#”We have been swapping out for Years and you never noticed how blind”

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 308

Honestly, Damian is so disappointed in his father right now. And his so-called siblings. The friends allies he had made over the years and he had been swapping multiple times, and still they hadn’t realized. Danyal was as pale as a corpse, closer to Drake for Pit’s sake! Jordan had red eyes! Elena was a girl! Respawn had white hair! Surely someone noticed- thank fuck, hello Todd, no he’s not on patrol, listen, listen, he needs you to know that Father? Blind. An idiot! The others more so! Yes yes, they’ve been doing their single-person trick, but surely someone should have caught on yes? And they haven’t- Oh? What a wonderful idea Akhi, he shall inform the others of this idea, the Lazarus waters do make dna testing quite hard to do. 

[lililovesthings]

How did I miss this??? (Part 2)

Now previously I said that I think these two have been together (and I mean TOGETHER together) for a very long time.

I have had some more thoughts/theories...they just keep coming and to be honest I'm not even sure where to start but I'll give it a go.

I do not expect anyone to read this but in all honesty, I just need to get it out. This has been going round in my head for a few days whilst I attempt to form it into a path of logical reasoning. I think I am there and there are holes but hopefully you lot can help me fill them in. So, get comfy, we might be here a while…

Assuming the meeting in Rome was a date...they have been doing this for a long time. Now at first they were extremely careful but over the centuries they became a little more brazen with being seen in public together, knowing what they could get away with. Again, nothing too obvious.

Now, many have been talking about the bookshop as a metaphor for Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship, but I think it's more than that. I shall explain:

Before I get into it, a few pieces of information that are relatively common knowledge and/or I have come across in my daily browsing (I can’t find where I saw all of them, so anyone please help):

Neil Gaiman has said that the scenes we see between Aziraphale and Crowley aren’t all the times they’ve met. This is just the meetings we see – which is understandable considering they’ve been on the planet for 6000 years.

Zira and Crowley evidently have some form of connection or awareness to their respective head offices. Even going so far as to know when they are being watched (S1, EP 6) just before they swap back.

We can all agree that there is almost nothing that is not there for a reason; details, easter eggs, acting choices, props, set etc.

We also know that the story is pretty much plotted out so it stands to reason that there will be a few story threads that go through all episodes, however subtly.

OK. So.

Aziraphale bought the bookshop in the 1700s, up until then where did they hang out? I'm thinking they were using the various 'rendezvous points' anyway regardless, we know Crowley has a flat but we also know that hell has a sort of direct line to it.

Anywhere is very open and somewhere they can be watched. Celestials have materialized inside the car, on the street, in the flat, even on the TV. The only place they never seem to materialize? The bookshop. Even Metatron came in through the front door (when he isn't a floating head summoned through a portal). note it has no TV and no radio if I remember. The only time any demons have materialised is at the end when Gabriel got his memories back. I believe that's because the demons were "invited" in earlier on.

Here's my point. The bookshop is their safe place, it's THEIR space. Remember we don't see everything, we haven't seen everything. Every time we see them, they are in a public place, with someone watching or in the bookshop...with the curtains open. And remember, they KNOW when they're being watched.

Allow me to draw your attention to Season 2, Episode 1. Crowley is already on the way to the bookshop when Zira calls him, and when they meet in the coffee shop he is rather confused as to why they aren't in the bookshop. (Then of course we have the whole naked man friend fiasco and Crowley's reaction to that...)

When they do go to the bookshop I noticed Crowley DOES NOT EVEN QUESTION WHY ZIRA IS CLOSING THE BLINDS. He has no idea Gabriel is there, (he just knows something about a naked man, which is another conversation). Now this suggests to me that this is something that is done often.

They go into the bookshop and have their 'us time'.

This also helps this make sense:

All lovers meetings would be in the bookshop. That was their space. Alone. Where no one was watching.

Now you may be thinking “We’ve seen them alone in the bookshop before when no one was watching and they weren’t behaving like a couple.” But someone was watching. WE were watching. And as we’ve established g-d only shows us what she wants us to see. She is telling the story.

I also think they have gotten so good at pretending in public that they have developed a code of sorts. For example, I think 'Breakfast/dinner at the Ritz' means something totally different.

They care for each other so deeply that they cannot stand putting each other in harms way.

They are celestial beings so their idea of love and relationships is something that is totally different and beyond the understanding of humans.

They saw Beelzebub and Gabriel be together openly in front of everyone and Zira grabbed Crowley’s arm. To me that is a very ‘familiar’ gesture. It’s saying ‘Look, they’re doing it. We can do that too.’ He then proceeds to look at Crowley with such loving adoration as if he cannot see any reason that they can’t be together openly and honestly.

Aziraphale then goes to coffee with Metatron whilst Crowley waits in the bookshop and tidies up. There is something strange about this. Throughout the time he is taking care of the bookshop whilst Zira is in Scotland, we see him chucking books all over the place. Even at the end we see him chuck a tray of food on the chair. So why is he tidying up now? – he tidies up because they are going to USE it.

He says, they are going to an ‘Extremely alcoholic breakfast at the Ritz.’ So if they are not going to be at the bookshop, why would it matter if Muriel is there or if it’s tidy? They do need US time. It’s a euphemism, it’s code. “Breakfast at the Ritz”, “I’ll give you a lift”, “Waiting inside”.

This is why it shocks Crowley so much when Nina thinks they’re a couple. They think they have been hiding it so well for a VERY long time and he can’t believe that someone has thought that for real. Yes we have all done it and been on the receiving end when someone thinks you’re a couple and you aren’t, it happens. But Nina just flat out refuses to believe that they’re not.

That is when Crowley goes to the winebar. Zira asks him why he isn’t ‘waiting inside’ “You like waiting inside.” As in “We never have a date in public, they can see us.” Then Crowley explains it’s because Jim is in the bookshop but in reality it’s probably partly because he’s realised that they haven’t hidden it as well as they thought they did, so they may as well sit there.

That reaction when Shax says to Zira, that hes not Crowley’s type? Seriously, that is a very much a “That’s what you think.” look.

We are a group of the two of us and we’ve spent our existence pretending that we aren’t. – They really were pretending. He wasn’t talking about being in denial about their feelings for one another, he was literally saying they were PRETENDING not to be together. Now he wants everyone to know. He doesn't want to pretend anymore.

He thought Zira felt the same way until he told him about the whole 'going back to heaven' situation. Not sure how it would have gone if Crowley spoke first.

Aziraphale did not seem shocked by Crowley's confession. He already knows. What he doesn't understand is why he doesn't want to go to heaven.

Zira still believes in the fundamental goodness of heaven because he has nothing to compare it to. Crowley has been on both sides and knows they are both as bad as each other “Life on earth would be just as dead, if heaven ended it.” That’s is why Crowley wants so stay on earth or go away with Zira.

Zira wants to go with Crowley to heaven because as others have pointed out, that’s where he believes they will have the best life and be able to be together. Crowley knows different, he was cast out into a pool of boiling sulphur just for asking questions. So he walks away and says ‘good luck’. Zira has not had the same experience of heaven Crowley has, Crowley has experienced the worst of the universe on both sides and can’t live like that anymore.

So "You can't leave this bookshop" yes, indeed, as we have established means "Don't leave US."

We could have been ‘US’. But Aziraphale won’t see it. So Crowley does the only thing he can think of and kiss the love of his entire existence. Whilst they are being watched. That is why Aziraphale says ‘I forgive you’. It isn’t just an ‘I love you’ it’s an ‘I forgive you for telling them our secret.’ I forgive you for trying to change my mind.

More in Part 3...

[halothenthehorns]

Chapter 8: I MAKE A DANGEROUS PROMISE

"Define dangerous?" Alex tapped critically upon her chin, not noticing Nico's uneasy wince as she studied Magnus reading the new chapter title. "A swear upon the river stakes? A dare? You don't have to bathe a cat do you?"

"Her mind went from life or death, truth or dare, to cats." Percy gestured like they'd missed this. "Why are my thoughts being analyzed here?"

"If we could switch points of view we would," Thalia sighed.

"I've always been more partial to charades as far as games," Rachel grinned back.

"Oh, I own that game!" Alex beamed and was clearly only a breath away from challenging her now.

As much fun as that would be for all of them to see, Magnus reluctantly turned to the book when Jason pressed his palms together and begged him to keep reading.

Will didn't disagree, but he was getting worried about Nico again as he had his eyes trained on the ever-growing cracks on the ground. They could easily fit a shoe in one now, any larger and they were all in danger of falling into the unknown surface below anytime they got up to get a snack or use the bathroom.

If Percy lost it one more time, Nico might risk shadow traveling down one of those. This was probably the longest he'd been anywhere, since those first days at camp.

This would be the day he'd said goodbye to his sister, if he had at all.

And there was nothing in the world Will could do about it to make that better. Especially if Nico didn't want anybody to be there for him.

Blackjack gave me a ride down the beach, and I have to admit it was cool. Being on a flying horse, skimming over the waves at a hundred miles an hour with the wind in my hair and the sea spray in my face—hey, it beats waterskiing any day.

"You get to do the coolest things!" Jason was wiggling in his seat like a kid about to ride his first roller coaster. Thalia looked a little green, he looked so like that toddler... but they imagined it was because she didn't go near the ocean much, considering her dad.

"I'll be happy to race you when we get back," Percy proudly agreed, "but be warned, Blackjack's pretty unbeatable."

Jason's face lit with challenge, there was the smallest moment where the ocean breeze ruffled up his straight blonde hair that made Percy look at his own hands in confusion if he'd done that before Magnus cut in, "I call winner!" Then grandly kept reading so they didn't have to wait a whole year to get to that.

Here. Blackjack slowed and turned in a circle. Straight down.

"Thanks." I tumbled off his back and plunged into the icy sea.

I'd gotten more comfortable doing stunts like that the past couple of years. I could pretty much move however I wanted to underwater,

Percy glowered at the water surrounding him now in betrayal. Whatever Oceanus had done to take that way, he clearly took it personally.

The others sort of did too, because it would have been nice if he'd taken all, or nothing.

just by willing the ocean currents to change around me and propel me along, I could breathe underwater, no problem, and my clothes never got wet unless I wanted them to.

I shot down into the darkness.

Twenty, thirty, forty feet. The pressure wasn't uncomfortable. I'd never tried to push it—to see if there was a limit to how deep I could dive. I knew most regular humans couldn't go past two hundred feet without crumpling like an aluminum can. I should've been blind, too, this deep in the water at night, but I could see the heat from living forms, and the cold of the currents. It's hard to describe. It wasn't like regular seeing, but I could tell where everything was.

As I got closer to the bottom, I saw three hippocampi—

"Is Rainbow and the gang back?" Magnus asked brightly, looking all around the room as if still hoping one would pop up now.

"Did they bring Tyson?" Alex asked just as eagerly, though she well knew he probably wouldn't sneak out of the forges. Man she needed to meet that guy and instill a little fun in him as they swapped design techniques.

"I don't think it's the exact same ones as before, and no," Percy seemed just as disappointed as them. As miserable as he was around camp, it would have been nice to see a familiar face like his brother around if he just dipped into Long Island sound.

fish-tailed horses—swimming in a circle around an overturned boat. The hippocampi were beautiful to watch. Their fish tails shimmered in rainbow colors, glowing phosphorescent. Their manes were white, and they were galloping through the water the way nervous horses do in a thunderstorm.

Magnus's voice was pure longing as he read that. It was something that no matter how many times it was described, he knew he'd still have his breath taken away when he saw them in person.

Something was upsetting them.

I got closer and saw the problem. A dark shape—some kind of animal—was wedged halfway under the boat and tangled in a fishing net, one of those big nets they use on trawlers to catch everything at once. I hated those things. It was bad enough they drowned porpoises and dolphins, but they also occasionally caught mythological animals. When the nets got tangled, some lazy fishermen would just cut them loose and let the trapped animals die.

"Where's Artemis when you need her," Percy scowled, "I bet these fishermen wouldn't pull any more stunts like these if they were jackalopes."

"Poseidon doesn't take kindly to them either, they never give proper sacrifices before being so awful to his creatures," Thalia agreed.

Apparently this poor creature had been mucking around on the bottom of Long Island Sound and had somehow gotten itself tangled in the net of this sunken fishing boat. It had tried to get out and managed to get even more hopelessly stuck, shifting the boat in the process. Now the wreckage of the hull, which was resting against a big rock, was teetering and threatening to collapse on top of the tangled animal.

"I've never heard a better reason to get up at 5 am, not even donuts," Percy said without regret now.

"Baby animals, water skiing at sunrise, you sound like you're living a millionaires life," Will grinned.

The hippocampi were swimming around frantically, wanting to help but not sure how.

One was trying to chew the net, but hippocampi teeth just aren't meant for cutting rope.

"Is there a specific set of animal teeth for that?" Jason grinned.

"My money wouldn't be on a herbivore," Alex shrugged.

Hippocampi are really strong, but they don't have hands, and they're not (shhh) all that smart.

"We'll take your secret to the grave Percy," Rachel chuckled.

Free it, lord! A hippocampus said when it saw me. The others joined in, asking the same thing.

I swam in for a closer look at the tangled creature. At first I thought it was a young hippocampus. I'd rescued several of them before. But then I heard a strange sound, something that did not belong underwater:

"Mooooooo!"

"The cow?" Alex did a double take, once again leaning closer than ever over Magnus's shoulder, obscuring the book with her green hair to get a look.

"Well I didn't say mew, did I?" Magnus agreed as he spat a bit out and nudged her playfully back away. She just leaned right back in and he kept going with a smile for this strange habit of hers.

I got next to the thing and saw that it was a cow.

"Ten points, to Alex learning her animal noises," Jason agreed with the same strange look on his face.

Even those in the know Percy had just stumbled across the ophiotaurus like this were slightly taken aback at the randomness of it all and looked appropriately confused.

I mean... I'd heard of sea cows, like manatees and stuff, but this really was a cow with the back end of a serpent. The front half was a calf—a baby, with black fur and big, sad brown eyes and a white muzzle—and its back half was a black-and-brown snaky tail with fins running down the top and bottom, like an enormous eel.

"Naww," Will couldn't help but coo. So long as the snake half didn't wiggle about to much, he liked to think he'd give Bessie a little scratch on the ears.

"Was Poseidon having fun with his doodles and one came to life?" Rachel grinned at the little baby she'd never seen. It was a great description to start her own outline.

"The first cow Percy's met who hasn't tried to kill him," Alex helpfully reminded as she mentally sculpted the cutie.

"Whoa, little one," I said. "Where did you come from?"

The creature looked at me sadly. "Moooo!"

But I couldn't understand its thoughts. I only speak horse.

"I'm sure there's an app for that," Thalia chuckled, "maybe your dad can download the rest of the sea life if you ask nicely."

"I'll hold off on that until I get a sample of what dolphins are actually saying about me," Percy grinned. "My mom would kill me if I came home learning new cuss words from them, she'd take back her custody agreement."

We don't know what it is, lord, one of the hippocampi said. Many strange things are stirring.

"And this one's taking it literally," Jason agreed, imagining the muck it was swilling around in, plus stirring two different animals into one.

"Yeah," I murmured. "So I've heard."

I uncapped Riptide, and the sword grew to full length in my hands, its bronze blade gleaming in the dark.

The cow serpent freaked out and started struggling against the net, its eyes full of terror.

"Whoa!" I said. "I'm not going to hurt you! Just let me cut the net."

But the cow serpent thrashed around and got even more tangled. The boat started to tilt, stirring up the muck on the sea bottom and threatening to topple onto the cow serpent. The hippocampi whinnied in a panic and thrashed in the water, which didn't help.

"I think I'll take the free trial of that app though," Percy said uneasily as he tried to figure out how to be everywhere at once. Soothing the hippocampi, freeing the calf quickly, and stopping the boat from coming down on them. Some great hero he was, couldn't even save a baby animal from a net without making it all worse.

"Okay, okay!" I said. I put away the sword and started speaking as calmly as I could so the hippocampi and the cow serpent would stop panicking. I didn't know if it was possible to get stampeded underwater, but I didn't really want to find out. "It's cool. No sword. See? No sword. Calm thoughts. Sea grass. Mama cows. Vegetarianism."

"Where is Grover when you need him," Percy chuckled along with them, it was just too precious an image not to.

I doubted the cow serpent understood what I was saying, but it responded to the tone of my voice. The hippocampi were still skittish, but they stopped swirling around me quite so fast.

Free it, lord! they pleaded.

"Yeah," I said. "I got that part. I'm thinking."

But how could I free the cow serpent when she (I decided it was probably a "she")

Percy gave Alex a winning smile, and she graciously nodded a potentially wrong guess was far better than calling the little one an it the entire time he was rescuing her.

panicked at the sight of a blade? It was like she'd seen swords before and knew how dangerous they were.

"I'm guessing people in ancient times didn't greet her with sea grass and vegetarianism," Magnus said in sympathy.

"Why is everything either a bad omen or food back then?" Thalia pouted.

"All right," I told the hippocampi. "I need all of you to push exactly the way I tell you."

First we started with the boat. It wasn't easy, but with the strength of three horsepower, we managed to shift the wreckage so it was no longer threatening to collapse on the baby cow serpent. Then I went to work on the net, untangling it section by section, getting lead weights and fishing hooks straightened out, yanking out knots around the cow serpent's hooves. It took forever—I mean, it was worse than the time I'd had to untangle all my video game controller wires. The whole time, I kept talking to the cow fish, telling her everything was okay while she mooed and moaned.

"It's okay, Bessie," I said. Don't ask me why I started calling her that. It just seemed like a good cow name.

"Duddett, that is the most cliché cow name in existence!" Alex laughed. "Are you going to name Cerberus Max too!"

"So says Alex," Percy shot right back. "The first common, gender-neutral name that comes to mind."

"I make unoriginal look new," she swept a hand through her green hair with a very proud smirk.

"Hey, curious," Magnus said quickly before anyone could ask him to keep reading, "if your name wasn't gender neutral, would you change it every time you switched? Or, like, would you just want to be a guy called Sally?"

"It depends per person," she forcefully reminded again, before smiling at him and answering, "I would be okay with being called Sal, but I've met some who would still go by whatever name they pick no matter what gender. I've met those who identify as male go by Alice and females named Tobias, they all have stories. It, it's hard to explain in a short amount of time..." Her mind hovered over Adrian and she quickly waved for Magnus to go on now.

"Good cow. Nice cow."

Finally, the net came off and the cow serpent zipped through the water and did a happy somersault.

The hippocampi whinnied with joy. Thank you, lord!

"Moooo!"The cow serpent nuzzled me and gave me the big brown eyes.

"Round three of pretending to be vegetarian for a week?" Thalia asked mildly.

"I'll get back to you on that," Percy didn't bother to hide the sarcasm in his smile.

"Yeah," I said. "That's okay. Nice cow. Well... stay out of trouble."

Which reminded me, I'd been underwater how long? An hour, at least. I had to get back to my cabin before Argus or the harpies discovered I was breaking curfew.

I shot to the surface and broke through. Immediately, Blackjack zoomed down and let me catch hold of his neck. He lifted me into the air and took me back toward the shore.

Success, boss?

"Yeah. We rescued a baby... something or other.

"Who wants to bet Percy is not going to actually go home and look it up," Jason almost made a longing moan at the deprivation.

"Not on your coin," Magnus agreed with the same disappointed frown.

Took forever. Almost got stampeded."

Good deeds are always dangerous, boss. You saved my sorry mane, didn't you?

I couldn't help thinking about my dream, with Annabeth crumpled and lifeless in Luke's arms. Here I was rescuing baby monsters, but I couldn't save my friend.

"No good deed goes unpunished," Nico repeated grimly. Annabeth had saved Percy and Thalia's life with that stunt and suffered greatly for it. His sister had died on this quest. The domino effect of that one action had rippled all over everybody's life.

As Blackjack flew back toward my cabin, I happened to glance at the dining pavilion. I saw a figure—a boy hunkered down behind a Greek column, like he was hiding from someone.

Nico felt a rattling breath pass his lips before he could smash them back shut and lock his jaw tight. Here it comes, he knew. This conversation he'd memorized by heart without the aid of the book. 'I'm not holding a grudge Bianca, I'm trying, I promise...'

It was Nico, but it wasn't even dawn yet. Nowhere near time for breakfast. What was he doing up there?

"Studying the architecture?" Alex asked innocently.

Nico didn't react, even to the joking comment about Annabeth that made Percy wince with longing.

I hesitated. The last thing I wanted was more time for Nico to tell me about his Mythomagic game.

Even now, in the midst of his stupid, childish pedestal he'd held Percy on for so long having its greatest weakness revealed in the aftermath of knowledge in this quest, some part of Nico still felt the rejection of that. He'd never been more than a nuisance to his hero.

But something was wrong. I could tell by the way he was crouching.

"Blackjack," I said, "set me down over there, will you? Behind that column."

Percy did care though, Nico knew. It wasn't the love, admiration, and attention he wanted from Percy, but many other campers wouldn't have stopped to ask the dumb kid what he was doing. The Stoll's had only rolled over in their sleep when he left the cabin and grumbled at him not to get lost in the forest.

I almost blew it.

I was coming up the steps behind Nico. He didn't see me at all. He was behind a column, peeking around the corner, all his attention focused on the dining area. I was five feet away from him, and I was about to say What are you doing? real loud, when it occurred to me that he was pulling a Grover: he was spying on the Hunters.

"I hope Grover's not somewhere around there gawking too, or Artemis might have to start filing restraining orders," but Rachel's light quip fell on deaf ears. Nico's eyes were vacant to all around him.

There were voices—two girls talking at one of the dining tables. At this ungodly hour of the morning? Well, unless you're the goddess of dawn, I guess.

"Another reason I couldn't make it there," Alex made a face, "I will not be contracted into a morning person."

"A minor fault of the gig," Thalia grinned with an exaggerated yawn, but no levity was stopping the darkness from seeming to grow around them, like the cracks Percy had made in the ground had awakened something. They'd swear the dim light that came from nowhere was fading.

I took Annabeth's magic cap out of my pocket and put it on.

I didn't feel any different, but when I raised my arms I couldn't see them. I was invisible.

I crept up to Nico and sneaked around him. I couldn't see the girls very well in the dark, but I knew their voices: Zoe and Bianca. It sounded like they were arguing.

"It cannot be cured," Zoe was saying. "Not quickly, at any rate."

"But how did it happen?" Bianca asked.

"A foolish prank," Zoe growled. "Those Stoll boys from the Hermes cabin. Centaur blood is like acid. Everyone knows that. They sprayed the inside of that Artemis Hunting Tour T-shirt with it."

Magnus spluttered in concern and double-checked the print that looked like someone was flicking black paint on the letters, making them bolder by the word and impossible to miss. "That's terrible! They tried to kill her over a game."

"It would only maim or seriously injure," Alex batted her eyes as she said innocently.

Magnus snorted in surprise while Thalia winced and did actually answer, "err, yeah, mostly that. She wouldn't have died so long as she got treatment." Phoebe had sworn revenge on the Hermes cabin though and was no longer allowed back at camp after the last time she'd stolen all of their clothes and spread them in the forest.

"That's terrible!"

"She will live," Zoe said. "But she'll be bedridden for weeks with horrible hives. There is no way she can go. It's up to me... and thee."

"But the prophecy," Bianca said. "If Phoebe can't go, we only have four. We'll have to pick another."

Percy glowered at this disastrous group already having its first hiccup and they hadn't even left camp, but he refused to turn his scowl on Thalia again. She hadn't been part of this conversation, of course Zoe wouldn't offer a hand to him next, and he had to stop blaming Thalia. It was unfair of him to even hope now Thalia would refuse to go without him along too just to fill in numbers.

"There is no time," Zoe said. "We must leave at first light. That's immediately. Besides, the prophecy said we would lose one."

"In the land without rain," Bianca said, "but that can't be here."

Magnus was practically having to read with the book pressed against his nose now, the light in here wavering like someone was flicking with the switch. Will made a gentle, humming noise in the back of his throat as everyone glanced at Percy for being the cause, and Nico forced himself to keep breathing. It hurt, and was growing sharper like the oxygen was fighting him.

"It might be," Zoe said, though she didn't sound convinced. "The camp has magic borders. Nothing, not even weather, is allowed in without permission. It could be a land without rain."

"But—"

"Bianca, hear me." Zoe's voice was strained. "I... I can't explain, but I have a sense that we should not pick someone else. It would be too dangerous. They would meet an end worse than Phoebe's. I don't want Chiron choosing a camper as our fifth companion.

And... I don't want to risk another Hunter."

Bianca was silent.

Nobody would have let him go, Nico kept reminding himself over and over. Not any of them, he was too young, a useless child back then, she didn't want him to go. He could have done nothing to change this, and it wasn't Zoe's fault, it was Bianca's choice.

No matter what he kept telling himself, the hurt she hadn't even mentioned him didn't seem to be fading very well. 'Hard to not hold a grudge when you make it so easy sis,' he pressed his lips together painfully tight to stop himself snapping.

"You should tell Thalia the rest of your dream."

"No. It would not help."

"But if your suspicions are correct, about the General—"

"I have thy word not to talk about that," Zoe said. She sounded really anguished.

Zoe was right, Thalia kept her own bitter thought to herself. It wouldn't have helped to tell her. Thalia couldn't honestly tell herself what she would have done with the knowledge. Had a moment of empathy with Zoe as her dad wasn't the best either? Kept her mouth shut and kept it all to herself as she went out to save Annabeth and leaving Zoe's fate to herself? Been even more horrible to the frost princess of a girl for possibly leading them into a trap? It was an unknowable path, and one she didn't wish to dwell on.

"We will find out soon enough. Now come. Dawn is breaking."

Nico scooted out of their way. He was faster than me.

As the girls sprinted down the steps, Zoe almost ran into me. She froze, her eyes narrowing. Her hand crept toward her bow, but then Bianca said, "The lights of the Big House are on. Hurry!"

And Zoe followed her out of the pavilion.

I could tell what Nico was thinking. He took a deep breath and was about to run after his sister when I took off the invisibility cap and said, "Wait."

Like an angel and a devil over his shoulder at once, Nico morbidly thought to himself. His knight in shining armor appearing out of the gloom, making his heart leap at the sight of him before Nico had enveloped himself in shadows to escape the sight of him.

He almost slipped on the icy steps as he spun around to find me. "Where did you come from?"

"I've been here the whole time. Invisible."

He mouthed the word invisible. "Wow. Cool."

Will tried to give him an encouraging smile and wanted to ask him anything to keep his attention right now, but Nico's dark eyes were glowing an almost concerning purple, backlit in the iris's as the shadows on the wall twisted and shaped into pavilions and tables.

All Nico could see was that cold winter morning, smell the salt and feel the warmth coming off of Percy. How was it possible he could do any wrong when he could be everywhere at once in this world?

"How did you know Zoe and your sister were here?"

He blushed. "I heard them walk by the Hermes cabin. I don't... I don't sleep too well at camp.

Will gave up trying to distract him, he had a really bad feeling where this conversation was going coupled with the chapter title, but he did file that question away for later. Was it still true? The dark bags under Nico's eyes proved it was, and yet he hadn't slept at camp in months.

The others were watching Nico with their own concern, especially Percy as he kept nervously looking from him and away like a bad tick. Nobody else ever seemed to want to, or were able to gaze at him long enough to see such things for themselves.

So I heard footsteps, and them whispering. And so I kind of followed."

"And now you're thinking about following them on the quest," I guessed.

"How did you know that?"

The first of many times Nico had thought Percy knew the answer to everything. He knew better now, that Percy was fumbling along on these adventures as much as anybody in the god's world. Still brave, still a hero, still a good person who would likely stop and ask some dumb kid what was going on, but Percy couldn't do everything.

"Because if it was my sister, I'd probably be thinking the same thing. But you can't."

He looked defiant. "Because I'm too young?"

"Because they won't let you. They'll catch you and send you back here. And... yeah, because you're too young. You remember the manticore? There will be lots more like that. More dangerous. Some of the heroes will die."

He shoulders sagged. He shifted from foot to foot. "Maybe you're right. But, but you can go for me."

"Say what?"

"As if you needed him to tell you that," Thalia muttered, half surprised Percy hadn't already packed his bag to do it himself and sneak onto the bus.

"I really was going to go see my mom first," Percy tried to say that like he meant it, but even to his own ears it felt like a lie. Once he'd heard Phoebe was out, he would have kept the impulse to follow them until they all met in that dark cavern with Annabeth and Artemis.

"You can turn invisible. You can go!"

"The Hunters don't like boys," I reminded him. "If they find out—"

"Don't let them find out. Follow them invisibly. Keep an eye on my sister! You have to. Please?"

"Nico—"

"You're planning to go anyway, aren't you?"

I wanted to say no. But he looked me in the eyes, and I somehow couldn't lie to him.

...those sea-green eyes that had lied to him.

"That famous actor parent must be awesome," Alex muttered as she tried to grin at Nico, but it was like looking at a shape in a dark room, the kind of thing that made your heart skip a beat even as you scolded your brain it was just some clothes on a chair. He looked like he was being shrouded in darkness.

"Yeah," I said. "I have to find Annabeth. I have to help, even if they don't want me to."

"I won't tell on you," he said. "But you have to promise to keep my sister safe."

"I... that's a big thing to promise, Nico, on a trip like this. Besides, she's got Zoe, Grover, and Thalia—"

"Promise," he insisted.

"I'll do my best. I promise that."

A black energy crackled in the room that sent everyone's hair standing on end, a sizzling, dangerous power that blasted an icy chill down each of their spines, except Nico.

He didn't seem to realize anything had happened, still sitting stoically, eyes vacant and pushing so hard at nonchalance as the others shivered while blaming it on Percy's continued sense of foreboding on this quest, even himself.

The lights had gone back to their normal vision like nothing had happened. Jason swallowed uneasily as he glanced at Percy and back to the book that didn't have any new dents on it. Percy was rubbing at his temple, his eyes closed.

Will was watching Nico with sad blue eyes, as the Son of Hades stirred and looked around as if just remembering where he was.

"Get going, then!" he said. "Good luck!"

It was crazy. I wasn't packed. I had nothing but the cap and the sword and the clothes I was wearing. I was supposed to be going home to Manhattan this morning. "Tell Chiron—"

"I'll make something up." Nico smiled crookedly. "I'm good at that. Go on!"

I ran, putting on Annabeth's cap. As the sun came up, I turned invisible. I hit the top of Half-Blood Hill in time to see the camp's van disappearing down the farm road, probably Argus taking the quest group into the city. After that they would be on their own.

I felt a twinge of guilt, and stupidity, too. How was I supposed to keep up with them.

Run?

"Hijack another bus?" Jason managed an uneasy laugh, almost wishing for the nearly inky black space around them now. There was a comfort in the dark, not having to see the pain this was causing everyone. Nobody laughed to light the room a little more.

Then I heard the beating of huge wings. Blackjack landed next to me. He began casually nuzzling a few tufts of grass that stuck through the ice.

If I was guessing, boss, I'd say you need a getaway horse. You interested?

A lump of gratitude stuck in my throat, but I managed to say, "Yeah. Let's fly."

Magnus uneasily lowered the book and passed it to Alex as he looked at Percy. If messing with the lights down here was his new resolution to all of this, he couldn't complain, but the way he was studying Nico left a sense of forbidding in them all it might not be Annabeth he'd been so worried about this time. Hopefully the kid hadn't snuck out with Percy anyways and gotten hurt.

[spenciegoob]

A Special Kind of Man

this fic swap is for @safertokiss​​ ... I really hope you like it, emma bc this was so fun to write lol

A/N: OMG! this is a part of my first fic swap and the first time I’ve done something like this with so many people, it’s been so cool.

Summary: Spencer Reid was a virgin, you knew that. What you didn’t expect however was how much he was really holding back.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: loss of virginity (spencer), mommy kink, penetrate sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

___

I always knew Spencer Reid was special, and sure, everyone he’s ever had a conversation with would look at this 24 year old kid spewing facts that no human would think to ever learn about, stockpiling knowledge about, well, everything. I’m sure he amazes people with his mind, I too am amazed when he opens his mouth and the exact number of a certain model Ford truck that is bought every year falls out.

But what else I knew about Spencer that made him more special, more worshipable was beyond anything anyone outside our closed doors would know, and my god would I ever be a fool if I didn’t do just that; worship him.

I would have continued to believe that somewhere down the line, someone would have been smart enough to give that man every piece of love and attention he deserves, because let me be perfectly candid, Spencer was beautiful. His jawline that never lacked the tension of holding back every nugget of knowledge he had stored in that beautiful brain of his, and the eyes like honey that stare up at me with an innocence and desperation alike every time I straddle his lap.

Spencer Reid was not only worth worshipping, but he believed that I deserve that kind of dedication and preach as well.

I never did quite ask if he was a virgin, but in the back of my mind I always knew he had been surrounded by blind fools his whole life in the way he grasped onto my body and whimpered in my mouth every time I perched myself onto him. He would never go further than heavy petting, which meant neither did I. Spencer may be worth worshipping, but I would never push him to receive such.

So, when we found ourselves entangled once again, my legs spread to wrap around his hips as he sat perched against the back of the couch, and I felt the coolness of his hesitant fingers snake their way under my shirt, I was surprised into pulling away from the heavy kiss we were sharing. Immediately his hands, that initially sent a chill hurtling up my spine only to fill me with warmth, returned back to my waist over the shirt, scared that he had done something wrong.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, looking down and rushing through the words with so much embarrassment and fear of my reaction as if I could ever imagine tantalizing or walking away from him.

“Do you want to?” I asked, and personally thanked whoever was listening that Spencer Reid was a profiler, because even if I wanted to, I couldn’t hide the lust in my eyes, or the breathiness to my voice. He had, unbeknownst to my partner here, left me having to take deep breaths and positively buzzing. Like I said, I always knew he was special.

“Put my hands under your shirt?” Came his reply, and I may have never been a profiler, but I could hear, behind the confusion, fear of my rejection plaguing his mind.

“Yes,” I whispered, my lips grazing his cheek where I placed a soft kiss. Spencer’s grip on me tightened as I moved towards his ear, subconsciously pulling my hips down onto him. “Whatever you want, pretty boy.”

“You!” The exclamation was a shout mixed with a gasp once I sunk my teeth into his ear lobe. At first, I had not thought to take Spencer’s words so seriously. We were in the heat of the moment, hands grasping onto one another and lips finding skin, but then my sweet boy pushed me far back only so he could look in my eyes with the confidence of a man who just won the lottery to state. “I want you.”

There were multiple things I took note of when looking down at Spencer. The first being that he had only taken his eyes off of my own in favor of glancing down at my lips, then back at me before raising his eyebrows in silent question. The second was that he had not stopped squirming underneath me, the hard on trapped in his work slacks having to be uncomfortable by now, and the every few seconds he found friction against my own clothed center could not have been helping as much as he needed.

The third, and final thing I noticed buried deep into blown pupils and wide, boyish eyes was the lust, desperation, the need for me the same I held for him. Spencer Reid wanted nothing more in this moment than to show me he was a good boy, a special boy.

“Are you sure?” I barely got through the last word before Spencer started nodding. “I need words, pretty boy.”

“Yes,” his tone was already breathy, and we haven’t even started. “Yes, please. I’m ready.”

I didn’t wait, grabbing a hold of my sweet boy’s cheeks and bringing his face down to meet our lips. The kiss was slow, passionate of course, but I wanted to take my time with him. The way I see this going is spending carefully calculated time on every part of his body, worshipping him and giving him all of my love in the form of soft bites and deliberate touches. Spencer Reid was handing me all of him, and I would be foolish not to return the favor.

Spencer and I were not going into this blind, because no matter how embarrassed he got, we somehow ended up having a very enlightening conversation in the past, even if at first it had started as a joke.

“Not everything Freud has said in his life was completely untrue,” was what started the argument. Spencer, in his oh so need to discredit the behaviorists and psychoanalysts of the past, jumped at the opportunity to prove me wrong, but I wasn’t going to let him this time. “While he may have gone about it the… wrong way, Freud was onto something.”

I had unbeknownst to Spencer got up from my seat, and was quietly tiptoeing over to him. “You don’t agree that you wouldn enjoy calling me Mommy in bed, pretty boy?”

“I-I um…” Is what ended the argument.

I pulled back, admiring his swollen lips and eyes fluttering open before pulling my shirt over my head, giving Spencer a full view of my now bare chest. The only way I could describe his face was similar to what I would imagine someone’s expression would be if they had made a groundbreaking discovery. His eyes grew wide and his jaw went slack in surprise, plus he didn’t hesitate to shift his gaze to my breasts. I could feel his hands loosen their grip on my waist, fingertips itching to move up my body to feel more of me.

“Can- can I touch them?” He whispered, not taking his eyes off the body part in question. Spencer was still looking at my chest in awestruck, and I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel the same way I thought of him.; beautiful, worshipable, special.

I nodded my head, grabbing onto Spencer’s wrists where his hands still remained at my sides and slowly dragged them up to chest. There was no more hesitation, he pressed his palms onto my breasts and grabbed them, pushing them together before kneading them.

“Oh my god, they’re s-so soft” he gasped, eyes blowing wide.“I w-want you. Please, M-”

Spencer stopped himself, and I could feel the muscles in his body tensing at the accidental slip of the name I so desperately wanted to pull from him now that I knew he felt the same about it.

“What was that?” I hummed against him, starting to softly grind our aching centers against each other, eliciting the sweetest moans from the sweetest boy while he continued to palm my breasts.

“Please. Mommy, please.” And there it was, my title for the evening and the reason for the growing wetness at my core.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” The buttons on his shirt were harder to undo than I would like to admit, his fingers that have moved on to tweak my nipples pulling my concentration and causing me to moan quietly as I worked. Eventually I accomplished getting his shirt open, and he helped me to push it off his shoulders and off of him.

I ran my hand down his chest, relishing the whimpers falling from his lips and my featherlight touch traveling further to the waistband of his pants.

“Bedroom,” I whispered, attempting to remove myself from his lap in favor of moving this party to a more comfortable place than the couch. Spencer had other plans.

“Wait,” he shouted, grabbing my hand and pulling me back down on top of him. “I-I like it here.”

“On the couch, pretty boy?” It wasn’t that the position we were in wasn’t feasible, but this was Spencer’s first time. I wanted to make it as special as I could, starting with an actual bed.

“I want to be close to you.” If his words didn’t pull at my heartstrings, the way he looked down instead of in my eyes again did.

“Okay,” I agreed, and it was the truth, because the warmth spreading through me at the feeling of our bodies pressed so closely together was intoxicating. Spencer went to go unbutton my jeans, but I stopped him. Not because I didn’t want them off, but because he hadn’t realized that my plans for him included him sitting there and looking pretty like he always does. “Let me take care of you, sweet boy.”

I finished the job Spencer had started, getting up to unbutton my jeans and pull them down my legs. I heard him gasp at the sight of me now in only a pink thong before reaching out and making grabby hands at me. Instead of sitting back on his lap, I sunk to my knees on the floor, repeating the process on his work slacks and stripping him down to his boxers.

“Is this okay?” I asked, running my hands up and down his thighs in the most soothing manner. He responded with a hard nod and an ‘Yes, Mommy,’ shifting his hips closer to my hands in hopes that I would touch him where he craved the most. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t give him what he wanted. I didn’t use my hands, however, lowering my face to where there was an evident wet spot of precum on his boxers and placed a gentle kiss through the fabric on the tip of his dick.

Immediately his hands shot out to grab onto the sides of my face, forcing me away from his member to look up at him insead.

“I- I’m not going to last long like that,” he whispered. “Please, I need you, Mommy, please.”

I stood up, returning to my position perched onto his lap and smashing my lips to his. This kiss was much different than the ones we’ve shared previously, it was rushed, uncalculated and heavy. Tongues fought against each other and I caught his little whimpers in my mouth every time our cores rubbed against each other.

I grabbed onto the waistband of his boxers, asking one last time if he was sure. When I got his permission, I pulled them down to reveal himself to me, and my god was he beautiful. The tip was red and leaking precum, and I used my thumb to gather some and bring it to my mouth. Spencer’s jaw went slack again, watching me suck his cum off my digit and not taking my eyes off his own. I shifted once again to hover over him, pulling my panties to the side.

“Are you ready?” I asked, grabbing his hard cock and readying the tip to my entrance. He attempted to buck his hips up and enter me, but I continued to tease him by rubbing my wetness over him without entering just yet.

“Yes. Please, Mommy.” I sunk down, reveling in the way his eyes grew wide and his hands shot up to grab onto any part of me. Slowly, I inched down, feeling the stretch he provided and we both were moaning at the feeling.

“Is this okay?” I asked once more, getting a nod and a gasp at the feeling of me around him in return. His hips were trying to buck up into me, but I wouldn’t let him, lifting up slowly and slamming back down to the hilt.

“Oh my god,” he praised once again, screwing his eyes shut and panting. I picked up a rhythm bouncing on his cock with feaverish intent, neither of us were going to last long, both of us hypersensitive to each other.

Spencer opened his eyes, and couldn’t find where to look. He started with my breasts bouncing in his face with my increased speed, and moved on to where our bodies met, watching himself disappear into me. Lastly, he stopped at my face, finding me already staring down at him with my mouth agape and mewls escaping me.

From there we gazed into each other’s eyes, Spencer not holding back any of his sweet moans and gasps that sounded like garbled versions of my name. The knot in my stomach tightened further when I shifted slightly and felt his tip graze my sweet spot. He must have been close to, his hips thrusting up softly to meet my own in an attempt to chase his high. I reached down to rub my clit, wanting to fall off the edge together.

“I-I’m gonna cum,” he panted out, and I clenched around him at the sound of him whimpering. “Ah- ah ah, Mommy please!”

I increased the pressure on my clit, the coil in my stomach reaching its end when I shouted “Cum with me, pretty boy.”

Spencer’s hands gripped onto my waist with bruising pressure as we reached our highs together, crashing down with a shout of each other’s name as I felt his cum cover my pulsing walls. The feeling was indescribable, extending my orgasm and milking him for everything he has.

I slumped forward, resting my head against his sweaty shoulder as we attempted to catch our breaths. Spencer’s arms wrapped around me fully, pulling me closer to him and nuzzling his face into my neck, the sentiment making me smile.

“Are you okay?” I asked once our breathing returned to normal and the cloudiness of my post organsm brain melted. He just pulled me impossibly closer, laying kisses on the expanse of my neck he could reach.

“I’m more than okay. That was- that was-”

“Yeah, I know.” I giggled at his awestruck tone, mimicking his movements and nuzzling deep in his neck, breathing in his sweet scent.

Like I said, Spencer Reid was a special kind of man.

___

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[robinofgothamcity]

♡ starting prompt: “Everything changed for me when I met her... My Beloved.”

♡ pairing: yandere! damian wayne (Robin) & fem reader

♡ lyric inspiration: “imagine me and you? I do. I think about day and night, it’s only right, to think about the girl you love and hold her tight. so happy together.” 

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / in this AU everyone in the batfamily is a yandere and probably has a darling so yeah.

Gotham Academy, for the wealthy and elite one might say. you were one of the lucky ones who got accepted through their scholarship programs and busted your ass off to keep your grades up all years. 

you had very few friends considering most Academy students hardly interacted those who they deemed poor. one friend you did have though was the Wayne heir himself. Damian was one of the first to introduce himself to you when you first arrived to Gotham Academy and really remained your friend throughout the years. 

the fresh morning air blew in the wind, making you pull your jacket closer to you as you tried to find warmth in it. the jackets they provided for your uniform were extremely thin and hardly held in any kind of heat. 

“hey! I think the Wayne kid is looking for you!” you heard your friend, Reagan tell you, “he’s waiting for you at the central garden!” you gave him a smile, thanking him for letting you know before running to where Damian usually was in the morning. 

your mornings with Damian, when he would attend school, would start with him bringing you your favorite coffee and switching homework assignments. 

unlike Damian, you were usually better in courses that had to do with humanities, such as history and english courses and you lacked the smarts that Damian had with science and math courses so the two of you would swap homework first thing in the morning. 

“good morning Wayne,” you said, sitting down on the bench. he handed you his coffee, blowing it to make sure it wasn’t too hot, “good morning, beloved. how did you sleep?” he asked, making sure your eye bags weren’t too harsh. 

you shrugged, “I’m okay. just stressed because of midterms and all of that. how did you sleep?” you asked, taking a sip of coffee. “great considering we fell asleep on Facetime together,” he mentioned, “I did the ap calc homework that you can finally copy!” he added on. 

Damian handed you the calc homework as he watched you scribble down the answers. he noticed that you had painted your nails a new color and touched the polish with his finger, “baby blue? that’s new,” he murmured. you nodded happily, “I love this color on me. I even brought color with me in case it chipped throughout the day!” you exclaimed. 

you showed him the bottle and he grabbed it, “put it on me,” you were taken back by the request. you didn’t take Damian was the kind of guy to dabble in wearing polish but nevertheless complied and put the polish on it before grabbing his hand and blowing on it to make it dry quicker, “I didn’t know you wore nail polish!” you mentioned. 

Damian thought for a moment. 

“I don’t but that way people will know we’re matching,” he murmured as the warning bell rang off. 

you and Damian walked slowly to your first period class. the summer going into your Senior year, Damian made it a duty of his to make sure that the two of you shared the same classes. so without you knowing, he had Tim hack into the Gotham Academy school system and pull Damian onto the rosters where you were enrolled in. 

you found the similarities to be funny, however; some of the teachers wondered how the hell they put the two of you in every class together. some didn’t care considering you were able to keep Damian from saying smart shit to someone in class and others were just weirded out by the coincidence. 

“god, I hate this class. you know Matt who sits in front of the class? I have to swear some gross comment about how great my legs look in the uniform by him at least twice every day.” 

Damian’s eye twitched at what you had said, “does it bother you?” he asked, his fist clenched. you nodded annoyingly, “more than anything in the world. I can’t go one day without hearing the comments,” you groaned. 

the two of you got to class but as you walked in, you had saw that Matt wasn’t in class and sighed in relief. Damian had told you he was running off to the bathroom before class started and just to write down whatever he missed while he was gone. 

you sat down, immediately writing what was already on the board but as the class started, Damian still hadn’t shown up. you were beginning to think that maybe the coffee had upset his stomach but about half way through the class, Damian came and plopped down at his desk. 

“where were you? Jackson nearly had a fit because you were late!” you muttered to him. he shrugged, taking out his pen and notebook before leaning over to copy what you had on yours.

it took about another twenty minutes when another teacher ran into the class frantically, “Matthew Harrison was just found in the garden, unconscious and is barely hanging onto his life!” the teacher told your teacher, making all of you gasp in surprise, “call an ambulance!” 

you stared to Damian wide eyed, “my God, that’s insane! we were just there. I wonder who did it,” you told Damian, chewing your lip nervously, “I hope whoever did it doesn’t come for any of us.”

Damian could tell you were scared from the news and he quickly grabbed your hand, “I think you’re safe, beloved. you shouldn’t worry about it,” he assured you. you nodded, going back to writing down the notes, “hey, he finally got what he deserved for harassing you, right?” Damian mentioned. 

you laughed shaking your head, “I guess but I mean, I hope he doesn’t die or anything,” that was the last thing you said before the both of you got to working on the work the teacher assigned for the class while she was gone.

Damian could tell you were shaken by the news but at the end of the day, he did what he had to do. someone was harassing his beloved and he’d be damned if they got away with it. it took every ounce of self restriction to stop himself from actually killing the idiot but the beating he actually gave him did more than enough to satisfy him for the time being.

two broken legs, a broken nose, and making him go blind in one eye was more than enough. the great thing about Gotham Academy was that because of how old the building was, cameras weren’t installed anywhere outside and any cameras that were inside were just in the upgraded part of the school which happened to be the front of the school and the gym. 

the end of the day came as Damian had offered to take you home. you denied the request, telling him you wanted to walk to get some fresh air before you trapped yourself in your room for the rest of the night. 

Damian was hesitant on letting you but at the end of the day, you weren’t his...yet. he knew his feelings for you weren’t exactly normal. far from it, actually. 

when his feelings for you boiled over to damn near obsession, he confided in the one person he trusted the most and that was Dick. he practically confessed how he needed to be near or around you every day or else he would go insane. even if it was just seeing you from afar made his day a 100x better. 

Dick laughed at his brothers confession because he knew it was about time it happened to him. he had gone through the same feelings when he met his now wife and so did Bruce, Tim, Duke, and Jason. 

when Damian was finally confident enough to tell everyone else, they finally let him in on the family secret. these feelings were nothing to be afraid of. he should embrace them and hell, make his feelings get even ‘worse’. it was his job as your protector to feel that way and act on his instincts for you. 

Damian got home, seeing his father and brother watching the news. they were covering what happened at school and a part of him laughed seeing the coverage. 

“did you see what happened?” Dick asked his brother. Damian nodded, kicking off his shoes and laying on the other couch, “of course I did because I was the one who did it,” he said nonchalantly. 

Bruce and Dick stared at him, wide eyed and shocked, “the scum was messing with my beloved. he was making disgusting comments about her and degrading her in a way she and I didn’t like. the piece of shit deserved more than what he got,” he stated, not even bothering to look at them to see their reaction.

“so it’s best we don’t investigate this, I assume?” Bruce asked, “you would assume right,” Damian replied. 

Dick got off the couch and went on one knee to look at his brother, “Damian, you know the implications that comes with how you left him. you know that, right?” he stated. Damian stared at Dick with no fear in his eyes, “everything changed for me when I met her... my beloved. I would kill for her if I had too.” 

Bruce sat in his seat, proudly smirking at what his son said. Dick nodded, walking back to the couch as Damian stood up to go to his bedroom, “it’s only a matter of what before I make her mine so expect her to be around soon enough,” he told them.

+

a few weeks had passed since the incident with your classmate. since then, you had gotten clingier to Damian, not wanting to be at the end of the beating. Daimian had no issue in it, he was practically basking in the touches and side hugs you were giving him. 

you and Damian had decided to head back to his place after school to get some studying done. Friday nights were usually reserved to studying at your place but Damian had offered to make you dinner at his place and study before watching a few movies. 

you had never been over the Wayne manor before and frankly, you were kind of scared to run into his father. THE Bruce Wayne would most likely be in attendance and meeting the most powerful man in Gotham would probably scare anyone. 

Damian unlocked the gate, quickly taking your backpack as you snuggled into his jacket. you were immediately welcomed by his butler, Alfred who offered to put both of you bags in the hallway so no one would step over them. you thanked him profusely, making Damian mutter to you that that’s why he was here. to serve you. 

“so, what would you like to eat, beloved? I can make you anything you desire,” he boasted. you looked at the cookbook that was laid next to you and flipped through the first few pages, “this sounds nice,” you pointed to the plant based steak with veggies.

Damian quickly got to work, making the veggies first as he offered for you taste them every now and again. you would usually relay a kiss on his cheek as he finally got to cooking the steak. you couldn’t help but wonder how he got to be such a great cook, however; as he was finishing plating the food, you saw his father as well as you assumed were his brothers. 

“uh Damian?” you mentioned, pointing to the three men who walked in. Damian sighed knowing that of course his brothers were going to come and annoy him, “who’s your friend?” Dick asked, putting his chin on his hand. 

“this is ( your name ), my beloved,” he told them proudly. you were a bit taken back by the nickname he so easily used on you, “ahh, we’ve heard so much about you,” Tim continued, “she’s so pretty....she’s not like other girls,” Dick mocked. 

your face felt a burning sensation as Bruce told his sons to be quiet, “nice to meet you ( your name ),” Bruce introduced, “welcome to the family,” you barely caught what he said as Damian excused the two of you to go up to his bedroom. 

“your family is...nice,” you tried to say without sounding nervous. Damian rolled his eyes, “they’re bunch of idiots. that’s what they are,” he muttered, not bothering to look back at them. 

once you got to his room, your mouth dropped a bit. you had never seen such a luxurious bedroom before. satin sheets, the coldest pillows, his bedroom could probably house a family if he really wanted too and the fact that this was his bedroom, you were taken back. 

“wow, so this is how the rich and famous live?” you joked, sitting down on his bed. he shook his head, “all this means nothing to me...as long as you’re with me, I’d be the happiest person alive,” you stared at Damian, wondering if what he said was really true. 

the two of you ate, mostly in silence as you tried to take what Damian had said. there had been rumors floating around Gotham Academy that Damian might’ve liked you. you tried to dispel the rumors, claiming that someone like you was no where near Damian’s type but now that you were hearing the words he was telling you, you were more keen on acting on his feelings. 

after finishing dinner, he offered for you to join him on his bed to watch a movie. you had never actually gotten to hang out with Damian outside of school. since you were always so busy doing schoolwork and Damian always had things to take care of, as he put it, you two never relaxed together. 

the aura in the room was cozy as he offered you a very expensive looking blanket to cover you up from the chilly air coming from his window. the movie the two of you picked was some random rom-com, it felt kind of stupid to be watching this kind of movie with Damian but at some point, you stopped paying attention to the movie and looked up to him. 

“did you really mean what you said earlier?” you whispered to him. he gave you a confused look, “of course I did. would I ever lie to you?” he said back, kind of offended that you would even accuse him of lying. 

you sat back up on the bed and turned to fix yourself as you finally gave him a kiss. Damian’s eyes widened, not expecting you to do that to him. regardless, he immediately pulled you on top of him and deepened the kiss by pushing you up against him. 

Damian slid his hands in the back pocket of your skirt, finding it a bit confusing why the uniforms even had pockets on the skirts. he gripped your ass a bit, making you moan in surprise as Damian tried his hardest to contain himself but failing as he slipped his tongue into yours. 

the two of you remained kissing for what felt like hours. you knew your lips were bound get bruised from the amount of tugging Damian was doing but by the time you pulled away, you could see the faintest of blushes appearing on Damian’s brown skin. 

“wow, didn’t know you felt like that for me,” you muttered shyly. Damian chuckled, giving you a quick peck, “I have feelings you wouldn’t even begin to understand but one day....one day you will,” he replied. 

you didn’t pay no mind to his reply as he had brought you down for another kiss. what you didn’t catch was the smirk playing on his face. he knew that once graduation came, there would already be a ring on that left ring finger and soon enough, you’d be baring his heirs. 

the Wayne’s got what they wanted. it didn’t matter what they had to do to get it but what the Wayne’s wanted, they got. 

[wh6res]

A MATTER OF TIME — JAEMIN

tw. baby trapping, gender stereotypes, manipulation, suggestive | wc. 1k

“a baby?” jaemin doesn’t like the incredulous tone in your voice. he’s being serious right now but you’re not taking him seriously at all. “jaem, we’re just fresh out of college. you’re an intern. i’m still job hunting. we’re living in this shabby apartment. a baby is the last thing we should be worried about. and we’re not even married yet!”

“then marry me.”

“for a self-proclaimed romantic, this is not how i thought you’d be proposing to me.”

he knows you’re kidding and jaemin lets you change the subject like that. he adores the easy smile on your face as your fingers tangle through his hair, the sunset casting an orange glow on the whole rooftop of the building complex you lived in together. it’s routine at this point. coming up here to watch sunsets together as soon as your boyfriend arrives from work. jaemin doesn’t even bother to change out of his slacks and white polo.

“you know how much i love kids.” you say after a beat of silence. a spark of hope starts to light up in his chest only to be smothered by the words you say next. “but i don’t think i’m ready to care for our own yet.”

jaemin begs to differ.

he sees you in the kitchen every day to make him breakfast. the apartment is spotless thanks to your cleaning. and you give him a peck on his cheek and ask about his day every night when he gets home.

you’re already the perfect housewife. his perfect housewife. he doesn’t understand why you have to care for work or anything else when you’re already happily serving him, he knows you are because he can see it in your eyes, the love and utter adoration you held for him. why won’t you feel happy taking care of the love of your life, right?

but that was a conversation you weren’t ready to hear.

so your boyfriend of four years lies through his teeth and places a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“okay. i understand, my love.”

that night as he brushes his teeth, he locks the bathroom door. maybe you shouldn’t have let jaemin know where you kept your plan b pills. it’s all too easy to swap them out with the pills he hid in a ziplock. and when jaemin came out the bathroom door after flushing the toilet, you were none the wiser that it’s your precious pills flushed down the drain.

when he snuggles up to your side, your eyes were already halfway shut and knowing jaemin had a long day, you thought you both will be turning in early tonight. so, you sighed, relaxed, and cuddled closer to his inviting warmth — only to feel the feather-like touches of his fingers ghosting over your boyshorts.

“jaeeem,” you whine, trying to shove his hands away. “not tonight, okay? i’m already sleepy.”

you don’t see the frown on his face. he’s quick to whisper sweet nothings into your ear before smoothly settling on top of you. fingers expertly running the expanse of your stomach up to the swell of your chest as he slots a knee up the pearl between your legs.

quickies was never jaemin's thing. he loves worshipping each and every part of you as much as he wants but he obliged by your word and kept it quick. he mostly did all the work, and by the time you were creaming on his dick, you passed out right after. jaem doesn't wanna admit liking somno but there was a blinding pleasure about seeing you so helpless, so vulnerable underneath him, so sleepy to even register he hasn't stopped fucking you yet.

it was only after he's shot his load deep inside you did you start to stir awake, albeit voice slurred and eyes hardly open. "jaem? did you just… came inside… me?"

he giggles, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. "you have plan b pills don't you?"

a silly dumb smile appears on your lips before cuddling next to him, eyes already closed. "oh, right, yeah i do."

fast forward to four weeks; you took the pills everyday. every single day. there was absolutely no way you could be pregnant but the two stripes on the pregnancy test is a glaring sight. you'd been feeling off since last week and jaemin had even made an off-hand comment about you being pregnant which he found quite funny. but not you. you didn't laugh. you bought three of the tests to make no room for error but all of it said the same thing — positive. you're pregnant. the last fucking thing you want right now.

jaemin finds you crying when he got home, your sniffles loud as you hiccuped and hurried your head between your legs. "angel? angel, look at me. look at me. what's wrong? what is it?"

about time you took the test. jaemin was keeping track of your cycle and you were most fertile on the day he fucked you raw while you slept. he's been noticing your change of behavior, the mood swings and the weird cravings at three am but never did he say anything. he wanted you to notice on your own, to take the tests on your own so you'll break down the way you're doing right now, only for jaemin to come to your rescue.

as if he wasn't the very same person who orchestrated the whole thing behind your back.

"i'm scared. i'm so scared, jaemin." you were sobbing fat, crocodile tears as you held onto him like he was your lifeline. his dress shirt getting soaked by your tears as he lets you cry against his chest. "i can't… can't do this —"

"of course, you can't. not alone, at least," he threads his fingers through your hair comfortingly as he adjusts the possessive grip he has around your waist. "that's why i'm here. we're a team, aren't we? we'll get through this together."

anon req : hiiiiiiii can i please request jaemin baby trapping the reader? like the reader's gonna be all nervous and stuff and jaemin's gonna act all supportive and nice as if he didn't intentionally get her preggo. thank youuuu luv your works

[mythomagically-delicious]

Okay so in a better world au ford and fiddleford created the Institute and made up, right? What happened to stan?

The point of that first post about "the twist" was this: what if Stan and Ford switched bodies and stans was sent into the portal with ford inside, and Stan in Ford's body remained behind. Stan immediately tries everything to turn it back on, to no avail. He went thru hundreds of papers and notes trying to understand ANYTHING and he got some general idea that ford had had a research partner out here who knew things- knew ford, knew the portal, he could help!

Stan in Ford's body races to town instead of staying isolated in the cabin for four weeks, and finds fiddleford. Fiddleford looks confused and stranger than the notes suggested but it matches up. He begs fiddleford to help him, and despite the falling out fiddleford has enough fondness for his old friend remaining that he is swayed. He doesn't get his full mind erased by the society bc he isn't abandoned fully and left wandering the town to be targeted by blind Ivan in his power grab.

Fiddleford and Stan (in Ford's body) go back to the shack and stan starts to take him to the basement when fidds starts freaking out, yelling and crying about the world-shattering consequences. About the things he saw, rhe demon, and more. Stan calms him down, takes him back upstairs. He's frustrated to high heaven and back but he knows he could never do this alone.

(He hasn't told fiddleford who he really is. Yet. He will, he just needs some help first. Who would help a loser like stan? But ford has a friend, he can be ford for a little bit to work the angle and get his brother back.)

It takes time. Way too much time, for Stan, but fiddleford slowly recovers enough of his sanity and calms his nerves enough to go down to the basement and not freak out. Stan admits to anything fiddleford asks him about, anything he saw from Ford's notes and makes it convincing that he's asking for a second chance. Maybe they could rebuild it, better? Without demon assistance?

Fiddleford helps tear it to shreds. They mark every part as they dismantle it and fiddleford searches for the reasons it opened a portal to nightmares. He doesn't follow schematics blindly, any more, no more blind trust to his friend. But he does help. Stan is learning on the job. He isn't convincing in the slightest of being a genius but fiddleford is too frazzled to notice. He's got his own shit going on.

They tear it down. Stan is afraid and angry and desperate but he holds his shit together. Fiddleford regains more of himself as they go. Stan learns more about ford and fiddlefords time together as fiddleford recovers memories and tells them to Stan. Stan makes his own notes, of how to Be Stanford Pines.

In time, they get to a stable place of living in the shack together, Stan trying to learn as much as he can about this science shit, pretending he was hit by the memory gun into forgetting himself when fiddleford questions it. Fidds is afraid to go confront the society, and can't remember where they are anyway. Stan doesn't care about it as long as his cover isn't blown. He hasn't told fiddleford yet. He will! But not yet.

They begin to plan a new, stable trans-dimensional vortex. It takes a whole hell of a lot, but they slowly build it anew. Still in the cursed basement, not even a skeleton of the old machine left after they destroyed it the first time.

Stan is flying less by the seat of his pants. Taking a leaf from Ford's book and staying up to radically terrible hours of the night studying and trying to understand all the science and math shit to make this work, to keep stringing fiddleford into helping him. Fidds takes time for his own projects and Stan doesn't bug him about it, saying if it makes money to split it, and when fiddleford hits a big invention that also happens to patent well and spread? They use the money to help their new portal.

It takes ten years to do it, but they recreate the portal, this time to a place they can control thru careful calibration. Fiddleford writes a scientific paper about it, publishes it with ford as a co-author, and they get international renown. Stan knows how to work a crowd and he uses their leverage to get people invested in investing, so to speak. It's not cheap to fund the energy required to turn it on, so they expand the building and create the Institute of Oddology, given enough time and building and circumstances lining up just right.

Fiddleford runs the teams and the day to day stuff. Stan handles finances and resource allocation and scheduling tours, interested parties, rivals, anything business side. He and fiddleford go to the first stable dimension together , though, and Stan uses all of the science gizmos at their disposal to search for ford while they're there.

He doesn't find him. He still hasn't told fiddleford. Its been too long at this point, right? What if he takes the money and fame and everything and kicks Stan out for lying? He mostly rode fiddlefords genius to get here, there's no way he'd not be mad about this.

They go to many dimensions. Stan takes samples and learns scientific process thru osmosis over the years and contributes to publishibg written works to the greater scientific community.

He looks for Ford. He finds nothing. He tells no one his true purpose for everything he's achieved to that point. He lies and wears Ford's face and shakes hands and is a sham.

One day Fiddleford races to his office, frantic and eyes wide and hands shaking slightly like Stan hasnt seen in years. It's been 30 years since ford was lost to the portal. And fiddleford comes to him and says there's a parallel you, Stanford, in conference room B, we need to send him on his way immediately, you remember what happened to Ernie on that trip 8 years back?

And Stan ignores this, heart pounding, and knocks fiddleford out, locking him in the office, racing to conference room B.

He bursts in, and sees a version of his brother. One he doesnt see in the mirror. A real Stanford Pines, 30 years older than the kids they were when they fought beside the portal. Apparently no universe is fair, if ford ends up inside in multiple dimensions.

Stan is speechless. The portal!ford is on the defensive, but interest is clear in his face. He keeps his distance, cognizant of parallel!fiddlefords warning from before. Of counterparts meeting in a dimension of origin. Annihilation.

Stan cries. Ford looks shocked to see his own self in such a state. He doesn't know what to do. Stan surges forward for a hug and Ford tries to dodge, afraid of the consequences. Stan traps his hands to his sides and sobs on Ford's mysterious black coat, calling him brother. Ford's inner alarm bells go off even as he clenches his eyes shut against the incoming total destruction.

When nothing happens except for a wet patch to grow on Ford's clothes, he opens his eyes and studies himself. They look scarily similar, truth be told. His counterpart heartier than he, an interdimensional fugitive. That makes sense. Parallel ford is apologizing into his jacket and clutching him hard enough to leave bruises.

Ford dodges out of the grapple his counterpart has him in. He demands answers in a clipped tone. Stan does his best to reign it back in as he confesses what transpired in this dimension to this dimension traveling ford. How he hopes his own brother, trapped in stans body, is still out there, still surviving, still where Stan can find him.

Ford starts a fight. Stan defends himself but it gets physical and he doesn't have the same instincts to take down he did when he was younger. He remembers the last fight he had with his brother, and doesn't want that to happen again.

Fiddleford eventually gets free of the office and runs in to see parallel ford beating the shit out of his ford. He stuns ford with a device on his belt and brings things back to some semblance of order, getting a first aid kit out to tend to them both. P!Ford's knuckles, mainly, and stans face.

The truth comes out, ugly and stained and fiddleford forgives Stan immediately. He turns to parallel ford and helps him out of the room, promising help with his weapon and more, later.

Stan is left with the knowledge that all these years later, no matter what he does, his brother hates him.

Fiddleford helps ford with his weapon. If ford can destroy bill cipher, more dimensions will open up to be explored. If his and stans ford is still alive out there, they'll have a better shot if Bill is out of the picture. They send parallel!ford off a few days later. Fiddleford goes to Stan that night and calls him by a name that hasn't been spoken in 30 years. Stan can barely look at him. Fiddleford gives him time and space, but tells him he understands.

A month and a half later, a ripple is felt thru thousands of dimensions at once, the death of Bill cipher in every iteration is making its way thru the multiverse. Celebrations are happening as people cheer and laud thr name of the one who saved them, spread in a cosmic understanding by some greater power. Stanley Pines, shatterer of Bill Cipher.

4 years later, they find Ford. Ford in Stans body is old, ragged. He's missing an eye and an arm and so much more of who he used to be. But they bring him home. He doesn't want to switch bodies back.

Stan feels guilt eat at him, but ford is different than the other traveler they'd met. He's more settled. He thanks Stan for finding him. Doesn't blame him for how long it took. Didn't think he'd be come for anyway.

It's strange and rocky but slowly strides are made to bridge the gap of decades and become people they want to be, again. Brothers, friends, explorers. They never body swap again, but they settle into themselves and own who they are.

[starshipsofstarlord]

The Sheriff and the Murderer

Part Five

Series masterlist

Summary | whilst spending time in the shower with you, Lee notices that there are a few things missing to the household, like any mention of your husband. And thus, he does what he originally came to your house to do, and speak with you about his strange disappearance.

Warnings | smut, shower sex, oral sex (f receiving), very slight sheriff kink, cum swapping, mention of death, swearing, some fluff, angst

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Water ran down the curves of your body, as Lee caressed your ribcage from behind, his fingertips dancing along your skin, with water showering down upon the pair of you, flattening your hair in its spray of passion upon the back of your neck. The man behind you nursed the tip of his nose along your shoulder line, pressing supple kisses upon the blades, enforcing you to hum contentedly.

This is what you had always wanted, this one individual person making sweet love to you, he was your home, not these four walls, nor the tiles that were configured around you. Lee Bodecker was the man of your dreams, but mama and papa had always told you, that dreams were not realistic, they were pits of gold that would drive you made. And maybe, you were a tad mad, after all you had murdered your husband, and gone through with burrowing his body parts in the wild.

The worst part was, as panicked as you were, in that moment, you had felt crazed, as though a true part of yourself was released as you beat his motionless form, spilling further blood around. With Lee, you felt severely calm, soothed with the quiet presence of him puckering pursed kisses down onto your spine, as he swiftly turned you around, pressing his nose against your own as he slithered his addictive hands down, probing at your waist with them to grind his cock against your stomach, fingering the dips of your body.

A stuttered breath left your lips as his tongue traced your lips, prompting you to open the oral depths of your fence of teeth, allowing him to enter the shallow insides of your conversing cavern, tangling the tip of his tongue with your tonsils, your hands tracing up to stifle upon his jaw, feeling the light and dampened stubble across the firm and well aged structure. He backed you into a corner, grasping your hips as his beverage bloated stomach pressed against your own, making your heart swell with adoration.

“Take me Bodecker, consummate me as though I were your own bride.” It was impossible not to allow the words to slip out, and it made Lee groan into your mouth, the sound echoing and reverberating around your entire body. He wanted there to be some momentous truth to support your spoken scenario, for the pair of you to wed in an instant, even if it were to be in the lack of spaciousness proximity of the bathroom shower, that had an inkling of mould brewing in the far top corner, and a few cracked tiles splintering in random placements.

“Thought you’d leave me hanging forever.” The sheriff groaned, stifling his hard cock in his hand, as he bent his knees, using his physical leverage to hoist you into his law enforcing arms, enabling you to wrap your tense legs around the curves of his behind, grasping his flesh closer against your own. “Tight, so tight baby doll.” He gritted his teeth, as he ran his teeth along your slit, just in time before he sunk his hungry cock through your folds, stretching your walls to accommodate his size.

“Lee Lee.” Your voice muffled into the crease of his neck, as you felt obscene pleasure as he stilled inside you, allowing you to adjust to his pulsating length within your pussy, whimpering lightly at the sensation of his entirety, suctioning your lips against his cleansed skin. “Fuck me sheriff, I want to feel every inch of you.” You nestled against him, sending moans directly into his ear as Lee began to rut up into you, his balls slapping against your ass cheeks, as he delivered intimate bites along the side of your neck, though nothing too harsh to leave prominent and dark marks into the canvas of your skin.

“I-“ Lee frowned, his blue eyes reeling shut as he picked up the rate of his thrusts, feeling himself succumb to an immoral pleasure that the preacher would subject against; adultery was against the beliefs within the house of the father, but in the moment either one of you could care less. In fact, it sounded like Lee cared a little too much as his next words passed through the air like a dream similar symphony, that bundled in your ears, leaving you feel conflicted with emotions. “I love you.”

And then he came, filling you with his seed, as he pulled out, dropping to his knees, watching his white gold spill down your thighs. He dragged his tongue over his source, moving closer to your lips to seep below the outer folds, devouring his flow of essence, realising that the first hand taste of himself wasn’t so bad after all. Your hands sewed around the blunt and short hairs of his head, as he swirled your clit into his mouth, the rest of his seed painting down onto his chin, content to continue eating you out until he made you revel into a spiritual space, blinding you into a hot white light, that had you falling back against the chipped dirty blue tiles.

“Oh my god.” You whimpered, eyes blurring with galactic, starry irised tears until your vision returned to vivid clarity. “Lee Lee, come up here.” He stood, his own cum still orbing in his mouth, as he began to kiss you, swapping his taste into your mouth, smirking lightly to himself as you gulped down the extraction of him. “I love- you know.” You shook your head, hardly wishing to say it aloud, considering all that had happened the last time that you had uttered those words to someone, even if you had not actually mean them.

“I need to hear you say it gorgeous, so that I know that you mean it. I’ve waited all these years, practically my entire life, so please, for the love of the law, say it.” He grasped your jaw, caressing your nose once more with his own, sharing breaths with you. His eyes bore into your own, his hand resting again the back of your neck to bring your face closer to his own.

“I love you Lee Bodecker. I really do.” You spoke softly, feeling the water spitter coldly upon your pores, reminding you of how long the two of you had been under its spay. You pecked his lips, running your hands up along his chest, your palms cascading over his pebbled nipples, as you felt him delicately tickle your flesh beneath the flow of your hair. “You were the one I should have married. It always should have been you.” Tears began to pelt out from your eyes, spilling as you thought of how much of a life you had missed out on with him.

The sneaking around had amounted to much stress, the secrecy arising pressure in your lives that felt over the top, all while whilst being worth it. “I fucked up, so bad. I married the wrong man all because I was a young naive girl that thought you deserved better, and you do. The things I’ve done, this life I’ve amounted into, I never wanted it. The one thing I’ve always wanted was you, and I let you get away, all whilst never letting you go.”

Your fists lightly began to beat against his chest as you sobbed, thinking of how previously there had been blood and dirt encasing them, serving as evidence for your unforgivable sins. “Baby girl, it’s okay. We’ll figure things out, Simon is the only thing holding us back from finding a new way to live, by chance, have you found him?” It was not only his way to ensure you with whims of comfort, retelling you that you could find a way to publicly be together, but to also uncover the destination of your missing husband.

“Found him?” You frowned, confused by what he meant. He nodded, racking his fingertips down the side of your face, as you peppered light kissed along his soft skin. “Whatever do you mean darling?” A large part of you was severely worried about the situation; it was a great secret that you did indeed know of his whereabouts, he was in deep, in a literal sense. You’d know, considering that you, along with Sally, had buried him six feet under, and prayed cursively that no one would find his remains.

“Yes, he’s been required at the police station, though none of us have been able to find him. Do you have any idea where he is, I figured you’d be the best person to ask.” It all clicked, and you stepped away, softly shoving his chest as he tried to come closer to you. The tears continued to flow, flooding your face like a broken dam, as you felt overcome with a conjunction of newfound prospects.

“This is what this all was, wasn’t it? That’s why you came here, but instead of firstly asking me where Simon was, you decided to get in my pants! How could you Lee, you made me feel vulnerable, convincing that you loved me so that you could pick my brain.” Cradling your own scalp, you felt how your head was ready ready to implode. Everyone tended to use you for their own dirty deeds, and here Bodecker was, doing the exact same thing.

“No, y/n. That’s not what-“ he realised that you were near on right, he had buttered you up physically, though he had gotten quite distracted from his original ploy. “I’m sorry, but I meant it. And I thought that we would be able to speak like this like civil adults, neither of us have anything to hide.” You did, and the only way to keep it concealed was to push him away, and thus you climbed out of the shower, grabbing a towel and covering your nude body with it.

Lee fumbled after you, grasping his clothes as he exited the bathroom, following your footsteps as you raked your mind obsessively. “Y/n/n please don’t push me away, I want you, and I just need an answer, otherwise you’ll be swarmed with strangers questioning you on Simon, and we both know there’s many things that they don’t know.” Instead, you turned and watched as he clicked his belt together, his eyes pleading at you.

There were many things that he too did not know, and such secrets you did not intend to share with him. Rubbing your eyes, you glanced at the wedding ring that was encrusted upon your vowed finger, grimacing at the sight of it. “Just leave Sheriff, I’m sure you can finish your duties elsewhere. This case better be pretty important if you’re willing to use me for it.” Crossing your arms, you tensed your nostrils, glaring hurtfully towards the man that you currently felt everything towards. “And no, I haven’t seen him, so you can write that down when you get in that car of yours, and drive away from me, for good.”

“I didn’t mean for that darling, please don’t reject me now.” His voice cracked, plodding backwards as he felt his heart stutter rapidly in his chest, cracking at the edges as he saw the brokenness on your features. “I love you, and I’m leaving. But this isn’t the end, we’re going to sort this out once you’re not so tense about all this.” He pointed at you, staring endearingly as he exited your front door, shock falling down his face in liquid pebbles as soon as it slammed behind him.

There were things that you couldn’t tell him, but there was one thing that you had already confessed. You loved him, always had, and it was sure that you always would. You weren’t y/n Priot, you were y/n y/l/n, the girl that had snuck around with him, for vast amounts of years, and had definitely married the wrong man. It had hurt you that he had not showed up at your wedding, though it had always been understandable why. He loved you too, and he would prove it, more so when he got to the end of the case concerning your missing husband.

taglist for this specific series; @charmed-asylum @tcc-gizmachine @stucky-my-ship @brynthebulldozer @acciosiriusblack @lady-loki-ren @bxnnywriting @severewobblerlightdragon @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable

[crqstalite]

Happy Year In Review 2021!!

I've certainly lived in interesting times and here's my eventual result of that. (Can't believe it's already been a year -- 2020)

WORD COUNT:

This year I wrote a total of 127,820 words (92,789 published, 35,031 unpublished). Honestly I'm a little disappointed, I thought I did more than that. Given, it's 2021, the year of crises left and right, but...yeesh. That's less than I did back in 2019. In like, two or three months.

Most of the year was out of my control though, and I'm still standing. I count it as a win.

The Breakdown:

My Mass Effect works took up about 3/4s of the actual word count, at 112,020 words written (and 22,934 unpublished, along with most of what I haven't released for Redamancy yet). My goal this year was to finish Redamancy but it had other ideas, so I'm maybe halfway through actually finishing it? That could be another year.

My Arcane works (what a surprise), are all still unpublished with posting dates being sometime in early 2021. However, they're 12,097 words by themselves so far, so it's okay. I didn't expect to end up writing for League anytime soon, but here we are.

My singular Dragon Age work this year was Bones, which was 1,879 words. Not surprised I didn't have more, it's Dragon Age. That and I lost all of the games when my account was hacked earlier in the year. Not a lot of motivation to write for this fandom.

My singular Mind Blind work this year was "Do It For Them", which was 1,824 words. It's been a while since I've really interacted with the IF fandom, so that's pretty unsurprising.

New Things I Tried:

Not much I don't think? Redamancy has actually been beta'd, every single chapter currently published has had a second pair of eyes over it (which is such a big help, you'd never notice how many misspellings you miss yourself), but beyond that I didn't really have the time or mental energy to do much else. EXCEPT for starting to write for Arcane. Never thought I'd do anything relating to League.

(God I hate the culture around League so much.)

Favorite Thing I Wrote This Year:

Probably Letters Home? Not super sure why but it is one of the few times I've genuinely liked something I wrote mainly in a non-OC's perspective. It's a working point for Joker and Citlali, which are two characters I hesitate to write together for whatever reason.

(That and it's criminal how Tiptree and Joker's feelings related to it are just swept under the rug -- it's criminal!)

Favorite Fic I Read This Year:

@ljandersen's Sideways. Easily one of my favorites (even if I'm still behind a handful of chapters -- and mentioned it last year), just for the characterization alone. I absolutely love how their Kaidan(s) and Shepard(s) interact with each other, and the little details that turn out to be bigger than anyone would've guessed. I absolutely adore the ever-growing future that they've weaved into the story, as well as how they expanded the Mass Effect universe into something all their own. I'm really looking forward to seeing where the rest of the story goes.

@shockdowndefiance's A Momentary Lapse In Judgement. Though I really loved just about every work in their library (Allison Shepard my beloved) this one really stuck with me because it really examined the coup for what it was logically and what Bioware couldn't quite do, especially for a Kaidanmancing Shepard. Allison's universe extends Mass Effect something emotionally compelling, and this fic is probably one of the best examples of that. I still absolutely love how they resolved it, as well as how Allison's character really shines through here, both as Commander Shepard as well as -- well, a regular human being. It's painful at times, but also terribly comforting.

@swaps55's Sonata. I'm such a sucker for in-between moment Mass Effect stories, especially Shenko centered ones. Sam Shepard is such a compelling character, and his relationship with Kaidan is certainly one that makes you so very mushy on the inside. Swaps' writing style is something that'll suck you in and never quite let you go, and their attention to detail is something to be admired. (Which is why I was up until the middle of the night finishing it -- definitely worth the read!)

& (last but definitely not least)

@lyrishadow's Between Times. I still read it time to time just because it makes me happy and amuses me greatly. It was a birthday gift from them to me and it still makes me really happy. I really love how they weaved both of our Shepards together to write something so nice, and how they took the time out of their life to do it.

Writing Goals For 2022

Be less on myself about writing. I was genuinely feeling so guilty and completely paralyzed out of having any fun the entire months of October, November and December just because I hadn't gotten any substantial writing done. Which shouldn't be how I feel, writing is a hobby of mine. Just because I was more likely to reach for my stylus or even one of my games than I was my bookmark for my longfic doesn't mean I'm a failure, even if I would've liked to see more progress. I mean, hell I'm a high school student who's about to graduate in a couple months -- you'd think I'd be able to afford myself the same grace I give my peers.

(It's the validation. I live off of it. I shouldn't, but I do.)

Word Of Thanks

Thanking the lovely Lock + Key writers because you guys are lovely people, (@delinquest , @glyndwrwrites , @lnewmanwrites , @tayareum , @thesupremepuff + @colonelpknight [can't tag you]) thank you for going on such a wild ride with me this year, its been so freaking fun working with you all!

The lovely @mallaidhsomo for their contributions to Redamancy and all of the useful advice they've provided me with. Along with the rest of the Bioware Fanfiction server, I might not interact much but its a very comforting place to be. <3

@that-wasnt-so-bad + @kaidans-alenkos + @mariaalenkoshepard + @actualanxiousswampwitch + @oakstar519 for being the people I always love seeing in my notifs and inbox, and the people who always have the best headcanons for the canon characters and their own.

@sheyshen + @greencrusader13 + @anchanted-one + @naaklasolus for always being there to listen to my rambly nonsense in our development channel. And responding with your own OCs because I love them very much.

@asianshep + @tali-zorahs + @metzlishepard + @dickeybbqpit + the rest of the A.G.U discord because the lot of you have been so kind to me since I popped in just for fun a while ago. Y'all are fun, and are the absolute sweetest <3 (I will track down the rest of your tumblrs eventually).

Tentatively go forth and prosper into 2022!

[madamewriterofwrongs]

my sweet darling - how about an armed forces 911 AU? Maybe Eddie meets Navy Seal Buckley overseas? Maybe they meet back stateside at the VA?

You, my darling, always send me such fun and interesting prompts. I promise I didn’t forget. 

Ooh, okay. Let’s see...

Prompt Me with AUs

Delta X-Ray (I am Sinking) 

Read on Ao3

Eddie first sees him as he’s getting off the plane in Washington. He’s going to receive a medal. Apparently his work in Bagram made him a hero and not a broken, shell of a man. Who knew. And really, it’s just a glance because he has other things to worry about besides a Navy man getting dressed down by his captain. He doesn’t need to hear what’s being said to know that’s exactly what’s happening. He’s seen that look too many times, felt the hot breath of his superior as they spat harsh words meant to ‘toughen him up’.

As he passes the sailor, he hears something to the effect of “if it happens again, you will be dismissed.” And Eddie wonders how many times this particular man has received this exact lecture. It doesn’t really matter, anyways. He just wants to get his medal, shake a few hands of politicians who think they had anything to do with his ‘accomplishment’ and go home to his wife and child – ex-wife, he reminds himself. Shannon had the papers shipped to Afghanistan. Couldn’t get away fast enough, his mind bitterly supplied. All he would have at the end of the day was his son, and a medal to replace the wedding band he’d worn since he was 19.

Before he knows it, he’s standing on a small stage, a million lights flashing in his eyes as cameras and stage lights practically blind him. His shoulder aches – out of the sling for the afternoon so he can at least look more put together than he feels – and he’s dizzy from the attention. That’s his excuse for why he doesn’t recognize the man standing beside him.

“Seaman Petty Officer First Class Evan Buckley.” A blond man steps forward and Eddie catches himself staring at the dress whites and stone expression for longer than is strictly necessary. He seems a far cry from the officer being scolded less than an hour ago, but it is definitely him. And he was standing on stage beside Eddie, about to receive a medal of his own.

“For distinguishing oneself by heroism not involving actual conflict with an enemy of the United States, Petty Officer Buckley is awarded the Navy and Marine Corps Medal.”

As he watches the stripes being pined on the officer’s lapel, he lets himself wonder what crime the man could have committed to be dressed down and rewarded in the same afternoon.

He’s so curious, in fact, that he nearly misses his own name amongst the titles thrown around.

“Staff Sergeant Edmundo Diaz.” He steps forward, holding his breath until the entire ordeal is finally finished. “For gallantry in action against an enemy of the United States, Staff Sergeant Diaz is awarded the Silver Star.” The medal is heavier than he anticipated, but he supposes that makes sense. It is quite a burden he’ll be carrying around, and now he has a gold star to go with it – he wants to chuckle at the irony of his ‘Silver Star’ actually presenting as a golden one.

It seems everything about his life is a life.

There were a lot of reasons Eddie hated attending events like this: The politics, the bravado, the crowds of people ‘thanking him for his service’. Mostly, though: he never knows anyone. Sure, he can charm a senator or two for a few minutes, swap stories with other officers from other divisions about where they were and what they saw. But those are fleeting relationships, meant to get him through the day. He’ll go back to his hotel room at the end of the night with no more friends than when he’d stepped off the plane in this awful, awful town. Eddie is tired of ‘schmoozing’. With any luck, today will be the last time he has to tell the governor’s wife how lovely she looks in her dress.

That’s when he spots the man sitting at the edge of the bar like he’s trying to hide from the world, and he decides to make his way over.

“Do you mind if I join you?” He asks, even as he sits down.

The other man’s eyes light with recognition – and damn, are they as blue as the sea. “Not at all. Diaz, right?”

“Eddie.” He supplies, raising a finger to the bartender to snag his attention. If he is going to make it to the end of the evening, he’s going to need one, good drink. “And you’re Buckley.”

“Actually, it’s Evan but you can call me ‘Buck’.” His amusement must be evident because his new drinking buddy supplies the answer. “There are a surprising amount of ‘Evan’s in the Navy.”

It had never occurred to him to check how many ‘Eddie’s were in his squadron. Maybe he should ask his CO if that’s why he always called him by his full first name.

“Congratulations, by the way.” Buck looks somewhat nervous even as the words leave his mouth. “On your medal. Good job.”

“Oh.” Is all Eddie can bring himself to say as he stares into the bottom of his glass. “Thanks.”

“You don’t look too happy about it.”

He really isn’t doing a good job of hiding his emotions if this relative stranger ca read him so easily. “No, I-” he takes a deep breath to recalibrate his thoughts and paste his best fake smile. “It is a great honour.”

“Bullshit.” Buck laughs in his face but for some reason, Eddie doesn’t bristle nearly as hard as he expected. It almost feels playful. The rest of Buck’s response is cut off by his buzzing phone on the counter. The man quickly grabs it long enough to check his notifications, returning it to its place at the bar with a disappointed look.

“Are we keeping you from something?”

“Uh, no.” It’s Buck’s turn to look caught out and in need of recalibration. His expression changes much slower. “I’m just waiting for a call from my sister. I sent her an invitation to this thing but she never responded.”

Eddie has experience with family not coming to big social events like this one. Of course, in his case, he never invited them in the first place.

“Family ain’t easy.” He shrugs as he takes a long sip of whatever burning liquid he’d ordered – it really doesn’t matter so long as he can stay sitting here and not mingling with the crowds of vultures.

“It’s more than that.” Buck looks worried, and the way he bites his lip is… Eddie shouldn’t be focusing on that. “It’s just…” The man shakes his head, dismissing whatever feelings were eating at his gut. “I don’t want to bore you.”

“Please.” Eddie leans into his space with a playful smile. “It can’t be any more boring than this event. Please try to bore me to tears, if you dare.”

When Buck smiles, Eddie’s heart flutters out of his chest and sits beside him as they listen to Buck begin to speak. He tells Eddie about his sister, how she cared for him growing up, how she went away with her asshole of a boyfriend – now her deceased asshole of a husband – leaving him to fend for himself. He talks about travelling the country, trying every odd job he could get his hands on, until a buddy of his suggested he join the Navy. And he loves the work, he really does, but he hasn’t seen his sister in over a year. Their last conversation ended in a fight about some family secret that Buck is reluctant to talk about. Even Eddie can tell that the man just misses his sister. No matter what the argument was about.

Eddie finds himself talking – in less detail – about Shannon and the divorce and his son at home. At Buck’s prompting, he shows off his favourite photos of Christopher (avoiding the one burning a whole in his shirt pocket, torn and bloody, which never leaves him). The man’s face positively lights up when he sees the kid, offering an appropriate amount of sympathy for his divorce without pushing him for more emotions.

It’s easy talking to Buck, he realizes after a few hours. Because suddenly, the venue rental is nearly up and he’s still sitting at the corner of the bar, talking to Buck. Sure, a few people have passed by and shaken their hands, thanking them for their service – Eddie cringes every time and Buck has to hide his laughter once he realizes – but for the most part, it’s just the two of them, sitting and talking.

“The flag signalling we use now was established in 1855.” Buck explains as he leans further into Eddie’s space. “And while Robert Morse invented Morse Code in the 1830s, the International Morse Code that we use didn’t come out until the 1850s.”

“How do you know all of that?” Eddie was fairly certain he hadn’t had to study the history of communication when he was in training. But he’d also been very focused on his medical textbook.

Buck was incredibly cute when he blushed, Eddie decides – though he opts to keep that opinion to himself for now. “I get bored and I read.” The man shrugs nonchalantly, as though he hasn’t been entertaining Eddie with stories of Naval history and his own dumb-ass mistakes all evening. Honestly, Eddie wants to sit here all night and listen to Buck tell him stories of the world. It seems like he’s lived a lifetime already. And what has Eddie done? Gotten a girl pregnant, joined the army, gotten shot, and now he doesn’t even have a wife to go home to.

“Can I ask you something?” Eddie realizes too late that Buck looks nervous. He thinks he probably wouldn’t have said yes if he’d noticed. “How did you get your medal?”

Now he knows he doesn’t have to answer – and his initial instinct is to close out his tab and see if he can run to El Paso on his still-injured leg. But he also realizes that he hasn’t told anyone since it happened. Not the full story. Even now, he might not have the words. But he tries.

“Our helicopter got shot down while transporting wounded. I could still move so I got everyone out. Or I tried to get them out.” The echo of gunfire is not as distant as the others told him it would be. He can still smell it. “Support finally arrived and they decided to give me a medal for holding down the fort.”

Buck places a gentle hand over his and Eddie gasps, reminded that it has been a very long time since anyone has touched him. God, how he misses it.

“You saved wounded soldiers in the middle of the desert while being fired on. And you think you were just doing your job?”

“I’m an army medic.” He reasons with the bottom of his glass. “It’s my job to save people.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think that’s why you do it.” Without elaborating, Buck smiles at him and Eddie forgets the question.

“What about you?” He asks instead. “What’s yours for?”

Unlike the enthusiastic, bubbly personality he’s been talking to for the last few hours, Buck melts into the face he saw up on that stage. The stoic, professional.

“We were on our way back from an escort mission when we encountered some rough seas. I happened to be on deck with the chief mate when he had a stroke. I tried to tend to him but the storm was getting worse and no one could find the captain, so I just took over navigation. It was rough, I had no idea what I was doing, but we all made it out safely and the chief mate was okay.” As Buck shrugs, memories of an overheard conversation come flooding back to Eddie’s mind.

“Wait, were you on the USS Angelo?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Eddie can’t believe it. He has to laugh. “You were the cadet who sailed out of Hurricane Ida?”

“I am a petty officer first class, I’ll have you know.”

“Buck, you navigated a 2,000 ton ship out of a hurricane and all they gave you was a lousy medal?”

“I should get that printed on a t-shirt, or something.”

“That was incredibly reckless but also incredibly brave. Buck, you’re a hero.”

“I was just doing my job.” The smirk tells Eddie he knows exactly what he’s doing but it still hits him that he’s throwing Eddie’s words back in his face. Cute and cheeky.

He doesn’t know why he asks – well, he does, but it’s incredibly stupid and impulsive, and he definitely can’t blame it on the alcohol but he sure would like to.

“How long are you in town?”

Buck looks pleasantly surprised by his question but answers with regret in his eyes. “I head out with the Fifth Fleet in the morning.”

Wow. “You just got a medal, and you’re headed out to earn another one?”

“Something like that.” Buck laughs and Eddie wishes he was braver than he felt. “But I won’t be gone forever. And I’m really good at telegraphy if you wanted to send anyone a message.”

He’s so grateful that Buck has the good sense to be everything he needs right now. Because asking the next question is easier with someone standing next to him. “I suppose I’ll need a way to get in touch with you, then.”

Buck winks and Eddie has never been gladder that the concept of ‘standing’ was only metaphorical. The man should not be so irresistible after only a few hours, but Eddie can’t help but watch him push off his barstool and walk around the side of the bar.

“Hey, Diaz!” The spell is broken long enough for him to look across the room at where his name is being called. He waves at old friends – well, Senior Airman Han and Space Force First Sergeant Wilson are the closest things he has to old friends but in actuality, he’s not sure he knows their first names. “We’re going to the afterparty, want to join?”

On a normal night, Eddie would decline on the basis that he doesn’t want to go, and would rather lay in bed and watch reruns of ‘Murder She Wrote’. Tonight, Eddie wants to decline on the basis that he doesn’t want to go, and would rather stay up all night talking to someone who makes me feel curious about the future.

“Not tonight.” He shouts back across the room. “I’ll catch you at the next ceremony.”

They wave him off because they know it’s the same excuse he makes every single time but the only thing that matters is getting back to Buck.

“So.” He turns to the bar only to find it empty. The seat beside him is also unoccupied, as is any of the space surrounding him.

Had he dreamed up Buck? Had he been imagining this person who made him feel like divorce wasn’t his last chance at happiness? Was he truly so desperate and lonely?

“Hey.” Eddie looks up with too much hope in his eyes to only come face-to-face with the bartender. “He left this for you.” The man – who is not Buck, no matter how much Eddie hopes to see those eyes again – slides a napkin across the counter and walks away before Eddie can ask anymore questions.

He picks up the napkin and reads the blue ink-stained note written in messy scrawl.

Kilo

--... .---- --... ..... ..... ..... -.... --... ----. .----

The dots and dashes he recognizes as a series of numbers – a phone number, he hopes – but the word above? He tries to recall his academy days.

Kilo. Short for Kilogram. Used in the International Code of Symbols to represent the letter ‘K’. In Maritime Signal Flags, it indicates: I wish to communicate with you.

He’s pretty sure the bartender hates him for how late he stayed and how loudly he laughed at Buck’s note, but he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he spends his energy memorizing the napkin’s contents long after he’s input the number. It’s more than just a piece of paper: it’s hope.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Valentines Day for Nerds (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s favourite holiday is often taken up mostly by work, but this year his enjoyment doesn’t seem to be as disruptive in the BAU bullpen. The team soon realise why.

AN: It’s a bit late- who am I kidding? IT’S ALWAYS HALLOWEEN IN OUR HEARTS! This was a part of @imagining-in-the-margins fic swap, for the brilliant @agntprentiss <3 

For my smut fic from the swap, check out A Little Indulgence (18+ only!)

Reader uses she/her pronouns!

Word count: 1.7k words

Gif credit to @imagining-in-the-margins​ <3

Your name: submit What is this?

The first breach of boredom was Penelope practically skipping into the bullpen, her arms cradling a bouquet of flowers as if it were an infant. The bold orange roses contrasted with the dyed black petals of its counterparts as they were planted upon Spencer’s desk.

“Delivery for Doctor Reid!” trilled Penelope, clapping her hands now that they were free of said delivery. Dropping his pen onto his unfinished paperwork, Spencer pivoted the base of the bouquet before he found a small black envelope.

It held a little card with two pumpkins, happy faces carved into them both. Inside were the following words:

 Black is for new beginnings,

Orange is for enthusiasm,

Spooky times are afoot tonight,

Watch out for ectoplasm!

I spent ten minutes trying to think of a rhyme for that. Happy Halloween, Cara Mia!

Y/N xxx

Spencer beamed as he placed the bouquet at the edge of his desk, next to the fake severed hand that now held the card in its stiff fingers. He scratched his bristly cheek. Less than a day until he could shave this off. It’d be worth it though.

“Is it from Y/N?”

He looked up to see Penelope had lingered like a lost spirit, waiting to see if her trials of passing on the bouquet had been worthy enough for her to move onto the next world – her Batcave. She was poised with a hopeful expression.

“Yes,” Spencer said, watching Penelope lean up on her tiptoes as she tried to rein in her delight.

She clapped her hands, her purple painted nails clicking as they tapped together, “Are my two favourite ghost hunters up to much this Hallow’s Eve?”

“We’re going to see the Phantasmagoria re-enactment after we go trick-or-treating with Henry tonight.”

It was hard to ignore the absolute glee with which Spencer spoke. Even if one completely ignored the way his voice carried a light excitement, the way his eyes lit up and his broad smile almost fell off his face was enough to connote that he was very excited for tonight. It was also hard to ignore the mild bemusement on the faces of everyone who heard.

Glad to be back and bearing witness to his elated behaviour regardless, Emily cracked a smile, “Maybe she’ll cling to you when she gets scared.”

A heat crawled up Spencer’s neck and he tried to return to work now in hopes that his gift’s display would be cut off. He’d rather sit in the glow of receiving the flowers without mockery.

To the team’s credit, no one ribbed him for it.

The flowers were not the last gift though.

Soon Penelope reappeared, “Your Cupid has returned with another gift for you!”

As he tore at the paper and revealed an Edgar Allen Poe pin – the titular Raven he instantly attached it to his satchel strap – in pride of place, just like the bouquet.

Derek was the one to notice how Spencer’s sandwiches had been cut into little pumpkins. Some digging and Spencer revealed that he had gotten Y/N to order a cutter online. He held his lunch in one hand, his collection of classic Halloween short stories in the other, with a childish glee that no one wanted to squander.

When Spencer climbed the steps to drop off a file to Hotch around mid-afternoon, Rossi walking behind him noted the brand-new socks. A classic odd pairing, and obviously they were Halloween themed. This kid left no opportunity untaken when it came to celebrating Halloween – more than his own birthday.

But Rossi was not closed enough to get a good look at them, and no one else was as close. So, he recruited Emily and Derek to discover what the pattern was. It was Emily and Derek who upped the stakes by wanting to get a glimpse without arousing suspicion. Now that outright asking Spencer was not an option, the game began as they dropped several pens as an excuse to bend over and strain for a flash of those socks.

Derek eventually resorted to a pantomime attempt at tripping in front of Spencer’s desk and gave the jig up straight away by shouting to a stressed Emily (whilst also catching the attention of Hotch through his office’s blinds): “IT’S IT!”

A few language barriers hurdled later, and hindsight brought them both clarity. The red splodge on Spencer’s ankle was officially defined as a balloon.

“So tell us! What’s the other one?” Emily said, her voice strained with how much she was invested in this single sock.

Spencer hiked up his trouser leg to display the skeletal zombie sewn into the sock. “It’s Curtis Danko from When Good Ghouls Go Bad. Y/N had it commissioned for me!”

JJ was watching nearby, unaffected by the tensions of the sock bet. She knew the film because Y/N had wanted to show it to Henry the other week when she babysat him. But upon further inspection, the R.L. Stine film – while intended for kids – might be a little intimidating for Henry to watch without his profiler mother and godfather, police officer father, and favourite auntie there to protect him from the cursed statue.

No one else in the bullpen knew the film.

The team soon discovered that Spencer was not the only one to be on the receiving end of such gifts. Six o’clock rolled around and Y/N entered the bullpen. She was wearing a fuzzy black scarf, some sparkles shining within the wool. At the tail of it, a lucky black cat patch was sewn onto the end. It caught Rossi’s eye and he hid behind a folder as he smiled. The three times that Spencer had forgone a card game with him (in favour of knitting the scarf on the flights back from cases) had been riddled with playful teasing. It was good to see that it was worth it.

Especially when Spencer saw Y/N wearing it and his back snapped straight up. His chair flew backwards, spinning around with the effort that Spencer had launched himself from it, and he and Y/N embraced each other with casual affection.

“How was work today?”

“Not as boring as I thought. But, I have to say: I’m meant to call you Cara Mia.” Spencer’s eyes darted to the card Y/N had sent that morning.

Y/N caught onto his meaning, “Should I stop?”

“Never.”

She rubbed her nose against his and Spencer went pink again, giggling like a teenager. True, he was as smitten with Y/N as Gomez was with Morticia. Then he remembered he was in the workplace as Y/N went to greet the rest of the team, and Spencer’s pink became a scarlet.

“Aww, Pretty Boy,” Derek grinned at him from his desk chair, “You’re so cute!”

“It’s like Sergio!” Emily said, admiring the scarf with her thumb rubbing over the stitches around the cat patch.

“Make sure he’s safe tonight,” Y/N squeezed her hands for a second.

Then JJ appeared from her office, coat and bag over her arm, and she, Y/N, and Spencer wished the bullpen a Happy Halloween before they left.

They had three hours before the Phantasmagoria started. Plenty of time to get ready.

Henry was right behind the front door of his home. The second it opened, he bounced at Spencer’s feet, his tiny hand clutching onto two of his fingers to drag him inside. He was babbling away at such speed that Y/N could barely keep up. She gave Will a wave across the ironing board where he was diligently ironing Will’s cape.

“Well don’t you look handsome!” Y/N beamed at Henry while JJ combed his hair back, slick with gel. It was something he agreed to but only if Spencer was doing the same. Which he was, occupying the downstairs bathroom as he prepared his own costume.

The moment Spencer had finished shaving everything bar the moustache, he was plonked in front of the television. Henry smoothed out his cloak and put in his plastic fangs in to watch the rest of his new favourite Halloween film, The Little Vampire. He mumbled along with Rudolph’s lines and sat enraptured as he pointed out to Spencer the flying scenes. Luckily for him, Will and JJ were getting dressed as Frederick and Freda Sackville-Bagg upstairs to join in the Halloween spirit – last year’s Halloween date night disaster long forgotten.

Henry put in his plastic fangs and hissed at Y/N who emerged in her long sleek black dress. As she stepped across the room as elegantly as Morticia, Spence spied that she was wearing the black spiderweb tights he had bought her today.

“Hello, Gomez,” She smiled radiantly at Spencer, smoothing out his suit jacket as he stood before her. He presented her with a red rose that matched her lipstick to a tee.

As she breathed in the flower’s scent, he kissed her cheek, enjoying her giggle at the bristle of his ‘stache, “You’re stunning.”

“Thank you, and you’re handsome as ever.” She swung their linked hands between them in the opposite way she poised on her tiptoes. “Maybe we should have taken a tango class.”

And she laughed loudly at Spencer’s wincing at such a thought.

“It’s ok, Cara Mia. I’ll settle for a kiss instead.”

Oh, that was something he could do forever. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles then the inside of each wrist.

Unfortunately, Henry interrupted the stream of kisses that were headed in Y/N’s way. “Ready to go!” He skipped his way between the happy couple.

It was hard to be mad at Henry, especially with how adorable he looked beside his parents and with his bright orange pumpkin bag ready to collect candy. He felt safe with his four favourite adults guarding him.

“Tonight,” Y/N whispered into his ear and he could hear the smirk in her words, “After the Phantasmagoria.”

Spencer beamed, his dimples delightfully framing that smile. One day maybe, they would have their own Wednesday, Pugsley, and Pubert to join them. And maybe then Derek would dress up as Uncle Fester.

[missscarletta7]

The Broken Crown- Chapter 2

Summary: All Margaret Shelby ever wanted, was the opportunity to write her own story. Only now is she beginning to realize that her brother may have already written it for her...

Hello! Enjoy chapter 2!

OoOoOo

"Keep spendin' most our lives, Livin' in the gangsta's paradise,

Tell me why are we so blind to see,

That the ones we hurt, are you and me"

~Gangsters Paradise~

1919

"Mags." Was the first thing the young girl heard as she was gently shaken awake, "Go lay in your bed, eh?"

Upon half-opening her eyes, she saw it was Tommy who had been talking to her. Maggie only then realized she had fallen asleep sitting upright. She responded by rubbing her neck and slowly nodding. Clumsily she got off the bed with her journal in hand.

It was early. The exact time she wasn't sure, but sunlight wasn't streaming through the window yet. She entered the quiet hallway, navigating herself to her bedroom in the darkness. When she opened her door, she discovered a figure standing in the middle of the half-lit room changing clothes.

"There you are," Ada whispered out, shimming out of her slip, "Was wondering what happened to you."

"Slept in Tommy's room," She explained, yawning lightly. "Just get in? What time is it?"

Her sister nodded as she continued to change into a nightdress, slipping the fabric over her head. "It's just past four." She informed as the younger girl motioned her way around her sister to flop onto the bed, making it creak from the force of body weight.

"How was your night?" asked Maggie, moving to make her head more comfortable on the old shapeless pillow.

"Romantic." The older girl hummed, sliding into bed next to her sister. "I've never felt this way about anyone."

Maggie turned her body on her side. "Wish I could put a name and face to this mystery man." She watched her sister's eyes flash with guilt. At the realization of her thoughts were now said aloud, regret formed in the pit of Maggie’s stomach.

"I promise I'll tell you sooner than you think, I just-" Ada didn't have to finish the sentence for Maggie to understand what she was going to say: 'I just can't deal with our brothers if they find out '.

"I know Ada," was the last thing the sleepy girl said before closing her eyes and drifting back to sleep.

Eventually, she woke up again around seven in the morning. Carefully, she got out of bed trying not to wake up her sleeping sister, and dressed accordingly in one of Ada's old dresses. She also made sure to pack her journal into her book bag before making her way downstairs. Once in the kitchen, she saw Tommy reading the paper and Finn eating his breakfast.

"Morning." She said, grabbing a bowl and spoon to scoop mushy porridge out of a metal pot, which was sitting on top of the only working stove burner. Polly had most likely prepared it for them. "How did you sleep?"

Tommy knew that question was directed to him, "Better than I have in weeks." This made his sister smile as she sat down in the chair next to him. "Your writing has improved. But then again, I haven't heard you share your work since you were twelve. Pol says you won't even share with her or Ada. Why's that?" He was genuinely curious.

"I don't think it's ready to be shared yet," Maggie shrugged.

He peered at her as he set the paper down onto the table, "You shared last night."

"Only to put you to sleep." She countered, bringing the spoon to her mouth to consume the beige-colored substance.

"Going to have to sometime," he spoke sincerely. "How else are you going to become a writer, eh?"

He was right, she knew that, but right now, her writing felt sacred. As if her words were only meant for her. She was still coming face to face with a paradoxical problem. Every time she would write something down, it would instantly not be good enough. The pages of her journal seemed to have more scribbled-out lines than actual words. She just couldn't explain this feeling properly, and if she couldn't express her feelings in words, how could she write? No, sharing her words would only lead to not being understood. Her thoughts were soon interrupted by the opening and slamming of the front door.

"Tommy!" John angrily stormed into the kitchen, "It's Danny! Those fucking Wops got a hit on him."

Tommy answered back by pushing himself out of his chair and hurriedly following his brother out of the home. Finn quickly tried to follow, but Maggie grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, "Let go Mags!" he cried out.

Maggie sighed, "C'mon, let's get you ready for school." Finn could only respond with a groan, allowing his sister to lead him upstairs.

OoOoOo

The next day, a smiling Maggie was squished between John and Finn in the family car. She could barely move without hearing a complaint from John, but she didn't care, she was too excited. They were all on their way to the fair, which had been set up right outside of Birmingham. It had been so long since she had been to one. They were almost there, and she could see the big red and white striped tent peaking over the trees in the distance, so she was confused when Tommy parked the car in a clearing that was still a good distance away.

Arthur spoke up at once, "Thought you said we were going to the fair"

"Yeah, what are we doing?" She asked nervously, leaning her elbows against the front seat.

"We have business first. C'mon, bring your wits." Tommy said getting out of the car with John and Arthur following. He glanced over to his younger siblings noticing they were trying to do the same. " You and Finn stay by the car."

"Seriously?" She just wanted to have a normal day at the fair with her family. Was that too much to ask?

Tommy pointed at her to emphasize. "Stay by the car, Mags."

"What business?" Arthur questioned.

"That's the Lee family," She heard John say.

Great the Lees, thought Maggie sarcastically, as she sank into the seat. Though she did perk herself up when she saw a familiar face walking towards the car.

"Hi, Johnny!" She smiled and waved at the man.

"Well hello pretty lady," Johnny Dogs greeted as he approached the car. "Tell me, have you seen a lass named Maggie?" The teasing tone of his voice was prominent. He had not changed a bit in the four years his presence had been absent.

The girl giggled slightly at his antics, and with a playful air replied, "I'm Maggie."

"You canna be her." He overly acted out in disbelief, "Last time I saw her she was but a child!"

"Hang on a minute," They all heard Arthur say, "You're not swapping the family car for a bloody horse!"

Johnny turned around and quickly walked up to the oldest Shelby, "Of course we're not swapping it. Huh? That would be mad!"

"We're going to play two up," Tommy explained, handing a coin over to the family friend.

"Jesus." Arthur breathed out anxiously, as they all watched the pair toss their coins into the grass and lean forward to get a better view. Silently, Tommy handed over the keys to the car, much to the irritation of the eldest, "I knew it. Tommy, you bloody idiot!"

"Shut up Arthur. I won," Tommy told him, "I promised Johnny I'd let him have a spin in the car if he lost." He watched as the relief washed over his brother's face but was interrupted by collective snickering. He turned to the three men dangerously, "Are you Lee boys laughing at my brother? Are you? Eh? I asked you a question!"

"Tommy! Tommy, c'mon it's just a craic." Johnny reasoned, trying to keep everyone calm, "Get your family out of here and go enjoy yourselves at the fair before they start a war." Johnny then turned to the Lees, and Maggie was able to make out most of what he said. It had something to do about the grandfather she never met before one of the Lees replied, "Yeah, but his mother was a Diddicoy whore."

That had done it. Whipping his weaponized hat off of his head, Tommy slashed at the man's face. Arthur and John quickly joined in. Blood could be seen gushing from their faces as they all yelled obscenities at one another. Finn looked in awe at his brothers, his gaze never wavering from the fight, but Maggie felt sick.

OoOoOo

An hour later they had finally reached their original destination. Looking and walking around the fair was an amazing experience. The many rides, animals, oddities, and food all in one place were a wonderment to the many families that came out from all over the area. Yet, Maggie's level of enthusiasm was less than what Tommy had expected. She couldn't shut up most of the way there, now she was as silent as a stone.

"What's the matter with you, eh?" Tommy questioned as they walked around the fairgrounds together, "Did you want to take a spin on the big wheel ride?" He pointed up to the giant machine with carriages that slowly spun in circles.

She asked quietly, "Did you have to hurt them?" Sure, Maggie knew what her brothers did. She would be naive if she said she didn't, but she had never been a witness to it. The violence that she had often heard others speak of was now forever ingrained in her memory, becoming a standard for their future offenses. "The Lee's." She clarified although she was certain he knew what she was talking about.

"They were disrespecting us Mags," He explained as if she were younger than Finn. "You heard them."

Tommy had always tried to keep her in the dark about their business practices, which was easy when she was younger. Unlike Finn, she had always kept her nose in a book, never really paying attention to the transgressions of her siblings. But now she was beginning to notice and was starting to ask questions he'd rather not answer.

"You couldn't walk away?" Maggie inquired, looking towards anywhere but his face.

He remained silent for a moment before stiffly asking, "Do you want to get on the fucking wheel ride or not?" That was Tommy-ese for 'drop it', so she did, and added herself to the growing line. Tommy followed her lead, standing behind her he pulled a cigarette out to smoke as they waited.

Maggie was quiet the entire duration of the drive back home. The setting sun rays peeked through the gray smog as they entered Small Heath, they all noticed the place had been trashed. Broken and ripped furniture looked like they were just tossed in the streets and all those who watched the Shelby car roll slowly down the street managed to give them all a dirty look.

Arthur was the first to speak up, "Now, what the bloody hells been going on here?"

OoOoOo

Apparently, from what she gathered it had been the new copper that had been behind the trashing of their neighborhood. Maggie and Cara walked through the crowd, as they recounted the events of each other's day. Thankfully the Ryans dress shop had been spared from the destruction and Maggie told her friend everything about the fair, excluding the violent beginning of course. In front of them stood a pile of portraits that had been gathered from around all the homes and businesses of the community. Once they were lit on fire, familiar faces were lit up as well to contrast the darkness. They both soon saw Ross with a crowd of men, most likely coworkers from the BSA. Once he saw them, he waved them off and began moving toward the girls.

"Are you ever going to tell him?" Maggie asked her friend, as they watched the young man weaving his way through the crowd of people.

"I will!" Cara defended before adding, "Eventually." Maggie tried to hide her smile.

"All right ladies?" Ross greeted once he was near enough.

"So, what's all this about then?" Cara questioned somewhat flirtatiously, pointing at the heap of portraits.

"Ask Mags," Ross replied, sending the dark-haired girl a smirk, "It's her brothers that have organized all this, went 'round taking everyone's pictures."

"Oh right, because they run everything by me first." she joked, causing both her friends to chuckle. Cara soon took over in leading the conversation, but Maggie was only half paying attention. Curiously, she watched as Tommy spoke with a man that she had never seen before. He must have felt her gaze because he found her face in the crowd, causing Maggie to quickly divert her stare off her brother. Ross then pulled out a flask from a pocket inside his dark coat.

"Care for a swig?" He asked them, shaking the container slightly. Drinking alcohol was something she had never really made into a habit, for her it was only for special occasions. Without hesitation, Cara took the silver flask from his hand and drank a few gulps before passing it on to Maggie. Maggie glanced back to her brother, who was no longer watching her, but instead had gone back to his discussion with the man who was now writing something down on a pad of paper.

She grabbed the small open bottle in her hand and raised it to her friends, "Cheers." The liquid burned in her mouth, but she forced herself to swallow. She coughed at the sensation, making Cara laugh as she took the flask back in her hand, downing what was inside again. The small group of friends joked and drank for the next hour or so, as the flames of the bonfire created a comforting warmth over the burning expressionless eyes of his majesty the king.

OoOoOo

After drinking so much during the bonfire, Cara must not have been feeling too well because she didn't show up to school the next day. Not only that, but it also seemed as though Finn decided to skip again. So unfortunately for Maggie, she was fated to walk home alone. Slung over her shoulder was her book bag which carried a few books, pens, and her journal. As she walked past the first alleyway, she felt a presence quickly appear next to her.

"In need of some company?" Ross asked, tossing his finished cigarette onto the pavement.

"That would be nice." She smiled up at his tall frame, which had a good five inches on her.

He motioned to the bookbag that rested on her shoulder, "Let me help with that."

"I can carry it myself." She calmly asserted, which made the young man grin.

"Now how would it look to all these people around us if I didn't help you with that, Hm?" He waved his index finger around to point at various people going about their day, "Word will get back to my mum, and she'd beat me for not being the gallant gentleman she raised. And you'd be responsible for that. I'm only trying to save you from a guilty conscience later on."

She supposed she shouldn't let that happen. With a small smile, she passed the bag to him which he took gladly.

"Last night was fun, eh?" He continued, slinging her bag over his shoulder.

"It was," she replied, allowing her mind to wander through the fresh memories. "Though I think Cara had too much fun."

"Sounds like her," he snickered out, "Never scared of fun."

"What else do you think about her?" The dark-haired girl pressed.

"Who, Cara?" He asked and Maggie nodded. "I dunno." He shrugged, adding, "Nice I suppose."

"Oh c'mon, you have to see the way she looks at you" Maggie alluded.

"Never noticed." He admitted, looking uncomfortable.

She knew she couldn't push the matter any further than that. It was time to change the subject, "How's work?"

"Factory is on strike again." He answered her, appearing more relaxed, "Freddie thinks we should be compensated more. Guess we'd need that in order to make up for the wages we've lost."

She couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. Of course, Freddy had something to do with this. Though she always admired her brothers' old friend for sticking to his beliefs, she silently judged anyone whose beliefs ranged on the spectrum of radical. "Freddie needs to be more careful. As do you, he's going to get everyone in some serious trouble."

He smiled at her worried words, "He'll be fine. I heard from other workers that he skipped town after the raid. As for me, I think that a bit of trouble is the only way to get what you want."

They had just turned onto Watery Lane, their pace began to slow until they eventually stopped just across the street from the front door of her home. "You didn't have to walk me all the way home, you know," she told him as he handed her book bag back.

His hazel eyes meet her blue ones, "I'd do anything for you, Margaret," he declared seriously. She couldn't help but think that there was a hidden meaning in his words. Was she reading too much into this? He must have meant that as her friend, right?

"I-," she started.

"Maggie!" Tommy's voice rang out.

Maggie turned her head to see her brother as he made his way toward them. The girl's heart clenched at the thought of what he was going to do. Her mind had quickly jumped back to the memory of yesterday, the slashing, the anger, the blood. She glanced over to Ross, whose expression went from nervous to stoic in a matter of seconds.

"Go inside," Tommy instructed once he stood close enough to the two teens.

"But-"

"Now Mags," he commanded with a low voice. Coolly, Tommy took a drag from his cigarette that was resting in between his fingers, not taking his eyes off Ross.

With a huff and a final look towards her friend, Maggie bid him farewell before swiftly walking toward the front door of her family home. Once the dark-haired girl was out of earshot Ross apprehensively spoke, "Mr. Shelby I- I was just walking her home, I wasn't trying to-"

"I know Ross," Tommy assured the anxious young man, tossing his finished cigarette to the ground. Pol had told him that the young Murray lad had helped look after his sister while he and his brothers were away in France. Had even heard a rumor amongst some of the younger men in the betting shop that he knocked the shit out of another boy who was sniffing around Margaret. If that was true, Tommy felt indebted. He was a busy man, so he cut to the chase, "You beat a bloke that was giving Maggie trouble?"

Ross modestly nodded at his question. "You're a good lad." The gangster commended, passing the young man one of his cigarettes from its silver metal casing. He also lit a match to assist him with lighting it. "Is your Uncle Ian still living in Dublin?"

Ross had to admit, he wasn't expecting the line of questioning to head in this direction. Nevertheless, he nodded once again, removing the rolled tobacco from his lips to allow a puff of smoke to escape from his lungs. The young man's confusion ceased when he watched Tommy pull out two pounds sterling from his pocket. Ross’s eyes couldn't help but widen at the act.

"Good, I want you to do me a favor. Call him and tell him to ask around all the local pubs in town if they know anything about a barmaid named Grace Burgess." As much as Tommy wanted to say he didn't care about this new woman who had found herself working at The Garrison, he needed to know exactly where she came from and if she was telling the truth. Digging out another pound he said, "Here send this to your uncle too."

"I will Mr. Shelby," he assured, accepting the coins in his outreached hand.

Tommy turned away and began walking toward his home, without looking back he added, "Welcome to the Peaky Blinders, Ross."

OoOoOo

When Maggie entered her home, she found Polly sitting in the kitchen reading a newspaper and drinking tea. "Hello, love. How was school?"

"Fine." She replied curtly, dropping her book bag onto the floor beside the table. She immediately moved to the window, looking out just in time to see Tommy lighting a cigarette for Ross. Relief washed over Maggie, this conversation thankfully seemed as though it wouldn't involve fists... or razor blades.

Polly's eyes were now on her, "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing." Maggie tore herself away from the window to sit down opposite her aunt, pulling out her journal and pen from the book bag next to her feet. Tommy ended up entering the kitchen not two minutes later.

"I hope you didn't tell my friend that you'd hurt him." Maggie told her brother much more boldly than she felt, "He was just being kind."

He stared at her for a moment before replying knowingly, "Now why would I hurt my newest recruit." With that, he exited into the betting shop closing the doors behind him. She gapped, still looking at the shut doors trying to process how Tommy could ever involve her friend in whatever schemes he was engaging in.

Her emotions must have shown all over her face because her aunt chuckled slightly. "I wouldn't worry too much about your friend," Polly told her eyes still on the black and white paper. But Maggie couldn't stop herself from slumping into the old wooden chair before she continued writing, ultimately stopping when she felt her sister's presence enter the room.

"Good of you to join us," Polly said to Ada from behind her newspaper. "Where have you been all day?

"In bed," Ada replied. "Couldn't sleep, then I couldn't wake up, then I was cold, and then I had to go for a wee. Then I was with this bear on a boat, but that was just a dream, then I was hungry." Maggie looked up from her journal once again to see that Ada took the empty seat between her and their aunt with a massive slice of bread with a jar of jam in hand.

Maggie looked pointedly at the last of the bread that she had made recently, "Jesus Ada, save some food for the rest of us."

Ada stuck her tongue out, before looking at her aunt, "Why are you reading the paper?" Ada inquired.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Polly questioned back, picking up her teacup.

"I've never seen you read the paper. I've only ever seen you light fires with them." The older Shelby sister continued, taking a bite of her food.

"BSA is on strike" Polly explained, "The miners are on strike. IRA are killing our boys, ten a day." Though when Polly stopped talking, she continued to stare at Ada eating.

The older girl soon noticed her aunt's gaze. "What?" She asked in between her chewing.

"Stand up," Polly commanded.

"Why?" Ada questioned.

"Just stand up," Polly ordered standing up herself, eventually Ada compiled, "Side on," Polly added and Ada motioned her body to face to the side. Maggie was taken aback when Polly suddenly cupped one of her sisters' breasts.

Though Ada was much more reactionary, "What are you doing?!"

"Ada, how late are you?" Polly asked seriously and Maggie couldn't stop her mouth as it fell open slightly.

"One week." Not too bad, Maggie thought. "Five weeks," Ada amended. It wasn't ideal, but maybe she was due any day now. "Seven, if you count weekends." The girl corrected herself once again.

"Holy Fuck, "Maggie shook her head in disbelief.

Ada seemed desperate for this not to be the reality, "I think it's a lack of iron. I got some tablets." She explained to them, as Polly sat back down in her chair.

"But they didn't work." Their aunt concluded.

Ada too sat back down, "No."

Maggie gulped at her sister's answer and looked to her aunt, watching Polly as she took a deep breath. The thought process could not be seen on her face, but the young girls knew that the situation was being meticulously addressed in her mind. "Get dressed. We're going to the midwife. Let's just make sure you are before anyone makes any rash decisions."

Ada nodded, holding back the tears that threatened to spill over. Maggie's heart clenched, and moved her hand over her sisters, squeezing it slightly. Whatever was to come, they would weather through it together.

[yespolkadotkitty]

Long Way to Go - Chapter 1

Ryan Brenner x OFC, Grace Lin

THANKYOU so much to @the-blind-assassin-12 for casting an eye over this and for friendship and enthusiasm and thankyou to @suchatinyinfinity and @something-tofightfor for being so friendly!

W/C: 1550 ~ Warnings: None? General audiences.

-----

It was hot as hell.

Sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I checked the thermometer in the pastry display case. Melted cream cakes didn’t sell, and I had to keep the served-cold meat bao from spoiling, but at least the fortune cookies, red bean cakes and mochi would be good for hours.

People bustled past, some holding mini electric fans, others cooling themselves with tall iced drinks from the nearby Starbucks.

I took a deep drink from my water bottle. I’d topped up the ice cubes just ten minutes ago and they were already just a memory.

The two girls I employed cleaned tables, their hair scooped up out of their faces, chattering about some party they were off to later, and which popular boys would be attending. Their giggling made me feel every one of my thirty-two years.

The overhead fan whirled silently as the bell above the door tinkled musically, letting in a gaggle of teenagers. They kept me busy for the next few minutes, ordering a bunch of fortune cookies and bao, barely looking up from their phones as they paid me.

As one of the teenagers pulled the shop door open, a gasp of music broke my train of thought (mango or green tea cookies tomorrow?). Curious, I peered out of the window.

On the street corner, sitting against the trunk of a large tree planted in the sidewalk, a man played guitar and sang.

His head was down, but thick, dark hair peeked out from under his battered hat, the brim shading his face from view.

His voice was deep and melancholy, and it pulled at something inside me. I kept the door open, listening.

Quite a little crowd had gathered around him. His fingers danced over the guitar strings effortlessly, his low, sultry voice carrying to me on what little there was of a breeze in New York in July.

I got lost in the lyrics for a moment, and must have leaned on the door too hard. The bell tinkled and I had to hang on to avoid falling face first on the pavement.

Smooth, Lin. Real smooth.

Without skipping a beat, the busker glanced my way. His eyes were the very dark brown of expensive Swiss chocolate, concern shining in their depths.

I smiled to let him know I was okay, and his gaze moved over me for a moment. I felt every second. His eyes smiled first, and then as he finished the last note in a line, his lips curved, too, a dimple flashing above his scruffy beard, and oh. I was a goner. He was the most beautiful man I’d seen in a long time, and this was NYC, so that was saying something.

“Hey, Earth to Grace! You gonna stand there all day?”

The Brooklyn twang jerked me back to reality and I blinked, looking into the face of my delivery guy. “Sorry, Mikey.”

The bulky Asian-American grinned, casting a thumb at the busker.  “He’s all right.”

I tore my gaze away again. “He sure is.”

Mikey wheeled his little hand truck to the storeroom and started to unload as I served a young woman who had questions about allergies. She read my ingredients lists and decided on three pork floss buns, the ones hot from the heated plate. Just going near it made me near-recoil with the steam that bathed my face.

As the customer paid and I thanked her, clipping a business card to the paper bag, I glanced out at the busker. He was drinking from a water bottle, his head tipped back to expose the line of his neck. The bottle was near-empty.

“Hey, Kristi?” 

One of the girls I employed stopped mid-chatter to her colleague about someone called Dwayne and how dreamy he looked in a football jersey, and whipped her head round to me.

“Can you man the counter for a sec?”

She bobbed her head yes and we swapped places. I grabbed a bottle of water from the tall fridge by the door, the shaped plastic cold against my palm. I hesitated, then grabbed another.

The wall of heat enveloped me as soon as I stepped out of the door.

The busker looked up at the sound of the bell, shoulders bunching in his worn white t-shirt as I approached, as if steeling himself for something.

The crowd had thinned between songs, people put off from standing by the sheer heat of a New York summer, but the open guitar case held a bundle of notes, some fives and tens, as well as several scatterings of coins.

“Hi,” I greeted him. “Ma’am,” he drawled, softly. His smile seemed easy, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

I suspected that he was wondering if I was gearing up to threaten to call the police on his ass. 

I wasn’t.

I held out the bottles of water. “Thought you might be thirsty.”

“Sure am.” He smiled up at me, fingers drumming on his thigh, but he didn’t attempt to take the water. “‘S very kind of you.”

You stepped closer, offering the bottles and he finally took them from me . His hands brushed mine, his skin warm and tan, a little rough. I noticed the unusual ink on his fingers, wanted to ask, but politeness stopped me.

“Your music is beautiful,” I said as he unscrewed the first bottle, the second held between his knees.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He took a deep drink, and I tried not to feel like a letch, admiring the line of his neck, the bob of his Adam’s apple. “‘S a nice bakery you got there.”

“Thanks. I, um, never thought it’d be a thing. You know? When you dream about something for so long and when it finally comes true, you can’t believe it?”

He met my gaze. “Can’t say I know a whole lot about that.”

For the first time, I took in his attire properly - large burlap backpack, battered army-style boots, the laces frayed, the near-threadbare edges of his hat. “God. I’m so sorry, I’m such an idiot-”

He shook his head, a shy little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’ be. I like it better when folks don’t have to watch their every word ‘round me. I’m Ryan.”

“I’m Grace. The idiot.” I offered a hand and he shook it, and his palm was wide and warm, a little calloused, and sparks of awareness slid up my arm.

“Do you often play around here?” I gestured to the little stretch of the Chinatown of Flushing, Queens, that my bakery sat on.

“No, ma’am. I’m a traveller. Been t’ New York before, but not this particular spot.”

“And how is this particular spot?”

Ryan drummed his fingers on his guitar thoughtfully. “‘S good. Folk are nice, for the most part.” He started on the second bottle of water, his tongue flicking out to over bottom lip after he drank. “Hot as hell, though, and I say that as a Southern boy.”

I opened my mouth to ask where in the South he hailed from, but Kristi appeared in the doorway of my shop. “Grace? Sorry, Mikey needs the auth code for this delivery.”

“Oh, sure.” I turned back to Ryan. “It was good to meet you. Your music is really fantastic.”

He ducked his head, smiling, a little shy. “Mighty kind of you, ma’am.”

By this point another little crowd had gathered, waiting to hear him sing, and I left them to it. I wished I could have the shop door open to hear him, but that would defeat the point of air conditioning.

But even so, throughout the afternoon, I kept glancing over, seeing him still there, singing. During a busy point I asked Kristi to go and bring him another bottle of water, and I saw the smile he flashed her, feeling jealous of the attention, and called myself utterly ridiculous for it. I hadn’t even known Ryan existed a couple of hours ago.

Customers thinned out. It was a weekday, and business always slowed down around six pm. I shut at seven, so at six-thirty I sent Kristi and Susan home. As they opened the door, I caught a line of song in Ryan’s soft, smooth drawl.

Nine hundred more miles, and I’ll be doin’ just fine-

When he finished, after the small crowd had dropped dollar bills and murmured their appreciation, I called out to him.

“You want to come inside? Have a cold drink? Use the air con?”

I saw the hesitation flick over his face, the trepidation mixed with curiosity, and in the end, the latter must’ve won, because he stood up.

“That’s it for today, ladies and gentlemen,” I heard him say to the people circled around him. A man tossed a couple of bills in his guitar case, and Ryan touched his hat in thanks.

The listeners dispersed, and Ryan settled his guitar in his case like a mother swaddling her baby; with utmost gentleness. And then he looked up, smiling, that dimple winking, and walked towards me.

Taglist: @agirllovespancakes

[marvel-and-mischief]

His Saving Grace Part V

Title: His Saving Grace - Maxwell Lord x F!Reader  Words: 4400 Warnings: verbal abuse, alcohol, drunken behaviour, angst, swearing Synopsis: Maxwell takes you to a business gala, explains what happened on that unusual day, and meets a familiar face. But not everything goes according to plan.

Part I  -  Part II  -  Part III  -  Part IV

A month passes in a flurry of meetings and spontaneous lunches with Maxwell, and  being the odd one out whilst he spent his half a day a week with Alistair (Mrs Lord had decided that she trusted you enough to leave her son under your care). Though, by the third week Alistair had began to warm up to you, asking you questions and thrusting toys into your arms, urging you to join in the fun on the living room floor with him and his father. 

Most of Maxwell’s conversations with you were about Alistair, or how well his new investments were doing. You didn’t elect to bring up what had happened in the restaurant a month ago, where he had you blabbering like an idiot with a silly schoolgirl crush, and he didn’t bring it up. You thought he might’ve, that it was maybe an indication that something was brewing between the two of you, but perhaps you were mistaken.

Though you noticed his hand would linger on the small of your back long after he had ushered you through a door, and he’d taken to kissing you on the cheek, a whispered ‘thank you’ on a Saturday afternoon when Mrs Lord had picked up Alistair and your work there was done. 

But it was always respectful, professional. 

One Monday you arrived at Maxwell’s apartment for lunch. Though you didn’t meet everyday, Maxwell was sure to telephone you most days and the night before he had been eager to have lunch with you to discuss something important. You begged him to tell you over the phone but he insisted he wanted to tell you in person. The excitement in his voice had you grinning and accepting his invitation easily. 

He pulled you over to the island in the middle of the kitchen when you arrived and you saw it was lined with buttered toast and various jams, a cafetière filled with fresh coffee, plain croissants and a bowl of fruit. 

“What are you up to?” You asked, teasing him and roaming you eyes over the delicious food as you took a seat. 

“Must I be up to something to treat my favourite lawyer?” Maxwell looked genuinely affronted at your accusations before the mask slipped and a cheeky smile appeared on his lips. He fetched a bottle of milk from the fridge and a small saucer with sugar cubes on and placed them down next to your mug before taking his seat opposite you.

“Either that or you’re about to fire me,” you winked as you took a bite of your toast. 

“Absolutely not! It would be like shooting myself in the foot.”

It wasn’t the most obvious of compliments but it still had you finding your slice of toast much more interesting than it was, unable to meet Maxwell’s eyes. 

“I’ve been feeling very positive lately. With seeing Alistair every week and my investments working out. I think we should do something.”

“To celebrate?” You asked inquisitively, ignoring the part where he said ‘we’.

“Sort of,” Maxwell left his place at the island and picked up a pamphlet off a side table in the living room, “I saw this when I was out getting groceries. I would like to take you.”

Maxwell handed you the pamphlet. You curiously scanned the fancy writing, the black and gold color scheme, the illustration of a woman in a beautiful gown. It was a gathering of local business owners raising money for charity, or more accurately an excuse to dress up and have a party.

“There will be opportunities to schmooze and swap business cards but most importantly there will be dancing and copious amounts of champagne,” Maxwell seemed delighted at the idea, a hopeful look in his eyes as he watched for your reaction. 

You licked the crumbs off your finger and thumb and started to nod.

“It’ll be fun,” you wanted to match Maxwell’s excitement but you had never been to anything like this, it was a whole other world to the one you were used to. But to Maxwell, this was a taste of his old life again, the glitz and the glamor of throwing money around until it sticks. 

“It will be fun. You get to dress up and show everybody in the business world that you are the one to go to if they need help.”

You couldn’t help smiling bashfully. And yeah, maybe it would be nice to relax for once, let your hair down for a night, even show off a little. You were good at your job and everyone should know it.

But there was one thing nagging in the back of your mind. Maxwell had said he didn’t want this lifestyle anymore, was he really ready to go back into the limelight?

“Maxwell,” you put down the pamphlet in favor of reaching across the island and holding his hand, “are you ready for this?”

His smile dropped a fraction, a wistful look crossing his features as he gave your hand a squeeze. After a moment’s pause he spoke seriously.

“I cannot hide for the rest of my life. I must face the music one day, and what better way to do that than with a celebration?”

“But a gala for businessmen and women? You’re sure to bump into somebody you knew.”

“Perhaps. But these people won’t want to make a fuss. They’re all about appearances.”

“You’re sure?”

Maxwell chuckled, dismissing your apprehension. 

“Everything will be fine.”

You hoped he was right.

-

Four days later you were sat in the back of a car Maxwell had hired for the two of you, bouncing your leg with nerves and staring up at Maxwell’s living room window as you awaited your date for the night to leave his apartment and join you. 

You had brought your dress second hand, not sure if it was appropriate for the event or even if it was meant to match Maxwell’s outfit. You had no idea what was ‘etiquette’ at these galas, having never been to one. 

You’d found a long dark green dress with thin straps over the shoulder and gold embroidered wildflowers in random patterns all over. You’d also come across an old black clutch at the back of your wardrobe from your clubbing days to go with it. You felt beautiful getting dressed up for the first time in years, even better that it was with Maxwell.

Speaking of which, when he came through the doors of the building you audibly gasped at how handsome he looked. His sleek, black three piece suit fit perfectly to his shape, whereas his everyday suits often looked boxy this one didn’t have the over the top shoulder pads and he looked better for it, more approachable in appearance. His shirt was white and had a crimped style and instead of a normal tie he wore a mint green bowtie, a fun addition that put a smile on your face. 

Maxwell slipped into the car next to you, taking you in with a slow sweep of your outfit and an audible release of breath that had you second guessing your choices.

“You’re a sight to behold,” Maxwell admired you one last time before pointing to his bowtie and your dress, “and we almost match.”

You laughed, nerves dissipating as you allowed Maxwell’s compliment to seep in. Maxwell told the driver to drive on, unbuttoned his jacket and relaxed into his seat. He didn’t seem anxious to be going to a gala full of people. You were a little uneasy at the prospect of meeting people he might know, you had no idea how they would react to seeing him again but you were determined to have Maxwell’s back at every corner if you were met with conflict. 

When you rolled up outside the museum you had to wait for arrivals in the car in front of your own to exit before you could. You watched as the flashing lights of the photographers were blinding the people walking passed them, and it took you back to when those cameras were shoved in your face during the worst time of your life. Would these photos be publicised? What would people think about you turning up to a charity event with a disgraced ex-oil tycoon?

Maxwell shuffled to the middle seat to grasp your hand in his, calling your name to take your attention away from what was happening outside.

“Are you alright?” The concern in his voice was genuine and the hand holding yours brought you out of your spiralling thoughts. 

“I’ll be better once we’re passed them,” you pointed to the photographers but kept your eyes on Maxwell. He hummed and leaned over the front seat to whisper in the driver’s ear. Before you could question him, the car was driving away.

“Where are we going?” You asked in confusion.

“We’re going to enter round the back instead. I have some ties to this place so it should be fine,” Maxwell gave you a reassuring smile that had you instinctively leaning against his shoulder. It was comforting having Maxwell so close, you could smell his expensive cologne that reminded you of old books in a library and a little bit woodsy. Oh what you would give to be in his presence all the time. 

-

The Smithsonian was a thing of wonder, even entering through a discreet back door away from the sparkle of the main event. After charming a security guard he seemed to know, Maxwell guided you with a hand in yours through narrow nineteenth century corridors, moving closer to the loud music at the front of the building. You passed dark locked offices and hurried through rooms with posters of animals and glass cabinets filled with artefacts far beyond your understanding. 

“How do you know your way around here?” You asked as you took in your surroundings.

“I’ve been here before,” Maxwell’s reply was short, bordering on stern as he dragged you through the maze of corridors. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“No no,” Maxwell slowed down enough to bring you in step beside him, deliberately loosening his grip on your hand as he realised he had been clinging harshly and pulling you around the museum behind him. It wasn’t until you reached the gems and minerals department that you felt Maxwell stiffen up beside you.

“This is where it all began,” he confessed, pointing around the room in a generalised manner. You understood what he meant, but not knowing exactly what had gone down that day, you were confused as to how it linked in with a natural history museum. 

“What happened?” You ventured, hesitant to push too hard on the subject.

“There was a stone I’d been researching for months and I traced it back to here,” Maxwell glanced over his shoulder to a door that led into an office.

“What sort of stone?”

“A Dreamstone,” Maxwell breathed, his fingers flexing around yours, “it granted wishes,” at your sceptical look he huffed out a laugh, “I know, it’s madness but I swear it’s true.”

He wasn’t playing a practical joke on you, that much you could tell, but how could a stone make your wishes come true? You decided for the most part Maxwell was sound of mind so it must be true, somehow.

“So, you took it? And made a wish?”

“I did. I wished to become the stone, that way I could grant people’s wishes and take a wish in return. I had limitless wishes, and I used every single one of them for my own benefit, to get more rich, more powerful, more evil,” Maxwell whispered the last word as he began to walk away from the department towards another corridor. 

“You were already one of the most famous men in America, why did you need more?”

Maxwell let out a sarcastic laugh that made you jump. Thinking he’d scared you Maxwell tried to pull his hand from yours but you held tight, preventing him from doing so. 

“I told myself it was for Alistair, to give him the world if he asked for it. I’m sure you and all your goodness would say I was misguided but the truth is, I wanted it. I said to myself, why shouldn’t I have everything I’ve ever wanted? Damn the consequences.”

You shook your head, disagreeing with the harshness in Maxwell’s voice and words. He wasn’t a bad man, you knew Maxwell was good at heart. The man he was describing wasn’t the man in front of you today. The man who had you entering the back of a gala because he saw how uncomfortable you were with the cameras at the front. 

“I don’t believe you,” you stated adamantly.

“No, it is all true,” Maxwell argued but you shushed him as the music and the chatter of guests was getting louder. You came to an oak door and you knew the gala was on the other side. Before you opened it you paused and turned to face Maxwell.

“I believe your story but I don’t believe for a second that you wanted to be some king of the world. Otherwise why did you stop before you went too far?”

Maxwell opened his mouth to retort but closed it again, looking like a gaping fish out of water. He couldn’t come up with an answer that suited his self-deprecating view of himself. He saw Alistair in his mind’s eye, the answer to your question, but it would only further prove your point. 

“We should go out there and enjoy ourselves, what do you think?” You asked, reaching forward to straighten up Maxwell’s bowtie. When you finished, you saw Maxwell looking at you with a sappy smile and a look you couldn’t put your finger on. Before you could ask, he offered you his arm and you took it, pushing open the oak door together. 

-

You squinted into the dim, atmospheric lighting of the large room and paused for a moment to get acquainted to the loud music from the speakers on either side of you. The space was massive and could easily accommodate a couple of hundred people. There were cabinets of artefacts along the perimeter, skeletal displays hanging down from the roof, waiters walking around with trays of champagne. It was a world far from your own but you didn’t feel uncomfortable with Maxwell by your side.

You turned to Maxwell who nodded in the direction of the bar off to the side and up some steps. You let him guide you as you surveyed the dance floor, noting the guests were in deep conversations instead of dancing. You realised that this was the time to be talking to other business owners and swapping cards.

You opened your clutch and picked out the dozen or so business cards you’d had made and showed them to Maxwell as soon as you reached the bar.

“Ah, you listened to me!” Maxwell exclaimed with a delighted grin, waving down a bartender, “what do you want?”

“A cocktail?” You weren’t sure what you could order in a museum but Maxwell understood and ordered you something you’d never heard of before.

“You’ll like it, it’s sweet,” he assured you and took one of your business cards to look over.

“Is it okay?” You asked, a tightness in your chest as you awaited his opinion. You didn’t want to look stupid in the face of the rich and powerful. 

“It’s nice, sophisticated and sleek, is that what you’re going for?”

You watched his finger trace the curvy triangle running from the top left corner of the card to the bottom right, a shiny pink against the matte black background. You nodded, certain it was exactly what you were going for. You had been a smart, capable and hard working lawyer and you wanted to bring that to your new role as a Career and Business Adviser. 

“I want to be taken seriously,” you took back the card and shuffled them into a neat pile on the bar top just as your drink was placed in front of you.

“And you will be, you can do this,” Maxwell winked and it sent a warmth throughout your body. 

When you were finished with your drink Maxwell directed you away from the bar and into the crowd. The nerves in every part of your body were on fire as you spoke to your first stranger, an older woman who owned a store in the middle of D.C. She spoke of the rising costs of renting her store and the trouble she was having attracting new customers.

You gave her advice that had her asking for your business card before you could even offer her one. 

Maxwell’s hand was a comforting presence on your back as he urged you towards different people he thought would be potential clients. Some people recognised him with a look of shock, some gave him a wide berth but most people nodded politely or didn’t give him the time of day. You were too busy concentrating on your job for the night to notice, but Maxwell was grateful that everything seemed to going smoothly for you. 

You were about to ask Maxwell if he wanted another drink when you spotted a tall, slender woman with long, wavy brunette hair on a mission to push through the crowd and reach Maxwell by any means necessary. You caught his eye, raising a questioning eyebrow but all he did was let out a long breath and face the woman who had a look of curiosity on her face. Her striking features, sharp jawline and pursed lips, set you on edge. You didn’t know whether she was going to slap Maxwell or have a very strongly worded conversation with him.

“Maxwell Lord,” she said, surprise in her tone and an accent you couldn’t place, but up close you thought she was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. When she finally took notice of you she flashed you a friendly smile that made you weak at the knees. Who was this woman?

“Diana,” Maxwell greeted her nervously, urging you to his side and speaking your name to Diana who welcomed you with a genuine smile.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“I could ask you the same. I thought you never attended these events.” So Maxwell was hoping to avoid this Diana, you realised. There was a tension between them that you couldn’t figure out. Were they lovers once? Enemies? It was a weird atmosphere that left you confused and feeling like a third wheel. 

“I’ve been pushing myself out of my comfort zone recently,” Diana said with an air of mystery. You looked between the two of them, a frown etched onto your face. 

Maxwell glanced at you and realised how this must seem and quickly went about to explain the situation.

“Diana helped me to see the error of my ways,” Maxwell spoke slowly, hoping to give you the hint of what he was referring to. You realised he was talking about the day he made his wishes, and this woman was the one who helped prevent him from falling deeper into the dark. 

“Oh,” you gasped, nodding in understanding as Diana smiled shyly at the two of you.

“I simply reminded him of his humanity,” Diana seemed to relax once she caught onto the fact you knew exactly what they were talking about. She eyed you with interest, no doubt wondering how you and Maxwell came to be friends in the couple of months since the incident. You didn’t feel threatened under her gaze, instead it made you stand a little taller. You were proud at how far Maxwell had come since that day, he was almost unrecognisable from the mad oil tycoon everyone saw on their televisions and you hoped Diana could see that. 

You didn’t notice how Maxwell was staring at you, a warmth settling on his chest as he admired your bravery. You could have shied away from this event, refused to attend with him and he wouldn’t have blamed you in the slightest. You were strong in the way Maxwell would never be. You didn’t need help to stand back up on your feet after everything you’ve been through, you were unafraid to walk the world with a target on your back from being seen with him. He thinks you would still stand proud, head held high even if you knew Diana’s true character. 

Diana saw the look Maxwell was giving you and took it as her cue to leave. She didn’t need to keep an eye on this Maxwell Lord, not when you were there to keep him on the straight and narrow path of goodness and truth. Five minutes was all it took for Diana of Themyscira to see you were his saving grace. 

“I will leave you both to it,” Diana nodded to Maxwell and turned to leave but came to a stop just as quickly. You looked to see what she was doing and saw her wide eyes turn on Maxwell.

You weren’t sure what was going on but you knew it wasn’t good when Maxwell grabbed your hand and pulled you into his side roughly. You would have grumbled your objection but you saw the fear on his face as he frantically looked around the room.   

“What is it? What’s wrong Maxwell?” You urged him to answer you, but he didn’t need to because out of the corner of your eye you saw a man tripping towards you from the bar, clothes askew and holding an empty glass.

“You should be behind bars!” He pointed rudely at Maxwell who silently guided you to be completely shielded behind him. 

“Sir, I think you’ve had a few too many-“

“You ruined my life!” The man exclaimed. He was close enough that he would have shoved his meaty finger into Maxwell’s chest but quick as lightning Diana forced her body between the two men and had the stranger’s finger held tight in her fist.

“You don't want to do that,” Diana spoke quietly, but there was a threatening undertone to her words that shocked you. You moved to lean into Maxwell’s ear whilst Diana tried to talk the man down.

“Let’s leave,” you said softly, seeing the sadness in Maxwell’s eyes now you were closer to him. You attempted to smile, to let him know without words that you weren’t disappointed with how the night had gone. You probably would have left soon anyway, the rude man just accelerated things. 

Maxwell held your hand once again, it was becoming an ordinary occurrence between you two, and started to guide you through the crowd.

“Oi!” You heard the drunk man shout behind you but you hoped Maxwell would ignore him. “Your wishes destroyed my life, you bastard!”

Maxwell kept walking and you kept following. The crowds parted for the two of you but they only offered you pitying looks. It made your blood boil. They saw what had happened and instead of being angry at the drunk idiot causing a scene they were sad that you were caught up in it. Caught up with Maxwell. 

You didn’t want pity and you certainly didn’t want their judgements. You would be glad to never see any of them again.

When Maxwell pulled you outside it was dark, stars twinkling in the sky, the air cool and refreshing on your burning skin. Maxwell let go of you and strode over to the car he had rented for the night, knocking on the drivers side window to wake up the driver who startled awake. 

You slowly walked over, observing as Maxwell raked a hand through his hair and refused to look at you until you were standing in front of him.

“I can’t…You need to…” Maxwell sighed heavily and frustratingly kicked a pebble into the middle of the car park.

“I need to what?”

“You need to go. Far away from me, because people like him will always be around the corner.”

“You could say that about me.”

“Yes, but it didn’t happen to you tonight, it happened to me,” Maxwell jabbed his finger into his own chest as he frantically shucked off his jacket and loosened his bowtie until both pieces of fabric were hanging down the front of his shirt. 

You remained calm, understanding Maxwell’s words stemmed from his embarrassment at the situation and not because he actually wanted you to leave. 

“You want me to leave?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Your only friend?”

“I have no friends.”

“You do, you have me.”

Maxwell paused to take in your calm features, reminding himself of what he saw earlier tonight. Your strength, your inability to back down when the going gets tough. He couldn’t push you away if he really tried, he didn’t want to, and you knew that. 

He walked around to the back door of the car and opened it.

“Get in before you catch a cold,” Maxwell ordered half-heartedly and was relieved when you complied, scooting over the seats to leave space for him to join you. 

When the driver began to drive away you shuffled into the middle seat and laid your head on Maxwell’s shoulder, relaxing once he rested his head atop yours. 

Moments later you heard Maxwell sniffle and you carefully looked up to see tears filling his eyes and threatening to spill.

“Oh Maxwell,” you whispered, sitting up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, bringing his head into the crook of your neck.

“I have ruined everything.”

“No, you’re wrong. It will get better,” you ran a hand slowly through Maxwell’s hair as you reassured him, “you were very brave tonight, to go to a gala full of people who knew who you were.”

Maxwell hugged you around the waist, holding you tightly against him, the rise and fall of your chest against his, your fingers on his scalp and the smooth motion of the travelling car calming him down. 

“I’m scared for Alistair,” Maxwell croaked out against your neck.

“What do you mean?” 

“My disgrace will follow him around. He’ll always be the son of Maxwell Lord.”

Your heart broke for your friend, but what could you say? You couldn’t predict the future, you just had to stick around to show him he was wrong. 

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @galactic-rhi @phoenixhalliwell @thewayofthemandalorian @computeringturtle @shikin83 @lesbianlena 

[talas-starlight]

Scarred Spirit - Zuko x fem!reader (pt.2)

SUMMARY: reader faces the consequences of interfering with the Agni Kai (emotionally and physically)

WORD COUNT: 3.9k

WARNINGS: angst. Torture, semi nudity (NOT sexually) –traumatising!! physical and some mental abuse. Violence. Mentions/descriptions of death. Crying. Swearing. Ozai being a literal nutter. Azula being nutter 2.0.

A/N: THIS IS A REPOST FROM THE AUTHOR OF THIS FIC - I had some complications with the original blog this fic was posted on so please show this some love,, ALL FUTURE CHAPTERS FOR THIS FIC WILL BE POSTED HERE!! hi friends!! Thank you to everyone who showed some love to the first chapter eep! Anyway I’m really scared for y’all to read this one, but!! I’m aiming to have the gaang in the next one so if you hate this I’m sorry but I didn’t want the story to be rushed so I couldn’t bring myself to skip this :// Please read the warnings!!

Also! In this part italics are internalised thoughts 😊

OTHER PARTS:  pt1   /   pt3   /   pt4   /   pt5   /   pt6

MASTERLIST: Here!

The Fire Lords command echoed throughout the room, encompassing the crowd in a thick silence.

Zuko let out a small gasp, one only you were able to hear. After experiencing just a fragment of the physical pain he endured, you didn’t want him to make any decisions he would regret, especially if he was considering to defend you. You didn’t deserve it. Burnt, dead skin, blisters across your left side in the hot atmosphere around you. Your heart begins to tighten and rip you apart all at the same time, realising how much pain you caused for taking all of those lives.

Continuing to kneel on the floor of the duelling platform, you’re frozen, filled with disgust as you finally acknowledge the person you became. From your first commission four years ago, you were numbed to the experience of taking someone’s life. Seeing the life fade from someone’s eyes as you plunged your flame lit sword into their chest, you felt nothing. It was as if it were just a switch inside of them, nothing more. One moment they were there, the next they’re not. You recall Zemin’s reaction when you recounted the events of your first kill, and he didn’t make it seem like it mattered. His only response was to scold you for showing off because you didn’t need to light your sword on fire to kill the man.

Managing to push through the new thoughts and emotions that have awoken within you, your mind travels back to the boy behind you. Despite what you’re currently feeling, it will never amount to the emotional pain he has after being attacked by his father. Fire Lord or not.

Continuing to face the floor, you can’t bring yourself to even glance at Zuko, barely managing to croak out, “Forget who I am. Stay alive, that would be enough.”

You feel his stare to the back of your head. You wish you could turn around and say something, anything at all, maybe even hold him. Anything to get rid of the disgusting, vulnerable, and isolating feelings within you. You wanted to tell him he didn’t deserve it, even if you didn’t know who he really was. Because as much as you hated to admit it, you were afraid. So fucking afraid. Zemin never taught you what to do in these situations, especially anything involving saving the Prince’s life.

Unknown to you, Zuko’s right arm cautiously reaches out to take hold to the back of your robes. So close his fingertips graze the fabric, but not close enough. The two nearest guards rushed to grab you while everyone in the crowd stared at your figure on the duelling ground.

With one guard on either side of you, they grabbed your arms and shoved you off the platform. Hissing, and failing to shove down a pathetic sob ripping through your half-burnt throat, you fall onto your hands and knees. A moment later, the guards were back at your side, dragging you through the door you couldn’t bring yourself to walk through minutes earlier.

Freedom feels like a distant, pathetic dream.

You try to take in the palace around you as they drag you to the right. Connecting where you are to the map, you saw last night, becomes increasingly difficult as the prolonged burning sensation on your skin begins to fog your mind. It’s no use keeping your eyes open. The dark colours of the palace give you a headache. You want to pass out. Give up completely. But Zemin didn’t lock you up in a pitch-black, underground labyrinth, for three months when you were eight to learn nothing. Instincts kicking in, you allow your eyes to close and begin to count your movements, listening to your surroundings.

20 steps forward.

Turn left.

15 steps.

Turn right.

You notice the guard to your left has a weaker hold on you than your right. Possibly about of disgust for holding your arm, or maybe to cause less pain. You assume the former.

18 steps.

The guards come to a stop.

You feel the guard to your left, slightly turning her body towards you. “Hey, maybe we should stop for a bit. I think the kid passed out.”

Ah, so maybe the latter as well then.

The guard to the right scoffs at her suggestion. “Don’t worry about it. She’s not completely out yet, she managed to keep moving. Probably just weak from the pain. Stupid kid. We’ve got a long way to go, and the Fire Lord will want her towards the top of the prison.”

Still unconvinced the female guard persists, “Shouldn’t we be taking her to the infirmary? These are really severe burns.”

There’s a pause. Only for a few moments, but enough for them to weigh up their options. “We should, but the Fire Lord would end us if we did that. We’ll just send a healer to the cell after we get her there.”

The guard shakes you, forcing you to open your eyes. Guiding you out of the palace, you squint your eyes as the sun blinds you, eventually able to make out a tall tower-like building before you. Entering the darkness that lies inside it, you struggle to keep up with their pace as they wind their way further and further up the spiral. Making it to a cell, the guard to the right drops you instantly making you crumble to the floor, eliciting a subtle dig to your hip. You’d forgotten all about the dagger strapped around your waist under your robes—the one you used to kill the general.

While the guard is holding your injured arm tugs you back up, you decide to act while one of them is preoccupied. Balancing on your right leg, you swing your left leg around, slamming into the back of their knees, making them fall. You quickly take out the dagger from underneath your robes, flipping it in your hand and using the blunt of the handle to knock her out in the head. The thud to the guards’ head alerts the other ahead of you. By the time they’ve processed what happened, you ran to them, kicking them in the stomach propelling them into the cell they recently managed to open. Running towards them you drop to both of your knees, arching your back as you slide under streams of fire passing above you. Rookie move on their part. Bringing your torso back up, you send a punch to their face knocking them out cold.

You grab the other guard and drag them into the cell as well and swap your robes for their uniform. It’s too large for your adolescent figure, but its good enough. Taking the keys, you lock them both in there, closing the main door on your way out in hopes no one will notice them in there instead of you.

Breath, you still have a long way to go.

With determined strides, you make your way past other guards in the prison, praying to the spirits that for once they’ll be on your side. Following the steps you memorised in your head from earlier, you end up back at the point where they led you from the arena. From this point, you decide to go in the opposite direction to which they took you. To the left.

Stay calm y/n, you’re going to make it.

You find a door leading out of the castle, and you can see the palace gates in the distance.

Holy Spirits! So… I would have made it out in time if I left the Agni Kai… That doesn’t matter anymore, you’re going to make it out now.

Walking out into the open, you force yourself to suppress a scream of pure joy. Time began to slow down as you saw the gates coming closer and closer. So close you started wondering where you’d go once you made it through.

Those thoughts were abandoned when you hear screaming from behind you.

“Close the gates! That guard is the traitor! Don’t let her out, and close the gates!”

No. No, not again. No, no, no! Fuck!

Breaking out in a sprint, you push yourself harder and further than any training exercise Zemin put you through. You let out a painful scream as if it would make you run faster than the guards at the gates, slowly pushing them shut. Nothing could compare to how much you wanted this slice of freedom. After just a few hours of being in the miserable palace, you were convinced you’d rather walk and swim to the Northern Water Tribe without any food or water, than have to spend another moment here. Mind going into overdrive, you don’t seem to hear or even register the fact that there is a group of around twenty guards behind you, ready to take you down.

With an echoing clang, they seal the gates shut. You falter, slowing down as waves of desperation and hopelessness consume you, yet unable to bring yourself to stop completely.

No, please.

One guard managed to catch up to you in your moments of weakness, throwing a strong punch to your head before you have time to react.

WEEK ONE

It had been a week since you were caught (again) and imprisoned in the Fire Nation jail cell and quite frankly, you were bored. After your stunt when you were first brought here, they ensured that you would never have access to any sharp objects, serving food in wooden bowls with only your hands to eat. Bold of them to assume you didn’t know 21 ways to use the bowl if you truly desired to kill them. No one spoke to you, not even the healer who came in wordlessly the first night to treat your burns. You lay on your right side, staring up at the ceiling admiring the small light that came through the poor excuse of a window.

I wonder if Zemin was worried when I never came back. Would he be worried? No that’s a stupid question, of course not. If anything, he’d be annoyed that I damaged his reputation by getting caught… I still hope he got those gold pieces though, at least then I can slowly waste away in here knowing I don’t owe him any more money. Maybe he could finally fulfil his dream and go to Ba Sing Se. He used to always guilt me into learning a new form of fighting, groaning on about how he gave up the money he had to move there and start a new life with the woman he loved, to raise me. Idiot. He never had an obligation to raise me in the first place, I’m probably from nowhere, and my parents were probably mediocre people in the grand scheme of things. Who even were my-

Cutting off your train of thought, one of the guards walked up to the cell and unlocked it, another quickly grabbing your wrists, and latching them in chains. “The Fire Lord has ordered to speak with you.”

You crack a smirk, “Oh goodie, I think I’m ready for a rematch!”

“Shut it kid, you’re lucky he ordered that you can’t be disposed of… yet.”

Am I lucky? Being burnt alive and having access to a non- waterbending healer and a bowl of old rice is lucky? Oh great Spirits, thank you for gracing my life with these blessings from the great Fire Nation.

What. A. Load. Of. Shit.

Leading you to the palace, you make it into the throne room. At this point, you wanted to laugh at their efforts to scare you.

Really? Dark Lighting and a fire wall right in front of the throne you sit high and mighty? If only I were an Airbender, then I could huff and puff until you fall into the flames.

A guard standing near the Fire Lord is the first to speak. “Bow before your Fire Lord!”

Spitting on the ground, you look at Ozai in the eye. “I will never bow before you!”

He laughs.

“I know you are the one who killed one of my generals before the duel after acquiring your blade. It’s quite interesting how you managed to get to him without any bending, I must find and congratulate whoever your trainer was. Lucky for you though, the general was of no value to me and easy to replace. I will also show you mercy for what you did at the Agni Kai, only because it was my disgrace of a son you protected, and just like that general, not anyone truly valuable to the nation. Regardless of your crimes, you have already proven yourself a very great asset for a mere child. For that, I will grant you the ultimate freedom, free of any ties you have with the low lives outside of the Capital. Instead, you can directly serve your Fire Lord as my personal assassin. I will have the best swordsmen train you. Taking your abilities to new heights, you wouldn’t even begin to imagine for yourself. I will make you unstoppable. For a non-bender, that is.”

Based on the confident yet bored tone of his voice, you could easily assume he didn’t care. Yet his golden eyes narrow down towards your figure. Waiting. Testing to see if you dare defy his wishes. The offer is objectively easy. Technically, all he is asking of you is to do the same thing you’ve been raised to do, just under his allegiance.

Zuko flashes in your mind. Tears streaming down his face, and begging his father for mercy. “I will never kill for you! I would rather relive the burns you gave me every day than stand by your side!”

He sighs. “If that is what you wish. Maybe over time, you will learn what a great honour it is to be offered such an opportunity, let us meet again next week.”

The guards, as if they were expecting this, shoved you to your knees, ripped off the top you were wearing, and the bindings across your chest. Frozen as the warm air from the flames around you hit your chest, you were mortified. Knowing other guards present were intently watching you be humiliated in front of the Fire Lord, you forced yourself to control the urge to vomit the contents of your prison food on the floor. Quickly bringing your arms and hands to your chest, you winced at the sudden movement from your left arm.

Without any time to mentally prepare, both guards ignited streams of fire to your back. Instinctively you hunch over, attempting and failing to avoid the flames. Unbeknownst to you, everyone in the palace all the way to the kitchens, froze as your haunting screams echoed throughout its halls.

Through your tears and screams, you faintly heard the Fire Lord speak. “You will learn to agree, and you will comply.”

THREE MONTHS

Despite crying every time it happened, you became accustomed to the burnings every week you refused Ozai’s offer. You began to lose any emotional feeling when it happened, robotically going through each step.

They bring you to the throne room.

You say no.

You take off your shirt and bindings for yourself.

The guards burn you.

You cry.

Ozai watches you as if he had better things to do with his time.

Although today, hours after the ritual, you received your first guest that wasn’t a guard or a healer. You knew who they were after sensing them as they hid behind a pillar in the throne room every week. Sensing them through the body heat within them, a gift you always had since you were little. Theirs was crackled with so much anger and hatred; it was so unique to everyone in the palace, you barely had to think about it.

“What do I owe the pleasure of the one and only Fire Nation Princess being in my worthless presence?”

“Shut it scum!”

You let out a small laugh. “Ooo scum? That’s a lovely nickname, but honestly, a little bland, don’t you think? You ARE the Fire Nation princess after all, why not add a little spice to it?”

She didn’t seem to like that. “ENOUGH! You want spice?!” Shooting a streamline of fire from her fingertips, she shot at your head. Luckily enough, you weren’t in front of Ozai or defending her brother, so you swiftly dodged her shot.

Not giving her the satisfaction of retaliation, you sat in the middle of the cell, closing your eyes and crossing your legs. You began to meditate, trying to block out the irritating sense of fire within her.

She walked up to the bars, staring down on you. “I hope you know that my dear brother Zuzu won’t be coming back any time soon.”

This was the first time you’d heard about the Prince since the Agni Kai. She paused, waiting to see if she got a reaction out of you, but you were a trained assassin for Spirit’s sake, you had more control than that. Letting out a deep breath of air, you knew all you needed to do was stay calm.

“You do know what happened to him after you failed to protect him, don’t you? Oh! That’s right if I do recall correctly, you were so paralysed with what you had done, you didn’t even spare him a glance!” She let out a laugh as you remained still.

“Awww, yes! Poor Zuzu doesn’t even know what his ‘saviour’ looks like and he never will! You want to know why, scum?”

Not really but I guess I don’t have much of a choice.

“Because he will NEVER come back. He will NEVER step foot into the Fire Nation again because he was banished to capture the Avatar! It’s a bit ironic, don’t you think? All your pathetic little life, you have been KILLING to get out of here, gain your freedom, and you’re never going to get it. You’ll die in this cell. Yet, on the other hand, Zuzu wants nothing more than to come right home and stand by father’s side! That really does top it all off, doesn’t it, scum? You have trapped yourself here, to save someone who only just wants to come crawling right back. And if he ever did by some miracle, capture the Avatar? He would look you in the eyes and burn you himself for being such a traitor to this Nation.”

You tensed for a second, keeping your eyes closed you quickly regained composure. “Okay Azula, you’ve had your fun. That’s enough.”

She smirked with a sinister glint in her eyes. “You embarrassed him that day. You took away the little bit of dignity he could have had if you just let him get all his scars… Or at least let him die getting them.”

Enough.

“You will forever be a reminder of what should have been his. You’re going to die here for nothing.”

Enough.

“You thought you could do some good in this world? You were wrong! Your one poor excuse for saving someone’s life will always mean nothing! Zuko doesn’t care if you saved his life! He hates you! He hates you for taking away his dignity! You will die with him hating you! Your hope for doing good in this world means nothing because he is searching to take away the one thing that would end this war, even though they’re already dead!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH, AZULA!” Opening your eyes, they snapped from your usual e/c to a blinding golden light. The fire you trained for so long to control reached its tipping point and exploded from every pore in your body setting fire to anything in its wake. Azula rushed away from the bars of your cell as it melted around you. Feeling your hair raise in a halo of fire, you raised your right arm as a blast fired right next to her head. A warning shot.  

The guards outside of the cell who have been watching you since you were imprisoned, stared in shock. Not once had you shown any indication of being a fire bender.

Generally, in this state, you were unstoppable. A force even Zemin didn’t 100% know how to train, leaving you to your own devices. However, these weren’t normal circumstances. You have been tortured weekly, barely given any food or water and countless wounds that aren’t even close to being healed. After the sudden use of intense energy, you felt yourself passing out, allowing the guards to grab you quickly.

***

Groaning as if no time had passed, you found yourself chained up on a boat. “Am I going to be executed?” You weren’t sure if you were worried or hopeful at the possibility.

The female guard you knocked out on your first day in the palace sat next to you, letting out a sigh. “No, but you might as well be in your condition. You’re going to Boiling Rock, into The Cooler.”

SEVEN MONTHS

The guards came by the Cooler to deliver your food. They usually throw it to the ground and leave, but it seems today they received news that was too good to pass up the opportunity to torment you.

“Did you hear that kid? They tracked down your poor excuse of a trainer and killed him. Figured if the best he could produce was you, he wasn’t even worth sending to Boiling Rock.”

You remained curled up in the corner, unmoving as they laughed their way down the hallway. As their laughs slowly died down, you realised how pathetic you let yourself become.

Why did people have to keep dying because of you? You wanted to scream. Burn this stupid icebox down with your hands. Set the whole place to flames. But you were tired. So, so tired. You didn’t even have the energy anymore to cry when they burned you every week. Regularly being exposed to entirely polar elements began to fuck with your body. It didn’t know how to function anymore. Physically and mentally.

Despite being four months since your encounter with Azula, her words continued to spin in your mind every day. What seemed to break you the most was that you knew even if she were right, you’d do it again. If you could go back, you knew you would jump in front of him every time if it meant he was alive. Knowing he was far away from this hell hole brought you a weird sense of peace, regardless of if he was searching for the Avatar or not.

Unlike him, you weren’t far away from this wretched place. You were helpless.

Grabbing the old and cold bowl of rice, you finished your meal for the first time in three weeks.

EIGHT MONTHS

The guards walked in to take you to the palace for your weekly offer, and for the first time, you were already standing. After placing the chains to your wrists, they took you out of your cell just like they did every week. While travelling back to the Capital, you continuously persuaded yourself, this was the only way. You knew, deep down, this was the right choice. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

Entering the throne room, you make your way up to Ozai. Holding eye contact as the flames burn between you.

Bowing before him in the most traditional Fire Nation bow you can muster. You bring yourself back upright, stance and face stoic, contrasting the satisfied smirk on his face. For the first time, he doesn’t bother to make his offer.

“I am at your full service, and ready to comply my Fire Lord.”

A/N: Thank you to everyone who is reading this or coming from my old blog!! please follow this one and stick around, I am currently working on the third chapter and a lil sokka oneshot :)) and to my taglist, i love you all, thank you all so much, i’m so sorry that you all have to deal with me rn and im so so sorry <3

TAGLIST:

@slythergirlimagines​ @mangoberry43​ @eridanuswave​ @whiskeywinter89​ @callums-keith​ @kaylove12​ @simplyfandomish​ @khaleesi-of-assassins​

[limerental]

Second fill for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo, yeehaw. For the prompt Role Swap

Relationships: Regis/Geralt/Yennefer

Rating: M

Content Warnings: references to murder, blood, stab wounds, and corpses of the canon-typical violence flavor, sexually suggestive dialogue, fade to black sex

Summary: Witcher Regis tracks an injured rogue vampire to druid Geralt's cottage.

“And what do we have here?” asked Regis, lacing his long fingers behind his back so that the cottage’s occupants could not see how they twitched to reach for his silver sword.

The woman at the table stretched her long legs and tossed her dark curls over one shoulder and smiled just enough for her slender fangs to catch the light. An ordinary man may have been distracted by her sensual lean in the rough-hewn chair, her fluttering eyelids dark with kohl, the fullness of her red lips, and even Regis, whose body had been mutated and reformed expressly for the purpose of resisting such a distraction, felt his slow heartbeat lurch in his chest at the sight of the strange and beautiful woman.

Or, more accurately, the sight of the woman’s dark fingernails tapping against the pulsepoint of Geralt’s wrist. 

Poor Geralt, who was only human, who in the decades that Regis had known him had never once avoided any trouble that came along, who refused to pack up his mama’s cottage and move into town where things were quieter and safer, who perhaps had not noticed the glint of the vampire’s fangs but very likely had and not been as afraid as he should have.

“Must I repeat myself?” asked Regis, doing his very best to remain civil until civility no longer benefited the human held in the creature’s grasp. 

Ordinarily, he would not fret so much over a single higher vampire, given that in all his years as a Witcher he had never known one to be any more dangerous to a man’s health than any other stranger, but he had been following rumors of a rogue, separated from her order and rejecting all principles of moral decency. 

Through the town of Rinde, Regis had followed a trail of fresh corpses, drained pale. All men, all of a certain social standing, and all unlikely to be missed overly much, but it was the principle of the thing. Namely, the most important principle being that Regis would be paid a very large sum by the mayor of Rinde if he brought back the vampire’s head.

At the site of the most recent killing, he had found a knife black with vampiric ichor held fast in the rigor mortis grip of a dead tax collector and knew at once where any creature of the night who knew anything would seek medical attention around here.

Regis sighed. Poor Geralt. He did not seem to be aware of his uncanny ability to summon danger to his little cottage at the edge of the wood, and he never turned away any of his wounded strays, not even the ones with viscera in their mouths and blood black as night and limbs cold and smooth as marble.

“My apologies, but I must ask one more--”

“What does it look like to you, Witcher?” asked the strange woman. An ordinary man would have been too distracted by the tap of her fingers against Geralt’s pulse to notice the pained wince as she shifted in the chair.

“Well, I can’t confirm such a thing without examination, but it looks to me that that freshly-bandaged wound to your gut will match the dagger I found on a murdered man this morning,�� said Regis, watching Geralt’s reaction as he spoke. No shock or horror showed on the man’s face. Under Regis’ scrutiny, he had the good sense to look sheepish, tucking an errant lock of auburn hair behind his ears and looking somewhere past the Witcher’s head rather than his eyes. “Geralt, my boy, you didn’t notice anything odd about the nature of this woman’s anatomy?”

“Yeah,” said Geralt. “Don’t know as much as you about higher vampires, but I figured gaping abdominal wounds aren’t standard.”

“Very astute,” said Regis. “Yes, most higher vampires only acquire those when their prey does not go down easily.”

“Prey?” The woman’s fingernails tapped against Geralt’s pale wrist. “I’m no predator, Witcher.”

“Your actions have been predatory. Three dead men is as many days.”

“Three men who have been more hostile to the people of this town than I could be if I stayed a year. I’ve killed the predators that you won’t, Witcher. Be grateful.”

“She’s not dangerous, Regis,” said Geralt. “She could have killed me by now.”

Regis pursed his lips while Geralt continued to make a dedicated effort not to look him in the eye. Regis had known the boy since he was a lanky teenager apprenticing with his mama, and so knew exactly what scene he would have walked in on if he had waited another hour.

Geralt very much had a type.

If Regis didn’t know the boy so well, he would almost believe the demure act. As if Geralt did not so frequently think with his cock when it came to dangerous and bloodthirsty creatures of the night. 

“You are very lucky that I love you, Geralt,” said Regis and watched a pink blush rise to the very tips of Geralt’s ears. 

He looked to the vampire. “May I ask your name?”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg. And you are?”

“Call me Regis,” he said, having long learned that trotting out his full name in situations like this was usually a waste of breath.

“Regis,” repeated the vampire, seeming to be tasting the name on her lips.

“Yennefer,” said Regis carefully as he made a show of relaxing his hands from behind his back, aware that he may next say the name while reading her last rites. “What are your intentions toward this innocent druid boy?”

“Regis, I’m half a century old.”

“Not now, dear one, this is an important conversation.”

“Mmmm,” hummed Yennefer, her violet eyes bright with amusement, the pull of her smirk doing nothing to hide the length of her fangs. “You’re an intelligent man, Regis. What would you deduce about my intentions?”

Taking in the scene before him, there were several things that Regis could deduce. He knew with the accelerated pace of higher vampire healing and Geralt's medicinal skills, her wound would be approaching a trifling scratch by now. 

He knew that said vampires only killed their victims in exceptional circumstances, that bloodlust did not compel or blind them, that bloodletting was more of an extracurricular activity than a requirement for sustenance, and that a vampire that broke from her coven would have no access to the resources and safety that such a group provided, leaving her to fight for scraps on the edges of society, endlessly targeted by human ignorance, forced to flee from execution over and over until she no longer could.

Her voice billowed like smoke. Dark fingernails, the black lacquer hiding the deadly sharpness, trailed along the blue veins of Geralt’s wrist. Her other hand traced the grain of the table, drawing closer to Regis with each sweep. 

At last, Geralt met his eyes, speaking without words in that endearing way he had perfected over their decades together. Sighing, Regis tugged at the buckle holding his swords to his back and set them aside. He stripped off his bracers and leather overcoat, watching Geralt swallow hard as he did so.

“I must confess that as I am incapable of reading thoughts, I know very little of your intentions, Yennefer,” said Regis. He toed off his travelling boots and set them neatly by the door, then stood with his hands on his hips in stocking feet before them. “On the other hand, I have been intimately involved with Geralt for most of his life, and I have no need of mind reading to be certain that his intentions include tempting the both of us into engaging in a number of truly debauched acts in the back room of this cottage until he no longer remembers his own name. Am I wrong, dear?”

“Rarely are,” said Geralt, a touch breathless.

As Yennefer’s clawed fingers curled to tug at his arm until he settled himself neatly in her lap, the human's smile was anything but sheepish.