicone. "But I have mirrors everywhere. On these walls."

He goes suddenly terribly still. He isn't breathing.

He doesn't have to, but the realization that he isn't even pretending is a jolt of awareness of exactly how dead Chris is. He leaves the exhibit, and Jake is left to scramble after him, struggling to catch up to someone he should be able to easily outrun.

He breaks into a flat run when they get outside the double-doors, jumps the steps three at a time with grace, and runs across the grass and towards the stand of trees halfway across the park. Even Jake, who works out four days a week, is breathing hard and has a hitch in his rib by the time he catches up.

He finds Chris curled up under a tree in the evening dark, the stars starting to twinkle overhead as the sun finally allows them a clear night sky to shine in.

Jake drops to his knees, ignoring the damp that seeps into his jeans from soil that still hasn't dried since yesterday's rains, and he leans over, putting a warm hand to either side of the vampire's face.

Chris looks up, his eyes glinting like a cat's briefly in the dark, and there are trails down his cheeks, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that is anything but angry.

No, this is grief.

This is loss.

Jake knows the feeling.

"Talk to me," Jake says softly. "Tell me what it was like, what it's been like for you. Tell me about the life you've lived before I knew you."

"It, it, it hurt," Chris whispers, and his own hands cover Jake's. They're the same temperature as the air around them, and Jake shivers a little. It's almost a chill. "Every time. I, I, I try not to kill, Jake, I try so hard, but but but he would keep me so hungry and I couldn't-... stop..."

Jake thinks about the robbers Chris killed - for him, to save him from them - and how he'd locked himself in the closet afterward. Had he cried like this, over taking lives even when in defense?

"The museum thing said this guy Tooley died in 1936. He was only, what, twenty-nine? Did... did you-"

"Yes." Chris's voice is thick but it's not quite with regret. "I was hungry. He, he he he he didn't bring food. I was so hungry... then I was, um, was alone for a while... then, then, then, then then then I was taken for, for, for the, um, the trade, for my v-venom, and..."

"Got it. I got it, Chris. It's okay," Jake says, softly. "It's going to be okay. You're with us, now. And we'll never, ever make you hurt someone that way. We'll never make you go hungry. We'll never hurt you or use you."

Chris ducks his head, rocking forward until it knocks into Jake's shoulder, and Jake slides his arms around the vampire's shoulders, listening to his soft, muffled sobs, wondering how red his shirt will be stained by the time the vampire's tears have been cried out.

The same mouth that tore out the throat of a dead body that lays in a painting on the wall is so close to his neck it would take less than an inch for him to bite down. Even without fangs, he could lock his jaw and break the skin.

The same dangerous monster that has killed likely dozens to stay alive, the same stalking predator that has been the last sight of far too many, cries in his arms. Just a teenage boy who has been lonely, and terrified, and hurt for too long.

A teenager... and a monster that hunts prey after dark. Jake tightens his arms around Chris, holds him tighter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how long he's been alive, not really.

He's just Chris.

That matters more.

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

#whump #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #blood tw #recovering whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #immortal whumpee #vampire #vampirism #vampire fiction #horror fiction #original fiction #whump writing #chris the strawberry blond romantic #vampire chris au #past torture

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 19 - ao3 -

Time passed, as it had a tendency to do.

After Cangse Sanren left, Lan Qiren remained in seclusion for the next two months, reviewing texts on the Lan sect rules regarding reciprocation, filial respect, and loyalty, and occasionally playing some new pieces – he’d started composing music as well as simply learning it, and that was a finicky business. Not only did he need to worry about the musical composition itself, like any normal musician, but there was also interweaving the spiritual energies and figuring out the way the song could be used as a spell, which was a completely different and often completely contradictory set of rules.

Moreover, the most powerful song-spells, he knew, were the ones that incorporated and drew on emotion, and he’d always had difficulty with those. Like most of his clan, Lan Qiren cleaved towards the more intellectual melodies, difficult but cold and distant, yet if he wanted to be truly innovative, he would need to find melodies in his heart.

Not long before he went to the Nightless City he had been inspired in a dream with a half-snippet of sound, which he had been painstakingly building up into a song in fits and starts, but recently he had found that whenever he played it the only image that came to mind was that of pearls scattered amidst blood-red mud.

The song was good, though, although it felt unfinished and incomplete. After he emerged from seclusion, he played it for his music teacher, first without qi and then with, demonstrating the suffocating and asphyxiating feeling of it – a heavy stone sitting in the midst of his chest, all his misery and anxieties wrapped up into musical notes – and his music teacher had been thrilled.

“You were born to write tragedies, child,” he said, examining the score proudly. “This is not only good but innovative, a new style with unexpected effects. I look forward to seeing you refine this further, and to your future works.”

Lan Qiren saluted deeply.

Music was just about the only thing that was going right for him at the moment.

The other disciples had been lured back into gossip by his presence, consumed by curiosity, and the teachers had come down on it hard, breeding resentment; even his few friends had been made tired by the whole fuss and only wanted it to die down. The rumors went by swiftly and quickly, anything to do with the Wen sect or the Nightless City almost immediately spread around everywhere, reaching his ears almost immediately upon his exit from seclusion.

One in particular caused him alarm, suggesting that Madame Wen had been discarded or even killed immediately after successfully bearing a son to her husband, but Lan Yueheng had convinced Lan Ganhui, always good at making friends, to write to the Wen sect disciples he’d become friendly with in the Nightless City to find out the truth. In the end, it turned out that Wen Ruohan had merely grown more distant from her, instructing her to go into seclusion for the birth a little early, and had perhaps sarcastically sent her a few treatises on the subject of a wife’s duty to support her husband. In the end, Wen Ruohan was an ambitious and ruthless man who encouraged his sect to take him as his model - as he himself had remarked, Madame Wen’s viciousness in fact demonstrated how she was an excellent match for him.

Lan Qiren hated that he was relieved that Wen Ruohan had not taken out his rage at what had happened on his wife, who had instigated the incident. He hated even more his suspicions that Wen Ruohan might have refrained from doing so not out of morality but out of the thought that Lan Qiren himself might disapprove - he wasn’t sure if that thought made him happy or sad.

At any rate, he soon didn’t have time to worry about things like that.

Lan Qiren’s refusal to explain in any detail what had happened at the Nightless City that had sent him fleeing and retreating into seclusion was largely not accepted by his curious peers, especially when someone had jeeringly pointed out that he’d probably told Cangse Sanren the whole thing already, and he refused to go to his teachers to complain, as he had in his youth.

His brother hadn’t accepted it, either.

He’d given Lan Qiren ten days after exiting seclusion, clearly expecting him to come and report on what had happened. When Lan Qiren had not done so, he had finally grown impatient and found him, demanding to know what it was that he had done that had caused such a fuss.

Lan Qiren had knelt and declared that he was unfilial and disobedient, that he had broken the rules, and requested that his brother punish him for his wrongdoing.

His brother had stared at him for a long time before realizing that Lan Qiren was serious – that he would rather be punished for intentionally breaking the rules against honoring and obeying his elders than tell what he had done or what had happened. Even when he was dragged to the hanshI, his collar pulled tight in his brother’s fist until he was thrown down to kneel in front of their father the sect leader, Lan Qiren did not object; he knelt without complaint, and even pressed his forehead to the ground in deference, but he did not speak.

The punishment his father decided upon for him was harsh, but Lan Qiren accepted it willingly. By the rules of his sect, an accepted punishment expiated a breach of the rules; once punished, he could no longer be persecuted for what he had done to earn the punishment. It would be over and done with.

Of course, there were always ways around that.

Technically, Lan Qiren’s breach was not in refusing to tell what had happened, but in disrespecting his elders by so refusing. A few days after he recovered from his initial punishment, his brother, still furious at having been denied, asked him the same question, with the same result. Their father looked disapprovingly at his eldest son – deliberately exploiting loopholes was not good etiquette – but again imposed a punishment.

Lan Qiren gritted his teeth and endured.

Lan Qiren’s brother did not bother him a third time, but by then it was too late; their relationship continued to deteriorate. Lan Qiren sought to avoid his brother whenever possible, and his brother’s disappointment in him grew; although he did not explicitly complain or impose punishments directly, he made his views clear. Those disciples and teachers that most admired him were, as always, more than willing to follow his lead and fill in the gaps, and for one reason or another Lan Qiren spent more time in the discipline hall than ever before.

Eventually, noticing the division, others in the sect sought to reconcile them – their teachers, in the most part – but Lan Qiren rebuffed them, having noticed that their requests to be more considerate and free-minded were always aimed at him and never to his brother.

After poor Lan Yueheng, who never cared about anything but his alchemy and his mathematics and, possibly, the particularly indulgent outer-sect female disciple that guarded the stockroom of the ingredients he used to make things explode and regularly looked the other way when he came to get an extra helping, got roped into trying to tell Lan Qiren to be more forgiving, citing rules about fighting within families leading to nothing with a miserable and bemused expression on his face, Lan Qiren went to the teacher in question and rather acidly pointed out the discrepancy.

“He’s your elder,” the teacher said.

“Do not disrespect the younger,” Lan Qiren retorted.

“He’s your family –”

“Am I not his?”

The teacher sighed. “It’s not the same, with him. You know how he is – how he’s always been.”

Lan Qiren knew. Still, he said, “If you can identify where my conduct does not live up to the rules, please do so, and I will consider if my conduct requires modification. At the moment, I do not.”

“Qiren…”

“Why must I always be the one to yield?” Lan Qiren demanded. “I didn’t answer one question, and I took the punishment for it, as was my right. He is the one who is insisting on making a fuss, not me – why come to me? I don’t want anything from him.”

“That’s the problem. You shouldn’t fight so – why this, why now? You’ve always yielded to him before.”

Lan Qiren said nothing.

“He’s still your elder brother, Qiren. Soon, he’ll be your sect leader.”

“Do not fear the strong; do not bully the weak,” Lan Qiren said. “Being sect leader makes him more responsible, not less.”

“Qiren –”

“I have been a good brother to him for nearly twenty years, honored teacher. Perhaps not the most promising, perhaps somewhat embarrassing, but devoted in my own way. I have not changed so much. I am still loyal, still filial; I still do all that I am asked…the only thing that changed is that I expect nothing from him.”

Not even his love.

Lan Qiren knew better, now. He’d seen what a brother could be, what it should be - he’d experienced, however fleetingly, having someone genuinely care for him, listen to him and indulge him and take joy in his company; no longer would he accept his brother’s barely concealed disdain as an adequate substitute.

“Qiren –”

“Has my father said anything?”

His teacher fell silent.

Lan Qiren bowed his head, having expected nothing better. His father was growing more and more distant from the world, less and less interested in the minutiae of everyday life; he could still stir himself to care for his precious eldest son, the child of his heart, but his oft-forgotten and overlooked second?

Unless Lan Qiren’s brother had complained about him, his father was unlikely to remember that such a person as Lan Qiren even existed.

“Does father hate me?” he asked, emboldened by his misery. It was the question he had always wanted to ask and had never dared to, and his teacher flinched as if struck. “Is that why he never saw me?”

“No,” his teacher said. “No – it wasn’t…”

“Does he blame me for my mother’s death?”

“He blames himself,” his teacher said, and sounded tired unto death. “From the very first. He thought that if he had not been sect leader, they might not have lost their children; if he was not sect leader, it wouldn’t have mattered if they’d had only one child left. But he couldn’t blame the sect, so he blamed himself – you don’t know how bad it was, Qiren; you don’t know what we all went through back then. When your mother died, he even lost his mind for a time.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Lan Qiren demanded. His hands had clenched into fists at some point, his knuckles pale and white. “If he blames himself and not me, then why did he – he never –”

He barely even saw me, he wanted to say. I am his son, just like my brother, yet it’s as if I don’t exist.

Why couldn’t he love me, too?

“You were very young,” his teacher said, his voice suddenly very distant as if he were remembering something. Lan Qiren looked at him in surprise. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but...she had just died, and he had lost his mind; none of us had realized the extent to it, thinking it merely grief. You were young, you didn’t understand. You ran to him, seeking comfort, and he nearly – he couldn’t risk having such a sin on his conscience, Qiren. You should not blame him.”

“What are you saying? That he neglected me and held me at arms’ length to console himself for nearly murdering me?” Lan Qiren asked, and thought back to all the times he had found himself afraid of his father’s glacial voice, terrified for no reason. If his father had tried to kill him in a rage, as his teacher suggested, shouldn’t he have been more scared of the heat than of cold?

Unless - his brilliant and accomplished father, who always acted as the rules said he should but who had lost his heart along with his wife - unless he had knowingly -

Perhaps it had been the sect that had ordered their separation, not his father. Perhaps his father, who had spent years going through the motions of leadership and caring only about the son that reminded him of his wife’s joy and not the one who reminded him only of her death - his father, who led their sect and raised his eldest son and in so doing taught them all to be like him, overly partial to favorites and overly harsh to those that did not meet expectations - perhaps he had not objected to that arrangements. Perhaps it had been the elders that had set the rule of meeting only once a month, rather than not at all.

Perhaps they had thought that it had been for Lan Qiren’s own good that they had done so.

Perhaps they thought it was for his own good that they encouraged him to yield now to his brother’s temper, to humble himself despite having done nothing wrong, and all for the sake of familial peace.

That was not the conduct mandated by his family’s rules. Not the ones he followed, anyway.

It’s his fault, Lan Qiren thought suddenly. He saw the path we were walking down, my brother and I, and he did nothing to stop it; he loved my brother too much and me too little, and ruined us both through his negligence and indifference. He made my brother think he deserved the world that he then had to hold up on his own, while he made me think I deserved nothing...he could have done better by us. He should have done better by us.

Finding that his teacher had run out of things to say, Lan Qiren saluted him once again.

“I will be filial and loyal, as the rules require,” he said simply. “I will respect and honor my father and brother. Do not doubt that.”

He said no more. Instead, he returned to his quarters, wondering if they thought he was happy about how things stood between him and his brother, who he still loved.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

He thought miserably to himself that he had been happier living in denial, pretending to himself that there was brotherly affection between them, that his brother’s coldness was only because Lan Qiren had spoiled things somehow by being inferior than his brother would have preferred. When he could love his brother whole-heartedly and think to himself that his brother secretly loved him back, when he suspected but did not know that that had only ever been a lie he had concocted for himself. He had been far happier back then than the way it was now, when even the paper-thin one-sided façade of love was gone.

The saddest part of it all was that Lan Qiren still loved his brother, his stupid Lan heart as inexorable as a mountain avalanche already set in motion. He just didn’t much like him.

He did like Wen Ruohan, the brother that liked him back and might even have loved him if a man such as him could recognize such a tender emotion, but that wasn’t really relevant.

Lan Qiren knew his duty, whether to his sect, to his brothers, or to morality. He knew what he had to do.

For his part, Wen Ruohan waited over a month and a half after Lan Qiren’s exit from seclusion before trying to reach out again by mail. No doubt conscious of his dignity and ego, the powerful sect leader that no one ever really denied, his letter talked around the subject in Wen Ruohan’s usual high-handed manner and evaded either apologies or explanations; from his tone, it was likely that he expected Lan Qiren to respond in anger and denial, or even not to respond at all. Instead, Lan Qiren wrote back obediently, reporting dully on his daily life. When pressed, he even wrote a short summary of his ongoing projects, copying the words precisely from the submissions he made for his teachers to avoid excessive enthusiasm.

Wen Ruohan’s letters developed a certain level of concern after that, which Lan Qiren ignored in favor of continuing to respond politely but unenthusiastically; a filial younger brother, just as he was to his own blood brother, and nothing more. At the next discussion conference, he saluted Wen Ruohan to the exact degree required by their relationship and called him xiongzhang as a respectful younger brother ought; Wen Ruohan had an expression on his face that suggested he had bitten into a sour lemon and stepped in dog shit at the same time, and his eyes followed Lan Qiren around for the remainder of the afternoon.

Lan Qiren was concerned for a while that Wen Ruohan would try to summon him once night fell, forcing the issue, but he was saved through an unexpected twist of fate – namely, that Jiang Fengmian had, like all the others, completely misinterpreted Lan Qiren’s relationship with Cangse Sanren. The Jiang sect heir marched up to him not long after the opening ceremonies had been completed and asked him, stiffly, to swear that he had no interest in the lady and would not communicate with her in the future. Lan Qiren, thinking primarily of their friendship, refused, and then Jiang Fengmian punched him right in the face.

Lan Qiren might be cold and standoffish as a rule, but he did have a temper, and that temper did not hold with being assaulted over things that weren’t even his fault – neither of them were even involved with Cangse Sanren! – and having been so thoroughly goaded he had no choice but to hit back.

In the end, Cangse Sanren had slapped Jiang Fengmian silly and Lan Qiren’s brother had sent him to kneel in disgrace all night, reminding him no fighting without permission and with his eyes silently promised additional punishment when they returned home.

Wen Ruohan didn’t disturb him that night, and Lan Qiren was able to persevere. Indeed, Wen Ruohan troubled him much less than he’d feared, opting in his hurt pride to instead turn to Lao Nie and stay remarkably close by his side – Lao Nie was the one who looked apologetically at Lan Qiren and tried to find time for him, whether to invite him on outings or to scold his brother for the apparent breakdown in domestic tranquility. For his part, Lan Qiren ignored Lao Nie and didn’t hold it against him even when he started showing up to the discussion meetings with distinctive red marks on his throat.

All right, he held it against him a little.

How Lao Nie had such bad taste, Lan Qiren had no idea. Surely he, unlike Lan Qiren, had known enough to realize that Wen Ruohan was an evil man…?

Probably he had; it was only that he didn’t much care. Lan Qiren had promised to try to stop lying to himself about people he liked, and that meant he couldn’t pretend that Lao Nie wasn’t a remarkably callous man at times, ruthless and careless with anything that was outside his sect – even his friends. There could be no doubt that he loved them, sincerely and honestly, and yet…

Lan Qiren was a little disappointed, but not much, knowing that he, too, was irrevocably bound to such a man as Wen Ruohan. He couldn’t blame Lao Nie for the same thing he himself had done.

Mostly he was just pleased that his suspicion regarding their relationship had been confirmed, even if somehow – unbelievably – no one else seemed to notice it.

In fact, he thought it might mark the very first time in his life that he’d figured out something interpersonal before other people had. Normally he would report it to someone at his sect as soon as he noticed that they’d overlooked it, wanting to do his best for them, but the sensation was too novel and his relations with his sect a little too cold at the moment; he hugged the knowledge to his chest instead, enjoying the brief warm feeling of knowing something other people didn’t.

He intended to tell them, of course, once they returned back to the Cloud Recesses, only they had barely brushed the dust of their journey off their shoulders when they were summoned to the gathering hall for what everyone had now expected for years: Lan Qiren’s father, eyes blank, made the announcement that he was officially setting the date for which he would be retiring as sect leader and retreating from the world, going into seclusion to try to break through the boundaries of cultivation and reach the heavens in a single bound or else die in the attempt.

Lan Qiren’s brother, naturally, would inherit.

He was as fresh from the road as the rest of them, but with his hands behind his back, standing beside their father, he looked as fresh and untouched as a new-bloomed orchid, as beautiful as a polished piece of jade. His eyes reflected the dichotomy that Lan Qiren had learned governed his brother’s life: pride, for the power that he was going to inherit and the accomplishments that everyone agreed made him worthy of that inheritance, and envy, looking at his own father with jealousy, longing also to withdraw from the weight the world had placed on him and do what he could on his own, unburdened by others.

Lan Qiren’s brother, Lan Qiren had learned, saw everything in his life through the prism of himself – did others have something he wanted, did he have something that they didn’t, how did he compare, was he being compared…when he got something into his mind, he cared for nothing else but how to achieve it, no matter the cost, and most of the time he was successful, too. He was fundamentally self-sufficient, requiring nothing and no one but himself, and so was capable of performing miracles – if he was motivated to do so.

Lan Qiren was much less capable. He was lacking in cultivation, lacking in social skills, lacking even in a similar degree of independence, longing as he did for the company and acceptance of his peers even as his introversion demanded sufficient time to himself. There was no way in which he was superior to his brother; in every respect, he was inferior.

And yet, sometimes, he thought that his brother was jealous of him, too.

(Their father retreating into seclusion meant that they would both be losing him – but it was really only Lan Qiren’s brother that lost something. For Lan Qiren, what he mourned was only the absence of what had never been there, and he had finished mourning for that already.)

In the end, the main change occasioned by the impending change in leadership was that Lan Qiren’s brother grew too busy to pay much attention to Lan Qiren, much to his relief. Relations between them grew…not warmer, no, but less fraught, and although Lan Qiren knew he ought to celebrate, he mostly mourned that the cause of it was not a real mending of fences but rather his brother simply forgetting that he existed, just as their father always had.

Lan Qiren took the first opportunity he had to get out of the Cloud Recesses, even attending a party to celebrate sworn brother’s new son with relatively little issue. During the visit, Wen Ruohan ignored him in favor of sticking ever closer to a strangely distracted Lao Nie, almost as if he were deliberately slighting Lan Qiren for having been cold in their last interaction and for not answering his letters the way he wanted. Lan Qiren briefly felt hurt at having been put aside and forgotten so quickly - assuming that he had been forgotten, which he wasn’t sure of, as Wen Ruohan ignoring him sometimes seemed almost performative - but then reminded himself that this, like his poor relationship with his blood brother, was only the results of his own actions, and those of others.

He didn’t – regret it, not really. He’d lived his life by the Lan sect rules, and he didn’t regret doing so now, no matter how lonely the results might make him feel.

Instead, he returned to the Cloud Recesses and began to plan out in earnest his plans for departing the Cloud Recesses to travel the world as a musician, the goal he had set since he was young and was finally, impossibly, on the verge of satisfying. He would need to stay for his brother’s ascension to sect leader the next year, he thought, and perhaps for a year after that – just because their relationship wasn’t good didn’t mean he was entitled to do things that would let other people talk about it – but after that…

After that, he would go.

He would make new friends, or not. He would learn new things. He would see what the world was like.

Sooner than he thought, Lan Qiren turned twenty, thereby finally becoming an adult. The event took place with little fanfare, and Lan Qiren sent back the gifts he received from both Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie unopened with a polite note indicating that he was unworthy of such attention, and Cangse Sanren’s with a much more emphatic note reminding her that he was largely uninterested in sexual matters and therefore had no need for these sorts of implements.

His brother got him new guqin strings, the same gift he always gave – Lan Qiren had once been very happy to receive it before he realized that it was the storeroom distributing the gift in his brother’s name – and Lan Qiren returned that as well. Lan Yueheng was the only one who successfully managed to give him a gift by virtue of sneaking the fancy brush he’d bought for him into his table in such a way that Lan Qiren utilized it before realizing it was new, and then refused to take it back on the basis that it had already been used. He looked so pleased with himself over his little trick that Lan Qiren didn’t have the heart to scold him.

Time continued to pass: day by day, night by night, season by season.

And then she arrived.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

Text

The Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo

This is a request for anon, who asked:

i don’t know if your requests are open, but if they are, could you do one where the reader has tattoos that dean doesn’t know about and then he sees them when he has to stitch them up after a hunt? (maybe like season 1 or 2 dean) thank you!!!

And then wrote to me privately that they have a dragon tattoo on one shoulder.

It was a lot of fun to write; tons of opportunities to slip in some good classic rock references! I miss in the super early seasons when Sam and Dean seemed to rag on each other pretty much constantly. I hope this is what you were thinking of!

Title: The Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 2589

Summary: Dean is surprised to discover the reader has tattoos.

Warnings: canon-appropriate violence/mention of blood, swearing, fluff!!

Sam moves to the middle of the front bench to shuck off his coat as Dean is getting out of the car, and gives it to you with a long arm over the leather. “Can you hand me that blue jacket?”

You have to over-rotate to use your other hand to grab it, keeping your grip tight on your own shirt in the most bastardized version of a sling. Sam, of course, notices.

“You think it’s broken or dislocated?”

A hard chuckle blows out of your nose. “Really hope it’s just dislocated, I’ll tell you that.”

He gives you a sympathetic smile as he throws on the blue jacket and zips it all the way up to his neck. It looks like he’s covering something up and naturally, he is, thin hoodie and t shirt underneath drenched with enough werewolf blood that it’s clinging to his chest almost pornographically. But his face is untouched and he has use of both his arms which is more than can be said for you or Werewolf Shiner Winchester, making him the only reasonable choice to send for gauze and ACE bandages at the closest pharmacy.

Dean stops his grimace-covered stretching just outside the car and opens your door with an outstretched hand as Sam slides into the driver’s seat. “You coming?”

Taking his hand with your good one, you let Dean close the door behind you without any of the normal grumbling about treating you like you’re made of porcelain, in an effort to keep your face neutral around the jolts of pain through your shoulder. Sam pulls out of the motel parking lot ultra-gently like it’s his first day with a learner’s permit the way he does when he knows Dean is watching. It makes you smile to yourself as exhaust dissipates across the cracked blacktop.

Crossing the asphalt with tired strides Dean opens the motel door for you too, and you walk in before him. “Is that yours?” he asks, dropping his coat on the cheap couch and wincing through the removal of his flannel. In the light of the room you’re better able to see his black eye and realize it’s going to take weeks for that to go away, not relishing another inevitable conversation about makeup to sell a G-man cover story. It makes it so much easier for the families of victims to believe you’re legit when none of you look like you’ve been in a bar fight, but getting Dean to believe cover-up is in the name of the greater good is an uphill battle on the best of days.

“Is what mine?”

“The blood you’re covered in like nacho cheese. Dude, if that’s all over the car—”

He deserves credit for trying not to smile as you try to look over your shoulder like a puppy chasing its tail, but he does guide you over to the mirror on the wall to see. He’s right, blood has seeped all down your coat, sticky and shiny like syrup. It’s far too wet to be from near 30 minutes ago when you got in the car. “Fuck, I really like this jacket.”

“You have like 5 just like it taking up space in my trunk; you’ll live. Here, take that off, I’ll stitch you up.” Dean starts rifling through his bag for supplies, rolling some kinks out of his neck.

“It doesn’t even hurt, I just need you to pop my shoulder back in so I can take a shower.”

“I don’t give a shit what hurts, slugger. You’re going to pass out in the tub if you keep up the stuck pig act.”

You roll your eyes and reluctantly try to slide your arms out of the jacket, wincing when you jostle the dislocated arm. Dean takes the sopping coat from you and tosses it into the kitchenette sink from where he stands, the concern coloring his face when you look back at him not reassuring you at all. He puts the floss-threaded needle he’d had in his hand between his teeth and starts pulling on your collar.

“Shoulder first,” you insist, done wiggling and writhing out of clothes before your shoulder is where it belongs.

Dean’s mouth tightens into a firm line but he backs up to give himself enough room to shove, an exasperated hand beckoning you. “Okay, you ready?” he says around the needle, looking like a farmer field medic with a piece of hay.

“Yeah just let me—FUCK,” you grunt when he catches you off guard without any preamble, clutching at the shoulder for a moment until you could take a deep breath. You do a test rotation and are happy at the relative lack of pain, trying not to be frustrated that Dean didn’t warn you so you wouldn’t tense up.

“Shirt off.” Dean’s tone is firm and precise, no room for discussion, as he gets out a lighter and watches intently to heat up the needle.

“Wow, you sure know how to make someone feel special,” you hum, feeling much looser without the shooting pain from your shoulder. The buttons of the flannel come undone relatively easy, but the fabric makes a sickly wet thwack as you snap it down to rest around your elbows.

From his spot at your side, you see Dean’s face contort in surprise and watch as he reflexively reaches out a thumb to rub the skin of your shoulder.

“Ow, what the hell?” you flinch.

“Has this always been here?” he asks, partly amazed but mostly incredulous as his eyes trace the inky lines of the dragons where they wind around your skin.

“I wasn’t born with them if that’s what you mean.” You can tell he’s truly shocked because he doesn’t even react to the jab, just hovers a gentle fingertip over the tattoo. “Earth to Dean? I thought you were all scared about me bleeding out.”

He gulps and clears his throat before covering with a smile that’s a combination of cheeky and shy. “Right, yeah, sorry. Just didn’t realize I was in the presence of The Tattooed Wonder.”

“Hardly, I only have a few. Now start stitching before I change my mind and wait for Sam; his are way neater than yours anyway.”

“Few? Where are the other ones? Girls on the back of your leg that hula when you walk?”

“Nice try.”

He bites his lip before shifting the strap of your tank top off and sponging the back of your shoulder with a wet towel. When he unceremoniously pours a slug of whiskey over the wound you feel it for the first time and hiss, adrenaline and distraction of the joint pain worn off.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, already dragging floss tight on a stitch with his teeth and moving on to the next as quickly as he can, half-humming that old Queen song, “gonna get me on the track, got a dragon on my back.”

You weren’t lying earlier when you’d said that Sam’s stitches were usually cleaner, but Dean is being very careful in a way he usually isn’t—Chicks dig scars, Sammy! Stopped the bleeding, didn’t it?—and you tip your head back to check his work. The extra time he’s taking is to match up the back of one of the dragons, ripped open by a werewolf claw and currently held together by the delicate pinch of Dean’s index and thumb.

It’s tough, but you manage to grab the reins on a smirk. Dean doesn’t notice, too focused on trying to keep the damage to your tattoo at a minimum. The gesture and the concentration are impossibly sweet, even though you’d long accepted that ink injury was inevitable with your lifestyle.

When he’s done, callused fingertips tugging the last knot in place, Dean grabs the whiskey again. “Hold still,” he breathes, close enough you can feel it dance across the skin of your neck, and you hope he can’t see the goosebumps trailing down your arms like ivy. “That should do it. You can grab the first shower, but it’s big enough that some gauze on top for a few days wouldn’t hurt.”

“Thanks,” you answer, startled and annoyed at your own voice when it creaks a touch. The flannel feels gross and heavy with blood, so you pull your arms out entirely and reach to drop it in the wastebasket.

“I can deal with that if you want,” he offers, ruffling the velvet-short hair at the back of his neck. “The coat too. Not the first time getting blood out of clothes.”

“Oh, okay. Uh, thanks. That would be really nice.”

Dean only meets your eyes for the most fleeting moment when he takes it before biting his lip again and nodding to himself. You get to your feet and gingerly slip the displaced straps back over your shoulder, feeling the shift in energy in the room and not knowing what to do with it. Settling for a jocular little punch to Dean’s bicep, you grin at him. “Thanks for putting me back together, doc.”

Sam comes back a couple minutes after you’ve closed the bathroom door with a translucent plastic bag full of first aid supplies. “In the shower?”

Dean looks up from where he’s sitting on the couch and hands Sam the beer he’d already gotten out of the fridge in anticipation, his leg bouncing rapidly. “Yeah. They have everything?”

His younger brother nods and accepts the bottle, taking a sip before laying out his haul on the coffee table and tossing the bag. “You okay?”

He glances up with a quirked eyebrow. “Just tired, man.”

Sam waits a silent beat, giving Dean a chance to spill whatever it is.

“Did you, ah—did you know Y/N’s all inked up like a friggin’ sailor?”

Sam chuckles and runs his tongue over his teeth. “A sailor? Y/N’s only got a few tattoos, dude.”

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew, some people like to learn things about their friends. That’s why you’re acting weird?”

Dean scowls over the glass lip of his beer before taking a long pull. “Not acting weird, sue me for being surprised we’re working with the goddamn Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo.” His voice is low and surly like a kid on the edge of a tantrum even he knows isn’t worth it.

“Y/N can do whatever they want, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you like the tattoos, you’re not their dad.” Sam’s barely keeping the giggle out of his voice, enjoying Dean’s frustration the way only a little brother could.

“No, I don’t—it’s not that I don’t like them,” Dean stammers, the end of the statement fading off as a flush starts rising in his cheeks. He knows he’s said too much and Sam jumps on it.

“Wait—you do like them, don’t you?” He crashes onto the couch, long limbs just enough in Dean’s space to be irritating. “I bet you loooooove knowing about those tattoos—I bet you’re dying to see them.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean growls, kicking Sam in the thigh with a socked foot. Sam blocks him and starts laughing hard enough it makes him rattle all over like he’s on a rickety rollercoaster. When he finally catches his breath Dean is still pouting to whatever syndicated sitcom he’d thrown on. Over the tinny TV speakers they hear the shower turn off.

“You know, if you’re feeling shy I could say something for you.” Sam’s grin is ten steps past cheeky, firmly planted in devilish, and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively over top of dimples perfectly sliced into his cheeks.

Dean’s eyes widen like a cartoon and his voice is a gravelly hiss as he grabs a tight handful of Sam’s t-shirt, now crisp with dried blood. “Sam, I fucking swear to God—” but the threat is ineffectual, sheepish panic clear as anything on his face. The glint in Sam’s eye brightens and he twists out of his brother’s grip before he can react, crossing the room in a few huge steps so he’s nearly face to face with you when you open the bathroom door, Dean leaping off of the couch to chase him and slamming into Sam’s back when he stops short.

“Whoa, Jesus—you scared the shit out of me,” you breathe, one hand on top of your fresh t-shirt to still your racing heartbeat, fistful of dirty laundry in the other.

“Just need that second shower, didn’t mean to freak you out!” Sam smiles, warm and light and genuine. “Thanks! Gauze is on the table if you want it.” he says as he slips past you with a friendly and familiar kiss on the cheek, wink that you can’t see to Dean over your shoulder as he closes the bathroom door fast enough that the mirror next to the frame barely even steams.

“Hey, could you—” you start.

“Hey, do you—” Dean says at the exact same time. You both chuckle, and you can’t tell if you’re annoyed or not that the little charge in the room didn’t dissolve while the dried blood on you had rinsed down the shower drain. Dean holds up an open palm to indicate that you should go first.

“Could you cover those stitches for me? The skin is kind of catching on my shirt.”

“Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

Shaking your hair loose and hanging the towel it was in on the back of a kitchenette chair, you sit on the edge of the bed to tug the collar of your t-shirt as far onto your shoulder as you can. Dean snatches some medical tape and a couple 4x4s from the table and sits down next to you, the heat coming off of him soothing the chill of the few remaining drops of water cooling on your skin. “I’m gonna need more slack than that,” he says, trying to be matter-of-fact but not quite covering the gooey softness around the edges that are making his voice more sultry than gruff. You try to pull harder on the collar but it’s already digging into your neck. The hand holding the gauze floats down to Dean’s lap while he rubs his jaw with the other. “Do you—could you just take it off?”

You roll your eyes at him.

“Or live with it, see if I care.” He holds your gaze, and that stubbornness you recognize.

Reluctantly, you move your arm inside the shirt and slip it out from under the bottom hem, squirming in a way that covers your chest while exposing your shoulder. When he sweeps the shirt back you reflexively jolt away from him like you’ve been shocked. “Not being fresh, just don’t want to tape it in,” he murmurs.

“I noticed you put the lines together really straight; thanks for that.”

“Only took an extra second.” He rips another piece of tape off a roll with his teeth and is being so deliberate that now you’re sure he’s stalling for another few seconds to keep touching you but you don’t care; the feeling of his fingertips on your skin is tender and delicious.

“If I knew you were going to be that careful, I would’ve been letting you do my stitches this whole time.”

“Guess I’m just a regular damn seamstress,” he smiles, finally smoothing the last tape and only surreptitiously glancing out of the corner of his eye as you tuck your arm back into its sleeve. “So seriously, what’re the other tattoos?”

“I’m sure you’ll see them soon enough,” you whisper as you stand up, committing to memory the way it makes Dean’s pupils flare as you ease under the scratchy motel sheets on the opposite bed.

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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jaeskind · 3 years

Text

Billy didn’t look at him anymore. Not since the fight.

It’s something like a relief at first. Really. Not getting hassled in the halls, or in gym class anymore. Except for Tommy, but even he gives it up after a week or so, after it’s clear Billy isn’t biting.

Winter melts into a muddy spring, and it’s about then that it starts to grate. At least, it starts to grate in a way that can’t be tuned out into the background, like so many other paranoias and stresses. Steve manages, he’s been doing it long before he knew there were literal monsters in the world.

So he starts looking instead.

Not in a weird way, it’s not like Steve’s going out of his way to cross paths with Billy. He might... drift to certain places he thinks Billy might frequent; the parking lot at lunch, the bathroom near the science labs with the tape patched window, even past the principal’s office when he’d heard rumblings of fights in the halls. No luck.

In fact, the only time he does manage to see Billy outside of the usual snatches was a lunch he’d decided to spend in the library, Steve trying to take a step in the direction of getting over himself and Billy Hargrove. So... library. It makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is said hurdle number two strolling into the library like he somehow belongs there, bored blue eyes scanning the tables and shelves, managing to skip over Steve twice before settling on him. Which is just... rude, first of all.

Steve can deal with rude though, what really pushes it over the edge is the way Billy stalks to the nearest table, snatches a book off it, shoves it into the return bin and turns right back out of the library. To anyone who hadn’t watched the whole petty performance, it would look rational, but it was enough to turn that grating into a full blown itch crawling under Steve’s skin. This is personal, somehow. He just needs a chance to... air it out, ask Hargrove what his problem was. Because that’ll just go great, right?

Just talking to Billy really makes the best sense. It cuts right to the heart of everything fast, and even though Steve knows all too well what Billy can do when his buttons are pushed, he’s not actually all that afraid. There’s just no room for it in his pretty little hair sprayed head, so it lurks somewhere in his guts instead, waiting for the right time to rear its ugly head. It’s another two days before it gets the chance, two days of reassuring himself that this is the best idea, two days of taking extra long extra hot showers and scrubbing at his skin until he’s pink.

Two days before Steve walks out towards the rapidly emptying parking lot and sees the Camaro is still there. Billy lounges behind the wheel, a cigarette hanging between his lips and the window beside him cracked just enough to let in fresh air. The pounding rumble of drums and guitars that reaches Steve as he walks towards his own car isn’t undercut by the hum of an engine, which means Billy’s here for a bit. Waiting for Max, who’s more than likely in AV club, if Steve’s got his days right.

This is it.

He’s backed in a few spaces away from the Camaro, but by the time Steve’s casual pace gets him to the Beamer, the last car seperating them is pulling away. There’s still a few too many people lingering in the lot for him to want to try anything. So he throws his bag into the passenger seat and fishes in the glove box for a pack of smokes he hasn’t touched in months, a single sad looking cigarette sitting alongside a lighter in the box. He pulls back, closing the car door with his ass while he lights up and immediately regrets it, the stale tobacco roughing up his throat. It’s the most he can to do to keep his eyes from bugging out of his head, but by the third puff he’s managed to smooth himself out, managed to settle into something that should seem at least halfway to casual to anyone looking.

The sun might be out, shining valiantly in a too blue sky, but there’s still a bitter chill in the air, spring reluctant to come out fully sprung as always. Steve watches the lot empty, silently cheering when the last stragglers get far enough away for comfort. He throws his unfinished smoke to the side and steps forward, long strides taking him to the Camaro’s window. Fingers rap on the glass with a firm confidence Steve doesn’t actually feel, though he does feel an indignant bristling rush up his spine when the blond simply slouches away from the window, reaching out to turn the radio up while he shifts.

“Asshole!” Before Steve can talk himself out of it he’s striding around the Camaro and pulling open the passenger door, sliding himself into the seat and turning to Billy before he can say a word. “What the hell is your problem with me man? Did I miss something?” Because sure, there’s the obvious, but the obvious doesn’t warrant months of being ignored and avoided. Weeks, yeah, he could see it, but this was getting ridiculous.

Billy doesn’t do anything more than look at him, at first. It’s obvious even behind the sunglasses that for the first time in a long time his eyes are on the other boy. His lips stretch open to show off most of his teeth and the quickest flash of a pink tongue. It’s an expression that might look like a smile on someone else. “There’s no fucking problem, Harrington.” The words don’t growl out of him, despite the snarl on his face, but the carefully measured hostility might actually be worse.

It’s a threat that Steve tucks away for later, when the nerves thumping at his false sense of confidence break through. “Well you know, I just thought-“

“I don’t give a shit what you’re thinking.” Quick as anything, Billy cuts him off, lifting his hand from the shifter to shove a finger into Steve’s face. “There’s no fucking problem.”

The nerves haven’t broken free yet, so Steve takes that as permission from himself to poke again, scoffing out a single disbelieving “Dude.” It’s enough to snap the frayed tether of control holding the other together, the outstretched hand grabbing a hold of Steve’s shirt while the other curls into a fist.

Billy has freckles on his knuckles. It’s a stupid thing to notice while said knuckles are flying towards his jaw, but hey, no one ever accused Steve of being smart.

The strike to his jaw has him groaning, dazed, but it doesn’t stop his hands from fruitlessly scrabbling at Billy’s, trying to free himself. The other hasn’t stopped moving, twisting in the seat to press more of his weight against Steve while a hand searches for the handle. All it takes is a rough shove, once the doors open, and Steve tips back ass first onto the pavement, the wind knocking out of him in an entirely different way.

There’s just enough sense left in his head to make him scrabble back, just barely getting his legs out of the way before the car door slams shut again, and well, Steve knows the difference between pushing his luck a little and a lot. He gets back to his feet, dusts himself off, walks back to his own car and he just drives home.

He’d only learned one thing in the whole stupid endeavour, but it was one thing that somehow made everything else worth it. The wasted weeks and the edges of nightmares and the bruise that blooms almost immediately on his skin. All worth it, because now Steve knows having Billy’s eyes on him is much better than being ignored.

Now he just needs to figure out how to make it happen more.

#what’s up my name is Johnny and I don’t proofread shit #harringrove #im so sleepy but I couldnt stop #I already knew what the end was I just had to get there ugh #mine

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atlafan · 3 years

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Wrecked - One Shot

a/n: this is slightly inspired by the wilds because I watched that recently, but it’s in no way as messed up or sad. psychologist/therapist!Harry is detective Nikki Reese’s ex’s best friend. They end up on the same cruise, and the two end up going overboard due to a freak hurricane. What happens while they’re stranded? Well, you’ll have to read to find out! Feedback and reblogs are super helpful! I really want to know what you all think of this one!!! (not proofread) You can support me here if you’re able!

Warnings: a lot of angst, a little fluff, and some smut. TW: trauma/dealing with trauma (Nikki is an SVU detective, so some things of that nature are brought up, but not in graphic detail)

Words: 14K

Pairing: Harry x OC

It was supposed to be a cruise, a ten-day cruise around the Caribbean to help clear her head. Well, it was originally an engagement present to herself and her ex, but since they were now broken up, it was to help clear her head. Nikki never would have thought she would end up in this situation, and especially not with someone she hated just as much as her ex…his best friend. As she lays under the stars for yet another night, she can’t help but think back to how she got herself into this mess in the first place.

She was packed and ready to go, excited even. Nikki had never gone on a cruise before, and she was looking forward to meeting some new people. She was never one to be nervous to go to things alone, she knew how to take care of herself and keep herself safe. She had grown up as the mom friend, so her purse was always stalked with essentials. She had one of those ones that was like a little backpack.

Nikki got to the docks a little later than she was hoping, but there was nothing she could do about getting stuck in traffic. She gets out of her cab in her white sundress, large sunhat, and sunglasses, and rolls her suitcase up the pathway to the boat. There was a bit of a line, but she didn’t mind. For the next ten days, she had all the time in the world.

There was a large area for her to check in at, and get her room key. She was surprised she wouldn’t be able to do it over her phone, but she knew that once they set sail the WIFI may not be as strong in certain places. She brought a spare lanyard to stick it on and everything.

“Hello, Miss.” The woman at the table smiles.

“Hello, I’m Nicole Reese.” Nikki smile.

The woman nods and looks her up in the system. She takes out two room keys and hands them to Nikki, along with a couple of pamphlets that were full of activity options, and where the boat would be stopping.

“Here you are, Miss Reese. We hope you enjoy your stay with us. It’s going to be an excellent cruise. Your other party has already checked in.”

“My who?” Nikki’s heart stops.

“There’s two of you signed up for this suite. A nice gentleman checked in about twenty minutes ago.” She taps a few times on the keyboard. “A Mr. Harry Styles.” The woman smiles. “Has there been a mix up?”

“Nope.” Nikki swallows. “Everything’s fine.”

Nikki quickly makes her way to her room. The ship was pretty easy to navigate. She was enraged. Had Kyle sent Harry in his place? Why the fuck was Harry even there? Did he suddenly acquire time off from work? She scans her key card, and enters the suite.

“Jesus, fuck!” Harry shouts. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?! What are you doing here?!”

“Kyle sold me his ticket…he…he didn’t think you’d still go.” His face falls. “Why did you?”

“Because I paid for my own fucking ticket, and I wasn’t going to let him ruin my trip! I planned the god damn thing, I should get to enjoy it. You need to leave before the ship does.”

“Sorry, I paid to be here too, I’m staying.”

“Don’t be a prick, Harry.”

“M’not trying to be. I got the time off last minute, I need a vacation just like anyone else.”

“And you came here alone?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Thought it would be nice to meet some new people…apparently you thought the same. Unless…oh no, did Alex come with you?” He groans.

“No, she’s not with me.” Nikki rolls her eyes. She knew it was useless to argue with Harry. “That couch should be a pullout, you can sleep on it.”

“But I’ve already started to unpack in the bedroom…you know I have a bad back, Nikki, come on.” He follows her into the bedroom. “It’s a king sixed bed, we can just share. I’ll even make a pillow divider if that makes you more comfortable.”

“I am not sharing a bed with my ex fiance’s best friend!” She looks around. “It’s bad enough we have to share a fucking bathroom.”

“Look, if I thought this boat would have any extra room, I’d go ask for one, but the woman at the desk said it was a fully booked cruise.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I know this isn’t an ideal situation…but think of this way, it’s nice to know at least one person here, right?”

“Wrong.” She shakes her head. “I came here so I could have some time to just not be reminded of Kyle for one fucking second! Now with you here…I’m gonna be reminded of him every single fucking day.” She blinks away a few tears. “You probably think I’m being stupid since it’s been three whole months since we ended things, but-“

“I don’t think it’s stupid…you two were together for three years, that’s a long time to be with someone.”

Nikki nods, and then sighs heavily.

“I think they’re going to make the safety announcements soon. Uh, let’s back out to the main deck, yeah? We can figure all of the sleeping arrangements out later.”

“Fine.”

The two silently head up to the main deck and listen to all of the announcements on how to stay safe, and other things they might need to know. There were a lot of passengers all around them. Nikki was hoping to have some type o rebound while on this trip. How the fuck was she supposed to bring someone back to her room with Harry there? Maybe he was thinking the same thing. His cruise could have easily just been ruined like hers.

“Have you told him I’m here?” She asks him as they move towards the railing to watch the boat take off.

“No.” Harry says. “My phone’s on airplane mode, I’m trying to unplug while I’m here. It’s really none of his business, Nikki.”

“That, or you just don’t want him asking questions.” She scoffs.

“Either way, I haven’t told him, and I’m not going to, okay? You can relax.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because the suite I thought I was going to have to myself has been infiltrated by a six foot, curly headed, no good moron!”

“Hey! I’m not the one who cheated on you, okay?! Don’t take it out on me. Maybe you should have been a better partner to him and he wouldn’t have felt the need to stray.”

“Fuck you, Harry.” Nikki huffs, and walks away from him.

He knew he shouldn’t have said that, but she shouldn’t have called him a moron. That was the problem with Nikki, she thought she was smarter than everyone else, but you don’t get to become an SVU detective by being stupid. It wasn’t her fault that her work was a 24-hour job. She was lucky she even had the time off for this. All activities on the boat were all inclusive, and she wasn’t going to waste it. When she gets back to the room, she starts to unpack so she can freshen up. Harry comes in shortly after. She was just getting out of the bathroom.

“Nikki, look, I-“

“The pillow divider should be fine…I’d feel bad if you hurt your back.”

“Are you serious?”

“We’re both adults, think we can share a bed without it getting weird. You were right before…it’s good to know at least one other person.”

“Nikki, I’m sorry about what I said before.”

“Don’t be. You were absolutely right. I drove him to it.”

She knew how to play the game and keep the peace with someone. It would be easier to play nice with Harry so she could enjoy her trip than it would be to fight with him the entire time. And he was right about one thing, he wasn’t the one she was truly mad at. A little resentful maybe, but she wasn’t mad at Harry.

“Do you…wanna head down to the bar?” He asks her.

“Yeah.” She smiles. “That sounds good.”

Nikki doesn’t stay with Harry for long. She finds herself talking to a cute guy that was seated next to her. Harry didn’t mind because he was talking to some other folks as well. Nikki has dinner with the cute guy, and eventually goes back to his room with him. She has her fun and goes back to her own room. Harry was there, just getting out of the shower, his towel hanging low on her hips.

“Hi.” Nikki says, blushing. “Are you done in there?”

“Yeah, it’s all yours.”

“I…I talk in my sleep sometimes…and sometimes I…punch.”

“Punch?”

“Yeah, I have, like, bad dreams because of work.”

“Oh…well, thanks for the warning. I’m sorry that happens to you.”

“I’ve learned to live with it.” She grabs something to wear to bed before going into the bathroom. She takes a shower, and then comes out. She smirks when she sees the pillows in the middle of the bed. “Thanks.”

“It’s the least I could do since I ruined your vacation.”

“You didn’t know I was coming.” She gets into the bed and turns the light off. “Just like how I didn’t know you were coming. I had a bad reaction before.” She sighs as she gets comfortable. “Nice bed.”

“Yeah, better than a hotel. Well…goodnight, Nik.”

“Night, Har.”

Harry was rustled awake around four in the morning. He looks over his shoulder and sees Nikki thrashing around. He sits up immediately and moves the pillows out of the way. She was drenched in sweat, so he rips the blankets back. She was gritting her teeth and kicking her legs.

“Nikki!” Harry grabs her shoulders to try to wake her up. “Nicole!” He straddles her hips to try to still her body. She was really strong. Her eyes burst open and she gasps for breath.

“What are you doing?!”

“You were having a bad dream!” He strokes her cheek, and moves her matted hair away from her face. Her breathing calms eventually and he gets off of her. “Do you want me to get you some water?”

“Please.” She sits up. Harry jumps out of bed and goes to fill up a glass. He comes back quickly and hands it to her, sitting on her side of the bed. She takes slow sips. “Thanks.”

“That looked pretty scary…do you remember what your dream was about?”

“Um, yeah, but I don’t want to scare you. I can’t really talk about cases.”

“If you need someone to talk to, I don’t-“

“It’s fine, Harry.” She snaps.

“Is…is this why you and Kyle never moved in together? Because you get these night terrors?”

“That…among other things. I don’t want to talk about him right now. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be.” He puts his hand on her leg, giving her a squeeze. “Why don’t I put the TV on, hm? We can just relax for a bit, and-“

“Harry, fuck, I don’t need you to be my shrink!”

“I’m not trying to be! Jesus, you cops all think seeing a therapist makes you weak, but it’s actually the strongest fucking thing you can do.” He huffs. “I’m turning the TV on so I can get back to sleep. I need the white noise.”

He grabs the remote off the dresser and turns the TV on. He flips around the stations until he finds MTV.

“MTV?” Nikki asks.

“They show music videos early in the morning. It’s what the whole fucking station was created for in the first place.” He puts the volume on low, and gets back into bed. Neither of them bother putting the pillow barriers back.

“You don’t understand the stigma. If we see psychologists…they think we can’t do our jobs properly.”

“So you just suffer in silence? Must be fucking terrifying to have nightmares so often.”

“It’s my problem, not yours.”

“But it doesn’t have to be a problem, there are a lot of things you can do to-“

“Harry, please just drop it.” She turns away from him, sinking back into the mattress, and pulling the blankets back onto herself. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Whatever.”

They barely speak for the next couple of days, which sucks because the first couple of days are just spent on the boat until they reach the Caribbean islands. Their first stop would be in Florida, and Nikki couldn’t wait to get off the boat and explore where they were getting off at.

“Hey, uh…do you think we could grab breakfast together this morning?” Harry asks her just as she was packing her bag for the day.

“Sure.” She sighs.

He nods, gets his own backpack together, and they head to the breakfast buffet. They both had started to make other friends, but Harry thought it might be nice to explore the Florida coast with her. Luckily, Nikki hadn’t had any more night terrors since that first night. Her head was really starting to feel clearer. They’re quiet at the table they choose to sit at. Harry sighs heavily as he sips his orange juice. He notices Nikki stuffing a few apples into her bag.

“What are you doing?” He asks her.

“We’re going to be out all day today, I wanted to make sure I had snacks.”

“You need three apples?”

“For someone else…if they need one.” She mutters. “I just like being prepared, I can’t help it.”

“Well, I suppose if I get hungry later, I’ll be thankful.”

“Oh, are we wandering around together today?” She raises her eyebrows, and takes a bite of her bagel.

“I was hoping so. I don’t like that we’ve barely spoken these last couple of days. We’re friends, Nikki, why can’t we act like it?”

“I stopped being friends with you the day I found out Kyle was fucking cheating on me.” She stands up and storms off. Harry groans, but follows her. It had gotten increasingly windy out, normal stormy morning in Florida. Although, it had started to drizzle. “Stop following me, Harry!”

“No!” He grabs her wrist. They were outside on one of the lower decks. Not many people were outside due to the weather. “I didn’t know, okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t know Kyle was cheating on you!”

“How could you not have known, you’re his fucking roommate! And apparently, it was going on for over six months!”

“He never brought her home! Any girl that he brought over was you, and any time he was gone for the night I just assumed he was with you…if I had known…” He steps closer to her. “I would have confronted him, and told him to cut it out. I would never condone something like that.”

“But you’re still friends with him! You just sat in your room while we were fighting!”

“I’ve been friends with him since uni! I was confused, I thought it’d be better to be on his side and keep the peace. I yelled at him afterwards. I told him he was an asshole for proposing to you while having someone else on the side. And I don’t live with him anymore, alright? I moved out a month ago, got my own place. We’re still friends, yeah, but I…I couldn’t look at him every day knowing what he did to you.” He puts his hand on her shoulder. “I always liked you, Nikki. From the second he started bringing you around, I thought he hit the jack pot, and he fucked it up.”

“He told me I drove him to it. That I wasn’t around enough, that I wasn’t giving him what he needed, but he didn’t feel like he could break it off because we already invested so much time. The fact that it was with his co-worker, someone I never even really trusted.” Nikki scoffs. “I’m glad we weren’t living together, sort of made things easier.” She looks down. “I can’t help that my job keeps me busy, and that I’m not always up to fucking my boyfriend after dealing with a sexual assault case.” She looks back up at him.

“I get it.” He sighs, and grips the railing. “Somedays I come home after a rough session with a patient…like, you know when it’s so bad that when you drive home in silence and go the speed limit?” She nods at him. “It sucks sometimes…being someone that makes other people’s lives easier.”

“Right, because telling a worried mother that her child was found dead and buried in the woods totally makes things easier.” She rolls her eyes.

“That mother gets closure at least. She knows where her kid was and what happened. It helps with the grieving process.” He looks at her again. “You know I work with a lot of victims and survivors, right? I’m not out prescribing anti-depressants to a bunch of rich fucks.”

“I guess I forgot about that.” She furrows her brows at him. “You really didn’t know he was cheating on me?”

“Nikki, I swear, I had no idea.”

Just as she was about to say something else, the wind had picked up. Everything happened really fast from there. Sirens had started to go off, a hurricane was whipping up the coast. It wasn’t supposed to, it was supposed to travel out east, but it didn’t. Harry and Nikki had grabbed onto one another, but it wasn’t enough to stay grounded. They both got flipped over the side of the boat. Nikki had just grabbed at one of the life boats that was attached to the side in time. She pulled the tag, it inflated, and they landed in the water. They were dragged under at first, trying desperately to hang onto the raft. Nikki wasn’t sure how much longer she could hang on for, though. Everything around her started to fade. All she could see was her hand grasping around the rope of the raft before everything black.

Nikki’s eyes fluttered open when she felt water splashing on her face. She sits up slowly when she realizes she was drifting along the shoreline. She stands up and tries to figure out her surroundings. She remembered the storm, but she could have been blown all the way to Cuba. She looks to her left and sees the orange raft. Her backpack was next to it, thank god. She stands up slowly and goes over to the raft to flip it over. She steps back when she sees Harry laying there.

“Fuck.” She breathes and kneels down next to him. She almost forgot he was swept away with her. She checks his pulse first, he’s alive. She starts performing CPR, just the chest compressions. Before long he’s coughing up water. “Oh, thank god.”

“What…what happened?” He sits up slowly.

“We got…blown off the boat, I think. There was a big storm that wasn’t properly forecasted. I wonder if anyone else got thrown off like we did.” She looks around, but doesn’t see anyone else. “I have no idea where we are.” She opens her backpack. Everything was wet, but still useful. “My phone’s fully charges and working.”

“How?”

“I have one of those waterproof cases.” She squints at it, raising it up. “No signal.” She digs through her bag and finds a small baggie.

“What’s that?”

“Personal hot spot.” She turns it on and connects her phone. “The signal’s weak, but it’s there.” She stands up and starts walking around. “Map app won’t work.” She groans. “Fuck, I just wanna know where we are!”

“Try calling the ship director, I bet they’re taking attendance for safety measures.”

“Do you happen to know what that number is?”

“No.”

“Well, neither do I. Let me call my partner. The WIFI calling should work.” She taps the number and puts the phone on speaker.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?”

“Dan! Thank god you answered.”

“Woah, Reese, what’s wrong?”

“There was a freak storm down in Florida…I got thrown off the boat. I just woke up ashore somewhere, but I have no idea where…could be an island off the coast, or we could be in another part of Florida.”

“Can you try sending me your location?”

“The map app won’t work…”

“But you might be able to send your location over iMessage. Are you alone?”

“No…a man named Harry Styles got thrown over with me. He’s a friend of Kyle’s.”

“Gross.”

“There are worse people to be stranded with.” She smirks at Harry.

“Are either of you hurt?”

“I’m a little achy, but nothing’s sprained or broken. Harry, are you alright?”

“Yeah, m’fine.” He says as he stands up.

“Alright, I’ve got your location…shit.”

“Dan.” She sighs. “Where the fuck are we?”

“Cuba.”

“How the fuck did we end up in Cuba?!” She shouts. “The ferry here would be an overnight trip for fuck sake.”

“Don’t know. I’m looking into it now and it looks like a pretty powerful hurricane swept you guys away. It’s like it chewed you up and spit you out. You’re lucky to be alive. I have the name of the cruise ship, since you left me the contact info, I’ll alert them right away. I’m sure they’re taking stock of who might be missing. I’ll have to get special clearance to get you out of there. It could take a few days. Do you have any supplies?”

“Yeah, I’ve got my mini water purifier, and a couple of bottles, some fruit and granola bars…basic essentials.”

“Okay, stay where you are, try to make a shelter in case more rain comes. Don’t use your phone at all unless I call you. I don’t want your battery running out. I’ll get you out of there, Nik.”

“Thank you, Dan. You’re amazing.”

“I’m sorry your vacation got ruined. I’m sure Captain will give you an extended leave.”

“I’m not worried about that right now. It’ll be dark in a few hours and we need to get to building a shelter like you said. Keep me updated.”

“Will do, stay safe.”

Nikki hangs up the phone and looks around.

“What are you looking for?”

“Drift wood. We can use some and the raft to make a little shelter to huddle under. We also need to make a fire to stay warm. If we’re going to be out here for a few days, we need to think smart.”

“What if there are wild animals running around, or-“

“Harry.” She puts her hands on his shoulders. “I know this is really scary, but you can’t freak out, okay? Did you ever read Hatchet growing up?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Okay, so, that little boy got stranded in a fucking forest in Canada…in winter! We’re at least on a warm beach. We can still wash up, and I have a mini water purifier. We’ll be okay. I just need you to not freak out. I’ll need your help.”

“Okay, but after we’re rescued you better let me freak out as much as I want.”

“Deal.” She sighs and goes to her backpack. “Here, put on some sunscreen.” She hands him the sprayable can.

“What are you, the fucking grandmother from Halloween Town? Is that a bottomless bag?” He chuckles as he sprays himself with the lotion.

“No, but I’m a detective that helps people that go missing, so I’ve learned some things along the way. I never leave my house without a stocked bag.”

The two work together to move the raft back so it wasn’t near the water. They’re able to find some wood sturdy enough to prop it up for a small shelter. Next, they work on making a fire. Luckily, Nikki’s lighter was still working. Harry was able to keep things going as she checked their supplies.

“We’ll have to ration a bit. Apples are high in carbs, so they should keep us full enough. I’ve got two bottles of water in here. Once we finish them we can use the purifier. I even have two travel toothbrushes and toothpaste in here.” She smiles. “I have deodorant too, but no soap, sorry. We’ll just have to use the salt water to keep us clean.” She furrows her brows as she keeps looking at everything. “I have granola bars as well. Ugh, thank god I had my period last week. I’d be pissed if I had to deal with that too.” She takes out a couple of tampons. “Besides, these’ll be great fire starters.”

“I guess things could be a lot worse.” He sighs and sits next to her once the fire is good to go. “We’ll probably have to take turns watching it, huh?”

“Most likely.” She starts laughing.

“What could possibly be funny?” He asks.

“Nothing, just…wouldn’t it be hilarious if we were just in some rich family’s backyard?” She looks behind them. “I know we’re not, but it would be funny.”

“Yeah.” He smirks. “Well, now that most of the excitement is over, I’m gonna go take a leak.”

“Hey, if you shit, make sure you dig a hole first and cover it. We don’t need to attract animals.”

“Not that I have to do that right now, but you don’t have toilet paper in there do you?”

“I have a packet of tissues, but they need to dry out a bit. Got pads too, those could work…but I may hog them since I have more areas to wipe than you do.”

“Fair enough. Suppose I could use some leaves if need be. I’ll be right back.” He disappears into a discrete area so he can wee, and then comes back to find her rubbing lotion onto her bare arms and legs.

“I’m really glad I wore shorts today and not a dress.” He sits down next to her. “Don’t worry about your luggage back on the ship, either, Dan will make sure everything will get back to us.” She takes out a gun from her bag.

“Holy shit.” He flinches.

“Relax, it’s a flare gun. I’m saving it to use for when they come for us. No use in using it now. I don’t really feel like getting thrown into a Cuban prison.”

“Yeah, that’s not exactly on my bucket list.” Harry chuckles. “What did you do to the water bottles?”

“Oh, I used a marker to mark off how much we should drink at a time to conserve it.”

“God, if there was ever someone to get stranded with, I’m glad it’s you. You’ve thought of everything.”

“I’ve just been trained well.” She shrugs. “Wish I had some blankets or something. It’s gonna be shit sleeping on the sand.”

“We could lay our clothes out and sleep on those.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea. We’d create more body heat if we’re almost naked.”

“Oh, so we’re cuddling?” He smirks.

“Not cuddling, surviving.” She corrects him. “We could drag out some of the larger leaves too. Make a pellet of sorts.” She stands up. “Come on, let’s go search for some.”

“Okay.” He watches as she grabs a lipstick out of her bag. “Freshening up?”

“It’s to mark the trees so we don’t get lost.” She deadpans, and he follows her into the unknown territory.

“Four days?!” Nikki shouts into her phone.

“I’m sorry, that was the quickest I could get clearance for a plane to Cuba.”

“But it’s a rescue mission, Dan!”

“Yeah, into a non U.S. territory, Nikki. I spoke with the cruise ship director, you were the only two unaccounted for. Your things are safe. I flew down to Florida today and gathered both of your things. I made sure to get you both a full refund on your tickets. I also contacted the people on your emergency contact lists so they’re informed. It’s going to be okay, you just need to survive on that beach. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Try to get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning if I get any new information.”

Nikki sighs heavily and lays back under the raft. Her and Harry had made a decent enough pellet with leaves so they could keep their clothes on.

“Four days we’re going to be stuck out here.” She shakes her head. “This is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry lays back next to her.

“If I hadn’t stormed off from breakfast, we never would’ve been swept off the ship!”

“Hey,” he turns on his side to look at her better, “don’t do that. Neither of us had any idea a hurricane was coming. At least we know someone’s coming for us. So we’ll feel a little hungry and maybe we’ll get bored. Let’s just pretend we’re on a really remote vacation.” He smiles at her.

“I have to pee.” She stands up and finds a spot to do her business before joining him back on the ground. “Let’s try to get some sleep.” She rolls away from him.

“Didn’t you say we needed to keep each other warm?”

“Yeah…I…prefer to be the little spoon.” She smutters. Harry wraps his arm around her, and gets his leg between hers. “Hold on.” She sits up and takes her bra off under shirt, then she takes her shorts off. “Need something to put under my head…and I can’t sleep with this thing on.”

“Good idea.” Harry peels his shirt off and puts it under his own head. They get back into position. She feels warmer with his bare chest against her back. “Goodnight, Nik.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

The next morning, Harry wakes up alone. He sits up and gets his shirt back on. He squints towards the water and sees Nikki in her bra and underwear. She was about calf deep rinsing herself. She brushes her teeth and walks back towards their little campsite.

“Morning.” She says as she throws some wood on the fire. “Water’s warm. I was just cleaning off yesterday’s sunscreen.” She grabs the can and sprays her body, rubbing it in on certain spots. “What?” She noticed he was staring at her.

“N-nothing, uh, where’s that other toothbrush?”

“Here.” She tosses it to him, along with the toothpaste.

“Thanks.” He clears his throat and gets up. When he comes back, he sees that she’s put her other clothes back on. “So…how should we handle not dying today?”

“Think we need to treat it as a beach day, but in the shade. I don’t want us getting dehydrated.”

“I can’t sit around for four days, I’ll go bananas.” He sighs. “Can’t we go for a walk?”

“Sure, but we shouldn’t go too far.” She looks at her watch. “This’ll tell me when we hit a mile, how does that sound?”

“Works for me.” He shrugs. The two go for a walk. Nikki puts her phone and hotspot in her back pocket. “What’s your percentage at?”

“Eighty. I put it on airplane mode last night to conserve it. I know it won’t last a full four days, but I’m hoping Dan can get here sooner than that. Special clearance for a fucking rescue mission.” She scoffs. “This is ridiculous! Who’d you put as your emergency contact?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Harry.”

“It’s Kyle, alright?”

“Wow, so you can barely look at the guy, but you put him down for an emergency contact.”

“I’m British, my family lives in the U.K., he’s the only person close enough to me here that I could put down. Who was yours?”

“Alex.”

“She’s so annoying, I don’t know how you stand to be friends with her.”

“I happen to love her, so it seems like a you problem.”

“She’s never been nice to me.”

“It’s because she likes you and you don’t like her back, and she’s not great with dealing with it.”

“She likes me?!”

“Yeah, she thinks you’re cute.” Nikki shrugs. “Think you were still seeing Tina when I first introduced her to you, and then you broke up and didn’t make a move, she was sort of hurt, but to be fair she didn’t make a move either.”

“She’s pretty, but she’s not my type…sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Can’t help you like, you know? I still can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall for a lawyer, especially with the business that I’m in.”

“You know, he used to talk about you all the time. He loved how were this strong, independent woman who was just…badass. He saw you as fearless, and he really liked that. We’re both needy guys…I think the busier you got, he just didn’t know what to do with himself. I personally would have tried to talk to you about it and not my colleague, but that’s just me.”

“He’s a brilliant lawyer, but he sure is a fucking moron. Has he…mentioned me at all since we broke up?”

“I know he felt like shit at first, but…th-the woman, Katie, moved in with him when I moved out…I’m sorry.”

“Well, they’ve been together nine months, perfectly acceptable amount of time to be together before moving in. I bet she never has nightmares.” She looks down at her watch. “We should turn around.” They do, and get back to walking towards their things.

“I know you were blindsided, but…I think things happen for a reason. You two weren’t supposed to get married. I…and this is just my inner psychologist speaking, but when I’d observe you two, you just never really seemed all that compatible. Especially as time went on. Your witty banter turned into hushed arguments. I think when two people get too comfortable, they’re too scared to break it off and start all over.”

“I wanted to marry him. He was the love of my life, Harry. And he…he ripped me to shreds. In my profession, it’s pretty male dominated, or there’s a ton of lesbians, which is fine, but…sometimes I don’t always feel like a woman first. Kyle…Kyle always made me feel like a woman first, and a detective second. It made me feel special.”

“Nik…he…he learned how to treat you like that because of me. He was constantly asking me for advice on how to deal with you.”

“How to deal with me?” They get back to their camp. “Didn’t realize I needed to be dealt with.” She huffs.

“See, that’s your problem right there. You’re extremely hot headed! Are you, like, the bad cop at work? Do you get into the suspect’s face, and scream at them?”

“No, I keep my cool at work. No one gives you information when you yell at them.”

“You’re constantly jumping to conclusions, Nikki. You look down on people when they can’t figure things out right away. He wanted to be with you, but he didn’t know how. So I helped him.”

“Right, are you done pointing out my flaws now?” She rolls her eyes.

“I’m not trying to do that. I just think-“

“That’s your problem. You never stop thinking. You never do. You’re a fucking wallflower, Harry. You come off cool with your tattoos and your nail polish and your rings, but underneath it all you’re a shy little boy who never speaks up when he should.”

“And you like to push people away so much that every word you spit stings.”

“I think we should not talk until it’s time to eat later.” She says, looking away from him.

“That’s your best idea yet.” He says, and storms off. She watches him peel his cloths off, stripping to his boxers, and dive into the water.

They share an apple in the midafternoon. She was able to cut it up with her swiss-army knife. They didn’t say anything to each other. Nikki and Harry used to have a decent enough friendship. He would often watch a movie with her and Kyle, or he’d come out to the bar to hang out with their other friends. They got know each other well for the most part. She hated feeling such disdain towards him, but right now he was the only punching bag in sight, and she was abusing him for it. Around three in the afternoon, she comes over to sit with him.

“You should put more sunscreen on your face.” She hands him the can. “I just reapplied.”

“Thanks.” He spritzes it into his hands and works it into his skin. “Look, about before…I’m sorry we keep getting into these heated debates. I truly think you deserve better than Kyle, and it kills me to see you still so hurt and hung up.”

“I’m just…grieving the loss of the last three years still. I’m sorry for flipping out so much.”

“You get a pass while we’re stuck here. It’s not easy to keep your cool while you’re stranded.” He nudges her and she chuckles. “Can we just call a truce for the time being?”

“Yeah, definitely.” She smiles at him. “What do you say we go with that beach vacation idea of yours, and build some sand castles?”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.”

The two get to work on building sand castles, and laughing when they knocked them over afterwards. It was good to exert a little energy so that they could sleep that night. Just like the night before, Harry cuddled Nikki with his bare chest pressed to her covered back. They didn’t get any updates from Dan that day other than an iMessage that things were still a go for a rescue plane to come in a couple of days.

Harry woke up in the middle of the night feeling cold. When he reached for Nikki, she’s not there. He sits up in a panic. He hasn’t really panicked yet since he woke up the other day because she told him to stay calm. Without her, he wasn’t sure how to stay calm in such a stressful situation. Yes, they knew people were coming for them, but it was still their job to survive on this unknown beach. His breathing slows when he sees her laying closer to the fire, staring up at the stars. He gets up, without grabbing his shirt to put back on, and goes to lay next to her.

“Nearly gave me a heart attack.” He says, turning his head in her direction.

“Sorry, I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright…just got a little cold is all.” She hums her response without looking at him. “Are you looking at the constellations?”

“Not necessarily.” She sighs. “The only time I’ve ever seen the sky this dark, like, without light pollution, was when I was twenty-one. I got to go to Israel for a birthright trip with my older sister. We camped out in the desert. We all stood in this big circle and preyed and reflected on where we were. I had never seen so many stars.” She turns to look at him now. “I was so overwhelmed that I cried. It was so beautiful.” She looks back up at the night sky. “What you said earlier, about things happening for a reason…I think you’re right. Maybe it wasn’t a cruise that I needed to clear my head…maybe it was getting stranded out here with zero distractions. That’s all the cruise was, a big distraction, but now…being out here…my head’s never been more clear.” She takes a deep breath. “I think I’m done mourning that relationship. The good was good, but the bad was bad…we weren’t right for each other, and I think I’m starting to really see that now. I…I’ll never forgive him for hurting me the way he did, but I want him to be happy, and if that other woman makes him happy and can give him the things that I couldn’t, then, well, good for him.”

“That’s a very adult way of looking at things.” Harry smirks. “It’s amazing what a little unplugging can do for people? A lot of the time I tell my patients to think of a calm, happy place when I have them close their eyes. Nine times out of ten guess what they say their happy place is?”

“Where?”

“The beach. And not at a resort or anything fancy, they just see soft sand, warm water, and a place for them to just sit and breathe for a while. It’s good you were able to come to those conclusions on your own, Nikki.”

“You helped me get there.” She looks at him with a smile. “Guess I respond better to tough love than anything else.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many stars either, it’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is.” She sighs. Her lips start to quiver, and she sits up.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Harry sits up as well and gently rubs her back as she starts to cry. “You know, other than the fact that we’re stuck on an underdeveloped area of Cuba.”

Nikki chokes out a laugh, and turns to look at him.

“It’s just…I’m so lonely, Harry.” She sniffles as more tears pour from her eyes. “I love my job, and I know I have this tough exterior, but…it’s so fucking hard to meet people in my line of work. I feel like I just latched on to Kyle…and when we ended things I was like what the fuck am I gonna do now, you know?”

“You’ve got Alex…and your partner, Dan…”

“As close as I am with him, I’d never date my partner. Things get too complicated that way. Alex is my best friend, she’s not someone I can be in a relationship with. And I can’t…talk to her about everything. With Kyle, like, he understood where I was coming from sometimes with my cases.”

“You know you can always talk to me. I was sort of…sad that we lost touch when you and Kyle broke up.”

“I hated you by association.”

“Clearly.” He keeps his arm securely around her shoulders. “You and I aren’t so different, Nik. And…sometimes I need someone to talk to too. I listen and help with such heavy shit all day, it’s hard to shake it off and pretend like everything’s normal. I’d like for us to be friends again.”

“I’d like that too.” She wipes her tears and gives him a soft smile. “I’ve missed hanging out with you, you were always so much fun when we’d go grab drinks.”

“Wish we had some booze here. It would certainly take the edge off.”

“Wait!” She stands up. “I think I have a few nips in my bag! I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want us to get dehydrated while we were out in the sun. Hold on.” Nikki quickly goes over to her bag and pulls out two nips, and then goes back over to Harry. “Grapefruit vodka, it’s really good.”

“Anything sounds good right now, honestly.”

They clink the little plastic bottles, open them, and down them. Normally something of this size wouldn’t have an effect on either of them, it was just a double shot. However, with little food over the last couple of days, the alcohol went straight to their heads.

“I don’t know why people hate on grapefruit so much. It’s sweet and it’s got a kick.” Harry says.

“It’s the vodka.” Nikki says. “Vodka makes everything better.”

“Scientifically speaking, it doesn’t. It’s a depressant, and a poison, so technically-“ In an instant Nikki was straddling Harry and putting a hand over his mouth.

“Hey, shrinky-dink, shut up, yeah?” He nods his head yes. “Good.” She gets off of him and sighs as she lays back into the sand.

“Did you ever own shrinky dinks?” He asks, hugging his knees to his chest.

“What?”

“You know, those little plastic things you’d bake in the toaster, and then they’d harden into these little keychain things.”

“Oh my god! I remember the commercials for those! I always it, but my parents never bought stuff off infomercials.”

“We saw it in the store one day. I whined until my mum threw the box in the cart. Even though she was mad at me for behaving poorly, we had a blast making them together.” A few tears come to his eyes. “The first thing I’m gonna do when we get back is call her. She’s probably worried sick.” He wipes under his eyes.

“You know what I’m gonna do?”

“What?”

“Get a Big Mac from McDonald’s.” She looks up at him and they both start laughing. “Yup, gonna stuff my fucking face. Might sue the cruise company too, just to see if I can make a cool million and never have to work another day in my life.”

“Now that’s a brilliant idea. Might have to join in on that. Might just offer us a settlement so we don’t have to go through the whole court process.”

“That would be too easy. They’d say something like, ‘the hurricane was just as much of a surprise to us. We put on sirens’.” She scoffs.

“I think the sirens are the last thing I remember hearing before you woke me up. Can’t believe I only have a few scrapes and bruises.”

“I know, we’re lucky the ropes from the raft didn’t get stuck around our necks.” She sits up.

“Extremely lucky…in all sorts of ways.” He puts his hand overs and gives it a squeeze. “Come on, we should try to get back to sleep. We need to look for more wood tomorrow for the fire.”

“Yeah, alright.” She sighs and they both stand up. They head back over to the shelter and lay down. “Do you think…would it be alright if I just rest my head on your chest?”

“Sure, makes no difference to me.”

She gets comfortable, resting her head on his bare pec, her arm string across his stomach, and a leg over one of his. He puts his arm around her, keeping her close. They don’t say anything else to each other, they both just drift off, succumbing to sleep.

“God, I feel disgusting.” Nikki groans the next morning. “I wish I had a razor in here.” She mutters as she rummages through her bag.

“You’re telling me, I usually like a clean shave because my facial hair grows in all patchy.”

“Actually, a little scruff suits you.” She says without looking at him. “I wouldn’t want you with a full beard, but just a little something looks nice.”

“Nikki.” Harry chuckles. “You don’t want me at all.” Her head whips in his direction and he blushes.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“N-nothing.” He clears his throat. “Uh, why do you think you need a razor anyways?”

“Because my pit hair is starting to grow out, and when it grows out I sweat more, and if I sweat more I’ll stink more.” She says in a quick breath. “Also, my leg hair is starting to get prickly, and I have sensitive skin so it itches like crazy.”

“You could try rubbing your legs with some of the mud and salt water…that might help.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” She sighs. “Think I’m just gonna go for a swim and clean up that way. You know how I said I was going to get a Big Mac?” Harry nods yes. “That’s now the second thing I’m going to do.”

“What’s the first?”

“Shower, in fact, washing my hair is the first on the list.” She takes out of the elastic and shakes it out. “it’s all greasy, but the salt water’s been good for it, I think.” She peels off her shirt and wiggles out of her shorts before walking down to the water.

Harry hadn’t been able to relieve himself in almost a week, and it was really starting to get to him. It especially wasn’t easy because he was around someone like Nikki. Harry always thought she was beautiful, and he thought Kyle was the luckiest bastard for scooping her up. When he saw her come into the suite that morning, he hid how overjoyed he felt. He hated fighting with her, but he was grateful for any interaction he was having with her. He missed her. In all honesty, his plan was to reach out to her another month or so from now, reconnect, tell her how he felt about her…how he really felt about her. It took him nearly a year to figure out why he liked being her friend so much, and why he was so happy for Kyle. It was because he liked Nikki…as more than a friend. But he wasn’t the type of guy to make a move on his best friend’s girl. He wanted to throttle Kyle. Harry truly had no idea he was treating on Nikki. He would have knocked him off his ass and gotten him to either stop, or just break up with Nikki before anyone had to get hurt.

He decides to get up and join her for a swim. He takes his shorts off and goes down to the water in his boxers. He dives in to submerge his body, it was incredibly refreshing. He stands up so he’s only about calf deep. They both agreed not to go too far in because there could be sharks or other predators.

“Think I’m about done with this underwear.” She says to him. “Might go commando for the rest of the time we’re here.”

“You could walk around naked for all I care.” He smirks, and she splashes him. “Oi, I was kidding!”

“Mhm, sure.” She rolls here eyes. “I’m gonna go dry off, and then we can look for more wood.”

“Okay.” He nods and watches her walk out of the water.

They’re able to find more wood later on to keep the fire going. They split a granola bar, and they both sigh once it’s gone. The sun was setting, and Nikki couldn’t help but take a picture of how beautiful it was. Just when she was going to put it down, Dan calls her.

“Hey, Dan.”

“Hey! Great news, I’ll be on the rescue plane first thing in the morning. How are you two holding up?”

“We’re…okay. Mostly just hungry. Bring lots of food.”

“I’ll try. The medic may not want to overwhelm your stomachs. We’re gonna bring you both right to the hospital to get checked out. Your bills are going to be paid by the cruise ship company. If I were you I’d threaten to sue to get some money out of them. They’ve been able to keep this story under wraps and I’m sure they’d like to keep it that way.”

“Okay. I have a flare gun, what time should I set it off so you can find us?”

“Try for around 7AM, we should be close by then.”

“Sounds good, thank you.” She hangs up and looks at Harry. “They’re coming for us bright and early.” She nearly squeals.

“That’s incredible news.” He sighs with relief. “Think we could eat some more food?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s like, you know how the night before it snows you don’t do your homework, but you don’t end up getting a snow day so you’re fucked?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’d rather not eat the food just in case something happens.”

“Fair enough.” He shrugs. “Think I’m just bored anyways.” She sits down next to him.

“Me too. We’ve already played twenty questions, never have I ever…I think if we play another game I’ll go bananas.”

“We could have ourselves a wank.”

“Very funny.”

“M’serious, Nik.” He looks at her. “I think I’ll go bananas if I don’t come soon.”

“Harry, it’s only been a few days…”

“Yeah, but I haven’t done anything in over a week because I thought it would be disrespectful while we were sharing a room on the boat.”

“Alright, so go behind a tree and jerk it.” She shrugs.

“Yeah, I could do that…or…”

“Harry Styles.” She gasps, a smile growing on her face. “Are you seriously suggesting that I stick my hand down your sandy pants, and give you a hand job?”

“I’d be getting you off at the same time so-“

“Are you kidding?! I’m all stubbly down there, and I probably smell disgusting, and-“

Just as she had done to him the night before, he was pinning her down and putt his hand over her mouth.

“Nikki, if you really don’t want to, I’ll drop it and go behind a bush and handle things myself, but I have no problem with a little bit of hair, and I’m just offering to finger you, my face doesn’t need to go anywhere near you if you don’t want it to.” He lifts his hand away from her mouth, but continues to hover over her.

“It’s just…we’re friends.”

“Friends help each other out, don’t they?” She nods her head yes. “Do you want to? Don’t let me pressure you.”

“I…I want to, I mean…getting off doesn’t sound terrible. And it could be a good time killer.”

“Right.” He smirks and moves to lay on the ground next to her. She rolls onto her side and so does he. “Can I…touch your chest?”

“Yeah, I’ll take my bra off, but I’m leaving my shirt on. I just…I feel gross, you know?”

“Whatever makes you more comfortable.” Once she’s situated, she unbuttons her shorts. “I went commando today…put my underwear in the fire.”

Harry nods and undoes his shorts. He was a little nervous.

“Can I kiss you?”

“No.”

“We’ve been brushing our teeth, what’s the big deal?”

“Kissing would make it more intimate, Harry. I don’t want this to be some big, emotional thing.”

He furrows his brows, but chooses not to speak. Instead, he reaches his hand inside her shorts and starts to rub at her folds. Her breath hitches, but she reaches him. Her hand slides inside his boxers and she starts to pump his hardening cock.

“You’re already hard.” She breathes. Their faces were only an inch or so apart.

“M’turned on.” He grunts as her thumb swipes over his tip. He feels her getting wet, and he drags it up to her clit. She bites her bottom lip and twists her hand around his cock. He slides his middle finger inside of her and her mouth falls open. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

“Haven’t done this in a while.” Her hips buck in his direction. “Feels nice. Use two.”

“Are you, ngh, sure?”

“Yes.”

He slides a second finger inside of her and uses his thumb on her clit, applying just enough pressure as he presses circles into it. A moan leaves her lips, and for the first time he was hearing because of something he was doing, and not through the walls of his old apartment. It just makes him work harder, curling his fingers up inside her.

“Fuck, that’s so good.” She mewls. “Don’t stop.”

He presses his forehead to hers and pinches his eyes closed. He was getting closer. His cock was slick with precoma, and she was pumping him perfectly.

“Shit, Nikki.” He moans, and it makes her own closed eyes pop open. She had never really heard a guy genuinely moan before, and she thought it was hot, really, really hot. His fingers were petting against her g-spot in just the right way. He opens his eyes and sees her already looking at him. “Is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah, just…say my name like that again.” Her hips were grinding against his hand. “I’m so fucking close.”

“Me too.” He pants. “Fuck, Nikki.” He moans again. He bites his bottom lip to ground himself.

“Oh my god, Harry!” She cries out as she comes around his fingers, and she feels warmth against her hand. He had also come to his release. He slowly takes his hand away, and she does the same. “Shit.” She breathes and sits up. “I, uh, I need to go pee, excuse me.”

He watches her grab some tissues, and she goes to her designated bathroom area. Harry lays back under the raft and tries to catch his breath. He could clean himself up later.

The next morning went by painfully slow. They were up at sunrise in anticipation of the plane coming for them. Nikki’s phone and hotspot had finally died. They made sure to put the fire out safely, and once 7AM hit Nikki shot the flare gun. About ten minutes after that a small plane flew over them, and a rope ladder was thrown out.

“It’s here, we’re saved!” Nikki exclaims, throwing her arms around Harry. He holds her tight for a moment. “I’ll climb up first, okay?”

Harry nods and watches as she starts moving up the ladder, her backpack slung on her back. He climbs up after her, and they’re both pulled inside. Nikki falls into Dan’s arms.

“Thought I was gonna have to go through getting a new partner.” He mutters into her hair. “I’m so happy you’re okay.”

“Me too.”

“How you holding up, Harry?” Dan asks him as the medic checks Harry over.

“I’m alright, I’m feeling really tired, though.”

“So am I.” Nikki says.

“Rest up, we’re headed to a good hospital in Florida.” Dan says, keeping Nikki close to him.

The next time Harry wakes up, he’s in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. Kyle was sitting by his side. Harry groans as he looks over at him.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Kyle says. “I flew down here as soon as they called me, man. They said you were severely dehydrated, and you had way too much sun, even with all the sunscreen you guys were using. They want to keep you overnight for a psychological evaluation.”

“Makes sense.” Harry sighs. “We’re bound to have some shared trauma, nightmares, remembering certain parts of being thrown off a fucking cruise ship, you know, normal stuff.”

“I haven’t been able to see her yet. I guess Dan’s been in with her, trying to get more info on what happened.”

“Is she awake?”

“I think so…I’ve walked by her room a few times. Did, uh, did anything happen between you two out there?”

“Right, because being stranded is super romantic.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“M’serious, man, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know how you feel about her. The way you’d look at her sometimes…I could see it.”

“Nothing happened.” Harry swallows. “We were out there as friends, and we came back as friends.” Harry sits up a bit. “Is your girlfriend here?”

“No, she’s back at home. She was, uh, very understanding of me wanting to come down here and make sure you both we alright.” Harry nods at that. “If…if something did happen, like, if the next person she ends up being with is you…well, I’d be alright with that.”

“Oh, well, thank god for that. I was really worried about how you’d feel about her moving on.” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Kyle. “You really fucked her up, you know that? She’s not going to be happy to see you.”

“I know what I did was wrong, but I still care about her wellbeing. I’m gonna go check if I can see her now.” He squeezes Harry’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Kyle stands up and goes down the hall to Nikki’s room. Dan was no longer sitting in there, so he figured it was now or never. He knocks on the door, and she sits up when she sees him.

“Kyle?”

“Hey.” He comes in cautiously. “When Dan called me…I got down to Florida as soon as I could.”

“Yeah? Where’s Claudia?”

“Back home…how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” Nikki sighs. “I’m not roughed up or anything, I guess we were really dehydrated, though. Must have been from all the sun because I had my water purifier…must not work as well with really salty water.”

“I was really worried about you, Nik.” Kyle starts sniffling as tears come to his eyes. “I would have never forgiven myself if you died and the last words you said to me were that you hated me.” He takes her hand in his. “I miss you so much. I hope…I hope we can find a way to be friends.”

“You can’t be serious.” She scoffs and takes her hand away. “You come here, make things about you, and then ask me to be your friend? You cheated on me for six months, Kyle, six months! And you still had the nerve to propose to me! You broke me in so many ways, and I’ve finally been able to put myself back together. Getting stuck out there was almost a blessing. It gave me a lot of the clarity that I needed.”

“I didn’t think you’d still go on the cruise…if I had, I never would have sold Harry the ticket. You must’ve been so mad when you saw him.”

“I was…but he was the perfect person to get stuck out there with.” She shrugs.

“Did anything happen between you two?” He chews on his bottom lip. “I saw him before you, and he said nothing happened, but…he’s a terrible liar. He said you went in as friends, and come out the same way, or something.”

“Well, he’s not wrong about that.” Nikki smirks. “You really wanna know what happened between us?” Kyle nods yes. “Too bad.”

“What?”

“You don’t have the right to know. I meant it when I said I hated you, Kyle. I do, I hate you. It was very nice of you to come down here and make sure we were both okay. I actually appreciate it, but I’ll never forgive you for what you did. Cheating…it’s just not something I can forgive.”

“Okay.” He nods. “Well…I…I really am glad you’re alright. Did they tell you when you’d be able to go home?”

“In a couple of days. They’re keeping us overnight, and then they’re sending in a shrink to evaluate us. Standard procedure.”

“If you need anything at all when you get home…any help suing the cruise ship company, please don’t hesitate to ask. I could help you pro bono.”

“My god, how selfless.” She rolls her eyes. “Go home to Claudia, Kyle.”

“Bye, Nikki.” He lingers for a moment, and then leaves. A few tears roll down her cheeks, but not because of him. She just…missed Harry and wanted to see how he was.

Nikki and Harry weren’t given much time together during their evaluations. They were each spoken to separately, and when they were brought into the same room, they had to speak to the psychologist directly. Nikki desperately wanted to reach out and hold his hand, but she wasn’t really given the chance. Harry was able to catch her in her room before they left the hospital. They were to go directly to the airport to head home.

“Hey.” He says to her.

“Hi.” She says as she zips up her bag. “I think I’m sitting with Dan on the plane.” She swallows.

“Right.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Um, listen, when we get home…don’t be afraid to talk to me. Like, if you have a nightmare or something, don’t be afraid to call. I won’t care what time it is.”

“That’s nice of you, thanks, but I’ll be alright. It’s no different than seeing some bad shit at a crime scene.”

“No, it’s not.” He sighs. “You might-“

“Harry, please.” She shakes her head as she grabs her bags. “I’m a big girl, I think I can handle what happened. It’s not like it was traumatic.” She scoffs.

“Yes it was, are you kidding me? A hurricane-“

“I was there, I know what happened.” She shakes her. “I appreciate you being so nice, but it happened, and it’s over now. Back to reality.”

What she said carried a lot of weight. She was coming down from her cloud, and she realized her and Harry needed to part ways here. Every time she looked at him, she saw Kyle, and she just couldn’t deal with that right now. Harry knew what she meant too. He was extremely disappointed. Even though he was the one that suggested they do what they did that night, he was feeling a lot of emotions about it, almost regret because he knew he’d never get another chance to feel her like that again.

“Captain, I swear I’m fine. I just want to get back to work.”

“I know you do, Reese, but you’ve been through a lot, and-“

“Sir, not to be disrespectful, but I disagree.”

“Nikki.” He sighs. “Take another week off, alright? Work will be waiting here until you get back. I’m happy to see you, but I’ll be happier once I know you’re home. It’s an order, Reese.”

She sighs, but does as he says. She couldn’t really argue with the captain of her precinct. She tells Dan she’ll be out for another week, and then heads home. She hadn’t spoken to Harry, but to be fair he hadn’t made an attempt to reach out to her. He wanted to give her some space, and let her come to him if she wanted to. By the third night she woke herself up screaming and in a cold sweat, she knew she had a problem. She kept having flashes of being dragged under water and not being able to breathe. She finally worked up the nerve to call him…at 3AM.

“Nikki?”

She could tell she had woken him up, but it felt so good to hear his voice.

“Hi.”

“Are you alright, love?”

“No.” She swallows. “No, I keep having nightmares.”

“So do I.” He sighs. “Do you want me to swing by?”

“No, that’s okay…I kinda just wanted to hear your voice. I’m sorry if that’s weird.”

“It’s not…it’s nice to hear yours too.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t reached out until now. I feel like I’ve been trying to pretend nothing happened.”

“A lot of people try to cope that way, but repressing shit isn’t healthy, Nik.”

“So I’ve come to realize. It’s crazy, like, I work with all of these victims, and I’ve never really understood how they couldn’t remember certain things, but I get it now.”

“Trauma’s funny like that.” He says softly. “Have you been back to work?”

“I tried, but my captain told me to take another week off. What about you?”

“I’m doing the same. I’m too distracted to properly help my patients. They’ve been very understanding.”

“That’s good.” She chews her bottom lip. “So, you’ll be home tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I could come by in the afternoon? It would be nice to talk…maybe we’ve been having the same nightmares. I keep waking up screaming and sweaty.”

“Are you dreaming about being dragged under the water?”

“Yeah…”

“So have I.” He sighs. “Come over around two tomorrow, yeah? I’ll text you my new address.”

“Okay, that sounds good, thanks, Harry.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Well…I’ll let you get back to sleep now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Nik.”

Nikki knocked on Harry’s door promptly at 2PM. She was just in a simple quarter zip and jeans, along with her hair up in a messy bun. Harry opens the door wearing a tee shirt and joggers.

“Hi.” He says.

“Hi.” She says.

He steps aside to let her in. They look at each other for a moment, it looks like they’re both about to speak, but they both close their mouths. There was so much to be said, but neither were sure how to articulate it. Her eyes well up with tears, and she rushes towards him, throwing her arms around his neck, crashing her lips to his. He wastes no time wrapping his arms around her, and returning the kiss. Even though her mouth was preoccupied, kissing him made her feel like she could breathe for the first time in days.

“I missed you.” She says, pressing her head into his chest.

“I missed you too.” He rests his chin on the top of her head.

“I’m sorry if that was weird, I just-“

He cups her cheeks so she’ll look up at him. He gives her a soft smile.

“Nikki, I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…I was pretty jealous of Kyle for a while. I’ve always thought you were wonderful. Feel like we have a lot in common.”

“We do.” She agrees.

“We don’t have to rush into anything…I’d rather us work on ways to not have nightmares and such, but…if you’d be willing to give it a try, I’d love to take you out sometime.”

“You wouldn’t feel weird…about Kyle?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I…I don’t think he’s really someone I want around anymore. I’d rather have you around.” He kisses her tenderly, sucking on her bottom lip for just a moment. “I really fucking like you.”

“I can see that.” She swallows. “I think…I think we could have a lot of fun together.” A smirk grows on her lips. “Just don’t become my therapist, or I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise.” He smirks, nuzzling his nose to hers. “Wouldn’t mind seeing how you use your handcuffs.”

“Remember when I called you a moron?” She chuckles. “I meant it.” She shoves him.

“I was kidding, relax.”

“Mhm, sure.” She rolls her eyes.

“Do you want some tea? We could sit and chat. I’ve been trying to record the dreams I’ve been having in a journal. I have my patients do it, so I figured I’d take my own advice.” He leads her into his kitchen and has her sit. “I keep having the same one: drowning.”

“I have that one, and then I have one where…where I wasn’t able to hold onto you.” She frowns as he gets his kettle going. “You know…I had less night terrors sleeping on that beach with you than I have in a long time.”

“Can I ask…would Kyle hold you at night?” Harry sets a mug in front of her before he sits down.

“Um, usually when I’d first fall asleep he’d spoon me for a bit, but he’s not a cuddly sleeper, and he’d eventually roll over. We didn’t spend a lot of nights together because I’d usually wake him up by accident. What does any of that matter?”

“I held you all night while we were on the beach.” He puckers his lips in thought. “Do you have a weighted blanket?”

“No.”

“Do me a favor, get one. You may need the extra weight at night to keep you calm. They work wonders, I have one myself, and a body pillow. I’m a cuddly sleeper.”

“I’ll, um, I’ll look into that.” She takes a careful sip of her tea. “How can I get them stop? The nightmares.”

“Well, talking about it usually helps, and doing things like getting a weighted blanket can help. I think you’ve repressed a lot, Nikki…you need to talk about the things you see and feel.”

“It’s not that simple, Harry.” She sighs. “If anyone at work found out I was seeing a therapist-“

“If it’s that big of a deal…then don’t tell them.”

“Things have a way of getting out.”

“Then…just say you’re seeing me.”

“That’s not fair, though.”

“Nikki.” Harry sighs and places his hand on top of hers. “I’m not offering to be your therapist, I’m just offering to be someone that you can come to if you need to talk about something. M’a really good listener.” He smiles.

“I know you are…thank you. I just don’t want to come to you, and dump on you when people pay you to do that all day. Why should I burden you with my problems?”

“Oh, darling.” He raises her hand to his lips and kisses it. “Nothing about you is a burden. Tons of people feel that way, and that’s why they don’t want to talk to anyone, but once you get talking it just gets easier and easier. I always liked when you’d tell work stories…you could just tell me about the not so great stuff when it’s feeling really heavy.”

“So, if I come to you and say I just spent the day searching for a kid, and we found their dead body in the trunk of a car, you’d be okay with that?”

“Probably wouldn’t wanna chat about it over dinner, but sure.” He shrugs. “Nikki, I told you, I see people who have been through shit, victims and survivors, that stuff doesn’t scare me.”

“I may not open up right away.”

“That’s alright, we don’t always have to talk about the heavy stuff.” He smiles.

“What if I don’t wanna talk at all?” She mutters.

“Well, I don’t know if you remember what happened between us that one night on the beach, but I’m pretty good at not talking too.” He smirks.

“You know, if I had known you had liked me for a while, I wouldn’t have been such a jerk about kissing and stuff that night.”

“I was too blissed out with your hand wrapped around my prick to really care.”

Nikki licks her lips and swallows, looking at his lips briefly.

“You know what would be great?”

“What?”

“A tour of your apartment.”

“How rude of me to not offer when you first came in.” He stands up and extends his hand. She takes it, and lets him lead her around. He shows her the art on the walls, and the various books in his home office.

“Do you ever see patients here?” She asks as she sits down in one of his comfy chairs.

“God, no.” He shakes his head, leaning his bum on his desk. “Sometimes patients can grow certain attachments to their therapists, it’s better for them to not know where I live.”

“Right, because you’re the hot Dr. Styles.” She smirks. “Same thing happens to me sometimes. I’m usually the one they send in undercover to seduce some sick fuck.”

“That’s because you’re incredibly skilled and talented at what you do, Detective Reese.” Nikki stands up and wraps her arms around his neck. “You’re also insanely gorgeous, but that’s besides the point.” He kisses her nose. “Would you like to stay for dinner and watch a movie?”

“Yeah, I would.”

Five months later…

“Dan…what is this?” Nikki points to the plant Dan plopped down on her desk.

“It’s a bonsai tree, they’re super easy to take care of. Consider it your first house warming gift.” He beams at her.

“Aw, you old softie, thank you.” She gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Allie can’t wait for our next game night, by the way. She was thinking we could have you two over to play Clue once you’re all moved in.”

“Yeah! That sounds great. Oh! I wrote down that recipe for that dessert I made for her.” She grabs an envelope from her desk. “That cookies and cream pudding pie.”

“God, thanks.” Dan takes the envelope. “She’s been dying to make it, but she wants to make it the way you did so she can start selling it at the bakery and call it ‘The Nikki’.” He chuckles.

“She’s too sweet, honestly. If you don’t put a ring on it, I will.”

Things had been going really well for Nikki. Thanks to Harry, she had gotten better about opening up about things. It was so slow going at first, but eventually she got to talking, and it helped her be a better detective. Being Harry’s girlfriend was amazing. It didn’t take much for her to fall head over heels in love with him. And there was no denying that he was gaga over her. That’s why after just five months of dating, they were moving into their very own town home together. It didn’t feel fast to either of them because they had known each other for years, and they slept at each other’s places all the time as it was. It just made sense to move in together. They were in love, and were a great pair. Alex had even gotten used to it, and Harry set her up with one of his friends, Ben. Their friends helped them move, and Nikki put her new bonsai tree in her kitchen bay window. Everyone left after having some pizza and beer.

“Can you believe this is all ours?” He says into her ear as he wraps his arms around her from behind.

“No.” She giggles as he nibbles on her earlobe. “But I’m really happy.”

“Me too.” He hums. He sponges kisses to her neck and sinks his teeth into her skin.

“Harry.” She whines. “We need to unpack.”

“Don’t wanna.” He mumbles into her skin.

“Can we at least do the kitchen and the upstairs bathroom? You know, the, um, essentials.” She swallows. Harry was often very affectionate with her, and she liked it. She really, really liked it.

“Fine.” He turns her around. “But when we’re done with the kitchen and the upstairs bathroom, we’re doing the bedroom.”

“Seems fair to me.” She pecks his lips.

The two work in tandem to put their essentials away. It was actually fun to organize the cabinets together. Next, they go upstairs to work on their bathroom. Actually, Harry handles the bathroom while Nikki gets some fresh sheets on their new king sized bed.

“Bathroom’s all set.” Harry says.

“I just got the foam topper and the fitted sheet on the bed, I just have to – ah!”

Harry had grabbed her and thrown her onto the bed. She squeals as he launches himself onto it, almost crushing her in the process.

“Making the bed fully would be a waste of energy.” He says into her ear as he pins her wrists down. He sucks on her supple bottom lip, and lets it go, causing her to whimper. “Don’t you think?” She nods her head yes. “Just wanna fuck my new live-in girlfriend, can I?”

“Please.” She breathes. “Need you to take care of me.” She pouts at him.

“Aw, my angel-baby-detective needs some lovin’?” He pouts back at her.

“Uh-huh.”

He grins at her and has them both sit up. He peels off her tee shirt, and lifts off her sports bra. He gropes her breasts before kissing on them. He sucks bruise after bruise into her plushy skin. He pulls her into his lap so she can grind on him while he paid attention to her breasts. She liked it when Harry left marks on her like this. She liked being his. He lays her down onto her back. He kisses down her torso, nipping where he pleases. He loved kissing on her pudgier areas because he wanted to show how much he loved every inch of her. She did the same with his love handles. He drags her yoga pants and underwear off, and tosses them to the floor.

“Look at you, so wet already.” He says as he pulls her thighs apart.

“You were already making me feel so good, Har.”

He hums his response as he laps his tongue around her center. He moans once he gets a proper taste of her. He licks his way up to her clit and sucks on it while he works two fingers inside of her. She grabs at his hair and tugs on it while her body starts to tingle.

“Fuck, just like that.” She mewls while raising her hips to meet his mouth more. She comes to her release, and she tugs him up to her. She licks into his mouth and sucks on his tongue. “Get naked, now.” She nearly growls.

Harry grins and gets his clothes off. He sits up against the headboard and waits for Nikki to swing her leg over his lap. She lines him up with her center, rubbing his tip along her clit before sinking down onto him. They both moan out, and he grabs at her hips to help her find a rhythm. She puts her hands on his shoulders and starts bouncing up and down on his cock.

“God, I love you so much.” He grunts.

“I love you too.” She kisses him and runs her hands through his hair. “Don’t know I ever survived without having your big dick inside me, fuck.”

“Yeah? M’making you feel good, baby?”

“So fucking good.” She pants. “Best I’ve ever fucking had.”

She comes again, and with the way she clenches around him he nearly loses it inside of her. He lifts her off just in time and comes on her stomach. He kisses her over and over, and they both giggle. Once they’re both cleaned up, Harry helps Nikki get the bed made, and they both climb in. She rests her head on his stomach while he reads his book.

“Harry?” She looks up at him. “Could you out your book down for a second? I have something to tell you.”

“Sure, sweetie.” He dog-ears the page he’s on and sets his book down. “What’s up? Oh, is this about me buying the Hamilton Beach food processor instead of the Cuisine Art one like you wanted?”

“No.” She chuckles.

“Are you sure? Because you cried when I brought it home. I swear, the Hamilton Beach one had better reviews, that’s the only reason why I got it.”

“I cried because I was hormonal.” She chews her bottom lip. “Harry, I’m pregnant.”

“But I came on your stomach.” He blinks, and then looks down at her.

“Yeah, tonight you did.” She sits up so she can look at him better. She kisses his shoulder and then smiles at him. “My period was late, so I took a test just for the hell of it…I’m six weeks.” She grabs her phone off the side table. “I even took a selfie with it to show you.”

“Oh my god, you’re not kidding.” He looks at the picture and then at her. “How long have you known for?”

“Only a week. I wanted to wait until the move was over to tell you. How, um, how do you feel about this? We haven’t really talked about kids or anything.”

“I know.” He hands her back her phone and throws his arm around her. “I mean, I fully intended on proposing and all that, just not for another few months. I wanted to see how living together went.” He smiles down at her. “And I was hoping you’d want kids at some point…think you’d make a great mum. I’ve seen you with kids, you’re amazing.” He kisses her temple and starts laughing. “I can’t believe I’m gonna be a father.” He shakes his head. “Thanks, Nikki!”

“You’re such a dork.” She chuckles. “You’re really not mad, or upset?”

“How could I be? I’m living with the girl I never thought I’d even get the chance to kiss, and now she’s pregnant with my baby. I’m ecstatic.” He pecks her lips. “How are you feeling about all of it?”

“I’m…actually pretty excited. I mean…I went off birth control months ago for this very reason. I didn’t think it would happen quite this fast, but this is a pretty happy accident.”

“I wonder what we were doing six weeks ago.”

“What does it matter?”

“I’d just like to know how our little fetus got conceived.”

“I, um, think it was the night, you, uh, let me lick the whip cream off you on your desk.” She swallows.

“Oh, yeah! Blew my load right up into you, didn’t I?” He smirks. “We should do that again, it was a great sensory exercise.”

“Harry!” She smacks his chest.

“You’re really okay with all this, Nik? It’s your body.” He caresses her cheek and she leans into his warm palm.

“I’m more than okay with it. Just don’t rush an engagement or anything like that, okay? I wanna marry you at some point too…but…not just because I’m pregnant.”

“So…if like four months from now I had a long weekend for us planned to go apple picking up north, and while we were settling down in the evening getting cozy in front of a fire place…you wouldn’t want me to propose?”

“You know, I hear being pregnant can make you forget all kinds of things, so I can’t wait to be surprised four months from now when you suggest going away for a long weekend to go apple picking.” She beams at him. “I think I’d really like that.”

#wrecked #harry styles #harry styes imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles x oc #thereapist!harry #psychologist!harry

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sprnklersplashes · 3 years

Text

clean

cw for mentions of suicide, self-harm, death, drugs, and also for making out while naked (but not sex)

Seeing an accident happen in Sunnyvale feels unnatural. It’s like seeing a two-headed deer, or a car flying in the sky. Sam can’t even focus on how terrible it is, or hope that nobody was hurt. All she can think is how unnatural it is, to see such a horrible sight in such a near-perfect place.

It’s the price for a curse breaking, she supposes. The scales of fate are even now.

Her shoulders twitch, her feet move to go over and help, as is her instinct, but before she can, Deena’s hand is on her shoulder, a pained gasp escaping her mouth, that turns into a whimper that almost stops Sam’s heart. Again. She turns, her mouth running dry, and finds Deena’s free hand pressed against her stomach. She remembers, sees it in her mind like a movie, even if the picture is hazy. The tunnels. Her hands, Deena’s throat. Deena’s house. A drumstick breaking over her knee. Deena hitting the floor beside her, and her not caring.

“No,” she mutters. “Oh, no.”

“Sam,” Deena whispers. She sounds so tired, so beyond exhausted, yet she’s still strong. Her Deena. She’s always thought she was tough,everyone did, but now she’s learned she’s tougher than the actual Devil himself. “It wasn’t you.” Sam opens her mouth-to protest, to apologise- but Deena shakes her head, the movement making her wince, and that crooked half-grin she loves appears on her face. She always loved that smile, and would love it now if the situation weren’t so dire. “Don’t even try with me.”

She gasps again, her knees buckle, and Sam gently guides her to the ground, one hand around her torso, Deena gripping her other for dear life.

“We can talk about all that later,” she interrupts. She takes Deena’s face and tilts it towards her, trying desperately to remember her first aid training. Her eyes are clear, or clear-ish, but her skin is ashen and pale and her cheek is clammy against her palm. “Right now, we just need to worry about getting you to a hospital.”

For the first time in a long, long time, she feels like luck or fate must be on her side, because no sooner have the words left her mouth than the siren of an ambulance pierces the air, and a miniature fleet of the white vehicles comes into view. They’re all rushing towards the scene of the accident, obviously, but Sam sees into the window of one. A young driver looks through and her eyes double in size when she sees the pair of them, then triple when she sees Deena. What they must look like to her. They’d look a wreck to anyone, even the lowest of the low in Shadyside, but here in Sunnyvale, where not even the grass grows out of place, she’d wager they’re a scary sight.

Thankfully, this one ambulance pulls up beside them, and the driver calls something into the radio as she jumps out and runs their way. Sam would feel guilty for taking someone else’s help, but as she looks across the road, her guilt eases, for this anyway. There are three ambulances at the scene of the crash, and a siren signalling another’s approach. The lack of emergencies these past 30 years has clearly made them unsure of what to do in this case, and when folks don’t know what to do, they do everything.

“Are you two okay?”

“She’s hurt,” Sam replies. “Please, please, help her, she’s hurt.” The paramedic runs to Deena’s side, and Sam watches her cringe as she moves her hand away. Sam takes a deep breath and hopes that the lack of practice for Sunnyvale’s medical staff doesn’t have any other consequences. Deena rests her head on her shoulder, and panic flares up in her for a moment before she sees her eyes are still open. Will she ever stop panicking? She’s been doing scared almost her whole life.

“Okay, sweetie,” the paramedic said. “The good news is, it’s not too deep and you got here in time.” The girl gives Deena what is meant to be a supportive smile and shakes her shoulder slightly, keeping her from slipping away. “And we’ll have to get you checked out at the hospital, but I don’t think anything’s ruptured in there okay?”

“Okay,” she pants.

“Good girl. Now, we’re going to get you into the ambulance okay?” She looks over at Sam, seriousness creeping into her face like clouds across a blue sky. “Can you help carry her?” She nods, her grip already tightening. She doesn’t say that she’ll carry her forever if she has to. It doesn’t feel fair to dump that on this poor unsuspecting girl. “Okay, great. On three, right hon? One… two… three.”

Sam hates hospitals. Hospitals mean grandpa forgot to take his heart medication again and it’s her last chance to say goodbye. It means another person was beaten up behind the school, or drank too much at a party, or popped all those pills she can’t name. It means someone has thrown themselves off the bridge because it was the only way out of Shadyside. It means she just watched her boyfriend get stabbed through the heart and is now running from an undead murder, brandishing a knife meant for her.

She hates hospitals, and this is no exception. Even if the news is good.

Deena sits on the bed, her skin as white as the sheets she rests on, her shirt rolled up to show the new scar that graces her abdomen. Right in the side, just above her hip. The doctor found specs of wood in it. Tiny splinters buried in the skin.

“Well, she’s incredibly fortunate,” the doctor says. He talks about her like she isn’t here, and on the one hand that annoys Sam, because it’s almost certainly linked to that ‘Shadysiders are subhuman’ bullshit. The curse may be broken, but assholes are assholes, and a prejudiced town is even harder to get rid of than blood magic. But on the other hand, Deena’s on so much pain medication she might as well not be here. Her eyes are clouded, but not from shock, and she alternates between running her fingers along her new scars and tracing patterns on the back of Sam’s hand. “Like she said, nothing was ruptured, although I’d say you got here in the nick of time. Good thing she patched herself up.”

Deena’s makeshift bandage sits on the table behind her, little more than a bloodstained cloth. Sam can’t bring herself to look at it.

“But I have to ask, Samantha,” he says. She avoids his eyes deliberately, keeping them trained on Deena and her scars. “What happened?”

She considers lying, because she��s too tired and how would she ever explain? How could she explain the hell they’ve been through in the past day? Who would believe her if she did?

She could lie, and maybe she should, but she doesn’t. Because this whole horrible, ugly story began with lies, and continued with them. They lied and lied, and this town was built upon it while Shadyside was ruined by it. It’s over, and she’s making sure it stays over.

“Nick Goode.” She says the words through gritted teeth, against a raw throat. The Doctor shakes his head, as if he misheard her. And Deena frowns, clarity beginning to come to her, silently asking what she’s doing. Sam just takes her hand, a whisper of a smile on her face. This must be what taking revenge feels like. Damn, it feels good.

“What happened to her was Nick Goode.”

Deena is discharged from hospital within a few hours. In that time, Sam gets a few things done. First off, she tells the lady at the front desk to put it under her mother’s insurance. Second, she waits until Deena falls asleep, a combination of her own body and the meds, and slips out to the payphone outside. She slides a quarter in and calls Josh, tells him that Deena’s okay, that she’s with her, that she’s in the hospital, and that she’s going to be okay. She rattles them off like they’re facts for a school presentation and doesn’t breathe until she’s finished, sagging against the wall of the booth. On the other line, Josh absorbs what she said and she said, her nails scratching against her wrist. She expects a colourful array of curse words, or for him to hang up on her without a word. She’d hardly blame him.

“And are you okay?” is what he says instead.

“Um… yeah,” she says. “Heart still beating. Lungs still breathing. And um…. I’m me.” She shrugs and rakes a hand through her hair. “It’s gone. It’s over.”

“Yeah.” He sounds so happy, so triumphant, and she can feel his smile even if he’s all the way over in Shadyside. “It’s over.”

Once those two words had broken her heart, spat at her by Deena in an angry, bitter wave, a final goodbye from the best thing in her life. Now they keep her heart beating, a promise that the darkness that ruined so many lives is gone now. Forever.

Having Deena Johnson in her house also feels unnatural. Like seeing a lion wandering around the mall. She looks so out of place here and well, so does Sam. Because this house, and everything in it, it’s all fake. It was all part of her and her mom’s so-called New Life, out of Shadyside. A Better Life, with a better school and better jobs and better extra-curriculars and better people. Better friends, her mom had said out loud. Better influences, she had said with her face. It was going to be better, safer, happier. Her mom believed it, and for the briefest period of time, she believed it too. Thought that the big house and the red cheer uniform would fix all of her problems.

She was never meant to be in this house, she realises. That’s why it didn’t feel right to her, even when all her things were moved in here. She was always meant to be in Shadyside, not because of the curse not letting her escape. But because of Deena. Wherever Deena is, that’s where she’s meant to be.

“God I need a shower,” Deena announces, her voice half-shaking with laughter. It’s also rusty and hoarse, from screaming and overuse and who knows what else. She holds out her arms, a shaky smile on her face. Her face is streaked with red, her hands caked in dirt, her nails rimmed with grey. Sam looks down and finds her own hands looking similar. Her clothes stick to her body, almost feeling like a second, grimy skin. Her body has been put through everything it can be put through, her bones feel so weary and fragile she fears she could break if she moves too suddenly. It’ll take weeks, months, years to fix herself, if she ever can. But a wash might be a good start.

“Me too,” she says, and she takes Deena’s hand and leads her upstairs.

They shower together, it’s decided with just a glance. Sam isn’t comfortable letting Deena out of her sight for longer than two minutes. It might be over, but they can’t be sure. They don’t know what could be sitting in the darkness, behind the corners, on the other side of doors. If the past days have taught them anything, it’s that nothing is certain. Nothing is set in stone. The curse wasn’t, in the end, but peace isn’t guaranteed either.

So Deena follows her into the little ensuite bathroom, letting out a low whistle as she enters.

“Fancy,” she says. “Like one of those little hotel bathrooms.”

“It’s not that fancy,” she mutters. But it is. Because of Goode. Her house, like everyone else’s in Sunnyvale, is built on the blood of those victims. This house was built some time in the 1920s, according to the realtor.

Billy Barker. He was 1922.

The pretty house isn’t quite so pretty in this light.

“Hey.” Deena’s hand is on her shoulder, her hair tickling her cheek. Her other arm wraps around her waist and pulls her closer, and it’s only then Sam realises she’s taken her shirt off. Deena rests her chin on her shoulder and she feels, rather than sees, the coy grin on her face. “You need some help?”

She lets Deena pull her shirt off her body, her fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. In return, her hands slowly undo the button on the waistband of Deena’s jeans and pull them off her legs as she pulls her shoes off with considerably less grace. In other circumstances, the sight of Deena in her underwear would send her mind straight to the gutter, and she’d take her to the bed rather than the shower. But her mind has been invaded and pulled apart and literally brought back from the dead. So she just pulls Deena’s underwear off her, leads her into the shower, and lets the hot water run off them both.

She hadn’t realised how cold she was until the water hits her, a yelp escaping her body as it does so. It burns her skin, turning it from white to red. Deena’s eyes widen, and her hand reaches up to turn it off, but she just shakes her head, her hand grasping Deena’s. The water might be hot, but she can feel it. It’s the first thing, other than Deena, that she can feel since she first heard her name be whispered in Deena’s room, and so she embraces it. Deena doesn’t question it, an understanding in her eyes without anything being said.

Sam’s eyes roam over her girlfriend’s body, but it doesn’t bring the rush of heat to her cheeks it normally would. Instead all she can focus on is the dirt and dust smeared across her skin, followed by trails of blood. It almost forms a barrier around her body, save for the pristine bandage on her side. Without thinking, her hand reaches out and her fingertips graze the fabric, her touch gentle over the wound.

“You’ll get it wet,” she whispers.

“It’s okay. The doctor gave me a couple more just in case.” Sam nods, but doesn’t look away from it until Deena lifts her chin, making her eyes meet hers. “It’s okay,” she says, more forcefully this time.

“Okay.” She looks at Deena again before lifting a bottle down from the shelf and squeezing a generous amount onto the palm of her hand, a gentle orange fragrance filling the air between them. “Here.” She rubs her hand over Deena’s shoulder before running it down her side, and watches as the dirt of the past few days begins to strip away. She keeps going, her hand moving across her stomach, over her hip, along her chest, bending down to get her legs. She keeps looking up at Deena, searching for a sign to stop, but she doesn’t get one. She only gets a soft, contented smile, and so she keeps going. She only applies pressure where she needs to, where stubborn bits of dirt refuse to come off. She gets them, and watches with satisfaction as it peels away, revealing the brown skin beneath. She lifts Deena’s hand and turns it over, her fingers pusing between Deena’s, her thumb rubbing at her girlfriend’s wrist until it’s clean again. She takes the chance to press a kiss to the skin, the gesture quick and simple. She smells faintly of oranges and overwhelmingly like her, like the jackets Deena used to hang around her shoulders.

Excitement curls her toes when she thinks about the possibility of wearing that jacket again.

“Here,” Deena says. “Turn around.” Sam does as instructed, and then feels Deena’s hands on her skin; her fingers running down her spine and back up before she pushes her hair off her shoulder and scrubs at the back of her neck, on her shoulders. She hadn’t realised how dirty she was, nor how much she needed this. Not just the wash. Deena’s hands on her body. Not fighting or begging or holding her back. Gentle. Careful. Handling her like she’s something precious, rather than pushing her away. How much she needed to care for Deena too, after everything. To embrace her rather than claw at her neck, not stopping until it snapped. It wasn’t her, Deena said, but she now knows exactly how it feels to have her hands wrapped around Deena’s throat.

She closes her eyes and pretends the water running down her face is from the shower.

“Babe.” Deena’s hands are on her hips, rubbing in slow, small circles. “You okay?” Sam exhales slowly. She doesn’t answer because the word ‘okay’ seems to have lost all meaning now. ‘Okay’ now just means ‘alive’. Not perfect, not sane, maybe not safe, but alive. She doesn’t answer, instead turns around in Deena’s arms. She reaches up to caress her cheek, wiping away the grime as she does so. She still looks the same, despite everything they’ve been through. Wrecked and exhausted and broken, but still her. Still Deena. Still perfect.

“I love you,” she says. Deena smiles, and opens her mouth to say something else, but her lips touch hers before she can. The kiss is desperate, hungry, making up for so many lost months and driven by raw need for both of them. Teeth tug on her bottom lip, a small moan escapes the back of Deena’s throat. Sam tilts her head as her hand comes up the back of Deena’s neck, tangling in her hair. It all comes crashing down, the past days hitting her like a waterfall; everything she did, everything they lost, everything Deena risked, and it just makes her kiss her harder. Like she’ll die if she doesn’t feel her touch again. Their bare legs tangle until they’re only standing up through luck and will power, their hips pressed against each other’s like jigsaw pieces.

“I love you too,” Deena replies when they come up for air. “Here, let me do your hair.”

She turns around as Deena’s fingers comb through her hair, shaking out the knots and the God-knows-what-else. A shiver runs up Sam’s back as she works, and she doesn’t need to turn around to see the teasing smile on her girlfriend’s face.

“We should do this more often,” she says. It almost slips out without thought. “You. Me. Showering.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Deena replies. She feels the water on her head, followed by Deena’s fingers running through the now-clean strands. “Will you do me?”

She obliges, of course. She delicately works the shampoo through her curls, pausing to ask if she’s hurting her. Deena chuckles warmly and assures her she’s doing fine. Her fingers catch on knots and she undoes them gently, and she rubs and rubs until the blood matting her hair is gone, leaving only soft, glossy curls behind.

While she works, Deena lifts her hand and writes in the steam on the door. She writes an S and a D, and a cross between them. She draws a heart, big enough to capture their two initials. Sam laughs, really laughs, and it feels both wonderful and alien.

“That is so middle school,” she says.

“I think we’ve earned a little middle school,” she replies. She turns around in her arms, the water soaking her newly-cleaned hair. She leans in, slowly, and begins the kiss tentatively, as if it’s their first. Sam responds in kind, too tired to go any further.

Soon, they’ll realise they can’t stay in the shower forever, and they’ll get out and dry off. Sam will hand Deena a sweatshirt and her cheeks will turn pink. Soon they will fall asleep on Sam’s bed, still on top of the covers, their exhaustion finally catching up with them. Deena will wake first, images of Sarah Fier tangled in her mind, so much she needs to say to this girl who lost so much. Then Deena will fall back asleep, and then Sam will wake, a scream caught in her throat. Deena will hold her, and whisper that she’s here, that she’s okay. Deena will doze off, and wake with Kate’s name on her lips this time, and this time Sam will hold her until the tears stop. Eventually they’ll pick a video, something easy they liked in middle school, and watch it on the TV in Sam’s room, bodies pressed together, Deena’s head on Sam’s shoulder, two shaking hands joined atop the covers. Sam’s mother will come in, and bawk at the sight of Deena, and Deena’s chin will raise triumphantly. And Sam will fall in love all over again.

But that’s for later, and for now they just kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

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#fear street #fear street fic #deena johnson #sam fraser #deena x sam #fear street 1994 #fear street fanfic #i tried tm #there was an attempt

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curls-cat · 3 years

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Sugar/Spice; Snips/Snails

for @grimmtober day 1: Candy! Also on AO3 and ff.net under the same name. but I can’t link it if I want this to show up in the tags. :/ AU: Sabrina grows up in Ferryport Landing.

There’s a boy in the woods. Sabrina sees him, even if none of the grown-ups do. He’s bigger than she is, with curly gold hair like hers, wearing a big green hoodie. He keeps looking at her through the trees and grinning. There are fireflies around him, even during the daytime, even now that summer’s all the way over.

Sabrina knows better than to go outside herself. Mamma and Daddy and Granny all say it’s too dangerous, that she’s too little and sometimes people are mean and might hurt her. And even when people aren’t mean, the woods is really big, and she could get lost so easy. Mr. Canis could find her, but someone mean might find her first.

But there’s a boy in the woods. And there aren’t a lot of other kids in Ferryport Landing. Especially not ones she can talk to (in preschool there’s Bella and Natalie and Toby and Wendell, but only Wendell is allowed to be her friend. And everything else is secrets, secrets, secrets—don’t tell anyone about Mr. Canis, Sabrina, or about what being a Grimm means, or about why you’re extra excited to get to first grade and see Ms. Snow). And all Sabrina’s Halloween candy disappeared last night.

Sabrina wanted to be Alice in Wonderland for Halloween, but her parents said No and Granny said Politics and didn’t explain what that meant, so Sabrina was Stephanie from Lazy Town instead and had to wear an itchy pink wig the whole night and none of the grown-ups knew who she was supposed to be. And now all her candy’s gone and nobody believed her when she said she didn’t eat all of it.

So the next time the fireflies come out, when it’s just starting to get dark and the shadows from the woods reach all the way to the house, Sabrina follows them. They’re pretty, even though up close they’re too big to be lightning bugs, and they glow too bright. She didn’t really think they were bugs.

She follows them as they dance between the long shadows of the trees. She didn’t have time to put on her shoes before she left, so her socks are getting wet in the grass. It’s gross. They lead her right to the edge of the woods, and then they scatter.

Sabrina is, for a moment, alone in the gathering dark of the woods. Nearly all the leaves have fallen, and it’s gray and brown and so, so quiet. No birds or bugs. No Mamma or Daddy or Granny calling for her to come inside. She can see the house through the trees, and it looks warm and safe and like it’s calling her back.

“Scared?”

Sabrina spins around and pulls her hands up the way Ms. White taught her—you have to protect your face—and sees the boy, sitting in a tree a few feet above her. Up close, he’s different than she thought. Still a boy, still a kid like her, but older. Taller. And dirty. He’s holding her candy in his hand. She knows it’s hers because it’s still in her plastic jack-o-lantern with her initials on the bottom in her very own handwriting.

“I’m not scared of you,” she tells him.

He grins, flashes too-sharp teeth. “Sure. That’s why you jumped a mile high when I said something, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl!” she says, even though she is, and she knows it. “I’m a big sister!” She balls her fists tighter. “And that’s my candy.”

“Finders keepers,” he says. He unwraps a pack of oreos and pops them in his mouth. His fingernails are too sharp, too.

“You’re rude,” she says, but she puts her fists down. He doesn’t seem mean, just… messy. And gross. And mean, but she said that already.

“So’re you,” he says, and hands her a pack of Starbursts.

Sabrina accepts her candy, unwraps it. Inside there’s two pink ones and an orange one. She wrinkles her nose and eats the orange one. She’s not supposed to have candy before dinner.

She’s also not supposed to talk to strangers. Especially not strangers who are ab-so-lute-ly Everafters.

“Why’d you take my candy?” She sits on the ground. Her socks are already dirty, might as well get mud on her overalls, too. The boy won’t care. He’s dirtier than she is.

“I was hungry,” he says. “I just told the pixies to get me food.”

Not fireflies. Pixies. Sabrina squints at him. “You’re not supposed to talk about magic.” She doesn’t know what a pixie is, but she knows for sure it’s magic.

“I thought this town was full of magic,” the boy says. “A ‘haven for the homeless,’ that’s what your ancestor said when he convinced all of us to follow him over here. Or a prison, if you listen to anybody else.”

“There’s people, too,” Sabrina informs him. “Lots of ‘em. Normal people. Boring people. I have twelve in my preschool class. And they’ve all got parents. Some have brothers and sisters, too.”

The boy looks suitably impressed. Then he wrinkles his nose. “Boring,” he tells her. “I was hoping this place would be fun. But it’s got rules too, huh?”

“Everywhere has rules,” Sabrina says. “My daddy says they’re to keep people safe.”

The boy snorts. “To keep you from having fun, more like.” He pops a Reese’s into his mouth.

Something occurs to Sabrina, then. “How’d you know about my an-cestor?” The new word feels strange on her tongue. She thinks it means like your grandpa, but extra.

The boy nods in the direction of the house. “I watched him build that place. Slowed him down, too. Plus I’ve been watching.”

“I know,” Sabrina says. “I saw you.”

“What’s your name?” he asks. “Other than Grimm. Your first name.”

“Sabrina,” she offers readily. “What’s yours?”

He tosses her another pack of Starbursts. “Puck.”

Sabrina brings Puck food for a few days. She likes keeping him secret. Everyone’s busy with the new baby, and Sabrina loves Daphne, sure, but babies are boring and she doesn’t know why all the grown-ups care so much about someone who can’t even do anything. She also feels a little left out, maybe, and it’s nice having someone who’s hers. They talk. He’s a prince, he says. He’s exiled, he says. He’s famous, he says. He’s the coolest. He doesn’t have to say that part. Sabrina thinks so, too.

They spend afternoons in the cool dark woods, and Puck takes her flying, because he’s not just too sharp, he’s also got wings, because he’s a fairy, which Sabrina has never met before. They share her Halloween candy. He turns into animals, and he listens to her tell him about preschool. She’s learning to read, a little. She can read the street sign for their road. Puck thinks reading and books are boring. She yells at him about it.

That’s the other thing about Puck. If she gets mad at him, he doesn’t tell her to stop throwing a tantrum or go to her room like her parents, and he doesn’t start crying or tattle to someone like the other kids at preschool. He yells back. And then they’re friends again.

Mr. Canis is the one who finds out. He follows her to the woods and says, “I wondered where all the caramels went.”

“This is Puck,” Sabrina says. If a grown-up did have to find them, she’s glad it was Mr. Canis. He’s not a regular grown-up, not the kind who tells her what to do and gets worried or talks down to her. He just talks, and listens. Sometimes he says weird stuff, but other than that, he’s almost like a regular person. “He was hungry.”

“I know who he is,” Mr. Canis says. “I’ve been watching him.” He looks down at Sabrina. “What I didn’t know was that you knew him.”

“He took my Halloween candy,” Sabrina says. “Nobody listened.”

Mr. Canis doesn’t say anything. He looks Puck up and down.

Puck stares right back at him, then, at long last, says, “Don’t get mad at her.”

“I am not angry,” Mr. Canis says. “You should come inside and meet the family.”

Puck wrinkles his nose. “I’m not going to move back inside. I’ve finally broken out of being civilized.”

“I am not asking you to,” Mr. Canis says. “But inside there is food that will not rot your teeth.”

“Everafters don’t get cavities.”

Mr. Canis laughs. It sounds like a dog barking. It always does. “I can assure you we do.” He shows Puck his own too-sharp teeth, points at a shiny silver spot in one of them. “I had this filled myself.”

Puck’s eyes go wide, and his hand comes up to his face. He gives Mr. Canis another long look. “What kind of food?”

“Weird food,” Sabrina informs him. “Granny’s cooking tonight.”

Puck thinks for a second, then shrugs. He grins at Sabrina. “I like weird.”

Puck keeps living in the woods. Sabrina has to tell a grown-up before she goes to see him, now. The grown-ups all have a long conversation after Mr. Canis tells them she’s been going in the woods to visit a Strange Boy (he’s not a strange boy, she tries to tell them, but nobody listens). After, her parents sit her down and have A Talk with her about Danger and how Not All Everafters Are Nice. She listens, even if she thinks they’re coming at it wrong. Puck isn’t nice. She doesn’t want him to be nice.

They grow.

At age nine, Sabrina runs out of the house, ignoring the sound of her dad shouting after her. This time, at least, she’s wearing shoes. She heads straight for Puck’s trash throne. The pixies greet her on the way, rising out of the shadows of another gathering dark, as they always do. She appreciates it, though she barely needs it, can find her way to Puck without any help.

“What’s Hanky yelling about?” Puck asks instead of greeting her. He’s sitting, as usual, on his porcelain throne atop a mountain of broken furniture.

Sabrina throws him a bag of fun size Milky Ways—it’s the family’s Halloween candy, and her mom’s going to be mad that she has to buy another bag, but Sabrina doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about anything and it’s not like they’ll even be here in a few weeks and her parents don’t care about what she wants, anyway, so why should she care about them?

Puck catches the candy, opens it, and pops one, fully wrapped, into his mouth. He spits the wrapper out onto the ground a few seconds later, covered in spit and melted chocolate. He does this a lot. Sabrina always calls him gross and makes a stink about it. Today all she can think about is how she’s not gonna be able to see this anymore in a few days, because—

Puck notices her silence. “What, Grimm? Finally seen sense about ‘the environment’?”

Sabrina isn’t sure she wanted him to notice. She thinks maybe she wanted him to act like everything was normal and maybe then she could pretend it really was, for a bit. But she sort of also wants someone to listen, someone she can yell at who won’t talk about safety. Someone who cares about what she wants, even if he pretends not to, instead of pretending to when they don’t, like her parents.

“We’re moving,” she says, and she keeps her voice flat, even, because if she doesn’t, she’s going to cry.

Puck stops chewing and stares at her. “You can’t. There needs to be a Grimm in Ferryport Landing.”

“Not all of us,” Sabrina says. “Granny’s staying. But Mom and Dad, and me, and Daphne… we’re leaving. Dad says town is ‘too dangerous.’”

“This is about the stupid ‘Scarlet Hand’ or whatever.” It’s not a question.

“Did they talk to you?” Sabrina asks.

“Nah,” Puck says. “Everyone knows I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” Sabrina says. Because they’re friends. He’s her best friend, better than Wendell, even, even though Wendell goes to school with her and they’re in soccer together and he gave her a valentine last year that he’d picked out especially for her, the only one in the pack with a lollipop and a sticker.

“I won’t join anything that I can’t be the leader of,” Puck adds, because he can’t just be honest, ever. That’s okay, though. Sabrina understands. Honesty is hard.

She sits down on the edge of the pool, feels rough concrete under her hands, looks at the murky water, the level dropped low enough that she can dangle her feet in and only the very bottoms of her shoes touch it as they sway back and forth.

“When?” Puck asks.

“By the end of the year,” Sabrina says. “Mom got a job, and Dad asked me if I wanted—” her breath hitches, half anger and half rage— “if I wanted to help him pick out an apartment. Like this was exciting.”

“You could run away,” Puck suggests.

Sabrina laughs without humor.

“Plenty of woods,” Puck says. “You don’t have to stay here. Hey, I know! You could go up to the asylum with the other crazy little girls!”

Sabrina halfheartedly throws a piece of concrete at him. It clatters down the side of his trash mountain nowhere near him and rolls to a stop nearly at her other hand, still resting on cracked cement.

“Mr. Canis would find me,” Sabrina says, at length. “And they’d just make me go, anyway.”

“How? The old lady can’t leave, and neither can he. Just run away again before one of your parents comes to get you.”

“And leave Daphne?”

The younger girl practically worships the both of them. Losing Puck is going to be hard enough for her, but losing Puck and Sabrina… It’ll break her heart. And there’s no question about bringing Daphne with them.

For a long time, neither of them say anything. Sabrina had sort of been hoping Puck would have an answer. A real one, one that would work.

“You can visit,” he says at last. “They can’t keep you away forever.”

“Yeah,” she says. Because Mom had said that, too. Said that they could come back on weekends and over holidays, as long as Granny said things seemed safe.

She looks up at the boy she’s known for half her life, who’s been her best friend almost as long, who she’s going to stop being able to see soon. He’s been exactly the same the whole time she’s known him. When she sees him next, she’s going to be closer to his height. She might even outgrow him.

She knew it might happen. They don’t talk about it, but they both know. Someday, Sabrina’s going to have to be an adult, and Puck won’t. She’s not sure she wants to be an adult, but she doesn’t think she wants to be stuck, either. Doesn’t want to be powerless forever.

There’s nothing else to do, though, so she rolls her head to look at Puck upside-down, who’s eating another Milky Way, and says, “Pass me one of those.”

There are Everafters in New York City, of course. Sabrina sneaks out over the weekends, meets Puck’s brother. Gets in trouble. Finds out the Scarlet Hand is here, too. Tells her dad, hopes it’ll get them moved home. It doesn’t, it just gets her in a different kind of trouble. She doesn’t care, keeps sneaking out to get in the right kind of trouble, the kind that means she’s part of her family, still sort of connected to Puck.

In three years, when the barrier comes crumbling down, and the Everafters start trying, really and truly, to take over the world, it pays off. Because now nowhere is safe. And she wants to tell her dad she told him so, but she’s busy trying to watch the news that her parents won’t let her see and find out if her friends are safe and everything is loud and angry and dangerous and she tried to prepare but it wasn’t enough.

They still make her go to school. It’s stupid. None of this matters, and she tells them that over and over, but they make her go anyway, and when she’s proven right because there’s a lockdown on the third day since the Everafters declared war, she’s just angry about it.

She’s hiding in the bathroom with two other girls who got caught between classes, and the other two are crying, when noises come down the hall in their direction. Sabrina looks around for something she can use as a weapon.

The door swings open.

Sabrina prepares herself for a fight.

She’s hit in the face before she can do anything, by a small projectile—a bullet? Since when do Everafters use guns? She’d have thought getting shot would hurt more.

She looks down. No blood on the ground.

Just a green skittle.

She doesn’t have to look up to know who’s going to say “Hey, Grimm.” She doesn't know what's coming next, but as soon as she hears Puck's voice, she knows the can handle it. Together.

#sisters grimm #the sisters grimm #sabrina grimm #grimmtober #grimmtober 2021 #puckabrina #if you squint. it's preslash

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dinthehottotty · 3 years

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A Thing About Silver (Part 2)

Summary: You face Din after sleeping with Cobb, partially out of spite and fight with Mando.

Warnings: Angst, smut, gratitious smut. So much. More creampies. Unprotected sex. This is fanfiction. USE PROTECTION. Slight Dom!Din

A/N: I enjoyed writing this wayyyy too much. Good luck. Also I rushed a little bit towards the end cause I’m tired.

Part 1

Mando was moved on to cleaning his blaster now, still waiting. It made you sick.

Ducking your head, you shuffle through the sand and don't bother to look at him as you approach the little dome. He doesn't say anything as you climb the steps he sits on and wordlessly move toward the building.

Sleep called for you.

Leather snatches your wrist, not delicate at all. "Look at me," he manages. It's got no bite. No edge. It's soft and coaxing. Too sweet for your eager ears because now tears are welling in your eyes again at the shame. Immediately you know the truth of things. There is no illusion that you've truly and sorely fucked up. The worry in his voice twists you apart. Would you ever be able to repair the shot your hurt pride took?

Instead you squeeze your eyes shut and tilt your head back, desperately hoping that he won't insist. But it's Din. "Please, look at me," he begs. The attempt to steel yourself and stand your ground crumbles like the sand in your boots.

"I can't," you manage, voice breaking harshly. "Let me go." You pull your hand away and trudge into the little room he'd rented. The child was long since passed out in his floating crib. There was a tiny kitchenette in the corner, one that had been cleaned but a bowl still sat at the table. Then there was a bed and a sofa. Toward the back sat a door, you assume to the 'fresher.

You can hear Din following behind you, heavy boots making the floors creak. "You should eat something," he tries, voice turning tense but he's still just as soft as before. Instead of listening, you move toward the sofa and sink down on it, the fresh tears hot on your cheeks.

There is a split second between when he moves around and sees the tears, and him reaching for you. "Don't," you rasp.

"Did he hurt you?" He snarls, despite his gentleness of his hands flutter over you.

"No," you snap back at him. Finally glaring deep into the visor of his helm. It lasts only a moment. "No, Din, he didn't do anything wrong." You sniffle and fixate on a spot on the wall, then stop fighting the urge and curl in on yourself. How could you sit here and feel sorry for yourself when you'd ruined everything so easily. All for a quick fuck. (Well, not necessarily quick.) You'd pushed and prodded, always hoping for a different reaction but deep down, you'd always known the truth. Din didn't love you in that way.

He paces across the floor in front of you, very quiet, very anxious. Despite feeling the increasing anxiety from it, you decide to push it down. Your own frustration twisting and tightening like a coil. The air was heavy.

That is until your eyes fall on the floating cradle in the corner. Your heartaches, you weren't just losing Din. The kid would go with him.

You had two options. This was an ugly sore that neither of you could ignore. Should you try to resolve it now? Best case, you ride out this wave of shame and stick with Din and the child. They were home to you, but you'd be subjected to the truth that Din would never love you in this way. Trust was probably broken and until you both had mended from the hurt of the situation, the ship couldn't sail smoothly. You'd have to learn to not love Din in that manner, if that was possible. You fear that it would make you bitter. How long would you be staying with Din? Until the kid was gone? Would he be okay after he'd delivered him? Should you both spend the next few nights thinking and settling on your stupidity or would that just encourage further brewing? You didn't know if you could trust yourself to stay level headed or not burst into wails if Din so much as raised his voice.

But you needed it. You need him to scream at you about your recklessness. You needed to be shamed because how could you possibly take Din being this sweet and worried about you. Bile worked it's way up from your stomach, fighting with burning fingertips.

His pacing froze, seeming to watch you with distress, but you couldn't tear your blurred eyes from the levitating bassinette.

"Are you going to leave me?" He asks, his voice much firmer than before.

"I..." You start but slowly trailed off. There were too many words in your head. It was muddled and confused. In the very center of it was the enormous weight of shame and guilt. The utter dread cored from them but gravitating all of the negativity that surrounds your situation. It was tossing you in the oceans of panic, you were drowning. Din's anxiety was driving him to go rigid.

The idea of going to sleep was teasing you. Your eyelids were heavy. What time was it even? It was an empty thought. You wouldn't sleep. Just chasing your tail endlessly.

Din is moving between you and the kid and you realize the possessive tone his voice had carried. The real question was he wanted to ask was 'are you going to try to steal my child?' and he had obviously taken that as a threat. How this must look, you gazing longingly at the sleeping babe in his cradle and not giving the man a true answer.

Your eyes move up the curves of beskar that blocked your view of the little one. More hurt is rising. He wasn't worried you'd leave. He was worried you'd take the wrinkly green baby. Somehow you felt the need to blame the metal that separated him from you. You didn't normally curse the only think that had kept him alive this long, but it seemed to mock you like in Cobb's hut. It spurs a dangerous thought.

If Din wanted to fight, you'd fight.

"Wouldn't you like that? Like me to just walk away?" You hiss, rising off the couch to stare at him. Din's helmet doesn't waver a bit as you close in enough to see the puffiness of your eyes.

"Do you want to walk away?" He snaps back.

"Wouldn't that be easier!" You give a sarcastic laugh. "One of your problems could just walk away! Just say it! Just say you want me to leave you alone!" You shove at his chest weakly.

"Stop," he orders sharply. "You don't know what your talking about."

"Really!? Are you kriffing kidding, Din?"

"You need to eat and go to bed."

"Do you somehow have this sick notion that I'm your kid, too? Because I'm not! I am not a child! I am a hurt, angry, and frustrated adult woman!"

Din places his hands on his hips and towers over you. "Stop putting words in my mouth. Where are you even getting these ideas?"

"You treat me like a kid! I'm trying to show you I'm not one!"

"Well, you're acting worse than one right now!" He snarls through his modulator. You grit your teeth at his response. That one hurt. You knew it was true, the spotchka from tonight had left early tonight. It hadn't been enough to truly get you drunk.

"I have no problem listening to you when you give me a damn reason! Just fucking explain things!"

"I don't want to argue with you." He resolves.

"THERE IT IS!" You nearly screech. "That! You barely give me any scraps! You are so fucking hard to read sometimes and I fucking hate it! All I wanted was you to tell me 'no' tonight but instead you just stared! YOU JUST WATCHED ME WALK AWAY!" Din's visor drops at that. It's not trained on you, but off to the side, down towards the floor. "I COULDN'T EVEN ENJOY IT BECAUSE YOU WERE FUCKING THERE THE WHOLE TIME LIKE SOME DEVIL!" You break, sobbing.

His head twists up. "What?"

"You just stare and mock and-"

"I have never mocked you," he butts quieter than before.

"Why didn't you say 'no'?" You snap, eyes blazing, needing an answer.

He only gives you silence. You squeeze your lips into a hard line in the deafening scream of it. Shaking your head, you twist away. "Fucking great," you mutter to yourself.

A hand reaches tentatively for you, it brushes over the underside of your wrist and onto your palm. "What do you mean I was there?" He asks softly.

"You don't get to do that," you warn him, drawing your hand away again. Normally, you would blissfully sunk into his rare touch but you couldn't shake off the fire that was filling you. Guilt was nagging the back of your mind, knowing you were punishing good behavior. It was fruitless. He didn't want to touch you like that. "You don't get to answers from me while avoiding your own. That's not fair to me!"

Din sighs, turning his head to the side. "I'm... I'm not always good... with words." That one hurts more than you expect to. This man was bound to carve you up and spit you out.

You stop, turning your head towards him. You can see him shift his weight, stepping closer. He's standing right behind you. For the millionth time, you wished that fucking armor wasn't blocking his expressions from you.

"I... don't, just so you know."

"Don't what?"

"Want you to leave."

"Why don't I believe that?" You prod, still feeling antagonistic. Din steps closer, he grasps your arm and turns you. He twists you about so suddenly and forcefully that you're taken by surprise. A gasp leaves you when he suddenly grasps your face.

The air stills as you vibrate with the sudden aggression he's showing. His boots hit hard and heavy. Each step is slow and steady, his helmet only inches from your face that he's tilting up in the borderline painful grip he's got on your face. He's forcing you to walk backwards, supporting your form with the other hand that's gripping your arm. Air is suddenly harder to acquire. The air twisting tightly. "Bruise your cervix?" He prompts lowly. It drags across his tongue, extra ragged. "Use you. Make you feel something." It's not possible for your heart to beat out of your chest but when he's done walking you backwards, you feel like it will.

The air has changed, charged with the electricity of anticipation rather than shame and rage.

"Did Cobb do that?" He asks, nearly whispering. It's not an accusation. You glance towards the bassinette where the kid still sleeps, amazingly.

"I used him," you admit, shame filling you, he doesn't give you the opportunity to dwell on it too long because he's shoving you backwards onto something soft. The bed.

Cue the swell of disbelief. Mando leans down and immediately starts working at your pants, tugging them open effectively. He gathers the edges in his hands just as you remember what is currently leaking from between your thighs. You gasp out, "Din, wait!" much softer than you intend. Your voice failing you in the way you need it to.

Too late. He tugs the fabric down your legs effectively. Once glance tells you enough, he's staring at the mess that is was made between your thighs. "You let him cum in you?" His helm tilts up to your face that you cover with your hands. Your brain is too busy trying to decide if he's awed or offended by the newly reveled information. You try to press your thighs together.

"I'm sorry," you plead between the palms on your face.

Din hooks his hands roughly under your knees and jerks. You're dragged over the bed until your bare ass is seated at the end of the bed and then he pushes your knees up and apart and just... just stares. It's enough of a sight to have you peaking from behind your hands. "Are you sore?"

Fuck, you were supposed to be fighting not... not... well, what even was this? Some kind of slut-shaming? Was it bad that you were this turned on by it. The morbid curiosity was battling the mortification at being examined by the Mandalorian bounty hunter in this manner. His fingers were squeezing and massaging where they rested under your knees, trying to coax an answer from you. "Ah... a little, I suppose."

"Doesn't sound bruised to me."

You gulp.

"Don't move." How could you? You were petrified and incredibly, embarrassingly aroused. He lifts his hands from your legs, leaving you hanging on whatever he decided to torture you with.

The last thing you expect is for those gloves to make their way to his belt and unbuckle it. "I said, 'don't move'," he repeats, pausing in his movements. It's only when he says that you notice you've propped yourself up to get a better view of him. Suddenly bashful, you sink back down to your back. "Open them further," he rumbles lowly. None of his words seem to have any aggression despite his aggressive actions. His town maybe low and he might be ordering you around but there is no real bark to him. It's raspy in a way that you've never heard from him. Drawn out slow in a way that indicates he's in no rush. The balance has you spinning.

But fuck, pulling his pants open and you nearly wheeze when a he palms your forehead, pushing it back into the bed while he reaches within the confides of his clothes. Your left with only a view of the ceiling and his wrist. His bronzed skin peaks out just a hair. "You don't get to look."

"Oh, shit," you breathe, squeezing your eyes shut. What sort of wet dream were you stuck in? There was no way-

Something runs across your most sensitive area, something too thick to be a finger. You gasp and arch as it hits your oversensitive clit right off the bat. A little 'ah' leaves you for only a moment. "It's your eyes," he says and you think you've missed something when he wheezes it out. Then he lines up and slowly, maker, so slowly and completely unhindered, he's breaching you with the cock you've been dreaming of for months. You give a torn moan and arch up, grasping at the sheets. Still it's quiet because of all the things tonight, this is the last thing you want the kid seeing. "Ca-can't speak when... when you look at me." Heat blooms in your chest. He's still pushing deeper. He sinks against your cervix like no one's done before and pushes against it. When his pelvis meets yours, it's stretching you almost painfully. Your cervix is straining at the intrusion. It's lewd how wet it sounds already.

"Din," you sigh.

He gives a shaky groan when you squeeze around him. "Sh-should've told you 'no'," he admits, drawing back. And then he drives back in with force enough to make you cry out, and open further for him. "Ruin you," he murmurs with such a slur you wonder if he's drunk on it. And then his hips start to canter deep and hard. Not fast. Just deep and hard, stretching you beyond what you think you can. You're left mewling and trembling beneath him. "Should go... shove my...," he curses and his hand shifts from your forehead to your throat. "Shove my blaster, ah, kriff, down Vanth's throat."

Wait, he was jealous? Fuck, did that make you clamp down on him.

"Shit, like that?" He rasps out, still like he's whispering to you. "Want you," he promises, lower down so his chest is pinning you to the bed. He's so heavy, but you don't feel like you're breathing anyway. "All the time."

Please, don't let this be another delusion. Please.

"Did-did you just say... say that you saw me... to piss me off?" He urges.

"No," your arms tangle around him, grasping for purchase on his back. "No, I want you so- Kriff! Feels so good - want you so bad, s-saw you the whole time." He shudders in your hold, rolling the cool helmet against your neck as he continued his unhurried pace. He was going to kill you at this rate. "Please," you beg, "Please, Din. F-faster. Need it."

"No, I'm using you," he responds. A hand grips your hip and it's like he doesn't know whether he wants to push you further into the bed or pull you closer.

A familiar feeling rises in you, another orgasm creeping closer. The thought is pushed from your mind as the other hand covers your eyes. The one gripping your hip disappears and then something drops onto the bed. "Don't... don't look." Unmodulated and raw. Din is kissing you then. His mouth wet and hot and welcoming in this inferno of a hut.

He tastes so good and his tongue slips against yours eagerly. You would tear your eyes out if it meant you could feel his soft stubble against your mouth like this. You moan into his mouth and he eats it up with a particularly hard thrust. "Stay," he groans. "Be mine, be mine, be mine, bemine, beminebeminebemine...." he mantras like he can't breathe. His hips are finally moving faster.

"Yours," you promise, "Yours, yours, yours." You've lost your mind, unable to even conjure why you were mad at him in the first place because this sweet haze was too thick to look through and it takes you a moment to realize it’s a slow orgasm releasing. It’s not overwhelming, it’s just hot and sticky. It has you stretching across the sheets. His teeth sink into your neck as you shake below him. He settles down when you begin your own mantra. Instead, he grinds deeply into you. You're only vaguely aware of the way you both grasp and tug each other closer.

It's not long after before he spills himself into you with a string of expletives. "I'm sorry," he whispers against your neck. It's so nice to feel his breath for once.

"Me too." And nothing else seemed to be needed for it. It's not long before he's rocking his hips and spill his own seed out around himself.

You kind of like his beskar in this instance. The room feels too hot and it's cool against you both. Yeah, you could get used to this. Maybe tomorrow you'll remember what you're supposed to be fighting about.

Taglist:

@lxdyred, and I promised to tag you in this, Ava, have some iffy smut. @buttercup--bee

#din djarin x reader #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin #din x you #din x reader #cobb vanth #cobb vanth x reader #smut #angst

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