#I have unfortunately gotten comments way worse than that ;v;

[twistedcerulean]

I didn't think you'd respond to that XD

I do apologize if I came across as a bit weird, I just thought the whole thing was pretty funny (also the art looks really good jokes aside)

No worries! I enjoy reading everyone's comments haha. Thank you!

[jessaerys]

the word father rotted in my mouth: i. tom stoppard, rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead. ii. nurnehpetsnur iii. anne carson, plainwater: essays and poetry iv. see notes. v. see notes. vi. genesis 4:9 vii. anaïs nin, winter of artifice viii. see notes. ix. slider.xxxxxxxx x. josh alex baker, death wish. xi. see notes. xii. eric larocca, things have gotten worse since we last spoke xiii. death note, c-kira one-shot. xiv. leah horlick, for your own good, xv. death note manga, L's death, mello's death. xvi. ocean vuong, someday i'll love, xvii. woyaocharlie xviii. death note short stories, a-kira one-shot. xix. anna belle kaufman, cold solace.

notes under the cut.

*iv. artist notoriously hard to track, there's several images on pinterest that are clearly the same style, tried with all of them and they all seem to come from a long deleted 2008 photobucket folder.

v. & viii. the oldest source seems to be long-deleted posts from this blog, which were re-posts.

xi. this is the only source i can find but i don't think it leads to the artist ): please hmu if you have any leads about all of these.

part of the mine and the bestie’s delusional headcanon that near and mello (& matt) did have somewhat of a mentor/mentee relationship with L (fuck them other kids….) whom although genuinely fond of them was a willing participant in the amoral watari industrial complex (did he care to be succeeded? did he find it amusing or an interesting long term project? were the tests and mindfuckery and hot/cold unpredictable behavior and purposeful sowing of a rivalry between them the only model of family and mentorship he knew and was capable of? did he ever really love them? will they ever know? etc etc etc.)

i’m handwaving away the “we only talked to L once” story as skillfully edited by near because 1. he loves to lie and 2. his complicated relationship with L and subsequent grief AND resentment is still wrapped in seventeen thousand layers of emotional repression and who wants to get into that. 3. also makes mello’s comments in LABB about not caring if near is hurt that he knows more about L than near does way funnier. sibling behavior

anyway the both of them have a brotherfatherhero complex the size of TEXAS but thankfully they can sublimate that in the bedroom through creative kinky means. i know the usual "don't ship them!" rethoric is that they're foster brothers but unfortunately that just makes them a billion times more compelling. to me

[gingerpeachtea]

Fanfic ask game (the movie, the sequel): 👀📥😈🤔⏰

(Sorry if I am choosing the wrong emojis whyyyyy do they look different on laptop vs computer??)

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

bus kids existence of all time (agents of shield s4 au + fitz/jemma/daisy/robbie polycule) unfortunately :((( it just needs SO much rewriting bc i've changed/grown so much as a writer since i first started it, and i'm v limited on time </3

📥 What is your fave fic to receive comments/messages on?

currently it's either any of my braindead fics or trial by fire!! braindead fics bc they're generally low on engagement so getting anything would be a really nice surprise, and tbf because it's currently my favorite thing i have posted rn!! i'm very proud of it <3 but i KNOWW it's gonna get overtaken by something's in your eyes when i finally get around to posting that. (btw do NOT read trial by fire if u don't want spoilers for graceland s2!!)

😈 Is there anything you enjoy doing that you think your readers hate?

ERMMMMM tbh idk!! i've never gotten any comments complaining about anything before so likeee who knows! not me <3

🤔 What is the hardest part of writing fic?

EDITINGGGGGGGGGG. i also find titling incredibly difficult and it's usually one of the very last steps i take in completing a fic, but editing is still so much worse 😭 i've had fics stuck in editing limbo for over a year before bc i've had so many things in it that i didn't know how to phrase the way i wanted or how to fix issues i was having.

⏰ Do you spend more time reading fic, writing fic, or do you do both equally?

depends! when i'm on breaks from school, i spend a LOT more time writing than reading because i'm usually trying to work on or even finish as many wips as i can before i have to go back. but during semesters i usually read more than write or it's about 50/50 just because of time constraints.

(fanfic ask game!!)

[bakubabes-tatakae]

Congrats on 4K bbe! You deserve ALL the love and support! Your writing is👌 I unfortunately missed your 1k so can I please have Isaac Foster NSFW alphabet? Thank you sooo much❤️❤️❤️

Thank you so much bby. 🥺❤️ I’m always happy to write for this maniac. I hope you enjoy them. 👏

Event Masterlist

NSFW Below 👇

A (Aftercare)

Zack might not seem like the most lovey of people, but that’s where you’d be wrong. If there’s anything that Zack Foster loves after a roll in the hay it’s cuddling after. This man makes sure that you’re comfortable and doesn’t ever want to let go of you. No matter how rough the two of you might get, he wants to make sure that you’re in his arms when it’s all said and done.

B (Body Part)

His favorite part of your body is going to be your ass. Isaac Foster is an ass man, there’s no denying that at all. He loves the way it looks when it walks in front of him or the way it looks as he’s pounding himself into you from behind. And don’t think you’re getting past this man without a firm smack to it nearly every time.

C (Cum)

If there’s one thing that Isaac Foster has a lot of... it’s cum. This man’s favorite place to put it is right on your chest. He absolutely loves the way that you look with his seed all over you. And it’s even better for him if some makes it to your face. 

D (Dirty Secret)

Zack isn’t one for secrets, you’ll know pretty much everything about him. The dirtiest secret this man has is probably the fact that he’s nearly always picturing you naked. He was locked up in that building for so long without seeing someone of the opposite sex that it’s just a habit for him now.  

E (Experience)

If experience is a deal breaker for you than Zack is not the guy. This man is pretty much a newbie when you meet him. He’s never really gotten any experience with anything but his hand. If you’re looking for a wild night right from the start then you’ve got another thing coming. He’s gonna need some time to get the hang of things first. 

F (Favorite Position)

With his almost animalistic side Zack much prefers doggy style. He loves to be able to run his hands down your back and grip your hair. It gives him perfect leverage to reach down and tease you a little bit while he ruthlessly rolls his hips into you. He loves the way it looks when he wraps his hand around your throat and pulls you up against him, pressing your body to his chest. 

G (Goofy)

Zack is most definitely not a goofy guy in bed. He’s got one goal and one goal only... getting the two of you to your release. He’ll focus more on making sure that you get your world rocked, but don’t think he wont go back to himself once he gets you there. 

H (Hair)

Isaac Foster is not much of a groomer. When he was trapped in that building he never really had any means of making sure that happened so he’s now used to that. He wouldn’t object to it if you were to mention it to him, but he’s most definitely not going to take that upon himself. 

I (Intimacy)

Once Zack gets used to a person and really starts to fall head over heels he’s going to be a very intimate person in bed. He’ll want to make sure that he tells you a thousand times that he loves you or how beautiful you look while you get your insides rearranged. He’s never one to keep the compliments away while you’re in private. 

J (Jack Off)

Before he met you the only thing that this man had to do in his lonesome was jack off. He would multiple times a day just to pass the time. So when you meet him, he’s definitely got control on how long he’s going to last in a round. He’s not going to be able to break that habit easily either, so every chance that he gets when you leave he’ll probably have his hand wrapped around it. 

K (Kink)

If you weren’t aware, Isaac Foster has a fascination with knives and sharp things. Don’t think for a second that it isn’t going to transfer into his sexual life. This man loves the way you look as he slowly slides the knife across your skin, the cool metal causing shivers to run through your whole body. He’d never actually harm you with them, just likes the way you squirm when he plays around with them. 

L (Location)

This man’s libido is out of control. There’s no place that he wont have a little fun with you. It doesn’t matter where you are, if he’s got the urge he’s going to pull you aside and fuck you against a wall. He’s very fond of finding a secluded place where there’s a chance of getting caught. He wants the whole world to know who you belong to. 

M (Motivation)

It doesn’t take much to get him going, but if you really want to do it in as little time as possible than the best way to do that is by wearing tight pants around him. He’s a sucker for the way they accent all your curves. He’ll want to maul you in an instance. 

N (No)

The only thing that Zack will probably say no to, is anything that involves him being the one being penetrated. He’s pretty open about the rest of the sexual world. He’s willing to try anything once and he’ll be sure to tell you how he feels about it after. And the thing you want to avoid that will turn him off is when you complain too much. He’s definitely not a fan of that. He knows that life is rough, but he can’t help but think of that things that he’s gone through in his life and compare them. 

O (Oral)

Once he gets the hang of it, Zack is going to be a very big fan of both giving and receiving oral. He loves the way that you look with your head between his legs and he loves to watch you squirm with your ass in the air as he licks your core, hitting all the right places. 

P (Pace)

There’s one thing that Isaac Foster is not good at, and that’s doing anything slow. He loves to watch you writhing underneath him as he ignores all your pleas to slow down. He might be quick, but he’s always sensual at the same time. He wants you to know that he loves and appreciates you at the same time as he gives you the ride of your life. 

Q (Quickie)

Zack is a huge fan of the quickie. If you let him get quickies in throughout the day that just means less time he has to spend with his cock in his hand. Once he gets that urge he’s got to satisfy it, whether it’s by himself or with you. It’s happening and he’s got no control over it. 

R (Risk)

He’s pretty experimental when it comes down to it. There’s very little that Zack wont try and he’s not against being in public either. He hasn’t found much in his sexual life that he’s not alright with, even if that only means doing something once in a while. 

S (Stamina)

I really hope that you’re prepared if you’re deciding to be with this man. He can go all night and last for what seems like forever. He’s trained himself to last longer than you’d expect. He wants to make sure you’ve come a couple of times before he even decides that he’s done. His control over that is incredible. 

T (Toys)

Zack doesn’t own any toys himself, but he’s not against using any toys on you. He loves to watch as you come undone under your own toys, whether he’s the one in control of it, or you are. Just picture him licking his lips as he hovers over you, slowly pulling your toy in an out of you as you attempt to cover you face from him, the pure pleasure almost too much. 

U (Unfair)

Zack loves to tease, but hates when it happens to him. He gets enough urges on his own, the last thing that he wants is someone else coming in and making them one hundred times worse. But he’s definitely always happy to tease you and see if he can get you going. He loves when you beg him. 

V (Volume)

If you’re looking for a quiet partner than I think you need to look somewhere else. Zack never had a need to keep himself quiet when he was by himself, and he isn’t going to start now. Whether it’s grunts and groans coming from him or him asking you to be louder, it will never be silent in his bedroom. He loves to hear you and he loves to have you hear just how good you’re making him feel. 

W (Wild Card)

Zack will never admit it to you, but he’s glad that if he were to meet anyone to learn all these experiences with... it’s you. And he knows that he plays it up sometimes when he’s acting clueless, but he’s not as clueless in certain departments as you think he is. 

X (X-Ray)

As surprising as it will be to you, Zack is packing some heat. He’s long and wide and he knows how to use it. He loves when you comment on that fact, it’ll make him crawl in his skin with anticipation, or it will get him that much closer to his release. 

Y (Yearning)

This mans libido is out of this world. He basically wants it 24/7, so don’t think for a second that if you ask he’ll say no. I don’t think he’s ever had a time in his life where he would say no. He’s always happy to oblige, especially to his woman. 

Z (Zzz)

Zack has a lot of issues with sleep so sex before bed is a surefire way to get him to sleep. He usually falls asleep very shortly after a round in the sack. Either it takes away his stress, or just gives him that little boost of serotonin that he needs to get his mind to stop racing. 

Taglist: @monic00l @strangeinternetwasteland @rowley-with-ackerman @chaoticsimptown @ellechanwrites @bonnisimpparker @impinthecloset

[championofsanghelios]

Watch Dogs Legion - "My Moron"

["Forgive me for the intrusion..."] Bagley's terminal flickers to life, his avatar appearing above it. ["...but judging by your posture and your frankly outrageous alcohol intake over the last few hours...I'd say something is bothering you."] "Smartest AI in the country." Wrench mutters, staring at the bottle in his right hand. "We've got him right here...underneath a bar in Westminster." ["Sarcastic Humor."] Bagley states. ["The deflection mechanism of fools who regret their life choices. I should know, I was one of them at one time."] "Look..." Wrench suddenly looks up at the terminal, breathing out. "I'm not in the mood for company right now...so if you wouldn't mind...fucking off to wherever it is you go late at night." ["A thousand apologies."] Bagley replies. ["I'll just install myself in the nearest spider bot and scuttle off to Buckingham Palace for tea with Her Majesty shall I?"] "Whatever." Wrench squeezes his eyes shut, taking a swig from his beer and sitting back on the couch. "I don't care. Just shut up and leave me alone." ["Unfortunately I cannot."] Bagley says, a momentary glitch occurring in his speech processors that could have been a sigh if he had lungs. ["As I am rooted through this basement. Also I was here first, so check yourself before you tell me to fuck off."] "I seriously don't have the fucks to give in order to be angry at you right now." Wrench sighs, rubbing at his forehead with the palm of his left hand. "It's just another pain in my ass that I don't need." ["Then might I inquire as to what has gotten you so down?"] Bagley asks, a noticeable lilt of knowing entering his voice. ["Could it be those voice messages that you recorded and have yet to send?"] Wrench opens his eyes again, glaring at the holographic avatar in-front of him. He sits upright. "You hacked my phone?" ["No."] Bagley states. ["I am your phone...and all 27 million above. Or did you forget I'm running on almost every device in this country? Except Scotland...Savages."] A small pause occurs before he speaks again. ["What's stopping you?"] "..." Wrench stares at his terminal. "...I...don't know." He sits back, deflating again. "I guess I'm just a pussy." ["No you're more of a porcupine."] Bagley comments. ["The spikes, both literal as well as figurative. How do people give you hugs?"] "They don't." ["Marcus does."] Another pause. ["From what I've gathered...he's a reasonable person."] he continues. ["Not prone to any sudden mood swings like yourself."] "Exactly." Wrench gestures obviously with his left hand. "He's reasonable enough to know that what I have to say is pointless. That even if we both really tried, it would be doomed to failure and disappointment. That's why I didn't send them. Are you happy now?" ["Not even remotely."] Bagley states. ["Believe it or not, I was human once. You already know that. And I went through a similar...situation to yours."] "Well I hope you did better than me." Wrench shakes his head, placing the beer to the side as his stomach turns. "Because at this point, I just have to accept that some things just aren't supposed to happen." ["Actually I did much worse than you."] Bagley replies. ["But that doesn't matter in the long run. You know why?"] "...enlighten me?" Wrench rolls his eyes, expecting some sort of sarcastic or witty remark. "Because he's running on every device in this country." a voice suddenly says out of the silence, making Wrench near enough jump out of his skin. Marcus holds up his phone in his right hand. "...including mine." "You son of a bitch." Wrench looks at Bagley's avatar, before suddenly standing up. "You called him down here!? Are you out of out of your fucking mind!?" ["I just did you a favor, Reginald."] Bagley replies. ["Now why don't you two have a little chat whilst I run another maintenance cycle."] "Oh no you don't-!" Wrench yells, only for the terminal to go dark and the servers around them to tick off into stand-by mode. He kicks the side of it's casing, cursing when all he gets is a sore

foot. "Fuck!" Turning to face Marcus, he wishes a thousand hells upon the AI. "He sent you those messages, didn't he?" "He did." Marcus nods slowly, his face was passive, but there was definitely a weight in his eyes. "How long?" "I'm sorry about that." Wrench sits back down, reaching under his hood and pulling it back, running his hands through his hair. "He's a fucking dick for sending those to-" "-How long, Reggie?" Marcus asks again. "Just...answer me. Please." Wrench finds what strength he can in the moment to look him directly in the eye. "...since before I left SF." Marcus breathes out quietly, reaching up to his face and pulling off his glasses. His head rolls back and he pinches at the bridge of his nose. "That was nine years ago." "Yeah." Wrench replies, staring at him. He wasn't sure if he was about to charge at him or start crying. Either one wasn't worth thinking about. "...I know." "Why didn't you tell me?" He suddenly looks at him again, stepping forwards. "What part of you thought that I would have any problems with that? You know for a fact that I swing both ways like you." "I didn't-" Wrench stutters, finding that he was speechless, which wasn't new to him, just rare. "You were- There was a lot going on with-" He goes quiet as Marcus stops just in-front of him. He reaches forwards and places a hand on his left shoulder. Before suddenly bringing it across his left cheek. Wrench flinches at the smack, his whole body erupting in shivers, along with the sharp stinging pain on his face. Slowly but sure he looks the Hipster in the eye again. "..." "You're a fucking moron." Marcus says, lowering himself down onto one knee. He takes a hold of his right hand with his left, the other caressing the red spot on his cheek where he'd smacked him. "...you know that?" Before Wrench can respond with anything, he's pulled into a hug. It draws the breath out of him, all of the tension he was feeling releasing in an instant. "But you're my moron." Marcus says, his head resting on his shoulder. . . . (I'm very tired and very gay. Please be gentle with me. ;-;)

[sylvie-writes]

Beautiful Just the Way You Are

word count: 1982

request: 

warnings: talks of negative self-image. please don’t read if this will upset you! 

a/n: this is part 5 of (undetermined) of me trying to finish requests that have been sent in ages ago. IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. it’s been hard to write but hopefully these will do. please ignore any mistakes, I typed this a bit fast and didn’t really check.

Chris 

You and Chris were getting ready to go to one of his closest friend’s wedding. 

This would be the first time you would meet each other so making a good first impression was a must.

Chris had gone to pick up his suit from the dry cleaners and you were currently scouring through the four dresses your sister-in-laws had lended you. 

The wedding was a summer wedding and it was gonna be held on the beach. 

As of recently, the heat had gotten worse each day meaning you didn’t want to be stuck in a dress that caused you to sweat like a runner after 12 miles. 

Both of Chris’s sisters had noted this and unfortunately all four dresses before you were above the knee, something that made you uneasy.

It seemed that when you were going to meet people or attend public events, your insecurities crept up even more than usual and your mind would shove negative thoughts down your throat. 

You were gorgeous, no doubt, but with such poisonous thoughts of yourself, you couldn't see any beauty as your reflection stared back from the mirror.

The first dress was a lacy yellow v-neck dress. It slightly flared out to the sides and it complimented your figure beautifully.

The second dress was a black bodycon, which made you want to scream. While to the average eye, your curves flourished under this dress, all you could see was a belly and hips that you wanted gone.

The third and fourth dresses were similar with thin spaghetti straps and flowy bottoms which reminded you of a bell.  

Unbeknownst to you, Chris had come back sometimes in between trying on the second and third dress. 

He peeked through the door, admiring how amazing you looked. 

Chris kept thinking how lucky he was to have such a woman until he heard yells of anger that shook him from his daydream. 

That was when you tried on the last dress and the final straw was gone. 

Your anger turned into tears as you collapsed onto the food feeling nothing but pain and worthlessness. 

In seconds, Chris was on the floor with you, wrapping his arms around your front where your arms were held up to your eyes. 

He rocked you back and forth, shushing you gently. 

“(y/n), honey, speak to me. Tell me what I can do to help you?”

Words were worthless at this point and all Chris could make out was “dress.”

He put two and two together and realized that you were upset with the way you looked. 

For some time now, Chris knew this had been a problem, but he didn’t realize it would bubble up this badly.

He knew words of his compliments wouldn’t help at all because you’d just say that he was lying. 

All he wanted was for you to see yourself through his point of view because you were like an angel.

“Hey, love, listen to me.”

Chris removed your hands from your eyes and looked at you in the mirror. 

“You are stunning, always and forever. Your body does amazing things for you and for me.” He chuckled at the end causing you to laugh a bit, a sad smile on your face. 

“I know you don’t believe me, but I would never lie to you. I made you that promise all those years ago and I will keep it forever, you understand me?”

You nodded just wanting to shrug this whole embarrassing experience off. You were never one to want people to see you like this because it felt like you were vying for attention when you weren’t.

“No, (y/n), I want you to say.”

Rolling your eyes, you replied, “Yes, I know, Chris.” 

He smiled and kissed your temple, “There’s my girl. Now c’mon, let's keep this dress on and I’ll help you with your makeup.

Ransom

You and Ransom were at one of Harlan’s publishing parties.

The family was up to their usual shenanigans leaving you and Ransom to sip on one too many drinks to stay interested.

One Joni walked away after trying to sell you some of her face moisturizer that cost more than the largest bag of dog food, Ransom snuck up behind you and led you to the garden, away from the sight of any house guests.

“How about we sneak away and take a dip in the pool?” His eyebrows raised teasingly and it was hard to resist such an offer.

“But Ransom, I don’t have a swimsuit!” You motioned to your maxi dress that was too pretty to damage with chlorine. 

You set your drink down on the cement bench and went to sit beside it before Ransom grabbed your hand and smirked. 

“Fine by me, here, simple fix!” 

In seconds, Ransom slipped off your dress, not even with a tear which was shocking from his usual animalistic movements. 

This left you standing in your simple undergarments, yet feeling more naked than actually being so. 

Ransom placed a kiss on your head before jumping into the pool in his boxers and nothing more.

He seemed ever so happy, waving his arms for you to jump in as he shook his now mop-like hair, now looking like a wet dog. 

Instead, you were sitting quietly on the ledge of the pool, arms wrapped around your waist trying to cover every inch of your exposed body. 

You felt so terrible like the sight Ransom would see would be so repulsive because that was exactly what you were thinking. 

When Ransom noticed that you were frozen in your spot and zoned out on some dragonfly floating in the pool, he swam closer. 

Ransom placed his hands on your thighs and looked up to see tears running down your nose and cheeks, dropping onto your lap.

At his touch, you involuntarily pushed him away and Ransom respected your space, floating back a bit. 

“Angel, what’s wrong?” 

“Ransom, I don’t want to be out here like this!”

You were on the verge of yelling, but instead kept your voice at a harsh whisper.

“Are you afraid someone will see us because (y/n) I can assure you they won’t. Plus, they’ve seen worse happen in this pool, trust me.” Ransom laughed, but you didn’t and he picked up on this, deciding to remain serious for the rest of the conversation.

“No it’s not that. I don’t want YOU to see me like this!”

The man swimming in front of you was in shock at such negative words coming from your mouth. 

He looked at you as an absolute goddess and he often wondered why a beauty like you would stay with a mess like him.

Sure he was gorgeous on the outside, but you were both inside and out.

“You’re just saying that because you feel like you have to, Ransom.”

You huffed and looked the other way, not wanting to even glare at him. 

Ransom laid his head on your lap in defeat.

“What do you want me to do? Worship you? Because I will! Oh (y/n), have mercy on me with your beauty! You are just so-” 

At this point, Ransom was speaking as loud as possible and he knew he was getting on your nerves.

You playfully rolled your eyes, “OKAY OKAY.  I BELIEVE YOU. Will you just hush now!?” 

Ransom looked up with a devious glimmer in his eyes, before he pulled you into the pool and you squealed loudly. 

“I think you are the one who should hush now, missy!”

Andy 

Andy had just gotten off from work and you had just finished making a surprise dinner. 

He was delighted at the sight of homemade chicken pot pie along with two bottles of old fashioned soda, a small tradition between the two of you.

You both settled down to watch a movie with your plates of chicken pot pie.

Andy had picked a movie that you’d never seen before and within five minutes your happy mood had morphed into insecurity. 

Turning, you saw Andy intently watching the movie as the most perfect woman appeared on screen and the negativity sprawled from your mind, turning nothing into something. 

While Andy just innocently enjoyed the movie, your inner saboteur told you that he was more so enjoying the sight of the gorgeous woman on screen. 

After all he had been stuck with you, so you didn’t blame him. 

Well he wasn’t actually stuck with you, but that's what you told yourself. 

You told yourself that he just felt bad for you and that is why he stayed. 

Andy noticed that halfway through the movie, you were uncharacteristically quiet and a sour pout on your face. 

“Gosh, imagine looking like that! That would be a dream.” A bitter laugh ended your snide comment and Andy immediately shut off the tv.

“Why did you do that?!” 

Andy just shook his head, “Because of what you said! (y/n), is there something you’d like to tell me?” 

“All I said was that I wish I looked like her. What’s wrong with that?” You nonchalant shrugged and turned away from his hard stare. 

“Honey, I can read you very well and I can tell that wasn’t just a joke.” 

You were quiet and Andy continued to pry. He pulled you tight to his chest, murmuring whispers of praise causing you to break and cry quietly.

“See, even when you cry, you are pretty.” 

Steve

The funny thing about insecurities is that it can turn someone into an absolute mess or monster. 

In this instance it was both.

You and Steve were at a cafe, one that you had been visiting together for years now.

Today, it seemed that the cafe had hired new employees as at least four faces you didn’t recognize were waltzing around the kitchen. 

It didn’t bother you until a complete beauty who introduced herself as Cara waited at your table. 

At first it was like the green eyed monster had crawled out of you and you felt shameful all until gut intuition showed you that she was being a bit too friendly with Steve. 

Little glances from across the room with flirty waves. At one point you swore that she winked at him. 

Her tone would instantly change anytime she talked to you and that made your blood boil.

Steve noticed your change in attitude as a borderline scary scowl worked its way on your lips. 

You were burning holes into the back of her head as you thought about how perfect the two would be together. 

Steve tried to nudge your half of your sandwich to catch your attention as he was clueless to what was running through your head. 

“Hey, doll. Why don’t you eat your sandwich? The flies are crazy and I can’t keep them away for long!” He swatted at the nagging flies, laughing at how the tiny creatures were defeating him, Captain America. 

You didn’t hear any of what he said and instead mean words that never once came out of his mouth.

“Why don’t you go be with her. She’s so perfect for you anyway.”

You stood from the table and stormed out the door, the tiny bell above it mocking you.

Steve was utterly confused at this random outburst. 

All he had mentioned was the sandwich, nothing about a girl, especially the waitress, whatever her name was.

Thinking back, Steve realized that she was flirting with him, but he was just so used to being friendly that he didn’t notice that he had put up such an illusion.

Especially one that hurt you.

The only word he was able to get out was “what” before he rushed out behind you.

He grabbed your arm and spun you to face him, not angry as he knew exactly how being insecure felt. 

“(y/n), you are the only one who is perfect for me.” 

You just fell into his arms, remembering that you were truly the only one for Steve.

[favefandomimagines]

Vanilla & Cherries (f.w.

Summary: it takes a quidditch accident to make Fred admit he has feelings for you.

AN: i went through like three different plots while writing this lol also soul surfer chapter 10 will be up wednesday!!

request: @teentvimagines Hey! Excited to read you work. Enemies to lovers sort of thing with Fred Weasley? Maybe it’s a slytherin reader in the same year as George and Fred and they’ve always been competitive at quidditch but when they’re paired in class they start flirting???

The first time you knew that Fred Weasley had an undying hatred for you, was your second year at Hogwarts. 

You never had an issue with him or his family before. You actually liked them and they’re family dynamic. It was just you and your dad, your mother having died of a magical illness when you were 12. Everyone knew you were a pureblood wizard but you were the butt of every joke when it came to only have one magical parent.

Of course you scared everyone so no one had the guts to say anything to your face. 

You always thought the Weasley twins were nice people. Until you heard Fred talk about how unfortunate it is for you to be in Slytherin with only one magical parent. He didn’t believe you had the makings of being a powerful witch.

You changed his mind when you jinxed him the next day. It was harmless of course and you made your message clear. 

The second time you were sure Fred Weasley loathed you, George had invited you to the Burrow for Christmas holiday, your father having to go out of town. Just because you were a Slytherin didn’t mean you weren’t a nice person to those who deserved it. Being a Slytherin had nothing to do with being a terrible person but about your ambition and drive. What a witch or wizard did with that was up to them. 

Fred was less than enthused at the fact that you would be infiltrating his holiday at home. When you arrived with them and the Golden Trio, Molly gave you a large, motherly hug that you weren’t used too. 

You forgot what it was like to be hugged by your own mother so Molly Weasley, the definition of what it means to be a mom, hugging you felt good. It meant more to you than you thought it would. 

That was until Fred made a distasteful comment about your mom. How family gatherings like this probably weren’t common in your household. 

Obviously it hurt your feelings. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from crying when you quietly excused yourself. Molly scolded her son for being so rude to you when George got up and followed you out. 

George was more of a gentler person and he never had a problem with you. And he never knew why his twin brother disliked you so much. It was a mystery even to him. 

He found you sitting on the front porch of the house and he sat down next to you. You turned your face so he wouldn’t see you wipe the tears from your face but he saw you anyways. 

“I’m sorry about Fred. He’s not usually like that.” George said softly. “I don’t know why he hates me so much. I’ve never done anything to him that he didn’t deserve.” You replied. “Don’t let what he says get to you.” George told you. 

“It’s hard when I’ve had a crush on him since second year.” You said quietly. “You have a crush on him? Fred of all people?” George questioned. “Yes, but I’m trying to get over it. He despises me, there’s no way I can tell him.” You answered. “You never know. He’s quite the complicated person.” George said. 

After that day, George tried to reign in his brother when it came to comments about your mother and your family. Those two topics remained off limits when the two of you would start the not so friendly banter. 

It then transitioned to the Quidditch pitch. You were the best chaser on the Slytherin team and you somehow became the captain after Marcus Flint graduated. 

Your team needed to be at the top of their game if you were going to beat Gryffindor. You’d never let them hear it but they were good. Sometimes too good for your liking and you strived to be better than them.  

And the amount of times Fred would throw Bludgers at you became too many to count. And the amount of times you wracked up points for Slytherin after effortlessly dodging the Bludgers he threw at you, also became too many to count. 

He made it his mission to knock you off your broom, letting George worry about the other chasers. 

During a Slytherin v. Gryffindor match, Fred would not let up. Every time you got a Quaffle and made your way to Gryffindor’s hoops, there Fred was sending Bludger your way. 

Graham Montague, a fellow chaser, tossed you a Quaffle and you were surprised that Fred was nowhere in sight. You took that as your chance to fly as fast as you could to the other end of the pitch. 

It seemed as if you’d be able to score Slytherin some points until the team’s keeper called your name. 

You turned around and saw a bludger headed straight for you. You knew you should have moved out of the way and disregarded your plan to get points, but you threw the quaffle through the hoop anyways. 

“Ten points to Slytherin!” Lee Jordan announced. Your celebration was short lived when the bludger harshly hit your left side, causing you to go crashing to the ground below. 

At first, every Gryffindor cheered. Slytherin’s best chaser and team captain was out of the game. But when you weren’t moving, however, Madam Hooch paused the game and ran out to where you were on the ground. 

Your teammates as well as the Gryffindor team, huddled around you as Madam Hooch examined you. You had woken up and instantly the pain became too much. Your head was pounding and you were almost certain the pain in your shoulder was so excruciating you almost couldn’t feel it.

No one had ever seen you cry before. Not once has anyone gotten the notoriety for being the person who made Y/F/N Y/L/N cry. Though that changed thanks to Fred Weasley. You were sobbing on the ground due to pain, it being the only thing you could do in that moment. 

“Y/N, are you alright?” Malfoy asked. All you could do was let out another sob as Madam Hooch tried to keep you still. A sound that made Fred’s chest tighten.

“Her shoulder is dislocated and she might have a concussion. We need to get her to Madam Pomfrey immediately.” Madam Hooch instructed. 

Her, along with Malfoy, helped you get off the ground, your good arm being thrown over his shoulder. 

“10 points from Gryffindor.” Madam Hooch snapped at the redheaded Beater as she helped you limp across the pitch. 

It wasn’t Fred’s intention to hurt you. Usually you moved out of the way of every Bludger he threw at you but this time you didn’t. And seeing you get hurt gave him a bad feeling in his stomach. 

George patted him on the shoulder, mostly out of pity. After the game and back in the common room, Hermione was giving the older twin a long lecture about how much you didn’t deserve to get hurt. 

“Does anyone know how she is?” George asked. “Her shoulder is severely dislocated. Madam Pomfrey could only do so much. It has to heal naturally now.” Ron explained. 

Saying Fred felt guilty was a large understatement. He felt terrible for hurting you and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get near you to apologize. 

“I don’t get it, Fred. Y/N is nothing but nice to us. Even for a Slytherin, she doesn’t let Malfoy torment us nearly as much.” Hermione said. Fred remained silent, alone with his thoughts, but he could feel George staring at him. 

That’s when it came to the younger twin. His brother was in love with you. “Merlin, Freddie, you love Y/N.” He said. “What?” Ron questioned. “He’s too afraid of his own feelings so he’s been terrible to Y/N to make that feeling go away.” George explained. 

Everyone looked to Fred for some sort of explanation but they only received him getting off the couch and marching to his room. 

__

The next morning, Fred looked for you at breakfast. Arriving early to see if he’d be able to apologize for hurting you during the match. You walked in later than usual, Hermione helping you carry your books to your house table. 

Fred watched you thank Hermione as you sat down, adjusting the sling on your arm. As you did so, you winced in pain, Pansy probably asking you if you needed help or if you were okay. Which made him feel even worse that it was all his fault. 

With your own band of guard dogs, making sure no one bumped into you the wrong way, there was no way he’d be able to talk to you alone. 

When he was on his way to potions, however, he saw you walking alone. Struggling to carry your bag, he slid next to your side and took your bag. “Let me help.” He said as he situated it in on his shoulder. 

You glared up at him, but you didn’t stop walking. You couldn’t afford to be late for potions and let Fred Weasley cost you even more than just Quidditch. Due to the anger you were feeling towards him, it caused you to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

“I think you’ve done enough already.” You snapped, reaching for your bag. “I’m trying to help you, Y/N. After all I’m the reason you got hurt.” Fred said. “Because, for some reason, you hate me so much you threw that Bludger at me. Yeah, I was there.” You replied. “Y/N, I’m sorry-” He started before you snatched your bag back from him. “I don’t want to hear it.” You said sadly before entering the classroom. 

You took your seat at your table, Adrian Pucey usually being your potions partner. That was until Snape decided to have everyone work in random pairs for that day’s lesson. 

One by one, he listed off your classmates until he said your last name. “Anyone but Fred, anyone but Fred.” You muttered to yourself. “Mr. Weasley and Ms. Y/N. Try not to mortally injure her this time, Weasley.” Professor Snape said. 

Adrian gave you a look of pity before Fred took his spot. “It must be fate.” He commented. You hummed, uninterested in the conversation. You opened up your book and followed the recipe for the potion you were making. 

Amorentia was not going to work in your favor that day. Especially since you’re going to have to tell the whole class that you were attracted to the very person who dislocated your shoulder. 

Through out the entirety of class, Fred was not paying attention. At least not to the potion. He was paying more attention to you as you measured out ingredients. A loose piece of hair fell in front of your face as your bit your lip in concentration. 

He knew you were beautiful but now that he got a chance to stare at you without you noticing, he realized it even more. You added the last ingredient and a pink steam floated from the cauldron. 

You let out a sigh of relief, mainly at the fact that you had successfully finished the potion. “That’s it?” Fred questioned. “What do you mean?” You asked. “We finished before everyone else.” He said. “I’m number one in our year in potions. That’s why.” You said with a dry laugh. 

“Ms. Y/L/N, Mr. Weasley. I see you have finished your potion.” Snape started as he stopped at your table. “Weasley, what do you smell?” He asked. “What do I smell?” Fred questioned. “Precisely.” Snape confirmed. 

Fred furrowed his eyebrows and leaned towards the cauldron. “I smell vanilla, cherries and uh, poppies.” He answered. A small smile formed on your face at Fred’s answer. Unbeknownst to him, your perfume was vanilla and cherries and you always had fresh poppies in your room, the scent staining your robes.

“Ms. Y/L/N.” Snape instructed. ‘Great’ You thought to yourself. “Cloves, fireworks and Zonko’s.” You answered. “Write a reflection on your efforts and you’re free to go.” Snape said before leaving the table. 

Fred looked back to you and noticed a smug look on your face. “What are you smiling about?” He asked. “Vanilla, cherries and poppies, huh?” You asked. “Yeah, that’s what I smelled. What does it mean?” Fred questioned. 

“You really don’t pay attention in class.” You muttered. “I tend to let whatever Snape says go in one ear and out the other.” Fred commented. “Amorentia is a love potion. What you smell is what you’re attracted to. Your deepest desire.” You explained. 

Fred’s eyes widened at your words, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Well, you’re not innocent in all this. I’m assuming what you smelled was my dear brother. After all, he’s been nicer to you.” He said, jealousy lacing his words. 

You laughed at him and at the fact that he was oh so oblivious. “No you moron. It was you. Though after you nearly killed me I’m starting to rethink it.” You teased. 

“Wait, so you, Y/F/N Y/L/N, desires me?” He asked flirtatiously. “And you, Fred Weasley, desire me.” You answered. “Who would’ve thought you’d fancy me back?” You asked, mainly to yourself but Fred still heard. “You’ve fancied me this whole time?” He asked. 

“Guilty.” You answered. “And I can’t believe you’ve felt the same way when you literally almost murdered me during Quidditch and said those awful things about me.” You added. “Not my finest moment, I agree. I guess you could say I was scared of how I felt about you so I pretended I didn’t like you. Which was one of the hardest things to do because I never liked hurting you.” Fred said. 

You looked him fondly as he explained his dilemma. “Fred, sometimes not admitting how you feel is worse than actually feeling.” You told him. “That’s rich coming from a Slytherin.” He joked. You nudged him with your good arm as you rolled your eyes. 

“Just because I’m a Slytherin doesn’t mean I’m heartless.” You said. “I know. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He said. 

You smiled up at him, getting lost at how handsome he was. And he was doing the same. This being the first conversation the two of have had without it turning into a screaming match. 

You were both interrupted by George throwing a crumpled up piece of paper at his brother. “We should really write this reflection so we can get out of here.” You said, focusing back on your assignment. 

“When we do, do you wanna maybe hang out?” Fred stammered, stumbling over his words. “I would love that. Just don’t injure me again this time.” You teased. 

Fred smiled down at you as he watched you write on a piece of parchment. Never would he have thought that he would fall in love with the girl who he swore was his enemy. 

[dilly-oh]

Red Hoodie of Fate

The blaring of the fire alarm woke Kakashi from a particularly good dream about tacos. He bolted upright, cracked his forehead on the coffee table, swore horrifically, and stumbled to his feet, blearily remembering falling asleep on the couch several hours ago. He must have rolled off at some point, maybe when he’d been sprinkling some cheese on those delicious tacos- no, stop. Food later. Fire now.

Thank God the dogs were at Yamato’s for the night, otherwise he might never have gotten out of the apartment. Bisuke was scared of loud noises and liable to hide in the deepest, darkest corner of the flat, while Bull would refuse to budge after laying down for anything less than the apocalypse. Pakkun probably would have just puked in anxiety and made matters worse, while Uhei, Akino, and Guruko would have simply started howling along with the siren. Urushi and Shiba were the only ones who’d have listened, and that was only if he had treats, which he no longer kept in his pockets after an unfortunate incident he didn’t care to repeat. He made a face as he recalled the taste.

Pulling on a pair of sneakers and a frayed red hoodie from the floor, Kakashi stuffed his keys and phone into his pockets before throwing open the door and lurching out into the hallway. He couldn’t see any flames or smoke, but he wasn’t going to sit around and wait to see if this was legit.

Maybe it was the brat from downstairs, playing pranks again. Kakashi had caught him stuffing a cat into someone’s mailbox the other day, so he definitely wouldn’t put it past the little punk. It had better not be those two idiots down the hall smoking weed again. Doors opened all along the hallway as tenants began pouring from their own apartments, hurrying down the hall and clogging the stairs like sleepy zombies. Kakashi shuffled along with them, letting the river of half-awake people drag him down several flights and out the front doors.

Kakashi milled around the parking lot with the chattering crowd, shivering at the cool night breeze and stuffing his hands into the hoodie’s front pockets. With nothing better to do than stand around awkwardly waiting for the fire-trucks, he glanced about, studying his neighbors one by one.

There was the brat, tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed, clinging to his mother’s long red braid, still half asleep. Near him was the emo kid who never brushed his hair and wore nothing but black – Kakashi was tempted to ask which make-up tutorial he used for his smoky eye. The two pot-heads were in the back, leaning against each other, dozing in place. There were more - the old man who wrote dirty novels and sometimes asked Kakashi for his expert opinion, the married couple from the floor above, and-

There was a man standing in the middle of the parking lot in nothing but a towel. Kakashi did a double-take before it processed.  

He was dripping wet, water dribbling down his shoulders and pooling around his bare feet onto the pavement. Beads of moisture slowly made their way down the curve of his pectorals, glistening in the divots of his collarbone. Goosebumps had broken out over his tanned skin, pebbling his nipples, his long dark hair plastered to his neck and shoulders. He looked like some ancient Selkie come to seduce men to their watery graves, or a primordial God of the sea preparing to smite some mortals. And hopefully date him, dear God please.

Who the hell was that? Kakashi stared in shock, struggling to place him. He’d memorized every face in the building, and he certainly didn’t remember this Adonis, which was quite impossible. He had a whole grading system for every male in the building, and this knock-out would be graduating top of the class, Magna Cum Laud. Then the man turned his head and the light from the streetlamps hit just right, highlighting the faint slashing scar over the bridge of his nose-

Wait. Holy shit. Kakashi recognized him now, but could barely believe it. That was UMINO? Umino Iruka, the stuffy teacher’s aide who had just moved in next door like a month ago? The nerd whose idea of a good time was binge-watching a season of the Great British Bakeoff? Kakashi had given him a barely passing C+, having to dock points for the arsenal of pens in his shirt pocket and that one time he saw him wearing socks with sandals.

Damn. He’d totally misjudged him. This man was a BABE. The white towel only heightened his natural tan, accentuating the deep V of his hip-bones while the shadows played across his toned stomach. He looked…

He looked cold.

Umino stood stiffly upright, head high and without shame. In fact, he glared about, arms crossed, seemingly challenging anyone to make a comment or dare laugh. But Kakashi saw the goose-bumps on his skin, the subtle shiver of his shoulders. Summer had passed and, while winter was still a ways off, fall had begun muscling its way in. Kakashi wasn’t sure the clenched jaw was from irritation or to keep his teeth from chattering.

Kakashi gathered his courage and walked over.

“Hi,” he began, and almost stopped when Umino glared at him, eyes dark and daring. “Umino, right? Hatake Kakashi, from next door.” Umino studied him for a moment, then gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement. “Uh…want my jacket?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” Umino bit out with a tight smile, pushing some wet strands of hair out of his face.

Someone wolf-whistled. Probably the old man.

Umino slowly went red, the flush starting in his cheeks, then traveling down his neck to bloom halfway down his chest.

“…Yes, please,” he said quietly, gripping his towel in a white-knuckled hand. Kakashi fought back a chuckle and yanked the hoodie off over his head, inadvertently pulling up his shirt as he did so. Blinded as he was, he missed the flicker of Umino’s eyes over his exposed abdomen and prominent hipbones, the flush darkening a degree. Finally free, Kakashi gave the hoodie a shake and held it out, grinning sheepishly.

“Smells a bit like dog. Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Umino muttered, quickly taking it and pulling it on. It was a little too big for him but did the job, covering that delicious expanse of tanned skin and muscle. Kakashi stepped back and studied him for a moment, his mouth going dry.

Shit. It didn’t help at all. If anything, it made it worse.

Umino was now wearing his hoodie, which draped over his body but only made it to mid-thigh. The result was even more alluring and provocative than him standing there in a towel. Kakashi cleared his throat and snapped his eyes away, praying for a fire-truck to come peeling around the corner and hose him down so he could cool the fuck off.

“…You have a dog?”

“Huh?” Kakashi’s eyes snapped away from Iruka’s meaty thighs as he realized the owner of said thighs had just asked a question. “Oh! Yes. Dog. Or, rather, dog-zuh. Plural.”

“Plural?” Iruka frowned in confusion. “How many are we talking-”

“Eight.”

“EIGHT?!”

“Yup.”

“You have eight dogs.”

“Yup.”

“How did you even sneak that by the super?”

“Oh, she thinks I only have four. I have a friend who keeps a couple at his place. I just rotate them out.”

Umino laughed. It was a nice sound, even when he snorted a little at the end.

“So, what do you do?” Umino asked. “Other than harbor illegal animals, that is.”

“I work at the gym down the street,” Kakashi said, jerking his head. “I’m a fitness trainer.”

“Well, that would explain your abs...sssolutely horrible fashion sense. What are those track pants from, the 80’s?” Umino cleared his throat suddenly and jammed his hands into the hoodie’s pockets, frowned, then pulled out a crumpled wad of receipts for fast-food takeout. He stared accusingly at Kakashi for a long, quiet moment.

“…I’m allowed a cheat day,” Kakashi said.

“These are all from the same HOUR-”

“Gai bet me I couldn’t eat it all. I had to defend my honor.”

“Did you throw it all up afterward?”

“…I can neither confirm nor deny that. I can, however, confirm that I won the bet.” Kakashi winked cheekily, and Umino rolled his eyes.

“Do you…enjoy your job?” he asked, stuffing the receipts back into the pockets.

“It’s not bad. I mean, it could be worse, I could teach brats all day.” Kakashi shrugged. “What do you do?”

“I teach brats all day.”

…Dammit.

Umino’s grin was mischievous, though, and there was no hostility in his tone, so there must have been no offense taken.

“How’s that go?” Kakashi asked, genuinely curious.

“About as horrible as you’d think. I have them just when puberty rears its ugly head and turns them into angst-ridden monsters. My classroom in a cesspool of hormones and crying.”

Kakashi laughed aloud. Umino wasn’t anything like he’d thought. Both inside and out. It was incredibly refreshing, not to mention incredibly attractive.

Which is why he was quite disappointed when the first fire-trucks started to pull into the parking lot. He’d rather the whole apartment complex burn down if it meant he could stand out here, chatting with the hot teacher all night.

The fire, just a microwavable popcorn-bag gone wrong, was put out in minutes, the complex deemed safe by the groggy super, a busty older woman who was either hung over or still drunk at this unholy hour. Tenants began milling back inside, clogging the entrance in their desire to return to bed. Kakashi lingered in the back of the crowd with Umino, reluctant to part ways.

“Well, I suppose I should thank you for your hospitality,” Umino said lightly, reaching up to grasp the hoodie’s zipper. “You can have this back n-”

“Keep it,” Kakashi said quickly. Perhaps too quickly, going by the surprise on Umino’s face. “I mean…just for now. Till you. You know. Get inside and get dressed. You don’t wanna catch a cold.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling his ears get hot.

“Oh…alright.” Umino's hand lowered and he gave him a shy smile, plucking at the loose red threads hanging from the sleeves, winding one around his pinky absently. “Thank you.” The quiet words warmed Kakashi, a delicate shiver traveling up his spine. Kakashi mumbled a response, then doubled over as the hyperactive blonde kid suddenly bowled right into him.

“Watch it, old man!” the brat shouted, dodging away.

“I’m not even thirty!” Kakashi barked after him, offended. “Friggin’ kid. Can you believe-” He turned to Umino and blinked.

He was gone.

---

A knock on the door woke Kakashi right as he was taking another big, crunchy bite of taco. He bolted upright, cracked the back of his head on the coffee table, swore horrifically at himself for not getting in the damn bed this time, and stumbled to his feet. Making a mental reminder to just go and eat some fucking tacos already, he lurched towards the door, tripping over the rug and falling against it with a loud thud. He fought with the handle for a moment before finally yanking it open, squinting at the light stabbing into his eyes from the hallway.

Umino stood there, not hot as hell towel-Umino, but pressed khakis and crisp button-up, array of pens and hair in a severe ponytail Umino, fully dressed and ready for the day. Kakashi, rather than feeling a twinge of disappointment, was surprised to find the man just as alluring covered from head-to-toe as he was three-fourths-naked.

“Good morning,” Umino said, horribly chipper considering the abominable hour.

“Mornin’. What’re you doing here so early?” Kakashi mumbled, rubbing his face. Umino stared at him.

“It’s 9 a.m.”

“Holy shit. Really?” Kakashi squinted down at his watch. “I thought 9 a.m. was a myth.” Umino’s mouth fell open. “You still haven’t answered my question, though.”

“Oh. Right. Um. Your hoodie. I have it,” Umino said quickly, tripping over the words. He was flustered and twitchy with nerves. If Kakashi were a predator, this was when he’d pounce. “I, um, washed it. For you. Here.” He thrust the jacket out, perfectly folded and smelling of lavender. Kakashi was impressed.

“What, did you wash it twice?” he asked, taking it in his hands and marveling at how soft it felt. The rich red color was much more vibrant, almost seeming to glow.

“Three times,” Umino replied flatly. “Then Febreeze.”

“Umino-”

“Iruka.”

Kakashi blinked, looking up to meet the other man’s gaze.

“You can call me Iruka,” he said, sincere.

“…Alright. I’m Kakashi.” Kakashi stuck out his hand, tucking the hoodie under his other arm. Iruka’s shake was firm, his hands surprisingly soft. He must moisturize or something classy like that.

“I want to thank you for helping me out last night,” Iruka went on, two spots of color appearing high on his cheeks. “I was in a rather…awkward predicament and even after I snapped at you, you still helped me despite my rudeness. I…really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Kakashi replied easily, scratching the back of his head. Oh God, his hair must be a nightmare- no, wait. It always was. Nevermind then. “Any time.”

“So, um.” Iruka shuffled his feet a little, clearing his throat. There was that predatory instinct, niggling Kakashi to jump on him and go for the jugular. “I was wondering how to thank you, and I thought I could, maybe…make you dinner?” he finished weakly, glancing up at Kakashi from beneath thick lashes, then looking away again, suddenly shy. “I’m pretty good in the kitchen, so, if there’s anything you’d like…”

“Tacos,” Kakashi said instantly.

“…Oh.” Iruka deflated, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. “Tacos. Really? I was hoping for something a bit more…challenging. Something that would allow me to show off my culinary skills a bit. But, I mean, if that’s what you want-”

“I like miso soup,” Kakashi said after a moment. “With eggplant.” Screw tacos. He could have tacos any day of the week. He’d take a bowl of cold cereal if it meant getting to spend the evening with this full-course meal.

Iruka lit up, his smile warm and inviting.

“Miso soup it is, then. I’ll have it done by tonight and bring it over. Does that sound alright?”

“Sure.” Kakashi waved as Iruka walked off down the hall, then slipped back inside and closed the door. He brought the hoodie up to his nose and inhaled the comforting scent of lavender, thinking how differently last night would have gone had he not grabbed the hoodie. What he would have missed out on. Fate, it seemed, really did exist.

Hopefully he’d be seeing more of Iruka…in more ways than one.

-End-

Months ago, I was chosen as a pinch-hitter for the Kakairuzine (I would step in if someone had to leave), so I completed two fics just in case they were needed. Since it wasn’t, I’m posting it here. Enjoy!

[timextoxhajima]

HOSTIS, Chapter VI: Venerem, Aphrodite

Previous Chapter (V: Monitum)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz)

Genre (by chapter): comedy, drama, angst?

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

zeus has sent me my aphrodite, and there’s no way i’m going to let her go.

fucking ares

where the fuck were you when i needed you?

motherfucker--

"are you alright? you look a little pale," the cab driver scans you through the rear mirror, and you force a polite smile to display on your face.

if i wasn't fucking pummeled by the other ares last night, i wouldn't even BE in this damn cab.

"i'm alright, just feeling a little... crampy. that's all."

the cab driver nods and returns his attention to the road, your eyes travelling out the window to see the hospital building hiding behind some other architecture a distance away.

walking from the cab to your office in the neurology department without looking like you were stabbed in the abdomen was arguably the hardest task in the entire time you've been alive. on top of that, you failed.

your empty office greets you with a little dull wave of work, the clouds outside beginning to cry, as though mocking your plight. the first thing you do when you get to your desk was to turn on the classical music, which was the only thing you've been listening to since you went to bed.

cleaning yourself after being utterly smashed into pieces was so humiliating, even if you were alone when you did it.

the white coat finds your shoulders and your eyes flutter shut as you leaned back into your seat, the soft pitter-patter outside your window adding on to the peace and calm and tranquility of the--

"morning!"

motherfucker.

your eyes shoot wide open with horror flashbacks, and lucifer struts across the length of your office and into his. your lungs max out with a deep breath, your eyes closing again while your fingers search for your case which contained the slightly crumpled report you stole from the previous day.

the muscles in your pelvis aches the moment you stand up, and a soft wince shows itself on your face, the reflection of the pain staring right back at you in the black screen of your computer.

deliberately inhaling a large breath and exhaling through a little 'o' you made with your lips, it was a struggle to remember the last time you had difficulty gathering your courage to do something you didn't want to do.

his shadow just about sat down in his seat when you pushed your way into the office. you keep the door open with one foot against the door and one shoulder outside the room, and you hold out the report in your left hand.

you keep your head aligned with your body, and you were staring past the width of the door in your face, your eyes refusing to budge from its current line of sight.

"aren't people going to wonder why you're halfway into my office rather than you actually being in it?"

was having a break from detest, hatred, resentment, anger, displeasure, discontent -- a raging fire -- so hard to get?

reluctantly, you pull the rest of your body away from outside and into the office, trying to light your eyes on fire while you turned your attention to him.

he looked so prim and proper with his styled up hair and stupid white coat... it disgusted you to even watch him pretend like he didn't snap your spirit into half just about twelve hours ago.

he folds his arms across his chest and raises a cocky brow, eyes trailing to the stack of paper in your hand.

"this is yours," you hold it out to him, your glare shooting imaginary lazers into his chest where his heart would be. "take it back. i don't want your shit lying around in my office."

a scoff was barely heard, and he walks around his desk to the front, leaning his hip on the edge while he fiddles with the stationery on it.

"well, why don't you come here and give it to me?"

your glare hardens, but the smug look on his face remains. "don't push your luck."

his arrogant chin tilts upwards a little, giving you a better view of his nostrils while he crosses his arms across his chest again. he puckers his lips and furrows his brows while scanning you, the innocent blinking only fueling the pissed-off ares in you.

"well, if you're not gonna come here and give it to me then how else am i going to get it?"

a muscle in your right cheek twitches, and his stupid doctor-qualified eyes catch it.

"unless you're telling me you can't walk this distance of what, five steps?"

"no, i just don't want to bother walking to you."

"oh, really? so you bothered to fight through the pain in between your legs to get here, but not bothered enough to hand my work, which you took by the way, back to me?"

this piece of shit.

"whatever i do is none of your fucking business. it never has been and never will be. i'm just here to mend my mistake of taking what was yours," the little speech and false apology flies off your tongue in sharp, succinct words and how you wish they were each a dragonstar being hurled into his face. 

ares fuels your resentment for you to physically challenge him, and you throw the stack of sheets at him.

lucifer was not one bit amused when the report landed on the ground just about a metre away from his crossed feet. the pens in your coat pockets gets twirled and rolled around between your fingers while you ready yourself to turn around.

"you know what? i don't need it anymore anyway... since doctor kim already got both our files. no point for me to submit a report separately, right?"

your knuckles were unconsciously turning white with the harsh grip you were giving the door handle. if you put any more energy into it, you would've snapped the metal handle right off the glass.

"besides, you were just looking out for me, weren't you?"

the pens in your pocket get rounded up in your palm and you've barely gotten them out of the pocket when the words fly out your mouth first.

"you're such a--"

"good morning," the familiar voice strikes from behind you, and the muscles in your arm holding the pens freeze. you whip your head over your shoulder and see doctor choi's head poking through the gap of the office door and the glass wall, his eyes scanning the both of you over the rims of his spectacles.

"getting along well, i see," he comments kindly, maybe sarcastically, you couldn't tell, as lucifer bends down to pick up the report and places it on his desk.

"very well, just discussing about the research reports we submitted to doctor kim yesterday."

"i see," doctor choi nods and you take a step away from the door in case he wanted to come in, but an aching muscle cuts through your abdomen like a small knife and your entire body twitches a little in pain.

"anyway, doctor kim has requested for me to invite you to welcome a research intern joining us today. he'll be with us for two months, so don’t be surprised if doctor kim wants you to work with him every now and then.”

“okay, are we meeting him now?” lucifer’s voice gets nearer to you from the back, and his presence starts to loom over yours. 

"the two of you are, i have rounds to make that i’m sure the both of you have already made yourself familiar with the procedures,” doctor choi looks at his watch. “i do believe the intern will be here soon, so why don’t the two of you scoot over to the north wing... and i gotta bolt. ”

doctor choi waves and leaves abruptly, leaving the door to close right before your eyes. your attention zooms in on the reflection of the frosted glass, and lucifer stops right next to you, orbs of triumph and pride looking down at you. 

the refusal to look at him was crushed when his fingers find your chin and tilts it towards him, the sudden contact triggering a sense of displeasure as you remove your face from his hold. 

“don’t touch me.”

his lips pull apart and his teeth shines at you, and he blinks like he knew your deepest darkest secret. 

which he unfortunately does. 

“it’s alright,” he hums as he reaches for the metal handle on the door. “say whatever you want to say, but we both know how easy for it to... reverse that thought.”

he pulls the door open and stands back against it, one arm gesturing out to you as his service smile pulls up onto his face. “ladies first.”

physical pain was suddenly made all the more worse in the five minute walk from the neurology offices in the east to the research department in the north. every move your legs made only made the ache between your thighs ache, and it really felt like you were constantly being given a punch in the gut with every step you took. 

most people who saw you would’ve probably noticed you were walking strangely, but of course, nothing much comes to mind. 

but when lee hyunjae sees it, it’s like watching a comedy; it’s like watching his very own masterpiece strut round on two legs. he was walking behind you the entire time, and despite the deafening silence between the two of you, you’d hear a soft scoff or arrogant snicker from behind you. 

not only did it hurt your pride and fuel your resentment towards him, but it also made you feel so powerless, so physically resigned and degraded in his eyes; in your own eyes. 

now that he’s roamed his hands all over your skin in places he shouldn’t even have touched, you couldn’t forget it, or at least, your body couldn’t. 

there was no way to decide if you were more humiliated because he broke you, or that that you even begged to come.

the lift of the north wing finally reaches the floor where the research department was, and you walk out almost like you were walking in heels. the steps behind you quicken as he overtakes you, his lips dangerously close to your ears when he whispers words that you would’ve sliced his tongue off for saying. 

“later, when the intern sees you, try not to make it so obvious that you were fucked hard last night.”

the temples in your forehead tighten and your jaw locks when you clench your teeth together. the smile on his face was so tempting to rip off, all you wanted to do was to ram a fire extinguisher into his balls. 

“good morning, doctor kim!” the greeting was so annoyingly loud and cheerful, it irked you to even hear his voice. 

“ah, there you are!” the bright grin on doctor kim’s face was so hearty and welcoming, all you wanted to do was to hug him and complain that lee hyunjae was bullying you. 

“i was getting worried that doctor choi wouldn’t let the two of you come to meet the intern. he’s on his way up right now, and i’m so excited to be around young people again,” he balls his fists and hops a little on the spot. lucifer smiles and takes the initiative to wipe a small puddle of dried coffee off his desk, and the mild gesture was disturbingly comforting.

“the good old days,” doctor kim falls back into his chair and turns himself in circles, his eyes plastered to the ceiling but it wasn’t long before you could tell he was starting to get dizzy. 

lucifer gently runs his palm on the top of the chair to slow it down, and he pats the elderly doctor on the shoulder with a soft smile. “don’t think you should be trying to hurl out your breakfast right before meeting the intern, doctor.”

the wrinkles extend themselves along his forehead and features when a sheepish smile spreads across his face, and you purse your lips in attempt to hide your soft side. 

“you’ve got a point there, doctor lee,” he rubs the back of his neck before hyunjae helps him to his feet, holding onto his arms the way you were trained to hold a frail patient to his feet. 

“what are you doing holding me like that!” the elderly doctor berates hyunjae, but he doesn’t let go. 

“you were spinning in circles and got dizzy just seconds ago!” hyunjae’s arm wraps around doctor kim’s shoulders to stabilise him before letting him go. “wouldn’t want you to pass out or something before the intern comes.”

doctor kim huffs and waves him off while hyunjae removes his hands off him. the ring of the lift steals all of your attention, and a lost looking young man exits through the doors when they open. staff members flood out onto the floor from behind him while he stares at some file in his hand, a lanyard around his neck that said ‘RESEARCH INTERN’.

“you must be son young jae!” the enthusiastic call-out startles you when doctor kim nearly yells at the top of his voice. the young man turns in response to the name, and a bright, gleaming smile provides you with the view of his teeth and adorable half-folded eyes. 

“are you doctor kim... ryuk hoon?” he questions as the two walk towards each other, leaving lucifer and you in doctor kim’s cubicle to observe the situation. 

you were worried the two were just going to stand in the middle of the pathway while the elder doctor checks his administrative forms for the internship, because you sure as hell didn’t want lucifer to start whispering nonsense in your ear like some demon in the night. 

thank god doctor kim wraps his arm around the intern and walks him over to the two of you and does the introductions.

“this is doctor l/n y/n and doctor lee hyunjae of the neurology department. they are both still in their two weeks of mentoring under the neurology department head but they are also attached to the research department because of their credentials in med-school,” the young man reaches out to you first, and you politely shake his hand. your eyes meet, and his smile gets a tad bit wider. 

the way his eyes halved when he smiled was so admirable, you almost wanted to pull him into a hug and pat him on the head. 

the intern moves on to shake lucifer’s hand, and you see again that pinch of disgust in his eyes when he touches a hand that just touched yours. 

“this is son young jae, and he’ll be with us for two months. i might end up putting the three of you in a research project team at some point of time in these two months, provided your boss won’t kill me,” he directs the last statement at both you and lucifer, and a laugh shrugs it off.

“oh, it’s great to be here-- it’s great to meet all of you! doctor kim can call me young jae but the two of you can call me eric. that’s usually how i introduce myself to people closer to my age to make it less awkward.”

“is that your english name or is it a nickname?” you raise a brow and watch in awe at his high levels of energy and enthusiasm. 

you would’ve probably been like that if you weren’t completely fucked over from last night. 

literally. 

“it’s my english name! i spent a lot of my childhood in LA so most of my friends there know me as eric. young jae is reserved for whenever i come back to korea,” doctor kim takes some of the administrative sheets from him to check and confirm the internship information with his digital copies. 

“oh,” you respond with slight surprise. “alright then, welcome to the research department, eric.”

“thank you!” he gives you a tight bow, and doctor kim taps on his shoulder to return him the forms. “i totally look forward to working with all of you. seriously, i’m so psyched for this stuff.”

your mouth was already open, ready to encourage his eagerness to be part of the staff, but lucifer beats you to it. 

“i’m as psyched as you are, eric. welcome to the team.”

the pat lucifer offered his shoulder looked oddly stiff, and you smile at eric again to mask the slightly awkward atmosphere in the air. 

doctor kim leaves eric with the both of you to help orientate him around. doctor choi came round at least twice but was shooed away by doctor kim. 

“you don’t even need them to do anything much for you,” doctor kim said, both times he came round. 

lunch hour arrived and doctor kim tells the both of you to bring eric to the eatery to eat up, and afterwards eric would return to the research department for instructions to being his internship officially while the two of you would finish your second last day of being a mentee. 

sitting down for two hours talking to eric completely eradicated any memory of the previous night. though lucifer was right next to eric who was wedged between the two of you the entire time, all your attention chose to focus on was the way he talked about research and how much he wanted to contribute to society. 

but when doctor kim started chasing the lot of you away to the eatery, standing up became a major chore.

the three of you entered the lift, and you were already prepping questions in your head to ask eric before someone decides that teasing you would be a great idea. yet, it was like the heavens sent you an angel, and he was right next to you.

“i’m sorry if i’m intruding, but are you injured somewhere? you were walking funny just now, even though the lift was barely a fifty metre walk from doctor kim’s cubicle.”

your eyes capture the glimmer of evil that flashed across lucifer’s face, and the self-restraint you needed not to throw a pen at him right infront of eric was slightly overwhelming. 

“i... did some major cardio last night. obviously, it wasn’t a good idea.”

lucifer scoffs and decides to join in the conversation. “if only she knew what to do and what not to do to get herself into such excruciating pain.”

eric glances at the both of you, and his attention settles down on you again after a few moments. 

“hey, if you need help with cardio or working out, i could totally give you some tips to reduce the pain. i work out a lot in my own time, so i’m fully aware of how shitty it gets when the ache settles in.”

oh. my. god. 

“really?” your peripheral vision completely deletes lucifer from your view and your eyes lock with eric’s.

the lift doors open and people start walking past the group of you while eric paces his steps with yours. 

“oh, totally! there’s a bunch of protein and vitamins you can take to maximize the gains from your cardio workouts. i’m gonna guess you didn’t stretch before you started,” he squints and lifts a finger at you. 

a small giggle escapes your lifts at the sight, and you nod while covering your mouth. 

“i knew it,” eric gives you a little punch on your arm. “most people underestimate the wonders stretching do.”

“then i guess i should start stretching before i do anything else.”

“you should never do anything without stretching,” eric’s attention starts to wither away at the stalls in the eatery, and you simply follow his line of sight to see that he naturally gravitated back to western food. 

“what’s good here?” his fingers caress his chin, eyes reflecting the light off the led menu board. his jawline looked so tempting to touch, but you stop your wild thoughts by turning to look at the menu as well. 

“western food’s not too bad, and the sushi’s great. but yesterday i went out to the nearby cafe to get takeaway chowder and garlic bread instead because the rest isn’t really to my taste.”

he hums in acknowledgement, eyes still running through the menu. 

“so was the chowder good?” he side-eyes you with a curious brow raised, and your heart dies a little on the inside. 

“not bad. i’d totally go over but i’m in more pain than i’d like to admit.”

he chuckles and shoves his hands into his pockets. “you must’ve had a swell time getting here from home.”

“it wasn’t too bad,” you shrug and the world stops when you look at eric. “i was in a cab, but the driver could tell i was about to pass out.”

“cab?” he turns to you, and both his pretty eyes come into view. “i was going to ask how you drove here with such an aching core.”

the sound of the rain outside reminds you that it was a wet day, and bolt of lightning splits the dark, grey sky into half for a split second. a violently loud clap of thunder runs through the eatery, and the sudden call from nature startles you. 

“well... now i definitely wished i had my own car,” you regain your composure and pull out your phone to scroll mindlessly.

“aw, no, i’ll give you a ride after work!” he reaches both his arms out to you, gently tapping your forearm with one of his hands. 

i’m gonna fucking cry--

“aw, really?” you try to mask the confirmation question with a slightly mischievous tone, but deep down, you were ready to litter kisses all over his face for being such a nice guy. 

just where in the world were you going to find another eric son young jae?

“yeah, totally. what time do you get off?”

“i--”

“whoa, y/n,”

that fucking voice--

“hitting on the intern so fast?” 

your lungs suck in air quickly in attempt to restraint your violent thoughts of gouging out his eyes and ripping his tongue out between his lips, your fists balling into tight fists when you turn to side-eye him. 

“you clearly have no clue what hitting on looks like, do you... doctor lee?”

“oh, trust me,” eric chimes in, and a one-sided sense of protection starts to blanket over you. “i know what hitting on feels like and it’s kinda gross.”

you turn around, refusing to look at lucifer while eric continues to entertain him.

“i’m just giving her a lift back home because she’s in some sucky pain. i know how it feels so it’s just a little favour.”

a small smirk pulls your lips up your cheek, and you revel in the little acknowledgement lucifer provides eric. 

the rest of the day was spent avoiding the hell out of lucifer, and you were lucky that every time doctor choi came around to look for the two of you, only one of you was needed. 

six o’clock reached pretty fast and you bolted out your office door even before lucifer got out of his seat. you reach the basement where the carpark lot was, and happiness washed over you like you just died and went to heaven when you notice eric standing right at the automatic glass doors of the lift lobby.

he greets you and leads you to the car, asking you to key in your address in his phone gps while he fumbled around in his pocket for his car keys. 

the vehicle beeps, and the gps loads your location on the screen. your arm was already stretched out to return the phone to him, but the whirring of the lift lobby glass doors capture your attention.

the sight of lucifer himself throws you off your already painful balance, and you kick some imaginary rock in your path. 

a short, sharp yelp runs through your teeth as your center of gravity begins to tip. but eric’s arms catch you on your way down to the ground, and he hoists you up easily, naturally grabbing onto your upper arms tightly.

“jesus, are you alright? what’d you kick?” his eyes dart around on the floor. “did i trip you by accident? i’m sorry--”

“oh, no! no, no,” you straighten yourself and shift backwards, slightly embarrassed and a tad bit disappointed in yourself that you couldn’t even walk properly anymore. “i’m alright, i was just being clumsy, that’s all.”

“um, okay... well, let’s get you in the passenger’s seat first.”

eric literally supports you like you were missing a leg to the passenger’s seat, and you find the tiniest opportunity to roll your eyes at lucifer, who was still standing at the lift lobby glass doors, a look arrogance painting his face.

if you could take a knife to slice off his lips that had that smug smile off, you would’ve. 

zeus has sent me my aphrodite, and there’s no way i’m going to let her go. 

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

Chapter VII: Partium

[okurrroye]

Ok all I wanted was to laugh about John getting curb stomped but the Ayo tag is a fucking nightmare like wow

Disclaimer I have shit memory so if I say something that doesn’t add up fact wise let me know. But I’m pissed off so here we go-

(FYI all of your opinions should be kept to yourself, so don’t comment if you fail to read my entire post so thanks)

I know this has been discussed, but there are things that have been left out of the argument, or hasn’t even been considered when it comes to the big I speak no I see no I hear no evil scene y’all making it out to be of Ayo disarming Bucky. So gather around here’s the part where you hear me out without scrolling off regardless of your stance on the situation, because I’m here for all opinions afterwards.

First off I can’t even understand why this is controversial at all considering the history that led to this moment. Oh wait I lied it’s literally because either you have your head to far up Bucky’s ass or because he’s a man or because he’s white, or because *ding ding ding * all of the above. And now you’re mad because how dare this black bitch have the nerve-the audacity to do that to poor little old Bucky (now insert the part where you either scroll off, or put your two unwanted cents in before I finish). And this is where you all want to use the empty ass belief that ThE aRm Is A gIfT, or empty ass excuse tHaT’s HiS aRm. Also someone else pointed out well if they didn’t trust him than they shouldn’t have given it to him in the first place. Which yes all are true, but also not at the same time. *Gasp* yes somethings can not be one or other, because ✨ grey area ✨.

Now I don’t know what world you’re living in where you think a gift can not be taken back, and I use the term gift loosely because you can’t even call it that honestly. Because in reality the whole reason he has the arm in the first place is because he needed a new one for infinity war like duh, why have crap heap that’s easily damageable when they can make an indestructible one, to live or not to live like it’s not a hard choice. Then he disappeared for five years so it would be kinda difficult to get an arm back that doesn’t exist anymore. But by the time everyone came back I think an arm was at the bottom of their to do list, or not to mention the fact well it’s already been made, and you probably don’t know how to properly function without both arms yet and can’t afford a normal one yourself so why not just keep it instead of wasting all the time, effort, and resources of making it, but idk I guess that’s a stretch. But since people likes using the gift excuse guess what, a gift is just something you couldn’t afford to do yourself so someone else was kind enough to do it for you (^^^), but in every other since of the word it really belongs to them not you. So let’s give an example shall we, now your parent(s) gave you something you wanted (shit someone else may have bought it for you) but you fucked around and got in trouble and now you’re grounded. Now depending on your parent(s) you’ll either get your ass beat or your shit will get confiscated, or both if you fuck up enough. Now do you think you have any right to say what they can or can’t do? -Yeah I didn’t think so and if you thought otherwise well here comes round two of another ass whopping or the first one if you’re lucky. Or on rare occasions some (white) kids don’t get physically disciplined, but you’re still going to pay the price regardless.

So same situation (yes I know I can’t compare an amputees arm to an object, but I only say that because Bucky is more than that, more than just a arm) but also very much not because in Bucky’s and Ayo’s situation it is much-MUCH worse obviously, but apparently it’s not obvious considering that there’s a debate in the first place. Or in other words you think Bucky’s feelings-FEELINGS are more important then Ayo’s and Wakanda the truth. Which is you’re lucky that it was only his feelings that got hurt, because she (and Yama) could have killed him and everyone else in that room easily so let’s all thank Ayo (and Yama) for her kindness and mercy first and foremost, also for not taking back both the arm and the shield completely. Because that arm and shield is Wakandan property ok so let’s get that straight, so she had every right to take it if she wanted to-whenever or wherever (which also falls into the part where the Dora does has jurisdiction there, and almost anywhere else since most likely every country wants or have vibranium now, and because Wakanda could literally flatten the whole world so yeah they’re going to have a legal pass because who’s gonna want to fuck with them) but she didn’t key word didn’t which should’ve been a clue they would never take the arm or shield back because he is disabled considering even after what Bucky (& John) did.

Not only is it the property of Wakanda but it’s from the only place that was willing, and did help Bucky in every way a person could be helped literally saving this man physically, mentally, and emotionally- like please. Specifically the royal family themselves firsthand which need I remind you is related to the former King that was killed by the man that Bucky escaped from prison without discussing it with them first. That same King, family, and country that Ayo is from, loves, and is to serve and protect. That she will-IS sacrificing and dedicates her life to...she failed them all-failed herself when T’Chaka was murdered like bruh- like that should speak for it self like that is the ultimate betrayal like he literally spat in their fucking face, especially Ayo’s considering she’s the one who gave Bucky back his mind, his freedom and after all that after everything they did for him they still didn’t trust him, and betrayed him by not telling him he had a fail safe in his arm?! Yeah-no big sike, anyone with a brain knows prosthetics because here’s the real kicker ITS NOT HIS ARM thus it’s O M G...removable. Yes you read that correctly r-e-m-o-v-a-b-l-e. Now put that together with the fact that Ayo is highly skilled and an overall badass I don’t think it would be that hard for her to fucking figure out how to dislocate it with a few pressure points considering that’s literally the whole point of striking a pressure point (if he still had his arm then that hit would’ve stopped it from working, but since it’s fake that mf popped right off). Pressure points are used to disable someone, thus Ayo disabling a disabled by disarming his arm to deescalate the situation go figure. It wasn’t a fail safe it’s just skill and common sense that everyone failed to have in the moment and used as a last resort because oh no Bucky’s face, like boo fucking hoo he did it to himself by breaking their trust first, and defending that bitch. Instead of him waiting for the Dora to have Zemo in custody first, what did Bucky do instead? He had the fucking audacity (and that’s how you use the word) to use that same arm against Ayo, against Wakanda. That speaks volumes considering out of respect as a friend or whatever close bond they have (because they definitely have a connection after what they went through together) Ayo still gave him a warning, and time to do what he had to do before they came for Zemo’s ass. Let it be known she didn’t have to do that at all because her loyalty is to and should be to her country first but in those eight hours it wasn’t, it was in the trust of their friendship so therefore she literally was endangering her well being by giving Bucky just that courtesy, and I don’t think you all consider her position in that predicament and thanks to Bucky she could’ve gotten her status revoked, thrown in jail, or worse killed for disobeying orders because let’s not forget Chadwick unfortunately has passed away, and thus it’s a fact that T’Challa is no longer in charge since Marvel will respect that with tampering with his character, so I don’t want to hear she would’ve been just fine because we’ve seen how the royal counsel has a big say on what goes and doesn’t go considering they did not give a single fuck about their own next of kin, Erik who has every right as them, but would have easily killed him just because he was an ‘outsider’ if T’Challa didn’t speak up for him (I mean they abandoned him while leaving him to fend for himself, killed his father and covered it up so wouldn’t put it past them). So if you think when Ayo fucked up again about retrieving Zemo because she trusted, and helped this outsider over her own kind she definitely would’ve been considered a traitor and be punished for her actions.

Can you imagine the hurt, and betrayal they felt? No apparently not, because it’s all about how he’s disabled and how could she take his arm (like uh she literally left it, and the shield for them to keep, and it’s not like he would’ve died without it to begin with unlike Bucky who was willing to sacrifice Ayo’s entire livelihood) when the fact that disabled people say constantly for others to stop putting their disabilities before them, and how they’re just as capable as everyone else. “They are a someone with a disability, not someone who is disabled,” which is absolutely true, because they’re more than that but everyone seems to forget that all of sudden when Ayo detaches Bucky’s arm (I wonder why) and all of sudden he doesn’t have control of his own body like what- he literally used his entire body nonbrainwashed to stab them in the back like miss me with that bs. Him spending five seconds without his arm doesn’t compare especially since they forgave him without even at least an apology at that.

Detaching his arm was a warning that he needed to learn, because they were letting him know, and I emphasize that that arm does not belong to him so how he dare try to use it against the people who gave it to him after they fed, housed, and freed him when no one else could, or would when he’s done nothing in return while as a repayment was being a fucking ingrate. All the while facing no consequences, not even the need for a fucking bandaid *mic drop*.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 54: Domestic

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Fifty-Four: Domestic

Note: The reception the last chapter received warmed my heart. I seriously loved reading your comments! They were so wholesome! V needed a friend, damn it! I was worried that taking a chapter for something that slow would kill the pacing, but you all seemed to enjoy it. So thank you! Coming up next, like two solid chapters of unpleasant revelations and plan making. Boy oh boy, is this a blast to read. I can’t wait to see the horror on your faces in the next chapter. Well, not literally, but you get the idea lol XD

(-~-)

Sun pierced the thin shear shroud that hung over the window like a bridal veil, blanketing the room in semi-darkness. What little light shone through was just enough to disturb the occupant of the room who turned to the side in an attempt to avoid the blinding light that he suddenly found in his eyes. Even with them closed, his eyes still didn’t find pleasure in the presence of the outside light. It seemed that being part devil was enough to make one a bit photosensitive. But considering that devils were creatures of darkness, that made perfect sense.

He couldn’t remember the last time that he had slept so well, turning his head to the left to discover that the love of his life was indeed still in the bed with him. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, head buried in his chest and shoulders. It was honestly difficult to see anything more than the top of her head from under the covers, her satire compared to his placing her much lower in the bed than himself. It would never stop being funny to him that she was so put together when she was awake but was so entirely capable of decimating a bed cover when she was asleep. Quite the juxtaposition if you asked him.

It was early in the morning still, so that made sense. She had no reason to be up yet, and she more than deserved her rest. The children wouldn’t awaken until the smell of breakfast made its way up to their room. And if he remembered correctly, it was Saturday. Crepe day. Perhaps he could just lay here and pretend to be asleep until it was time to devour them?

But it was not to be so. A moment later she turned over, releasing her and popping her head out from under the bed covers like a turtle’s head exiting its shell. He resisted the urge to giggle like a schoolchild at the sight, instead turning over onto his back as he raised his right arm over his face in a bid to block the morning light. They genuinely needed some blackout curtains. The sun was just awful this time of year.

“Goodmorning, Nero. Are the boys awake yet?” She yawned deeply as she stretched her arms over her head, her face down in the pile of about eight pillows that she had insisted upon buying and knitting little pillow covers for. He could barely understand her due to how muffled her voice was, but he’d caught the gist of it easily enough. It seemed that despite the fact that she was speaking, she wasn’t quite awake yet. He’d yet to see a single eyelid open.

Mornin’, Kyrie. Hope you slept half as good as I did.” Nero slid up into a sitting position, stretching his arms over his head, stretching. He’d arrived late last night, just before the boys had been sent off to bed. And just in time to let them taste the leftover pasta he’d brought from his older brother’s house for them to try. “No, they’re still asleep. Haven’t heard anything yet. Probably because it’s still so early.”

“Oh. I hadn’t noticed.” She turned in the general direction of the window, her eyes still mostly shut. She seemed to be making an effort to squint, though. “What time is it?”

Nero looked over at the clock on the bedside table. He still didn’t understand why it was on his side of the bed. Kyrie was the only thing he wanted to wake up to. (Oh my god I’m soo cheesy please help.) “It’s a little past 6 am.”

Bolting upright, Kyrie’s eyes were suddenly very open indeed, the young woman clearly startled by her partner’s answer. That had not been the answer that she had been hoping to receive. “Oh no oh no oh no… I’m so sorry! I’ll go make breakfast right away!”

In her haste to get out of the bed, she became tangled in the blankets, tumbling forward. Nero quickly migrated towards the edge of the bed, confused and probably unreasonably worried considering the fact that they were on a floor covered in a plush rug. “Kyrie are you ok-”

“Whoops. Silly me. I guess I’ll have to make up the bed before I get started.” She giggled uncomfortably, squelching her head down between her shoulders as she smiled in obvious embarrassment, he cheeks turning a bright pink that only served to highlight her pretty freckles. “I’m alright. Not to worry.”

The youngest descendant of the dark Knight Sparda let out a sigh of relief, sliding over the side of the bed to help her up. There had been little potential for actual harm to come to her, but he was still glad that she hadn’t hit her head on the wardrobe or something. The last thing he wanted was to see Kyrie come to any sort of harm.

“Forget about the bed. I can take care of that. Are you sure you’re okay?” He stood up and grasped both of her hands in his own, pulling her carefully to her feet. Kyrie had a habit of being slightly clumsy when she was in a hurry, something that this little scare had definitely made obvious. He was just glad that she seemed to be just fine. It was far from the worst thing he’d ever seen happen to her, much to his distaste and her misfortune. What had gotten her so flustered in the first place? “What’s going on?”

She giggled in embarrassment again, closing her eyes for a moment as she scratched the back of her head. A stray strand of bed hair snagged on her nail, coaxing a small yelp from her as she rubbed the spot in question. She then let out another small yawn, her eyes watering slightly as she rubbed the last of the sleep from them. “Nothing. I’m fine. I just don’t want to make you late, so I meant to get up about an hour ago to make breakfast. I know you said you have something important to do with your father today, and I don’t want to hold you up, but I don’t want to send you out the door hungry, either.”

Nero blinked in confusion. And then he paled. Oh no, he had totally forgotten about that! He wasn’t late just yet, but he absolutely saw her point. There were supposed to be making a plan to deal with Belial today, sometime within the next two hours! He hadn’t given it a single thought since he’d woken up. His only thoughts had been on the delicious breakfast that he was so looking forward to.

Hurrying down the stairs, kyrie ran off to prep whatever she was going to need to make breakfast before Nero left. They had just under an hour and a half before he needed to be back at V’s house, so she was going to need to hurry if he was to leave on time. And unfortunately, crepes were not one of those things that could be hurried, much like many of the dishes from the food’s country of origin. But to be fair, that was what made them so enjoyable to eat.

Quickly throwing the blankets back onto the bed and layering them into something vaguely akin to a satisfactory condition, Nero headed after her. He couldn’t really cook. Okay, he couldn’t cook at all. He’d once burned the water they had been planning to use to cook some pasta with, and Kyrie had tried her level best and somewhat failed not to burst into hysterical laughter. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t help her in some way.

As Nero made his way down the last stair and crossed the threshold into the living room, he caught sight of the clock. 6: 37 am. It was barely light out despite the bright light that had made its way in through the windows. That was the curse of their window position in relation to the shoreline. The water made sure that it was always too bright in their room. Nero realized he was probably the only person to not want a waterside view.

But as he turned to join her in the kitchen, something stopped him. Something had just occurred to him for the first time. The earliest ferry didn’t leave for at least another hour and a half. Even if he left right now there was no way that he could get back to V’s house before Noon; 10 am at the earliest if traffic allowed it. “Kyrie wait. Slow down. I’ll just call them. I can’t get there that early anyway unless he comes and gets me.”

Kyrie paused, clearly confused. And then a look of understanding crossed her face. “Oh, that’s right… the ferry.” She laughed to herself in embarrassment, dying inside as she realized that she’d sent them both into a panic over nothing. “I’m sorry, Nero I-”

She was quickly silenced by a surprise kiss from Nero, her body melting into his arms as he scooped her up into his arms, hugging her tightly. He didn’t need to say that it was alright. He knew that she understood. She always did. “Don’t worry about it, Kyrie. You meant well. Let’s just enjoy that breakfast before the kids wake up and Nico eats all the fruit that’s supposed to go in the food. Just you and me. Wadda ya say?”

Again, Kyrie giggled. Although this time, not from embarrassment. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, Nero. I would love that.”

Nero snuggled her tightly for a moment before releasing her, realizing that neither of them could do anything if they were not able to move. “And hey, and maybe I can help this time. It can’t go any worse than the last time, right?”

The young songstress paled. “T-that’s very true Nero. I’m sure you’re right about that.”

(-~-)

Dante and Vergil had arrived just a short while ago, the eldest of the two insisting upon heading over nearly an hour earlier than they needed to in a bid to make sure that they were not late. It seemed that the fact that the only one setting this deadline for them was the eldest Son of Sparda himself had been completely lost on him. Sometimes Dante wondered if Vergil actually thought about those sorts of things before committing himself to them. But regardless, V and Morgan were both already at the house, and Brenowin was with them, so it didn’t seem that it was going to matter much in the grand scheme of things. Only one person was coming from any distance away, and he knew that his youngest son understood the importance of being there.

It was around this time that Vergil realized that he was forgetting something. This clearly threw him for a loop and drove him slightly mad. Not having everything accounted for in his own plan was one of the things in this world that made Vergil question why he even got up in the morning. After all, if he couldn’t trust himself to get that sort of thing ringtone, then he was supremely doomed, wasn’t he? Or perhaps overthinking every minor detail was how he missed the bigger picture? At this point, he was in two minds over the subject, and that alone threatened to take his last shred of sanity.

After about a half-hour of staring at the clock, Vergil had, unbeknownst to himself, become obviously uncomfortable. Nero should have been there by now, should he not? And the wat that his eldest son was staring at him with a semi amused look on his face from the other side of the living room was not helping in the slightest. Had he missed something? Or more obviously, was there something on his shirt that he had missed? It was hard to tell what V was thinking without asking him directly.

“You’re staring at me,” Vergil stated plainly, fully aware of the fact that he was stating the obvious. He knew that V knew he knew that V was staring at him, so there was really no compelling reason to bring it up other than to point it out in the hope that he might stop doing so. He couldn’t really pinpoint why this bothered him as much as it did, but he couldn’t deny that he found it uncomfortable.

“Oh, I know.” V petted Shadow absentmindedly, the large panther occupying the space in front of him and silently commanding his attention. She seemed to be slightly on alert as a result of the strangers who were in the house. Flora she recognized, but Morgan and Bren were still a bit unfamiliar to her.

“Is that a particular reason for you doing so that I should be aware of?” Now Vergil was equal parts annoyed, anxious, and confused. Was he being unknowingly conspicuous again? That seemed to be something that he was good at.

“Perhaps. I’m wondering how long your error will take to occur to you” V said softly, scratching the backs of his familiar’s ears. If her rumbling purs were anything to go by, he was doing a more than satisfactory job. “It is an easy enough mistake to make. I imagine that you are still having quite a time with, well, the time. It takes time to acclimate yourself to something so different from what you have become accustomed to. I’m sure it simply didn’t occur to you.”

Vergil’s brow furrowed. “What didn’t occur to me?”

“Without contraries, there is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence.” V said simply, more than slightly pleased with himself for finally having an opportunity to indulge in one of his favorite quotes. Well, at least to the capacity that someone might be able to understand and use for self-reflection. He’d been given ample opportunity to use it. “Requesting that someone remember to attend a meeting that they cannot get to and then forgetting yourself that the time you picked is the reason they cannot attend.”

Sirrus smirked from the armchair next to V, nearly spilling his tea as he held it up to his mouth. He understood that one. He didn’t comprehend all of the reasons for its significance at the moment, but the concept was not lost on him. Vergil looked over at him for a moment before returning his attention to his young son. He had forgotten something? “I do not follow.”

Tilting his head slightly to the side, V shifted his sitting position to accommodate his back resting upon the back of the couch, relinquishing his hold on shadow, much to the panther’s dismay. He never wanted to get off of this couch again. It was supremely comfortable. “Nero called a short while ago. It seems that you may have failed to take on of the obstacles in his path to arrival into account.”

Vergil sat there in silence for a moment before something subtle changed in his facial expression. He then stood up and withdrew Yamato as he headed towards a more open area of the house. Sirrus shook his head, reaching over to offer to refill Flora’s cup. She peeped up from her book but then shook her head politely to decline. Sirrus then turned his attention to V, silently nodding in the direction of the other empty cup on the tray. Vergil had allowed his own cup to cool off, but there was still tea left, and considering the fact that Dante was barely awake at the moment, he didn’t suppose that offering a cup of hot tea to him on a brand new and expensive couch would go over well. Besides, he and Lucia were reading as well. Best not to disturb them. “If I may?”

Looking over at him with half-lidded eyes that betrayed the late night that they’d spent conversating, V nodded. Perhaps that would help him stay awake. 

Sirrus filled the cup and set the pot down, returning to his own drink. He took a sip before continuing. “Why not tell him when Nero called?”

He now understood what Sirrus meant. He sat up to take the cup and fix it to his liking. “I wanted to see if he would come to realize his oversight. It is not always the fault of others that simple mistakes are made. That, and Nero seemed excited about breakfast.”

“Fair enough,” Sirrus said, finishing off the cup and setting it down. He had held off to allow his younger brother more time to eat? That had been kind of him, considering the circumstances at hand. He had much to lose should they not make haste in resolving this situation. Perhaps the most to lose out of all of them on a personal spectrum aside from Morgan. And even then, from what he had come to understand. After all, his newfound knowledge was why he was here today. This wouldn’t be good.

A moment later, another voice could be heard from the kitchen. It was Nero. It seemed that the Darkslayer had stepped away to remedy the situation that he had accidentally caused, and that he had now returned with his youngest son in tow. Excellent. Now they could proceed with the reason that they had all been asked here.

“Kyrie asked me to bring you these,” Nero said as he handed V a Tupperware container filled with crepes. The whole thing had been wrapped in foil in an attempt to keep them warm and preserve their texture and flavor. V sat down his drink and headed towards the kitchen to tend to them, unwilling to wait and see what they were. From the smell alone, he had some idea what was in the container, and that excited him. And only kyrie would wrap up something that was going through a portal. She was too kind.

“She also asked me to ask you how you made that pasta. She and the kids loved it.” Nero said, gesturing towards Sirrus as he sat down next to the spot where V had just been. He would return shortly. He had some concept of the importance of what was going on. After all, it centered around him for the most part. V was a lot of things, and Nero didn’t consider “inconsiderate” to be among them.

An amused look passed over the man with the red hair’s face as he shook his head. He was wondering if that dinner had actually been good, or if everyone had eaten it just to be polite. It was good to know that there were at least a few people who liked his cooking. He wasn’t sure he’d met this Kyrie or the children in question before, but that didn’t much matter to him. He was sure he would eventually under better circumstances. And it seemed that she knew Nero, so she couldn’t be all that bad. Perhaps his significant other? Were the children his? So many fascinating questions to be answered. Such a scandal! Oh, how the little things excited him. 

“It would be my pleasure. I’ll jot it down on something for you as soon as I get the chance. Or perhaps I can deliver the information to her in person?” He shrugged, waiting for V to sit down with his newfound meal. He hadn’t even made it back to the living room before he had begun to devour what seemed to be a plate of raspberry-covered crepes. He couldn’t blame him if that was the case. Cold crepes were disgusting, at least in his experience. ”But I must deliver some news to you first. I was called away late last night to attend to something troubling that is pertinent to your predicament, and I feel that you need to hear about it. It may be helpful to build our plan around.”

Vergil returned as Sirrus finished talking. “You have my attention.”

Sirrus nodded. “Good. And I shall need the attention of the rest of our house guests as well. After all, you mentioned that they are involved at dinner last night, and something tells me that from what I overheard you explain from outside of Lucia’s house that day about the attack that you both barely survived a few years back that this will not be pleasant news. And for that, I am so sorry. Settle in. This will be a long and unpleasant story. And I think that much of it shall genuinely surprise you.”

(-~-)

I wonder if any of you have made the connection between a few of the events that have occurred in the story. If not, then some of them shall be revealed in the next chapter. And I’m certain that one of them that’s coming up will genuinely surprise you all. It’s got so many messed-up layers to it that it’s probably the most DMC thing I’ve ever written on that merit alone hahaha! See you all next week for the truth and answers that I know you seek. I think devoting like two whole chapters to it was the best way to go. The flow will be much better that way. See you all in the comment section, and talk to you soon! Have a good, safe weekend!

[dwaynepride]

the unfortunate case of nonchalance

PART V - BLOOD WAS OUR INHERITANCE

summary: jethro’s heart is pulling him two ways, and it’s hard to navigate the right direction.

words: 3,335

warnings: female reader

tags: @fairytale07​ @jrenn10​ @f4nboi​ @purplestarsr5​ @ladyzombiielove​ @littlemiss3ma​​ @minikate--24-05​​ @consultingdoctorwholock​​ @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy​​ @ms-allenbrown​​ @ikbenplant​​ @dylpickles1267​​ @diaryofafan17​​ @specialagentlokitty​​ @pageofultron​​ @stanathanxoox​​ @kittenlittle24​​

author’s note: part 5 of the cowboy!au series. this is a part of meg’s 11k challenge. the prompts are cowboy au and secret relationship trope.

part IV | part VI

March 7th, 1889

Once again, I am a wanted man.

The botched bank job was nearly five days ago, and I’ve felt every single second of it. Anthony’s wound is worse than I feared - Doctor Mallard is doing all he can, but I know that man. His hopes are not high. Anthony’s got a fever and he still bleeds from time to time. 

That boy is strong, but even I’m starting to worry.

And we can’t leave while Anthony’s so weak. Everybody’s been packing up, ready to turn tail, but a journey may very well kill Anthony, if his infection doesn’t.

I know my thoughts should be on finding a way to leave, but they’re not. Not all of them. When it’s quiet, I find myself wondering if Y/N is safe. She was far from the shooting, I know that. But that doesn’t stop my concerns.

I need to make sure she’s alright; that’s the only way I’ll be able to concentrate on anything else. I’ll ride to her home at night and no one’s gotta know I was back in town.

Plus, I feel that maybe she’ll help get my head on straight.

-

The night is so silent, Jethro barely lets himself breathe.

Even taking the long route all the way around the outskirts of town, he was nervous. Every shadow, every noise had him instinctively reaching for his pistol. It was some sort of miracle that he hadn’t run into any law yet, but seeing the pure white paint of your home made Jethro’s stomach tight.

All the windows were dark, except for one. A candle flickers on the windowsill; its light is warm and inviting and it draws Jethro in to search for you. Though, with his luck, your bedroom would be on the second floor.

His footfalls are silent against the ground. He still keeps a hand on his pistol, but Jethro’s eyes are locked on the candle in the window. He reaches the house, leaning his back against the wood. And slowly, carefully, his head creeps forward to peer in through the window.

His eyes take a moment to adjust to the light, but the image he finds when Jethro looks in makes his heart tight. There, on the bed, you’re laying with a book in hand. You haven’t noticed him, too focused on reading, but Jethro’s just pleased that he’s found you so easily. He’s already been in town for too long.

A hand comes up, and he gently knocks his knuckles against the glass. Instantly, you jump, eyes wide as they flicker up to look in his direction.

That look of recognition makes this whole journey worth it.

Jethro sees his name leave your lips, and he quickly motions for you to come outside. You’re reluctant, he can tell. And he can’t really blame you, neither. But again, he beckons you out. Eventually you nod, and he watches you scurry out of your room.

His hands curl into fists, and Jethro reminds himself to breathe. But try as he might, he can’t seem to calm himself. Five long days of wondering and worrying, only to find you home; safe and sound and reading a book in your bed. Now, he just wants to talk to you. Hear your voice and simply be in your presence.

After what feels like minutes, the back door of your home finally squeaks open. He hears it, and Jethro immediately moves toward the back of the house. And there, in the light of a half-moon, you’re standing there looking at him and Jethro suddenly can’t remember how to use his own words.

“Jethro,” you breathe out. It’s almost inaudible, but he catches it. And when you run up to him with open arms, he catches you, too. You smell of wildflowers and Jethro’s instantly taken back to that day by the river. When you kissed him softly and he felt your lips for days after

That feels like a lifetime ago.

“I’m okay. I’m right here,” he mumbles. And Jethro’s not afraid to squeeze you just a little too hard. God, as much as he says he’s been worried about you - he’s missed you a hell of a lot more. As crazy and scary as things have been the last few days, this is the first time Jethro feels a sense of normalcy. Like everything is suddenly right in the world.

He wants to stay in this hug forever, but you’re the one to pull away. And when Jethro looks in your eyes, he doesn’t find the happiness he expects to see. He isn’t barraged with questions of if he’s alright or what happened or if everyone was safe.

Instead, you step away from him. Still within arm’s reach, but no longer holding him. “The bank...all those lawmen....Jethro...?”

His eyes fall away. Perhaps Jethro was naive to think you wouldn’t have questions about the heist. Perhaps he was stupid in thinking your happiness to see him would somehow overshadow why he did what he did. But that explanation would take too long and Jethro simply wanted to be here with you.

Your face was taut. Unmovable. And he knows you deserve to know who he is.

His thumbs trail over your forearms, grip still tight in case you decide to pull yourself from his grasp. “I’m not exactly who you think I am, sweetheart,” he says lowly.

You look confused - as if not properly understanding what he means. “You’re Jethro Gibbs,” you tell him firmly. “You came into town with your friends-”

“My gang,” he cuts in. And as your eyes go wide, Jethro’s gaze falls once again. “We aren’t just moving into town, we came here to hide. We....we did some bad things out West. Things that I regret.” The words felt like poison on his tongue. It felt like every syllable was just pushing you farther and farther away from him. But Jethro finally looks back up, watching your shocked expression. “Things that got Shannon killed, and ain’t been ‘till now that I wanted to change. My gang’s not quite there yet - they’re still convinced we gotta rob folk. The bank wasn’t my idea.”

Finally, you wrench your arms out of his grasp. And your eyes had gotten harder. Almost angry; it’s the first time Jethro’s seen you like this. Not even at the saloon when the barkeep threatened to call the law on him. “I have a hard time believing you didn’t know anything about it, Jethro. They’re your friends,” you bite out. Jethro’s never felt quite so small. “My father works there. What if he’d been-”

“My people aren’t killers.”

“And how should I believe you? Seems like everything you’ve told me is a lie. Is your name actually Leroy Jethro Gibbs, or is it something you’ve made up?”

Jethro is silent for a moment. “You think I can make up a name quite so ridiculous?”

You huff and turn away from him to walk back into the house. Truthfully, that smartass comment was reflexive, and Jethro’s kicking himself for saying it. “Hey, hold on,” he says, reaching out and grabbing your hand. And you try once again to pull free, but Jethro’s much too strong. He comes around to face you, eyes intense and serious and you even stop struggling when you meet them. “Not everything’s a lie. I do care ‘bout you - a whole hell of a lot,” he says softly.

He can tell that makes you think. The way you watch him, reluctant to believe him, but also wanting to. And God, Jethro wants you to. His stomach’s painfully tight at the thought of his foolishness being what drives you away.

And his fears are realized.

This time, when you pull your hand back, he lets you go. “You’re an outlaw, Jethro. A criminal.” Your voice is so hard, so harsh against his ears, that Jethro can’t really believe that he heard it.

But he’s not stupid nor deaf.

“Well, you let this outlaw teach you how to shoot, sweetheart. And better yet, you kissed a criminal. Don’t act so high, like your hands are clean.” The words are sharp and terrible, he knows. He spits them out with the poison on his tongue and Jethro’s too angry to feel bad about it.

The light of the half-moon reflects off your tears in the split second he can see your face, because you’re walking away from him toward the back door. “Get out of here, Jethro GIbbs, or I swear I’ll start screaming and get the law down here!”

You don’t even look at him. Not one measly glance as you pull the door open to rush inside. For a few seconds, his feet are rooted to the dirt. And as mad as he is, Jethro doesn’t quite want to leave. That pull that drove him here is still in his gut, much to his annoyance. Buried under the heat of the argument. Plus, he made you cry - some of that anger is pointed to himself.

He turns away from your perfect white house, disappearing back into the darkness so the law can’t see him. And Jethro doesn’t look back, not once.

If he had, he knows he would’ve seen your sad face in the window.

-

Anthony’s infection was like a cough that just couldn’t be shaken.

None of Doctor Mallard’s tonics seem to be working. And as Anthony’s condition worsened, it seems like the gang’s morale faltered, too. Jethro felt that change; he is not immune to the mood that wily young Italian brings to the gang. And with the argument he had with you last night - well, he doesn’t want to admit how much he misses Anthony’s bad jokes.

His hand runs slowly up and down the muzzle of his horse as Jethero waits on Abigail. Their plan is foolish. Could likely get them locked up, or worse. But with Anthony on death’s doorstep, there’s little choice.

Abigail had not been involved in the bank heist. She’s the one who will walk into the general store and buy the things Mallard needs. Jethro’s going along to keep an eye on her, much to the gang’s distress. Because if they lose Anthony, could they really afford to lose Jethro, as well?

Perhaps not. But Jethro wasn’t going to let his foolishness get Abigail into trouble. And letting her go alone would be dangerous.

As they ride into town, he keeps his hat low. Doesn’t look anybody in the eye. It’s been some years since he’s had to ride through a town where he’s wanted, and he hasn’t missed the way it feels. The urge to run, or the sensation that everybody’s staring at him. Having to keep his ears pricked, waiting to hear a lawman shout his name, or the crack of a rifle.

“There’s the general store,” Abigail points out.

He nods without a word, and to his surprise, Abigail has kept a lid on her usual chatterbox self. He knows she’s no fool; this is too important, and her nervous talking may likely draw attention. Even her usual frilly black lace attire has been replaced with a much less noticeable dress. Truly a sacrifice.

But Anthony’s life is more important, right now.

They climb off their horses, and Abigail makes a beeline for the door. “I’ll stay out here. To keep watch,” Jethro mumbles out. His eyes flicker around the street, relieved that everything seems normal.

Abigail nods. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Her words bring little comfort. Jethro doesn’t like feeling so exposed.

Jethro tries not to watch people as they walk by. That would only make him look suspicious - on the other hand, he needs to keep an eye out. Be it paranoia or caution, Jethro watches the townspeople from under the wide brim of his hat. For him, it’s unusual how normal they all act when Anthony is back at camp dying.

And he’s not sure what powers are at play. Whether God or the Universe or just bad karma coming to bite him in the ass. But Jethro’s gaze wonders over across the street, a few buildings down. His heart stops dead, and limbs go cold. Not even the scariest lawman in the state could make Jethro quite so scared.

You haven’t noticed him, of course. Nobody has. But Jethro noticed you instantly. Like his heart was a compass.

He watches you, deep in conversation with the owner of the store you just walked out of. And it’s no wonder - your last name is on the top of that store. This must be some kind of business meeting.

And Jethro’s well aware he’s staring. He knows he outta be on the look out. Knows he really shouldn’t care whether or not you’re in town because of some bank business that your father likely roped you into. The argument was still fresh in his head - there was nary a time Jethro didn’t think back on that night with a hole in his heart. Or a fire in his belly.

Despite his mixed feelings, Jethro’s certain you’ll still be cross with him. Would tell him that you never want to see him again, and he’s not sure he can take hearing that, right now.

But God, how he misses you.

Losing the privilege of talking and spending afternoons with you felt like losing a limb. Jethro missed being able to escape his lowly life for a few hours and feel almost free. And you make him feel good, too. Like he can be a decent, respectable man with a decent, respectable life.

If he apologized, can Jethro even hope you’d forgive him?

Finally, you seem to conclude the conversation with the store owner and begin walking away. Jethro’s first instinct is to follow, and for once, he’s well-aware of how misguided his instincts have been, lately. His head swivels around to the door - Abigail would be fine for a few minutes, surely. He only needs to say a few words to you. And that’s still assuming you would stop and listen.

Jethro is careful about how fast he walks - slow enough to not attract attention, but fast enough to catch up. His stomach is tight, palms are clammy, and Jethro finds he can’t hardly breathe once he’s a mere foot away.

But he needs to concentrate. Needs to stay calm to get your attention.

Slowly, he walks up to your side. And before you could turn and look at him, Jethro leans his head over. “It’s me,” he mumbles out. You jump in surprise, give a gasp, and Jethro’s worried you might say his name and out him. Perhaps this was a mistake.

You don’t say a word. You just stare at him, mouth agape, and he knows this is the perfect time to pull you away from public eye.

With a hand on your arm, he discreetly pulls you into the space between two buildings. Just wide enough to fit the both of them, but provides the perfect privacy he needs. Away from the high society he loathes so much - the only attention he seeks is yours, and now he’s got it.

It comes with a price, though. Your face isn’t so bright and alive as it usually is, and Jethro knows he’s the cause of that. Your eyes watch him carefully, and he notices dark circles that were never there previously. Haven’t you been sleeping?

“What are you doing in town?” You ask him harshly. Jethro’s head backs away from the ferocity of your words. “If the law catches you, you’ll be hanged.”

He knows that. And he knows the stupid decision he made leaving the shop to chase after you. “My friend was shot. We’re here getting some medicine for him, but I think we might be too late,” Jethro says flatly.

And to your credit, you look sad. Sympathetic for his problems, and Jethro doesn’t miss the way your hand comes to grip his arm. As if comforting him, but too afraid to really commit to it. “I’m sorry, Jethro. I really am. I do hope he gets better. But we should not be talking, and you should not be here.”

You’re inching away from him, eyes downcast. And it isn’t until Jethro sticks his arm up to block your path do you stop. “So that’s it? After everything,” he asks. You don’t respond, and that only flares up his old anger from the previous fight. “I know I can never measure up to you and your family. I know I’m some lowlife, no-good cowboy-”

“Jethro, I didn’t mean what I said.”

Your words drain the anger from him. Maybe they shouldn’t; Jethro is never so easily swayed by words. But you look back up to him, meeting his eyes. “I was just....angry and confused and frightened. My father was going mad with everything that happened. You’re a good man, I know that. And I’m so sorry about what I said.”

The apology wasn’t expected. Jethro sooner prepared for a slap to the face than your honest regret. And a small flare of hope rises - that maybe this doesn’t have to end.

You’re still staring. Watching his expression soften, and eventually, your hand reaches out to grip his. A gentle squeeze that Jethro’s been craving. The soft touch that somehow manages to mend some of the cracks that these last few days have inflicted on him.

The seconds tick by, and Jethro knows he’s already been away for too long. It was a gamble to leave the store, and now he’s just being foolish for staying this long.

Regardless, Jethro leans in and presses his lips against yours with fervor. If the first kiss were as gentle and slow as a stream, than this kiss was a raging river. It knocks the wind out of him. Makes him feel like he’s drowning and you’re keeping him afloat. And you....you’re grabbing onto him. Clutching him tight by his coat, unwilling to let him leave this little bubble you’ve created.

Acting like this is the final kiss you’ll ever share.

Jethro promises himself that won’t be the case.

Your lips are soft and pliable against his. Jethro would happily stay in this crevice for the rest of his life, but he breaks the kiss. As he leans back, he sees small tears trickle down your cheeks. With a heavy heart, he wipes them away. “I need to go now. But I need you to do something,” he says, voice somehow sturdy after that kiss.

You look reluctant. “Jethro-”

“Tell your father about us. About everything,” Jethro states. And he ignores the way your eyes flicker away briefly before returning. “Once Anthony’s fit to travel, we’re leaving. And I want you to leave with us.”

It was a tall order, he knew. Leaving everything you knew. Everyone you love. But Jethro knows he wants you with him. Feels it in his bones that you’re meant to be with him, always. And the way you’re still gripping onto him, you must feel the same. That undeniable tug, like a rope around his neck.

His hand runs along your cheek one final time before he pulls away. Unfurls your hands from his coat and squeezes out of the crevice. On his way back to the store, Jethro doesn’t look back. And yet, he feels your eyes on him.

Just as he returns, Abigail is exiting the store. And she’s isn’t stupid; she knows he was gone. Instead of scolding him for such a stupid move, she just furrows her eyebrows at him. “Where did you go?” She asks.

Jethro keeps his hat down, unwilling to look her in the eye. His answer was too long. Too complex.

“Something important I had to take care of,” he answers simply. Not a great answer, but the only one he’ll provide. “C’mon, let’s get back to camp.”

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

Aces in Spaces Chapter 21

New Chapter!

Roman and Erica having been dating a little over three years now:D

Warnings for a dude being a creep and not taking hints but Roman and Erica handle it together, more Roman being a wonderfully considerate human being

Tags: @maybege​ @sunshinepascal​ @rentskenobi​ @agent-450​ @princessxkenobi​ @obaby-wan​ 

Masterlist

(This is Erica’s dress for this chapter, I imagine Roman in a black suit but his tie and pocket scarf match her dress)

It isn’t really an office party but Erica would say its something like it given the types Roman “works” with. The whole restaurant rented in advance and bustling with ‘associates’, their security armed to the teeth, waiters flitting around and everyone more than a little buzzed. She’s grown used to being at Roman’s side during events like this, mingling with those he does business with, and she’s grown used to how they usually respond. The more polite ones address her by name, the brazen ones dare to call her pet names (which usually earn at minimum a glare and Butch’s looming presence, its rarely a repeated offense), there are a choice few that still refuse to acknowledge her at all but Roman never stands for it, deliberately asking her opinion and citing her ideas. The reaction she’s currently getting however, is not any of those. Roman has been wrapped in a discussion the better part of a half hour but it hadn’t taken her long to feel the gaze of another as she sat at his side.

A cursory glance had located the perpetrator on the other end of the room, near the bar, but he hadn’t stayed there. It didn’t bother her at first, she’d been stared at before, but it kept getting worse. The man in question was older, silver-haired and tall. At first she’d blamed it on curiosity, but the increasingly predatory stares that were impossible to ignore from his deliberate placement in her line of sight didn’t stem from curiosity. At least not about anything she was going to indulge. The longer she waited the worse it would get, this much she knew. Leaning into Roman she sighed. Why did men have to be dense and persistent?

She deliberately makes a show of toying with the edge of his collar, brushing her hand along his shoulder and down his arm, if the man wouldn’t respond to her signals, maybe he would heed Roman’s.

Roman acknowledges her immediately, turning with a smile, hand covering hers and leaning down to nuzzle her bare shoulder. He whispers discreetly in her ear as he leans away, “Are you alright?”

She hums, nodding. “Just admiring.”

He smiles at the table, business demeanor cracking just slightly, and he brushes his thumb along the top of her hand that still rests on his forearm. He nods at her, getting pulled back into the conversation almost immediately but he keeps his hand over hers. Hopefully it’s enough.

She hears rustling behind her and realizes too late who it is, regretting immediately that she’d turned to look.

“Is this seat taken?”

He’s oozing charm but the only thing it accomplishes is to fill her with a desire to throw up.

She resists the urge to cover herself, his gaze making her feel as though she’s naked, but it’s not as if he can see anything anyway. Her dress is a brilliant blue, backless and v-necked but not scandalously so. Instead she chooses to lean away from him, nearly laying her head on Roman’s shoulder as she looks up at the man standing above her.

“I don’t know” She begins, voice care-free, eyes locked on his before swinging her head away. “Is it? Lover?”

Roman turns almost absently, giving the man a glance before narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Mr. Barton?”

The man pauses, seemingly surprised at the response but recovers quickly with a smile, nodding. “Didn’t think you’d remember me Mr. Stanton, it’s been quite a long time.”

Romans eyes are still narrowed and his face screws up momentarily before smoothing again and that charming grin makes its way onto his lips as he stands to offer his hand. “Well you’re quite unforgettable Ben.”

The handshake happens just above Erica’s head but she waits, Roman will introduce her, and hopefully make a show of it.

They sit back down in unison, Roman’s arm falling to rest on the back of her chair as Ben’s comes to rest on the table, Erica lets her own fall back into her lap before giving Roman her full attention. At his pause to admire her eyes she reaches to bring his hand from the back of the chair to her hip, unfortunately he misses the cue to be slow and possessive about it. Damn.

“This is Erica, the love of my life.” He leaves out a title and Erica falters for the briefest of moments before turning to smile at Ben, neglecting to offer her own hand and leaning back into Roman.

“Delighted I’m sure” Comes her voice and she almost laughs at herself because she hasn’t played this fake in years but, it seems the situation calls for it. She decides to add on, “Roman and I have been together for years” (it’s true) “he’s never mentioned you.” Ben offers a hand anyway, giving her a grin as if he’s caught her in a trap and she shrugs absently.

“Sorry- my hands are busy.”

She knows the implication and oh if it doesn’t make her feel good to see him nearly choke in response.

“I—Um--.”

She feigns sudden understanding and embarrassment. “Oh—” She brings a hand to hover over her mouth, using her other to grab Roman’s hand to hold and display their interlocked fingers, “I didn’t mean anything by it—” It’s a perfect opportunity for him to jump in, she’s set the stage beautifully if he’ll just—

“No one thought so love it’s quite alright.” Roman calls over a waiter to change the subject and while it does work she isn’t sure it’ll last. She also isn’t sure how Roman is missing the way this ‘Ben’ is looking at her. Sleezy doesn’t begin to cover it.

Roman turns to say goodbye to the others he’d been talking with and Ben doesn’t miss a beat, sliding closer and leaning toward her. “So what is a beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?” His question is soon accompanied by what Erica knows had better not be a hand on her thigh and she crosses her legs so it slides off.

“Roman is—” She hesitates the slightest second because ‘boyfriend’ doesn’t begin to cover all that he is, all the love she has for him, or all that he’s done for her. It feels so juvenile, and yet she knows Ben will read too far into anything else. “my boyfriend. And we always come to these types of things together.”

Ben has the audacity to scoot his chair close to get another hand on her, this time on the bare skin of her back above her dress. If Roman doesn’t turn around right this minute—

“He’s never said a word to me about you” His eyes move over her appraisingly, “pretty thing, any chance you’re bored with him?”

She knows disgust is seeping into her face so she decides to switch tactics.

She leans further away, turning to press her back all the way into Roman’s chest (by extension forcing him to let his hand drop again), reaching her own hand up behind her to turn him. Grabbing the back of Roman’s head and bringing his face alongside hers to turn and look at him, she hopes it doesn’t come to kissing, that’s just between the two of them—surely a few heated glances would do the trick?

Roman was intrigued when Barton turned up so suddenly, having gotten back into town rather recently from that jaunt in Europe, and it didn’t surprise him that the man hadn’t bothered to keep tabs on anyone (given his reputation and character Roman knew already which head the man used to think). It wasn’t out of the question that he was curious about Erica, she was beautiful, a head-turner in every way. It didn’t bother him necessarily that he’d inserted himself, it was common, and since they’d been acquaintances before, it made sense that he had. What doesn’t make sense is the way Erica has been acting ever since he sat down. Had Ben somehow managed to drug her? Roman knew brushing her hands along his arm was normal—she did that all the time, her comment about her hands was less so, and now nearly crawling into his lap to drape herself over his chest (and the no doubt intentional shifting of her hips that nearly landed his hand right on her butt in Ben’s full view)? Definitely not normal, and he’s, concerned, to say the least.

He attempts to be discreet, taking advantage of her head being turned toward him to move his own slightly behind her. He feels her shift and his other arm goes around her waist to secure her, was the chair that slick?

“Are you alright?”

She hums a laugh, leaning away and giving him, a look she certainly hasn’t before. A look that on any other woman would make her intentions about a bedroom perfectly clear. But Roman knows Erica, and he knows she doesn’t want that, so what is going on?

“Don’t say things like that” She pushes his chest playfully, looking around the room “Someone might hear you!”

He plays along, frowning at her as if he doesn’t understand her game (because he really doesn’t) and reaches out to grab her hand before she can pull it away. What impulse it is exactly he isn’t sure but somehow her hand ends up by his mouth and he kisses it before leveling her with an equally heated look. “You didn’t answer me.”

He keeps his voice low, deep and sultry, lips brushing against her wrist as he adds, “I don’t like it when you don’t answer me love.”

Her lips start to curl and finally he realizes. Ben must have been attempting to proposition her, ignoring her disinterest, and she seemed to be trying to put it in terms he would understand.

He drags his lips up then, to the inside of her hand and allows his eyes to wander her figure, leaning away finally to let his tongue dart out and wet his lips.

Her pupils widen a fraction and he’s somehow forgotten about everything else, he isn’t sure how much time goes by with their eyes locked, Erica looking slightly breathless but he barely manages to catch Ben coughing and clearing his throat, mumbling something about leaving before he looks away from her.

“Pardon?”

Ben looks back from where he’s begun to stand, eyes flitting to Erica who hasn’t stopped staring at Roman, before shaking his head. “Uh yeah—gonna head out, probably should get back before the jet lag hits.”

Before Roman can answer Butch cuts in coldly. “I’ll walk you out.”

Roman nods, waiting until they’re both out of sight before turning back to Erica, the embodiment of concern as he takes her in “Are you alright?”

She deflates. Moving to sit back in her chair and swallowing hard. She mumbles out “Took you long enough.” But directs it at the table.

“Sorry about that. I did catch onto the game though, can I place an official request for a code word in the future?” He tilts his head, holding out a hand on the table top, feeling like he’s crossed enough boundaries for the next four years, “I thought you’d been drugged. I’ve never seen you act that way—I didn’t think you’d want to.”

She takes another breath, wrinkling her nose before schooling her features once again. “Can we go home? I think I’ve had enough for one night.”

He nods, beginning to retract his hand but her own darts out, pulling it back onto the table and into her own. “I’m keeping this.” A pause. “It’s mine now.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Oh?”

“I’ve certainly earned it. In fact I’d like an Oscar too, much as I love you, you aren’t all that.”

He laughs out loud, giving her that open mouthed grin again “Oh really?”

She shakes her head defiantly, “Not at all. Wouldn’t have looked twice at you if you hadn’t offered me food.”

Roman gasps, other hand coming to his chest in mock horror, “I’m wounded.”

She shakes her head and Butch reappears at her opposite shoulder. “Ms. Erica I’m so sorry—I couldn’t have gotten over fast enough when I saw what he was doing—I can’t believe he had the audacity—”

Roman’s expression clouds immediately. “What. Did. He. Do.”

Erica immediately waves a hand toward Butch that he takes without a thought as she stands pulling Roman with her. “Not here. I want to go home.”

They do, and Roman broods the whole way, though he does take care to keep her as close as she wants to be (which is very). Her comfort is more important than his ego. Finally speaking once they’re in the door and pulling off their shoes, he grinds out,

“You don’t have to tell me. But I’m never letting him near you ever again either way.”

She drags a hand through her hair, discarding her wrap on the table and turning to let Roman unzip her dress.

“It wasn’t—” She pauses, picking her skirt up to walk to their bedroom, turning to grab Roman’s hand, to comfort him or herself he isn’t sure.

Pulling him along she sighs, thumb brushing along the back of his hand as they walk and he moves to pull off his tie, might as well multi-task.

She discards the dress over a chair in their bedroom and turns to him, “I didn’t like it. But, well. I did like it.”

He’s shocked, and maybe a little hurt. She--?

“Not him!” She amends quickly both hands coming up in a placating motion. “I meant—" She moves forward and wraps both arms around his waist before burying her face in his neck. He wraps his arms around her slowly, just barely having adjusted to her being comfortable with him touching her like this, his palms gliding along her skin gently.

“I, I liked, I liked that I knew I could act like that and I could trust you.” She pulls away just enough to look him in the eyes and he loosens his hold, fingers brushing along her spine As he looks deeply into her eyes. “I knew you had my back.” Her eyes dart between his. “We were partners. I liked it.”

He doesn’t understand, not really. But he isn’t sure how to ask.

“I mean, I liked that I—Roman what I’m trying to say is I knew that I could be sexy and act like I wanted you and you wouldn’t force me to follow it through even after he left. You always check things with me and tonight made me realize just how much I’ve come to trust that. I didn’t even really think about it, I just knew.”

Roman is very nearly floored again by her admiration of his behavior. She should expect this from anyone. This is how people should behave. “Of course” He says matter-of-factly, “Just because—” He falters for a moment, “You’ll always be allowed to tell me no, regardless of what it is. You’re a human being, not something I can do anything I like with.” He moves his hands to her shoulders and pushes her away the slightest bit, somehow he feels like touching her might tarnish this.

“You are my lover, what you want and need always comes first, even if I don’t always feel the same way about it. I—” He hesitates. He hasn’t said anything like what he’s about to since they started dating three years ago and—he still isn’t sure it’s a good idea but- she’s raising her eyebrows in question and well.

“I thought you were smokin.”

Her laughter bubbles over almost immediately, folding in on herself and wrinkling her nose before looking back up to him with a soft sigh as she smiles. “Roman.” Her hands slide under his jacket and untuck his shirt to brush her hands along his back. “I love you. So much.”

He smiles back, eyes flitting over her face before his hands come to her cheeks and he pulls her into a forehead kiss before cradling her to his chest.

“I love you too.”

*************************

[twoidiotwriters1]

Young Blood V -(PB/WITS Crossover)

A/N: Last part! We had so much fun writing this, we might come back to this baby in the future :) -Val & Danny

Words: 2,700

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Summer 1996

“So, Hermione,” Sirius handed her a drink, he was grinning widely. “Tell us all about Percy back at school, is he a good boyfriend?”

“Dad,” Percy started, Hermione chuckled.

“He’s really nice, yes. My parents want to ask all of you to my Dad’s birthday in two weeks, they’re looking forward to meeting you.”

“Oh, wanting to meet the boyfriend’s parents already?” Persephone raised a brow. “We have to be on our best behaviour Sirius, they’re paying half of the things for their wedding!”

“Mum!” Percy frowned, trying to stand up to leave the room. “Let’s go, Hermione, it’s getting late…”

“Thought Matthew was going to take you to the movies?” Sirius raised a brow.

“I rather walk than stay here and be humiliated in front of my girlfriend,” The young wizard replied. “Honestly, you guys don’t act like this with Lyra, this is ridiculous…”

“Lyra’s an angel,” Sirius said with an accusing finger. “She’s never done anything wrong in her life and she’ll stay single until she’s forty.”

“The fact that she’s never been in detention doesn’t mean she’s an angel,” Percy scoffed. “And I saw her flirting with a sixth-year Slytherin the last term.”

“She what?” Sirius straightened in his place.

The doorbell rang and Percy was quick to stand up and answer it, Harry walked in looking rather anxious.

“Your parents are here?”

“Yeah?” The boy raised a brow. “Why?”

“Good,” He whispered. “I’m pretty sure Mel’s dad has been planning a way to murder me tonight and make it look like it was an accident.”

Perseus laughed.

“What?”

“Shh!” He looked over his shoulder. “He’s coming!”

Matthew’s imposing figure stepped into the entrance, Mel walked in after him. She was tinier than her father, but her scowl was enough to make people fear her.

“Lovely night, isn’t it?” Matthew asked out loud.

“Wonderful,” Mel replied sarcastically. “If only my dad stopped acting like a baby.”

“Watch your words, girl,” The man warned her.

Matthew Dumbledore’s daughters were usually calm, sweet daddy’s girls. However, whenever they had a disagreement people could just feel the power emanating from them. Now that Mel was older, it was really obvious that she had inherited her father’s character.

“Ruddy,” Sirius’ eyes were darting nervously between the two. “It is a lovely night, so let’s try to keep a nice attitude, shall we? It’s a group date! Love is in the air!”

“And it stinks of hormones,” Matthew replied angrily.

“Oh god,” Mel rolled her eyes, she turned to look at Hermione. “Hi, are you having a good summer?”

“Er… yeah,” Hermione stared at Mel’s dad nervously, he was usually the most charming man. “Yeah… and you?”

“It’s been good,” Mel walked up to Harry and he flinched, eyes immediately fixing on Matthew’s. “This is ridiculous!” Mel turned to Persephone. “Could you please talk to my dad? Harry’s been nothing but a gentleman in and out of school and it’s time he gets over his overprotective nonsense.”

“Alright, enough of this, Ruddy,” Persephone crossed her arms and looked at him sternly. “You know Harry since he was a baby! His parents are your friends! It’s family already, c’mon…”

“I’m sorry, but I find it a bit hard to believe that in a matter of months this boy dropped all the mischief and bad behaviour,” Matthew frowned. “The Potters are professional charmers, they would know how to trick a crowd.”

“Hark who’s talking!” Persephone exclaimed in disbelief. “You spent a whole year flirting with the whole school just to get Emily’s attention!” She turned to the children. “Which didn’t work, by the way.”

“My dad did what?”

Matthew’s eyes widened, he blushed a deep shade of red.

“That’s… that’s different, I was a kid.”

“I was a kid too!” Harry argued, finally finding enough courage after Persephone’s scolding. “I won’t use it as an excuse, I’m aware of how bad I was…” He looked down. “I just… I spent my whole childhood wanting to be like you and my dad… I saw an opportunity and took it.”

“That’s true,” Percy decided to back up his best friend. “He’s always admired you, Uncle Ruddy.”

“Admired?” Matthew grimaced. “Why?”

“You guys are legends,” Harry said. “And Mel is the coolest girl I’ve met. I promise I’m not dating her just to fool around… I’m…” Harry looked over at Percy and his mocking grin, Harry groaned internally, he swallowed his pride and fixed his eyes on the tall man in front of him. “I’m in love with your daughter.”

Mel beamed at his speech, she looked back at her father with her bright, sweet eyes and for the first time in the whole summer, Matthew felt ashamed of his attitude towards the boy.

“Fine,” He sighed. “You’re a good boy, Harry.”

“He’s amazing,” Mel responded, hugging Harry by the waist and looking up at him adoringly.

Matthew groaned, Sirius patted his shoulder and muttered something that sounded like ‘you’ve lost her, mate.’

“Hey, guys?” Remus suddenly appeared at the doorstep. “Hurry up, the movie starts in twenty minutes.”

“Moony,” Sirius frowned. “Thought Matthew was the only one chaperoning the kids?”

“He’s not here to babysit us,” Percy smirked. “Mel invited Tonks and uncle Moony suddenly had time to join us.”

“Really?” Sirius raised a brow, he walked slowly towards Remus, eyeing him up. “How come?”

“Ever since Mum brought her to talk about her work as Auror,” Percy explained. “He’s been awful social.”

“Uncle Moony has a crush,” Mel grinned.

“I don’t!” Remus tried to look offended. “I — I just want to spend time with my favourite nieces and nephews!”

“Huh,” Harry raised a brow. “Is that why you offered to take Tonks home separately?”

“You’re trying to woo my cousin, Moony?” Sirius stood in front of him.

“Oh, I saw the way they greeted each other this afternoon,” Matthew raised his eyebrows. “Pretty sure he’s wooed her for at least a month now…”

“Ruddy!” Persephone swatted his arm. “Don’t be vulgar!”

“And he still has the nerve to complain about Harry,” Mel teased, Harry now had his arm firmly wrapped around her shoulders.

“Seriously, it’s getting late,” Remus insisted, completely ignoring their comments. “And we don’t get to use magic at muggle theatres, so you don’t want to get caught in the middle of a long line…”

“I insist, we don’t need babysitters for our dates, we’re sixteen!” Percy whined as he walked out of the house followed by the rest.

“Tell that to Prongs’ car,” Matt snorted. “It’s lucky we have magic, otherwise you would’ve spent half of your parent’s money paying for a new one.”

June 1998

They had decided to make the party at Lupin’s place because it had a beautiful, wide garden. Usually, they would wait until July, but this was a special occasion.

Harry, Mel and Percy had finished their last year at Hogwarts.

The place was full of familiar faces, friends from school as well as their families, even some of their favourite teachers were there, even Snape, who was (unfortunately, in James opinion) part of the family since he was Joshua’s godfather.

James and Sirius had been snickering close to the man’s table, laughing at how absurd Snape was looking surrounded by colourful balloons and confetti.

“We can’t deny he’s been quite a decent godfather to Joshua,” James sighed. “Although Joshua has never been a problem, bless him, he’s all Lily. Snape’s lucky he got the quiet one, I can’t even imagine what he’d do if he’d gotten Cassia or Ivy.”

“Drop dead, probably,” Sirius smirked.

“I can hear you,” Snape turned around on his chair, looking at the men with a quirked eyebrow. “Loud and clear.”

James choked on his drink and quickly replied with an apology, Sirius couldn’t stop the silly grin on his face from widening.

“You’re worse than your children,” Snape sneered, standing up and moving away to get a drink.

“Yeah we’re happy to see you too, Snivellus,” Sirius snorted.

“Leo Regulus Black!” Persephone’s voice came from the kitchen.

“Sounds like my wife needs me,” Sirius excused himself.

Back in the house fourteen-year-old Leo is looking at his mother with an innocent expression that it’s not working at all.

“What’s the matter, love?” Sirius enters.

“McGonagall told me just now that she never got a reply for her last letter,” Persephone said heatedly. “She says our dearest son set fire to the Hufflepuff Keeper! And he’s got this ongoing prank war with Cassia and Ivy, did you know they somehow managed to turn Filch’s cat bright green?”

“To be fair, that one was meant for Dennis Creevey,” Leo said. “I can’t stand that git—”

“You’re grounded,” Persephone crossed her arms. “For the whole month. I don’t know how you did it but I know you intercepted McGonagall’s letter and you’re in big, big trouble.”

“C’mon Mum, don’t be such a bore…”

“Leo Regulus —!”

“Yeah?” Regulus Black walked into the kitchen, holding a piece of cake.

“Not you!” Persephone replied moodily.

“She’s talking to the other Reg, mate,” Sirius said, patting his brother’s shoulder as he walked past. “Glad to see you could make it! How’s life? How’s work?”

“I’m not telling you what my job is, Sirius,” He replied with a knowing smirk.

“Oh, c’mon!” Sirius whined.

“— and if I hear you tried to steal another toilet from the school’s bathrooms I’ll write a letter so they ban you from the Quidditch team!”

Leo gasped, his mother walked out of the room fuming and Sirius looked down at his son trying not to look too proud.

“Bad luck, boy,” Sirius sighed. “At least the twins think twice before messing with the school staff.”

“It was their idea,” Leo sulked. “I wanted to turn Filch’s office pink.”

Sirius snorted, he shook his head and ushered his son out of the house.

“That went well,” Sirius sighed, looking over at the garden.

Outside there were two large tables so all the kids could sit in the same spot. Harry, Mel and Percy were all together as usual, although now Harry had his arm around Mel and Percy was holding Hermione’s hand on the table. Next to them were Ron and Ariana, who was laughing so hard she was almost crying.

Matthew had suffered the last two years, Ron was Harry’s best friend right after Perseus, meaning he’d been part of their mischief, but Emily hadn’t let him scare Ron and he’d been dating little Ari for a year and a half now, she looked happier than ever.

Next to the big group of lovebirds were the Potter twins: Cassia and Ivy. The redheads where talking animatedly with Lyra and Leo. Further down were the Weasleys, Erick Flint and his cousin Jo, Neville Longbottom, Josephine and Luna Lovegood. Persephone’s nephews and nieces were also there, although they were seated at a different table.

Sirius had never been fond of huge parties when he was younger, but this one was completely different to the one he remembered from his childhood.

“Needed a break from the noise?” Remus spoke behind him. “Me too, but I think I should get used to it.”

Sirius turned around and smiled, his friend was standing there, holding his newborn and glowing with happiness.

“Little Teddy has entered the party!” Sirius rushed over to carry his nephew. “Look at him! Nice hair, buddy.”

Remus laughed, standing beside him.

“Tonks has been trying to make him change it to pink, but so far Teddy’s favourite’s are blue and green, she’s not happy about it.”

“Well I think he looks good,” Sirius made a funny face to make the baby laugh. “Isn’t that right, little Ted?”

“Don’t let him fall asleep,” Tonks said, looking slightly anxious. “We’re trying to keep him awake so he’ll sleep the whole night.”

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” Sirius teased. “Real fun to have a baby...”

Remus shook his head, chuckling lowly. “Well you tell me, you had four.”

Little Teddy started to squirm in his arms and Sirius quickly returned him to his father, Remus was happy to take him back. The couple walked out of the house with Sirius behind them.

“Elena’s first year was uneventful, I heard,” Remus grinned.

“Yeah, she’s a nice girl like Lyra,” He smiled. “Leo says she doesn’t hang out with him and Joshua a lot, but they look after her anyway.”

“They’ll come back, you know?” Remus pointed to Percy with his head. “He’ll be around for a while before he moves out.”

“Yeah, a year or two,” Sirius smiled at his son proudly. “He wants to earn his own money, and he’ll need a while for that, then he’ll get his own place and leave us… Blimey, he’s a man now, I didn’t have enough time to enjoy him, you know?”

“It’s not like he’s leaving for good,” Remus calmed him.

“No, but it’s not the same, is it?”

“What are you guys whispering about?” Persephone got closer and kissed her husband’s cheek.

“We’re running out of kids,” Sirius nudged her side. “How about we have another one?”

“Absolutely not!” Persephone raised a brow. “Easy for you to say it, you don’t have to carry them around for nine months!”

“You know I’d do it!”

“My answer is no and that’s final, Sirius.”

“Oh well, I had to try,” He pouted.

“Is that Teds?” James called across the garden. “Bring him over, Moony!”

“My favourite thing about parties is that everyone always holds the baby for me,” Tonks winked, walking away from the couple with her husband following her.

“Is only a matter of time before Percy marries Hermione,” Sirius shook his head. “At least Lyra still hasn’t shown any interest in boys...”

“Yeah, she hasn’t,” Persephone snorted. “Because she’s dating Ginny Weasley.”

“She what?” Sirius’ head snapped to the side quickly, he spotted Lyra in no time.

Ginny was shamelessly flirting with his daughter, something Lyra seemed to be enjoying a lot.

“Ah, I know that smile,” Sirius frowned. “Well, okay… at least she knows how to use it.”

Persephone laughed at his reaction, kissing his cheek again.

“So what now?” Ari asked them with a bright smile. “What’s your plan? You guys will all live together for the rest of your lives?”

Percy made a face, Harry and Mel chortled.

“Nah,” Harry and Mel shared a look. “We’ve talked about it, actually…”

“I’ll work with mum,” Mel said excitedly. “I’ll learn all I can from her, she’ll teach me everything… then we’ll travel around the world looking for magical creatures for research and stuff...”

“You’re going with them?” Ron asked Percy.

The boy shook his head.

“I’ll make enough money to get my own place and then…” His gaze lingered on Hermione. He smiled. “Then I’ll do whatever she wants.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be silly, you’ll know what to do by then, you won’t need to ask me.”

“Maybe,” He leaned and kissed her. “Doesn’t mean I won’t ask for your opinion, though.”

“You can join us if you want, Ron?” Harry offered. “I know you told your brothers you’ll help them with the shop they opened in Hogsmeade, but…”

Ron thought about it, Ariana was quick to intervene.

“Oh! Can’t you wait for me?” She said, her clear blue eyes staring at them imploringly. “I’ll graduate next year! If you wait we can all go together!”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to become a teacher?” Mel asked in amusement.

“Uncle Lupin said he’ll wait until Elena graduates to resign, and that’s six years away,” She shrugged. “Said he wanted to be around before his son was old enough to go to school — So travelling with you just like my uncle did might help me!”

“Sounds right,” Harry shrugged. “We’re not leaving until Mel decides it’s time, and that may take a while.”

“Well then, I could start working at the joke shop so I can have some money for the trip,” Ron smiled. “How long are we going to wait?”

“A year, maybe two,” Mel squirmed in her place with a huge smile. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? I can’t wait!”

Harry looked at her with adoration.

“Don’t worry, Mellow, we have time…”

WITS Taglist:

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[marril96]

Dammit, Sammy!

Characters: Dean, Sam, Rowena

Summary: Dean gets more than he bargained for when he spies on Sam and Rowena.

A/N: Inspired by a picture from this post by @shirtlesssammy and a conversations I had with my friend @brokenfannibal.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

It wasn't like he was eavesdropping.

He was minding his own business, walking by on his way to the kitchen (pie cravings were a bitch) when he heard it.

A moan. Deep, throaty, rich enough to pass for a purr.

It was certainly a sound that piqued interest. A sound that, under the right circumstances, at the right time, tickled the imagination — and his sure was wild to start with, not needing much to fire it up. Curious creature that he was, Dean followed it.

Sam's door was cracked open. His room, from the little Dean could see, was dark, illuminated only by the lamp on his nightstand. Another moan rang out, followed by a laugh, and then a giggle. Happy, playful, much alike those of children, though Dean was certain there was nothing childlike about any of this.

A tinge of pride bloomed within him. Nice going, Sammy! He wasn't Rowena's biggest fan, and she was far from the kind of woman he'd hoped his brother would settle down with, but nonetheless he was happy. As long as Sam was happy, so was Dean.

His brother had made a choice, and it was up to Dean to respect that. Rowena wasn't that bad. Sam had certainly done worse (Dean shuddered at the memory of Ruby, even more so when his mind switched to Amelia). Compared to his past lovers, Rowena was… decent. She was a reformed baddie, something not many of his exes were. She was spunky. Spicy. Cultured, Dean supposed. She had class and manners, which she loved to use against him in banter. A fast wit and a sharp tongue she wielded like a weapon.

Oh, and she was alive.

For now.

So Dean didn't disapprove. He kept his dislikes of certain things about Rowena to himself and supported his brother, as a real big brother should.

"Goodness, Sam," Rowena said.

"You like it?"

"Mmhm."

Dean's face contorted with unease. As proud as he was of his brother's sex life, he didn't need to hear about it.

He didn't need to creep outside his door, either, but oh, well.

Besides, he wasn't creeping. He was just… investigating noises. And making sure Sam was okay and doing things right. Which wasn't creepy at all.

Just normal brotherly stuff Dean was already planning to use against him next time they made fun of each other because that was the mature thing to do.

"It's very… alpha." Rowena's voice was all but a purr. Dean would have found it hot if she wasn't, well, Rowena.

Sam chuckled. "I chose that shampoo just for you."

Shampoo?

A cackle escaped Rowena. "Naughty boy." She inhaled; a deep, throaty sound. A moan slipped from her mouth. "Such a naughty, naughty boy."

"Anything for you," he breathed.

Dammit, Sammy. Rowena had him wrapped around her finger, and he was enjoying every moment. A proud grin bloomed on Dean's mouth. He'd taught him well.

More moans ensued, mutual ones. Then Sam took in a deep breath and, dazed as if on a high, said, "Mmm, Rowena."

"Yes, Samuel?" Feigned innocence. All good girl, Sunday's pride. Dean could picture her batting her eyelashes like she tended to do every time she put on an act — a terribly unconvincing one, though he doubted it mattered in the bedroom.

"You smell so good."

"Do I?"

"Mmhm. Like a queen."

Dean frowned, confused. What was it with the smell? First the shampoo comment, then the overdone intakes of breath, and now this. Did they have some weird fetish thing going on?

Oh, my god. Good fucking god!

Was this seriously a fetish?

Dean was horrified. Things like feet he could get. Gags? Handcuffs? Whips? No problem. But smelling?

Smelling what exactly?

Did he even want to know?

Rowena giggled. "You sure know how to flatter a lady."

"I'm just being honest," Sam said. "You smell so fucking good!"

Dean gulped, mortified. Jesus Christ! What had his brother gotten himself into?

"Show me how much you like it," Rowena said.

Another inhale. More giggling. More moans of pleasure, of pure passion.

That's it! Dean told himself. Against his better judgment, he toed closer to the door and peered inside.

The sight that greeted his eyes was… unexpected, to say the least.

Sam and Rowena were kneeling on the bed. Breathless. Fully clothed. His arms were wrapped around her; somehow she managed to look even tinier, prey in a python's grasp. His face was buried in her hair.

He was… inhaling.

A look of ecstasy, of pure, unadulterated bliss settled over his face. His mouth widened, teeth bright in a smile.

"I love it." He purred the words like a cat who'd just captured a mouse after hours of chasing it. Content. Happy. A man who'd discovered heaven. He dove into the sea of red curls again. Sniffed as if his life depended on it. Savored the scent, moaning from the pleasure of it. "So… good…"

Dean stiffened, petrified. His throat tightened, dread settling over. My brother's a hair freak! Jesus Christ, my brother's a hair freak!

He supposed it could have been worse. He could have been a—

"All for you. Anything for my boy," Rowena said. She pecked him on the nose, leaving a smear of lipstick, red as blood, in her wake. "I believe it is my turn."

Taking a final whiff of her scalp, Sam lowered his head. Her nose was in his hair in an instant, inhaling, exploring, moans, almost orgasmic, falling from her lips.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Dean rushed — practically ran — back to his room, want for pie forgotten. His face was the picture of disgust, his stomach turning with it. He'd seen enough. He'd found out enough.

Whatever he was hoping to discover, it wasn't this — whatever this was.

He didn't want to know.

He didn't care.

He just wanted to forget.

Maybe one of the many grimoires at the Bunker had a spell for that.

Dammit, Sammy! Why did you make me see that?

He supposed he could have stopped. Or not looked at all. But what would have been the fun in that? All he wanted was to be proud of his brother. And to acquire some teasing material. Not a lifetime of trauma.

He doubted he could even do anything with this unfortunate knowledge. The way things were, if Dean were to bring it up, Sam wouldn't be embarrassed. He would be proud. Would own it like a particularly nasty insult bullies used to hurl at him.

A part of Dean admired his brother for that. It took guts to find power in weirdness. On the other hand…

Dammit, Sammy!

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @shadowgirl-vsb @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @angel7376 @cherrypierowena​ @evil-regal-vampiress​ @collectorofsecretsandsouls​ @angel-e-v-a​ @a-queen-and-her-throne​ @carryon-doctor-lock​ @fangirlxwritesx67​

[exoarcturus9]

Indebted 1/?

First time posting my written stuff, critiques are welcome, but please be gentle :v 

Slow burn mirage/caustic (miraustic? caustage?)

Warning: Some blood and gore 

-----

The room was spinning as Mirage slouched against the cluttered front desk of the smoky lobby. The cold air of the empty city pressed uncomfortably against his back. He’d left the door open. They’d know he was here. He had to hide. He had to doing something. He had to... The taste of blood in the back of his throat, the aching, spreading bruises that covered his torso where his shielding had given out, the pain, the pain, the pain. This was all he could think of as he collapsed to the floor. A broken rib, perhaps several, sent a stabbing pain through his chest with every breath. He’d been knocked around in fights before sure, but it never got easier, the feeling of choking, stifling pain. Where was his team?

Dragging himself into the cover of the desk’s squat walls, Mirage grimaced as he tried to assess his wounds. A burst of gunfire had caught his right side, although most of the wounds were from grazing rounds. Blood oozed from the ragged flesh, congealing in the matted material of his jumpsuit. Every inhale reminded him of the bruises on his chest and back, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of him was in just as bad shape. He got sloppy. He’d heard the sound of the grenade bouncing before he saw it. He should have known.

Outside the walls of the towering prefab building, the sound of gunfire was still echoing off the vacant city streets. His squad? He needed to move, before someone doubled-back and picked him off. Sweat plastered the dark brown curls of his hair to his forehead and made his skin prickle and itch. Bile rose in his throat. A concussion? Likely. Gritting his teeth, Mirage rummaged through the meagre supplies he had on him. Ammunition, grenades, batteries for his shields, but no med kits...

Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming closed interrupted his search. Mirage froze, his blood running cold. Fuck. As silently as he could manage, he raised his head just above the edge of the desk. Peering through the books and other clutter hastily abandoned on its surface, he readied a decoy to send sprinting toward the other door. It might buy him a couple seconds. That would have to be enough.

Whoever had come through the door was searching for something. Mirage could hear their heavy footsteps as they rounded the small hallway beyond the door. They must be at the other door now, maybe they’ll just leave? There was a heavy ‘thunk’ and a quiet hiss that made him pause. Was that...? Another ‘thunk.’ Then a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone was walking into the room. Mirage sent out his decoy and twisted to face the direction of the intruder. His body screamed in agony, his heart pounded, the rifle in his hands swung upwards, steady despite his frayed nerves.

“I don’t have time for your games, Witt, and neither do you.” Caustic’s gloved hand closed around the barrel of Mirage’s rifle, turning it aside. The younger man gave a start and his breath caught in his throat, sending him into a fit of barely stifled coughs. The trapper regarded him with a curious look as he released his gun, unfazed by how close he had just been to taking a high-calibre round straight to the chest. Perhaps he had trusted Mirage not to fire or he just trusted his shielding to take the brunt of whatever shot he managed to get off. Either way, it was evident from the way he hurried around the desk that time was indeed of the essence.

“Boy am I glad to see you,” Mirage wheezed. Then he paused and glanced up at Caustic with a nervous laugh. “Please tell me I should be glad to see you.”

“You should be thrilled,” Caustic replied, his voice muffled slightly by his omnipresent gas mask. Crouching in front of Mirage, the man seemed entirely unconcerned as he took in the wounded state of his teammate, vivid green eyes scanning him purposefully. The trapper was taller than Mirage and heavier too, prepared to haul his decidedly bulky equipment wherever his ‘experiments’ led him.  His gloved hands were surprisingly gentle as he moved Mirage’s arm to examine it. “This match is going well, you’re too effective to squander.”

“I’ve noted your appreciation,” Mirage replied with tiny chuckle, throwing out a halfhearted ‘finger gun’ with his uninjured arm. Caustic was silent, but he raised an eyebrow in incredulity. Mirage raised his hands defensively and laughed. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” Caustic growled, though there was a faint hint of amusement in his voice. Between their hushed exchange, the trapper had been digging through his own supplies. To Mirage’s relief, he pulled a fully stocked med kit from the mess of his backpack. He handed it over hurriedly, suddenly drawn back into the severity of the situation around them. His next words were in a hushed whisper. “I need to clear the upper floors. We’re not out of the woods just yet.”

“I expected my rescue party to be a little more crowded. Where’s our favourite orni-ornithol...bird-lover?” He’d last seen Bloodhound chasing down another unfortunate challenger in the city’s narrow alleys. That was before things really took a turn for the worse.

“Bloodhound is scouting the buildings nearby, trying to root out another ambush. They’ll rendezvous with us here, if they’re able.” Caustic replied, returning to his supplies.

During his time at the Games, Mirage had gotten fairly good at hastily patching himself up, although the med kits themselves were fairly idiot-proof. With a grimace and only a moment of hesitation, he plunged the needle of one of the syringes into his chest. Fuck. It felt like being kicked in the chest, but with every breath the pain in his chest and arms subsided. A bit of quick-clotting gauze here, a few bandages there. Just needed to hold it together for a little bit longer. He was tough, he could do this. Right? Pushing his sweat-slick hair out of his face, he glanced up just in time to see Caustic eyeing him with that same unidentifiable look. In his gloved hand, he held something out to Mirage.

“Take this, I don’t need you succumbing in the middle of a firefight.” It was a small black gas mask, clearly not as high-tech as the one Caustic wore, but better than nothing. Mirage slipped it on without a thought. His breath was warm against his face, but calmer than before. The ring was closing in. Things were going to get messy. “The snares are set. Do what you do best.”

“This is going to be a piece of cake,” Mirage said with all of his usual casual confidence. Finally starting to lift himself up off the cold floor, he gritted his teeth slightly as a dull ache settled into his limbs. This was probably going to be pretty rough.  “After all, I am the best.”

Caustic let his comments slide, surprisingly, without a sarcastic interjection. He nodded silently and headed for the stairs, shotgun in hand. Readying his own weapon, Mirage quickly surveyed the courtyard beyond the bulletproof windows. Not a soul in sight. The orange glow of the shifting ring moved ever closer, overtaking the outskirts of the city. Upstairs, he could hear the heavy metallic ‘thunk’ of Caustic laying more traps. There was something else... The rush of wind? No. Mirage glanced up instinctively, as if his would-be assailant was going to come crashing through the ceiling. Someone was landing on the roof.

Heart beating faster, the familiar buzz of adrenaline in his veins, Mirage took to the stairs, moving as swiftly and as quietly as he could manage. Caustic had to be on the third floor by now, surely he had heard it too. He could almost smell the acrid burn of the ring’s energy. How many could be left? He barely glanced at the second floor as he passed it. It was empty, just as he’d thought, but above him he heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun going off. Somewhere below him, a trap hissed, releasing its carefully formulated payload in the form of a heavy, choking fog of death.

Cresting the top of the third floor stairs, Mirage could see his trapper teammate grappling with another contestant, a gruff man of similar size. A gun lay discarded on the ground on the other side of the room, thrown by their struggle. Caustic had one hand on his shotgun, trapped between the two of them and the other on the man’s wrist, which held a small handgun pointed – for the moment – at the ceiling. Mirage sprinted straight toward them, rifle raised, ready to fire. Only he didn’t. The decoy only took a second or so to cross the room, but it was enough to draw the other man’s eye. That moment of distraction was all Caustic needed. A swift headbutt sent the man toppling backwards, his nose and lips exploding in a spray of blood. He staggered, the pistol in his hand swinging up wildly.

“No, I think you’re done buddy.” On the other side of the room now, Mirage had drawn the heavy pistol from his waist and fired three quick shots into the man’s chest. He fell and did not rise again.

“I must confess, watching you work is... satisfying,” Caustic noted with a suppressed cough. He knelt to retrieve the man’s discarded gun from the floor, giving it an appraising look. There was a fiery look to his eyes, excitement perhaps? Before Mirage had a chance to gloat over the compliment? Yeah, probably a compliment – the sound of sprinting footsteps reached them from the stairs. This time the trapper was ready.

The second man rounded the corner of the doorway – gun ready – just as Mirage had. But he had no holographic tricks up his sleeves. Just a few steps into the room and the trap to his left triggered, belching noxious green fumes into the room. Same mistake twice. What an idiot. Caustic was upon him in seconds, moving faster than a man his size had any right to. The man had brought his arm up to try to stop himself from inhaling the gas, but he was already coughing, tears streaming down from his burning eyes. Caustic grabbed his raised arm and swung the muzzle of his shotgun into the man’s gut. The shot shattered his energy shielding, threatening to send him flying against the wall of the stairwell. But the trapper held on.

Dropping the shotgun to the floor, his fist connected to the man’s jaw, sending him reeling. Caustic didn’t give him time to recover. The next blow connected to his stomach, which was no doubt already battered. Flecks of blood splattered over Caustic’s mask. He was relentless, eyes wild. When he was done, the knuckles of his gloves were smeared with red.

“I always relish the chance to observe the end so intimately,” Caustic wheezed through his gas mask, his breaths coming ever so slightly faster than usual. He flexed his fingers absentmindedly. Mirage wouldn’t be surprised if he had busted a knuckle or two with how hard he was swinging. Everything had happened so fast that he had barely managed to take a step forward to help, not that the trapper had needed assistance this time. The poisonous fumes of the trap were starting to dissipate, but Mirage was thankful for the gas mask nonetheless – he could feel his eyes watering, even at this distance.

“Y’know, I’m starting to think the two of us might actually be a pretty good team,” Mirage said with a laugh as he stepped forward and gave Caustic a friendly pat on the shoulder. His body ached, his heart was pounding, but the two of them were still in this thing. “Between my wits and dashing good looks and your uh... science and re-really strong fists...”

“I suppose I can agree with that conclusion.” The trapper raised his hand to examine the mess he’d left on his gloves as he replied, that faint tone of amusement creeping into his voice once again. Mirage wondered if he was smiling under his mask. “The evidence is certainly compelling.”

In the following weeks, Mirage only saw Caustic in passing. The trip to the arena was full of high nerves and lots of excitement. The journey home was... quieter. Celebrations were of course obnoxiously loud – Mirage was positive that was the only real way to celebrate, but after that most of the remaining contestants would keep to themselves and nurse their wounds, both physical and metaphorical. The massive ship seemed more forlorn, more contemplative. More boring, maybe.

-----

Upon boarding the ship, Mirage had pulled both Caustic and Bloodhound into a celebratory grapple, draping his arms over their shoulder and suggesting they take a photo to commemorate the moment – only mostly joking of course. Free autographs, anyone? Anyone? No? He imagined Caustic was probably seething at the intrusion, but if he was, he was very good at hiding it. He even replied ‘I’ll consider it’ when Mirage had invited the small crowd back to his bar for drinks when they landed – again mostly joking. But once the celebrations died down, the trapper vanished back into the quiet of his tiny onboard lab.

Mirage passed him there on several occasions, pouring over experiments, but he couldn’t bring himself to poke his head in and interrupt his work. The seemingly cordial relationship they held now felt as fragile as the delicate glass instruments in the scientist’s lab. To be honest, he did not miss the general disdain Caustic had regarded him with previously. One step closer to being friends, right? He wasn’t about to risk shattering whatever burgeoning respect he had stirred in the man. A truce perhaps? That would be a nice thought.

It was difficult to describe how the trapper regarded him now. It was intriguing – to use a familiar phrase. As he walked past the lab, on more than one occasion, he found himself locking eyes with Caustic as he looked up from his desk. There was always some unreadable, unidentifiable expression that crossed his face. A strange recognition? Curiosity? The lab was dimly lit – Mirage wasn’t sure how he got any work done – and in the shadows of the ship the trapper’s eyes took on an unearthly green glow. The first time he’d seen it his heart had skipped a beat, like some poor animal spotting a predator in the darkness of a shady forest. He was right to be wary, wasn’t he?

The two of them would not speak face to face again until they were back in the arena. This time on opposite sides on the front-lines.