#sorry this is so messy I’m recovering from withdrawal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years

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Hands That Heal - Ch.9

Bucky Barnes x mechanic!fem!reader

Chapter Summary: The road of recovery is only just beginning but you're not the only one who is feeling broken. Chapter Warning: 18+ only, smut, oral (f rec), unprotected sex, fluff Word count: 2007

Series Warnings: 18+ only, canon-typical violence, swearing, fluff, misogyny/degrading comments from some men, smut.

Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Hands That Heal Masterlist

RECAP: “He thought you killed Axel.” You whispered through the lump in your throat. “I wanted to.” “I know, but you didn’t.” You said as you blinked slower and slower, the promise of pain free sleep enticing you with its darkness and you were ready to give in. “You’re too good.”

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Pain radiated across your shoulder blade as you woke to the irritating sound of the hospital monitors beeping. A hand was already being placed gently on your lower back to stop you from moving and you managed to turn your head so you could see Bucky sitting beside your bed, guilt eating him alive.

“Hey Hercules.” You murmured through the groggy haze of morphine. “What’s the damage?”

He shook his head and leant forward in the chair so his forehead was resting on your hand, your fingers automatically reaching to run through his messy hair. “I should’ve been there to protect you. I’m so sorry, y/n.”

“You’re my boyfriend, not my bodyguard. It’s not your job to protect me.” You tried to reassure him but he was already withdrawing into himself. “I mean, if it was your job you would be fired so it’s kind of a good thing.”

His lips twitched at your twisted sense of humour and he finally looked you in the eyes. “You’re not funny.”

“Not even a little bit?” You smiled before trying to move closer and hissing at the pain that brought tears to your eyes. “Why does my thigh hurt so much?”

“The surgeon needed a skin graft for your shoulder, she took it from your thigh.” He answered as he pressed the button on the morphine drip and a whir of the machine had you forgetting the pain.

“Ugh, the scars are going to be horrible.” You slurred as the drugs took effect and your mind was like sludge. “You’re na gonna love me anymewww.”

“You loved me with all my scars, doll, I’ll love you with all yours.”

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It was your first day back at work after weeks recovering from the surgery and you were pleasantly surprised to find aside from the red scarring around the edge of the graff site, your shoulder blade looked almost normal. You had almost complete mobility but some movements stretched the skin taut and hurt but time, like with most things, would heal that. The patch on your inner thigh was another matter and you hated seeing the rectangle of mottled scarring when you took your clothes off.

“There she is!” Chip shouted from across the garage. “Welcome back.”

“I would say it’s good to be back but now I have to deal with you assholes again.” You teased as Bucky carried your toolbox in for you.

“Don’t hurt yourself alright.” Bucky said for the tenth time, wishing you had taken another week off. “Call me if you need me to pick you up early.”

“Sure thing, dad.” You rolled your eyes before giving him a kiss. “Stop worrying about me, don’t you have plans today?”

His lips curled into a smile as he nodded. “Speaking of, I should get going and meet up with Sam and Torres. Be good, don’t hurt yourself, I love you.”

“I love you too but if you tell me that one more time, I swear to god-”

“What? I love you?”

“No, the other thing.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

He laughed as you gently slapped his chest before he stole another kiss and left you to get to work. The cars hadn't stopped arriving just because you were out of commission and now you had a big back log of vehicles to fix.

“Where’s he heading off to?” Chip asked as Bucky gave you a wave as he pulled out, his grin still splitting his face.

“I don’t know, but it's the most I’ve seen him smile since I got home.”

Chip merely grunted and went back to his office, leaving you to work until the streets echoed with the sound of sirens. Dozens of cop cars raced down the block and everyone headed for the street to see what was going down and where. There wasn’t much to see as they turned down Michigan and you thought nothing of it until it was time for lunch.

“Holy shit, Dale, turn it up.” Chip barked from the tatty couch in the break room. “Jiminy, your boy’s on TV.”

You slipped out from under the car you were working on and went into the room to find the old CRT TV on full volume, Bucky and a whole lot of other bystanders watching the Sinner’s MC members getting thrown in the back of the cop cars you had seen earlier. The breaking news banner beneath the screen regaled the tale of a mountain of evidence against the club being anonymously sent to counterterrorism and it was as if he could feel you watching as he threw a wink to the camera before disappearing into the crowd.

“Jeeeesus.” Chip breathed out with relief, a small huff of a laugh to finish it off. “Good riddance to the lot of them. My babies can finally come home.”

You were still sitting in front of the tv watching the teams of police filling the clubhouse and emptying it of the mass of weapons, cash and drugs that had been hidden inside when you heard clapping outside. Peeking over the back of the couch you found Bucky looking for you and his eyes lit up when he found you, rushing into the staff room and closing the door behind him.

“How?” You asked dumbfounded as he crouched down in front of you and took your hands.

“I know a few people in low places and a few people in high places.” He smirked. “I just gave them both a bit of a nudge.”

“I can’t believe it. They’re really gone.”

“They’ve hurt a lot of people and there’s no shortage of evidence against them. They aren’t getting out for a very, very long time.”

“You did all this for me?”

“You’re my best girl, y/n, I’d do anything for you.”

You leant forward and captured his lips with a passion you hadn’t been able to muster since the attack. Your confidence had been at an all time low with the scars, then there had been the fear of another attack despite Bucky never leaving your side for one moment and there was the guilt he held for not getting to you in time. It had put you in a state of mind that left you drier than the sahara desert but it seemed the drought was over and desire was quickly pooling between your legs.

“Fuck…” Bucky groaned as his heightened senses noticed your arousal and he pulled away with almost obsidian eyes. “I just need a minute.”

“You need to take me home.”

His lip was caught between his teeth as he looked out the window and saw Chip and Dale arguing over something before interrupting. “I’m taking y/n home, it's all been a bit much excitement.”

Chip looked at you with concern before nodding, probably mistaking the wide eyes and mussed hair as stress. Bucky was already opening the car door and throwing your toolbox in the back before you had made it halfway across the floor and you couldn’t help giggling at his enthusiasm. A few weeks without sex now felt like a long time to you so you could only imagine how much worse it was for him, given how insatiable he was in bed.

There was no way you were even going to make it to the bedroom at the rate you were going and Bucky decided the couch was the best and closest thing to lay you on when you reached the top of the stairs. Your hands had been roaming his body since he sat in the driver's seat and you were lucky the windows were tinted as you unzipped his pants and stroked him through his boxers. His deep breathing and soft groans had filled the car and he had come to a rather hard stop when he parked in the garage.

It was only as you stood before him half naked and he was pulling your jeans down your legs that doubt crept back in. Your knees tried to pull together as he laid you back on the couch and began kissing his way down your body, but his own knee stopped you from shutting him out.

“You’re beautiful, y/n.” He reassured you between the kisses he was placing on your breasts. “So. Fucking. Beautiful. You hear me?”

You completely whimpered as his mouth finally reached you folds and…he went straight past, his teasing chuckled drifting up your body. Your hands were already reaching to pull him away as you felt his soft lips brush over the scars but he caught them and held them in his hands as his tongue swirled over the uneven surface. Your hands relaxed as warmth began to spread across your skin, the kisses and licks actually feeling really good over the tight skin and soon you were moaning.

Your moans spurred him into action and his tongue lashed between your folds, a hum of satisfaction as he tasted you like it was the first time all over again. Your head tipped back into the couch cushions as he teased your clit and let go of your hands so he could curl two fingers inside you, stretching you ready for him. Your walls were already fluttering around him as he sucked on your clit and rolled his fingers over your g-spot but he wanted to feel you come undone around his cock after so long without it.

“Do you remember what you told me?” He asked as he looked up at you, lazuli eyes captivating yours. “These scars make us who we are, they are proof of everything we have survived.”

“I remember.” You whispered, but giving advice was far easier than taking it.

He crawled up your body, the hard length of him resting on your hip as he shared your taste on his tongue. “I don’t care how many scars you get, I just need you to always survive.”

Your promise was lost in the gasp as he filled you, stretching you with a quick thrust of his hips and his mouth devouring yours, swallowing your needy cries as he let your body adjust around him.

“Fuck me, please, Bucky, I need you now.”

He finally rolled his hips as you begged him and his head tipped back with a growl at how good it felt to be buried inside you again. Sweet nonsense was tumbling from his lips and you had already been on the edge of bliss from his tongue, now you were feeling the coil in your belly tighten impossibly. Your keen cries joined Bucky’s moans as he pulled your leg higher and pushed himself deeper.

“Oh god, fuck, that feel’s so good.” You cried as your heels dug into his ass and you rolled your hips to meet his.

“I’m gonna cum, doll, you feel so fucking tight.”

His hand disappeared between you and his thumb pressed over your clit, your own hips riding you over his touch until the elastic band holding you together snapped. Your pussy clamped down on Bucky as your orgasm washed over you, the heat of it setting you alight from head to toe as your clit pulsed beneath his thumb and he grunted as he spent himself within your walls, the twitches of his cock setting off small aftershocks down your trembling legs.

You both lay entwined on the couch, Bucky still between your legs and his head on your chest as you twirled his growing hair in your fingers. You couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment than that. It had seemed like reaching this point was going to be impossible, that you were destined to remain broken and living in fear for the rest of your life. But Bucky had fixed it, he had fixed you.

You took Bucky’s hands in yours, lacing your fingers between his and kissed them. He thought his hands were weapons, especially the vibranium one, he saw them as tools, hands that cause hurt. You saw them for what they truly were, hands that heal.

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reidgraygubler · 3 years

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a different type of high (spencer reid/reader) pt 3

Title: A Different Type of High (part three)

Request: no

Couple: spencer reid/gender-neutral!reader

Category: mostly fluff, but there is some angst

Content Warning: swearing, mentions of withdrawal and symptoms of withdrawal, talks of depression and suicide (but not for a sentence), mentions of overdose, (if i missed anything that needs to be tagged, please let me know!)

Word Count: 6,148

Summary: Spencer keeps his promise and takes Reader to get coffee before NA. While at the coffee shop, Reader meets one of Spencer’s co-workers and finds out who he actually works for.

A/N: i don’t have much to say other than… i don’t know if it actually snows in quantico virginia or dc. everywhere i’ve looked told me yes and told me no.. so i just made it snow. so if im wrong about that sorry o.o and, this one mentions the episode ‘elephant’s memory’ season 3 episode 16 (i think) anyways, thank you all for the love and support! check out my masterlist! and here’s a series moodboard i made on pintrest!

previous part series masterlist next part

{***}{***}{***}

Three firm knocks came from the front door of my apartment. I looked towards the door as I struggled to tie my shoes. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as I stood up. My sweater was on the hook by the front door, so I can’t even excuse myself for running behind. It was just my anxiety causing me to be a little slow.

So with that, I walked up to the front door to answer it. I’m not sure why I was expecting anyone other than Spencer, but for some reason, my body was telling me it was someone else. But when I opened the door, a smile spread across my face when I saw Spencer.

Small snowflakes were sitting, and melting, in his hair as he stood in the hallway outside my own world. His nose and cheeks were a light rosy pink color because of the coldness outside. A dark plaid scarf was wrapped around his neck and hung over his unbuttoned jacket. And his eyes had a certain sparkle that I couldn’t seem to look away from.

“Hey,” Spencer smiled at me as he ruffled his hair, getting the snowflakes out. I stayed silent for a moment too long and kept my eyes on him.

“Hey,” I blinked and shook my head, “I’m almost done… I, uh, was just… Do you want to come… Come in,” I kept my voice low as I asked. I stepped back and pulled the door open.

“Thanks,” he smiled before stepping into my apartment. I looked around my home, realizing that it was a little on the messier side.

“Sorry… Sorry for the mess. I usually don’t… I don’t really have visitors here. And, I guess I sort of forgot that you were coming over,” I bit my lips together.

“Oh, don’t… Don’t worry about it, really. My apartment is pretty messy too,” he brushed my messiness off like it was nothing. I looked around my home one last time before grabbing my sweater off the hook. “It’s starting to snow a little hard out there, we should get going,” Spencer cringed as he looked towards the window, which was covered by the cheap dollar store curtains.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m all ready,” I looked at him and smiled. He looked back at me before raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t have a coat?” He asked, watching as I grabbed my apartment keys. I shoved them in my pocket as I looked at him.

“No, this is enough,” I smiled at him. Spencer nodded before following me out. “So, where was your trip to?” I looked up at Spencer as we stepped onto the sidewalk. He was wrapping a scarf around his neck before tucking it away into his coat.

“Someplace in Texas,” he nodded as he buttoned the last button. He smiled at me before putting an arm around me. I just assumed he did it because I didn’t have an actual coat and just a sweater. “Work stuff… Kinda scary…”

“How does a work trip get scary?” I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at the ground. A very fine layer of snow was dusting the sidewalk, letting our footprints leave tracks as we walked. The snow was coming down like little cotton balls, so our footprints didn’t last very long. I always forget how cold it gets in the Winter.

“Well, uh,” Spencer kept his voice low as he spoke. I raised an eyebrow before looking back up at him. “It’s a long story,” he added in an even lower voice.

“I have time for a long story,” I mumbled with a shrug.

“It’s a really long story,” he looked down at me. I looked up at him and furrowed my eyebrows. It’d take a lot to get this story from him. I’m not even sure if it would be worth the fight...

The chilliness of the air nipped at the back of my neck and arms through my sweater, causing me to shiver. Spencer looked down at me with concern in his eyes. “We need to get you a proper jacket. It’s too cold out for you to be walking in just a sweater and jeans,” he spoke, his tone coming up an octave. I refrained from rolling my eyes because of him changing the subject. I’ll of course bring it up later. He’s clearly not telling me anything about what happened.

“I’m okay, really. With just this,” I tugged on my sweater. Spencer looked down at me and raised an eyebrow. “Really, Spencer. It’s fine. I don’t think I have money for a coat anyways,” I shrugged it off as nothing. Spencer looked away from me, thinking about something to say. Then he suddenly pulled his scarf off and wrapped it around my neck. “I’m fine!” I exclaimed as I stepped away from him. “Spencer, if being cold is the only thing that gives me feeling, then let me be cold,” I looked up at him, “I’m going through enough withdrawal to be depressed and shit. Just let me be cold,” I pulled the scarf off and handed it back over to him. The scarf stayed draped in my hand, swaying in the wind, between Spencer and me.

Spencer stared at the scarf in my hand before looking up at my face. I couldn’t exactly read the expression he wore, but he was definitely upset about my sudden mood change. He slowly shook his head as he pushed the scarf to me.

“Keep it. If you don’t want a jacket and you won’t let me buy you one, I want you to keep my scarf,” he looked up at my face before taking the scarf from my hand. He carefully wrapped it around my neck and placed his hands on my shoulders. I rolled my eyes before smiling at him. “Please, I have another one at home,”

“Are you too stubborn to take no for an answer?” I asked as I started walking again. Spencer laughed as he caught up to my pace. I smiled as he returned his arm around my shoulders. I leaned more into his embrace.

“That would be correct,” he looked down at me and smiled. I rolled my eyes again and shook my head.

We stayed silent on the remainder of the walk, it wasn’t a far walk from my apartment to the coffee shop. Occasionally, Spencer would crack a joke or two, causing me to laugh. Which was good. I missed a good laugh or two.

“So, do any of your work friends know… about this?” I looked up at Spencer as we walked side-by-side into a coffee shop. It was probably a good bet to say that he probably frequents more often than not. “This being you and going to NA, you and you’re… and you and me,” I stopped myself from saying any more, mostly because I knew he hated when we talked about our issues outside of NA or the community center. I understood why he hated it, but it didn’t leave much left to talk about.

“No, no they don’t,” he mumbled as we stepped in line. There were three or four other people in front of us. Just a short wait, that’s it. I’m okay with waiting, in all honesty. The longer we’re here, the longer we are away from the community center. And God knows we both hate that place... “And I’d prefer if it stayed that way,” he spoke, mostly to himself, like he was reminding himself that no one knew of this secret life he has.

“I see,” I whispered and stepped closer to him. Spencer looked down at me before wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I looked down and smiled as he held me closer. “I’ve never been here before,” I looked around the cafe, taking in the atmosphere of the place. It was comfy and cozy. As opposed to the outside, which was cold and snowy.

“Pretty good. Although, it’s kinda hard for me to say no to coffee,” he laughed as he stepped forward in line. I returned the laughter and nodded.

“What do you get? Normal black coffee? Or a fun drink?” I looked up at him. Spencer looked back down at me and thought.

“Usually just plain coffee with cream and some sugar,” he nodded as he looked towards the front at the menu. I followed his gaze and looked over the menu myself. “What about you?”

“Uh,” I shifted on my feet and looked back at his face, “I just... I don’t really drink coffee or anything,” I crossed my arms over my chest. Spencer hummed as he looked down at me. “I guess hot chocolate is okay,” I whispered and looked back up at Spencer.

“Hot chocolate, pretty good,” he spoke as he shoved his other hand in his pocket to pull out his wallet. We both silently stepped up to the counter.

“Hey there, what can I get you guys?” The barista had a certain chipper-ness to her tone. It was probably from all the caffeine she consumes on a daily basis. Or it was the fact that she’s been awake for a million hours and is just tired. Probably the former...

“Large coffee, plain… Room for sugar and cream,” Spencer smiled at the barista. I shoved my hands in my pocket, hoping to find a spare bill or two. But when I pulled my hand out and it was empty, I frowned. Of course, I don’t have extra money. I’m a 22-year-old drug addict (Recovering… Recovering drug addict), who buys street drugs and can barely pay rent on time. Why would I have extra money shoved into my pocket?

“I don’t need anything,” I looked up at Spencer and forced a fake smile on my lips. He frowned and looked at the barista, who was watching the two of us with a friendly smile.

“No, no, my treat. Don’t worry about it,” He gestured to the counter. He removed his arm from my shoulder and pulled money from his wallet. I looked at him with wide eyes before looking back at the barista.

“Uh, small hot chocolate… Thanks,” I kept my voice low, mostly because my anxiety was going crazy. No one’s ever gotten me a drink before, much less anything.

The barista smiled at Spencer and I before taking the money from him. I glanced at him, watching him place the change into the tip jar. He looked down at me with a small smile before guiding me over to where a sign that said “Pick Up Here” sat.

“You didn’t have to buy me a drink, Spencer,” I whispered as we stayed close to one another. He shrugged as he shoved both hands into his pocket. “No, seriously, it’s okay,”

“It isn’t okay, because it’s cold outside and having a nice hot drink is always nice.” Spencer looked down at me and shrugged, “Just accept the kind gesture,” he lifted a hand and placed it on my shoulder.

“I’ve never had someone just buy me something before. I mean,” I stopped myself from talking because the end of that statement had to do with drugs. “Ya know?” I glanced at him, hoping he’d just know what I meant.

“Well, that’ll have to change, won’t it,” he whispered and smiled softly. I stared at him and shrugged. I shifted my gaze from his face and to the ground between us.

“Here’s that hot chocolate and coffee for you two.” A different barista smiled at Spencer and I as he placed two paper cups on the counter. Spencer grabbed both cups and handed one over to me. We both turned to leave.

“Listen, Spencer, hot chocolate is one thing. But a coat? That’s a whole other thing,” I spoke before taking a sip of my hot chocolate. I hummed as the warmth spread through my body. He smiled at me before grasping my hand.

“C’mon,” Spencer started as he pulled me towards the door of the cafe. I could feel a smile tug on my lips as we walked past a new rush of people.

“Reid?” a woman’s voice spoke, stopping Spencer and I in our tracks. He looked away from me and towards the owner of the voice. I followed his gaze and saw a thin brunette. I didn’t like the way he pulled his hand away from mine like he didn’t want to be caught with someone.

“H-Hi, Emily,” Spencer stared at her with wide eyes. The tone and shakiness in his voice definitely told the person and I that he was anxious that this was happening. Which was valid, considering we were just talking about his friends and co-workers and it’d be bad if they found out about NA.

“Emily… Prentiss. I work with Spencer,” She smiled as she looked at me and stuck out a hand. Spencer still has to tell me what his occupation is. Whenever I asked him where he works, he always said he didn’t like talking about it or that it’d worry me. So, this’ll be a fantastic conversation topic on the way to the community center.

I copied the same stare that Spencer held in his eyes. My eyes were glued to her hand. And, no doubt was my anxiety higher than his. “And you are,” she asked after a moment of my staring and silence. Her smile was still kind, but it was a little worrisome. And, her stare scared me, almost like she was reading me or something.

“Right, right, sorry,” I muttered as I placed my hand in hers. I muttered my name and looked at her. She raised her eyebrow before her eyes shifted to look at Spencer.

“How do you know Spencer,” Emily asked, pulling her hand away from mine. I glanced at Spencer, silently pleading for him to take the lead on this question. I really didn’t want to answer this question because I didn’t know how to answer it.

“Friend from the library,” Spencer spoke up with a certain… fakeness to his tone. It was obvious he was lying. It looked like Emily picked up on that too. With the way she pointedly stared at Spencer.

“How do you think I met him?” I looked up at her and shrugged. I looked at the clock that was hanging on the wall and sighed. “If we’re walking, we’re gonna be late,” I looked back at Spencer and spoke firmly. Spencer looked down at me and nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Emily,” Spencer looked back at his friend and smiled. Emily looked between the two of us before allowing us to leave.

“It was nice meeting you,” she smiled at me as we finally left. I flashed her a nervous smile just as the door closed.

Once we were finally outside, Spencer wrapped his arm back around me. I could feel my body get frigid, I played it off as the temperature of the outside even though it was the return of Spencer’s affection. I really enjoyed the affection, but what I didn’t like was his sudden lack of affection the second we see someone he knows. I understand why he did it, but I hated it. I’m a secret.

“Who’s Emily?” I asked, my tone low. I tried not to sound jealous. Spencer’s my best friend, and that’s it. I don’t like anyone like that, and I probably never will. “I mean, I know she’s someone you work with… But you never tell me anything about what you do for work, Spencer,”

“She’s, uh,” he looked down at me. I kept my eyes away from him and stayed silent as I waited for my answer. “Yeah, she’s one of my co-workers.” He nodded. I looked back up at him and furrowed my eyebrows.

“Where is it you guys work? Because it’s clearly not a Starbucks,” I asked, pressing him again about his occupation. “I mean, because if it is Starbucks, can you get me a job?” I smiled at him. Spencer laughed and shook his head. “Okay, okay, you don’t have to tell me where you work… But can you describe where you work?”

“No it’s not Starbucks,” he looked down at me and smiled softly. And with that, our conversation about his occupation ended. I tried not sounding or acting upset. But that’s okay. I’ll get over it.

“Thanks for the hot chocolate,” I looked up at him and smiled. He returned the smile before taking a sip of his coffee.

{***}{***}{***}

“I just don’t understand… Why can’t you tell me?” I looked at Spencer as we walked towards the chairs. He glanced down at me before gesturing towards two chairs. I sat down before him, then watched as he sat down beside me. “Do you work someplace super duper embarrassing? Oh my god, are you a stripper?” I turned to look up at him. Spencer glared at me, a teeny-tiny smile growing on his lips. “Oh my god, you are,” I whispered as I moved closer to him. My butt was on the very edge of my chair so I could be as close as I could to him. “Can you show me somethi-”

“What, no! I’m not a stripper,” Spencer furrowed his eyebrows before laughing. I returned the laughter and looked up at him. He looked over his shoulders to see if anyone was nearby, or close enough to hear our conversation. “Why don’t we talk about this when we’re done here… No one here needs to hear our conversation,” Spencer whispered as he looked back at me. I looked at him before reaching out to hold his hand. He flinched slightly when I touched his hand. I looked up at him before blinking. As I went to pull my hand away from him, his grip tightened around my hand. “Does that sound good? I’ll be honest and answer any questions you have,” he looked down at our hands and nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, whether that be saliva or nerves he was swallowing back. A light shade of pink grew on his face, coming up from his neck.

“Yeah, yeah that works,” I looked down at my lap. The scarf was draped over my legs, keeping me warm a little bit. Jacob stood up in the middle of the circle to introduce everyone, and I already wanted the night to be over. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Spencer looking over at me as I silently prayed for death to take me now. “My place or yours?” I smiled softly before looking back at him.

“Yours since we’re already walking back there,” he dropped his head to his shoulder before looking at me. I smiled and turned to face Jacob.

{***}{***}{***}

“Uh, I don’t have much in the means of food. I might have a can of spaghetti-o’s… If you’re hungry,” I spoke as I pulled the scarf off my neck and placed it on the hook, along with my sweater.

“Oh, I’ll just have a glass of water,” Spencer spoke as he pulled his coat off. He placed his coat right on the hook beside my sweater. I nodded before walking over to the small kitchenette area.

“You can have a seat anywhere, couch, armchair, floor... “ I grabbed two glasses before filling them with water. I walked back to the living room, my eyes down on the ground.

“So,” I whispered as I set the glasses on the coffee table. Spencer, who was sitting on the couch, leaned over and picked one up. I sat on the opposite end of the couch before curling up into the corner. “Emily seems very nice,” I looked at him, watching as he sipped his water.

“She is… Everyone I work with is like family to me,” Spencer looked at me before placing his glass back on the coffee table. “It’s frustrating because...” he started, but he didn’t finish his thought. I furrowed my eyebrows and stared at him.

“What’s frustrating?” I asked, watching as he furrowed his eyebrows. He looked back at me for a moment before exhaling.

“It’s frustrating… Because I constantly ask for help and no one helps.” Spencer looked down at his lap. I raised my eyebrow as I turned to face him more.

“How are you asking for help? And… I thought you said no one knows,” I whispered as I laid my head on the back of the couch. Spencer glanced at me before looking back down at his hands. He was pulling at fingers, his joints quietly popping. “Spencer, if no one knows what’s going on, then they can’t help you,” I kept my voice low because I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. I’m sure with Spencer I couldn’t ever say the wrong thing. I mean, he couldn’t say the wrong thing to me…

“No, no… I think they know… And that scares me,” he whispered as he looked back at his hands. “I’ve been with them for so long, and they know me enough to know when something’s wrong,” he shrugged before shifting in his seat.

“What is it you do for work? You still haven’t told me,” I looked back at him as I asked. His gaze shifted between the couch and my face. The way his eyes shifted across my face and his silence told me he was trying to find the words to say but was having a hard time formulating them.

“I work for the FBI,” he whispered, dropping his gaze away from my face.

I could feel my heart drop to my stomach and a certain sickness rise up my esophagus. It took everything in me not to be sick at the moment. My hand balled up into a tight fist, and I could feel my nails digging into my palms so hard, I’m sure if they weren’t nubs I would have bled. The FBI… The police… People who arrest people who buy and sell drugs illegally. People like me...

“The… The FBI?” I asked in a whisper. My voice was shaky as I spoke. Spencer looked back at me and nodded lightly. I shifted in my seat, my body wanting to leave. “You’re not… You’re not an undercover agent, are you?” I swallowed roughly as I stared at him.

“What? No,” Spencer scowled as he looked at me. I looked away from him, mouthing the word ‘Sorry,’ but not even meaning the apology. “I’m not an undercover agent, and I’m not going to arrest you. No, I’m like you. I’m trying too get better.” He whispered as he looked back down on the couch. “Last week, when I was on the work trip… I was saving a kid… Some teenager… He was… He was bullied growing up and in high school. And, he was…”

“Victim turned bad guy?” I asked, interrupting him. He glanced over at me and nodded lightly.

“Yeah, yeah that’s basically what had happened. They were going to shoot him,” he whispered. I glanced at him and noted that tears were rolling down his cheeks.

“They? They being the other members of your team?” I wrinkled my nose as I asked. He glanced at me again and nodded. I moved to stand up, but Spencer reached out and grabbed my wrist to stop me from standing. I looked at him with wide eyes and terror on my face. His features softened as he looked at me, realizing that this was getting too real for me too fast.

“And, I… I couldn’t let this kid die. So I stood between this kid, this kid that I only knew so much about, and nine police officers and federal agents and their guns,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he went on. My eyes grew wet as he spoke.

“That’s really stupid of you, Spencer,” I whispered as I shift back to be sitting on the couch. Spencer laughed lightly and nodded. “Don’t… Don’t do that again,” I rubbed the underside of my nose and shook my head.

“Yeah, it was stupid of me, wasn’t it… But, this kid is alive,” he whispered. I looked over at him and watched as he moved closer to me. “You can trust me. I’m trying every bit as you are to get better,” he spoke as he readjusted his grip from my wrist to my hand. I swallowed roughly and looked down at our hands.

“You… I know we don’t know we don’t know each other too well… But you can’t die, Spencer. I don’t care if it’s because of work, because of a bad guy, or because of someone at work, or if it’s because of drugs… But, you can’t die,” I whispered as I looked back at him. I could really feel the tears racing down my cheeks. “I’ve never been clean as long as I have been. I don’t think I can do this without you,” I roughly rubbed my cheeks and shook my head. “I’m… I’m sorry, that’s stupid,” I scoffed and shook my head.

“That’s not stupid. Nothing about it all is stupid.” Spencer looked at me as he spoke. He lifted a hand to wipe my cheeks with a thumb. I looked at him before looking at the ground. “I’m having a rough time… With, uh, with, well, you know. I’ve stopped, uh, it. And last week’s case was the first case without it. I just didn’t care what happened, even if that meant dying.” He whispered as his grip on my hand tightened. “If you can do it… I can do it,”

“Accountability buddies,” I smiled as I reminded him of our promise to each other. Spencer looked back at me and smiled.

“Yes, accountability buddies,” he sighed as he pulled me close for a hug. I took a deep breath, breathing in his smell. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” I wiped my cheeks again, “Mister FBI Agent,” I looked up at him and smiled, “Can you stay the night?” I asked, looking away from his face and at the messy coffee table.

“Are you sure?” He looked down at me as he rested his hands on my shoulders. I looked up at him and nodded.

“I think it’d make me feel better… Knowing that you’re… That you’re here,” I glanced at him. I wasn’t sure if I was embarrassed or not. But, I definitely felt weird asking him to stay here. Just something about him being near for the night made me feel safe. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I understand if it’s weird or what-”

“Yeah, I think I can make that work,” he nodded and looked at me. I smiled before throwing my arms back around him. “Just don't be surprised if I’m not here when you wake up,” he laughed lightly as rested his hands on my back, “I just… I know I’ll have to be at the office early,” he further explained.

“That’s okay,” I nodded and looked up at him, “I promise I won’t make it a habit… Of asking you to stay the night, that is,” I looked away from him and shrugged. Spencer laughed and shook his head.

“I wouldn’t care if you did,” he muttered. I probably wasn’t supposed to hear him say that, but I did. And it kinda made me feel happy, like unusually happy. “Is it alright if I use the bathroom?” He asked as he stood up.

“Oh, yeah, yep,” I copied his action and stood up. I looked to the ground as I lead him towards the bathroom, “Here you go,” I gestured into the open room. Spencer smiled at me before entering, pressing the door behind him. I stared at the surface of the door before stepping away. My fingers were tapping together as I walked back to the living room. My anxiety was a little high, and I wasn’t sure why, and the tapping was helping me calm down a bit. I had no secrets in the bathroom, nothing embarrassing or dangerous for him to see.

I silently went back to sit on the couch, pulling my throw blanket over my shoulders. My apartment wasn’t necessarily cold. But there was enough of a chill to be noticeable. Well, to me at least. I’m not so sure about Spencer. I know I could just turn the heat up, but heating bills are expensive.

I instinctively stood up when the bathroom door clicked open. Spencer stepped out, drying his hands on his shirt. I internally cringed at my lack of paper towels or hand towels in the bathroom.

“Sorry,” I looked up at him and cringed. He looked back at me and shook his head.

“It’s okay,” he smiled as he shoved his hands into his pockets. I stared at him for a moment before walking away from the couches. “I really don’t have an issue sleeping on the couch,” he took a larger step to walk beside me. I glanced at me and shrugged.

“It’s cold,” I pointed out as we walked closer to my room. Spencer looked at me and smiled. “Besides, my bed can hold two people,” I smiled, mostly to myself. My bed wasn’t big, to begin with, two people probably shouldn’t be sharing. But, here we are… Because I didn’t want to be alone tonight.

“Okay, okay,” Spencer laughed lightly as we entered the room. I looked up at himand smiled more as he looked at my bed. “If you say so,”

{***}{***}{***}

Okay, I was right, yet wrong at the same time. My bed can hold two people. But, it shouldn’t. Even though I’m smaller than Spencer, we were both on the very edge of the mattress. We had been in bed for an hour, and it’d been about 45 minutes since I shut the light off, leaving us in total darkness. I wouldn’t say I was uncomfortable, but it was difficult to be comfortable.

I rolled over onto my side, my back facing Spencer. Spencer was stiff on top of the blanket, making it impossible to get comfortable under it. He laid perfectly still on his back with his hands folded on his stomach.

“You know you can get under the blanket,” I spoke out loud as I looked up at him. He looked over at me, and it was clear that he hadn’t fallen asleep yet either. “Or, I can go get the blanket from the living room and you can use that,” I added in a whisper.

“It’s fine,” he nodded before shifting to move the blanket.

Once Spencer was actually under the blanket, he rolled on his side, so my back was pressed against his chest. My body stiffened once he relaxed. After a few minutes, I finally let my body relax and melt into the bed… That was until Spencer draped his arm over my body.

“It’s okay,” I spoke before he even got the chance to move away from me, “It’s fine, you’re… You can stay there,” I shivered because I was cold and not because of my sudden anxiety. I knew he could sense my nerves. “It’s fine, really, Spencer,” I placed a hand on top of his to keep him from moving away from me. “Are you asleep?” I whispered, already knowing the answer. I knew we both wouldn’t be asleep anytime soon. The cuddling happening between us is obviously something we’ve never experienced before. I mean, I don’t know about Spencer, but I’ve never cuddled another human being other than my own mother (but even then she hadn’t cuddled me in more than 10 years).

“Yes, I’m still awake,” he spoke, his voice low. His grip around me got a little tighter, pulling me closer to his chest. The way he held on to me was comparable to a child holding their stuffed animal, and I was honestly okay with it. “I’m assuming you’re still awake, considering you just asked me a question,”

“I don’t usually fall asleep for a while after I go to bed,” I mumbled, pulling the blanket closer to me, “I spend most of my nights in bed, awake till 4 am,” I sighed. I silently hoped that tonight would be different though.

“I’m sorry about that,” Spencer whispered. I shrugged as I shifted closer to him and further to the middle of the bed. “Maybe you should try to sleep earlier tonight,” “Yeah… Maybe,”

{***}{***}{***}

I woke up before him. Our legs were tangled together, and he was holding me close against his chest. For the first time in a long time, I actually slept well. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the enormous space heater beside me, or because another person was actually in bed with me, but I was getting very hot.

I looked up at Spencer’s face, wanting to stay like this for a while. Although, I knew we couldn’t stay like this. He’d have to leave soon to go to work. He just looked so peaceful asleep. And, I was so comfortable lying here…

I widened my eyes as I stared at him. My heart started beating faster, and I wasn’t sure if I could get it to slow. Part of me was worried that it’d wake him up, and another part of me was okay with it all. But, why was I worried as much as I was? And, why was it only when I was with Spencer I felt this way? What was going on? Crap...

I quickly closed my eyes and nuzzled my body closer to him when I saw that he started stirring. I threw my arms over his body and pressed my face to his chest. His heart beating and breath was somewhat soothing for me.

Spencer carefully shifted in his space before pulling my arms off him. I refrained from pouting. The bed shifted as Spencer sat up in the bed, partly bringing the blanket with him. He tossed the blanket back to me, lightly covering me again.

“Do you have to go to work,” I whined as I looked at Spencer as he slid out of my bed. He looked down at me with wide eyes.

“I thought you were asleep,” he half muttered. I sat up before rubbing my eyes. Sleep? Pfft, I never sleep. He should know that! We just talked about it last night. “And, yes, I have to go to work,” he stood up and turned to look at me. I looked up at him and frowned.

“Nah, I never sleep, we talked about that last night,” I shook my head. Spencer sat at the foot of the bed to put his shoes back on. “I just have a bed to lay in and wallow in self-pity when I’m not at the community center,” I rubbed my nose. I pushed the blanket off me and crawled over to sit beside him. “And when I’m not with you,” I looked up at him.

“You don’t do anything during the week?” He looked over at me with a raised eyebrow. I shrugged and shook my head. “Really?”

“I mean, Wednesdays are really the only days I have stuff. I guess I could do chores and stuff,” I looked towards the door, remembering the mess in my living room, “I know what you’re thinking, I should get a job. But that’s so hard. I don’t have any job experience,”

“I never said I was thinking that,” Spencer turned to face me. I dropped my shoulders and looked up at him. “How do you-”

“I’m friends with the owner of the building and he knows I live on hard times. And, mom had some money left behind,” I dropped my head so I wasn’t looking at him.

“I’m not judging you,” he spoke, his tone very insistent. I sighed and nodded.

“You should go, before you’re late,” I looked back up at him, “I don’t want to be the reason why you’re late. Emily already knows about me. We don’t need the others asking about me. Some random girl you slept with,” I smiled. Spencer looked over at me, trying to hold back his smile.

“You’re not going to stay in bed all day, are you?” He asked, standing up. I looked up at him and shook my head.

“I told you, I can do chores and stuff,” I shrugged and looked around my room, this time at the laundry room. “Will I see you again before next Wednesday?” I asked as I moved closer to the edge of the bed.

“That’ll entirely depend on work,”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Agent Spencer,” I smiled at him before standing up. Spencer glared at me for a moment before laughing, “Are you like 007?” I asked leading him back out of my room.

“No, I’m not like James Bond,”

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kanicro · 4 years

Text

every drop of rain singing

I’ve been full of yearning for weeks now so I wrote a safehouse fic in which Jon talks about Martin’s feelings (!!) with him (!!!)

you can read it on ao3 or below:

There’s something unmistakably pleasant about putting things in their place. About knowing where things are and how to find them. It was an impossible task in the Archives, but here, every sheet of paper is equally mundane and unimportant. So Jon has taken over the small coffee table and covered it with the small pile of receipts that have accumulated in the past week.

He labels and dates them, cataloguing fruits and onions from the stand on the side of the road, pasta and rice and tinned beans from the small grocery store, the box of tea Martin had bought from a small shop beside the second-hand bookstore. The rain moves in rivlets down the windows, the scent of something fresh and alive coming in from the gap under the door, and Martin is humming softly in the kitchen as he monitors the state of the pasta. It’s almost finished.

There’s nowhere else Jon would rather be, nothing else he’d rather be doing, no one else he would rather be with. He feels himself smile as he reaches for-

There’s something already written on the receipt. Of course there is, it’s a receipt, but something else aside from the Pineapple, £2 handwritten in blue ink in the centre. It’s cramped and messy, a few lines scrawled in a corner, and Jon squints to read it.

It’s a poem. Or part of one, at least.

and even as I dragged myself, empty

from the clutches of its unyielding finity,

I wonder if it clung to me as this,

dispassionate heap of cloying devouring

unmoving creation for nobody

It ends there, as though Martin had gotten that far and then lost whatever had struck him in the first place. Because it can only be Martin who wrote it, even if his handwriting isn’t usually so messy. Jon remembers buying the pineapple, surprised to see them in a place he didn’t particularly associate with pineapples, though he now Knows that pineapples were first grown in Scotland in 1731 and that there is a building in the shape of one in Stirlingshire. He remembers that Martin had grown distant in the afternoon, pleading tiredness and nothing else.

Jon startles when Martin leans on him, resting his chin on his head. His arms wrap around his shoulders to link hands in front of his sternum, and Jon hastens to fold the receipt in half and write the date on it. He puts it on the pile of food purchases.

“Get distracted, did we?” Martin comments, amused, and Jon lifts his now-free hands to warm them on Martin’s.

“Just a bit. Did you know that there’s a summerhouse in the shape of a pineapple near Airth in Stirlingshire?” Jon says as Martin traps his hands under his own, rubbing circles over the edges of his scars.

“No, but something tells me that, a few minutes ago, you didn’t either,” Martin says, and Jon can tell he’s teasing, has learnt to pick up the delighted undercurrent in his voice. He rolls his eyes, not that Martin can see, and tugs his hands free to wriggle out of Martin’s grasp and stand up. When he does, he offers Martin his hand again.

Pasta isn’t the easiest thing to eat one-handed, so instead they twine their ankles together under the table, and Jon feels something euphoric in his chest as he cheekily taps his foot against Martin’s until, with a long-suffering sigh, Martin presses his feet against the floor and keeps them there.

The poem doesn’t leave his mind. It rings through his head as they have dinner, as he washes the dishes, as he goes to sit beside Martin on the couch, book in hand. Jon has asked after Martin’s poetry before, while they’ve been in the safehouse, and Martin had told him that he hadn’t been writing since- well. It’s difficult to write about how you feel when you’re actively trying to avoid feeling anything at all. A part of Jon is pleased, hopes that this is a sign that Martin has recovered, but.

But Martin is quiet, now, his hand limp in Jon’s, and Jon presses a receipt between the pages of the book and sets it down on the table. He watches Martin look out the window, the rain having abandoned them for a short while, and when Martin realises that Jon is looking at him he looks back.

“Is there something on my face?” he asks, and Jon pulls a face and shakes his head.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to- no, you’re fine.” Except he isn’t, and Jon can’t bear not knowing, and he can’t help but ask, "How are you, Martin?"

"I'm... good?" Martin answers, seeming confused. He smiles at Jon, but it fades quickly, not enough substance behind it to sustain it. "You've been with me the whole day, Jon, you would have noticed if I were upset."

Jon is nothing if not persistent. "I don't mean- I mean, how do you feel? Not just today, but… in general," he finishes lamely, and Martin seems to withdraw slightly.

"I feel alright, you know? I mean, things are a bit weird, but I'm fine. No problems on my end," Martin says, and Jon knows he's lying. He Knows he's lying.

And he has evidence, even. "I- uh," and he now wonders if it's an invasion of privacy to read a scrap piece of paper, "I found a poem. That you wrote. And it just seemed sort of- it didn't seem very happy."

"You found-?” He glances at the receipts in realisation and sighs. “You- you don’t need to worry about that, Jon.”

Except Jon is worried. Even more so now that Martin is avoiding it, despite it just being them. Despite it just being Jon, and nobody and nothing else.

"Don't lie to me, Martin,” Jon says, something desperate and impatient starting to curl in his stomach. “Why is it so difficult to tell me how you feel?"

He feels a cold hand grip his heart when static accompanies the question, but the compulsion doesn’t taste like regret, or betrayal, or like rotting books decomposing in his stomach. And Jon Knows Martin’s trying to hold back but the room suddenly feels too loud and too close and too Much and it-

“Because I’m afraid you’ll hate me if I talk about it,” Martin says.

The knowledge settles on his tongue like honey. No, it does not taste like something festered within, but Jon wants to hate it all the same.

Martin’s posture closes in on itself and he looks down, his face suddenly becoming very blank. Jon’s stomach opens up into a pit in his abdomen and he swallows into an aching void as he presses closer to Martin on the couch, moving his other hand to hold Martin’s between his own.

“Martin, I, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- to,” he stutters, “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Martin squeezes his hand slightly and takes a steadying breath. “No, I know you didn’t mean to. I forgive you.”

It’s not enough to ease whatever has replaced Jon’s stomach, but he sits quietly with it and lets Martin think. When he feels brave enough, he looks up at Martin’s face, but he would sooner succeed at figuring out time travel than understanding the expression there. Instead, he catalogues the constellation of freckles on Martin’s cheeks, traces the curve of his ear, ponders the space between his eyebrows. A few centimetres behind the bridge of Martin’s nose is a gland the size of a pea and Martin’s is functioning just fine. Another breath, and he looks at the pale wisps of hair on Martin’s hairline, new and delicate. His gaze travels down to Martin’s lips, just for a moment, and then back up to his eyes. Jon wonders whether Martin has ever looked at him like this. Just for the sake of looking.

After what feels like forever (6 minutes, 37 seconds), Martin sighs, but it’s the brisk sigh of someone who is frustrated, or, or angry, and Jon feels his heart flutter against his ribcage with panic. Martin looks away from where their hands are entwined between them and turns his gaze to the window again, his eyes travelling over nothing. He tugs his hand out of Jon’s to twist it around the fingers of his other hand and Jon leaves his there, the skin cold where the air touches. He looks down at it, quietly focused on what Martin has to say.

“Do you actually want to know how I feel?” Martin’s voice is tinny, either from nerves or anger, and just this side of loud, the volume one needs to overcome the tightness in the back of their throat when they’re upset.

Jon aches. “Of course I do.”

“Okay,” Martin says, and Jon can hear something frantic in it. Nerves, then. Martin takes a deep breath. “Okay. Here's how I feel. I feel- I feel fine. I feel great. I feel wonderful, really, so much of the time, and it’s-” Martin laughs, just slightly, “It’s amazing, you know, how loving someone can fill you until even everything insignificant seems impossibly beautiful. And every moment is just so good because you never thought you’d even have them.

“And then, it’s like- like someone’s blown out a candle, and all that turns into smoke. And I feel like nothing. I feel like someone's taken the parts of a person that should be left behind and made me out of them. I feel like I’m losing days, like I’m stuck in a Sunday afternoon that lasts a week. I feel- I feel empty, and hollow, and I’m trying to find something to fill it but there’s just- nothing. And I, I, I feel so stupid for telling you any of this, because things are supposed to be okay!” A hiccuping breath. “I'm supposed to be okay. This- I just want to be happy."

Martin's inhale is more of a gasp, heaving and desperate, and Jon looks up to watch him brush away tears to no avail. He lifts a hand to Martin’s cheek, pressing it against the line of his face and smearing his thumb over the wet skin. Jon knows his hand is cold, can feel Martin’s warmth burning against it. But Martin tilts his head into Jon’s hand. His eyes flutter closed and he takes a moment to breathe. His skin is reddened and blotchy, his eyelashes clumped with tears. The ache grows, something unbearable forming in his chest. He does his best to ignore it and just watches.

After a moment of stillness, Martin’s eyes drift open and lock onto where Jon’s other hand still rests on the couch. He covers it with his own and Jon threads their fingers together. He admires the way they look together before looking back up at Martin’s face.

Martin sniffs wetly and swallows. "I- I want to be happy, here, with you, Jon. It feels like that's all I've ever wanted."

And Jon is helpless to say anything in response except, “I love you.”

As if that can begin to encompass this terrific thing living in his body, settling in his skin, every breath and every heartbeat and every space in his head containing nothing but Martin’s name. It sounds the same as one would say love. Because he loves Martin in this moment, in every moment, sleepy confusion in the early morning and delighted smiles in the daytime and now, face streaked with tears, brave and open because Jon has asked and for no other reason.

He is also helpless against the warmth that rises in his cheeks and burns his ears immediately after saying it, the stammering sentence that follows, “Sorry- I, I, I know that’s- that’s not really, uh, it’s-”

Stupid, to blurt out the only thing ringing through his head instead of taking the time to form something useful. He doesn’t want to know what sort of face he’s making at the moment. And his hand is still on Martin’s face, and he feels like he should feel awkward about it, but he’s not going to move it now.

Martin smiles, the corners of his mouth turning upwards even as his lips purse slightly in what Jon recognises as a poor attempt at suppressing it. He exhales through his nose, and it’s not a laugh but Jon will take it, he’ll take anything Martin has to offer, he’ll take all of it.

“Let me try again?” Jon offers, and he’s suddenly too aware of how soft and plaintive his voice sounds.

“Sure,” Martin says, and he sniffs again, “Sure, I’m- I mean, go ahead. This is- this is already way further than I planned out in my head, so.”

“So,” Jon copies, and he smooths his thumb over Martin’s cheek again before he puts his hand back over Martin’s. He tries to think of how to put his thoughts to words, watching as Martin’s eyes dart between his. “Well, I obviously don’t hate you. Quite the opposite, really.” He quirks the corner of his mouth up in a half-smile, deliberate, before letting it fall. “And- and obviously this isn’t the sort of thing that can be fixed in a few sentences, but I- I need you to know that I’m here for you.” Suddenly, looking at Martin’s face, eyes wide as he looks back, is too much and he glances down. “Not just when things are easy. I’ll love you even if you’re stuck in a Sunday afternoon every day for the rest of your life. You don’t need to worry about that.”

He sees, with some alarm, new tears falling onto the couch in front of Martin and looks up to see that Martin has placed his other hand over his mouth. His eyes are even wetter than before.

“I mean,” Jon hastens to clarify, “Obviously I don’t want you to- to feel like that all the time, I just- I’ll love you even if you do.”

Martin shakes his head, making a small hiccoughing sound as he breathes in. “It’s not- it’s not that. I just- I love you, too. I love you, Jon.”

"Oh," Jon says, soft. "Alright then."

Martin's breathing is shaky for a few moments more, then he takes a deep breath, resolute, and it steadies. He wipes his nose on his hand and then wrinkles it in distaste, and Jon's heart beats love through his body, inane and unnecessary and ever-present. Martin looks at him, his forehead free of its worried furrow and his lips curling into a smile. His face is still red, his lips vibrant from the blood that has rushed to the surface to fill them, and Jon realises that he has never actually met anyone who retains any semblance of beauty when they cry. That isn’t stopping the overwhelming adoration in his chest.

"Thank you. That's- that's exactly what I needed to hear," Martin confesses, and Jon feels a rush of relief. He presses Martin’s hand between his own and Martin squeezes back, sighs, and continues, "I'm the one who got myself into this mess, and I'll be the one to get myself out of it. But," and he pulls Jon’s hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it, "But. Even with all that, I- You make me glad I exist."

Jon doesn't so much hug Martin after that as he does fall into him, but Martin returns it with a desperation that seems to mimic his own. He moves closer toward him on the couch to tuck his head into the gap between Martin's neck and shoulder, and the press of his body against him is warm and soft and precious. All he can see from here is the curve of Martin’s back, the hair that creeps down his neck. Even everything insignificant, Martin had said, and it keeps ringing through Jon’s head on loop, but this is the most important thing Jon has ever known. His lips press against Martin's skin.

And then he draws back slightly to say, voice quiet, “I know it’s not exactly the same, but I know what it’s like to- to want to be happy and not always feel like that’s within reach. You know I’m not one for optimism, but I like to think that one day we’ll forget what that feels like.”

Jon feels Martin press himself closer. He tucks his head back in and closes his eyes. He can hear the rain under the soft sounds of Martin breathing.

"I think we will."

#the magnus archives #fanfiction #jonmartin #ao3 #magnuspod #tma jon #tma martin #tma

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marinaaniseed · 4 years

Text

I fell for your love

Song: I fell for your love from the album Born to die by Grand Funk Railroad.

Summary: A lot of fucking smut.

Pairing: Female reader x Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Length: 2,042 words

A/N: I went over my arbitrary word limit again. Part 8 of Death on the stairs. This immediately follows on from Adventure. It’s basically all smut, with a little bit of inexperienced Steve, and some nice feels. See here for what this is all about.

***

“Sure, Steve. No problem,” Bucky says, gently lifting you up and off him, lying you down on the settee next to him. “Didn’t realise you were still up,” he adds with a smirk, looking at Steve’s hand where it continues to rub over his crotch.

“I came to get dinner, but I think I might skip straight to dessert,” Steve says, dropping to his knees between your legs. “Unless you have any objections?”

“No, no Steve. I’d like that, although wouldn’t you rather wait until I’m cleaned up a little?” you note, feeling Bucky leaking down your thighs.

“Not at all, I get to taste you and Buck at the same time,” Steve observes, running his nose along your inner thigh.

“You could get the same if you sucked me,” Bucky butts in, causing Steve to jerk up and glare at him.

“Don’t be rude, Buck,” Steve chastises him. “It’s ladies first, you know that.”

Steve kisses along where his nose was rubbing. He’s grown a beard while he’s away. It suits him, although it tickles your sensitive skin, causing you to writhe around under Steve.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” you observe, after Steve doesn’t move his mouth any closer to your vulva.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what it is I need to do,” Steve says, his earlier bravado evaporating.

“I could give you a demonstration,” Bucky chimes in with a grin.

“Bucky, no. Let Steve explore on his own,” you comment, giving Steve a reassuring smile. “Remember where you put your thumb before? Same idea, just use your tongue.”

Steve gives you a shy nod and Bucky’s torn between shock and shaking with laughter. Steve is a lot more confident and forward usually, but it seems the addition of you has short-circuited his brain.

They’d been fucking and sucking each other, on and off, for several decades. Casually, at first, anyway. Bucky had made it no secret that there were others. Had to have a reputation for being a ladies’ man, so that people didn’t realise he was also a man's man. He knew skinny Steve hadn’t gotten much action, but surely Captain America must’ve had his pick of the USO dames? Judging by the way he very tentatively moves his mouth your body, Bucky reconsiders his assumptions.

Steve is soft and slow, savouring the taste. He’s still a little scared that he’s going to do it wrong, especially now he’s got an audience.

“So good, Steve, so good,” you sigh, feeling him smile a little as he continues to lick. “You can use your fingers like you did before, or lick there too. I’ll let you know if anything doesn’t feel good.”

In all honesty, it’s a blessing that Steve’s being as gentle as he is. You need time to recover, having hit the point of sensitivity where it’s both pleasurable and painful.

Bucky’s still slightly bemused, but glad that at least you had worked out Steve’s inexperience, even if he hadn’t. He’s glad that you’re patient, guiding Steve to do what you need him to do without making him feel embarrassed. He’s a little jealous, if he’s honest, though he knows he’s got no right to be. He’s had his fun, it’s his turn to watch now.

Steve moves to give your entrance a couple of tentative licks, before sliding two fingers in, cum coating them. You mostly taste of Bucky, and he comments as much, before moving his curious tongue back to your clit. He tries to remember how he caused you to tremble last time, adjusting his technique until he’s got a good rhythm, licking and stroking as you shake underneath him, squeezing his fingers and forcing more cum down his hand.

It’s too much, and you bite onto your upper arm to stifle your screams.

“No, none of that,” Bucky says, pulling your head and your arm in opposite directions. “Steve wants to hear you scream for him.”

It’s more of a wail than anything, your body protesting at being hit by another wave of pleasure. Your thighs clamp down around Steve’s head. When you finally relax your grip, Steve sits up, his beard glistening.

“Wow,” he whispers, in awe of what’s just happened. He licks his middle finger, leaning over to offer Bucky his index finger.

“Wow, indeed,” Bucky observes, grabbing Steve’s wrist and licking his whole hand clean. “Get up here and give me a kiss.”

You’re happy to lie there and watch as Steve straddles Bucky’s lap, just like you were earlier, running their fingers through each other's hair.

By the time Steve pulls away, Bucky’s beard is equally messy. You can’t decide if it’s hilarious or hot, maybe both.

“Got room for a second dessert?” Bucky asks with a grin.

“God, Buck, you really are the worst,” Steve groans, but slinks back onto the floor anyway. He seems much more at ease in this position, eagerly sucking Bucky into his mouth, sloppy sounds filling the air.

Bucky massages your unbroken foot, making cute little noises as Steve works his cock. You’re so sated and comfortable, lying there listening, it almost wouldn’t matter if anyone walked in right now.

“Wait a minute,” Bucky tells Steve after a while, and you hear him withdraw with a wet pop.

“Why? You’re almost there.”

“Yeah, I know that, but it’s not really fair to you, is it?” Bucky explains. “A lesser man would’ve exploded or fainted by now, not doing anything with that wood of yours.”

“Patience is a virtue, Buck,” Steve answers.

“Yeah, Buck. Good things cum in those who wait,” you add with a smirk.

“Well yeah. See that’s the thing,” Bucky continues. “I was thinking, maybe, only if you both wanted to, but maybe you could finish me off with your mouth, and Steve could have a go at fucking you.”

“Ah, a spitroast,” you say in understanding.

“Sure, if that’s what you call it,” Bucky says with a nod.

“I don’t know Buck,” Steve says. “I mean, did you get what you wanted already?” he asks, turning to address you.

“I’m very satisfied, but what I want now is for you to enjoy yourself. So, if you like the idea, then we can do it,” you explain, letting Steve decide what he wants to do.

“I’m happy just doing this, then maybe Buck can return the favour,” he mumbles, a little embarrassed.

“Steve, you don’t gotta be embarrassed about wanting to sleep with Y/N,” Bucky says, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry we got started without you.”

“No, I don’t think it’s that,” you note, sitting up and adjusting your position so you can put your hand on top of Bucky’s. Your other hand strokes Steve’s hair. “Is this... would this be your first time with a woman?” you ask him gently.

He doesn’t answer, but he can’t look either of you in the eye, bright pink flushing across his cheeks.

“It’s ok to be nervous,” you tell him. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. But if you want to try, we can do that too.”

“Promise you won’t laugh if I do it wrong?”

“Promise.” You nudge Bucky with your shoulder to get him to promise too.

“Ok, let’s try what Buck said.”

Steve gets up and undresses slowly, folding his clothes into neat piles, in stark contrast to how Bucky’s clothes are strewn everywhere.

He looks a little lost standing there, like he needs to be told what to do.

“Why don’t you sit back on Bucky, kiss him for a bit to help you relax?” you suggest.

Steve complies and you slip your hand between them, stroking their cocks together. The tension across Steve’s shoulders seems to ease and he lets out satisfied little noises as he kisses Bucky.

“I think I’d like to try it now,” Steve says, pulling away from Bucky.

“Get up, then,” Bucky grins, giving Steve’s bum a slap.

You ready yourself on all fours, head resting on Bucky’s stomach, gently licking at the tip of his cock.

“Let’s get Steve settled, before I start sucking you properly,” you tell him.

“Sounds good to me, doll,” he says, stroking his vibranium hand down your back. “You alright Steve?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking down in awe as he settles in behind you. “Do I need to do anything? Do we need lube?”

“No, no I think we’re good to go,” you note. “Unless you were planning to take me up the arse?”

“No… not unless you want me to?”

“Maybe another time,” you answer, and Bucky’s cock bobs in excitement at that.

A firm hand grips your hip as Steve lines himself up, sliding in slowly. It’s so different from being inside Buck. He makes a deep noise of pleasure.

“Just start moving whenever you’re ready,” you say over your shoulder, before sucking on Bucky in earnest.

Steve is pretty slow and gentle, but you’re already so sensitive, and the angle is just right for Steve to hit your G-spot and the way he’s grinding in circles is hitting your clit pretty consistently too. Bucky wraps his vibranium arm under you to help keep you balanced, cold fingers tweaking your nipple back and forth. Nobody is going to last long anyway, so you let Bucky support you, reaching a hand back so that it’s between your legs, Steve’s balls rubbing against your palm as he circles around.

Your moans around Bucky’s cock as you get close are enough to give him his second orgasm of the night, making loud, indecipherable noises as he goes. You swallow and lift your head just in time to howl out in pleasure, cursing and blaspheming as one final orgasm shocks your body as Steve picks up the pace and starts to really pound into you. He tries to last, but the noises you and Bucky are making, the way your legs shake, and you squeeze around him are all too much, and he finishes with a low moan.

The two of them let you down gently, your head in Bucky’s lap as he strokes your hair, Steve draping himself along your back, mumbling praises into your skin.

You must be exhausted, Bucky thinks. He knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of Steve. But his heart warms in a way he didn’t realise was possible, as he looks down at you both, piled in his lap and along the cushions.

He loves and is loved. There were a lot of years when he didn’t think that was possible.

“Shower?” he suggests as you start to fall asleep on his lap, drooling slightly on his thigh.

“Shower,” Steve agrees, getting off of you. “FRIDAY, could you remove access to the footage of this for everyone except the three of us? And could you redirect anyone who might cross our path on the way back to Y/N’s room?”

“Not a problem, Captain,” the AI replies cheerfully.

“I’ll gather up our clothes, you carry her back,” Steve tells Bucky. You’re barely awake, let alone able to stand.

“Are you glad we’re home?” Bucky asks him, as they make their way to your room.

“I’m always glad,” he says with a smile, pile of clothes held strategically at crotch level. “Can’t help feeling we did this the wrong way round.”

“I dunno Stevie. Maybe we needed to get this out of our systems, before we all start to get to know each other properly,” Bucky notes. “But we can arrange a proper date, for sure.”

You snuffle a little, your nose buried into the side of his neck. Bucky feels bad knowing that he’s going to wake you when he gets to the shower, but he feels like you’ll appreciate being clean.

“It’s better than I ever dreamed it would be,” Steve tells Bucky, as they reach your door.

“Being with a dame?” he queries.

“Everything really. That, being with you, being with Y/N. Sickly, skinny me never thought I’d be able to have one partner, let alone two. Never thought that we’d ever be allowed to be together, like really together. I’m glad I lived long enough to experience it.”

“Same, pal.”

#366songshots #Winter Soldier #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #Female reader #stevebucky #steve rogers #captain america #captain america fanfic #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #biseuxal

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redhoodieone · 5 years

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But I’m Your Girlfriend!

A/N: And here is the sequel to, “But I’m Your Boyfriend!” Uh, I don’t really know what to say other than this smut is different because well…sex becomes kind of different when you’ve been together with someone for a long time.

Warnings: Smut, language, and the fluffy love.

I have it all figured out. At midnight, it’s going to be mine and Jason’s two-year anniversary. I figured I should do something spontaneous, exciting, and just completely outrageous because let’s face it...dating Jason Todd has been an unpredictable roller coaster ride.

I’ve always been at Jason’s side during the horrific and continuous nightmares of Joker, his emotional battles with Bruce, and always present at his self-esteem issues when he compares himself to Dick or anyone else he feels he has to compete with.

Through it all, our relationship has been full of love, surprises, and a friendship that has made Jason and I compatible since day one. Which brings me to say I’m standing in front of our long bedroom mirror in my red lacy bra and black lacy panties, with Jason’s brown leather jacket covering the rest of my bare body. What better way to shock my boyfriend by wearing just my bra and panties (and his jacket he’s incredibly possessive of) and by just showing off my thick thighs and curves; he has always said my body is a temple he worships and praises every chance he sees me. I decide to let my hair down and not wear a lot of makeup. The finishing touches is rubbing lotion all over my body and with spraying my favorite perfume. The last thing I decide to do is text Jason, who is currently out on patrol with the Batfamily as Red Hood, and tell him to meet me on the rooftop of our apartment building. I carefully climb up the fire escape to the top and spread out a red blanket on the ground to sit on. I open my legs and plant my bare feet at the edges of the blanket. I can only imagine how I look; I must look like a hooker. Within seconds, a loud landing sound takes me by surprise. Red Hood, in all his glory rises up from his landing kneeling position and looks at me. My eyes trail from his red helmet, his muscular body clad in his traditional leather jacket, his armor, and dark pants with his already bulging hard on. “Holy fuck...doll. What is all this?” The voice scrambler doesn’t hide his astonishment at all. He removes his helmet, and when Jason sees me with his own eyes, he lets out a breathy moan. “Is it my birthday, Y/N? Because I can honestly say your gift for me is fucking better and it beats Tim’s gift.”

Of course, Jason still wasn’t all impressed with Tim’s gift on his birthday: a newer Red Hood helmet that can play his playlist while fighting. Music and fighting? Jason admits he just hums a tune, if anything since he can’t really be distracted while battling. Not after singing the whole song, “Pour Some Sugar On Me” by Def Leppard and nearly got him and Dick killed while fighting Killer Croc. Ever since then, music and crime fighting are banned by Batman. And I think Tim’s gift was just a joke since he and Jason are always at each other’s throats. I giggle. “No, it’s not your birthday, Jay. It’s our...two-year anniversary, handsome,” I say seductively. “Did you forget?” Jason loses his self-control. Hastily removing his gloves, he quickly rushes to me and kneels in front of me. I can feel the heat rush down to my pussy and thighs. “No, I would never forget,” Jason whispers. His hands rub up my legs until they squeeze my thighs. “Is that my jacket, doll?” “Y-yes, but I promise I’ll clean it and hang it back up,” I swear. I forget how Jason gets when his precious jackets get destroyed and dirty. “N-no Y/N, it’s fine babe. I want you to keep it, actually. It makes you look so fucking sexy that I’m having a hard time keeping my hands off you.” “Well that’s the point, Jaybird. I want you to fuck me right here, right now, on this rooftop. I want to scream your name so loud; everyone will know what you do to me,” I say strongly. “On this rooftop right now? Don’t you want to be inside where we can be more comfortable?” Jason asks curiously. He looks a little anxious. “No! I want you right now,” I whine. Jason sighs, and before he can stand up, I use what little strength I have to pull his jacket, so he’d be on top of me. He holds himself up with one arm by my head, while the other holds my waist. “Come on Jay. I want you right now,” I say softly. “How bad do you want me, doll?” “So bad, Jay...so fucking bad...” “But I don’t know if I want to do it out here,” Jason teases. He bites my neck, and licks over the bruising wound. “But I’m your girlfriend!” I moan out. “That’s it! That’s what I wanted to hear!” Jason chuckles. Jason pins my hands above my head, as his hot mouth licks, sucks, and bites every inch of my skin. He pushes his thick thigh against my wet and aching pussy and continues to push and push until I’m a moaning mess beneath him. I need more friction. I need more roughness. I need more Jason. “Fuck Jay...” I choke out. “Yeah? You like that?” Jason asks, grinning while looking down at me. His knee continues to rub against my pussy. The pressure and roughness is making me want to cum. “I need more,” I breathe heavily. My hands run up against his armored body. Jason quickly lowers his face to mine to kiss me. Our lips move against one another, our tongues massage and search around every corner in our mouths. Jason groans loudly when I bite his bottom lip; his breathing becomes harder and just seeing him weaken from my touches makes me proud to be a woman. “Fuck babe,” Jason groans. “How much do you want me, doll?” “I want you more than anything. Please fuck me, Jay,” I plead. My eyes beg him to take me now. Jason glances back at me. His bluish grey eyes show me how hurt and pained he is to hear me say ‘fuck me’ since he doesn’t like it when I call our intimate moments “fucking” and has preferred to call our sex lovemaking since our relationship has been through hell and heaven.

The countless, ridiculous arguments. The lack of communication. The days we almost lost because we were stupid enough to not admit we were wrong and to apologize.

Especially the jealousy.

Who knew Jason had a jealous streak? Yup, he was so sure Dick was trying to steal me from him at times, and I was just as guilty to believe the strong and beautiful Artemis of Bana-Mighdall wanted him all for herself.

There were definitely times I cried myself to sleep. I always wondered if Jason did, as well. Even after two-years together, I sometimes wonder what he did during those hard times without me.

“Y/N…” Jason breathes out nervously.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget in the moment that you really don’t like to hear that,” I apologize.

Jason shakes his head and kisses me again. The way he grinds against me shows he can’t hold this off for too long. “It’s fine, babe. I guess I can let you off the hook this time since…I’m gonna give you your present right after and that’ll teach you a lesson,” he whispers in my ear.

I lean up and kiss his Adam’s apple, and I bite his collarbone. Jason wastes no time ripping my panties off and rubs my clit slowly. My whimpers are making him breathe harder through his nose, and he then slips a finger inside me.

“Oh fuck…fuck…” I moan out. I grip his arms and my nails dig through his jacket.

“Oh my…what a dirty mouth you have, sweetheart,” Jason teases.

“Only with you, dear,” I retort, as another finger enters me, and his thumb rubs my clit quickly.

The sensations are too wild for me. I wrap my legs around him, and I begin to grind against his hand. He curls his fingers to massage the squishy sensitive tissue that only he has been able to find and make me cum without any issues. Jason’s eyes darken, and he watches me fall onto the verge of cumming. His wrist jerks harder and quicker, and I can slowly feel myself coming undone.

“Fuck doll…I want to feel you cum all over my fingers. I want to lick up your cum until you can’t cum anymore,” Jason pants.

The squelching wet sounds from my pussy is becoming louder. I whimper again and again until my pussy can’t take no more. I grab the back of Jason’s head, and I kiss him. I cum all over his fingers, and he continues to finger fuck me until I pull away from the overstimulation.

“Have I ever told you I love it when you cum?” Jason asks with a smile.

“It feeds your ego, I know Jay.”

“Of course, but come on Y/N. I’m man enough to take pride in making my girl cum and enjoy herself,” he says, as he withdraws his fingers from my pussy. Jason sucks each and every finger of his, and licks off every spot and drip of my cum. He moans and smiles at me. “I obviously love your pussy a lot in case you haven’t noticed.”

“No, I never really noticed,” I joke.

Jason smirks, and gently pushes me back down onto the blanket. He knows I’m still recovering from my first orgasm, but his playtime is far from over. He slowly moves down until his face is close to my pussy. When he hears me exhale, he knows he must be gentle with me or there will be no rough sex.

Instead, Jason licks up my cum that he wanted to earlier. My fingers run through his dark messy hair, and I slightly tug for a little more touch. He ends up sucking my clit, and while his tongue rubs all over my bundle of nerves, his strong hands hold my ass up to his face to devour more of my pussy.

With just my upper body on the ground, I begin to pant and moan out of control. Jason grins into my pussy, and he moves his face aside to bite my inner thigh.

“Oh Jay…oh fuck…” I moan louder.

My ass receives a spanking, and before I know it, I’m on the edge of another orgasm.

It’s as if he knows my body better than I do. Jason takes one last long and powerful lick to my clit and lies me back down carefully. He sits up briefly to unzip his pants. Just seeing him hold his hard and thick cock in his hand, makes me wetter and I lick my lips in anticipation.

“So, I think you’re about ready for me,” Jason says.

“Give me your best shot, Todd,” I challenge.

“Oh, believe me, doll. I’m going to fucking weaken your body, and when I’m done with you, you’re going to see why you and I are meant to be.”

Before I can make a cheeky remark, Jason breathes in as he buries his cock inside me. His thickness stretches me to the fullest, and I become putty underneath him. My legs wrap around him once more, and Jason begins his deep thrusts. His eyes never leave mine, and with one arm supporting him up, the other lifts my head up so we can kiss.

Our breathing becomes rough. Jason lowers his head to kiss and bite my neck and chest, until his face stops at my bouncing breasts confined in my bra. He ends up pushing my bra up instead of removing it, and sucks and bites on my nipples.

“Jay…oh my God…this feels so good,” I breathe out.

Jason’s thrusts quicken. He lifts me to wear he’s holding me up and he slams my pussy down onto his cock as he continues to fuck me underneath at the same time. Between his hands and thick thighs, I realize I’m surrounded by ever Godly ounce of him.

He’s strong enough as one. The way my body is pressed against his costumed body, I can feel almost every muscle flexing as he begins to fuck me harder than before. One of his hands is holding me up, while the other moves me to meet his relentless thrusts.

“Y/N…” Jason groans in my neck.

The way his pelvic bone keeps rubbing against my clit, I know I won’t be able to last long.

“Fuck Y/N, you feel so fucking good baby girl,” Jason chokes out between pants. His fingers grip tightly onto his leather jacket I’m wearing. I hold his face and kiss along his strong jawline that is clenched tightly because he’s trying to hold on.

Jason’s cock keeps hitting my g-spot, and with the way his mouth is parted, and his eyes are hooded, I know I won’t last long.

“I love you, Y/N,” Jason whispers against my mouth.

“I love you, too, Jason,” I moan to his lips.

I can feel my pussy gushing all over his cock, and I tighten around him with everything I have. Jason continues to fuck me through my last orgasm, until he moans my name and a shit ton of swear words, pulls out, and cums all over my stomach and thighs.

We come down from our highs, as Jason lies me back down onto the blanket. I use the blanket to wipe his cum off me, and he take a seat beside me to catch his breath.

“Fuck doll, that was…amazing,” Jason grins lazily. He pushes his cock into his boxers and zips up his pants. When he realizes he’s torn my panties, he chuckles and takes off his jacket so I can use it to cover my lower body. “Sorry about your panties.”

“It’s fine,” I giggle. Pushing my bra back into place, I use Jason’s jacket to cover my pussy and ass. “So, was that a great present or what?”

“It really was, but maybe next time it’ll be a little different,” Jason says, before he digs into his back pocket and hands me a small black box. My heart beats fast. “Since we’re already on two years, I don’t want you to think we’re just fucking mindlessly all the time with no emotional input.”

“Jay…” I begin anxiously. It can’t be what I think this is…

“Y/N, I just want you to know that…I just don’t see myself fucking you anymore. I mean, yeah it’s hot to hear you say ‘fuck me’ but what we’re doing…is so much more than that. What I see between us is more…well…love,” Jason confesses hastily. He runs his hand through his hair and focuses staring at the ground. “I mean, I’ve said this before and since being together for two years is a big fucking deal, I just want to…make sure we’re on the same page and that you know how much I love you and that…this is it for me. I want you to know that you’re the only one for me, and I honestly want to spend the rest of my life with you…if you have me that is.”

“I won’t say ‘fucking’ anymore,” I say seriously.

“Only when it’s passionate between us, babe. Because honestly, I don’t think I can stop either. I just want us to know that since we’ve been together for two years, our sex life is never going to be meaningless and selfish again. Because face it, doll, I live to make you cum and to make you feel fucking good,” Jason confesses bashfully.

“I feel the exact same way,” I say softly to him.

“Now open your gift, Y/N.”

I swallow hard. Jason then motions me to open the small box. With shaky hands, I open the small box.

It’s a golden ‘J’ chained necklace.

No diamond engagement ring?

I release the breath I’ve been holding in ever since he handed me the small black box. I smile kindly, and Jason takes the necklace and puts it on me gently. I touch the golden initial, and he kisses me softly.

“I love it,” I admit.

“I really surprised you, didn’t I?” Jason asks teasingly.

“Well small jewelry boxes can make a girl wonder,” I defend myself. “But I’m sorry that I didn’t get you a gift, Jay. I thought we agreed gifts were tacky and not necessary.”

“Doll, don’t ever worry about getting me gifts because just having you in my life is more than enough for me. Cheesy I know, but it’s very true. But back to your gift Y/N, if you thought about engagement rings, then maybe that means we can start talking about our future…whenever we’re ready of course,” Jason grins weakly.

I shake my head and kiss him once more. “Yes, I think we can start talking about it. But I gotta ask, Jay. Your initial? Really?” I ask, holding up the golden letter.

“Of course, doll. That way everyone knows you’re mine and I’m yours,” Jason says fondly.

Jason then picks me up and sets me in his lap. He reaches for his cell phone, and frowns. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“T-the fam was here,” Jason stutters out nervously.

“What? Y-you mean during our-” I choke out.

“Yup. They even left a chocolate cake Alfred made for our two-year anniversary. The fam wanted to celebrate with us.”

The two of us get up and stroll over to where the fire escape is. There the cake was; frosted chocolatey goodness with a note beside it.

Jason opens the note for us to read.

Dear Jason and Y/N,

Happy two-year anniversary! All of us are proud and happy for you for you two. You two have been through a lot, and with every exciting, painful, and loving experience, you two have survived and stuck together through it all. We admire you both, and we look forward to celebrating with you two tomorrow. And next time, give us a warning Jason. Damian saw and heard too much.

Love,

Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Tim, and Damian.

P.S.

You are disgusting for touching Y/N, Todd. And next time, be sure you tear his underwear apart, Y/LN.

-Damian

Jason and I laugh and take the chocolate cake inside. Because after our steamy addicting sex, chocolate makes everything better.

As we finish devouring our big slices of the cake, we climb in our bed for the night. I lie my head on Jason’s chest. “I love you, and thank you for the gift, Jay,” I whisper.

“I love you too, and I thought about what you could do for me tomorrow since you didn’t get me a gift and all,” Jason says smugly. “My feelings are fucking hurt, baby girl.”

“What? But you said-”

“Doll, I was just gonna ask you out to dinner tomorrow night.”

“Just dinner?”

“Well, yes. Maybe then we can, you know? Maybe even get a back massage from you after a hot shower with you.”

“Oh Jaybird.”

Two years.

Two years with my Jaybird.

And it’s worth everything.

#dc comics #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x y/n smut #batfamily

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flowers-creativity · 4 years

Text

Bad Luck (chapter 19)

Fandom: The Musketeers Characters: Porthos du Vallon, Athos (Comte de la Fere), Aramis (René d’Herblay, d’Artagnan (Charles), Jean Tréville, Flea Warnings: Violence, whipping, racism, slavery, abduction, minor character death Summary: Porthos rarely had bad luck at the card table. But when he hit a streak of really bad luck, it was only the beginning …Soon, the other three Inseparables were desperately searching for their missing friend while he did his best to get back to them.

Notes: Angst, thy name is Aramis ...

AO3 link

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18

Chapter 20

The atmosphere in the small room had changed with Porthos' first awakening. The routine that followed in the next few days was no less familiar than that of their earlier days but much less tense. He was still sleeping most of the time, but now they could relax and leave his bedside more, catch up on sleep themselves and get fresh air, though it went without saying that one of them was still there whenever he woke.

Two days after he had come around for the first time, they said goodbye to Marcel and Fadil. The two men had sent word of their survival and freedom to their families when they had originally arrived at the small inn, using the same carrier Athos had sent to update Captain Tréville, but they had refused to even entertain the idea of returning to Paris while Porthos' fate was still uncertain. Now that he was no longer in danger and on the mend, the call of home was too strong to ignore any longer, which none of the Musketeers could fault them for. They left exchanging smiles and firm handshakes, and the promise to call at the garrison in a few weeks to catch up and check with their own eyes that Porthos had fully recovered, of which Aramis was convinced.

At least his body. His mind and soul, now, might be a different matter.

Aramis tried to push back that niggling worry and stretched, working out a kink in his back. He sat back on his chair and propped his stockinged feet up on the edge of the bed, contemplating the still form of his sleeping friend. Porthos was on his belly, one arm loosely curled around the pillow. His bare back was a network of dark scabs, the infection finally gone from the wounds so that they were healing. They had opted to leave the wounds open to the air for a while to aid in healing, and Aramis could see the first patches of shiny new skin and scar tissue between the scabs. They would have to work on keeping the skin of Porthos' back flexible, and he would bear the scars to remember this experience for the rest of his life. But still, it was the best possible outcome they could have hoped for, Aramis supposed.

As for his state of mind, it was harder to say. He had been quiet whenever he was awake, but how much of that was due to the lethargy of a body sapped of strength by fever and lack of nourishment and the discomfort and lingering pain of healing wounds, was difficult to tell. They had caught up on what had happened while they were separated, but that had been mainly Athos, Aramis and d'Artagnan talking. Porthos had little to contribute they hadn't already heard from Marcel and Fadil …

“Stop thinkin' so hard,” a voice broke into his thoughts, and his head snapped upwards to meet Porthos' eyes. His brother was blinking at him lazily but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Porthos,” Aramis breathed, and as had happened every time he had woken since the first time, he felt another bit of tension leave his body at seeing his eyes clear, hearing his voice speak freely and without confusion. Porthos didn't reply, just cocked an eyebrow at him, and Aramis laughed tiredly and sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand through his messy curls. “I was just woolgathering,” he said.

Porthos hummed and shifted onto his side, grimacing slightly. “Nah, you're worryin',” he said. “Stop that. I'm alright.”

Aramis snorted. “Says the man who's barely able to stay awake for more than an hour still,” he returned.

Porthos narrowed his eyes at him. “Gettin' there, at least,” he insisted.

Aramis nodded, conceding the point. However, he reached out and took Porthos' hand, interlacing their fingers. “You know you don't have to be,” he said, “alright, I mean.” He looked at him intensely, trying to read what was going on behind these dark eyes. “What you went through--”

On most days, he could read Porthos like an open book. Today, however, he could literally see the shutters closing, the walls being built, and he was left disconcerted and helpless on the outside. Porthos' hand twitched in his grip as if he was fighting down the urge to withdraw from him physically, too. His voice was flat as he said: “It's over. I survived. That's what counts.”

“Porthos ...” Aramis' voice was imploring, one step above pleading. “Don't shut me out. You know what happens when you don't deal with things like that. It will fester and turn sour.”

Porthos' brows drew down in a deep frown. “Nothin' to it,” he objected. “And if there is, I'll deal with it.”

“Let me help. And d'Artagnan and Athos – let us help,” the marksman insisted.

“Dammit, Aramis, let me be! I don't want your help!” Porthos ripped his hand from Aramis', scooting back in the bed until his back was to the wall and pulling his legs up. His face was contorted with anger but beneath that, Aramis thought he saw something else, a tremble at the edge of his lips, his eyes a bit too wide and wild.

Aramis raised his hands in a placating gesture, ruthlessly pushing away any hurt feelings that were welling up in him. He knew Porthos was just lashing out. Still, it felt like somebody had reached into his chest, grabbed his heart and squeezed, seeing his brother shy away from him like that. “Hey, it's alright,” he said soothingly. “I'll stop pushing. Just … Please, if you need somebody, come to one of us, yeah? None of us will be judging you.”

Porthos stared at him, his eyes narrowed and his heavy breaths loud in the silence. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he answered grudgingly, his tense body language relaxing slightly. “I know.”

Aramis exhaled and returned the nod. “Come on, lay down again,” he asked. “Sitting with your back against the wall like that can't be pleasant.”

Porthos grunted but shimmied downwards until he could lay down on his side again, propped up on one elbow. He was still looking at him with something bordering on mistrust in his eyes, and Aramis ached from it. Silence settled over them, awkward and heavy. Porthos shifted a few times to find a comfortable position, then closed his eyes, and it did not take long until his breaths evened out into sleep, and Aramis was alone with his thoughts again. He bit his lips, running his hands through his hair and tugging at it, using the minor pain to ground himself. Had he just made things worse? Suddenly, he could no longer stay in place. Surging to his feet, he strode from the room – Porthos was fine, or at least fine enough to be left alone for a bit.

He had barely closed the door behind him and turned when he nearly collided with Athos, drawing up short in the nick of time. A small “Oh!” escaped him.

Athos' eyes immediately narrowed. “Aramis?”

Aramis looked from him to d'Artagnan who had appeared behind their leader, his arms laden with their lunch. “I'm sorry, you just startled me,” he tried to play it off.

Athos' eyes stayed on his face, and he knew that the man could read him – not perfectly, maybe, but enough to notice that something was off. Without looking, he reached past Aramis and pulled open the door. “Go on in, d'Artagnan,” he ordered. “Get everything set up, we'll be along in a minute.”

The Gascon's gaze bounced between them, eyebrows raised, but the lad didn't ask, just nodded. “Alright.” With that, he disappeared into the room, and Athos shut the door behind him. Then he turned to Aramis and asked: “What's wrong?”

Aramis pasted a smile on his face. “Nothing,” he replied while at the same time wondering why he was doing so. Athos was not a fool.

Those cool blue eyes narrowed, torn between concern and annoyance. “Aramis.” It was a talent of their leader that he could say whole paragraphs with only one word, only a bit of inflexion and his accompanying expression. This word clearly said Who do you take me for? and Talk to me, or I'll make you. To underscore it, he reached out and clasped the marksman's shoulder, conveying the sympathy his tone lacked.

Aramis sighed. “Porthos just woke up,” he said, “and I tried to get him to talk to me – about what he had gone through. He … didn't want to. He made that very clear.”

Athos raised an eyebrow. “It's all very fresh for him. He may just need some more time,” he pointed out.

Aramis nodded, flexing his hands to keep himself from them running through his hair again and making even more of a bird's nest out of his curls. “I pushed him too hard,” he confessed, “and … The way he reacted, it felt like he was no longer seeing me but someone who was trying to hurt him. What if--” He broke off, biting his lip. “He has blocked me out before but never like this,” he ended on a whisper.

Athos squeezed his shoulder, his eyes calm as they held Aramis' gaze. “Stop thinking about what-ifs,” he advised. “And I know it's hard that he is closing himself off to you when you want to help him so much. But I'm afraid that the only thing you can do right now is being patient.” He patted his shoulder and let go. “You two always figure it out. Trust that your bond doesn't break so easily – nor does Porthos. He'll get better, and he will talk to you when he is ready.”

The medic took another deep breath, taking strength from Athos' certainty and firm determination. “You're right – thank you,” he said.

Athos gave him a shadow of a smile. “Always, brother,” he replied. “Now – lunch?”

Aramis laughed tiredly. “Yes, please.”

#the musketeers #Porthos #athos #aramis #d'artagnan #flower writes #bad luck story #bad luck

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disabled-queen-hc-blog · 5 years

Note

Suppose John has a heart condition, he's had it since birth and generally he's been able to cope and live a normal(ish) life, but then one night during a mid 80's concert he suddenly collapses backstage with a suspected heart attack?

I couldn’t find anything saying specific heart conditions caused heart attacks. Of the risk factors I saw, the two that ring out to me are stress and substance abuse. I hope that’s okay with you.

♚

John felt fine.

Well, he did when he first got on stage.

Maybe he was a little more tired than usual, but he was acting like himself, prancing around the stage in his tiny shorts, laughing and dancing. It was when they reached the halfway mark of the show did he start to feel...off.

He couldn’t find the exact words for it. Perhaps a little dizzy. Light headed. Woozy. It was subtle, so he kept playing, trading in his mini bar drinks for actual water. He didn’t feel drunk, but some proper hydration couldn’t hurt. A few martini’s could really sneak up on you if you didn’t pay attention.

It certainly didn’t help though. That weird feeling continued to rise, in his chest or stomach. He wasn’t sure. His torso felt strained. John slowed down on his dancing a bit, hoping it was over exertion. God, he could really go for a cigarette right about now.

His fingers flew up and down the neck board, looking up to smile at Freddie every so often. Nobody around him knew. Of if they knew, what they knew was that he was high, which wasn’t true. Not at the moment, at least. He looked fine otherwise. Subdued by his usual standard, but nothing drastic. He noticed the change though and it made him nervous. He always worried, though. That was his thing. Worrying until he his nose was buried in some white stuff that made it all go away.

The worst case scenario was that he was coming down with a flu. Best case scenario was that he was drunk. Middle case scenario was that he was withdrawing. He could handle any of them.

John looked down at his bass, his vision blurring slightly. That’s fine. You just had too much to drink. Keep drinking water and you’ll be okay. He kept saying this to himself, even when he broke out into a cold sweat. It was like his blood turned to ice, coursing painfully south, away from his brain and into his feet. He shivered, wiping away at the sweat on his forehead that felt glacial. Oh, he definitely had the flu. His drunken escapades and lowest highs never felt remotely like this. He prayed he could make it another 30 minutes before the sneezing and runny nose started.

John was steadfast in his belief that he was coming down with something, even after the first pang of nausea hit him. John was a smart man but when things got too serious, he preferred to ignore them. Which he was doing an excellent job of at the moment. He was really good at ignoring reality altogether. He swayed instead of danced, his fingers beginning to shake, missing a few notes here and there. His chest began to grow tight, a terrifying sensation. He’d never had the flu like this before. But it was the flu. It had to be. It couldn’t be anything else. Just a horrible, horrible flu.

“John,” Brian hissed as he walked over to the bassist, still playing, pretending they were going to jam out together. The music sounded drowned out to John.

“You look pale as a ghost. Are you okay?” Brian said loud enough for John to hear. Brian feared John was preforming while under the influence. Not that it wasn’t a regular thing anymore. John nodded but he didn’t feel okay. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, a tingling in the back of his neck. He’d never fainted before, but he had a feeling this is what it felt like before you dropped.

“I’m fine. Think I’ve got the flu,” he said, his whole body trembling. And then Brian and John didn’t say anything else because everything went black.

John was lucky he wasn’t conscious for all the gasps in the venue when he landed face first on the floor. Or for when Freddie dropped his mic and ran over to him, Brian kneeling down, yelling amidst the chaos, Roger running backstage for a phone.

He was really lucky he wasn’t awake when the paramedics got there and started CPR, his ribs breaking in the process. Or when they had to intubate him and ship him off to surgery.

Most of all, John was lucky that he lived.

When he was wheeled out of the OR, the doctor was shocked he hadn’t had a heart attack weeks ago. Surprised he could even stand for as long as he did. He survived though. He’d recover and there’d be little damage to his heart. John was okay.

John didn’t feel okay when he woke up. He was confused, his chest sore and his body aching. He tried to get up but somebody pushed him back down.

“Hey there, trooper. Relax. You’re at hospital. Everything’s okay,” a voice said, which he recognized as Roger’s.

John looked around, the room beginning to make sense. All the white and the soft beeping, the IV in his wrist.

“W-What happened?” he croaked, throat still raw from the intubation. He could see Roger standing besides him, Brian in the far off corner and Freddie sitting down on a chair, eye’s red and glassy.

“You had a heart attack, mate. Right in the middle of Save Me. Scared us pissless,” he replied, a hand going delicately onto John’s shoulder.

John’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth going agape. Heart attack? He’s only in his 30′s! Heart attacks are an old man thing! How the hell did he give himself one?

The confusion in his face was evident, Roger trying to fill in the gaps the best he could. “Uh, well, the doctor will be in soon, I suppose. But he told us a few things could cause heart attacks in youngin’s like you. Stress, tobacco, alcohol and, um...” Roger closed one nostril with his finger, inhaling deeply, the international sign for coke.

John would blush if he wasn’t so pale.

All of those..problems he was having would be something for him and the doctor to discuss. He loved his band but he loathed making himself vulnerable in front of them. He wasn’t one to even acknowledge his issues in the first place. He sure as hell wasn’t gonna use them as sit down therapists.

He had other pressing matters to get to either way. A hand flew to his chest, anticipating the sensation of bandages and stitches. “Did they...?” Cut me open, he wanted to say.

Freddie chimed in. “No. They put a tubey thingy in your thigh, all the way up to your heart and fixed..the thing,” Freddie should have let Roger continue answering the questions. He was still too frazzled after all of this. And Brian was brain dead, apparently.

“Yeah..what he said,” Roger echoed, not knowing how to explain it any better than that.

“Look, things are gonna be messy for a while. Just remember we’re here for you, Deacy. You’re not going through this alone,” Roger said with a smile. It was hard seeing their youngest like this. And to be truthful, they all felt guilty for not intervening sooner. But this is where they were now and all they wanted was for John to get better. Physically and mentally.

John nodded, shame welling up in him. His heart monitor jumped in speed, making everyone in the room shiver. “Sorry,” he said in a crackled voice, a familiar darkness settling into his stomach.

“Aw, John. C’mon. You two come here, this boy needs a hug,” Roger said, waving Freddie and Brian over to the bed. They surrounded the bed, all eyes on John, a mixture of emotions on all their faces.

They all took turns, giving him a hug, mussing up his hair, whispering encouraging words to him. It felt nice but John still felt responsible for this mess. That was until it was Freddie’s turn.

He pulled John into a tight embrace, holding him there for a moment. He pulled away, hands still gripping onto him. His eyes expressed so much. They were so tender and warm as he spoke. “I love you, John. We love you,” he said, in a way that made John feel 19 again. 19, young, innocent, untouched and safe.

John couldn’t stop his eyes from watering or stop himself from burying his face into Freddie’s chest, letting out small broken sobs. They all began to rub his back, cooing at him. Reminding him that they were there for him. That things were going to get better. He’d get better. Things were going to go back to normal.

“I’m scared,” John stuttered in between the tears. Three pairs of arms held onto him tighter.

“We’ve got you, Deacy. We’re not gonna let go. Never.”

Save me, save me, save me,

I can’t face this alone.

Save me, save me, save me,

I’m naked and I’m far from home.

#john #heart attack!john #tw alcohol abuse #tw drug abuse #alcohol mention #drug mention #Anonymous

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arsyeong · 5 years

Text

[3] thief | ijb.

o n e / t w o / f o u r / f i v e / s i x / s e v e n / e i g h t

summary: he promised to tell you anything if you catch him. so you do. word count: 1,417

a/n: happy easter everyone (even if im a day late lol)! this isn’t really based on a heart event so it kind of got messy? i was originally going to put his story but nah :// anywasy hope u enjoy this onesz hehe

"I don't understand," Bambam says for the nth time. "I know you're probably pissed off by his spell, but I don't understand why you're sacrificing sleep and health just to catch this thief."

"Peace of mind," you answer, "and maybe peace for the town too."

He sighs again, and you see him looking at you. Even in the dark and even when you weren't facing him directly, you could see the concern etched in his features.

Before you lose control of yourself and smile, you do your best to push away any wishful thinking. Bambam was a player; he knows how to make hearts beat and blushes appear.

"You're kind and selfish at the same time," he says. Your head whips to him with a confused face, asking him to elaborate.

When he squints at you for a moment, you suddenly have an internal panic. His stare makes you feel exposed, vulnerable, and you're afraid he might see the other half of the truth you've told him. The JB half.

What if he finds out about your little chat with him before he left? What if he assumes you have feelings for the thief? What if the selfishness he's talking about is referring to you wanting to catch JB for you to get to know who he really is?

"You want to protect the town, but you're ignoring yourself in the process."

You look down, your heart fluttering at his words and your relief. "I think you mean selfless," you can't help but correct with a laugh. "You kind of scared me at selfish."

He smiles sheepishly and apologizes. "I just got confused. You're a selfless person, (Y/N)," he pauses before adding, "I can't even imagine you being selfish."

It's hard to keep eye contact with him. The two of you look away at the same time with shy smiles on your faces.

"You should get going," you say awkwardly. "It's getting late."

"I thought we were having a moment," he whines teasingly. Your eyes are closed when you laugh at that, and your head's tilted back, hoping to hide from his view the blush you're surely sporting.

"I guess I really should," he says finally, "but you should reconsider my arguments."

"Your mom's probably worried about you," you tell him, ignoring the latter part. While you appreciate his concern (even a little too much), you didn't really like him nagging at you to stop. You know that you would give in to him at one point, and you couldn't let that happen just yet.

Bambam sighs and you turn your attention to the man beside you. He meets your eyes and seriously says, "I'm worried about you, (Y/N)."

"I'll be fine," you say lightly, but the intensity of his gaze does not waver. You cough and straighten up before repeating it with a more reassuring tone.

"I can't stop you, can I?" You shake your head. "Well."

He gives a casual shrug and puts his hands in his pockets. "I'll see you tomorrow then," he says. "Good night. (Y/N)."

With a final nod, he leaves. You stare at him as he goes, making sure he's out of sight before you take the same path to the main road.

The night is as silent as it had been when you first met JB. You can't help but smile to yourself at the serenity of it all. You're relaxed when you look to the sky and see the universe shining back down on you.

"Stars," you mutter, "will our paths cross today?"

After a few seconds of gazing up, you chuckle to yourself in disbelief of your actions. You probably sounded like a character from one of Vana's books. You would have looked perfect if you were, and your guy of interest would have nothing but thoughts of you in his mind.

Alas, you weren't the fictional girl in her fictional world.

You sigh sadly. It's probably from the little you in your mind, disappointed that you weren't the princess she'd always dreamed of being.

You take a few steps before you hear your name.

Startled, you stop and look up to find yourself eye-to-eye with your man of interest, though it was the curious kind of interest and not the romantic one.

You both take a moment to recover from surprise before simultaneously reacting to each other's presence - him with wide eyes of realization and you with a smirk like that of a predator whose found his prey.

You take off running at the same time.

As much as you wanted to scream for help catching him, you've never considered anyone else while imagining how the conversation would go. It had always only been you and him. Besides, his promise may only pertain to an exclusive talk.

Therefore, you run after him as silently as you can. You know you couldn't keep this up long enough - your work today had taken up most of your energy - but you can't give up, especially when he's already presented himself to you.

Focused only on the short gap between the two of you and catching him, you realize late that he's come to an abrupt pause at the edge of a spring. He teeters for a moment until you bump into him, causing both of you to fall in.

You come up gasping for air and frantically trying to stay afloat. He emerges beside you and, at the sight of your struggle, immediately puts his hands on your waist.

"Relax! Relax! I've got you."

JB puts up with your wild kicking and quickly swims you to the shore. He drags you until you're sitting there, soaked and panting heavily.

It takes some minutes for you to breathe normally again, and you thank him softly when you do. "You don't know how to swim but you push us in?" he asks you sharply, running a hand through his hair as he paces around. "You could have died there!"

"That's an overstatement."

"Says the one who can't swim," he snaps. He lets out something like a growl before crouching beside you and frustratedly asking, "Are you okay?"

You shy away from his touch when he tries to place a hand on your shoulder. You weren't pissed at him this time.

You were scared.

His recent reaction was unlike the JB you've encountered before, who had always been relaxed. You'd been flattered and pissed by him, but you never thought you would feel afraid of the smooth-talking thief when he's stripped of his normal composure and his words.

He seems to pick up on this and quickly withdraws his hand. "Sorry," he says softly, "I didn't mean to shout like that."

He hasn't even used a term of endearment on you yet. "Are you okay?" you ask him, and his surprised eyes meet yours.

"Yeah," he says slowly. "I was just worried. That's all."

In the silence that follows, you become aware of your quickened pulse. You look the other way before allowing your face to contort to full awkwardness.

"You shouldn't risk yourself for me," he grumbles, "or for anyone. No one's worth your life."

At the reminder, you turn to him again and take his hand. He alternates confused glances between your hands and your smile. He arches an eyebrow when your smile widens.

"I caught you," you inform him happily. His eyes widen at that, and he lets out a defeated sigh, much to your delight.

"You cheated," he protests weakly, knowing by your smile that you weren't going to let this opportunity go. He takes a deep breath before giving you the signal to start.

"Is your name actually JB?"

"Yes," he groans, "but it stands for Jaebeom," he decides to add upon seeing your unsatisfied face.

That was the only clear question you had in mind. You lean back and simply say, "Tell me everything about you. Anything."

He stares at you in shock. While he knows you want a long answer, he still didn't expect you to give him as much freedom as you did.

"I'm not really fond of indulging in myself," he starts unsurely, waiting for you to tell him something quite harsh, or even change your mind and start asking specific questions. He's tempted to lie, to make things up and to omit parts of his life. He sees the gentle encouraging look in your eyes, however, and decides against it.

So, with a shaky breath, the thief fulfills his promise.

p r e v i o u s / n e x t

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semperreformanda · 5 years

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Hi everyone

I've talked a lot about dealing with anxiety the past few days. I've actually been dealing with that for the past few weeks on and off, it just got really bad last week when I got back to work after taking sick days off.

I've been with the current company for only one month and I have decided to resign from the role, reason being that I don't think I fit/qualify for for it and that sort of pressure of trying to meet such expectations is affecting my mental health.

This is going to be long, but if you are keen to know a bit of a back story...

I work in a big engineering firm. Everything was going well at first, however this really started on my first week when I made a small mistake and my colleague (boss, technically) expressed his disappointment and even hinted at terminating me ("We'd have a difficult time finding a replacement"). I was honestly shocked that time, failed to defend myself because I was still processing the fact that he was hinting at possibly firing me over that. I was down about it for a while, but decided to forget the comment, and just do better next time. It worked.

The next few days it felt like I was on a roll, but then every little mistake here and there (common as I was new and also working in an industry that was very new to me) tore at my confidence, and every end of week when he would give his comments on what I need to work on, I started to feel worn down. I couldn't shake off the feeling that maybe I was incompetent for the job. The feeling persisted. With every single mistake, I started to overthink and fear that they would actually fire me. FYI, my colleague is great. Really, really great at his job--extroverted, charming, charismatic, quick on his feet. Working alongside him made me realize how much... I lacked. There was also a point he said I appear more like a "girl next door", and that I should be more like a career woman. I know it was meant to be encouraging and he said it in a nice way, but honestly, it put me off (I've never thought of myself as a career woman; I want to excel in my career, yes, but I hate the term and don’t want to be identified as that lol).

So there. The dread overtook me. Waking up felt hard. Even eating with my other coworkers during lunch felt difficult because I was starting to shut myself off. I really attempted to be like him in every way--extroverted, quick-witted, charming, chill, and not overthinking every single body movement or scrutinizing every word said to me. Sad thing is, I am normally like that, but the pressure he put on me and I put on myself was killing me. I could feel social anxiety rearing its ugly head once more. I started feeling alone at work; no real close colleague I can hang out with since we hung out in a big group and they were all friends with one another. I make attempts at conversation but they're all small talk, all short-lived, and I increasingly felt ashamed of how seemingly inept I was in every social interaction.

I'm a typically quiet person, introverted, I approach people in a way I'd say is calm and gentle. I don't know. That's just how I am. It just felt like when my colleague pointed this out it was like there was something wrong with me and I needed to be someone like him--which, to be quite frank, I did want to be like. Was it my social anxiety holding me back? Or was it just my personality? I've always been insecure about my gentleness and quietness. Normally when I am quiet it's because I am listening to people or processing my thoughts. Now when I am quiet, it's because I'm fretting. I just don't feel like myself anymore. It is exhausting having to wear a mask everyday at work.

You want to know what was the last straw for me? When we were in an important meeting, a candidate texted me saying he couldn’t finish the interview process that day and had to leave. I promptly composed a reply, but quickly got reprimanded for using my phone. I apologized and brushed it off, but at that point I was so overburdened already with everything I felt like that was the final push and honestly? A social anxiety sufferer’s worst nightmare was to be called out like that in front of everyone, so if to you it felt like a normal screw up, to me it felt like a giant screw up with our boss that I’d never recover from.

Unfortunately, I'm also the type of person who can be avoidant in the heat of conflict or problems, so when I started feeling the heavy unshakable dread, my instant response was to withdraw. After that, I didn't go to work for three days. Funny enough, my classmate from college working in the same field popped up again and offered me a role (same job, but much more similar to my expertise), and I bit. Took the interview last Friday, all went well, got offered the job.

So now it is Tuesday, I have emailed my HR my resignation letter, and I will be showing up there tomorrow for the exit interview.

Please pray for me. The thought of having to discuss this with them face to face is kind of terrifying. I have battled so much with myself if this was something I could control; maybe I just need to shut my thoughts off and take it one day at a time. Maybe I just need to relax myself. I need to focus on the tasks at hand and do my best and stop overwhelming myself. But...I could not get myself out of bed for two days and only ate one meal a day. I could feel the burning in my stomach but no hunger. I had my first panic attack after years of no having one. I battled with myself--am I this weak? Is my anxiety valid? Am I just lazy? Quitting a job after a month? I felt like a joke. While crossing the street I hoped for a car to hit me. I didn't want to die, but also, I wouldn't mind, because it would mean the thoughts would stop. I just wanted my head to quiet down. I had no energy to do anything... I am just not doing well.

The new job hopefully has a more welcoming team. The work itself I know wouldn't be too difficult for me since my first job was like that too.

So... I'm sorry for this long message. I guess I just wanted to write down my thoughts and kind of untangle the messy strings of thought that I have at the moment. Church has helped so much, my Father is always patient and kind, and my family has voiced their support and concern. I'm thankful for that. Social anxiety (or anxiety in general; heck, any mental health issue in general) has so much stigma and I get it--it's because you won't understand it unless you experience it for yourself.

But I am thankful for every concern, prayer, support, and listening ear. Please continue to pray for me--wisdom in my career, to seek my strength and hope in Christ, and guidance. I might also start pursuing professional help too.

Thanks for reading this. If you suffer from anxiety, depression, what have you--please know you are not alone. Open up to someone and don't ever ever ever isolate yourself. It is so scary to be in that place, and it is so lonely, and I want you to know that you don't have to carry it alone. In the Body of Christ, we are called to carry each other's burdens; when you hurt, I hurt. When you rejoice, I rejoice with you.

Above all, the Father is good, He is sovereign over every circumstance. That means you (or your circumstances) are not powerful enough to screw up your life. He is still in control of every single delicate detail and He is using every thing for your good and His glory. And He loves you. Remember that.

#SORRY THIS IS LONG #personal #anxiety #social anxiety #Christianity

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cardhouseandthecage · 6 years

Text

Jealousy / Envy

Characeter ask meme, re @theghostisametaphor. Logus asks Oskyod: F. envy or jealousy

note: Λόγος (Logos) is Oskyod’s pet name for Logus, because naturally. ---

Jezebel shifted her weight pointedly. “We’ll see,” she said, and took her leave.

Once she had passed out of earshot, Logus laughed.

“Such a jealous creature,” he said. “Will she never learn?”

Oskyod tucked the card they had been examining back behind their ear, where it vanished from sight. “Jealous?”

Logus straightened. “Do you object to my choice of word? Clearly she resents me—resents my discovery—and irrationally so. This ought to be a cause for celebration, but to her there’s no true victory unless it’s hers. What would you call that?”

“Envy.” Oskyod did not hesitate. “I would call that envy.” “But that is a synonym! Don’t you stand there and tell me that it isn’t.”

“It is,” now Oskyod spoke more slowly, “but you asked what I would call it. To my mind ‘synonym’ is a fallacy: I do not hold any two words to be interchangeable. The connotations of envy, I think, fall much closer to the mark.” “Oh? And how do you distinguish?” Oskyod shrugged. “I don’t hold to any hard-and-fast rule. But I like to be consistent. I generally think of envy as a desire for what isn’t yours, and jealousy as a reluctance to share what is—or what is yours in part. Envy is ambitious; jealousy is possessive. Alternately (or additionally), jealousy tends to carry more intimate connotations than its counterpart. Jealousy is always personal; envy may be less so.” They paused. “That said, not everyone draws the distinction in the same way that I do. There’s a good deal of overlap, and your usage was certainly fair play: it’s just not how I would have put it.”

Oskyod left off, but they did not withdraw their gaze. All the time they had been speaking, Logus noted, they had not broken eye contact; he was not sure whether he liked this any better than the professor’s more customary evasiveness. Their braid uncurled in the air from left to right, and Logus had to suppress a sudden impulse to grab hold of it and make it stop—together with the curiosity that had welled in him. He put his hands in his pockets and looked away.

“Such a messy business, language” he said. “There’s no precision in it. But I do respect your attempt to bring some more rigour to the discipline. By your terminology, here, yes, I agree. Jezebel is insatiable above all else—as envy must be in its extreme—and that’s what rules her.” Still the curiosity pricked at him. He rocked back on his heels. “Would you say then…that some people are ruled more by one or the other? Envy, jealousy? Take Lux. She’s quite the opposite: I don’t think I’ve ever seen her envious in my life. She wants nothing. But lay one finger on anything that’s hers…?” he laughed. "Jealous as the devil, that one.” He stole one glance at Oskyod from the corner of his eye. They had not moved. “But I am curious, professor. You seem to have put some thought into this—which suggests to me that it is above all an important distinction for you.” He circled two paces to the left, vulture-like. “Tell me. Why is that?”

Oskyod followed him with their eyes as he paced, all else about them motionless. “You may ask me, Logus,” they said. “I am inclined.”

Logus stopped dead. There was a command behind that—something he had not heard before—and it chilled him. Oskyod pivoted to face him directly. “You may ask me,” they repeated, “but you must do better than that if you want a good answer. Language, I think you will find, only lacks precision if you don’t know where you are in it. You don’t. But one man’s mess is another’s filing cabinet: a mess one can navigate is no mess at all. Give me the context and I can give you anything: as intricately—as precisely—as you like.” They stepped in close. “Ask me again, Λόγος,” they said, “and don’t insult me. Do it right this time.”

Logus stood transfixed, his mind racing. Oskyod never did this. Oskyod never maintained eye contact for this long—not with him and not with anyone. They would look at a book, look at the floor, look out a window, at their own fingers—at anything—at nothing. This was deliberate. Right from the start he’d known something was off—how had he not caught it? It was too late. All this time they had been casting, and now the spell was fixed: if Logus spoke, he could not lie. Not only that, but he could not lie by omission; he could not conceal—not until Oskyod looked away. He knew the trick well—he used it not infrequently himself—but he'd thought only Lux had the cards to use it on him. Was this even the same spell? It felt very different, under their cast—like a dimly lit maze, or a web with many twists and snags—and there was much less compulsion to it. When Lux demanded a truth, she extracted it—willing or no. But this was not a demand. It was a condition. If he should speak… The panic passed. Logus would not be made to reveal anything. Easily he could snip every thread that held him; depart, and never speak of it again. But what would that imply? That he feared the truth? He, Logus? And still the curiosity ate at him. Rarely was Oskyod so forthright: when next could he expect such an opportunity? Was there any good reason he should not take it? They knew already what he had asked—of that he was certain—only they would not answer it until he had given the question in full.

Well, he thought. If that is to be the price…

“Well played,” he said, and collected himself, “but I do not mind.” He flexed his fingers and pulled on the cuff of one gloves. "And why should I? I’ve nothing to hide. I will ask again, and on your terms.”

He held himself tall, taking a moment to feel out the boundaries of the spell—what would give and what would not. He began.

“You know that I…require you,” he spoke carefully, testing the syntax. “I mean I care for you very much—” and there was the wall. A panic took him and he felt for the exit. Was he bound to keep speaking now that he had begun? No: he could still break. Or could he...? But he did not want to. (Was that a part of it?) “And while I do not know for certain your regard for me, I have reason to hope that I am not entirely unrequited in my love.” Again he balked. That he could never have said—he did not have the cards for it.

And yet he’d said it. He’d let the words be pulled from him—against his hand—with his permission and without his will. It felt almost exhilarating. Lux only ever dealt in hard truths, and when she extracted them it was with an iron fist. But these were shadow-truths: many-sided, and they wanted shaping. He had to yield them, but beyond that he could yield them any way he liked. He had expected to feel forced. He did not. He felt fluent---so fluent it frightened him. Every truth he gave now was his own.

You’re doing very well, said the spell. Take your time. Logus bristled. He did not have to look up in order to read Oskyod’s expression (smug, insufferable). “I hate you,” he said—and found with relief that he could still say it.

Gathering his thoughts again he pressed on, more irritable now than cautious.

“It’s as I said: you know these things. You know (confound you) everything. And you know also my position. You know where I stand in the Master’s esteem: you know his claim to me. And you know that even if I could I would never change it. It’s what I am. So what I’m asking you is simply this.” He took a breath and retreated into the collar of his coat. "Do you....do you mind it? You do not strike me as the envious sort. Yet sometimes I imagine—sometimes, in the way you…” Again he stalled. No. He would say it: he could. “Are you jealous then?” Now, and never again. "Are you jealous towards me?” He opened his eyes (he had not realised he’d closed them). The world did not end. He looked up. Oskyod tilted their head to one side, blinked, and released the bind; Logus reeled a little, feeling almost giddy. He laughed once, recovering quickly, and skipped lightly backwards.

“Your move, professor,” he said, “And you had better answer: you know you’re not the only one who can pull that trick.”

“Oh, I fully intend to,” Oskyod smiled, looking very pleased with themself. The smile broke into a grin, and they laughed, and laughed again, stumbling a little as they did. They seemed almost to be having difficulty containing their mirth. Logus looked on in some bewilderment: he was not quite sure he had ever seen them in such a state. “Excuse me, please,” Oskyod said, “I am not laughing at you, believe me: you performed splendidly—that was much better. You speak so beautifully, you know, when you’re enabled. Yes, yes, you have certainly earned a reply.”

Feeling more insulted than flattered by this praise, Logus waited. “It had better be honest. I can tell.”

“I am aware,” said the professor, sobering a little. “I don’t suppose you would take a more eloquent reply tomorrow, would you?” “No–!” Logus sputtered. “No, absolutely not! I played your little game. You’ve made me say all sorts of ridiculous things—and very ineloquently! I’ve humiliated myself. Now you.”

Oskyod laughed again, still very fey. “Sorry, I had to ask. Well.” They adjusted their glasses. “Thankfully it’s not nearly so difficult a question for me to answer as it was for you to pose. You’re on the right path: I do generally incline much more towards jealousy than towards envy, in the instance that I incline towards either. It’s all a great deal of energy, you know—envy especially. And very pointless. Though… I do not especially love for other people to touch what’s mine. My office, for example. My records, my person, my cards.” Now they locked eyes with Logus, their expression blank. “But you already know that. You did not ask about generally. You asked about you. You guessed that I do not envy your position, and you guessed correctly. As for the Master…” They looked past Logus now, and spoke distantly. “I would not flatter yourself so far as to think me jealous. I don’t give a damn whether he touches you. I might be able to muster some resentment over other aspects of his claim, but it’s such an effort to work up a real fit. And we both know I’ve never required you quite so desperately as you require me. ” Now they looked back, and smiled strangely. “Besides. Say that I did possess you—comprehensively. What would I do with that? Keep you in my office in a box, take you out only when it amused me? Because you see, if I really wanted you, that’s what it would take. I do not possess things lightly. I do not possess people lightly. It’s really far better that you’re his.” Their voice had dropped considerably in volume, and Logus realised that he could no longer say what language they were speaking in—only that he understood it.

“That said…” Oskyod moved in to adjust the front of Logus’ jacket (which Logus was fairly certain did not need adjusting). Their braid swung very close to his face and he grew impatient.

“That said, what?”

Oskyod looked up. “What?”

“I’m not letting you off. You were going to say something. Stop touching that—out with it.”

“Ah, right.” Oskyod stepped backwards, quiet as dust.

“That said: I do not like it, Λόγος.”

The lenses of their spectacles flashed white.

I do not like it at all.

#logus had to remind himself that he did not want to be kept in a box in oskyod's office #for a hot second that sounded really appealing #composed fiction #Logus*#Oskyod*#Logus #Oskyod #hhhhhhh this became #incredibly long #but i've been wanting to write a proper dialogue for these two for ages so #here it is #indulgent in the extreme

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drallak-lirake · 6 years

Text

Caring

My headcanon for Day 12 of Ray route. Chapter 1/2

Saeyoung hadn’t been given back after the fallout, and after triple checking everything, Jumin finally ordered a standby for updates and sent the members home.

The new couple was brought to the bunker. It made sense. It was unoccupied, and technically belonging to family. It had the equipment Saeran would need to stay on top of anything regarding finding Saeyoung, and they could keep an eye on if he were to return suddenly. Plus, they didn’t have many other options to choose from; neither of them had a place to stay on such short notice. Despite the points raised in favor of the new home, Saeran couldn’t help but be easily overwhelmed as he struggled to accept where he was.

Gwen placed her hands over Saeran’s and pulled them away from the keyboard he had been obsessing over.

“There’s not much we can do now except wait. You should relax.”

He looked at her and slumped his shoulders in defeat. His cheeks gained color when she didn’t retract her hands.

“You’re right. I just hope it was enough. I hope it wasn’t in vain.”

“It was. We will see him again.”

Silence hung between them as they gazed at their now entwined fingers, Gwen’s absentmindedly running over his in a gentle rhythm that ran up his arms in tingles. Saeran’s face grew hotter as he noticed his messy fingernails against her perfect hands. He both scolded himself mentally for making Gwen hold such unsightly nails and admired her for not rejecting them, even caressing them instead. Maybe with the extra time, he could make himself look better for Gwen. Her hands were so gentle and soft against his, Saeran wondered if he was allowed to touch something so lovely.

“Saeran?” Her tender voice cut through his daze and enraptured him anew. Was he allowed to listen to something so lovely?

“Yes?” he breathed.

“Would you allow me to care for you?”

Saeran looked up at her in confused awe. “Care for me?”

“I mean..” She kept her eyes on their hands and blurted out, “ I want you to relax. I want to pamper you nails and draw you a bath a-and cook you food. It won’t be long until your withdraw hits and I want to make it as painless as possible. I want to be your pillow to sleep on if it means you’ll be able to sleep. I could give you whatever you asked for- I’d get you anything you need. I want to help.” She looked into his eyes. “May I do that?”

Saeran gaped at her with wide eyes. Her eyes were bright against her heated cheeks, full of emotion and love that washed over Saeran in a flood.

“..Yes.” There was no other answer he could ever give her. A few days ago, he had been certain that he deserved nothing in the world, and here in front of him was an angel offering him the world.

A small smile bloomed on her face. “Thank you.” Her voice was relieved. He could barely believe someone would be so eager to do such nice things for him.

“I will be in your care.” He smiled back.

She jumped up from the couch. His breath left him in a silent gasp as she rested her hand on his shoulder and pressed her lips against his forehead. He felt so hot that he might have glowed.

Gwen drew a hot bath as she tried to cool down. She wasn’t used to showing so much affection, and she just ranted about all the stupid little things she wanted to do.

“Ahh, calm down, Gwen. They weren’t stupid ideas. This is good and nice and.. going with the flow.” She tried reassuring herself.

The look on his face flashed through her mind and made the blood run to her face again. His bewildered expression was adorable mixed with that shy smile. The way he looked at her made her so skittish. Gwen wanted to hold him every time he looked at her with those hopeful eyes, but she was afraid of overloading him.. and her. They may be a couple now, but they still had only just met each other. Now was the time to slow things down.

It wasn’t wrong to do caring things if it makes him happy, but it was hard not to regret the silly words she said. She shyly reappeared before a more recovered Saeran and led him to the washroom.

He nodded silently as Gwen double checked that he knew where everything was. It seemed like his focus never left her. Gwen could at least blame the dizzying heat on the steam. His eyes shared a similar nervousness to her own, but Gwen was avoiding eye contact.

She laid out clean towels and forced her voice steady as she announced, “I’ll find a fresh pair of clothes for you and leave them outside the door. I want you in here for at least half an hour.” She wanted to make sure he would use the bath to relax. “You can think about anything you might want..” She glanced in his direction, making sure to avoid his face and instead focused on his shirt. The thought of Saeran without his shirt popped into her head. She immediately turned away. It was way too hot in this room.

“I-I’ll go get everything ready then!” She blurted out as she hurried away.

“Wait.”

Her feet stopped at the door.

“You said.. you would give me anything? As long as I ask for it?” His words were contemplative.

Turning to him, the bath stood out starkly next to the boy who she met only days ago. The boy who held her heart.

“Yes.”

Saeran had a lot of time to think. The bath was more blissful than he thought it could be. Now that he looked back, he couldn’t remember the last time he had a hot shower, let alone a bath. He just never had the time to have such a luxury.

He was nervous to be away from Gwen, but the defense system in this place was secure. They were safe, as long as Gwen didn’t leave..

Saeran sank further into the water that Gwen drew for him. She wouldn’t leave, he thought firmly. She said she was making food. She said she would do anything he wanted. He trusted her, he had to trust her.

He certainly had a lot to think about.. He tried his hardest to take his time; Gwen would need time to figure out what she could cook. He found himself counting down the minutes regardless. She wanted him to get what he wished for, and he wished to be with Gwen the most.

He found his clothes lying outside just as promised. They fit well enough for belonging to his twin brother, if only being loose around his too-skinny frame. The red tank top hung over his shoulders, the sweater exposing too much shoulder without it. He questioned the sweatpants at first, but it made sense to pick something that wouldn’t be loose, and he was planning on sleeping soon. A part of him thought it was cute how she chose pants that matched the exposed red tank top with the stripe on the sides.

He walked into the kitchen to find Gwen staring at a pan on the stove. Saeran’s chest grew lighter at the sight of her.

“Do you need help?” It didn’t take long to find out her expertise wasn’t in cooking, but he didn’t see any food ingredients in her hair, so he had high hopes for this meal. She jumped at his voice, sending a pang of remorse through him. She said she wasn’t afraid of him, but was it true?

“No.” She replied confidently, turning to look at him. “But we have a small problem.”

He walked up to see fried rice mixed with carrots. It wasn’t burned, and there wasn’t much a mess on the countertops.

“You’re so adorable.”

His attention snapped to Gwen. “I-I am? Is that the problem?”

“Oh no! That just slipped out. I’m sorry.” She covered her face with her hands, “That was a silly thing to say.”

Saeran’s chest felt warm. She really thought he was cute? Adorable even. He looked down at his clothes, hardly believing her words. “I thought I looked too think for them,” He mumbled.

She peeked through her hands, “Then let’s make it a goal to grow into them.”

He smiled at the thought. A goal meant something to look forward to in the future.

“Okay.”

She smiled underneath her hands. Saeran wished he could see it.

“So, what was the problem?”

“Oh. Saeyoung doesn’t own plates.”

She turned to open a cupboard and pulled out a box. “He’s got boxes of Honey Buddah chips, and the fridge is stocked with PHD Pepper. There’s barely anything else. The only fresh thing he has is carrots.”

The unspoken question hung between them. Why carrots? But then, why no plates? Saeran started to feel embarrassed by association to his brother.

“You seemed to do well on this.” He gestured to the pan. The smell was pleasant and made his stomach rumble.

She looked doubtful as she covered her mouth. “I’m sorry if it’s bad. I’d blame the lack of ingredients, but you’ve seen my level of cooking,” She joked.

“Hey, you said you would give me anything I asked for, right?” He stepped up to her, his wet hair falling into his eyes as looked into her eyes.

“Yes..” Her voice became hushed and her eyes grew wide as he closed the distance between them. He took her hands into his and lowered them away from her face.

“Would you give me your smiles then? I like seeing your face.”

With her face up close, he got to see in detail as her blush deepened. He smiled knowing he was the cause.

“Yes. Of course, Saeran.” Her gentle voice uttering his name sent a thrill through him. He wanted to hear her say it again.

“Would you like to eat now?” She asked timidly.

“Yes. I hope my brother at least has utensils?”

#saeran choi #saeran x mc #mysme saeran #oc #ray

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machihunnicutt · 6 years

Text

Hey y’all this is the last chapter of the fic I started back in fic-vember and have finally completed lol. If you’d like to see the previous chapters you can read them here and here or on ao3.

Lost and Found Chapter 3: Declarations

“It looks like you’re stuck with me,” R said, rocking back and forth on his heels as they paired off in the line.

“Don’t say it like that,” he replied. “I’m not stuck with anyone. I’m here with you.”

He laughed and ran a hand through his unruly curls. “Careful Apollo, someone might think we were friends.”

Enjolras was already irritated but he wasn’t one to give up (on anything, ever) so he ignored Grantaire’s statement and focused instead on the task at hand. “I have a strategy to get through this,” he said tightly. He intended to follow the right hand rule, a trick that people on the internet had extolled the merits of. Enjolras wouldn’t go into a problem without a well researched plan of attack.

“Get through it?” Grantaire scoffed. “Getting lost is part of the fun.”

“In what world is being lost fun?” Enjolras shot back.

“In this world. In this context,” R replied. He lifted his cup of cider and took a sip of it. Enjolras noticed that his hands were shaking.

They inched further in line and Enjolras watched Cosette consult Combeferre and Bahorel before leading the way down one path. Joly took off running in the opposite direction and Musichetta and Bossuet followed.

“Consider it a challenge,” R said. “If we finish last we win. If we get hopelessly lost we win.”

“Fine,” Enjolras said. He threw his empty cider cup in the recycling bin and turned to look at Grantaire properly. “I won’t let you down.”

R’s gaze lingered for a moment. He was looking at him with some emotion Enjolras couldn’t pinpoint, as per usual, eyebrows drawn slightly but eyes soft. “What?” Enjolras said, irritated.

“You never let me down,” R said simply. And then they were at the front of the line. It was time to get hopelessly lost.

Enjolras has first met Grantaire by accident. He’d stumbled in late to one of the first ABC meetings and had frozen when Enjolras glared at him mid-speech. It turned out R was only at the Musain to look for a sketchbook he thought he’d lost there. He only sat down, he told him later, because he was afraid Enjolras would accuse him of “pledging allegiance to our capitalist overlords” if he didn’t. He never found the sketchbook because, and Enjolras has never breathed a word of this to anyone, he’d found it earlier and after flipping through the pages of smudged charcoal forms and powerful, angry looking profiles, he hid it in one of his dresser drawers. He didn’t know why he never gave it back. Something about staring at the messy lines and coffee stained doodles in the dark, when he couldn’t even hope for sleep, was the best thing to make him calm.

He let Grantaire take the lead. He held his tongue when they took a mishmash of repeated turns, and instead stared up at the pink and orange sky and breathed in the earthy scent of hay. There was something safe in being closed in like this. In another life maybe he lived in a world of narrow streets and tight spaces.

“How about that way?” R said, pointing arbitrarily. His hands were shaking again and Enjolras tracked the movement as he ran a hand through his hair again.

“Are you okay?”

“Why? Do I not seem okay?” R said, words tight and clipped. He put his hand down though, stuffing it into his jacket pocket.

“You’re shaking.” Enjolras hesitated. “Are you...on something?”

Grantaire laughed, high and cold. His expression looked wrong against the warm comfort of the hay bales.

“Jesus fuck Apollo no I’m not on something, I’m off everything for once.”

Enjolras shook his head. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Grantaire sighed. “C’mon, we’ve gotta keep moving.” He reached out and took Enjolras by the wrist gently, leading him off in another direction and most likely further from the exit.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, catching up with the pace of the conversation. Grantaire’s hand was still at his wrist. He wasn’t looking at him. “I didn’t mean to...”

“I know you didn’t. I’m shaking because I’m in withdrawal. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to make things weird.”

“It’s not my business anyway,” Enjolras replied. “I shouldn’t have pried, I was just worried you weren’t...”

“It is your business.” He stopped again, turning around to face him. A couple of kids raced by, laughing and throwing handfuls of hay at each other. Enjolras shifted closer to R to stay out of their way.

“What do you mean?”

R’s face had scrunched up with frustration or maybe anger. It was somehow harder to tell up close, like the details of his unshaven face and eye bags and long lashes complicated things too much.

“I mean I do this shit because I want to be a better person, a person who won’t let you down.”

“You don’t let me down.”

R scoffed. “Are you sure?” He didn’t meet his eyes anymore, just looked at him slightly off focus, like he was staring at Enjolras’ eyebrows.

“I’m sure,” he said, puzzled. “I just said I was sure. Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“We both know I’m not like the rest of you,” R said, with a vague gesture around the maze, presumably in reference to the rest of the amis still making their way through it.

Enjolras didn’t care that Grantaire wasn’t like them. Maybe he did in the beginning, when R’s presence felt like a constant challenge, when he thought that R really didn’t care. But now...well now was complicated. Because he knew R cared, even if he never said it, even if they argued, even if he was drunk or infuriatingly sarcastic Enjolras knew when he saw him with the others. He knew from the easy smiles and comfortable conversations R had around tables at the Musain, that Grantaire belonged with them. Sometimes he thought R was more like the rest of them than Enjolras was. But he didn’t know how to say any of that. For once he was out of words, and it drove him crazy.

“What do you mean R?” He said instead, too sharply. “Why do you care what I think of you?”

R looked at him now, jaw slack. “What? Do I have to spell it out for you?”

Enjolras’ face burned. Yes. You have to spell it out. He doesn’t understand. He just never will.

“I…” He couldn’t get the words out. “I’m trying you know. I came here. I wanted to prove you wrong, prove that I could relax and have fun like the rest of you. I feel like I’m the one proving myself around you, always. So yeah, yeah you have to spell it out for me! Someone always has to spell it out for me!” The words tasted bitter. His fists were balled up at his sides.

“Apollo…” Grantaire was too close. Close enough to read the insecurity that had bubbled up in him.

“I told you not to call me that. I’m not...I’ve never been...I tried to tell you.” He trailed off as Grantaire continued to stare at him. They were stopped in the middle of the maze again, lost too completely.

Grantaire was quiet for a moment. Enjolras’s shoulders tensed, bracing for a blow. They were both apt at saying crushing things.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I didn’t know how you felt,” he sucked in a breath, as if bracing himself too. “I care what you think because I…”

And then Marius Pontmercy whipped around the corner in a disorienting blur of orange and crashed directly into the two of them. Enjolras fell forward onto R and knocked his head on a hay bail (which wasn’t so much painful as it was itchy) and the three of them crashed into a confused heap in the dirt.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry. Are you guys okay? Did I hurt you? I wasn’t looking where I was going I was just running I’m sorry I…”

“Mari,” R recovered first, and Enjolras quickly moved off of him as he sat up. “It’s okay. We’re fine, right?” He looked over at Enjolras for confirmation and he nodded, hoping he didn’t look as flushed and angry as he had a moment ago.

Marius hugged his knees and shook his head side to side nervously.

“What happened to Courf?” R asked gently.

“We were kind of talking about something and I uh...freaked out and ran away.”

Enjolras picked a stray piece of hay out of his hair and stood up, brushing dirt off of his jacket. R moved closer to Marius, still on the ground, getting the knees of his jeans in the damp earth.

“What were you talking about?” Enjolras asked.

Marius looked up at him uncomfortably. “Um...something.”

“Something something?” R prompted, knowingly. Marius nodded.

“Great,” Enjolras said, exasperated. “Just let me know when I can be in the loop, alright?”

“Do you want me to find Cosette for you? Would that help?” R asked, helping Marius up. He nodded.

With surprising grace, R scaled one of the hay bale stacks, getting himself high enough to see over the maze.

“Cosette!” He looked around for a moment.

“Yeah?” Came a faint voice.

“Marius is looking for you!” R waved one of his hands. “Can you see me? How can he get over to you?”

“Oh! I think I’ve got it, stay right there R!”

R did as he was told and Cosette found the three of them easily. Grantaire climbed down. Now the both of them had hay in their hair. They left Cosette and Marius to the discussion of whatever something meant.

“Bad timing,” R said when they were alone.

“Is he going to be okay?” Enjolras asked.

“Mari?” R looked over at him. “Yeah, Cosette knows just what to say when his anxiety gets bad.”

“And Courfeyrac?”

“Is in love with Marius. Which is the something. They’re both trying to tell each other how they feel. That’s why Couf’s been so gung ho about today.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, putting the pieces together. Courf talked about Marius a lot, but he’d never come out and told him. “People don’t tell me things like that. I think they assume I’m not interested.”

“Do you wish they did?” R said, hesitantly. “Are you interested?”

Feelings made him uncomfortable. Causes, projects, carefully drafted speeches, those things he could handle. He could talk for hours at amis meetings. He could speak before crowds like it was nothing, but none of that involved reflecting on feelings. If Couf had told him, Enjolras wasn’t sure what he’d say. Was congratulations sufficient? Or I’m happy for you? What if he’d asked him for advice?

“I want to be better at being interested,” he said. “If that makes sense.”

“It makes sense.”

“You were saying something before Marius ran into us.”

“Right,” R said. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I...fuck, it’s gone.” R fished around in his pockets frantically.

“What’s gone?”

“The sketch…I had a sketch of you in my pocket for good luck and now it’s…fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Enjolras said. “I uh… I have a few of your sketches at my place, if we’re being honest and direct and everything. I found that sketchbook of yours at the Musain and didn’t return it.”

“Why?”

“I liked looking at it too much.”

“You’ve never needed to prove yourself to me Enjolras. I admire you more than you know.”

“I admire you too. Your art, the way you talk to people, the way you make them feel safe.”

“It’s not a bad thing to spell things out,” R said, smiling slightly. “Maybe we should do it more often.”

“Maybe,” he replied, matching his smile.

***

“Slow down Marius, tell me what happened,” Cosette said. The maze was starting to feel less fun and more claustrophobic by the minute.

“He said something really nice and I was about to tell him but then I freaked out and ran away like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “But you can’t just leave him hanging. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell him right now but you can’t abandon him in a maze with no explanation.”

Marius cringed. “You’re right. You’re definitely right.”

She smiled, the dim light still caught her hair. When he looked at her he always saw gold.

“I’ve gotta find him.”

“Uh huh,” she replied.

“Do you think I could do it the way R did?”

She looked taken aback. “You want to climb up there and yell? You know you have to yell for him to hear you right?” Yelling has never been Marius’ forte.

“I’m going to fix this,” he said, summoning a confidence he wasn’t sure he had.

She patted his shoulder, impressed. “Okay.”

***

Wandering through the maze alone after being confusingly and spontaneously fled from wasn’t exactly how Courfeyrac had expected today to go. He thought things were going well. Actually, he was just about to tell him.

Maybe he knew. Maybe he guessed it and ran to save himself the awkwardness of rejecting him. But this was also Marius he was talking about, the same Marius who was surprised at the twist every time he saw

Fight Club

because he always managed to forget he’d seen it.

It might be best just to head to the exit at this point. The others were probably there. But leaving the maze felt like defeat. If he left then the trip was a waste.

He was weighing his limited options when he heard him.

“Couf?” Marius called in an almost-yell. It was enough.

“Mari?” He looked around for a moment before realizing Marius was above, perched precariously on the other side of the hay bale wall directly in front of him.

“Oh! You’re right there, good.” He was bright red. “Cosette helped me up here.”

“Why are you up there Marius?”

“Because I need to tell you something. And I need to do it now.”

Courf looked up at him and held his breath.

“I’m sorry I ran away. I didn’t mean to leave you like that. I just got scared.”

“Of what Marius?”

“Of telling you how I feel. It was the perfect time to and I couldn’t find the words. But I have them now.”

Courfeyrac took a few steps closer. He hoped everyone in the maze wasn’t staring.

“I have feelings for you...romantic feelings,” Marius said. “And I was scared to say something because I didn’t want to mess up our friendship, but you’re always going to be my best friend. No matter how this works out that’s not going to change. Not if I can help it anyway. So I’m sorry, and also I hope I didn’t make everything weird.”

Before he knew what he was doing Courfeyrac was climbing the other side of the hay bale to meet him. It was unstable with the both of them up there but he didn’t care.

“I have romantic feelings for you too you big nerd. And I wanted to tell you today, that’s why I suggested we go through the maze together.”

“Oh,” Marius said, eyes widening. “Oh, good.” A grin spread wide on his face, and he looked so pretty with his bright eyes and freckles and hay in his hair.

“Good,” Courfeyrac repeated. “I’m glad you found me.”

“Me too.”

***

R was having trouble wrapping his head around the fact that Enjolras liked his sketchbook enough to keep it, and also that in the maze he’d been dangerously close to telling Enjolras everything about how he’d loved him from the beginning, and how he loved him more the longer and better he knew him.

One by one the amis has made it to the finish line. Cosette and Eponine were reunited. Combeferre and Bahorel were strategizing for next time. Courf and Marius were holding hands. Bossuet has failed to mention his hay allergy and was being doted on by his significant others.

They couldn’t find the sketch. They’d looked for a bit, retraced their steps and sifted through the dirt where they’d fallen, but it was either snatched up by a kid or the wind or trampled beyond recognition.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find it,” Enjolras said as they made their way to the cars.

“It’s okay, the real thing’s better.”

Enjolras laughed. He didn’t do that often and the sound made Grantaire feel more lightheaded than the withdrawal made him already.

The others where piling into the van. R’s car was a few parking spaces down. They stopped.

“Look,” Enjolras said. “I care about you. I need you to know that even though we fight I care about you very much.”

“I care what you think because I’m in love with you,” he blurted out. Time felt slower. Enjolras stood frozen, wind blowing his hair.

“You...me? Are you sure?”

“I’m very sure.”

Enjolras was beet red. “Well, um, thank you for being direct. I...I mean I believe I also have...I’m not good at feelings but I believe I’m also interested in you, romantically. Could we um...might we talk more about this over coffee perhaps?”

“Coffee,” R couldn’t tear his eyes from Enjolras’s flustered features. He was better when he was human, he decided then. It was better to see him the way he really was. “That sounds great.”

“Excellent,” Enjolras said. “I should um...” he gestured back to the car, whose occupants were all definitely watching them.

“Yeah, great. We’ll do coffee then.”

Enjolras nodded and then turned to the car.

“Hey,” R stopped him for a moment.

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re pretty good at getting lost,” he said.

Enjolras smirked. “It’s all part of the fun, right?”

#les mis #les mis fic #e/r #courfius #courfeyrac #marius pontmercy #enjolras #grantaire #cosette #eposette #eponine #awi's fic #les amis

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cathygeha · 6 years

Photo

Finding love at Christmas has never been this hot!

A White Hot Christmas by Rene Webb - On sale now for 99cents for a limited time!

Follow the blitz and enter to #win a $25 Amazon Gift Card or one of 5 digital copies of Finding Sunshine by Rene Webb

Enter at: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b050ef29457/?

Title: A White Hot Christmas

Author: Rene Webb

Genre: Contemporary Romance, Christmas

Release Date: September 9, 2014

Length: 142 pages

Format: Digital/Paperback

“How the hell did I get here?” It's Christmas morning, and June Evans is wondering how a solo vacation in search of a white Christmas has led her to having a hot and hard man moving between her trembling thighs. Tom Allen, a mounted police officer, was meant to be spending a quiet holiday with his family, but a freak snowstorm traps him with what he wanted most this year, a chance at love. Keeping warm has never been this hot!

Available at: Amazon

Excerpt One:

Walking towards the stairs, I’m met in the hallway by none other than Rude Hottie himself—who has somehow become even more gorgeous since the last time I saw him.

Today he is wearing a blue plaid flannel shirt under his open jacket, which makes his eyes even brighter than I remember them being. His short hair is messy from sleep, but he smiles, wide-awake and says cheerily, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I say, returning his smile. How could I not, when one look from him has me feeling completely jittery? Must be caffeine withdrawals since I haven’t had my coffee yet this morning. It’s the only sane explanation!

“Ladies first,” he says, indicating that I should descend the stairs in front of him.

I briefly wonder if it’s a ploy to be able to check out my ass on the way down.

I wish!

“Tom,” comes his odd announcement from behind me, which I’m guessing is his name.

Turning, I reply, “June,” and I am greeted by a grin that has me stumbling slightly and my body reacting like it has never done before. Clearly I’m still suffering from jetlag.

When we reach the doorway leading into the dinning room, he’s next to me. Stepping even closer, he whispers, “Mistletoe,” into my ear, and points to the weed hanging above us.

I’m too absorbed with how delicious he smells, like soap and sleepy warmth blended in a perfect masculine scent, to realize the meaning of what he’s saying.

Apparently Rude Hottie—no, Tom—is actually somewhat of a gentleman; although he could’ve completely ignored the tradition, he presses a gentle kiss on my cheek.

I come back to myself just as he begins to pull away. Turning my head, I catch his smiling lips with mine in an all too quick kiss.

“Merry Christmas,” he says, blushing. Then adds sincerely, “I’m sorry about yesterday. Friends?”

“Friends,” I barely breathe out, feeling like an idiot for being so affected by him.

Excerpt Two:

With Mary’s departure, Tom turns to me and inspects the jacket I’ve chosen. After stating it’s exactly what I need, we head towards the shoe department.

We don’t get far before Tom is grabbing my hand and backing me into the nearest dressing room so my back is against the mirror. He kicks the door closed behind him and stalks towards me with a hungry look on his face.

What I think is going to be a hard, possessive kiss is actually the exact opposite. He’s tentative, gentle, and if I had wanted to push him away, I had ample opportunity to. Instead, I weave my fingers into his hair and open up my mouth to further exploration.

We taste each other for several pleasure-filled minutes, until we’re both moaning softly.

Tom pulls away slowly, and we stare at each other. I’m sure our expressions mirror one another. Eyes glassy and hooded with pleasure. Mouths red and swollen from use.

“I’d say I was sorry, but I’m not,” he says hotly into my hair, still pressed tight against me.

“I’m not sorry either,” I say, holding tightly onto the belt loops of his jeans.

“Fuck, you have too many clothes on June Bug,” he says, and I can feel his excitement beginning to dig into my stomach.

I laugh nervously, moving my hands to his back as I say, “So do you, Cowboy.”

Cowboy?

What the fuck?

Where did that come from?

Author Bio:

Rene Webb, a former Catholic schoolgirl and child of the ‘80’s, is a recovering Soap Opera addict who grew up watching General Hospital. She became weary with the relentless drama and sought out stories with happy endings that lasted. Now, Rene is an contemporary romance author, where there is always a happily-ever-after!

A graduate of The George Washington University in Washington DC, 05’, with a BA in History. Rene went on to get her Masters in Film Studies, 09’, from Chapman University, Orange CA.

She founded and runs the book blog Lit. 4 Ladies (a joint venture with her sister) and has self-published both a novella and full-length contemporary romance novel.

Authors such as Jane Austen, Kristen Ashley, Cherise Sinclair, Sierra Cartwright, Donna Fletcher, Jennifer Ashley, and Bianca Giovanni have inspired her. They all create strong female characters, swoon-worthy men, and stories that leave their readers with the hope that you, too, will find your own H.E.A.!

Rene also enjoys reading, baking, seeing movies, going to museums, and spending time with her friends and family.

Rene lives in Arlington, VA.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/GYXh3m8Hrlw

Book Trailer: Direct Link: https://www.youtube. com/watch?time_continue=2&v= GYXh3m8Hrlw

http://www.barclaypublicity.com/

#Rene Webb #Holiday Romance #Barclay Publicity

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hold-my-hair-back · 7 years

Note

"Are you ok in there?" for your OCs

I just posted about these two new OCs of mine. If you want to read that post first. :)

To them, ‘vacationing’ was staying in a beat up motel just three hours from home. However, both Mark and Karleena agreed that any get away was better than nothing. Karlee was taking some time off from running her shop and Mark just needed to get out of the city now that he was allowed to. They agreed on a small town that had a lake they could swim as they both needed to cool off from the July heat.

They were just twenty minutes away from the town when a gas station came into view and Mark pulled into it suddenly. Karlee let out a small noise in surprise as he quickly parked the car. “We’re nearly there,” she pointed out, looking at the GPS she had loaded on her phone.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Mark explained, already opening his door. Karlee nodded slowly, watching him calmly walk into the gas station to get the bathroom key. Despite the fact that he wasn’t acting like anything was wrong, she had a feeling something was. Mark never acted any differently for anything. He was always so cool and collected, something she had learned to get used to while dating him. Besides, she knew he loved her, even if he didn’t express it in sappy ways. Not that she would want that, anyway.

Karlee turned up the radio when a song she loved came on. She closed her eyes and relaxed, listening to it all the way through, singing along contently. When it ended, she turned the radio back down and tuned in and out of the ads as they were on. The music coming back on was something that usually excited her, but this time it only hit her with a realization that Mark had been gone for some time now. Nearly ten minutes. Quickly, Karlee got out of the car and headed over toward the outside bathrooms. She hesitated before knocking, not wanting to embarrass Mark for taking a while. Sometimes it took her more than ten minutes to do her business too.

However, she did knock. When her knock was just met with silence, she frowned. “Are you okay in there?” she called through the door.

More worrying silence. Then, a gruff. “Fine.”

Yeah, she didn’t believe that for a second. Trying the door, she was surprised to see it unlocked. However, seeing Mark crouched in front of the toilet made it less surprising. He had probably been in a hurry. “Oh,” was all she managed to say as she gripped the fabric of her short, Jack Skellington style dress simply due to the fact that she needed to do something. Plus, she was nervous.

“Yeah,” Mark muttered, spitting into the toilet. Karlee risked taking a step closer so she was standing directly behind Mark in the small bathroom. Either he had flushed it already or he hadn’t been sick yet, because the water was clean. Well, as clean as a sketchy bathroom toilet would be.

“Did you throw up?” Karlee asked him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Working on it.” Mark leaned forward with a slight grunt, spitting again. “Something I ate, I guess.”

Karlee had never seen Mark sick before, but she knew from personal experience that after going through withdrawals, the stomach flu or food poisoning didn’t seem nearly as bad. Not that it was a walk in the park, either. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, squeezing Mark’s shoulder. “Do you want me to leave?”

Mark lurched forward again, this time with a harsh gag. He spat into the toilet again, however, the long rope of saliva was thicker and hung from his lips. He shrugged his shoulders to answer her question, and Karlee decided to stay. She knelt beside him on the dirty bathroom floor, putting her hand on his back. “Can’t get it up? You’ve been in here for a long time.”

Mark shrugged again, resting both of his arm draped across the toilet, his other resting on his knee. “It came out of the other end first.”

Karlee winced and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “Good thing we’re planning on staying here for a week. We’ll still have plenty of time to enjoy ourselves after you recover. It sounds like food poisoning. That sucks.”

Mark nodded in agreement, gagging again. “Shouldn’t last long. Never really does with me.”

Karlee sighed, rubbing Mark’s back up and down. She watched as Mark removed his beanie, releasing messy red hair that was dripping in sweat. She took it with her free hand and set it in her lap, still softly comforting him. “I think you have a fever too,” she said softly, resting one hand on his warm forehead.

Mark nodded as he wiped away the long string of saliva with some toilet paper, throwing it into the water. “You’ll probably have to drive the rest of the way.”

“That’s fine.”

Mark gagged again, this one choking off with a small belch. “Thanks, Karlee.”

Karlee nodded slowly, pursing her lips. “You know you don’t have to thank me,” she said softly. “You would do the same for me.”

Mark belched again, this time louder as he leaned his head closer to the toilet. The sound echoed sickeningly in the bowl and Karlee bit her lip, feeling as though Mark would start throwing up very soon. She rubbed his back as he coughed and spit into the toilet, hoping it would be over for him soon, but things were never that simple for the two of them.

One of his harsh coughs turned into a gag which brought up a trickle of pale, but chunky vomit. It was thick and undoubtedly hard to get up. Karlee made a mental note to remind Mark to actually chew his food next time. “Damn,” he panted into the bowl, gagging again.

Karlee quickly wiped his lips with another piece of toilet paper, moving out of the way just in time for more vomit to spill from his lips and nose. Quickly, Mark began to take off his plaid overshirt and Karlee figured he was starting to feel even more overheated. The fever seemed to be getting worse and at this point, a hospital wasn’t out of the question.

“I’ll be fine,” Mark insisted quietly, gagging again, as though he could read her mind. “Withdrawals, remember? This is nothing.”

“I know,” Karlee replied softly, rubbing his back again. “Still sucks, though.”

“No arguments from me.” Mark brought up a trickle of what looked liked bile now. After spitting once again, Mark reached up and flushed his stomach contents down the toilet. With a soft burp, he ran his hands through his sweaty red hair and slowly stood.

Karlee grabbed his hat and shirt, standing up with him. “You can lay down in the back if you’d like. Do you think that would help.”

Mark nodded as Karlee lead the two of them out of the bathroom and towards the car. “Yeah, that would be nice.” Mark kissed Karlee’s cheek before climbing in the backseat and laying down. Karlee turned on the air conditioning full blast and began to head to the motel.

Their vacation wasn’t beginning as well as planned, but Karlee knew that just getting away with Mark would make it great. Besides, she had no problem helping him through the illness that had suddenly struck him. She knew he would do the same for her. She looked back at his sleeping form in the rearview mirror, smiling warmly. Yes, this would still be a good vacation.

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fireflysummers · 7 years

Photo

REMEDIATION

Sequel to Retribution

Teru was declared Not Guilty, and taken under Reigen’s wing.

But not everybody is as forgiving.

I know that @silvensei already wrote a lovely follow-up to Retribution, but the lovely thing about AUs is that there is an infinite number of ways that this could go down.

This is just another version.

Since I head-canoned that this entire thing happened while Reigen was still recovering from pneumonia, I figured he broke out of the hospital to go rescue Teru. They both wound up in the hospital a little worse for the wear as a result.

@phantomrose96, @sandflakedraws, you two are to blame for this I hope you know.

AO3

CHIASMUS: || PART 1 || Part 2 ||

BLOG || ART || COMMISSIONS

Teru hates the hospital. Hates the sharp smell of disinfectants and falsely upbeat doctors and nurses. Hates being confined to a bed, even after he knows that he could stand up and leave.

And he could. It would be painful, but he’s walked off worse before. (Or so he tells himself.)

But leaving now would get Reigen in trouble, and Teru can’t do that. Not after the price the man had paid to get him here, alive and in one piece.

Eyes closed, Teru hears the door to his room open and close quietly, somebody shuffling in. Not the police, he notes. They always announced their presence, carrying the demeanor of the uniform regardless of whether they wore one. They had come twice already asking questions he refused to answer, a man and woman with a surprisingly kindly demeanor, even if the man looked like he drank too much coffee.

Not Reigen either. The man generally couldn’t be subtle even when he wanted to be. He isn’t sure if his master had been released from the round-the-clock watch on another floor of the hospital, after jeopardizing his health trying to rescue Teru.

His visitor is watching, clearly thinking he’s asleep, and Teru is already bored of this guessing game. He’s still too muddled to think of anybody else who could possibly want to visit.

He turns his head and opens his eyes a crack, only to feel his heart jump into his throat at the sight of a familiar silhouette--a boy in a dark uniform, glowering at him beneath a mop of messy black hair.

They stay that way for almost a minute. Teru isn’t sure what they’re waiting for, but is grateful for the chance to quell the involuntary panic constructing in his already-broken chest.

“So...” he manages when he can no longer take the silence. “Here to finish the job? Or did you miss me that much?”

“Shut up.” The boy’s gaze darkens, and Teru can hear his heartbeat speeding up on the monitor that he’s hooked up to.

“What do you want?” Teru hears himself saying. He’s suddenly tired, and he swears he can feel every bruise and every cracked bone aching in tandem. If somebody’s here to finish the job, he’d rather get it over with.

“You haven’t told the police,” the boy says quietly, unable to mask a degree of fear and...curiosity.

Ah. So that’s what this was about.

“Not really, no.” Teru finds boredom settling in again, turns his head to face the light flitting in through the window.

“Why not?” Silence. “I almost killed you. Why didn’t you tell anybody.”

“You sound like you wanted me to,” replies Teru, his voice coming more as a sigh than anything. “I understand, you know.”

“You don’t understand anything,” hisses the boy, “We’re nothing alike.”

“Probably not. After all, you stopped before it was too late.” Teru shrugs, even the tiny movement sending a jolt of pain through his torso. “But I get it, I do. I know what it feels like, for the world has to be unfairly forgiving of you, and you know that one day it’ll catch up to you. And then when it doesn’t come, you start looking for it because it’s better than just...waiting.”

"Shut up!” This time the words are full of anguish, gives Teru just a half second to brace himself for the blow. It takes him in the jaw, on top of some older bruising that’s begun healing.

“I don’t care what happens to me anymore.” The voice is raw, more than even their last encounter in the alley. “I don’t care as long as somebody like you stops existing.”

There are still stars dancing in front of Teru’s eyes, but he becomes vaguely aware that despite the hands bunched in his hospital gown, the boy is staunchly refusing to call on his psychic powers.

How ironic, Teru thinks as he involuntarily flinches against an oncoming blow.

It doesn’t land.

“What.” His attacker takes in a ragged breath, suddenly stuttering over the words. “What the is this.”

The hand at his collarbone doesn’t release its grip, but Teru can feel it shaking. Slowly, he opens his eyes, to see a soft blue-green light swirling just under his nose, obscuring his vision just slightly.

Slowly, Teru feels himself being released, allowed to fall back onto the upraised hospital bed. Those hands instead reach, trembling, towards the specter that floats between them, the spirit apparently just as shocked as anybody in the room. For a moment, he’s worried that the other will try to exorcise Mob, but the thought is dashed as the sight of tears forming in wide, pained eyes.

“Brother?” he hears the boy whisper, “Brother, is that you?”

Mob hovers a moment, communicating without words his own disbelief at the situation. His hesitation doesn’t last long, as he leans forward, letting his face rest gently against his brother’s outstretched hands.

The younger brother lets out an almost inhuman sound, somewhere between a sob and a cry, and pulls the ethereal form of his lost brother into his arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Teru hears the younger boy sob. “I’ve missed you so much. Why didn’t you come find me?”

“I think he did, for a while,” Teru says, feeling a sudden duty to act as the voice and defense Mob’s decisions, “But he’s also been looking after Reigen. And...and me.”

Teru’s voice stutters to a halt, the shame and guilt springing up again anew. He looks away, suddenly feeling too dirty to even be witness to the scene before him.

Mob, however, is pulling away from his younger brother, shoulders hunched and large white eyes narrowed. He pantomimes at his brother, then at Teru with a look of indignation.

“I...ah...” Teru says, “Didn’t tell him. About us running into each other. I didn’t want him to know.”

“I’m sorry,” the younger says softly, although Teru suspects that he’s only really sorry for upsetting and disappointing his brother. “I didn’t know what else to do, brother. All my life I’ve wanted to be like you. And then suddenly, when you weren’t there, my powers awakened. I thought...” his voice cracks and the tears start running again. “I thought there must be a reason for them to come now. That maybe this was your way of telling me what I’m supposed to do now.”

“Because I don’t know what to do anymore, brother. I’m scared to imagine a full life without you. I was an awful brother...no, no don’t look at that way. I always acted the part of the good brother, and you never knew how jealous I was of you. And now you’re gone and...I don’t know. I don’t know I’m sorry.”

Mob takes his brother’s face in his translucent hands, very gently leaning forward to touch his forehead. They stay like that for several seconds before Mob breaks contact, instead guiding his brother’s hand up, towards where Teru watches in silence.

“No.” He withdraws as though burned. “I can’t, brother. I’m sorry, I know you want this. But...but, I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Teru says, before Mob can interject. “I can’t either.”

The boy doesn’t raise his eyes to meet Teru’s, which is fine by him.

“I did something unforgivable,” Teru says, “I could try my whole life and never redeem myself. If I go to hell for what I’ve done, it’s no more than I deserve.”

“But...it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been given some sort of second chance. So...even if there’s no redemption for me, I still want to take it. Because your brother wanted nothing more than to save people, and since I took that from him...I swore I’d give the rest of my life trying to do it for him.”

The younger brother says nothing for a moment, and then rises to his feet. His movements are stiff, almost robotic, as he heads towards the door. Mob trails after him, worry reading in his movements. He pauses, hand on the handle, shoulders tight.

"I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done,” he says at length, hatred still seething at the edges of his words, “But I want to understand why my brother has.”

Another pause.

“Ritsu. My name is Kageyama Ritsu.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Teru alone to his stunned silence.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #mp 100 #kageyama shigeo #kageyama ritsu #hanazawa teruki #hands that do no harm #my doodles #my fanfiction

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