#i know the hug is wonky in the last shot but as usual this was done very last minute | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

socketz · 3 years

Text

Spencer Reid x Reader

Talking To The Moon.

Inspired by the Bruno Mars song, because it’s the one I listen to when I come up with my Spencer Reid fantasies😃.

Type : Angst (It’s just so fuckin’ sad, man)

Warnings : A LOT. Detailed mentions of r*pe / sexual assault, child m*lestation / assault / r*pe, physical abuse, physical fighting, broken bones, dislocated joints (Replacing them! Which is so disgusting, the thought makes me cringe), trauma, the usual Criminal Minds terminology (in terms of describing an UnSub), emotional breakdown, a lot of Death Talk™️ (which could somehow be perceived as suicidal, I guess?), and actual death, there is one (1) kiss. It is a PECK, crude language (profanity), and I think that’s it.

Word Count : 16.3K (this was NOT supposed to be that long, ohmygod)

Request : Not Requested. (This idea came to me in a really horrifying dream that I had, a few weeks ago. I always document my dreams, and this was... Well, it was more of a nightmare. I won’t share, but from the tone of the Fanfic I’m sure you can gather the terror that it endured.)

Summary : There’s a lot of plot for this one. The reader takes on a case (an unauthorised case, you understand), that she relates to on a very personal level. Determined to take on this UnSub, after observing his crimes within the media, and finding thelselves enraged by the Police’s futile attempts to make progress in his arrest, they search for him themselves, and they happen to forget every ounce of Federal Safety training they have ever experienced. Uh, Oh! Do I smell kidnapping? Yes, I do! The reader is kidnapped by the Unsub, and tortured for four days straight. The team are searching for them, but are they fast enough? Either way, Spencer will never forgive himself, and the reader isn’t sure they’ll make it out the other side, alive.

Authors Note : First of all, Baby Spence🥺🤚 the way he was RIDDLED with trauma?? PLEASE?? Got me out here trying to shift realities just to give this man a hug- like he really needs some love, y’know? I have other one shots in the works where he IS receiving his well deserved affection, but it’s not really this one (though he is comforting the reader. Well deserved, methinks)😭 this is perhaps the most graphic and depressing one shot I have ever written😃 I mean, enjoy??? I don’t know if that is the right word. Make sure you read the warning, man, the topics at hand are dealt with in depth and I do not want to trigger anyone!!!!!

Talking To The Moon, Spencer Reid x Reader

They say that the barrel of a gun is cold; that it seeps into the precipitation of your complexion, and the steel aches a circular coolness. They say that your life flashes before your eyes, and that your fight, flight, or freeze, kicks in, when the initial shock of fatality flashes, and blinds you for a defining split second. They say that in your final moments, you show who you truly are.

They are wrong.

The metal is warm, upon my forehead, as I blink slowly, a thousand thoughts - words, and probabilities; numbers, and statistics, and the thumping of my heart (thump, thump, thump; thump, thump, thump) everything, and anything; anything, and nothing - all find themselves meandering their way throughout my congested conscience. I think not of my childhood, the warm touch of my mother’s embrace, and neither the pride in my chest as I received my first ‘100%’, with a wonky smiley face, feedback for my very first official essay in school; not the swarm of flying insects, rampant within my stomach, as I first walked into the Behavioural Analysis Unit, of the Federal Investigations Bureau. I think not of Spencer, not of Morgan, or Penelope, Hotch, and Emily. I am… I am not…

The barrel of the gun is warm.

I blink slowly.

A sheen of smeared colour - like the pretense of a dull oil painting, perceived too close to the canvas - washes over my vision, steals the breath from my aching throat - thump, thump, thump, my heart cries; lodged beneath my tongue, thump, thump, thump - I swallow it back. Thickly, like treacle, and I… There- There is-

The barrel of the gun is warm.

I blink slowly.

I collect myself, in my throat, and I gulp with a softness that simply does not suffice. The flavour of something- of something burned, something charred, lies upon the dry thrum of my tongue, and I allow myself to taste it. Just for a- just for a moment. Just for a moment, I taste it, and it is charred- charred and metallic. The burned flavour of my chest, thumping iambically beneath my heavy-set jaw, wafts up, up, up, throughout my trachea, and it coils between my teeth. From the back, to the front, around, and around, does it crawl, and my heart thunders on in my thoughts; thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump.

The barrel of the gun is warm.

I blink slowly.

The same ache rolls around my motionless joints; it burrows beneath my stained complexion, and I do not flinch as something pop’s, and another bone crack’s. It is not- I am warm. An uncomfortable sense of warmth, that settles upon my grimy skin, and collects itself among my wounded figure, and- and it’s- and it’s hot. It’s hot, and it aches-

But the barrel of the gun is warm, and I blink slowly.

I blink slowly, and the barrel of the gun is warm.

I yearn to think, to obtain coherency, but the barrel of the gun is warm, and it hurts. Oh, it aches, and I- a shuddered breath falls from my unnaturally moistened mouth, tainted by the spill of internally displaced fluid, and I force my eyes to peel open. To unveil beneath their thick hoods, to dismiss the burning heat that flares from my slow blinking, to show him no weakness. I force my eyes to peel open, because, by God, if it’s the last thing I’ll ever do, I will look him in the eyes, and I will silently congratulate myself on my victory. I will not lose; I will not surrender.

And so I peel back my lids, and I ignore the sweltering ache that rushes upon my discoloured, broken, cheek, and I observe him with a gaze of (what I pray to be) great indifference. I slack my features, and I spare myself the wince, as the temptation of heat, licking away the wet droop of my bruised face, engulfs the structure of my poised, blank, expression. Dark, dark, circles; the kind of spherical matter that the mariana trench may find envy within, roam me. Thoughtlessly. Not a thing behind those eyes - no feeling, no rage, no pain. There is no tremble to his digits, as he holds the trigger of the sleek revolver, cherry-wood-handled, and there is no twitch within the muscular construction of his nonchalance, as it fades between four-a-piece, and a regular, blurred, arrangement.

This is it, I think, at last, and the silence between my irrevocably untelling orbs infiltrates its way through my subconscious. Soon - a mere matter of seconds, that spirals to the incoherent detailing of a slurry construct - there is nought but the mulling tone of my heart, thumping endlessly beneath my burning sternum, and I force myself to breathe evenly. In, my chest rises softly, and out, I exhale something shaken through my nostrils.

By God, I think; this really is it.

And the barrel of the gun is warm, as I blink up at him slowly, and I do not regard the noiseless sobbing of the child, to the darkest corner of the room.

This is it. It pounds within my ears, morphed upon the rhythm of my steady heartbeat; this is it, this is it, this is it.

This is it, and the barrel of the gun is warm, and I blink up at him slowly, and the breath on my tongue tastes like the charred meat of my steadily thumping heart, and I think of nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, at all - nothing but the silent shake of a tear-stricken expression, caught beneath the dim lighting, as her circular, little, face, enlarges. Enlarges, and morphes, by shadows, and yellow light; approaching. I do not regard her, as she nears in my peripheral, and the curve of her small, fragile, shoulders tremble, and the flush of her moistened cheeks glimmer among the bulb’s reflection, but the burned flavour on my tongue ceases its subtlety, and there is a taught capture about the breath in my lungs. It is reeled back, and stored deeply beneath my broken bones.

And, suddenly, my heartbeat lurches into my throat.

I miss the warmth of the metal, as it flinches away from my bloodied forehead, and I miss the dark discs of his thoughtless eyes, as they leave me, and the ache of my tongue dissipates to a resolve of bitter dryness.

There she stands, beneath the weight of the revolver, with a violent shake to her thin figure, and a harsh, bruised, red, to her cheeks; puffy eyed, and traumatized. She breathes not a word, she expresses not a sound, and still his finger curls. Curls subtly, ever-so-gently, and my heart tumbles into my mouth, before I can drag it back down. “Coward.” It spits, unbearably rasped upon the echo of my dry, naked, throat; like wood upon sandpaper, it grits, and it grits, and the shavings collapse in my lungs, as they heave; in, I rasp; and out. “You’ll-” I gather my cheek between my jaw, and I nibble it tearsly, a deep, seering, heat erupting- erupting, and sprouting; multiplying, between my very cells. “You’re gonna shoot a- a little-” Another pained, hollow, heave; I clamber for steady footing. “Shoot a little girl?” Dark, dark, circles… no feeling, no rage, no pain. They catch within the light, and never before have I observed a shadow exposed by the sun, and still obtaining its darkness. But there they are, as they gaze unto my own, and I level our stare with ease. “Impotent son of a bitch.” I murmur, a mere breath upon the quiet.

Antagonize him, my conscious crows; rile him up, give him reason for distraction.

“That is-” I stutter in my respiration, and the wheeze of a wet cough finds the depth of my chest. It rumbles through the rasp of my throat, and a slick, metallic, moisture coils upon the flesh of my lower lip. The coppery taste ravishes my mouth, and I allow the liquid to spit between my words. “That is why you do it, isn’t it?” I say, no more than a whisper, gargled by the congestion of the red fluid pool, congregated about my tongue. “You couldn’t-” Another ragged breath, “Couldn’t perform. Not for the-” I swallow the metallic, warm, liquid, and it burns my aching throat. “Not for the pretty women. Hm?” He regards me, motionlessly, and the discs of irrevocable blackness roam my hot, burning, features. “So you too-” I gulp back the rise of blood in my throat, unsettled and naturally rejected. “So you took to little girls, instead, didn’t-” A softer, shallower, inhale, “Didn’t you?”

Silence. The iambic thrum of my heartbeat interrupts the depth of the quiet, but I push it down - down, down, down, beneath the crushing weight of my charred sternum, and I force myself to continue.

“Yeah.” I say, quietly, “You did.” I harden my gaze. “You do.” You take them, their vulnerable, defenseless, innocent, selves, and you steal their childhood; you steal their youth like the dawn to the night, and you rip the world from beneath their fucking feet. “They’re small.” I rasp. “Young.” I try not to think of the dry red, that - the dry, dark, blood, that stains her little thighs, and I try not to picture the tears on her cheeks, and the seeping crimson that cakes the lower quarter of her sweet, white, dress. I try not to entangle her contorted features with a familiar reflection, try to ignore the burning ache of my sweltering chest, as it burns, and it binds, and contracts so ferociously, and I swallow back the lump, riddled with- with- with something. (Bile, blood, bitten down sobs, does it matter? Does it matter?).

There she stands, with a violent shake to her thin figure, and a harsh, bruised, red, to her cheeks; puffy eyed, and traumatized.

“They’re small enough to-” I nibble my inner cheek, and the rasp engulfing my tone threatens to tinge with a bespoken darkness. “They’re small enough to feel you, aren’t they?” I say, and there’s something- there’s something that flashes, be it only a split moment, behind those unforgiving holes he deems the window to his soul. Black, and inhumane. Fitting. “They feel you enough to react.” The muscle to the corner of his left eye contracts, a mere millimeter, or so, but I catch it. Oh, do I catch it. “They cry.” I say, softly, and I hope that the girl holds any kind of oblivion she once may have obtained. “They scream. They bleed.” They die. “But, hey,” I murmur, “any liquid is liquid, right?”

It burns, and it aches, and I nibble the eroded flesh of my inner cheek, and I blink up at him slowly, but at least he is here. At least he is here, at least her blood is dry, at least she can walk. At least I can buy her some extent of recovery time. “You’re sick.” I spit, tone lowered significantly, but still strong. Somehow, I obtain my strength, and I continue. “You’re twisted, and you’re useless.” I say. “You’re nothing but a freak, a shrimpy coward with no sexual capability.” Twitch, twitch; the muscle of his left eye contracts, once more, with more force; more concealed rage, bubbling away beneath the surface. “Pathetic.” I continue, a mere grumble upon the thickening silence. “You couldn’t satisfy a woman if you tried-” The barrel of the gun is colder, now, as he forcefully presses it’s rim upon my forehead, but the steel soon begins to warm. I blink up at him slowly, and I prod. I prod, and I prod, and I wait for the sleeping lion to snap and bite. A breathy chuckle falls from my dry tongue. “There it is.” I whisper. “There it is- you’re an embarrassment, aren’t you?” I mock, tone thick with some kind of congealed, faux, amusement. I swallow back the uprising liquid, lodged thickly amongst my throat, and I offer him a blank, condescending, smile. Bloody-toothed, and bitter. “Tell me, Ben, can you even get it up, properly, anymore?”

SMACK.

I hear it, and then- then I feel it, and before I know what has hit me, he has. The tang of warm liquid, filling my mouth, is entirely indifferent to the coppery flavour I have grown to know, as of late, and I bite back the bubbling groan, a flare of burning heat traveling through the very cells in my ruptured cheekbone. Bruised, and tender; the flourish of agonizing heat pulsates, like the steady beat of my burning chest, and I regain my sturdy posture, gazing back unto the deep, dark, discs. Lifeless, enraged. I ignore the pulse in my features, and the thump of my circulation, gushing rampantly through my senses, as I adjust my blaring joints, and I maneuver my strung limbs. Wrists confined to the sufficient, tight, expertise of Benjamin’s personal experience, they hang perpendicular to my sides; expanded, outstretched, like the span of a bird in flight.

I hang from them, there, upon the wall, and I ignore the raging fire, engulfing my (dislocated) damaged shoulders. Slumped upon my knees, bruised and discoloured for all their worth, I tilt my head up, and I blink at him slowly. My eyes water, a natural reaction, and the sting in my cheekbone echoes with the afterthought of his gun, freshly stricken, throbbing. But still, I bore my gaze unto his own, and I force my jaw to loosen. “Touchy.” I grumble, bitterly. “What’s the-” I swallow the consistently uprising clump of blood, and of rejected bile, and I try again. “What’s the matter, Benny?” I press. “You insecure?” I say. “Ashamed?” Of course he isn’t, he’s furious. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. “Challenged?” The muscle of his left eye twitches, again, and I force a crooked, toothy, smile. “Yeah.” I say, “That’s it. You’re afraid.” Another twitch. “Out of your dep- out of your depth.”

“Shut up.” He snaps, “Shut up.”

My eyebrows raise, and I allow another breathy, rasped, chuckle to fall from my cracked mouth. “Raping little girls is one thing,” I continue, “But kidnapping, and torturing an Official Officer?” Another fleeting, thin, laugh. “Jesus. Who knows what they’ll do to you in there?”

“They worship Pig killers in that place.” Benjamin snarls, and, for once, I find myself smiling with an unmissable genuinity.

“Yeah.” I say, with a grin. “They do.” And I allow my humour to dance within my gaze, as I motion the man closer, with a subtle toss of my head. He follows, nose aligned with the warm barrel of the revolver, and I ignore the throb of my cheek, and the iambic scream of my heart. “But, see, Benny-Boy,” I whisper, my breath fanning his thin lips, “I ain’t no Pig.” I tongue the soft mutilation of my inner cheek. “I’m a Federal Fucking Agent.”

The breeze is not calming, as it brushes upon my face, and I throw myself forward, crashing my forehead upon the smooth curve of his foolishly close expression. A barbaric crack rips though the disturbed quiet, and the sudden splat of warm liquid dignifies itself upon my sopping complexion, as the muffled tumble of retreating, unsteady, footsteps echo clumsily around the room. I think I got his nose, as I fall back against the wall, arms useless, and I connect with the concrete behind me, dragging my bruised and bloodied limbs out, as they abandon their position of lying beneath me. I sit aloft the ground, and my legs roar with a thousand shallow wounds; pins and needles scattering hoarsely about the flesh of my weak anatomy. “Fuck,” I murmur, as I ignore the dizzying, blurred, contortion that warps my unsturdy vision. From a multiple of four, to adjacent and blurred, but singular, Ben scurries to his feet, displaced to an enclosing distance.

Thump-thump-thump, my heart cries in my ears, and the white noise of the blurred silence seems to hum along to it’s rhythm, thump-thump-thump, but I can’t leave her behind. I cannot bring myself to let her down - not again. Not again. Not again.

I can’t let her down - thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump - as the pins run up my limbs, and the needles pivot their course around, and around the flesh of my legs. Thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump, he draws closer. One stumbled step at a time; one step, two steps, three steps, four, I use the wall and bend my knees, groaning beneath the weight of my fucking agony, and I tear myself from the concrete ground, allowing the yell to rip from my moistened, raspy, throat. Thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump, he tumbles; closer, closer, closer, closer.

The cry that rips from my throat, as I throw my leg to his side, it bounces upon the thick walls. It mocks me, in my dizzy breathing, and it laughs along with his soft, quiet, grunt. I strike at his chest, with the ball of my foot, and I pray that my quivering muscles suffice. Ignoring the ambush of sweltering heat, coursing throughout my ankle, and the damaged joint of my knee, I tear up to his throat (his frame hunched, and breathless) with the inner curve of my ankle. SLAM. I revel in the slap of skin, upon skin, as his betrayed choking engulfs my rugged, teary, silence. Oh, how it burns, it aches, and I cry- I cry with such volume, as I draw down upon his cheek, as he falls to the ground, and I crush it beneath my aching heel.

His parted lips heave with an airy groan, and I force myself to repeat. To repeat, to repeat, to repeat, until the blood beneath my throbbing heel all but retracts my complexion’s grip. The flesh of my foot slips upon his motionless expression, the curl of his digits slowly unravelling, and I slam my limb down upon his broken, bloodied, face, again, and again, and I ignore the warmth of the tears upon my cheek, as they dribble their way down. I notice the first, and then the rest seem to follow, uncontainable and relentless, and still I pummel the structure.

Bruised, and toughened, the sopping entrapment of my wounded heel draws down upon his fractured features, and I release a withheld, shuddered, breath. It is warm, as it fans my chin, and I allow my legs to feather themselves unstably upon the ground. I stop. I pause, and I gather myself with brief collection. The tight stinging behind my eyes seems to worsen, as I force the lump in my throat to dissect, and to surrender to the flames of my burning, charred, sternum, but I swallow it all back, and I shake my legs loose, slowly dropping my frame back down upon the concrete below.

There he lies; still, and unmoving. Not dead, but not quite alive.

The girl. It rings in my ears, as my heartbeat settles to something familiar; the girl, the girl, the girl. The girl who’s name I have yet to learn, the girl I have failed to protect - the girl I must save. The girl I refuse to let down, again. “Hey,” I call, quietly, and I soften my tone with significance, just enough (I hope) to eliminate the threat of the glimmering, red, blood, that begins to dry upon my body. “Hey, sweetheart.” I shake back my hair, and I turn to face her, ignoring the glassy shein that warps upon my vision, as my body entraps in a wave of unforgiving warmth, and the hot, burning, sensation engulfes my entirety; running up, and down, from left, to right, in and out of my limbs, from my eye sockets, to the tips of my bloodied toes. It aches, and it burns, and I plaster on a kind, gentle, smile, and I observe the tears upon her scarlet cheeks. “What’s your-” I nibble the ruined flesh of my inner cheek, as a flare of something (something like agony) curls around the joint of my displaced shoulder, and runs sharply through my arm, “What’s your name?” I ask, quietly, and I try to bereft the strain from my tone.

But, oh, it aches, and oh, it burns.

“Alyssa.” She replies, quietly.

“Alyssa?” I try the name on my tongue. “Alyssa, Okay.” I say. “Alyssa, I need you to do something for me.” I tell her, “I need you to do something for me, is that Okay?” Her nimble, sad, face, nods, and I feel something shift in my chest. The burning increases, and the blood on my tongue tastes more like heartache, than of copper. “Okay.” I say, “Can you try to untie these ropes?” I nod gently to the strong grip of my wrists, entrapped within the beige confinement, and I hope - oh, how I hope - that her little fingers are good for something.

“Okay.” Alyssa says, softly, as she teeters a step closer, and she approaches the still figure of the bloodied, unconscious, man. “Is it-” She steps over his arm, “Is it painful?”

She reaches up to the knot, be it just above her head, and she works at the painfully tightened enigma. I hiss, softly, at a gentle jolt of my shoulder, and I ignore the loud pop of its agonizing displacement, pulsating with heat, as I murmur my quiet reply. “Only a little.” I lie. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask, tenderly, “Does anything hurt, down-” Another hiss, I swallow it back audibly, “down there?”

“Only a little.” She mimics, not at all unkindly, as she works at the knot, and she straightens her small, tear-slick, mouth. There is mulled silence, for a passing moment, and I tongue the rough complexion of my inner cheek. “I didn’t cry.” She admits, as though I should be one to offer my congratulations. “I didn’t fight him.” She says. “I’m a good girl.” I swallow the lump in my throat, and I blink slowly, as to diminish the sting of my eyes, and I allow my breath to fall shaky, and uneven, as I regard the girl with a furrow to my brow. I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight him. I’m a good girl.

“Alyssa, I-” I meet the sharp blue of her cerulean, glossy, gaze, and I observe the seeking ache behind them - the dull rim that seeps upon the light’s reflection. “Alyssa,” I whisper, “listen to me.” Her hands work at the knot, and the curl of it all begins to shuffle loose. “That man is a bad man.” I say. “He’s a monster. You know the kind you read about? In- In the- In the books?” She nods, softly, and I reciprocate her action. “Well, he’s one of ‘em.” I say, and her gentle expression of repressed agony crumples; dissolves to the pinch of a furrow.

“He looks normal to me.” She says.

“They always do.” I reply, with something like sympathy curled among my smile. “The monster lives inside them.”

“Like a house?”

“Sure.” I say, “Like a house.”

“I don’t like that house.” She whispers, hardly that of a breath upon the laboured quiet, and I feel the subtle breeze of freedom beginning to slither around my aching wrist.

The strong simmer behind my eyes seems to ignite a stronger burn, and the blur of colours coaxing my vision adheres to engulfing my senses entirely, a clamp in my jaw to withhold the overwhelming urge to burst out with some kind of vocal sob. I bite it back, gnawing softly upon the mauled flesh of my inner cheek, and I offer Alyssa a gentle, toothy, smile. “Good.” I say. “Good. You don’t have to worry-” A scream tears from my throat, and the barricade of blurring moisture spills over with ease. “Fuck!” I hiss, “Fuck- Shit-” My arm audibly slaps down upon my side, the wrist an awkwardly angled bend, as it cracks aloft the harsh concrete below, and the mocking double-act-popping makes its merry way through, the joint finding itself inverted and ajar, and, oh, it aches, it burns. It fucking burns, and I- “Do the other one.” I murmur, strained by the bite of irrevocable pain, as a teary eyed Alyssa forces herself to overstep Benjamin’s right arm, and to meet the limp hang of my dislodged limb, and her nimble little fingers get to work on the opposing knot.

I try to grind my teeth, try to swallow back the uprising sob that teeters thickly among my taught throat, and I try to focus solely upon the unmoving man upon the floor, as my arm hangs loosely at my side, and the pulsating ache rivets throughout my entirety; it swirls behind my eyes, and up, up, up, up around the iambic thrum of my cold, incandescent, mind, and down to the very tips of my sharp collarbones; to the steady rise of my chest; in, and out, in, and out, and I listen to the thump of my heartbeat, as it sings it’s hellish chorus in my ears, and it rings true for yet another second - thump, thump, thump; thump, thump, thump - and I pay attention to the melody, the sporadic pulse, the rhythmic reminder that: Here I Am. Living. Breathing (Barely?). With The Life Of A Little Girl In My Hands. There it is. There it is. The truth. There it is. And I listen to it, again. I listen to it again, and I look at her.

I look at Alyssa, with a violent shake to her thin figure, and a harsh, bruised, red, to her cheeks; puffy eyed, and traumatized, as she works at the knot, and she sniffles to herself quietly. I look at Alyssa, and she isn’t crying. I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight him. I’m a good girl. She is a good girl. I look at Alyssa, and I see nothing but a girl that deserves the world, and I know that she is a good girl, but why should she have to learn her worth in such an earth-shattering way? I nibble my inner cheek, and I digest the uprising urge to allow my eyes to water (excessively, for they have already washed the blood of my bruised, and broken, features, and they lay wet upon my cheeks), as I call out to her gently, and I watch her glimmering gaze remove itself from her concentrated scowl.

“Lissy?” I call, softly, with a furrow to my eyebrows. I meet her cerulean stare, and I observe the reserved redness that circles her glassy orbs, as she draws back her own impulse to cry, and I speak again. Quietly. Always quietly. “Can I call you Lissy?” I ask.

Alyssa nods. “Mommy calls me Lissy Doll.” She says, and the burning flavour flares up, again, upon the back of my dry tongue. I concentrate on it, as the heat of my dislocated shoulder begins to fade, and I suppose that the taste of charred flesh is better than the agony of broken bones.

I offer her a smile, though I feel it comes across more as a grimace than that of any reassurance, and I nod gingerly. “Alright.” I say. “Lissy, it is.” There is something like heartache, and like the dullness of doubt, that clouds the brightness of her young, infantile, orbs, and I force my lower limbs to shuffle, to face the readily repressing girl before me, as she holds back her upcoming wave of cries, and she swallows back her sorrow. “It’s Okay to cry, you know.” I say, gently, and she shifts her gaze to engulf my warm, piercing, stare, within her own, and the glassy shein begins to thicken. “It doesn’t make you weak.” I whisper. “I know it-” I force down the uprising lump in my throat, a sudden lodge beneath the muscle of my tongue, and I try again, with a tone somehow softer than before. “I know that it hurts, Lissy.” I say, “I know that you want to be strong, and that you- that you want to be a good girl,” A shaken exhale falls from my lips, “but, sweetheart, you don’t need to go through something like that to prove it.”

She nods, softly, and she purses her lips together, trembling and shaken by her trauma.

“Lissy, if you can-” I swallow back an audible groan, as I shuffle my injured frame, and the pulse of reconciling heat flares violently within the loose hinge of my displaced shoulder. “If you can untie me, Okay, we can get out of here.” I assure, attempting to convey something like promise with the stern stare of my unwavering eyes. I pray that Alyssa does not notice the tremble of my limbs, or the shudder in my ribs, as something crawls, and winds, its way between my shattered bones, and I pray that she does not notice the exhaustion behind my determination, that she does not catch wind of my growing fatigue, and the difficulty I face in trying to suppress my growing agony.

“Okay.” She murmurs, and I find myself deflating with a soft exhale, shoulders falling, and dismissing the grave pulsation of fiery heat that depicts its bitter eruption throughout the damaged nerves of my bloody anatomy.

“Okay.” I nod, attempting to compile any form of reassurance, as I tilt my head back, gentle as I can possibly muster, and I let the crown loll back upon the brickwork. It aches, and it burns, but we’re almost there. By God, we are almost there. “Alright.” I repeat, breathless in my movement, as her small digits begin to unwind the tight knotting of the rope. “I need you to-” A subtle jolt, as the rope loosens, sends a great flare of agonized heat throughout my limb, and the rumble of a deep-routed groan falls from the hollow of my throat; low, and honest. “Fuck.” I murmur, softly, as Alyssa wraps her grip upon the burning ache of my wrist, and she removes the restraint entirely, supporting the arm with minimal (though violently painful) adjustment. A roar of unavoidable flames engulfs the limb, as she lowers it gently, and she drapes the limp wrist upon the concrete. I suppress the bubbling hiss that threatens to fall from between my gritted teeth, and I gulp back the wave of nausea that grips me suddenly.

A swirl of something bitter, something terrible, begins its sultry dance among my stomach - empty, by a four day solitude - and I feel the burl of air, and of ingested blood, of salivation, gargle nastily toward the very pit of my protesting stomach. Still, I ignore it.

“Lissy, you need to-” I swallow the uprising concoction, warm and smooth in my throat, and I try again, forcing my words through a clenched jaw. “I need you to fix my arm, Okay?” I need you to re-locate my fucking shoulder, and I need you to do it now, before Benjamin wakes up. If he wakes up, I suppose. The slow, unstable, rise and fall of his darkly clothed back is difficult to judge, among my dizzied vision, and the blurred contortion of the world. I do not dwell on this. I do not have to tear my eyes away, they drift naturally, and there she stands; wide-eyed, traumatized, silently begging me to let out a sudden laugh, and to declare my insinuation a practical joke. “Now, Alyssa.” I say, with a sternness that I suppose she is not used to. Not from me, at least, as the glossy depiction of her wide orbs returns, and, again, I find myself unable to dwell on it, as I turn to where her hands hesitantly hover about my sagging limb. “Just-” I exhale a shuddered breath, because, Jesus, this was never in the job description, and I allow my head to fall back upon the wall behind it, as my eyes flutter shut, and I open my mouth to continue. “Just grab onto it - gently, for the love of God - at the upper- at the upper arm.” A small hand wraps around my bicep, and I flinch involuntarily. Oh Fuck, my mind chants, pulsing throughout my body; Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck. “Put your other hand-” I swallow back the bile concoction, “Put your other hand next to my shoulde- Shit!” She rips away the palm of her small hand, explicit with a short cry, as I yell out my curse, and the pulse of agony spreads upon the damn wound she placed pressure upon. Be specific, Y/N, my conscience scolds; she’s a fucking child.

It’s not her fault - not her fault, not her fault - but fuck, if that didn’t hurt. I let out a shaky breath, and I force the erratic respiration of my rising chest to calm the fuck down; in, and out, in, and out, and I offer her a tight-lipped grimace, as she regards me with wide, cautious, eyes.

“Sorry.” I breathe. “I didn’t-” Another groan; the pulse of my pain continues to mock me, to taunt me violently within the unsteady strum of my gushing ears. Thump, thump, thump, it cries; Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.” I say, softly. “It just, uh-” I bite back another cry. “It hurts. That’s all.” She nods, timidly, and I observe the aggressive tremble of her hand, as she begins to re-insinuate her previous positioning. “Not there!” I splutter, abruptly, and she halts in her movement, “Not there, Lissy,” I murmur, as my head rolls back against the brickwork behind me, and I tilt it away from her. “Closer to my- closer to my neck, alright? Not on the shoulder, itself.” She murmurs a noise that sounds similar to some kind of agreement, and I clench my jaw. I clench my jaw, and the nausea bubbling within my stomach seems to heighten. Fuck. And I-

Oh Fuck. It pulses around my aching body; Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh- “FUCK!”

A loud, excruciating, crack, snaps out within the laboured silence, and I am submerged in (what feels like) the damned flames of Hell, licking and biting upon the sore flesh of my battered body, devouring my arm in sharp, agonized, nibbles; ripping chunks of my consciousness with them. “Jesu- Fuck. Holy fuck.” I murmur, slurred and messy, as a hot bout of drunken agony spouts throughout that damned joint. Up, and down, does it stumble; here, there, and everywhere, and I find myself unable to bite back the wave of tears, as they force themselves to grapple my attention, and to erode the bloodied concoction of fresh coating about my features, and I can hardly process the weight of their thickening moisture, as it gathers upon my cheeks, because - Oh, God, holy fuck - oh, I can hardly- It burns. It aches, and it burns, and it devours my limb entirely.

“Do the other one.” I demand, lowly, tone riddled with a rasp of violent agony, as the heat springs forth to my complexion in a tuft of dampening precipitation, and the salty layer begins to seep the red wash of my skin. “Alyssa.” I say, with a grave harshness to my tone, as she remains unmoving (sobbing silently, to herself) beside me. “Do the other one.” I do not dwell on her quiet crying, as she makes her way before me, and she nestles down at my opposing side, and I do not dwell on the ever-burning fire that seems to corrupt every living cell within me, swirling, biting, licking, ruining, me; running circles upon my exhausted frame. Exhausted. It paints the inner lids of my eyes, and the thought of rest seems so entirely delightful, that I have to peel them open. Exhausted. Exhausted. Exhausted. Exhausted. I resent myself for protesting my bodily wishes, and I heave the silent cry of my sobbing frame, denatured and entirely unaware. Unaware. Oblivious. Unfeeling, as another riveting POP echoes throughout the subtly disturbed volume of the room.

I feel it.

Oh, do I feel it.

But it does not register.

I am so alight, I am so wholly consumed, as the flames lick, and they engulf my frame; they wind brutally throughout the broken possession of my bone marrow, and they curve within the bruise of my jutting spine, my fractured rib; they grapple the cranium of my mind so violently, that I feel my slow blinking may rupture me an explosive head, at any given moment; they rip, and they tear, at the flesh of my muscles, running laps around, and around, my pain threshold; daring me, taunting me. Still think you’re winning? They laugh. Still think you’re winning?

But Alyssa is still here. Alyssa is still here, and Benjamin is still unmoving, at my feet, and I am still breathing. Alyssa is still here, and I am still breathing, and-

And soft, small, fingers wind through the matted knots of my bloodied, stained, hair, at the base of my neck.

I shift my watery gaze upon the girl beside me, stricken with a glaze of unforgettable, lurching, fear, as her blue eyes blubber silently, and she cries, and she cries, and she does her best to offer me comfort. She does her best to offer me comfort, and she smiles with closed, tear-tousled, lips, as I furrow my eyebrows, and I find myself bubbling with a warm determination.

Still winning, my heart thuds, still winning, still winning, still winning. Still winning, and I force my limbs to shift. To move an inch, or perhaps a mere centimeter, as that damned fire engulfs my arms, and it wraps them up, up, up; up, and down, spiraling throughout the system of my nerves. From the depth of the crook in my elbow, to the muscles hung loosely amongst my shoulders. Around, and around, but still, I try. “Come here,” I whisper, softly, and I motion with a nod of the head for Lissy to approach. She follows, a stumble or so trodden, and then she stands before me. I lift my arm - jaw clenched, swallowing back the rise of that bile concoction, and ignoring the violent flare of heat that deems eruption amongst the joint of my fucking shoulder - and I run my thumb along the red flush of her tear-stricken cheek. Trembling, though it is, I hold her face with soft assertion. “We’re gonna be just fine,” I say, almost inaudible beneath my bitten down cries, and I offer her a tight-lipped smile. “I promise, Lissy.” I say. “I promise.”

Alyssa doesn’t nod, she doesn’t offer me one of those (non)comforting, teary, smiles, that find my chest clenching with some sort of heartache, rather than warmth, and, instead, the girl furrows her eyebrows. “Does it hurt?” She asks, again, and I know that she is looking for honesty. That she wants the truth, despite her youth; that her innocence is gone. That whatever spark she once attained no longer resides within her cerulean orbs, and that they are darker beneath the dim yellow lighting. That they are darker beneath her trauma.

“Yeah.” I say, softly. “It does.”

“Can you move?”

No. “Yeah.” I smile, nodding gently, as I lower my arm, and I open my mouth to offer another white lie. “Just a little sore, that’s all.” I say. “Why don’t you-” I swallow the uprising bile that congregates within the over-salivation of my glands, and it scratches upon the ache of my tired throat. “Uh, why don’t you check- Check that, uhm-” I gulp back down my words, rearranging them upon my tongue, as the flaring pulse throughout my entirety finds itself momentarily blinding. Still think you’re winning? Still think you’re winning? “Check the door, Okay?” I say, quietly, and I do not dwell upon the observational quirk of her eyebrow, as Alyssa regards me cautiously, and she retreats her silent footwork. “Try and open it.” I offer her a reassuring (?) kind of smile, crooked, and bloody, but she does not seem to acknowledge it - not anymore - as she approaches the darkened corner of the room; the shadow of the great, steel, door. “Can you do it?” I call, tone impossibly rasped upon the echoing silence around.

There is the distinct sound of struggling metal, as the door jutts back and forth, stuck strictly within its positioning; locked. “It won’t open.” Alyssa says, quietly, and I wonder just how the little girl remains so consistently composed. Of course, her cheeks are littered with unforgiving layers of drying, and thickly moistened, tears, and her eyes are red raw, wide, and traumatized, but not yet has she… broken. Still, she speaks calmly; still, she bites back her loud sobs, and she contains the shudder of her frame. I can only assume that this gravely resolve will crack very suddenly, one day, and, much the same as the floodgates to an overflowing river, everything will come crashing down upon her city of composure. I do not allow myself to dwell upon this thought, however, as the pressing matter of escaping (preferably before Benjamin regains consciousness) thumps iambically throughout my bodily matter.

“Try the bolts.” I offer. “Are there any bolts?”

“No.” She says, distantly, with subtle strain, as though she is poised upon the tips of her toes, attempting to grapple the top of the door frame. “Nothing.” She says.

“Is there a keyhole?” I try, again, as I bite back a subtle groan. Fire. Fire. Heat, coursing throughout my motionless frame. Can you move? No. No. I cannot. I can hardly breathe, and I-

“Yeah.” She hums. “Right here.”

In, and out. In, and out. “Okay.” I say, “Keys in the door?”

“No.”

Fuck. There is no need for an IQ of 187 to figure out quite where the missing puzzle piece resides. Benjamin’s belt. The very same belt that he rather enjoyed wrapping around my throat, and observing the silent purple that flared upon the taint of my bloodied, fractured, face, just the evening before. Perhaps it was not evening - the concept of time has evaded me entirely, and I rely solely upon the scent of his breath, to know which meal he has likely devoured, before roaming his way within the… the room. Coffee, and something else particularly sweet (often a pastry, I like to believe) linger upon his words when he speaks, some days, and I know that it is morning. Sometimes the scent of seafood, or a cold sandwich filling, wafts upon my face, and the potent stench of a carbonated drink, with the distant flavour of a cheap beer, and I know that it is midday, or just after the fact. Warm, meaty, scents, with cheap red wine tend to find him delighted, by the time that dinner rolls around, and, I realise, that must mean that it is currently night.

Hours have since passed, from when he first entered the room, smelling strongly of a meat pie, and a three quarter bottle of cheap, red, wine, and, now, around twenty-five (or so) minutes have slipped through my fingers. Time flies when you’re in agony. Abiding by my own, personally devised, day clock, I might assume that I have been submerged within this room for four days. Almost five, I do suppose, should we not escape before the morning sun rises. Not that we may find out when that is, of course. There are no windows.

My capture had been no fault other than my own. The ‘case’ (Benjamin Fackle, a serial Child Molester, and Rapist, whom the media deemed the ‘Baby Raper’, and a creature the Police Department have been desperately searching for, for many a month) was not official. His name had not crossed my desk. The team knew of him - of course we did, he was a monster in disguise, and we ached for an invitation to work on the case - but, alas, our company was not beckoned for. I spoke to no one of my private research, my geographical profile, and neither my personal profile, but, with the aid of an unsuspecting Garcia (whom did not know the details of my expertly worded, and secretive, request) I had delved upon the narrowed depiction of three addresses.

The first, an Orphanage, which had since been demolished, and held not a single occupant, was futile. An easy occupation to discard from my list. And, then, came the second. In possession of my gun (and only my gun, my naivety be damned), with no vest, and no back-up-protection, I entered the grounds. That, among a conundrum of other things, was my first mistake.

There, waiting for me, among the looming shadows of night, was Benjamin Fackle. Crouched behind the door of an easily concealable blind-spot, I disregarded my Federal training, and I dismissed that damned corner. Always check your blindspots, Agent. I could hear the drilling tone bouncing around my mind, mocking me, much the same as that pulsating heat that continued to rivet around my conscience. You don’t check your blindspots, you’re as good as dead. You hear me? I heard him, alright, but that doesn’t matter, now. Not when it didn’t fall into practice, and I failed to do so when it mattered the most.

But I simply couldn’t resist it. Not this case. Not this kind of UnSub.

Not when he has been ripping the innocence from seventy-nine children (and counting), and disregarding them so heart wrenchingly. Not when he has been putting them through the same damned trauma I experienced, as a child. Not this case. Not this UnSub.

And so I force myself back, upon the brickwork behind me, and I ignore my burning frame with a foolish ignorance, engulfing the movement with stuttered fluidity, as the fragile joint of my wounded, bruised, knees, bend, and they shakingly heave my weakening body from the cold compress of the concrete floor. Up, and down, do the sharp pins flow; around, and around, do the needles pivot, but still, I force myself to stand. I force myself to stand, and my arms hang loosely at my sides; not dislodged, but still not quite intact, still burning violently, still thickly riddled with agony.

I stand, and I rest back upon the brickwork, and I heave my ragged breaths. In, and out, I stutter; in, and out. In, and out, but it aches, and it burns, and I blink slowly. I blink slowly, and I swallow back the protest of my uneasy stomach, that crawls within the salivation of my tight throat, and I force my stuttering frame to take a stumbled step forth.

Pushing from the wall, I tumble with heavy feet. Mulling within my agony; sharp, shallow, wounds, find themselves imprinting mercilessly about the trembling flesh, inflicting detrimentally upon the complexion, and I almost wish - just for a moment, just for a passing second - that I could halt my breathing. As my legs give out beneath me, and I crumble beside the shallow respire of Benjamin’s still frame, and I swallow down the loud cry that threatens to break through the tight catch of my teeth, as I bite down upon my lips, and I force it down - down, down, down - and I blink back the wave of tears (slowly), and I ignore the heat - God, the fucking heat - that dances, and grips, my aching muscles with piercing ferocity.

I crumble beside Benjamin, and I reach, with trembling, not quite numb, and paling, limbs, for his belt. The clink of the metal upon the stone seems to- it seems to- Alyssa. She lets out a quiet sob, from the corner, and I know what the indication sounds like, as a lump forms in my throat, and I can’t swallow it down, and I fumble with the buckle, and I hope, oh, I pray, that I can find those fucking keys, and I-

Jingle. I drag the metal back, and- Jingle, Jingle.

A soft, breathy, laugh falls from my mouth, as it contorts to the prologue of a violent sob, and I contort my features, I pinch them as tightly as I suppose that they may allow, and I hold it back- I hold it back, and I swallow the lump, and I press the cool metal of the keys to my chest, and I allow it to vibrate with the shudder of a hollow, dishonest, laugh. A laugh, to fulfil the urge of overwhelming moroseness, and exhaustion, that grapples me so aggressively, I find it difficult to breathe, with my head tipped back, and a glassy shein to my eyes, and I force myself to pull it together. I collect myself, there, upon the concrete, and I call out to the crying girl in the corner.

“Lissy.” I say, all too quietly for my liking. “Lissy, I’ve-” I swallow my words, as they threaten to exit in a jumbled mess. Oh Fuck, my heart thrums, with lesser the all-consuming fear, and more of the elation, the adrenaline, as the burning heat begins to dissipate, and I suppose that the adrenaline will not last forever. Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck. “I’ve got them.” I whisper. “Lissy, I’ve- They’re here, look, I’ve got them-” I stumble to my feet, riddled with the deafening thump of my heart, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, as it laughs within my ears, and it mocks my auditory joy. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t ache. I can’t feel a damned thing - nothing but the dizzying beat of my heart, that pumps wildly in my ears. It won’t last long, I think, as I stumble unsteadily on my footing, and I make my way to Alyssa.

It won’t last long.

And so I do not bother to comfort the girl, as she cradles her head in her hands, and she ducks it between her bent knees, curled desperately upon the ground, beneath the door, and I do not bother to grow frustrated, as I try the first key of four, and it doesn’t fit. I try the second, and it jams within the lock - not that one - and then the third. The third - oh, the beautiful third - that twists, with jutted prosperity, and it signals the sequence of unlocking metal.

It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t ache. I can’t feel a damned thing, as I lower myself with unsteadying speed, and I scoop the light girl, trembling, and sobbing, within my arms. My bruised, broken, mangled limbs, and I clutch her to my chest. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t ache. I can’t feel a damned thing, but I’m winning.

I’m winning.

I’m winning, as I stumble incoherently through the doorway, and I disregard the nauseating crack, when something collides with the steel of the door, as it chases me through, and I’m winning as I find myself shoving the damned key in the lock, and twisting, and twisting, and leaving it there to rot, and I trap that bastard within those damned, yellow-lit, walls, and I’m winning as I am tumbling through the misleading path of the unfamiliar home. Unfamiliar corners, unfamiliar rooms, unfamiliar sights. But I’m winning. I’m winning. By God, am I winning.

And I am still winning, as I collide with the front door, and I throw it open, thoughtless for the dutiful ache that is silenced by the thudding in my ears, and I make my way upon the pavement, concealed by the evading darkness that is night, and I begin to stutter my rugged footsteps - bare feet bloodied, and slapping down upon the walkway beneath me - and I hold the girl to my chest. I hold her, and I hold her, and I hold her, and I open my mouth to speak.

“We’re free, Lissy.” I say, quietly. “Look,” I point above her head, as I glance down upon her whimpering expression, “Look at the stars, baby.” I whisper. “We’re free.” And I know that we are not truly free, that, should my adrenaline, thrumming throughout my entirety, and consuming my conscience in a consistent hum of evading hope, ware off, should the pain settle back in, and the wind stop cooling the persistent burning that peppers moisture aloft my forehead, should everything fall to nothing, and should the morning sun mark the fifth day of my absence, we will not be free. That we will be, perhaps, as good as dead - Always check your blindspots, Agent - within the confinement of unfamiliar roads, and unfamiliar geography, and a town full of unfamiliar people.

After Benjamin had struck me over the head, a wound that soon sobered up, when he first began the beatings, he had locked me within the boot of his car. I was unconscious for most of the journey, and the back tail light seemed too difficult to kick through, at the time. He had weakened me, considerably, and I found myself unsure as to whereabouts it was that we were going. And, thus, I do not know our current location, either.

The low hang of the moon does little to console me, as the gush of my blood within my ears begins to slowly dwindle - thump-thump-thump; thump, thump; thump-thump-thump - but, with her cheek rested softly aloft my weightless chest, Alyssa stares up at it; bleary eyed, and consumed. Her stare of wonder gives little away, and I find myself praying, with whatever religion I have left in me, that she may recover. That this traumatic experience may dissipate beneath the life she has yet to live, and that, when the time comes, she will be able to face her trauma, and heal the wound indefinitely. That, one day, she may look up at the moon, and she may not be reminded of what Benjamin Fackle has done to her, and that she may capture the light of the stars within her blue stare, again. That she will regain a form of innocence, and that recovery comes quickly.

I know that it does not. I know that the pain never truly leaves you, but one can hope. One can hope, and while I am breathing, I hold on to that.

Just as I hold on to the girl, cradled to my chest, as the thinning beat within my ears begins to fade, and, with every passing second, I find my footing faltering ever-so-slightly. A dreadful kind of suspense begins to well in the pit of my stomach, as a creeping fire begins to erupt, deep within the soles of my bloody feet. It begins in my toes; travels up, up, up, to the uneasy curl of my ankle, the joint bitter in its inevitable damage, and I clench my jaw. I clench my jaw tightly, because I- because I knew that it wouldn’t last long, I knew that it wouldn’t last long, and still, I find myself surprised, frustrated, that the adrenaline is wearing. That, soon enough, I will find myself imobile, constricted by the worst level of pain I will ever endure. Bone, upon bone; fracture, upon fracture; the make-up of my anatomy begs for more adrenaline.

I push forth. Through the dim lighting of the streetlight - contorting to that of my aggressive dizziness, as the scene frame binds back and forth between the figure of four, and the singular, blurred, picture - I am able to… I can see a-

I sway in my footing, caught by the ferocious burn as it runs up, and it runs down, the joint of my knee; echoing around like the mocking laugh of my slow, steady, heartbeat. Still think you’re winning? It taunts, diving from one ear, circling my head, and protruding through the other, with a sickening giggle to warp it all in between. I grit my teeth, and I ignore it, inhaling shakily through my nostrils. In, I try, and out. But the burning ache has returned, and it drawls its slow, merciless, crawl, up, and up, and up, and up, my entirety; locking in the very cells of my biology, and taunting a dangerous song.

Oh, how it burns, I swallow thickly; how it aches.

It burns, and it aches, and I blink slowly, and I raise my foot - up, up, up - and I force it forward. A gentle connection with the floor holds no matter, I comprehend, as a thousand pins scatter about the marrow of my damaged skeleton, and a thousand needles pierce the tranquil complexion of a broken cohesion. It burns, and it aches, but I parry on. I parry on, and I delve myself yet another great number of unsteady stumbles; one foot, then the next, and then another few. I catch myself roughly as I groan out aloud, because, oh, it aches, and oh, it burns, and I blink slowly, and I entice myself to breathe, as I pause. In, my throat rasps upon the cool temperature of the night, and out.

“Alyssa.” I murmur, gently, as it fills the light air that surrounds us. The girl adjusts her attention, shuffling softly among my grip, and I am unable to swallow the cry that forces its way out, as she regards me with wide, watering, eyes, and I lower her (incautiously) to the ground. She lands with a thud, as her bare feet slap the concrete, and a subtle stumble, as I bend my frame, slightly, and I adhere to an unsteady lumber; contorted by the sheer ferocity of the flames, engulfing my arms with an unforgiving depiction. “Fuck,” I whisper, moreso for the expression, than for any natural effect, and I attempt to regain my posture. In, I rise to my full height, and I ignore the blasphemous heat that licks upon every morsel, every joint, and out. In, I ignore the blissful call of exhaustion’s lesion, as it beckons me slowly, and I flutter my eyes shut, arms hung limp at my sides, and out. I breathe, and I breathe, and I remain swaying in my place, silently wishing that the damned payphone was not fifteen feet away.

Still think you’re winning?

Fuck you, am I losing, I spit, internally, and I’m not quite sure who I am fighting, anymore. Benjamin Fackle? My pain? Myself? My exhaustion? Death? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

I take another step, and I force myself to contain my expression of pain. I swallow it back, as the salivating gland to the inner corner of my throat begins to over-work, and the sleek bile concoction begins to trail its way up, up, up, through my esophagus, once more, and I feel it beginning to crawl through the burn of my throat. But the payphone is ten feet away, and fuck you, am I losing.

A rough swallow, and a softly hidden gip; I trudge another few feet upon the cold pathway bellow me, and I pledge my attention solely upon the approaching, smooth, steel of the payphone, enlarging, and imposing, as it draws nearer, and nearer, and nearer; one step, two steps, three steps, four, do I stumble, stuttering gracelessly in my stride as I go, and, oh, the phone is almost here. I reach for it, the sweet, sweet, plastic of bitter salvation, and a gentle cry escapes my mouth as I curl my digits upon it. I’ve got it. I’ve got it. I’ve got it. I’ve got it.

I’ve got it, and I draw it up, ignoring the flaring heat that roars throughout my entirety, and I allow my trembling grip to pale upon the device; gripping it, gripping it, gripping it, because Holy Fuck, I’ve got it. I’ve got it, but I- I swallow thickly, and I drag my burning frame that little bit closer. I’ve got the phone, and there’s- I check the credit, faintly projected beneath the dim light of the street, and another breathless laugh falls from my mouth, perhaps the first genuine smile gracing my lips, as an unnoticed trail of warm tears track their salty trace down my cheeks.

One Call Remaining.

One call remaining, I hover my hand above the metal keypad. I only know one number. I only know one number, but, as I smile, and I sniffle gently to myself, I know that it’s the only number I need, and I dial it - with shaking, aching, fingers, I dial the number, and I clutch upon the rim of the metal compartment with a wavering grip.

It rings once, twice, three times, and I pray, oh, to any God that may here me, do I pray that he picks up, as the echo of the ringing begins to sound less like the bells of a church, and more like the mocking laugh of someone poking me, prodding: Still think you’re winning? Still think you’re winning? Come on, pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick u-

“Hello?” There he is. Tone thick with sleep, groggy, and deep - down, I notice, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. He picked up. He picked up. “Hello?”

“Spence.” I breathe, as another humourless, teary, laugh trickles from my throat. “Oh, my God, Spencer.”

There is immediate shuffling, across the line, and I can only assume that he is sitting upright, frowning into the dark before him. Perhaps he has switched on his bedside lamp. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. “Y/N?” He rasps, softly, with such a gentleness, I fear that something else hides behind his tone. “Is that you?”

I pause, for a moment, as my expression pinches, and the crumble of agony descends upon my shoulders like the tide upon the shore, and the edge of my eroded cliff begins to fall. “It’s me, Pretty Boy.” I whisper, tone riddled by the repressed lather of edging tears; the misery that threatens to spill. I bite it back, and I relax my contorted expression. I hold it down, and my chest begins to burn, again. It burns, and it aches, and my body is on fire. But he’s here - my Spencer, my Pretty Boy - he’s here, and I am still breathing, and Alyssa is still here, and Benjamin Fackle is not.

I blink slowly, and I swallow down my silent cries, as the warm moisture of irrevocable tears fall solemnly upon my cheeks, and I sniffle it back, as the shuffling continues through the rough auditory of the responding end.

“Where are you?” He asks, a certain heaviness to his tone that has not been invoked by the influence of exhaustion. He sniffles, and I wipe my moistened mouth with the back of my wrist, ignoring the sudden flare of pain that engulfs my arm, my body, as a soft sound falls from my lips. I could hope that he did not hear it, that my quiet whimper slipped through the cracks of the terrible connection, but I know Spencer. Oh, do I know him, and so, when he gulps audibly, and he stutters over his words, I know that he is entirely aware of my pain. “I- I couldn’t, I’m-” He takes a shaken, deep, breath, and he tries again. “Where, uh- where are you, Y/N?” He asks, quietly, as the explicit ruffle of a breeze picks up on his end, and the distant slam of a door alerts me that he is on the move. I almost smile. Almost, if it were not for the grave buck of my knee, as it gives out, and I half-collapse, and an audible yell falls from my lips, the phone slipping from my weak grip, and tumbling to clatter with the metal of the side panel.

The sudden glare of invading heat, rupturing between this cell, and that cell, and every damned muscle in between, catches my body in a crampating hold; forcing me down upon a half-crouch, half-bend, as a forty-five degree angle courses through my hot, hot, agonized, frame. “Fuck,” I groan, as I slowly - oh-so-slowly, with a hiss here, and a quiet moan there - drag myself back up, and I place the phone back to my ear. Fuck. The incessant flourish of heat warps my limbs, carries them upon a throne of daggers, and of bruising pellets, and I find myself stifling back a sob, as he immediately interrupts my discomforted quiet.

“Y/N?�� Spencer calls, no less a shout, than an urgent call. “Y/N, what’s going on?” He pleads, not quite bothering to mask the teary tone that he displays. I suppose that Spencer has always been like that - with me, at least - whereby his emotions are so raw, so pretty, that one cannot help being entirely enamoured by the way his tone thickens, and his lower lip trembles, as he forces back his tears, and I cannot help but allow my eyes to flutter shut; to envision his large, brown, eyes, so pretty beneath the glassy shein, and, for the second time, tonight, I allow a thumping thought to re-iterate itself among my pulse.

This is it, it says, and I am not sure if I am winning, anymore.

It just- Oh, Oh it hurts, and it aches, and it burns, and I- and I can’t tell if the moisture on my cheeks is from my silent tears, or the precipitation from my hot sweat, but it doesn’t seem to matter. It doesn’t seem to matter, because the urgent calls of Spencer’s thickening concern seem to fade - drifting, drifting, drifting away - and I lose myself within that certain void of semi-consciousness. Slumped upright, against the payphone booth, it pulses in my ears, and it aches, and it burns, and it hurts, and this is it. This is it. This is it. This is how I die, and I’m not sure if I am winning anymore, and I can’t hear my Pretty Boy, and I can’t picture his pretty brown eyes, or his pretty little face, or the soft embrace I could dare to call home, and I can’t think of anything. I can’t- it won’t- it aches, and it burns, and it hurts, and this is it. This is it. This is it. This is it. And I’m not winning anymore. I’m not losing, I’ve gained some sort of victory, along the way, but I can’t see the finish line, and I’m slowing down. I’m slowing down. I’m slowing down. I’m slowing down, and this is it. This is it. This is it. This is it.

This is it, and small, nimble, fingers, approach my peripheral. Like that slow-motion scene, with distant classical music echoing from the depth of another, airy, room; I watch it take ahold of the phone; watch it disappear, again, and the muffled tone of a child - Lissy Doll, little, little, Lissy Doll - soaks within my senses, devoured like the sweet scent of honey to a sore throat. I hear her, as I slide down the metal of the payphone, and I succumb to the desperate flames; I hear her, but I cannot bring myself to listen. Not as she speaks, with tears - I assume this is what I notice, glimmering upon her pink cheeks, as she cries beneath the moonlight - trailing her face, and she sniffles, and stutters, and she tries to reply as informatively to Spencer as she possibly can. I want to call out to her - want to inform her that this is why she is a good girl, that her unrelenting ability to do the right thing is what makes her good, not her lack of protest, and neither her silence, or her previously dry cheeks. I want to tell her that I am proud of her, as I lower my cranium upon the cold pathway below me, but I am tired.

I am tired, and this is it.

This is it. This is it. This is it.

This is it, and I know that Spencer will save her, now. That, although I am not winning, although I have not won, Alyssa is safe. Alyssa will grow to learn her recovery, and she will regain her aforementioned youth. And, as I roll upon my back, my body aroar with flames that ache, and that burn, and that taunt me desperately within my ear, that thank me, profusely, for my sacrifice, I stare up at the sky, and I smile, softly. Benjamin Fackle will be caught, should he catch his breath, and regain his consciousness, and Alyssa will recover. Her mother will hold her little Lissy Doll, once more, and she will be able to watch her child grow old, and she will know that in my death, her daughter found life. I suppose that death is not quite as morbid, when I think of it like this.

When I ignore the persistent nagging, in the forefront of my mind, as my eyelids droop, and exhaustion overwhelms me, and I pretend that in dying, I would not tear Spencer apart. I pretend, and I pretend, as I attempt to count the stars above me, for I know that I would shred him, limb from limb, and he would never recover. I am not so arrogant as to believe that I hold such power over any other, but Spencer is not just ‘any other’. Spencer - my Spencer - devotes himself, entirely, to the concept of love. He has never told me this - not in words - but- but I know. Love is not something you should ever find yourself questioning, and, if you are, it is not true love. I have never found myself questioning Spencer’s muse of adoration, despite his reluctance to openly admit it (all those months ago), and I know that I am lucky. That Spencer has known far too much pain for someone of such a golden declaration, and that his soul must be woven of the finest silk. There is not a single part of me - not a fraction, not a section - that does not know this, is not consumed by this. But here, as I lie upon the concrete, and Alyssa’s quiet crying forms a background serenade for my slow, painful, death, I wonder if my Pretty Boy would be alright.

I wonder if Spencer would recover, in time, much the same as Alyssa will, and I wonder if he will accept that it was my fault. That, ultimately, had I not imposed myself upon this unofficial case, and attempted to take matters into my own, foolish, hands, I would not be here, at this moment, dying. And he would not be awoken in the middle of the night, to an Unknown Number, and he would not be met with the pained cry of his tortured partner - a tortured partner that stares up to the stars, as they lay dying, and smiles because they are beneath the same sky as the love of their life, and, well, nothing seems to matter, anymore.

My body tingles - the kind of tingle that curls, and crawls, throughout your broken skeleton - and I let it dance, drunkenly, through the course of my very being. For when I remain motionless, it doesn’t quite hurt, anymore. Quite, because I am unsure as to whether the tingling is a symptom of forthcoming death - if I am numb, and unable to feel anything, anymore, but it doesn’t matter.

This is it, and it doesn’t matter, as I stare up at the night sky, and I sketch my Pretty Boy’s face among the stars, and I know that he fits right in, up there, with his soft chocolate hair, that swoops upon the right side of his face, and curls behind his ear; with his perfect little nose, that buttons, and finds itself entirely symmetrical, and the round, gently crinkled, expression of adoration within his wonderfully dark eyes - creased to the edge, as he smiles at me, and I lose myself in his adoration. And I think that if I am to die tonight, beneath the stars, with the vision of Spencer glancing down upon me with nothing but pure love, and affectionate warmth, I think that I am to die happy.

“Lissy,” I call, softly, and I hear her murmur something to my Spencer. I am unsure as to how long the credit will remain, though I assume it will not be forever, as Alyssa turns to face me, and I offer her a genuine, toothy, smile. “Can I speak to him?” I ask, quietly, and I can hardly recognize my own voice, beneath the rasp of my naked throat, and the relief that courses through my frame from the numbness that dying provides. “Please?” Please, may I bid my farewell?

Alyssa doesn’t say anything, with yet another sniffle, and she speaks another bundle of words that I do not quite catch, as she lowers herself to kneel beside me, the chord of the phone almost entirely outstretched, and she places the receiver to my ear, and the speaker to my chapped, smiling, lips. “Y/N?” I hear, as I see him amongst the stars, and my eyes crinkle at the notion, bewitched by a toothy, genuine, grin. The phone is cold, and I blink slowly up at the sky.

“Hey, Pretty Boy.” I say, quietly. “I miss you.”

There is hardly a pause, though I notice that the wind is no longer present upon the static of his end. “I don’t- I’m-” He catches his words, and he rearranges them. He doesn’t know what to say, but I let him take his time. “Why would you do that?” He hisses, softly, after a moment and there is a returning thickness that bubbles in his throat. I hear him swallow, but it doesn’t quite seem to do anything, at all, as he continues, and he sniffles back his tears, slightly. “Why wouldn’t you tell anyone?” He asks. Not scolding, not angrily, more of the bitter mourning, and the grief, that wraps upon his tone, and I find myself swallowing my honesty, for the moment.

“Can you see the sky, Spencie?” I evade, staring up at the constellations that form before me, as he shuffles, and his silence echoes back to me. “Can you see the stars?”

“Y/N-” His voice trembles, but I cut him off.

“I’m not winning, anymore, Spence.” I say, a mere whisper upon the silent street around us. “I’m not losing.” I continue. “But I’m- I’m not winning, either.”

“What?” He mumbles, voice thick with tears, and I envision them tumbling down his face. Another shuffle breaks forth, and I assume that he has wiped his cheeks. My chest begins to ache, again, as I picture the subtle furrow of his eyebrows, and the way his tongue will run over the pout of his trembling lower lip, as he exhales through his cheeks, and he sniffles with his pretty nose, and I smile, softly, into the night, and, despite the dense knowledge that I will not, I hope that I will make it. That this isn’t it. But, deep down, I know that it is, and thus, I continue.

“I want you to-” I swallow back the uprising hiss, as I move my jaw somewhat to animatedly, and a flare of heat erupts in my throat, and I speak quieter, as I try again, and I know that Spencer’s expression is pinched. “I want you to take care of Lissy, alright?” I say.

Silence.

“Spencer, promise me.” I whisper. “I need you to do that for me.”

“Why would-” He delves a shaky inhale, “Why would I have to do it?” He says. “You’re gonna be fine, Y/N.” He continues, a tremble to his tone, “You’re gonna be Okay. You’re gonna walk away from this, just fine, and Alyssa’s gonna have access to as much help as she needs, and we- and we’re gonna be just fine, Okay?” I want to shake my head, I want to interrupt his self indulged, dishonest, ramble, and I want to stop him - want to reach out, and hold him, and to assure him that he will recover - but this is it, and time is simply not on my side.

“Spencer.” I call, softly, and he falls to immediate silence; his breathing inconsistent, and shaken. “I’m not winning, anymore.” I repeat, and I know that he has gathered together the missing pieces. “I’m not.” I say. “And- and it hurts.” I whisper. “It hurts, and I’m tired-”

“I know, baby,” He says, gently, as he gulps in a trembled lungful of air, and he swallows down the lump in his throat, and he tries to speak again. “I know you’re tired, and I know that you’re in pain, but you can hold on. I know you can, Y/N, come on.” He says. “Fight.” And a quiet, almost silent, whimper leaves my lips, until the stars are all a blanket of ill-lit darkness, and I can hardly comprehend his grief as he speaks again. “Please.” He whispers. “You’ve gotten through the worst of it, and if you- if you don’t move, and you stop talking, and you preserve your energy, you’ll be fine. You can survive another three minutes, and twenty four seconds, can’t you?”

A breathless, teary, laugh falls from me, then, and I ignore the blistering fire that erupts throughout my body. “Calculated to the second.” I tease, softly, “How ingenious of you, Doctor.”

He reciprocates my watery laugh, though riddled with far less enthusiasm than I, and he mutters his quiet response: “I do have an IQ of 187, and an-”

“And an eidetic memory.” I finish, smiling toothily to myself, despite the chorus of flames that attempts to swallow me whole. “I know, Spencer.” I say. “And I know that you don’t think intelligence can be quantitatively measured.”

“No.” He says, “I don’t.”

“And I know that you-” I gulp back the concoction of bile, and I try it again, a certain hoarseness about my tone. “I know that you can read twenty-thousand words per minute, and that you don’t much like the taste of coffee, so you- you pour the whole bag of sugar in there-”

“I do not-”

“You do, Pretty Boy.” I smile, and, beneath the soft crackle of the reception, I hear a low rumble of agreement.

“She’s right.” They say, a grin to their tone, and I know that voice. Oh, I know it well.

“Is that Morgan?” I rasp, softly, and I smile up at the sky, as the man in question offers his greeting.

“Hey, Babygirl.” He says, with that same kind of warmth that Derek seems to consistently radiate. My chest aches, again, and I realise that I do not want this to be it. It aches, and the charred flavour of my burning sternum crawls back upon my tongue, and it nestles there, as he offers a question of less-than-casual-conversation. “How you holdin’ up?” He asks.

“Great, actually.” I joke, as I offer a kind smile to Alyssa, and she runs her nimble, small, fingers through my hair, and she reciprocates the gesture, ascending her gaze back to the stars, as she goes. “If you consider two-” I let out a low cough, as the concoction of bile seeps beneath my tongue, and it- I heave, abruptly, and I force myself to twist to the side, unloading whatever the fuck was left, rejected, amongst my stomach. The wet splatter of blood, and of bile, of mucus, and salivation, coaxes the pavement, a mere few inches away, as I retreat, slowly, back to the receiver of the phone, and I dismiss the neverending roar of flames, engulfing my body, still, as I sink back into my vertical position, and I return to the conversation.

“Y/N?” Spencer calls, a thickened tone of worry conveying about his voice.

“I’m fine.” I lie. “Just a little, uh-” I swallow back the coppery aftertaste, and I offer Alyssa another gentle smile. “Nauseous.” I murmur.

“Nauseous?” Spencer repeats. “Do you have a fever?”

“I don’t have the flu, Spence,” I dare to jest, “It’s probably just something to do with my two dislocated, and relocated, shoulders. Or, maybe my- maybe my (probably broken) ankle, and the-” Another strained groan falls from me, as Alyssa slumps herself down upon the pathway, and she (accidentally) knocks the jolt of my displaced shoulder, a great POP echoing out from such a sudden movement. Fire. Heat. Hot, hot, hot; it licks away at the joint, and I let out a great, stifled cry, as she attempts to place her palm upon it, and I- “Fuck!” I cry, “Don’t touch it, Lissy, don’t-” I swallow down another yell, as the fire runs up, and down, up, and down, the length of my arm; pins and needles carouselling their way about the wounded flesh. “Don’t touch it. Please.” I implore, quietly, as I attempt to return to the phone, and I retrain my gaze upon the stars, slurry, and unfocused, for all its worth, as I find myself woozy beneath the beckon of exhaustion, once more.

“What was that?” Spencer pleads, as he holds the speaker somewhat too close to his mouth, and my head naturally jerks away from the volume of his cry. Another rip of gravely flames engulf my figure, as I strain myself to lower the extent of my groan, but it- Fuck, does it hurt. It aches, and it burns, and it licks up the fruit of my torture. “Y/N?” He calls, again, “What was that popping? Was that a joint?”

I grit my teeth, and I exhale through them roughly. In, I breathe, and out. “My shoulder, Spence.” I murmur, “Fuck- Please-” I do not want this to be it. I do not want this to be it. I do not want this to be it. The thump of my heart begins to pick up, and I withhold the uprising sob that threatens to break through. I do not want this to be it. “Please tell me you’re bringing an ambulance.” I murmur, and I hope that my insinuation is correct.

“They’re on the way.” He says. “We all are.”

“All?” I mutter, quietly.

“All of us, Babycakes.” Morgan says. “Don’t tell me you thought we’d be able to sleep, with your face on the news, like that.”

“I was on the news?”

“Headlining.”

“Great.” I scoff, “My big media break, and it’s the one thing that’ll have me fired.”

“It was a preposterous idea!” Spencer cuts in. “Going in alone, like that. You know that above ninety-seven percent of women are sexually assaulted? In their day-to-day lives? Why would you purposely search for a rapist? Why would you do that without back-up? I- I bet, I bet with every fibre of my being, that you didn’t check your blind spot.” He says, and I feel a certified something stir within the depth of my stomach, and pool deep within, for, oh, he knows me so well, and, and I- “You never check your blindspot. I do it for you, because I know that you’ll forget, but Y/N- fuck.” He says, and his breath shakes as he releases it. “And you know, you know that you are required, by law, to wait for back-up, when you do not have your vest, or any other form of protection. Y/N, we didn’t even know that you had worked on this case, never mind that you had gone to visit the UnSub by yourself-”

“He was out of his depth, Spencer.” I defend, quietly. I say it quietly, because it aches, and it burns, and it hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts, and he listens to me, anyway, and he lets out a shaky inhale, as I speak. “It wasn’t in the Profile for him to do something that ballsy-”

“Well, clearly your profile was inaccurate.” He snaps, a certain edge to his tone that I find myself unfamiliar with, as I recoil, slightly, and I ignore the flare of heat that congregates about my body. “If you hadn’t-” He pauses, and another trembled breath is to follow: In, and out. “Y/N, I just- I’m- I’m scared, alright? I’m worried. I don’t know your physiological, or psychological, condition, right now, and I’m- it’s just-” Another stuttered inhale. “This isn’t easy, Okay?”

“I know, Spence.”

“I don’t hear from you for four days, twenty-two hours, and thirty-nine minutes, roughly fourteen seconds, and you’re the headline for the news. MISSING: Federal Agent, Y/N Y/L/N, Last Seen in Quantico Virginia, at the Behavioural Analysis Unit Headquarters.” He recites, and I know that it has plagued the back of his eyelids like a lingering, bad, smell, ever since. “You know where you were last seen, Y/N? You were last seen with me, that’s where. And I can’t forget what that headline says, it is biologically impossible, and I can’t stop seeing it every time I close my eyes, and I- and I can’t stop thinking about how, should I have stayed with you for another four hours, or so, you wouldn’t have chased this UnSub, and you would be here, right now, and I wouldn’t be turning down the street, to find you sprawled out on the floor - because I know that’s what you’re doing - in agony, and feeling as though death is knocking at your door, and-”

“Breathe, Pretty Boy,” Morgan cuts in, “Breathe.”

But he doesn’t pause long enough to listen. “And I can’t-” His voice cracks, slightly, and my chest burns, it aches, as the subtlety of silent tears stream down the sides of my face, and they pool within the roots of my hair. “And I can’t listen to you, here, talking to me like you’ll-” He grapples a broken inhale, and he stutters amongst his breathing, and I hear the tears on his tongue. I hear them. I hear them. “-like you’ll never see me again. Like this call is some sort of goodbye.”

“I don’t want this to be it.” I say, gentler than I feel I have ever spoken, before, and Spencer offers his words of protest.

“It isn’t!” He exclaims, with a thick bitterness to his tone. Not quite directed at me, though the agony to his own constricting chest is evident. I find myself accustomed to the flavour of my burned sternum, as it rests upon my tongue, and I do not attempt to protest amongst his continuation, as he cries, and he parries on. “Fuck,” He whispers, and I envision him wiping away the fresh moisture of his expression, once again, as a quiet shuffling invokes upon the line. “This isn’t it. We’re-” He lets out a breath. “Can you hear us?” He asks. “We’re almost there.”

The distant wail of crying sirens engulfs my senses, paired with the static white noise of Spencer's anticipation, and I find my mouth up-tilting, ever so slightly. “Yeah.” I say. “I can hear you.” And maybe, just maybe, this isn’t it. Maybe Spencer - maybe my Pretty Boy Spence - is right. He is rarely wrong, that much may I agree, but he is not always accurate in his future depictions. For once, I find myself thinking, I hope that he is right.

“Good.” He says, perhaps more so to himself, than to me, as he repeats the notion, and he steadies his erratic breathing. “Good, Okay. We’re turning onto your street, now.” He says. “Can you see us?” The wailing sirens approach, they engulf the silence of the night, as they blare, and they scream, and they fall louder, and closer, and louder, and closer, and the stars all morph together, into one illuminated band of darkness, and the sirens blare on, growing louder, and closer, and louder, and closer, and- “Y/N?” Spencer calls.

“The sirens.” I murmur, distractedly, as they ricochet around my mind, and they bounce from one fragment of my inner skull, to the other, and they roll impotently about the curve of the bone. “They’re-” Louder, and closer, and louder, and closer. “They’re noisy.” I say, and I doubt that he can comprehend the gentle tone to which I depict, as the wail of the siren cry calls out, and a sudden screech falls present upon their hellish song.

Spencer does not reply, and I listen to the white noise - the white noise that grows distant, as the wailing aubade of the ambulance approaches - and, then, a chorus of footsteps consume my auditory senses.

I know my lover not by his footfall, but by the way in which he collapses, immediately, at my side, and his large, warm, hand, cusps at my broken cheek, and he observes me closely. And it aches, and it burns, but, oh, there he is. There he is, with a furrow to his straightened eyebrows, and a glassy film aloft his beautiful, warm, orbs - reduced to circles of worry, of anguish, as he observes my… my state of being - and I measure the map of his features, I blister them among the roof of my mind, as though I have not looked upon them fondly a thousand times before, and I offer my lover a soft, closed-mouth, smile. I offer him a smile, and I ache to run my fingers across his parted lips, to recall the feel of his skin, his perfect, perfect, complexion, and the symmetrical span of his face. In this moment, I want nothing more than to feel the weight of his body, sprawled out upon me, as my arms wind around his neck, and I embrace my Spencer, and we pretend that all the trauma of the world does not exist, and we love, and we love, and we love.

I watch the rapid descent of his features, and I gather that he wishes he knew nothing of my physiological well-being, if the subtlety of my pained cries aloft the phone were quite enough to reduce him to tears, and my fingers itch. They itch, they itch, and they itch, to run through the smooth flow of his hair, to brush it away from his pretty little features, and to assure him that: Hey, Pretty Boy, it’s alright. I’m alright. It’s going to be fine. Just fine, Okay? This isn’t it, I was wrong. I was wrong, Okay? This isn’t it, Pretty Boy. Come on. Come on, Pretty Boy, wipe those cheeks. It’s going to be just fine. It’s alright. It’s going to be fine, Pretty Boy. Okay? Okay.

But eyes, red raw, and leaking, stare down at me, and I know that to speak such words would be nought but a cruel spell of dishonesty. I’m not winning, anymore.

Trembling fingers work their way through the matted knots of my hair, brushing back the locks from my face, as they flail out upon the pathway beneath me, and Spencer shudders a quiet sigh. “Hey,” He greets, simply, as though he is not attempting to swallow his raging heart, that threatens to break through the lump in his throat. As though he is not on fire, with burning self-hatred (just like I know that he is), and gritting his teeth to prevent any upcoming sobs. As though I am not destroying him, as we speak. As though I am Okay, as though I am still winning. “Can-” Another shaken, stuttered, inhale, “Can you move?” He asks, and I gulp back the remainder of the bile concoction that has yet to bid me farewell. Can you move? No. No. I cannot. I can hardly breathe, and I-

I shake my head, gently, and I attempt to ignore the corrupting fire that, still, nibbles away at the aching flesh of my body, and I- “It hurts.” I repeat, no less than a whimper upon the business of the night. Blue light carousels around the darkness, illuminating the scene in an azure of flashing cerulean, but I see nothing other than the glassy brown of his wide, fearful, eyes. “It hurts, Spencer.” I say, and I am not quite sure just what it is that hurts, anymore, as my vision blurs, and the warmth of something hot, something wet, trails upon my broken cheeks.

“Shh,” He whispers, tone thickened by the tally of his own violent tear-shed, as he strokes the pad of his calloused thumb aloft my moistened complexion. “Shh,” He says, “I know.” But it aches, and it burns, and I can hardly breathe, once again. “I know, baby, it’s alright.” He says. “I’m here. I’m right here, Okay? Ri- right here.”

But that- it doesn’t- it doesn’t seem to matter, as he trails the dampness of my sopping cheeks, and his salty tears trickle down his throat. It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because this is it. And, as a certain warmth begins to sprinkle upon the curve of my toes, and the quiet patter of uniformed feet scurry upon the pathway, and the roll of a- of the- stretcher? Of the stretcher. Oh, the stretcher. It aches, and it burns, and Spencer seems awfully beautiful, beneath the gaze of the moon, and my eyes- they ache, and they burn.

The angel that hangs above me, my very own offering from heaven (an offering, a fraction, like the stars, from the sun) and I think he has never looked more bittersweet in his beauty, than he does tonight, displayed beneath the moonlight. Displayed beneath the moonlight, as though he is carved, sculpted, so effortlessly, by the most callous, talented, hands that the Gods ever did have to offer. I swallow back my prosperity, as the shein upon my eyes begins to dwindle, and I consider whatever religion I have left, inside of me. I consider it, and I come to realise, as my adoration for this angel, for this sweet, sweet, lover of mine, paints itself in poetry upon my tongue, that all of my religion is made up of him. That he tastes like the body of Christ, or whomever my heart has decided is unworthy of worship in the presence of my Spencer, and he has stained my lungs with the scent of his forgiveness.

He is the religion that I have left, and I fall to my knees before him. As he furrows his eyebrows, and everything seems to dim, and the stars lose their spark, and I am wrapped- wrapped up, up, up, in a tingling sensation, that crawls around, and around, my entirety, and dissolves the fire, relishes the flames; that runs its hand through my hair, and threatens to succumb me to exhaustion.

This is it, I think, and I bore my stare into the warmth of Spencer’s darkening expression. His mouth, that hangs open, and shapes the body of words I cannot hear, but look a lot like my name, and the sirens of the world around, they all fall to nothing.

This is it, and I am consumed entirely in something that feels a lot like him. A lot like my Pretty Boy. A lot like Spencer. For it is warm, and it runs a steady hand through my hair, and it caresses my cheek, and I am- I am Okay. Just for this moment, I decide, I am Okay. The dull shadow of my gaze seems to darken, and the world around collapses, and I hear nothing. But I am Okay. I hear nothing; no buzz, no fuzz of the white noise, but I am Okay, and, in a strangely comforting anonymity, I allow myself to sway along with it’s somber aubade. For what, in life, is more beautiful than the transition? Than the end?

This is it, and I am Okay, and it does not hurt, as I indulge a final glance upon my lover, before me, and I strain my arm - my somewhat re-located joint, that doesn’t ache, and doesn’t burn, beneath the symphony that is my love - and I raise it up, up, up, and I cup at the curve of his trembled, tear-stricken, cheek. I hear him not, as he whispers to me, softly, and I do not dispel the announcement of my adoration, as I draw him closer to me, and he follows without question. Without question, because my Pretty Boy is not naive. Because my Pretty Boy knows, all to well, the prologue of agony, and, as he leans in to the heart of my hand, and his sopping wet features pinch with the repression of bitten back sobs, and he approaches, and he nears, and his warm, trembled, breath fans my lips, as it all takes place, and the world falls away, my Pretty Boy knows that this is it. That I am not winning, anymore.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

He knows, and his mouth is warm, is familiar, as it peppers its soft affection upon the wounded pout of my lips, and he cries his salted tears, that melt upon my damaged complexion with anger, and with poorly consumed rage, and he damns the cruel taste of fate, as it settles within his lungs. He knows, as he withdraws his fragile expression, and a gust of cold, frigid, air, wraps upon the flesh of my parted mouth, and his tongue darts upon his lower lip, and catches a bout full of tears. He knows. He knows. Oh, how he knows. And, as those very same lips bless the blood of my forehead with a ginger, angelic, kiss, and they press upon the skin with shaken certainty, our notion of adoration feels more like a goodbye, than an ‘I Love You’. But there doesn’t seem to be much of a difference, anymore, as I watch, through hooded eyes, and a numb, drifting, body, and I observe the violent tremble of his frame, his hunched shoulders, as he looms above me, and he cradles my face within his large hands.

There isn’t any difference, because this is it.

This is it, and I stutter through my final breath, and my half-lidded eyes absorb the dark nothingness before them for one final time.

This is it.

This is it, and I’m not winning, anymore.

#spencer reid #baby spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader fanfic #spencer reid x you fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader fanfiction #spencer reid x you fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #criminal minds

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theweasleysredhair · 4 years

Text

When Sparks Fly [F.W.]

Character: Fred Weasley

Word Count: 1891

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: “You’re scared of fireworks?” “Scared is an understatement.” In which Fred plans a birthday surprise for his girlfriend without the crucial knowledge that she is terrified of fireworks.

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: I bloody loved this request

also to the requester: I hope I got this right bc I actually adore fireworks so I had to get myself into the mind-frame of being scared of them to write this so fingers crossed I did an okay job. enjoy my love!

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

“What are you talking about now?” Ron asked the twins as they were chatting about something loudly.

“It’s my Y/n‘s birthday next week,” Fred announced. “And we’ve got something spectacular planned,” George grinned, folding his arms over his chest.

You smiled at them and shook your head with a laugh, “I’m kinda worried what the two of you are working on to be honest. You’ve both been awfully mysterious about it all.”

“Oh don’t you worry about a thing, love! Things are gonna take off,” Fred replied with a smirk, “Gonna have a cracking-”

“-Absolutely sparkling-“ George added.

“Time,” they finished the sentence simultaneously.

You smiled at them, hearing a few chuckles from the others as they wandered away, heads bowed together as they conspired about something or other.

“Shit,” you said as soon as they were out of ear shot.

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked as he grabbed a bar of Honeydukes chocolate he’d left on a nearby table.

You sighed, “Their plan involves fireworks.” “Don’t all their plans involve fireworks?” Hermione asked with a small smile.

“Well yes but... this plan is for me. And from the hints they’ve been dropping, fireworks are a big part of the plan,” you chewed on your lip in thought and nervously clasped and unclasped your hands together.

Harry cleaned his glasses with the bottom of his jumper before returning them to his face, “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Well... usually no. But in this case... I thought I’d be able to go a bit longer without saying anything but... I don’t like fireworks. And by ‘don’t like’ I mean I am curling-into-a-ball-and-freaking-out petrified of them,” you admitted, looking down at your hands and sighing again.

“You’re scared of fireworks?”

“Scared is an understatement. Some people are scared of spiders - Ron - some of snakes, of clowns, of werewolves. My thing is fireworks.”

“But your boyfriend is Fred Weasley,” Ron said incredulously through a mouthful of chocolate.

“Oh yeah, cheers for that, Ron, I had almost forgotten,” you replied sarcastically.

Ron smiled before shaking his head, “No, I know, I just mean... well, how have you gone this long without telling him?”

You shifted in your seat, and avoided looking at any of them, “I just... haven’t. He loves them, doesn’t he? I can’t just tell him to stop using them just for my benefit.”

And that was the truth, really. You would never ask him to stop something he loved, and him and George used fireworks a lot in their pranks and such. It wouldn’t be fair to turn around and ask him to stop.

“Well... how badly are you afraid of them?” Hermione asked, tapping her chin in thought.

“I am more afraid of fireworks than Snape is of shampoo,” you joked, “No but seriously, I’ve had quite a few panic attacks over them - bad ones. I just... I can’t help it. I wish I liked them but I’m just terrified. And now Fred is planning something for my birthday and it’s very obvious that it involves fireworks. I don’t have the heart to tell him but... my heart’s thumping just from thinking about them.”

Hermione reached over to squeeze your hand reassuringly, “I’d speak to him beforehand, I’m sure he’d hate it more to do something that scares you.”

You smiled thankfully at her, “Yeah I’ll um... I’ll try and speak to him.”

***

Your birthday arrived much quicker than you’d hoped, and you’d woken up with an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach. You hadn’t gotten the heart or courage to confront Fred about his plans for your birthday - he seemed much too excited any time you saw him - and by any means you didn’t want him to feel as though he had to change everything he’d been working on. You appreciated the effort and adored the lengths he went to to show you how much he cared and didn’t ever want him to know you weren’t as excited as him for what was to happen.

Your day went by quite normally, your friends and other students passing by to wish you a happy birthday. The only oddity was you hadn’t seen the twins all day, and it was nearing evening. The thought put you on edge, as you assumed they were working on whatever it was they’d been planning. Despite this, you couldn’t help but miss them - particularly your boyfriend - and hoped they’d make an appearance soon.

You’d just finished your evening meal when your eyes flickered to the ginger boy entering the Great Hall, a carbon copy of your doting boyfriend however completely different in your eyes.

“Happy Birthday, Y/n!” George grinned as he sat beside you on the bench and gave you a side hug, “Sorry we haven’t seen you all day, must’ve been rubbish without us, eh?” You smiled back, “Thank you Georgie! Yes I suppose it has - potions was definitely more boring than usual. You um... haven’t seen your dear twin at all, have you?”

“Ah, you wouldn’t happen to be referring to Freddie boy there, would you? I have indeed seen him and the main reason I am here is to escort you to him,” George stood you and held his hand out. You shook your head fondly and took it, allowing him to pull you up and out of the hall.

He led you down the main hallway and towards the doors of the castle, then out onto the Hogwarts grounds.

“Where are we going?” You asked as you followed the younger twin across the grass.

“You’ll see! You’re gonna love this, Y/n! Fred has been planning this for ages - with my help, of course,” George boasted as he shot a grin over his shoulder at you.

You faked a smile, hoping it was believable enough to look like excitement as you tried to hide that your heart was trying to escape your chest and you could hear blood rushing in your ears.

“George..?” You began.

“Yeah?”

Taking a deep breath, you continued on as you glanced down at your feet, “It’s probably much too late to say anything now but I really don’t like-“

“Happy birthday, darlin’!” A familiar voice interrupted you, halting your sentence in the middle. Your eyes flickered up to rest on the welcome sight of your boyfriend and you couldn’t help but smile when you saw his messy ginger hair and cheeky grin.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a warm hug, one you accepted instantly and happily as you hadn’t seen him all day.

George made himself sparse, leaving you alone with your boyfriend who pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, making up for the fact he’d been gone all day.

As you pulled away, he immediately moved back in to kiss you again, mumbling how much he’d missed you (even though it had only been a day), before finally placing a last chaste kiss to your swollen lips. He then grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the Forbidden Forest, where you noticed lights twinkling in a nearby clearing.

He led you over, his fingers locked around yours as he bit his lip and looked at you, “Surprise, love!”

Your eyes locked on the scene, a blanket laid out with your favourite foods on top, bags of Honeydukes items sitting beside it and a pile of presents - wrapped messily in brown paper and tied with wonky bows - scattered across the grass next to the blanket. Small, glittering lights hung from the tree branches around the clearing, casting a light glow and illuminating both the food and the dozens of pillows that you noticed were also piled around.

“Thought we could spend some time together without anyone interrupting us or anything. Also got some new things we’ve been working on that I want to show you before we show anyone else,” Fred explained, nodding over to a stack of what you assumed were Wizard Wheezes products.

“Oh Merlin... this is beautiful... it’s amazing,” you murmured.

And it was. It was so lovely and thoughtful. You adored it.

Yet, as you were staring at the scene, in awe at how beautiful the fairy lights were, you couldn’t help the voice in the back of your mind reminding you about the fireworks, not knowing when they were going to go off but sure it would be soon.

Suddenly, you heard Fred chuckling beside you and you frowned as you looked over at him. “What’s so funny?” You asked nervously.

“There are no fireworks, love,” he said simply, shoving his hands into his pockets, the hint of a smile resting on his lips.

Your jaw dropped almost comically, “What? What do you- How did you- How could you possibly know I was thinking about them?”

“You keep looking around as if you’re waiting for something. Just letting you know there are no fireworks so you can relax, babe. I know you’re terrified of them so they were never part of the plan. You really think I don’t know you well enough to know that?” He mocked with a playful grin.

Your mouth opened and closed as you stuttered out, “I-I never told you-“

“Didn’t have to, I saw your reaction to the small sparklers me and Georgie made to throw around and realised then. I notice everything about you, love,” he said sincerely.

You turned to him with shock on your features, jabbing him lightly in the chest as you scolded him, “Then why in the name of Merlin’s saggy left ballsack would you make me believe your plan relied on fireworks?!”

“Just like to mess with you, love,” he gave you a cheeky grin, and you wanted to be mad but looking at him, you couldn’t bring yourself to be. Still, you tried to be as you gave him a fake glare, “Fred! I’ve been working myself up over this for days! You’re a right prat!”

However, you couldn’t help the relieved giggle that left your lips as you rested your forehead against his chest and sighed contently now you were back at ease.

“I’m your prat though.”

“Hmm, I suppose so,” you mumbled into his jumper as his hands rested on your waist, him leaning his chin on the top of your head. You stayed stood up, in his arms, for a while before you decided to speak again, “Doesn’t it bother you that you’ll probably never be able to use fireworks in my vicinity?”

Fred pulled away for a moment to look down at you, his features softening as he took in the sight of your nervous demeanour, “Honestly? I’d give up fireworks forever if it meant you’d stick around.”

You smiled wide, blushing as you hid your face again in his chest, “Don’t get too sappy on me, Weasley.”

“Me? Sappy? Never.”

“Hmm..” You hummed, unconvinced. “Just want you to know I love you more than anything, and that includes fireworks,” he said earnestly, the corner of his mouth flicking up into a small smile.

“Stop being so cute,” you grumbled.

“No can do, love, I’m the cutest!” He announced, laughing as you pulled him down by his collar. You smiled and shook your head just as your lips grazed his,

“Well I guess I can’t argue with that.”

#fred #fred weasley #fred x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins imagines #hp #harry potter #all queue have to do is follow the spiders

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futurequeenofravka · 3 years

Text

Good Enough - Sirius x Reader

Summary:

After a spat with a Slytherin girl in your year, you’ve start to doubt your relationship with Sirius Black. While you are wildly in love with him, you start to question why he chose you, a “mudblood.”

Warnings: None, I don’t think? Just a little angsty!

A/N: this is my first piece! it’s a lil test of a fic I’d like to write eventually, and it was prompted by mmfd so I decided to tweak the dialogue from the show a little to make it wizarding world esque hahah. But I hope you enjoy! thank you so much for reading, this is the first time I’ve ever shared my creative writing online so please let me know what you think (also please send requests)! Also sorry if the formatting looks a lil weird, posting this from my phone made it kinda wonky.

Word count: 2.2k-ish words.

—

Pst. Psssst.

Sirius’s whisper grew louder until I looked over my shoulder to where he and James were sitting a few desks back from Lily and I. He tried to silently mouth a question as Professor Binns droned on about last night’s reading. James and Lily quietly laughed as they watched Sirius try to repeat himself a number of times before ultimately giving up. I shot him an apologetic look for my lip reading skills, or I guess lack thereof, as I watched him rip up a piece of parchment and scribble down a message. He waited for a spare moment in which Binns had his back turned to the class to write something on the chalkboard and then tossed the crumpled up piece of paper at me.

“What’s it say?” Lily asked as I unfolded the piece of parchment that Sirius had thrown my way.

“Blimey is he fucking annoying.” I said letting out a small laugh as I read the note.

“Well?” She leaned in closer trying to read the note from over my shoulder.

I slid the parchment across our shared desk so that she could read the message as well. Hi. I just wanted to say you look beautiful today. Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at 7? Lily sarcastically groaned as she slid the note back over to me and we pretended to go back to our class work. I turned back around to see Sirius intently waiting for my answer, I rolled my eyes at the silly gesture but smiled as I gave him a small nod to confirm our meeting later.

“You two are so sickly sweet sometimes, honestly I think I might have a toothache.” She said loud enough to provoke a laugh from James who eyed her from a few desks over.

“Beats the headache I get from watching you and Potter dodge your feelings for each other.” I retorted, quietly laughing as I tried to refocus my attention back to my textbook.

After class had ended I said bye to Lily as I made my way to the library to study for my potions exam. Sirius had already promised James that he’d come watch the Gryffindors practice for the upcoming Quidditch match so I’d have to study alone today, which I didn’t particularly mind because usually with Sirius around I hardly got any studying done. He pressed a kiss on my temple before we parted ways. When I got to the library I took a seat in the corner as usual and began to sprawl my textbooks across the table.

In the midst of studying I heard giggles from a herd of girls a few tables over. Looking over I met eyes with Ianthe, a Slytherin also in sixth year, who was sitting alongside Sirius’s cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa. Though I had never spoken more than a few words to either of them, I knew I was not favored in the Black household. If anything, they probably hated me; although Sirius would never burden me with that confirmation, I knew how his family felt about me and “my kind.”

Being muggle born was still a rarity at Hogwarts, and one that pureblood families often had strong feelings against. Lily and I became fast friends because of this. Being two of the only Muggle born students at Hogwarts made fitting in quite hard sometimes. There were often things that we didn’t understand or we lost on. We relied on Marlene, Alice, and Dorcas a lot for explanations and now as of recently on the “Marauders,” as they called themselves, as well. But it was comforting to have Lily around, to have someone who understood experiences unique to us. Someone who understood what it felt like to miss basic muggle things while away at school, like televisions or even just pens.

I rolled my eyes at the giggling girls and went back to reading the next chapter in my textbook. Several minutes passed before my studying was interrupted again, this time I looked up to see the three slender girls approaching my table, a wicked grin plastered across each of their faces as they surrounded my table.

“Can I help you?” I breathed looking up from my book.

“Yes actually. Would you mind backing off of Sirius?” Ianthe mused as she flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Excuse me?” I asked, Bellatrix laughed at my response, a cackle echoing across the room.

“I thought dating you would just be his latest phase but it’s been almost 6 months. I expected that he’d come crawling back to me by now but you seem to be standing in my way.” Ianthe ran her fingers over my notes and shuffled my things around as she spoke.

“In your way of what? Stealing my boyfriend?”

“Precisely.” Narcissa chimed in from behind the blonde haired girl.

“Honestly, Y/N. It’s kind of pathetic how you constantly follow Sirius around like a puppy dog. One day I’m sure he’ll bore of having a little pet mudblood and finally come back to his senses.” Bellatrix said, her tone was cold and cruel as she knocked over a few of my things and proceeded with a sarcastic oops.

“I mean our families have been practically planning our wedding since before we were even born.” Ianthe said trying to refocus my attention back on her.

“Shove off, the lot of you.” I said trying to ignore anymore of their remarks.

“Feisty today aren’t we, Y/N. I would’ve never expected such boldness from a filthy little mud blood.” Bellatrix said cackling again.

“Just leave me alone please.” My voice strained this time.

“You really do ruin all the fun, don’t you, Y/L/N? But before we go, I just have to ask, dear. Does our darling Padfoot still like to have his neck kissed? You know, just above that mole.” Ianthe tapped her finger to the side of her neck.

“You’re all sick.”

“Maybe but at least we don’t have dirty blood.”

My heart beat fast as I picked up my belongings from off the ground, desperately trying to get out of the library as quickly as possible. I ran through the corridors back toward Gryffindor tower, tears welling up in my eyes and slowly beginning to fall despite my best efforts to hold them back. I ran past the other students and back to my dormitory praying that it would actually be empty for once. It was not. Lily was sat on her bed reading a book when she looked up to see me tears running down my face while I tried to keep a cool demeanor. Her face cloaked in worry as she asked if I was okay, her words triggered a visceral reaction as I finally let myself break down in tears. She came over to me and brought me back to her bed and hugged me for a moment, stroking my back waiting until I was ready to speak.

After my sobs and sniffles had mostly come to a stop I recounted the entirety of what had happened in the library. Sharing the words exchanged between me and the three Slytherin girls and the doubt that now seeped into my mind. Lily fumed, her anger rising as she listened to me talk about what had happened.

“Y/N, you don’t actually believe that do you?” She asked, her face still cloaked with worry.

“I mean why shouldn’t I? She’s right, I’ve seen the way people look at us.”

“What does it matter what they think?”

“It’s not what they think, it’s the fact that they’re right. You know exactly how Sirius’ family is, I’m probably just another conquest to him. Girls like Ianthe were bred to marry boys like him, to protect their bloodlines. They’ve basically been betrothed since birth, Lily!”

“Sirius is his own person. He is not his family. You should know better than anyone that that boy lives to break rules. And I seriously doubt it but if he doesn’t appreciate how absolutely brilliant you are just because you were muggle born then he’s not worth your time.”

I knew Lily was right, it was rare that she wasn’t. But my mind still wandered to a dark place that echoed with Ianthe’s comments. She stayed with me for another hour or so before she got ready to go over to the Great Hall for dinner. I didn’t realize how long we had been sitting in the dorm. I looked over at the clock surprised to see it was almost 7. I promised Sirius I’d meet him in the astronomy tower soon. Surely I couldn’t face him after what had just happened but my heart hurt thinking about standing him up.

“You going to be alright?” Lily asked before heading out the door.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll see you later.” I reassured her.

“Alright, if you need anything just give a shout.”

I sighed as she closed the door and headed off. I looked down at my mascara stained sleeves and quickly changed into a clean shirt and wiped away the smeared makeup from beneath my eyes. Regardless of how I felt, I had to face Sirius.

I walked through the empty halls over to the Astronomy tower. Springtime at Hogwarts had an underrated charm to it. The weather was ideal, chill but not too cold. Tonight was no different, the air tonight was crisp, the wind blew gently through my hair as I made my way up the winding staircase. When I made it to the very top I saw Sirius gazing across the school grounds. His face looking intently over the beautifully crafted buildings and through the lush forests around us. I stayed silent for a minute just to admire him. The handsome playboy that I always thought I loathed but whom had somehow not only stolen my heart but had also become my best friend.

When he finally sensed my presence he turned around, my heart fluttered just looking at the kind, dopey smile wiped across his face as he held out his hand for me. When I grabbed it, he pulled me in close. My face buried into his chest as he held me for a minute. I looked behind him to see a blanket laid across the ground a small picnic set up for us.

“Remus helped me bribe the house elves into sneaking me some food so we could have dinner up here.” He excitedly motioned over to the set up.

“It looks lovely, Sirius.” I spoke softly as if my words could be broken with just a tap.

“What’s wrong? Oh Merlin, you hate it, don’t you?” He asked worriedly.

“No it’s not that, it really is lovely. I just, I just don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you’re doing this for me. You’re a pureblood and I’m...I’m a mudblood.” I took a step away from him, letting go on my grasp on his hand.

“What does that have to do with anything? You know I’ve never cared about any of that.”

“You should be going out with someone like Ianthe, not someone like me. Most people when they see us must be thinking, ‘oh he must be mad going out with that.’”

“That what” he said before raising his voice to echo the question, “that what?”

“You know exactly what, Sirius. Everyone does.”

“What the fuck are you on about? What does everyone have to do with how I feel about you? You don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t fancy. That’s mine and mine alone. Now are you going to stop being a git or what?”

“Stop calling me a git, you’re the git.” I said trying to shove him away but his hands grasped my wrists before I could make my move.

Before I could say another word he crashed his lips into mine. His hands now releasing his grip on my wrists and instead caressing my face. Sirius had kissed me many times before but never with such urgency, like his life depended on it. Like if he didn’t kiss me in this exact moment that he’d never get to again. My hands now pressed up against his chest pulling him in closer to me as I savored the taste of him until we were breathless.

“You’re the git.” I whispered as we pressed our foreheads together, he let out a small laugh at my comment before he spoke again.

“Those twats, they aren’t my family. You are.” His thumb caressing my cheek softly.

“Sirius, I just—“

“You are my family.” He said firmly cutting me off before I could finish my sentence.

“Okay, you say that now but I just hate the idea that you’re choosing me over them. I don’t want you to wake up one day and regret your choice and start to resent me forever. I mean they’re your family, Sirius.” I rambled as doubt still riddled my brain.

“Y/N, listen to me, I will always choose you. I choose you today, tomorrow, and I’ll choose you forever for the rest of our lives. You are the only thing in this entire world I care about.”

“Can I quote you on that?”

“Yes, just maybe not to James, Remus, and Peter. I think they might burst into tears.” He let out loud laugh as he responded to my question.

“I won’t lie, I’d like to see that.”

“I bet you would. Now can we please eat dinner, I paid off the house elves 10 galleons each just so that they would make your favorite!”

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devendrasbeard · 3 years

Photo

Only If For A Night

Prompt: They’ve had a few drinks Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier Rating: E Content Warnings: Drunkness, Drunk Kissing, Drunk Confessions Summary: Eskel is a private driver for a very famous and very successful fashion designer. Having seen the more private side of his boss, he eventually develops feelings for him. One night of drunken confessions can bring a massive change to their professional relationship.

Also on ao3!

"My dear friends, acquaintances, sponsors and clients!" Jaskier's happy voice, amplified by several speakers around the small stage, echoed across the hall. "Thank you for gathering here tonight, so that you'll be the first ones to see, admire, and buy the newest designs from my Dandelions collection!"

A round of applause and excited gasps was heard as a group of androgynous models dressed in wonderfully flowy gowns joined Jaskier on the stage. The clothes were kept in a gender neutral fashion, the fabrics thin as if made of morning mist, but at the same time vibrant with colors, their ethereal vibe contrasted with black hemming at the edges.

"In the next hour the models will be available for you, so that you can get a feel of the clothes, talk about how comfortable of a wear these are. You can even try something on, if the models let you!" Jaskier continued into the microphone. "Just remember - these are real people, not coat hangers! I expect respect towards them and no stepping over any boundaries!"

Eskel stood at the far end of the hall, leaning comfortably against a wall, now and then taking a sip from his glass of water. The day was very hot as for late May, so he was wearing a simple white buttoned up shirt with short sleeves and some black slacks instead of his usual suit ensemble. He loosened the knot in his thin black tie, as he watched Jaskier walk down from the stage and fall into the embrace of his enthusiastic friends.

He liked watching Jaskier, his boss, from afar. Jaskier was fierce, flamboyant and bubbly around his friends, at events, and in front of the media people, but when he thought nobody was looking, his face turned pensive, sometimes even sad. That melancholic, brooding side of Jaskier showed up mostly in the evenings, when the lights went out, his friends went home and it was just him and Eskel driving him home. Eskel liked that side of him.

A few hours into the after party Jaskier approached him, hugging a whole bottle of bourbon to his chest. His cheeks were flushed, blue eyes glistening, his elaborate hairstyle already mussed a little. "Fuck me if this isn't the best collection I've made so far."

Eskel nodded, trying to suppress a chuckle. Whenever Jaskier was tipsy, he forgot about any conventionalities and talked to Eskel as if he was his long time buddy, not his private driver. "It's really good." Eskel admitted. "Need my assistance with anything?"

Jaskier placed a warm palm on Eskel's chest, his bright blue eyes looking up at him. "I wanna go home, my head feels dizzy from all the hugs, fake kisses and congratulations."

"You're sure it's the congratulations and not the bourbon?" Eskel cocked his head, raising a brow in amusement.

"Hey!" Jaskier's long finger was now poking at Eskel's chest. "I pay you to drive me around, not to judge my life's choices."

"Let's go then, I'll drive you home," Eskel nodded and led Jaskier to the door, desperately trying not to wrap a protective arm around his boss' frame.

****

Jaskier ducked his head through the partition divider, resting his chin on his hands. The strong smell of alcohol mixed with Jaskier's flowery cologne hit Eskel's nose. "Do you like me, Eskel?" He whispered, too close to Eskel's ear.

Eskel shot him a quick glance through the rearview mirror, clearing his throat. "How do you mean?"

"Am I likeable?" Jaskier pouted and cocked his head to the side, to lay it on the cold metal frame of the divider. "Do you like me as a person? I know I am trying to be a good boss and I hope you're satisfied with the work you're doing here for me and that I'm not a pain in the ass for making you drive me around... But am I likeable as a person? Can you even look at me as a person and not your boss, slash famous designer?"

Eskel huffed, feeling goosebumps creeping up his neck. So today's drunk Jaskier's mood was philosophical. Through his last year of driving Jaskier around he's seen him in every sorry state - from being awkwardly horny after a hook up gone wrong, through being insanely euphorical and singing at the top of his lungs in the back seat, to being absolutely shit-faced, making Eskel stop the car every five minutes, so that he could get out and barf on the sidewalk.

But Jaskier asking him if Eskel liked him caught him off guard. What was he supposed to say to that? That ever since he started working for him, he wanted to wrap his arms around Jaskier and kiss him so hard he'd forget his own name? That his heart fluttered everytime Jaskier sent him that deep look and loving smile when they accidentally locked eyes in the rearview mirror? That he's been yearning to spend every second of his life with him? That he loved everything about him - his generosity, his laugh, his creative mind? This wasn't Eskel's place, he was just Jaskier's employee, yet he felt compelled to say something. "You're a good person, Jaskier." He tried.

"Then how come that on the day my newest collection premieres..." He stopped, interrupted by a series of hiccups. "Why is that, that people hug me and kiss me and yet..." He plopped dramatically onto the back seat and sighed. "Why am I yet again going home alone?"

Eskel sighed, a feeling of a thousand needles prickling on his skin. He wanted to pull Jaskier up and wrap him in a tight embrace and scream at the top of his lungs that he was there for him, always, forever! Instead he sighed again, turned to Jaskier for a second and asked, "Should I put your fave music on?"

"Yes, please," Jaskier mumbled. "Thank you, Esk."

****

"We're here," Eskel turned to Jaskier after he parked the limo outside of Jaskier's apartment building. "Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?"

Jaskier smiled at him, sitting splayed all over the backseat, his hair a mess and his shirt already halfway open, giving Eskel more than a sneak peek of his thick chest hair and the several necklaces dangling on his torso. Eskel swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry, and then Jaskier leaned forward and whispered, "You can come upstairs with me."

Eskel's eyes widened, a hotness creeping up his neck. It was all he ever wanted, but he felt he shouldn't do it tonight, not with Jaskier in this state of mind. He had to think and be reasonable for them both. "Jaskier... You're drunk and tired, I don't think that's a-" A warm finger on his lips shut him up.

"That bottle of bourbon won't empty itself," Jaskier tried for a seductive smile which turned out pretty wonky, but still managed to tug at Eskel's heartstrings. "C'mon, just one drink? You can probably drive after one drink?"

Eskel huffed, his mind racing and trying to weigh all the pros and cons of the situation he's gotten himself into. Jaskier looked at him with pleading eyes, not saying anything, waiting for Eskel's move. "Okay, one drink."

They got out of the car, Jaskier propping himself up on Eskel's shoulder as they entered the building. "Good morning, Jerome," Jaskier addressed the concierge with a wide smile.

"It's midnight, Mr. Pankratz," the concierge rolled his eyes, the look on his face indicating he's seen Jaskier in this state more than once.

As soon as they got into Jaskier's penthouse, Jaskier moved straight to the alcohol cabinet, leaving Eskel in the middle of the spacious living room. Eskel looked around the place, admiring all the art pieces on the walls and various trinkets scattered around the furniture. But the view from the vast windows was what truly mesmerized him - he moved towards the glass walls, gazing down at the night city, so calm and otherworldly from here.

"Thank you for joining me," Jaskier's voice next to him startled him a little. "I really didn't want to be home alone tonight," he added quietly.

"No problem," Eskel smiled at him, noticing that now besides the bourbon bottle, Jaskier was also nursing a flask of red wine. He held both up for Eskel to choose his drink from. Eskel took the wine bottle and asked, "Should I fetch us some glasses, or do I just chug straight from the bottle?"

Jaskier patted his shoulder lightly, laughing too loud, as if Eskel told a joke, then hiccuped a little. "I'll get us some glasses, you..." he waved towards the sofas and armchairs, "you make yourself comfortable."

Eskel didn't get to sit yet when he heard the sound of breaking glass and a sharp hiss coming from the kitchen. He jumped up, leaving the wine bottle on the table and moved towards Jaskier.

"It's nothing, it's nothing," Jaskier was already kneeling on the floor, clumsily collecting the broken pieces of a wine glass. "Guess everything went too smoothly for me today."

The sigh that left Jaskier's lips sounded more like a broken whimper and Eskel's heart physically hurt at the sight of his famous and successful boss looking so small and pitiful in the middle of his kitchen. He felt like crying. "Leave it, I'll clean it up," he offered. "Maybe you should go to bed, lay down a little?"

Jaskier looked up at him, the gaze of his blue eyes unfocused. He pointed at Eskel with his index finger while standing up. "No, you-... You've promised me that one drink!"

"Fine."

****

Two hours later Eskel knew he wasn't going to make it home that night. The wine bottle in his hands was almost empty, and he felt slightly light-headed and dizzy, but not drunk. Jaskier, on the other hand, was already edging on wasted, his shirt now unbuttoned, cheeks red, his words incoherent and slurry.

"Y'know, I'm fully aware of my... My pre... my pry... My privilege," he blurted out, "but yet I give myself permission to feel miserable from time to time... And now is the day!" he gestured with his hand, in which he held the bourbon bottle, spilling a little on the table.

"Okay, I'll take this," Eskel grabbed the bottle from him as Jaskier plopped back onto the sofa.

"How do you know who's your friend?" Jaskier asked, his gaze focused on the ceiling as if he was trying to find an answer there. "People hug me and kiss me and invite themselves into... Into my life and then what? They want free stuff, they want contacts with my famous friends, they want..." He stopped and looked over at Eskel, his blue eyes sad and pleading, as if he waited for Eskel to give him a solution.

"Look for those who stick around when the lights go out, when the party's over... For-for those who ask you how you feel and not what you can give to them." He felt the hotness of embarrassment creep up his neck, his ears turning red. He was talking about himself and he only gave himself permission to do so because Jaskier was drunk and wouldn't remember it the next day.

"That's... wise," Jaskier nodded and reached out with his hand to pat Eskel's cheek. Then his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to remember something important. "You never asked me for anything."

Eskel cleared his throat, and turned his face away from Jaskier, to hide his unease. "I'm... I'm fine. I'm happy with my job."

"Yeah? What do you do for a living?" Jaskier asked.

That caused Eskel to chuckle, and Jaskier followed with his pearly laugh, although he didn't know what was going on, and in a moment they were both laughing loudly and snickering like children. Jaskier patted Eskel's knee several times before leaning back onto the sofa.

"Jaskier, I work for you. I drive you around, remember?" Eskel said, wiping tears of mirth from the corner of his eye.

"Right." Jaskier nodded. "I hope I pay you well."

"You're a good boss," Eskel smiled. They locked eyes for a long moment, not saying anything. Jaskier licked his lips subconsciously and Eskel had to look away, the sight causing a warm feeling to coil in his stomach. "Alright, boss, time to get you to bed," he cleared his throat. "I'll crash on the couch if you don't mind, can't really drive now."

"Oh no no, no sleepin' on couches in my house! I have guest rooms for guests!" Jaskier stood up abruptly, too quickly for the drunken state he was in. His foot kicked the table leg and he wobbled a little, losing his balance.

He landed in Eskel's lap, Eskel instinctively putting a protective arm over him to save him from falling over and onto his back. Jaskier grabbed Eskel's shoulder for balance and suddenly their faces were incredibly close. So close Eskel could smell Jaskier's cologne, now suppressed by the tangy scent of bourbon. He was so close that Eskel could see those tiny crows feet forming at the corners of Jaskier's eyes, he could notice his flared nostrils and the wet shimmer on his lips. He swallowed audibly.

"Whoo, that was close. Thank-... Thank you," Jaskier laughed lightly and squeezed his shoulder. In a silent reply, Eskel caressed Jaskier's back gently, so delicately as if he didn't want Jaskier to feel it. But apparently Jaskier did, because he leaned forward and pressed a soft butterfly kiss to Eskel's lips. He pulled away and looked Eskel deep in the eyes, while undoing his tie. "Could you... Can you, just for tonight, forget that I'm your boss?" he asked quietly.

Eskel looked at him wide eyed, frozen in place and unable to speak. But when Jaskier gave his tie one last slight tug, he was lost. He's been waiting for that little sign, for a nod of permission, and as soon as he got it, he launched forward, pushing Jaskier off his knees and pressing him down onto the sofa with his weight.

He kissed him, reluctantly at first, but when Jaskier let out the first quiet whimper of pleasure, Eskel was all lost on him. He pressed his lips to Jaskier's, with his eyes closed, trying to put into that kiss all that yearning and longing he'd felt for Jaskier for months.

Jaskier was under him, sighing and panting, arching into Eskel’s touch. Responding to every kiss with passion. Eskel moaned into Jaskier's mouth as his hands roamed under his already open shirt, caressing the soft skin on Jaskier's sides, skimming over his chest hair and slightly tugging at the multiple necklaces on his neck.

Jaskier sat up and fumbled with the buttons on Eskel's shirt, his now clumsy fingers too uncoordinated to undo them. He tugged desperately at the shirt, causing two buttons to pop off and fall to the floor. They both looked at them, Jaskier with a hint of embarrassment, Eskel amazed with Jaskier's strength. Jaskier pulled at Eskel's shirt and dragged him into another heated kiss. "Off! Just take that shirt off," he demanded between kisses.

As he stripped off of his shirt, Eskel noticed how Jaskier's eyes glistened and how he licked his lips lusciously, before launching himself at Eskel. He peppered his face, neck and chest with kisses, murmuring "You're beautiful" and "I love you so much" between kisses, making Eskel writhe with pleasure and whine with emotions, because he so wanted Jaskier to mean it.

"Can I take you to the bedroom?" Jaskier asked while tugging at the waistband of Eskel's slacks. "God, why is the belt so complicated?" He threw his hands up losing his balance and landing on the floor. Eskel reached out to help him up, only to be dragged down to the floor right next to Jaskier.

"Okay, bedroom it is," he laughed into Jaskier's mouth, who already managed to slot their lips in another heated kiss.

****

Eskel woke up with his head feeling very heavy, his mouth dry as if he'd eaten sand. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes, taking in the situation. He was naked, with only the bedsheets tangled around his legs. Jaskier was sleeping next to him, lying on his stomach, one hand draped comfortably around Eskel's waist. He was equally naked, his perky ass sticking out from under the covers.

Eskel watched him mesmerized, noticed how beautifully lean and supple Jaskier's body was, he watched how he moved slightly with every breath... And then tiny bits of memories of last night hit him like a wave. He remembered the passionate kisses Jaskier showered him with, how unbelievably soft and pliant Jaskier's body was under his touch, he recalled the weight of Jaskier's cock on his tongue and how wonderfully he moaned Eskel's name with his hand tangled in Eskel's hair...

One part of him wanted to leave before Jaskier would wake up, spare him the awkwardness of a morning after. They never planned on something like that, after all they were boss and employee, they just let alcohol get the best of them. The other part of Eskel wanted to stay, to savour the moment of absolute intimacy and vulnerability between them. That other part wanted all this drunken mishap to turn into something more than just a one night stand.

Then Jaskier stirred next to him, waking up, pulled himself closer to Eskel's chest and murmured a soft "Good morning." He sat up, dragging one hand through his disheveled hair, taking in the sight of their naked bodies. "So... I guess last night ended up better than expected?" He shot Eskel an embarrassed smile. "Did we... You know. Go all the way?"

"I honestly don't know," Eskel admitted sheepishly, pulling the bedsheets up to cover the both of them. "Are you okay, Jaskier? You didn't go easy on the bourbon last night."

"I'm fine," Jaskier waved him off, but his eyes narrowed and he worried his lower lip and Eskel knew he was trying to recall what happened last night. "I hope I didn't take advantage of you?"

"Everything I did, I did because I wanted to," Eskel said firmly, though he felt the hotness on his cheeks and ears at the memory of their naked bodies tangled together and Jaskier moaning so sweetly into his ear.

"Yeah?" Jaskier scooted even closer to him under the bedsheets. "Care to remind me what did you actually do?"

Eskel exhaled deeply, feeling Jaskier's hot breath on his neck, making his own skin feel too tight. The memory of Jaskier's body arched beautifully under Eskel's touch flashed before his eyes, and he cleared his throat. "I'm... I'm pretty sure I sucked you off."

"Oh." Jaskier's face was painted with astonishment, but only for a moment. In the next he was already straddling Eskel's lap, braiding his fingers in his dark hair, looking him deep in the eye. "I think it's only fair if I return the favour now?"

Before Jaskier moved down on him, Eskel grabbed his hands and made Jaskier face him. "Listen..." he started, mouth extremely dry, more of nervousness than hangover. "You said some very weighty things to me yesterday, that I really wished were true... But I know this could be just the alcohol's doing." He huffed, pressing his eyes shut. "If it's not what you meant, or how you feel about me, I'd rather leave now."

Jaskier sighed, deeply, but he didn't lower his gaze. He intertwined their fingers and placed a kiss on the top of Eskel's palm. "I remember one thing vividly from last night," he said. "And that is feeling loved and wanting to give as much love as possible back." He kissed the fingers on Eskel's hand. "If you felt the same, I'd rather you stayed. Forever, if possible?"

------

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

#witcher rarepair summer bingo #eskel x jaskier #jaskel #eskel/jaskier #it was supposed to be a lighthearted fic about drunken shenanigans #what went wrong idek #hope you're ready for the FEELS #the pining and yearning #and pining #and yearning #and drunk jaskier

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

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Minerva (Bit 4)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4

Really just some brotherly fun :D I’ve posted a couple of snippets from this bit, but there is plenty more, a whole 1600 words worth :D

Thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for the reading and support ::hugs you guys::

I hope you enjoy this fluff :D

-o-o-o-

“Scotty! Bro! How ya doin’?”

Virgil had to smirk at his little brother. Gordon was acting like his hand had been caught in the candy jar.

“Gordon, what are you doing in Minerva?” One lowered just slightly. “Virg? What the hell? Gordon!”

“What?! He needed some fresh air!”

“He has two broken legs!”

“Yeah, but Grandma was cooking up a storm.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

Virgil twisted his lips. “You do know I am a sentient being and can both speak for myself and make decisions on my own.”

“Did you hear something, Scott? There was interference on the line. Sounded like Virgil was claiming he was able to look after himself.”

The snort from the hovering Thunderbird was loud.

“Hey!”

Gordon actually cackled. “Sorry, Virg. Great at looking after everyone else, total shit at looking after yourself.”

The glare he shot his brother should have scalped him.

Gordon only grinned more. “We all have our strengths and weakness, bro.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

Thunderbird One began lowering as if to come into land.

“Hey, don’t you dare land that tin can on the reef, Scott. Mel will have your hide, right after I kick your butt.”

“Keep your pants on, Fish, I’m well aware how attracted you are to my butt.” Thunderbird One pirouetted midair like the graceful craft she was under his brother’s hands, shifting towards the centre of the lagoon. Her landing struts unfolded from her fuselage.

“He’s not going to...” Virgil’s eyes widened.

But Gordon was grinning. “Oh, yes!”

A crack in the air and pontoons at the end of her landing gear inflated with a snap, One suddenly sprouting what looked like fat ski blades. Her front strut shot out extenders either side for stability and Thunderbird One settled on the calm ocean like the prim and trim bird she was.

“That’s not something you see every day. I thought Scott hated landing on water.”

Gordon snorted. “He does.”

“If Brains asks, it’s practise and equipment testing.” Scott’s voice was smirking on comms. In the distance his brother’s flight chair slid smoothly out of the cockpit to hang above the water. Scott reached beneath the seat and pulled out a package. With a yank of a cord, he inflated his own little lifeboat, chucked it onto the water surface, and lightly stepped onto it. He sat there fiddling for a bit, enough to have Gordon frowning across the water, but then Scott was moving in their direction.

“So, dropping by for a swim? Or just checking up on us?” Gordon’s voice was flippant, but Virgil sensed a touch of concern under it all.

“Does it matter?” As Scott got closer Virgil frowned. The blue of his uniform was smudged with something black.

A flick of the water seat’s controls and Gordon yelped as Virgil flew off the edge of the reef and splashed his younger brother with water as the contraption forced stability in a way it really wasn’t quite designed for. Virgil cursed as the seat hit its maximum speed which was little more than walking pace, a limitation he had put in there himself to stop Gordon from killing himself. But it got him across the water, however slowly, those few moments faster to his eldest brother. As Scott pulled up alongside him, Virgil raked him with his eyes.

His brother was filthy, but there were no obvious injuries. “What the hell happened to you?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. Took a bit of a tumble down a coal mine.”

“A coal mine? Are you okay?” Scott still looked a little off with his pencilled-in eyebrows still growing back. Wasn’t the first time one of them had had to use makeup to hide an injury from the world at large. Scott had more soot on his face than anything else. “Did you wear your helmet?”

His brother’s shoulders slumped with the most put-upon whole-body expression he could manage. “Of course, I did. I’m fine, Virgil. A few bruises and a lot of grime. That’s all.”

Virgil didn’t stop frowning as he grabbed a handle on the inflatable and held himself steady. “Why didn’t you go home and get cleaned up?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just happened to find a brother with two broken legs sitting on a reef out in the middle of nowhere. What the hell are you doing out here, Virg? You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I am! I’m still sitting on my ass. Andre and Cecil, not to mention, Gords, have me wrapped up in bubblewrap. I’m fine!”

Scott arched a wonky eyebrow at him.

Virgil’s lips twisted and he combed his brother with his eyes for injury one more time before conceding. “Fine. We’re both fine.”

The grin that split Scott’s face was kind of worth it.

It was a sign of how involved they were in each other’s medical condition that they both startled as Gordon suddenly surfaced beside the boat. Their fish brother flicked his wet hair out of his eyes forcibly enough to get both of his brothers with the spray.

In the distance, and still on the reef, both Andre and Cecil were staring at them.

“Hey, bros.” Gordon pretty much hovered in the water like the water seat his movements were so practised. “How goes?” In others words, ‘What the hell are you doing?’ When both brothers just stared at him, his eyes narrowed. “Scott you’ve dragged Two Broken Legs out onto the water by your mere presence. You look like shit, he worries. Go back to A Little Lightning and get cleaned up. Meet you on the reef when you are more respectable.” The Fish’s glare turned to Virgil. “And you. You are giving Andre conniptions. You fall off this seat, there is drowning in your future. I know you know this because you drummed it into my head multiple times.” His brother parroted Virgil’s own words from years ago. “‘Its use must be accompanied by adult supervision at all times’. While I know ‘adult’ in my case can be a grey area, we didn’t hire two suitably respectable nurses for you to fly out of their reach and go drown yourself. Now, get your ass back on that reef before I throw it onto my boat, take you straight back home, and force feed you Grandma’s cooking!”

Virgil stared at Gordon. Okay, perhaps he had acted a little irresponsibly. Of course, Scott took the opportunity for what it was and turned his own glare on Virgil for reinforcement.

Gordon’s glower upped a notch at the lack of movement. “Now!”

“Okay, Gordon. Fine. Whatever.” Virgil somewhat meekly let go of the life raft and turned back towards the reef, the seat humming quietly beneath him. Gordon growled further words at Scott and a moment later the life raft took off for A Little Lightning.

It wasn’t often Gordon put his foot down, but it was usually a good idea to agree with him when he did.

But then it wasn’t like he could fall out of the seat, being strapped in an all.

The whole tone of his own thoughts screamed pout and Virgil was forced to acknowledge that yes, Gordon was right.

The aquanaut swam alongside him, quite capable of keeping up with the seat’s easy pace.

By the time they reached the edge of the reef, Virgil had worked himself up to an apology. “I’m sorry, Gordon.”

His brother had stopped swimming a little way back and was now wading. Looking down and watching where he put his feet, Gordon sighed. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Virg. Just keep yourself safe and in one piece, and we won’t have any problems.”

Virgil brought the seat to a halt and turned to his brother. “Gords, thank you. For all of this.”

Gordon stopped and stared, a small smile curving his lips. “Anytime, bro.” And of course, he had to take it that step further. He flung his arms wide. “My boat is your boat. Mi Casa, es su casa. Yours, mine, ours. Happy families and all that.”

Virgil stared at his goofball brother a moment. Then a flick at the controls, he darted over, grabbed two armfuls of Gordon and hugged him until he squawked.

“Oh, god, Virg, getorff!” Gordon struggled, but even in the water, he was no match for heavy lifting biceps. If Virgil closed his eyes and just clung for a moment, he wasn’t going to admit it or care. If it wasn’t for the fact that the seat was on the verge of flipping, he would have hung on longer.

It was Gordon stumbling and righting him before he took a swim in the drink that finally broke the clinging.

“God, Virg, don’t you dare get all teary on me or I’m telling John the combination to your personal refrigerator.”

Virgil grinned, if a little sloppily. “He already knows and it is not what you think.”

“What, it’s not Two’s launch date?”

“What?” Oh shit.

Gordon’s grin split his face in half and he cracked up laughing. Virgil was reduced to grabbing at him again in either an attempt to throttle him or give him the biggest noogie since he hit adulthood. That explained the mystery of the damned banana caramel pie from last week. He’d have to change it again.

His brother ducked out of reach basically by throwing himself underwater. Sure, the water seat was designed to follow, but damnit! “You owe me pie! Cecil made that for me, you brat!”

Gordon just kick-splashed his brother and laughed harder.

-o-o-o-

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #Kermadec AU #minerva reef #minerva

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samthemarvelfan · 4 years

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See You Again: One Shot

Summary: 5 years after losing Bucky, you find yourself still trying to adjust to your not-so-new version of normal. One knock on your front door changed all that.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, Steve Rogers.

Warnings: A bit of angst and then pure and squishy fluff.

A/N: Hi everyone! Okay so this one kinda got away from me a little bit (AKA its waaaay longer than I intended.) Still, I hope you like it all the same.

Taglist:@iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @warmvanillafeels @heartofagamotto @ravenesque @pinknerdpanda @wintersoldierissucharide (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!) Tags are OPEN! Just send an ask :)

Monday.

The sound and smell of sizzling bacon filled the kitchen. Your iced coffee was within an arms reach, using it to kick start your morning.

“Mama, I can’t wait til next year.” Your daughter said proudly, coloring at the kitchen table.

You smiled to yourself, tussling her hair as you put her plate of pancakes and bacon in front of her.

“And why is that, sweet girl?” You asked.

Maggie put down the yellow crayon she’d been scribbling furiously with. “Because Mama, then I get to ride the bus and go to school! Remember what you said? When I’m 5 I get to go to big girl school!” She held up a picture of a wonky school bus with a smiling girl inside.

A chuckle escaped you. “You’re so smart, baby. Do you remember everything I say?”

She nodded taking a big, sticky bite of pancakes. “Yeah. Most of the stuffs anyway. Can you put this one on the ‘frigerator?”

“Of course.” You hung the picture with a homemade play-doh magnet she’s made for you at summer camp last year. Maggie ate happily, as you played music and did the dishes. Mornings like these were your favorite, soaking in the happiness of your daughter before you had to head to work.

You were snuggled with Maggie on the couch, watching Blue’s Clues. She wiggled taking a sip of her apple juice; a treat in her eyes. Usually, you only gave her water.

“Mama, Blue starts with the letter ‘b’!” She shouted excitedly, turning to face you.

Her cerulean eyes lit up at you, looking for confirmation.

You released a shocked gasp, “Oh my gosh, it does! You’re so smart, Maggie!”

She smiled proudly, before turning back to the tv.

“Mama?” She called to you.

“Hm?” You said absentmindedly.

She looked up at you with big eyes once again, “My Daddy’s name started with a ‘B’, too.”

All at once, it’s as if time moved a bit slower. You try your best to hide your reaction from Maggie. “It sure did, baby girl. Well his nickname did, anyway.”

She let out a small giggle, “Oh jeez, I’m so silly, Mama!” She said, pretending to hit her palm against her forehead.

The smallest tears prickled your eyes, “Yes you are, baby. I love you.”

“Wuv you, Mama.” Maggie said, climbing onto your lap and giving you a wet kiss that still smelled of maple syrup.

Glancing at the clock, you notice the time. “Maggie, grab your bag and put your cup in it, Uncle Steve will be here soon.”

She squealed in delight. This was the routine, Steve comes Monday’s and Saturday's to spend time with Maggie, and you do some light office work down at the VA. It was only two days a week, but it made you feel somewhat normal.

As normal as could be.

Steve arrived at 10 am on the dot as usual. “Hey, Ella.” He said smiling, kissing your cheek.

“Hey yourself, someone is excited as al—“

“Uncle Steve!” You were cut off by a high-pitch scream and the pitter-patter of little feet running toward the door.

He crouched and smiled immediately, “Hiya, munchkin!” He scooped her into his arms, carrying her back into the house.

“I brought you a surprise.” He said as he held her.

She instinctively covered her eyes, “I won’t peek! I won’t!”

He placed her down, and pulled a small container of bubbles out of his back pocket.

“Wanna go to the park and maybe blow some bubbles?” He asked her with a smile.

She gasped, “Bubbles! Bubbles, Mama! Uncle Steve brought bubbles!”

You smiled at her excitement, “I see that, baby! Go get your shoes on quick!”

Your smile faltered slightly as Maggie ran to grab her shoes, and Steve noticed.

“You okay?” He asked, rubbing your shoulder.

You nod subtly, “She mentioned him this morning. Just wasn’t expecting her too—hell I never expect her too.”

He smiled, “She’s a smart one, that kid. Remembers everything.”

You smile in an attempt to push the pain away, “I’m always so impressed when she talks about him. It’s like she knows him, Steve. Even though she’s never met him.”

Steve heard the wobble of your voice. He sighed with empathy, before enveloping you in a hug. “He’d be so proud of you. You’re such an amazing Mom, and Maggie...” Steve said pulling back, you noticed the tears brimming his eyes. They must’ve matched yours.

“Maggie is everything good that Bucky ever was. Even more so because she’s half of you. God, she reminds me so much of him.” He smiled fondly.

You feel your lip quiver, “5 years, Steve. I can’t believe he’s been gone that long.” You wipe your eyes quickly, knowing Maggie will be back any second.

Steve cleared the tremors from his throat. “I know.”

“I just wish I got to tell him. I can just see the look on his face...he would’ve been so happy.” You imagine fondly.

“Mama! I got my...Mama? You okay?” Maggie asks, slowing down as she enters the room.

She walks up to you with arms up, and you hoist her to your hip. “Mama’s okay, baby.”

She grabbed your face in her little hands, and shook her head. “Mama sad...” she said quietly.

You kiss her forehead, and hold her to you close. “I’m was a little sad, baby, but seeing you made me so much better. I love you, Maggie.”

“I wuv you, Mama, and I wuv Uncle Steve.” She said happily.

“You do?!” Steve asked, tickling Maggie’s sides.

She laughed for a moment, before clinging to Steve’s neck. “Yeah, and I wuv my Daddy too. I bet he was so nice, Uncle Steve.”

That’s another thing Maggie definitely got from Bucky; knowing just what to say and when to say it.

Steve smiled, and pushed some hair out of her face, “Your Daddy was the best, kiddo. I promise.”

You looked at the clock once more, “Shoot! I gotta go, have a good day, baby!”

You kissed the crown of Maggie’s head, and kissed Steve’s cheek before handing her bag to him, “Lunch is—“

“In the bag.” He said smiling.

“Yeah. Oh and the sunscreen—“

“Little pocket on the front.” He said, handing you your keys.

“Right, oh and don’t let—“

“Don’t let her have anymore juice because she had some already. I got it, Els. Go.” He chucked, ushering you out.

“Okay, okay. Bye, guys!” You said happily.

While you knew talking about Bucky with Maggie was always a good thing, the missing him never got easier. Sure there were days you thought about him less, but he never really left your mind.

Not when the daughter you share is waking you up every morning with hugs and snuggles and kisses.

Bucky missed everything.

He missed the diapers, all those diapers. Her first laugh, and when she said ‘mama’ for the first time. He missed her learn to crawl and her first steps. Bucky never even got to heart her heart beat.

These were things you should have shared with him—memories you should’ve made with him.

You’d gone to therapy. You’d been walked through the stages of grief more times than anyone should have to be. Yet, the hurt was still there. It’s always going to be there, and that’s the life you’ve got to make work now. This—this is your normal.

Friday

“Maggie, don’t touch those cookies, little missy!” You shout from the living room.

She comes sulking out of the kitchen, “Mama you left them on the counter! I see them! They’re right there!”

You chuckle as you finish wrapping the vacuum cord back up to put away. “Yes I did, and they’re for after dinner.”

“That’s not fair!” She whined, fake tears being forced into her eyes.

“Maggie Jane I am in no mood for this. You can either sulk on the couch with no tv, or you can go play in your room until I say your spaghetti is done. Whatcha think?” You asked in your sternest mom-voice.

She wiped the fake tears, “Okay Mama, I go play.”

You bent down and smooched her forehead, “There’s my girl.”

Her feet padded down the hallway, and you made your way to the kitchen, putting on a pot for the pasta.

As you wiped down the counters, you felt something strange; like a surge of energy. The kind that is palpable, and makes your hair stand on end. It was hard to explain, but it was like suddenly the air was electric.

The kitchen lights dimmed four or five times before settling back to normal.

Goosebumps prickled your skin and you’re mind began to race.

“What the hell...” you whispered. “Maggie, you okay?” You called down the hall.

“Yes, Mama! I’m playing with my play-doh!” She responded happily.

Thank God... you thought to yourself.

After what happened 5 years ago, any time something felt off, no matter how small it seemed, you automatically assumed the worst.

You open the shades above your sink. The sun was shining bright—brighter than it had in forever.

“Huh...” you thought aloud.

Before you made the pasta, you sent a quick text to Steve, making sure he was still coming for his weekly dinner. After almost 20 minutes and no response, you figured something came up.

“Maggie! Dinner!” You shout, putting her plate and cup on the table.

She ran into the kitchen with delight, “S’ghetti!” She shouted, grinning from ear to ear.

You scooted her in closer to the table, before sitting in the seat beside her.

“Mama? Where’s Uncle Steve?” She asked taking a bite of her pasta.

You scooted some of the food around on your plate, “I’m not sure, kiddo. I think he might’ve gotten stuck at work.”

“Can we call him?” An innocent question from an innocent mind.

You shook your head, “No, baby. Well call him tomorrow.”

The rest of your evening was relatively calm, considering the unsettling feeling you’ve had since that episode in the kitchen. Maggie had her bath and 2 bedtime stories, and was now safely and soundly tucked in bed.

You, on the other hand, lay awake in your own, your mind unable to quiet the eerily familiar thoughts that something was wrong.

You still hadn’t heard from Steve, which is very unlike him, so you decide to text him once more.

Hey, haven’t heard from you. Weirded out by what happened earlier, idk if it was a power surge or what but now I’m anxiety city. Call me please, so I know you’re safe. Love you.

You sat with that for about an hour, before you eyes betrayed your mind. Your lids felt 1000 times heavier and you decided sleep would be a good idea since Maggie is a notoriously early riser on the weekends. You’ll call Steve in the morning, and if necessary, you’d send out a search party.

Saturday.

You’d surprisingly woken up before Maggie. This meant hopefully and hour or so to yourself, maybe watch a movie without animals that sing? That would be paradise.

As you padded through your living room with your coffee in hand, you jumped hearing someone scream outside.

You put the coffee down and quickly check on Maggie, still sound asleep. Her sound machine muffling the screams and cries from outside.

Peeking out the window, you see your neighbor crying on her knees. She’s holding someone, a boy, no older than 12 or 13.

“Miles?” You ask yourself. He was your neighbor’s son.

He’d also vanished 5 years ago.

“That’s...that’s not possible.” You whisper.

Then you hear it again, more cries. Cries of joy, from all around your neighborhood.

You fumble with the blankets on the couch, searching for your phone. You find it and quickly dial Steve’s number, but it goes straight to voicemail.

Your body is shaking as you hear the beep. “Steve, I-I don’t know what the hell is happening. T-There’s people who...I don’t know. I’m freaking the fuck out! Call me soon...please.”

A knock at the front door makes you jump. You slipped your phone into your pocket, and walked to it slowly.

With your hand on the knob, you hesitate, feeling your body screaming at you not to open it.

Another set of knocks, softer than the ones before had been.

You let out a puff of air, and swing the door open. When it revealed your visitor, you swear you could have fainted right then and there.

This couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be real.

“Hey, Sugar.” He said breathlessly.

His hair was in a bun at the nap of his neck, and he was dressed in a black Henley and sweats to match. His face was bruised and cut and the circles under his eyes showed whatever he’d just been through definitely wasn’t easy.

You felt like you were gonna collapse. The room was spinning and your vision went blurry.

“Y-You’re dead. You’re dead, James.” You spoke. What else could you say?

“Ella, you gotta sit down, your pale as a ghost.” He grabbed your hands and pulled you back into the house.

Bucky kicked the door closed, the sound of it slamming seemingly braking your trance.

“Let me go!” You shout, pulling away from him.

“Els—“ he starts.

You shake your head, “No...stop. You’re not real. I’m hallucinating or something.”

When Bucky first died, you saw him everywhere. Swearing to yourself, and your therapist, that you could still hear him—smell him.

He reached out and stroked your cheek, “I swear to you, Doll, I’m real.”

Your eyes stung with tears, “H-How?”

“It’s a long story. One that I promise I’ll tell you but I really just wanna hold you for a second.” He breathed.

You stared at him. Bucky was, for all intents and purposes, unchanged. He looked the same way he did when he vanished.

You on the other hand looked entirely different. The crinkles by your eyes were more defined, there were stretch marks on your belly from carrying Maggie, and those chronic bags under your eyes from raising her alone.

Bucky took a tentative step forward, before taking your face in his hands. He took you in for a moment, and then wrapped his arms around you. “God, you’re so beautiful.” He said into your hair.

You felt yourself melt into him, something you’d done so many times, it’s no wonder it happened so naturally.

“You always know just what to say.” Your voice was trembling.

You inhaled him. A lifetime of memories flooding your mind, along with all the pain you’d felt for the last 5 years. You shut your eyes tight, keeping the warmth of his body against yours. “I-I can’t even begin to tell you—“

“Shh, I know. Believe me, Els...I know.” He whispered.

You looked up at him. His cerulean eyes reminding you of all the life you’d lived with him, and of the one you’d loved without him. But Bucky was here, standing in the home you’d once shared together.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, “Buck, I need to tell you...” your voice drifted off.

Bucky brushes the hair out of your face, “What is it, Sugar?”

You shook your head, still having trouble believe this is real. “I just, I don’t know where to start, James...”

He kissed your forehead sweetly, his warm lips soothing your soul in a way you didn’t know you needed until this moment.

“Start from right now. I don’t know how to navigate this...but we can figure it out. To—“

“Mama?” Maggie’s small voice interrupted Bucky’s words.

You peek around his large form to see your daughter clinging to her stuffed piglet that shows all the signs of being well-loved for the past few years.

You sigh contently, “Good morning, beautiful girl.”

She quietly walked by Bucky, looking up at him as he stares at her in disbelief. Maggie held her arms out for you and you hoisted her to your hip.

“Ella...” Bucky says breathlessly, looking between the two of you.

He sees it immediately. The eyes that are mirror images of his own, the dimple on her cheek matching the one you have on yours.

You kissed her temple. “This is Maggie.”

A muffled sob sounded from Bucky’s chest, “Maggie...” he whispered happily.

She turns her head at the sound of her name and looks at him, watching him for a moment, taking him in.

“Does your name start with a ‘B’?” She whispered, fiddling with her stuffy.

Bucky smiles and let out a small laugh, “It sure does.”

Maggie turns back to you, her eyes wide with excitement. “Is that my Daddy, Mama?”

You squeeze her tight, blinking the tears away. “It is, baby.”

She wiggles to be put down on the floor, so you oblige.

Confident as always, she walks up to Bucky, and he crouches to meet her. “I’m Maggie.” She says, holding back a giggle.

Bucky smiles and strokes her hair, “Hi, Maggie.” He chokes out.

She spots the tears in his eyes and turns to you. “Mama? Is Daddy sad?”

Daddy

A word that was once so painful for you to hear her say, was now your favorite sound in the world.

“I don’t know, kiddo. Why don’t you ask him?” You say, crossing your arm comfortably.

She turns back to Bucky with her arms raised, and he scoops her up without a second thought. She places her little hands on his face and look at him, “Daddy sad?” She asks.

Bucky’s lip quivered, and he shook his head. “No, beautiful. D-Daddy isn’t sad.” You could tell he couldn’t believe he was saying that word.

“Daddy is so, so happy.”

Bucky has spent the day getting to know his daughter.

Maggie had shown him all of the pictures she’s drawn of him over the years. They’d had a tea party for lunch, and played with her play-doh.

You’d put her down for a nap, and Bucky washed the dishes from lunch. It all felt so routine, domestic...

Normal.

Bucky told you everything.

Thanos. The army. Natasha, and Tony. Oh God, Tony...Your heart hurt for him, and the thought he’d never see his daughter again.

“I’m so sorry, Sugar.” He said, sipping coffee from his mug.

You shook your head in disbelief. “Why are you sorry?”

He thought for a moment, before he grabbed your hand, entangling your fingers.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I made you do all this alone.” He pulled you close to him, so you were leaning against his body.

“I should be apologizing to you, I never even got to tell you...” you drifted off.

He turned your face to his, and put his lips on yours.

Passion wasn’t even an accurate enough word.

This was gratitude. This was fear, it was heartache and lust and yearning all wrapped into one.

This was love.

Bucky pulled away slowly, resting his forehead on yours.

“You’ve given me everything, Ella. Maggie...she’s--she’s incredible, and you made her that way.” The tears in his eyes finally spilled over, as did yours. “I can’t wait to get to know her.”

“I love you, James. I love you.” You said quietly.

Bucky stroked your cheek, “I love you, too.”

#samthemarvelfan #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bucky angst #dad!bucky

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luckyvirgo · 4 years

Text

many reasons; dazai osamu

DAZAI OSAMU X READER

In hindsight, you should have realised that running after Dazai was not a good decision on your part...

WORD COUNT: 1.8K words

WARNINGS: mentions of suicide, abuse (not reader's), angst (if you squint), fluffy ending. MILD SPOILERS FOR BUNGO STRAY DOGS SEASON 3

(e/c) - eye color

A/N: sorry if the formatting is a bit wonky!! i'm posting this on mobile because tumblr doesn't work on my stupid, old laptop.

this fic is really super, self-indulgent because dazai is my favorite in bsd and i love when situations like the one in this one shot happen in anime, so i combined the two things and wrote this. this was actually going be a scene in a dazai fic i'm thinking of posting on my wattpad, but i decided to scrap it and write it as a oneshot. i hope you all enjoy reading this!!

Also shoutout to @neonghxst who wanted me to finish this one shot hehe. thanks to her, i got the inspiration to actually write this and finish it.

"Are you sure we should have left him like that?"

You fiddled with the ends of your coat sleeves. Upon hearing about Atsushi's new case and the end result, you immediately wanted to give the boy a hug and never let him go. He had been through so much these past few weeks and hearing about the death of that abusive headmaster of his old orphanage must have been incredibly painful.

But Dazai had promptly pulled you away, after saying exactly what needed to be said. (He always knew what to say in any kind of situation and that made you feel jealous a lot of times)

"Things like that are meant to be dealt with alone. Atsushi-kun will manage," Dazai answered with a cool tone. "You worry too much, (Y/N)-chan."

He tried to ruffle your hair but you slapped his hand away with a huff.

"I have every right to worry, you know," You crossed your arms, angrily staring at the ground. You and Dazai had already left the port area and now were back in the city, walking next to each other. "He and Kyouka just...I just wanna give them both a hug and adopt them as family."

This time, Dazai successfully managed to ruffle your hair."You are very funny, (Y/N)-chan."

"I'm not being funny! I'll actually adopt them, just you wait and see."

"As amusing as that would be, I'm gonna stop you there."

"Why?"

"Well, it's nighttime now. And we are almost near the river. The moon's pretty bright today. Which means one thing and one thing only."

"What, Dazai?"

"It's the perfect time for a double suicide!"

Dazai suddenly grabbed you by the waist and spun you around. You felt your face grow warmer as he kept his hands on your waist, meanwhile going on about the benefits of a double suicide.

"D-dazai! Let go!" You physically tried to struggle out of his grip, knowing that your Ability was useless in this situation. "Just let go, dumbass!"

"Nope, not gonna."

Dazai let go of your waist, but then immediately grabbed your hand. But you managed to pull it away. He stuck his tongue out at you. "You are no fun, (Y/N)-chan."

You glared at him. "How many times do I have to tell you no, you bandage squandering idiot?!"

"Ahh!! You sound so much like Kunikida-kun! Why didn't you tell me you were so great at impersonating others?"

"Huh?! What's that supposed to mean?" You went to shove his shoulder but he dodged it, jumping aside with his annoying (endearing) laugh. You tried to hit him again, but he dodged this time too and started running.

"Oi, Dazai! Come back here, you idiot!"

You ran too, trying to catch up to him so that you could, at least, flick his forehead before slapping him. Why was he so annoying, you always wondered.

'Isn't this why you like him?' Your heart whispered to you.

'Shut up,' You told it.

You kept on running. Even as you did, the sun had almost set, taking its red and orange hues and replacing it with the dark, navy blue of the night sky. The running brought you to the river bank, a spot where both you and Kunikida had to drag Dazai out of. For some reason, he declared this spot and drowning as his top favorite for a double suicide.

It was incredibly annoying, but at the same time, also incredibly saddening and you wished you knew more about why he was like this.

Finally, you caught up with him.

In hindsight, you should have realised that running after Dazai was not a good decision on your part.

Both of you stumbled down the river bank, holding onto each other because there was nothing else to grab onto. The slant river bank ended and they were on flat ground again.

But...but, both of you were in a rather compromising position.

Usually, you were a pretty confident and self-assured person. But when it came to situations like these (or any romantic situations)…well, you were still pretty inexperienced. So inexperienced actually that you hadn't kissed anyone in a long while, almost two years to be exact. Relationships had always seemed like a waste of time to you, but being in such close proximity of the man you currently yearned for was doing wonders for your heart. (In a good way and a bad away)

Dazai's arms were on your shoulders, pinning you to the ground. He loomed over you, his brown eyes staring right into your (e/c) ones.

You swore you could detect something there before it was hidden behind his mask again.

No longer were you able to keep the warmth away from your face. You knew you probably resembled a tomato right now. You wanted to get out of this position quickly, but deep down, your mind and your heart both resisted. And you felt like agreeing with them this time. You wouldn't get a chance like this ever again.

So you decided to speak.

And immediately regret it.

"Your eyes are pretty," The combined forces of your heart and mind make you say something stupidly embarrassing and you immediately want to cover your face. But you can't. So you continue.

Even the darkness of night couldn't keep the redness of your cheeks hidden.

"I mean, they're not just an ugly brown color. They have this amber-like quality to them. And everytime light hits them, they almost shine and it makes them more beautiful than I ever thought. Like seriously, you have really beautiful eyes. Personally, your eyes are your best feature and they're one of the many reasons I fell for you."

(You wanna crush your own stupid heart for that last bit.)

"Oh?" That was all Dazai said, that stupidly endearing smirk on his face. "Many reasons? What are they again?"

"Um, uh," You hesitated, turning your head to the side. This was more embarrassing than any other situation you had ever been in. There was nowhere else to go and while you could have kicked Dazai away with ease, truth be told you really didn't want to do that. How many chances like this would you ever get? "I don't even know when I started liking you. And maybe it's a stupid thing because nothing is ever going to come out of it, but yeah. I have feelings for you, Dazai Osamu. Truth be told, I can sort of understand why you ask women to commit a double suicide with you. You want someone to be by your side, right? You don't want to be lonely when you die. I guess I can understand that, though I wish I could show you the joy in living. But I don't think I'll ever be able to change your mind."

You laughed nervously, looking anywhere but at Dazai's face, where his smirk had been replaced by a more serious look. "I went on a totally different tangent there, didn't I? You can forget that last bit but to sum up everything, I have feelings for you. I don't expect you to return them anyways so...yeah."

Now, you looked at Dazai. His expression was unreadable. You couldn't understand what emotions were written on his face. You didn't even know what he would do next. Would he reciprocate your feelings? Would he reject them? What would he do? You wanted answers and you weren't getting them.

Then again, it was partly your fault also. You suddenly sprung these feelings on him. You shouldn't expect him to answer quickly.

(Secretly, you also thought that Dazai wasn't the type of person who'd ever truly love someone. It was just your stupid luck he was the person you fell for.)

Unexpectedly, Dazai suddenly moved off you, giving you the opportunity to finally sit up and contemplate your next moves.

'Should I just run away?' You thought, thinking about the pain of rejection. You'd deal with it. Somehow. 'It's the coward's way out. But what more can I do?'

"If you're thinking of running away, don't," Dazai suddenly said, meeting your eyes with a stare so intense that you swore he could read every single thought in your mind.

"That was not what I was thinking," You clearly lied, crossing your arms.

"You know, I can tell that you're lying, my Belladonna," Dazai put his hand on your cheek, his slender fingers brushing away the stray strands of hair on your face. "You are not a very good liar."

"D — wh-what?" You froze up completely. Because as much as you would like to deny, even an action like this left you wanting more. His hands were inexplicably warm and strangely soft. You couldn't even think about running away now. Dazai put his other hand behind your back, pulling you close to him. Close enough that your noses were almost touching and you could see the little flecks of amber in his pretty brown eyes.

"D-do you also h-have feelings f-for me?"

What the hell was wrong with your voice? You wanted to ask your question again, but your words died in your throat.

Instead, your heart chose to speak. You tilted your head slightly, barely brushing your lips against his. Even this small action sent volts of electricity coursing through your body. But then, your courage fizzled out and you tried to move back.

Key word; tried.

Dazai put his hand at the back of your head and pulled you closer, finally, freaking finally, kissing you.

You wished you could describe what you were feeling, but you really couldn't. Your mind was completely shut down and all you could really think was, that you were floating. And since it was your one of the few kisses you had in your life, you didn't know what to do. So you kept on pressing your mouth against Dazai's, trying to have more; trying to feel more of him.

It was strange, it felt so strange. But kissing Dazai felt incredibly…amazing. Yeah, amazing. Just him and you and nothing else. You felt like you could touch the stars now and you didn't want it to end. You wanted to keep on doing this forever, or as long as both of you could.

But then, Dazai suddenly ended the kiss, pulling back with a lazy grin.

You stared at him, breathing heavily. And then, you let your head fall onto his shoulder, grabbing onto to the front of his cream-colored trench coat.

"Does that answer your question, (Y/N)-chan?" He asked with a sing-song voice, suddenly hugging you.

"So you do like me?" Your voice was muffled by his coat, but you knew he heard you clearly.

His lips were pressed onto your neck, moving with his answer. You understood it immediately. Releasing his coat from your hands, you hugged him back.

You knew this moment wouldn't last very long, but you would revel in it for now.

It was going to be the only thing on your mind for a very long time.

a/n: i hope this was a fun read! with this quarantine, i've been thinking of attempting to write more character x readers because they are good practice for writing a multi-chapter fic. so you might see more bsd, haikyuu and bnha content on here. I might also post about DC so let's see.

My wattpad

#dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #bsd #bungo stray dogs #osamu dazai #osamu dazai x reader #bsd oneshot #fluff #bungou stray dogs oneshots #bsd imagines #dazai #x reader #character x reader

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beckzorz · 5 years

Text

Crash (one-shot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Words: 1650 Summary: Kree attack. Ruined vehicle. Broken comms. You’re lost, and then, you’re found. A/N: Day 11 of @itsbuckysworld’s hello spring writing challenge. Prompt for today was “Where should we meet?” // Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think xoxo

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

Silence on the comms.

“Fuck,” you say.

The canyon is silent. Hazy smoke clouds the air. A breeze tickles your skin, and the gash on your thigh.

You’re standing, at least. It was an impressive fall, but you’re still standing. What was it that Bucky had said, last month in training when you’d sprained your ankle?

“Takes more’n that to keep you down.”

Well, he was right. Right now, you’re sporting a cut on your leg, a dislocated shoulder, a bump on your head. And disabled comms, by the sound of it. Not to mention a downed hover bike, smoking and crackling some fifty feet back.

You can’t remember the last time you made such a mess. Maybe that time in second grade, where your teacher had thrown a hissy fit at the crayon drawings you’d made halfway up the walls. Or the time you blew up a container of soup in the microwave, and also the microwave.

A chuckle bubbles out of you. Yeah, that was funny. Even if Happy had thrown a fit.

You glance back at your bike, no more than a pile of scrap now. This… isn’t funny. The real fight had been miles away, but a lone Kree scrapper had driven you away from your team until you’d crash-landed in the canyon. You’d managed to shoot the Kree down before you fell, but that’s a small consolation considering the fact that you’re alone, virtually unarmed—the pistols strapped to your body are no match for alien tech, not like the cannons on your bike. Your ruined bike. And from how things looked when you’d last been in the fight, there was no saying whether the first person to find you would be SHIELD or Kree.

Enough dawdling.

You start walking away from your bike with a grimace. If it’s Kree who come, they’ll go to the crash site first. No point in lingering in the open.

Your arm is at an awkward angle, but you know better than to try and reset your shoulder before you make it to safety. That always sends you into a daze. Of course, who knows what kind of safety you’ll find at the bottom of a gorge.

Sand crunches under your feet as you trail along the canyon wall, looking for a place to hide. Every so often, you try to reach the team again, but no luck. Probably busted in the crash.

Eventually, when the shadow of the canyon’s edge is higher up the wall, you find a crack in the rock tall enough for you to hide in but nearly invisible from eye level. Lying down feels like a bad idea, but you’re running out of steam. Better to hide and shoot their legs than be surrounded in the open.

Getting down hurts like a bitch, but by the time you slide under the rock and fix your shoulder you’re relieved more than anything else. Kree tech is advanced enough that they would’ve found you by now.

If the fight had ended. If the Kree even cared to look, given your crashed bike.

Well, hopefully someone would come look for you. Two ration bars aren’t going to last very long.

—

It gets cold fast.

The shadows are so long the whole world is black. If you wiggle out of your hole, you can look up at the stars. There’s a million more here than you can see in upstate New York.

It’d be beautiful, if it didn’t mean you were stranded in the middle of nowhere.

The cut on your leg is itchy. There’s not much you can do about it, not with your first aid kit burnt up with the rest of your bike miles away. Your mouth is itching too, but that’s from dehydration. It’s not hot, never really was, but god, it’s dry.

Dry, and lonely. You switch on your comm again, even though all you can hear is a whisper of static.

“Well,” you murmur. “Might as well talk to myself.” You prop your chin on your arm and gaze out across the canyon floor, listening to the skittering of creatures coming to life in the night.

“I think I prefer when they don’t look like us,” you continue. “It's still weird even when they look like fantasy elves. Or whatever. Cause in all those movies they’re played by human actors.” You chuckle. “I suppose a Kree could get a sweet gig for SyFy or whoever. No prosthetics required.”

Bucky would’ve laughed at that. He always at least grins at your little quips. But there’s no reply, laughter or otherwise. You sigh.

“It’s okay, Bucky, I can imagine you laughed. Not quite as nice as the real thing, though.”

You roll over onto your back and slip out from your hiding spot to gaze up at the sky.

“I bet you’ve seen starrier skies than this,” you say. “I wonder where.”

A stream of sand falls a few feet to your left. From above, the scrape of a boot against the canyon wall.

You swear under your breath and slide as silently as you can back into the crevice and twist onto your stomach. Out comes your gun. You feel rather than hear the click as you turn the safety off. A pebble bounces on the sand. Another scrape on the wall, another stream of sand, and then there’s a thud as someone drops the last few feet to the floor. Boots crunch closer, closer.

SHIELD, or Kree? Friend, or foe?

Safety, or death?

You clench your teeth against nervous shudders. This is the tightest spot you’ve ever been in, and not just literally.

“Starriest skies I ever saw were in the arctic circle,” Bucky says.

You nearly drop your gun in shock. His voice isn’t coming from your ear; it’s coming from out there.

Still, you don’t move. Is this a trick?

“Where you hidin’?” Bucky says.

He walks slow, closer and closer until you can imagine him turning in place, looking for you.

“I did laugh, by the way,” he adds. “You make me laugh a lot. Guess that’s how you could imagine it, huh?”

He’s chatting, just chatting. You tuck your chin against your arm, close your eyes, and listen.

“We could hear you, but I guess you couldn’t hear us.” Crunch. A foot in the sand. Scrape. A hand sliding against the canyon wall. “Sam found your crash. Signal got a little wonky, so he went north. Glad I got to go south, cause I know you’re close.” He chuckles, low and delightful and so warm you can’t feel the chill of the evening. “I can hear you breathin’. Hear your heartbeat, too. It’s a good one.”

Your lips curl into a smile. Usually, you’re the one who does the bulk of the talking. It’s a pleasant change of pace, really. He has such a nice voice.

Soon, you’ll go out, but for now, you just listen.

“Won’t you come out? You know it’s me, right?”

For the first time, he passes in front of your hiding spot. You can’t help the stutter in your breathing as the shadows darken behind his legs.

He drops down. You freeze, hold your breath. You will your heart to stop beating. Why did he have to stop talking? It was so nice to listen to him for a change…

A light shines in your eyes, and you yelp, throwing your arm over your face.

“What the fuck, Bucky!”

The light goes off, but the bright haze is still clouding your eyes when you lower your arm to glare.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. He holds out his hand to you. You sigh, tuck your gun away, and let him help pull you out and to your feet. You wipe the sand from your front as Bucky looks you over, and then he crushes you against him in the tightest hug in the history of the world.

“Fu—I can’t breathe, Bucky,” you gasp.

Bucky lets go just a little. “Don’t do that again, okay?” He switches his comm—off? On? You don’t know. Then he does the same to yours. Off, you guess.

“Listen,” he says, eyes bright under the stars. He cups your face in his right hand, his skin warm against yours. Your heart pounds; he swallows thickly. “Please don’t do that again.”

“I’ll try,” you tell him. You wet your dry lips and try to make out his in the darkness. “But there’s no promises in this job. You know that.”

“Yeah…” He sighs. “I guess I do.”

“But I’ll try,” you repeat. You hold up a hand, pinky out. Bucky slowly hooks his pinky in yours, eyes blazing on your face. You squeeze your finger. “I promise.”

“Good.” He tugs you closer and presses the barest hint of a kiss to your brow.

You’re frozen again, but this time it’s not out of fear.

This time, it’s wonder.

For all his lips had been on your skin for barely a moment, you can still feel an echo, an imprint where they’d been.

There’s a link between you now, isn’t there? And it’s different than before.

Bucky switches his comm back on, his pinky still linked with yours.

“Got her,” he says. A pause, where he gazes at you, expression indecipherable. “Where should we meet you?” He looks away. “Okay.”

“Who was that?” you ask. It’s the best you can do with your skin still tingling from his touch. From his kiss.

“Sam,” he says. “This way.” He tugs you along, shifting his fingers until you’re holding hands properly.

It’s not the frantic drag that usually comes with his hand around yours on a mission. It’s gentle, warm; familiar, yet strange.

“Bucky…”

He pauses, glances back at you. “Hm?”

“I’m glad it was you who found me.”

Bucky smiles and squeezes your hand. “Me too, love. Me too.”

#bucky barnes imagine #ibw: hello spring 2019 #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #winter soldier imagine #becca writes #bucky barnes fic #ibwhellospringday11

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squeallywrites · 4 years

Text

I’ll Search the Universe

Baekhyun/OC

Power AU

Luna was going about her business as usual, trying to be careful with the Lunar Eclipse scheduled that day. But that changes when her best friend, the very one that she has a crush on, tells her that his unit is going on a raid to planet 1563. She tries to tell him of the dangers of travelling during the eclipse but it falls on deaf ears. When he next comes through her door, he’s different.

A/N: I’m still new to EXO, so I’m sorry if their personalities are a lil wonky or don’t seem to fit. I tried ._.

~~~~~~~~

“Luna!” Baekhyun called out as he waltzed into his friend’s laboratory.

“Baekhyun! What have I told you about barging in unannounced?” Snapped the machinist as she dusted the dirt from her pants. As Luna stands up, her eyes meet that annoying cocky smirk of his. Rolling her eyes, Luna wraps her arms around her idiot.

“So what’s up?” She asks as soon as she pulls away.

“What? I can’t just drop by to see my best friend?”

“Anyone else? Yes. You? No. So why are you here?”

He looks away, shoulders slumped, “We’re doing a raid tonight.”

“Tonight? The night of the Lunar Eclipse?? Are you insane?!”

Baekhyun grips her shoulders, “I know that, but don’t worry. Suho’s got a plan. We’ll be back before you know it.”

Luna stares into his eyes, “Promise me?”

“Promise.”

His eyes meet hers. Slowly his head lowers towards hers.

BEEEEEEP

With an annoyed sigh, Baekhyun pulls out his communicator as they pull away.

“It’s Suho. I’ve got to go.”

He doesn’t look back as he leaves Luna staring after him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Unit EXO reporting for duty. This is 01 checking in,” Suho states into the log as he adjusts his glasses, “We are enroute for planet 1563. All seems clear for now.”

As soon as Suho cuts the transmission, Chanyeol can’t hold it back anymore, “So Baekhyun, did you finally confess?”

“DiD yOu fINalLy CoFeSS?” Baekhyun mocks, “No. I didn’t. Suho called me back right as I was about to.”

“That sucks man. Especially since it’s the Lunar eclipse,” Chen leans over to place a comforting hand on the taller’s shoulder.

“Why is everyone obsessed with the eclipse? It’s not like we’ll see it in space.”

“That’s exactly why,” Kai supplies from the pilot seat, “Since we’re flying, the sun’s ray are more powerful so if anything happens to us on 1563, we have to be careful that it won’t react with the intensified radiation.”

“Still doesn’t make sense to me.”

The others shake their heads at him.

“Oh well. Everyone get ready. We’re about to breach the boundary,” Kai announces over the PA.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ship shakes violently as they fly closer to the surface.

“I thought you said that we’d be undercover!” Yells Chen.

Kai doesn’t answer as Sehun stumbles to the front, kicking Suho from the front seat. He turns the switch for manual drive and the ship begins to stabilise. Checking the panel, Sehun calls out, “Cloaking is still active. The magnetic field of the atmosphere is stronger than we expected,” He turns to Kai, “Take a small break. I got this.”

Suddenly, the ship lurks forth.

“Yeah you sure got it!” Baekhyun quips.

“Shut up! I’m losing power,” Sehun snaps before looking back at the panel, “Shit. Something’s on board.”

Alarms blare as the ship begins to tumble to the planet below.

~~~~~~~~~

Luna snaps the last panel into place before going to her control board, “Okay. Let’s try this again.”

Two beams begin spinning rapidly, an unearthly blue light forms a halo around them. Strands of light slither to the centre between them, creating a ball of energy. The ball quickly expands and flattens to form a portal.

“It works. It actually works,” she breathes. She can hardly believe it.

The light grows brighter before flashing, sending a wave through the shop, knocking out the power and sending her flying. Luna scrambles for the control board, frantically pressing buttons, all to no avail. Stumbling to the electrical panel, she manages to get the power back on. With a breath of relief, she makes her way back to her teleporter. Luna inspects the machine, noticing that just the power bank needs repairing. On her way to her storage room, she spots something out of the corner of her eye crawling around the floor. Luna gets down on her knees to see a small ball of white fluff, shaking under a cabinet.

“Come here, you.”

She pulls out a small kitten with bright blue eyes, “Well, hi there.”

~~~~~~~~~

“Suho! Chanyeol!” Kai yells, coughing as he climbs from the wreckage, “D.O! Everyone?! Where are you?!”

He grabs a gun from a destroyed rack, making sure it works before racing towards a ruined wall. Peeping around, he noticed a giant robot searching the ground, slowing heading in his direction.

He curses under his breath, “Fuck.”

~~~~~~~~~

Chanyeol saunters up behind a boulder, twirling a pistol around his finger as he looks over the rubble. Noticing the tentacle like claw, he quickly moves on, just escaping its grasp as it rams through the wall. A distance away, D.O and Xuimin jump.

“That was too close,” D.O mutters.

Xuimin, noticing a large unplugged cable on the ground, gives the younger a thumbs up, “Don’t worry. This should do the trick.”

“No, Xuimin! You’re not the engineer for a reason!”

He doesn’t listen and pushes the plugs together.

BOOOM

Chen barely jumped out of the way as Xuimin fell from the sky. Shaking his head, he gestures to Lay to come over before taking the cables. Lay begins to patch up Xuimin’s wounds as Chen grabs a scrap piece of metal.

~~~~~

DO creeps to look over the other side of the wall, barely missing the blasts from a stray pistol.

“I haven’t found anyone yet,” he hears Sehun report, “But the sentinel is closing in.”

“Hey!” DO muttered waving his hand around the rubble to Sehun’s side.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sehun hugs his hyung before the two of them race off. Chanyeol notices them and draws the sentinel’s attention.

“Hey!!” He shouts punctuated by blaster shots.

~~~~~~

Kai spots Suho frantically runs his hands across the ground, desperate to find his glasses. Right as he finds them, the sentinel notices the movement.

“Get down!” Kai pushes Suho out of the way before firing on the sentinel. The sentinel’s claw begins to spin before shooting a beam of fire at Kai as Suho runs.

“Lay!”

“On it!” Lay races for his comrade as Suho joins Xuimin and Chen.

Chen looks over his shoulder to see the others have grouped up, “Go join them. I’ll be right there!”

“Wait. We still need the serum that command was talking about.”

They share a look before Suho nods, “Let’s get it. You keep it distracted.”

“I’m almost done with this,” Chen says, “I just hope it works.”

Suho and Xuimin run off to a door hidden in the cliff-side nearby.

Chen looks up to see that the claw is spinning again and races to the group. Just in time, he blocks the blast before shooting back. The sentinel explodes, sending debris flying everywhere. He turns to the others, “Where’s Baekhyun?”

~~~~~~~~

Xuimin and Suho race through the hallways as the alarm blares, serum in hand.

“This way,” Suho grabs Xuimin’s wrist. They run, barely dodging a group of security guards, and stumble to a halt as they end up in a hanger.

“Great. You led us to a dead end.”

Suho pants as he looks around.

“Oh thank god. You guys showed up,” A familiar voice quips from a few feet a way, “Help me get these locks undone.”

They turn to see Baekhyun frantically breaking a lock off a chain for a small passenger ship.

“What the hell?”

Baekhyun groans, rolling his eyes, “I managed to sneak inside while the sentinel was distracted by you guys. And these locks are not easy.”

Snapping out of it, they help him get the last lock undone. They race onboard and turn on the engines. Right then, a security detail breaks into the hanger.

“Let’s get out of here,” Baekhyun says, taking the wheel and blasting open the doors and speeding through.

~~~~~~~

The ship glides to the surface, barely missing the ground as Baekhyun slams on the breaks. Suho opens the side door, screaming over the engines, “Get in!!”

The group scrambles onboard, Suho slamming the door shut as soon everyone is on. Sehun races to the front as Baekhyun takes off, sitting next to Baekhyun. They blast off.

Right as they break through the atmosphere back into space, Kai exclaims, “Shit. The Lunar Eclipse started.”

“We’re fine. Nothing happened and we’re on our way home,” Baekhyun scoffs.

Suddenly the ship is hit on the side, causing some members to fly from their seats and the bottles of serum to crash on the floor.

“The serum!!!”

Strings of electricity propel throughout the area, hitting everyone in the heart. Screams fill the air. Sehun barely keeps his eyes open as he tries to keep control of the ship. Kai winces as he stumbles to the front, pushing a dazed Baekhyun from the front seat. The two manage to keep the ship steady before it only just lands back on planet 1485.

~~~~~~~

Luna jumped at the tremor running through her studio. She runs outside only to see the crashed ship.

“What the hell??”

The door opens to Baekhyun and the rest of the EXO team, eyes glowing different colours.

“What the hell happened to you guys?!” She asks, rushing to help Baekhyun step down. Lights flicker in the sky, trailing not far behind, “Shit, get inside.”

As soon as they’re inside and the blast doors of the lab are closed, Suho takes a deep breath before explaining the raid.

“When we escaping, they hit our ship, shattering the bottles of serum. Of course it was at the height of the Lunar eclipse. Something happened where this surge of energy shot through all of us.”

Luna scrambled to her desk, grabbing a small device. She doesn’t explain anything as she points it at them. Just as the machine goes off, they all begin to glow.

“Whoa.”

Chanyeol starts screaming.

“FIRE FIRE!!” His eyes are like saucers, staring at his hands. Suho runs to his side, holding his hands. What he doesn’t expect is a blast of water to shoot forth, soaking Chanyeol to the bone.

“The radiation and the serum combined must have given you special abilities. There’s barely any radiation left though. That’s interesting.”

“What should we do?”

The building shakes, debris falling from the ceiling.

“You guys need to get out of here.”

“What? You tell us we have powers, and that we need to leave?” Suho exclaims, “How? There’s no escape!”

“I know, but with the sentinels chasing after you, it’s not like I have the time to help you with that. But I have just the thing to help get out of here,” Luna says as she goes to her control board, “I just finished testing my newest creation: A Dimensional Portal. This will send you to another world like ours.”

They all gape at her.

“What?”

“Why did you build this?” Xuimin asks.

She shrugs, “I was bored but right now it’s the best invention I’ve ever made.”

Starting it up, the pillars begin to spin, creating a portal of bright blue light.

“Go through. You’ll be safe.”

Suho walks up to her, “Thank you. For helping us.”

“It was my pleasure. Be safe.”

They all rush through the light, yelling out their thanks before disappearing. But Baekhyun doesn’t leave just yet, staring forlorn at her. She rushes down to him.

“Baek, it’s your turn. You need to go.”

“Not without you,” he takes her hands, “Come with us.”

She meets his eyes, “Someone has to stay and close the portal. I can’t let them follow you.”

“And I can’t lose you. Luna, I’ve been meaning to tell you—“

Luna smashes her lips onto his. He melts into her embrace.

“I love you, Baekhyun,” she says before pushing him into the portal. As soon as he’s through, she runs to the control panel and cuts the power. Right as the portal zaps away, the ceiling crashes down, crushing the machine. The cat runs to her side, hissing at the intrusion. Luna pulls the cat to her, closing her eyes. I’m sorry, Baekhyun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Baekhyun is falling through the sky, slipping pass every cloud into the water below. Breaking the surface, he floats as he catches his breath.

“Over there! Something fell from above!” a voice shouts in the distance.

He ignores it.

“It’s a person!”

“Man overboard!”

I’ll come back to you, Luna. Even if I have to search the universe.

#exo fanfiction #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun/oc #exo fanfic #exo oneshot #my fanfic #ill search the universe #power au

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sm-entertain-me · 5 years

Text

Red Hot (M)

Contains: Moon Taeil x (f) reader, adult language, sexual themes, smut, teasing, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, dirty talk, semi public sex, light hair pulling, strangers to lovers!au, badboy!Taeil, daddy kink?, horrible pun at the end

Synopsis: You decided to go out with your friends to a local arcade because it's been a while since all of you had the same day off. It sounded like an amazing way to let loose, but there happens to be someone there who can help you get even looser. (NOT PROOFREAD)

“You suck at this game,” You chided at your friend who was trying her luck with the stupid game that has you time when the light goes in the center of your mark to win tickets. If you got in the middle of the section you were supposed to, you would win the jackpot of tickets that continued to grow higher in number with every loss. Jessika gave you a small glare as she hunched over the machine, placing another token into the slot so she can try again, determined to prove you wrong even though she had wasted a good chunk of her tokens at this one game. You huffed at her stubbornness and crossed your arms over your chest, leaning on the back of your heels just to watch her bow her head as she had lost for the umpteenth time this night. It was honestly pretty heartbreaking to watch.

After three more times of allowing her to win smaller amounts of tickets, you finally pushed her aside and used one of your tokens, hoping that you would be able to win back her tickets. “Y/N this game is super hard,” Jessika whined as she let you slide one of your tokens in the machine, standing next to your other friend Megan as she munched on a plate of nachos. Megan’s only concerned of going out tonight was finding out where her next meal was coming from and couldn’t possibly care less about winning stupid games. She simply rolled her eyes at Jessika as she swallowed the mass of food in her mouth, turning to you to offer her encouragements, “You got this, Y/N. Jess just sucks at literally every single game in this place.”

“That is so no true!” Jessika bit back at Megan, threatening to smack her plate of nachos on the less than clean carpeted floor below. “I was pretty good at Space Invaders.” You rolled your eyes as you remained hunched over the game, focusing on the light that circled the edge of the machine, responding to Jessika’s comment, “No, you weren’t. You barely got past the first level and missed all the powerups. Now shut up so I can win your stupid tickets back.” It was finally time for Jessika to step back as she realized she had been bested by both you and Megan’s sharp tongues and low tolerance for her tantrums, watching you in amazement as you brought your face closer to the light, finger hovering over the button to stop the light. Although it was really just a game, you felt like this was the most important moment of your life. Everything you had eve worked for was riding on this very moment, even though you had a pocketful of tokens to keep trying.

It seemed like the whole entire world had stopped, every patron in the whole arcade watching the way you focused on the light, kids stopped running around and chasing each other to come over and watch you. No one bothered to continue on their games since you seemed to bring everyone over, wondering if you would be able to win the jackpot that had been the highest it had ever been all night. If you won, you would win 600 tickets; you would be a legend in the arcade. People would chant your name and lift you on their shoulders, cheering you on as the tickets flowed out of the machine with no hopes of stopping soon. All you had to do was press the button are the right time. And luckily for you, you did.

Tickets flew out of the machine as the sirens within the machine blared, basically screaming out to the whole arcade, “Winner! Winner! Winner!” Jessika couldn’t believe her eyes as she stood there, absolutely gobsmacked at the fact you had managed to hit the jackpot on the first try when she had easily spent half of her tokens trying to get 10 tickets out of the damn thing. A smile carved its way onto your face as you let the tickets flow into your hand, turning to face the shocked Jessika and the less than concerned Megan, “Told you that you suck, Jess.” That forced Jessika to stick her tongue out at you as she reclaimed her space at the game, determined to prove you wrong as you sauntered off to another game to try your luck at, making a B-line for the basketball games to see if you could break the record of 74.

As you were busy shooting your way up the score board, you couldn’t help but feel as if someone was watching you. Not just an occasional glancing over at you to find out that you were close to beating the record, but someone who was going out of their way to stare at you and watch your every move. You immediately felt the pressure to beat the record as you had inadvertently drew the small audience of one person who you have yet to see, your grip on the basketballs getting worse and worse the more you became aware of their presence. You soon felt the person come up right behind you, hands flying to your waist as you were pressed up against the machine.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You seethed, still keeping your attention on the basketball game since you weren’t going to let some horny boy ruin your chance of breaking more records tonight. The person’s voice was smooth like silk as he responded to you, his hand coming up to brush a piece of your hair away from your neck and ear so you could hear him over the dull sound of the sirens playing in the back to other games, “Oh don’t worry baby, I’m just here to watch you work your magic. Hopefully you’ll let me work mine later on.” This boy was really something, wasn’t he? You bit your lip at how smooth the tone he held in his voice, feeling your cheeks starting to heat up from his boldness in his approach as you threw the last basketball at a wonky angle, bouncing off of the rim as if it was taunting you, laughing at you since you had failed to break the record.

Taking a deep breath, you turned around to face the person who had single-handedly ruined your chances of breaking the record on the basketball game, coming face to face with someone who took your breath away the minute your eyes met with his. He was a little bit taller than you and had a head of flaming red hair, a killer smile, eyes that never allowed any kind of light to shine through just by the sheer darkness of his gaze, and a chiseled jawline that would have any girl begging to run their tongue along it. Fuck he was gorgeous, and he knew it. The man titled his head to the side at you when he realized he had you entranced, smirking before he spoke, “See something you like, baby?” “Depends,” You responded, turning back around to bend down in front of him and grab your tickets, making sure to push your ass out a little more so he could admire the curve of it in the tight shorts you decided to wear earlier tonight. “I could ask you the same thing.”

The man seemed to suck in a particularly large portion of air as he leaned back to admire your ass in all of its glory, licking his lips at the sight of you being bent over in front of him. “Fuck babygirl, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re being a little bit of a tease right now,” He crooned, a small hint of interest playing in his voice as he watched you stand back up and stuff the tickets in your back pocket. Smirking at the fact you were getting him riled up so easily, you turned yet again to face him to reveal his pupils being blow wide already from the delicious sight of you, “Well, do you?” He returned your smirk as he pushed you forward slightly, letting your back hit the bottom of the machine as his hands fell one either side of your hips to cage you in, “I think I do. The name’s Taeil, I’m only telling you so you know what to scream tonight.”

“Funny,” You commented as you playfully wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pushing your breasts up against his torso as he fell into you, making an effort to let your lips ghost the shell of his ear. “I usually scream daddy.” “Fuck,” Taeil cursed as he looked up to the ceiling, thinking about how to deal with someone who played up to his unorthodox flirting style, you watching the way his neck vein began to pulse wildly as a result. You were having so much fun with this guy and you were wondering how far you could take it as you grabbed his waist and pulled him closer so that his slightly hard erection pressed against your steadily throbbing pussy. Taeil immediately looked down in between your bodies and then looked back up at you with a cocked brow, “You really are something else, aren’t you baby?” You didn’t answer him verbally, you just moved your hips against his, making sure to push his cock all around to force out a plethora of groans from his lips.

What originally started as shameless and rather inappropriate flirting now turned into Taeil forcing you into the bathroom and bending you over the sink. “Think you can get me all riled up and not have your brains fucked out right here? Oh baby, you should know better,” Taeil teased as he made quick work of your shorts, pausing to admire the way your ass looked in those black laced panties that hugged your curves just right. You moaned in response to his words, leaning back to push your ass against his throbbing cock to feel just how hard you managed to get him. Taeil simply scolded you as he gripped a handful of your hair, pulling you so that you arched backward against him as his other hand rested on the bottom of your ass, “Uh uh, Y/N. None of that, I’m calling the shots from here on out.” He kept a firm grip on your hair as he gripped the edge of the counter with his free hand, pushing his erection firmly against your ass and moving the hard muscle against your clothed pussy. You were in for a wild ride.

Once Taeil was done teasing at your folds, he pulled his cock away from your ass and slipped his fingers into the wasitband of your panties, sliding them off with lightning speed and slipping them into his back pocket for safe keeping. He turned his attention to your reflection, making sure to hold eye contact with you as he unbuckled his pants and slid his boxers down enough to let his length spring free and smack your ass lightly. “Fuck,” You choked out once you felt how drenched the tip of his cock was, only imagining how much precum had pooled on the tip since you were still held firmly in place by Taeil’s hellish grip on your scalp. He smirked at you through the mirror as he leaned forward, whispering sensually into your ear, “Remember, you asked for this.”

The initial stretch of Taeil’s cock parting your walls caused you to moan out uncontrollably, your breath fogging up the glass of the mirror in front of you as you looked at his reflection. His eyes had managed to hold an even darker gaze than before as he let go of your hair and let his hands dig into the flesh of your hips, keeping you in place as he drew his hips back and slammed them against your ass. “Oh god, you’re so tight for me,” Taeil groaned out as he looked to the ceiling, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head from the sensation of your walls clenching around him upon entering you. God he felt so good inside of you that you could feel your arousal spilling out of you, running down your legs at an embarrassing rate. Of course Taeil saw it too, and he simply picked up his pace to spread even more of your arousal on your pussy and his groin. He wouldn’t stop until the both of you were soaked in your juices.

“Mmmm, ah! Taeil you feel so fucking good,” You squealed, gripping onto the edge of the counter to keep yourself at an angle that his cock would almost always brush against your G-spot. Taeil smirked at your words of encouragement as he pinned your hips to the top of the counter, leaning forward on his toes so he could completely bury himself deep inside of you, an action that had you arching your back from the amount of pleasure running through your body. You could feel your eyes screwing shut, but Taeil cut that habit of yours really quickly as he grabbed yet another handful of your hair and forced you to look at yourself getting fucked at an animalistic pace, causing you to moan out even more from the sight of Taeil fucking you. “Look at how sexy you look, taking my cock like this,” Taeil growled out as he continued to pound into you from behind, his eyes never leaving yours as he wanted you to watch how well he was fucking you.

Taeil had the stamina to fuck you for hours on end and he was showcasing that very talent of his as he worked you into your first orgasm of the night, throwing his head back at the sensation of you cumming hard around his cock. But you were surprised that he hadn’t cum yet despite the raw sexual magnetism of how you looked being bent over that sink and having your mouth hanging wide open, screaming out his name at the top of your lungs. You could feel your body giving out as Taeil continued to fuck you from behind, you falling forward to let your torso come in contact with the sink as Taeil simply stood up higher to achieve more depth. “Oh is my babygirl tired? Daddy fucking her too good?” Taeil teased at you as he towered over you, continuing to bury himself deep inside of you as you could only moan in response, all the strength you previously had disappearing rapidly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

After he managed to give you a few more harsh strokes from behind, Taeil slipped himself out of you and lifted you up lightly, careful not to put you in any unnecessary pain. He couldn’t help but look down and admire the way his cock was completely covered in the thick sheen of your arousal, biting his lip from the sight as he looked back up at you with lustful intent. Taeil then picked you up by your ass and set you on the counter, stepping in between your legs to reinsert himself and continue to fuck you until you can’t walk. “Shit,” You groaned against his neck as you wrapped your arms around his neck, his hands coming around your legs to wrap them around his trunk since you had no strength in your legs from having to keep yourself up from his rough fucking. “Can you take a little bit more?” Taeil questioned you as he had yet to start fucking his way into you yet, wanting to make sure you could take more. You nodded at him, leaning forward to kiss down his neck to give a proper answer.

“Oh my fucking god,” Taeil moaned out as he continued to sheathe himself into you, you having to bite your lip from crying out so loud that the patrons of the arcade could hear. “You are simply amazing.” Even though you two had been fucking for at least fifteen minutes in this new position, you could feel no change in Taeil’s power as he thrusted into you with such force that you had to really hold onto his hips to prevent yourself from being fucked into the mirror behind you. He was that good. “Taeil, I think I’m go-gonna cum again,” You cried out as you threw your head back and felt your eyes rolling back as his cock kept hitting that special spot of yours. “F-Fuck me too, baby,” Taeil admitted as he fucked you at the new angle, feeling his release beginning to approach at record speed until he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

Taeil released inside of you with one last stroke that had you tumbling over your edge as well, feeling the way his cum filled you to the brim. White heat ripped through you as your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt and quite possibly his skin as you cried out his name, screaming to the ceiling above. Taeil was breathing wildly against you as he held you close, supplying you with small strokes to help the both of your ride out your highs simultaneously until you let your head fall into the crook of his neck, immediately becoming tired. You let yourself breathe in Taeil’s cologne as you remained in his neck, feeling Taeil stroking you back lightly to get you to calm down since your breathing had reached an alarming rate thanks to the mind blowing orgasms he gave you. Taeil felt you trying to move but he simply kept you in place, continuing to comfort you through your exhausted state, “Hey baby, you don’t have to move too much. We got time.”

Finally after a couple more minutes of panting against Taeil’s body like a dog in the summer, he slid out of you and immediately began to clean you up, careful not to put too much pressure on your sensitive sex in fears of bringing you to overstimulation. “Hey,” You called out with a hoarse voice from screaming out so much. “Thanks for that, I really needed it after the week I’ve been having.” Taeil chuckled as he pulled his pants up and reached down to give you your shorts back, “Don’t worry baby, you can call me any time you need to blow off some steam... Oh shit, I almost forgot.” Taeil reached behind him to grab your panties that he stuffed in his pocket earlier to give them back to you, but you shook your head to stop him. After he gave you a questionable look as to why you wouldn’t take them back, you shrugged with a smirk, “I won’t be needing them when I’m with you so you can keep them. Something to remember me by.”

When the two of you got done cleaning each other off and fixing each other’s clothes so you two didn’t look too suspicious, you both exited the bathroom and bid each other farewell. Before you could get too far though, Jessika ran over to you with a look of amazement, “Did you just come out of the bathroom with that dude?” You followed her gaze over to Taeil and his signature red hair, allowing a small smile to find its way to your face as you offered a shrug. It was Megan’s turn to speak as she made her way over to the two of you holding onto a slice of pizza this time, “Jessika saw him earlier and was wondering where he went. She thought he was super hot.” You chuckled at your friends as you chose this to be the one time you kept the details of your sex life private, opting for a joke instead, “I guess you could say he’s red hot. Get it, because of his hair?” The sounds of groaning filled your ears as the two of your friends hated it when you made jokes, Megan choosing to sling her arm over your shoulder, “Y/N, word of advice. Just stick to the arcade games instead of the jokes, okay?”

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