Dangerous Addiction
Buy me a popcorn
Plot: After an accident during an interrogation, reader struggles not to fall back into her old addiction. She finds out how thanks to her soulmates.
Wandanat x Bioquake x Bobbi x reader (Soulmates!au) [Wanda x Natasha x Daisy x Jemma x Bobbi x reader]
TW: alcoholism, panic attacks, addiction.
Many people say that silence is the most deafening noise, more than any other noise; even more than the sound of a mine being blasted to collect the precious minerals it contains. And now, in the utter silence surrounding the room, as you sit in one of the chairs by the kitchen table, looking down at the still intact bottle of vodka, you realise that those people are right.
It is 3:45 a.m. on a dull Saturday morning, and that boy's face, imprinted in your mind, has kept you from sleeping and, at the same time, led you to open that bus locker that Jemma had diligently locked immediately after learning of your "not so little" problem.
In your world, each person has tattooed on his or her body the first words their soulmate will utter when they first meet.
You have to admit that, in the unfortunate and violent family in which you found yourself growing up, due to some abominable flaw in the system, having five different phrases tattooed on your back was no big deal. Two soulmates was abnormal enough, but five? Inconceivable, and Mark, your stepfather, had reminded you of that again and again until, one beautiful day, he had died of a heart attack. Of course, the moment he had keeled over in front of you, you had definitely not run for help...And then they say karma doesn't exist.
Bobbi was the first, of the five mysterious soulmates, that you met and fell madly in love with. It was Bobbi who got you into S.H.I.E.L.D., shortly after recruiting Daisy (at the time Skye), and giving a face, finally, to two of the people whose words she had tattooed on her right forearm.
I want to be your sponsor, I want you to get better.
It was Bobbi who helped you out of the vortex that had engulfed you, helping to what is now about to be six whole years of sobriety. Six years in which not one little drop of your trusty friend alcohol entered your stomach. She became your sponsor, stayed with you night and day, held you close as you puked your soul out in the filthy bathroom of a bar at five in the morning and whispered harsh words to you when you told her you wanted to quit. You don't know where you would be without her. In fact, you don't know where you would be without all of them. Jemma, Bobbi, Daisy, Wanda and Natasha are your rock and always will be. But today, today you need to forget and they may be your rock but, unfortunately, they have far too many demons to face and yours you may as well keep to yourself.
With a knot in your stomach and nausea, you uncork the bottle. The pungent smell of vodka burns your sinuses as you carefully place the bottle cap on the counter. The concave end facing down, just as you did at the bar. Your fingers clench around the thinnest part, the contact of your skin with the cold glass makes you shiver, and for a moment, for just a single instant, you think you don't want to throw away those six long years of sacrifice, and then...then that boy's face hits you like a slap in the face. In fact, the slap would hurt much less.
He was just a boy, a young soldier molded by Hydra who had killed himself to give in during your interrogation. You had been harsh and too slow to stop him, you had not stopped him and he had broken his right cheekbone, causing the small cyanide capsule placed right there, below the surface, to rupture. That guy was walking around with a time bomb embedded between his eye and nose and he had done it voluntarily and killed himself with that same bomb. He had killed himself in front of you, his name was Gideon and he had just turned nineteen. And he was dead, he was dead because you were not focused enough, because you were the one who pushed him to do it and now he was gone. He should have had his whole life ahead of him, he had only been subjugated but now...now there is no possibility of redemption for him.
"What are you doing?"
The sound is so sudden and unexpected that he lets go of the bottle and it shatters on the floor of the bus. The plane continues on its course, as if nothing had happened. How fascinating the machines are, so emotionally numbing and indispensable at the same time.
Bobbi approaches slowly, as if afraid to scare you. Your hair is ruffled and your look is a mix of worry and weariness at the same time. You swallow, beginning to shake your head and fall to your knees, repeating the words I'm sorry and sorry as you fiercely pick up the pieces of glass from the bottle.
"Stop or you will get hurt."
The blond girl doesn't even have time to utter those words that a piece of glass sticks into your hand and causes a deep cut that begins to bleed profusely. You don't notice and Bobbi is fucking terrified of this. You don't feel the pain and, on the contrary, you continue cleaning frantically, as if nothing is wrong. Maybe you too have become a machine, emotionally numb. Damn, how you wish it; to feel no more pain -- isn't that the human dilemma?
Bobbi snaps forward, tired of seeing you hurt again and again, and grips your wrists with her hands to stop you; it works. You suddenly freeze, avoiding eye contact and uttering no words. Bobbi doesn't let you out of her sight for a minute as she gets up to get a rag to dab the wound and stop the bleeding. You stay for about ten minutes like this, in silence, while Bobbi bandages your wound by applying two stitches for 'safety.' She bandages your hand but, once she is done, she does not move away, contrary to what you expected. Instead, she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and causes your gazes to cross before breaking the silence.
"Would you like to tell me what happened?"
You always said that Bobbi, as an alternative to super badass spy, might as well have been a psychologist (as well as a model, of course). Her tone, in fact, is just what a person would expect to hear from a psychologist; gentle but detached. In a warm but cool lucidity of action. To the art of weighing words that only Bobbi is capable of and in which she is first even to Jemma. When she notices that you have no intention of responding, her hand quickly finds your leg.
"Have you been drinking?"
You bite your lip, slowly shaking your head.
A small smile ripples her lips as she leans toward you to place a kiss on your forehead.
"Well, well...you've been a good rock star."
Bobbi rests her forehead against yours, caressing your cheeks as if you were the most precious thing in the world.
"We're both tired and need sleep, you especially. I'm not dropping the subject and it's definitely something we'll discuss in the morning but until then, until then we'll go to bed with the others. And I don't want to hear y/n objections."
You follow her, whatever she wants, you'll give it to her. You owe it to her after the shit you were going to do tonight; not that you wouldn't have done it, going back. But now, now it's a thought that will have to be put off until morning. Bobbi tucks you in and wraps her arms around your sides, hugging you from behind. Your nose breathes in Daisy's lavender scent and Wanda's vanilla scent while Nat's faint snoring and Jemma's reclaimed words accompany you into the world of Morpheus.
...................................................................................
As soon as you wake up, the weight of the likely conversation you'll have to have with your soul mates is felt more than you'd like. And if you already hate having to get up on other days, today is even more difficult. You get out of bed and walk down the hallway with the same agony as a condemned man heading for the gallows. No, a condemned man is better off than you. At least he has the consolation of death; you, on the other hand, have only the certainty of a scolding from your girls.
It is barely 10 a.m. and your girls' voices echo in the narrow, cold hallway leading to the kitchen. As soon as your head peeps through the door, all the voices fall silent.
"Hey..."
Your stomach twists as you sit in the only vacant chair left. Wanda is at the stove, Natasha is behind her, trying to give her a hand even though you all know the Russian spy is anything but a good cook. You don't look at them, not brave enough to let your gazes cross. In fact, you find it much more interesting to play with the bandage Bobbi had wrapped around your hand a few hours earlier.
"What the fuck were you thinking? Were you going to flush six years down the toilet?"
"Daisy!"
The biochemist gives the inhuman a shove but the latter ignores it, moving closer to you and crossing her arms under her breasts. You're not looking at her but you can still feel her look of disapproval and anger pierce your body.
You sigh, poking at the bandage with your fingers before fingers tighten on your wrist, stopping you.
"It's okay detka, we just want to know what's going on."
The sokovian's tapered, cold fingers trace the edges of the slightly bloody bandage.
Thin, cold fingers force your chin up, and your eyes settle on Natasha.
"Malyshka, we are worried about you, all of us are." The black widow freezes for a few moments, casting a glance at Daisy before continuing, "Bobbi told us what happened, told us about the bottle."
"We can't help you if you don't tell us what's on your mind, love" The biochemist caresses your face, her eyes lingering on the wound and the doctor arches her right eyebrow, turning to Bobbi to ask for an explanation but before the blonde can speak and relate the trance-like, self-harming moment you had the night before to your soulmates, you speak.
"I'm sorry. I took the bottle, it's true, but I didn't drink a drop. I swear."
"But you thought about it, you took it because you wanted to, if Bobbi hadn't woken up you-"
Daisy gestures across from you, her gaze furious but not hiding the concern behind her eyes and the slight tremor of her hands and the metal slab under your feet.
"Dee, you need to calm down," Natasha whispers, her lips graze the Inhuman's cheek and the shaking ceases.
You sigh, disentangle yourself from their touches and stand up, moving away from them. You lean your back against the wall, cross your arms under your breasts and look at them. You look at Bobbi, Natalia, Wanda, Jemma, and Daisy -- all your soul mates stand around the chair you were sitting in just moments before.
"Y/n..."
"That boy died because of me, his body is still in the fucking interrogation room. He was young, younger than you Dee, damn it!"
Your breathing becomes frantic and heavy; your chest starts rising and falling so fast you think you might break your ribs given the speed of your breaths.
"Detka, detka breathe."
Wanda tries to move closer but you curl up on the floor, your head between your knees as your body shakes, out of control.
"Honey, y/n, you need to slow your breathing. In and out, come on honey, come on."
The biochemist kneels in front of you, reaches out her hands to your trembling body but hesitates whether to comfort you physically or not. She is afraid that touching you will only make your panic attack worse.
You shake your head, angry tears streaking your face as you stand up in a daze.
"I thought I could do it, I thought I was strong enough but I'm not. I need it, I fucking need it, I need to ease the pain..."
Your words are those of a junkie, an addict, a desperate man who is looking for his daily fix; that's how you feel, in the grip of emotions you know you cannot control. Your six years sober seem ephemeral, volatile, futile...they were not years of sacrifice but of suffering, far from your personal drug, far from your old friend. Your eyes anxiously scan the kitchen, looking for the bottle from the night before.
"I emptied it down the drain." Bobbi says, whose steady but concerned gaze crosses yours, "You can do it rockstar, it's another hard time but we'll get through it together. Just like the last six years."
Your breathing is slower now. Not because of what Bobbi said but because of the feeling of relief you feel at even the thought of drinking alcohol and enjoying, once again, its effects.
"You're right Bobs, thank you."
You effort a smile, lying through your teeth but, at the same time, using your spy skills to try to convince the women in front of you.
Surprisingly, they seem to believe you; you doubt that you have been convincing to such an extent, you simply believe that they want to convince themselves that they don't have to worry about your addiction again. Wanda's telepathy is strictly forbidden in your relationship unless it is absolutely necessary so the only stumbling block, to notice by her look, is Daisy.
"You won't fool us like that, y/n. I want to fucking believe you, I want to so badly but I know I can't."
"Dee, don't-"
"I'm tired of your bullshit! It hurts to see a person you love kill themselves with their own fucking hands. Can't you see that he's going to kill you? How can you not see that? Before Bobbi found you, our tattoos with your phrases were burning every fucking time that shit entered your body!"
The quinjet begins to shake but, this time, no one says anything. Bobbi, Wanda, Natasha, and Jemma remain silent as they watch the confrontation.
You sigh, defeated. Her words hurt but you know they represent the truth, unfortunately. You didn't know it hurt them physically, though. In all those years, none of them had deigned to tell you. You don’t know whether to be happy about it.
"You're right, I have no intention of not having a drink right now, and I know it hurts you to know that, I know it destroys you to see me like this because if one of you were to feel what I feel right now--" your voice cracks, your gaze drops, "I don't think I'd be strong enough to take it."
You approach Daisy, and the instant you rest your forehead against hers and caress her wrists, the plane stops shaking. You wipe a tear from her cheek and place a kiss on the tip of her nose, making her smile.Within seconds, the other girls pull you into a tight hug. It is interesting how strong the bond with a soul mate is; physical contact can soothe any kind of worry and anxiety. Not an addiction though, given what you have been able to discover over the years.
After a few moments of silence, Bobbi decides to speak.
"When was the last time you went to AA, rock star?"
You sigh, closing your eyes for a few brief moments. You knew they would ask you, you knew Bobbi - especially - would. After all, she is still your sponsor despite the fact that you are in a relationship. Soul mates...what complex beings.
"More than six months, since we started air missions."
"Detka..."
"Malyshka, that's really a long time."
"Honey, you know you have to go to the meetings. They're to make sure you don't fall back into addiction, non-"
You shake your head, stopping Jemma and curling up a bit more in Daisy's arms.
"I...I was fine, really. I swear to you, I was fine. But that boy....that boy might as well have been one of you. Wands, Dee, if S.H.I.E.L.D. and Nat, the Avengers, hadn't found you when they did...you might as well have been in that fucking sack, locked between those four metal walls."
A sob shakes your chest, then another, until tears begin to line your cheeks profusely, soaking Daisy's Metallica T-shirt.
"I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to...I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"Shh, it's okay. It'll be okay rockstar, it'll be okay."
Bobbi tightens her grip on you, her long fingers drawing reassuring circles on your back as you vent your emotions in your soulmates arms.
This time, however, your breathing does not seem to calm. The fear of hurting them and the certainty that you have hurt them in the past only worsens your condition; your vision begins to blur and the last thing you are aware of, are their worried looks and red encircled fingers moving over your temples.
"Breathe, detka."
……………………………………………………………………
"Y/n? Honey, open your eyes, Can you hear me? Come on, honey. Open your eyes."
Jemma's gentle but concerned voice rouses you from your stupor; you blink rapidly, trying to get used to the light from the medical capsule and the light from the annoying flashlight Jemma is shining directly into your eyes.
"Auch, Jem."
You slip out of the clutches of that infernal contraption, causing the biochemist to roll her eyes and let out a sigh of frustration.
"I don't understand why out of five at least three of my soul mates are impossible as patients."
"Hey!"
"Oh come on, I'm not even as slow as the two of them," the Russian shakes her head with conviction, poorly concealing a smile when Daisy elbows her in the ribs.
"See, they are children. Spies and superheroines...sure, right."
Wanda laughs, seeing Jemma get irritated at their behavior and approaches the biochemist, hugging her from behind. The English girl visibly relaxes, letting her arms cradle her.
"How are you feeling, rock star? You gave us quite a scare."
Bobbi leans over you, leaving a kiss on your lips.
"I'm fine. I...I don't really remember what happened, actually."
"You had a major panic attack and even Wanda couldn't calm you down." You nod, bite your lip, and then whisper weak apologies as you play with the sheet of the crib on which they laid you down.
"It's okay detka, it's okay."
Wanda smiles but you can tell from her look that she is hiding something.
"I got in touch with the Jack, the director of the old AA group you used to go to in New York."
"Bobbi, I told you, I-"
"You wanted to drink malyshka, you told us. We're doing this for your sake."
"Nat, come on. We all have little relapses, that doesn't mean-"
"And you're off the missions for a while, just to get you back on track. Doctor's orders, honey."
"What? Jemma...tell me you're kidding, you guys can't-"
"We won't risk finding you in an alcoholic coma again!"
Daisy blurts out, no longer putting up with your constant excuses. Her statement makes you all blink; you lick your lips, nodding and leaning back against the pillow behind you.
You don't agree, of course, but if it will make them feel even a little better then maybe you can make an effort and be good, at least for a while.
"All right, fine, I will do what you asked. I will go to the meetings and not participate in the missions but only for two months, not a day more. What do you say?"
They would like to protest, you see it in their eyes but, in tacit group assent, they decide that even just your predisposition to let them help you is enough, at least for now.
You spread your arms wide, smiling and inviting them to curl up on the tiny crib that, after a few seconds, you discover is capable of supporting the weight of six grown women.
"Oh by the way, we told Maria what happened, she wasn't too happy that her best friend didn't tell her anything, rock star."
Fuck.
Heyy, thank you so much for reading! How are you? Anyway, requests are always open. Here is my ko-fi (buy me a pop-corn, if you want) and, just to share some news: I’m working in a cinema! That’s my 7th month :)
Have a great day!
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